#this will be a long fic - no apologies

[comfortless]

Deep Water

nix! König x fem! reader

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. no.. intentional harm done to reader but there are sporadic mentions of murder (drowning), König is kind of a creep here do you guys forgive me (say yes), implied sex; dubcon everything. König is wearing a fishing net rather than the usual hood because. it made sense to me sorry.

notes: yet again, i have found that i can not manage to write anything except for silly fantasy nonsense… bear with me this will pass (it will not). if you’re uncertain of what a nix is, i recommend skimming over this (or tl;dr— a shapeshifting water spirit).

You’ve always been told to beware of the river, especially on nights like this. When the singing starts up you were to run, as far and as fast as your feet could carry you. It would be the most beautiful sound you had ever heard, as well as the last. Whatever beast lies in wait along the silt of the riverbed luring people in with its haunting song isn’t kind. The drowned bodies resurfacing bloated and paled are enough for the townsfolk to assume that assuredly, a monster lies in wait someplace within the glassy water.

For all of the fear, town myths were just that— myths.

As always, there’s no singing when you seat yourself on smooth, mossy stones by the river’s bank. The moon hangs low, casting its brilliant reflection on calm, dark water. The air is alive with the buzzing of cicadas clinging to the trees at your back and night birds calling out to the wind. Nothing is amiss; it’s only peaceful, and that’s why despite the warnings, you often find yourself here when the temperature is favorable.

There are nights when the river isn’t calm, and currents are the most reliable reasoning for the deaths from past summers. The water is full of large rocks with sharp corners, teeming with plants that could so easily snare an ankle, and when the water is frothing and cruel it’s no surprise that one could be thrashed to unconsciousness if they weren’t careful.

You didn’t come here to take your chances on swimming, anyhow.

If anything, it’s a mere reprieve from the bustle of the town. No one wanders here any more since the myths gained traction, passed from mouth to listening ears time and time again, leaving this place entirely untouched. Occasionally the obnoxious teenager would cross your path on the walk here, declaring loudly to their friends about how they supposedly saw some slimy beast, eyes like moonbeams and scales like razors lying on the bank.

During your little adventures here, you often carry a snack with you, but not for yourself. Tonight, it’s just a small package of vanilla flavored cookies. In truth, they were awful— dry and near flavorless, but you suspect your friend here wouldn’t mind too terribly much, and if it got them out of your pantry without wasting it was a win for the both of you.

When the large dorsal fin crests over the water mere meters from the bank, you gratuitously crush the treats in a closed fist and toss the crumbs into the water. Time and time again, you’ve fed the large animal, watching as it thrashes about just below the surface before disappearing back into its depths. You’ve never gotten a good look at it, either, but you imagine it must stretch out past your height or further; some sort of gar or sturgeon.

Just as many times before, it glides further in, fin entirely out of sight now. The only evidence of it ever appearing at all were the small waves rippling in its wake. All is quieted once more as you embrace the placid bliss, readying your small flashlight and losing yourself into the book perched in your lap.

The next night, you’re greeted by a large snake basking over the rock you typically sat upon. It lies still, coiled into itself as it regards you, forked tongue flicking out for several moments before it simply slithers off, hiding itself away beneath the moss and stone.

“Best to leave you alone, huh?,” you ask to it’s retreating tail, feeling a bit silly for speaking to the reptile at all. It doesn’t respond, of course, nor does it bother to come out of hiding either.

You opt to seat yourself on the hill overlooking the water instead.

You find that after a day occupied by tedious tasks, there truly was no greater place to abandon your woes than here. Everything was peaceful; wild yet simplistic. Even with all of the death that seemed to haunt this place, you never feared the thought of ghosts. You’ve even entertained your imagination a time or two, that if you ever did meet one, you would only ask it not to disturb the wildlife you have grown so fond.

There’s a freedom and a mystery to places like this, places without the foot traffic of other people. It brings with it a sense of whimsy, especially when you glance towards the water and see the surface reflecting every twinkling star above.

The fish doesn’t appear, even as you listen to the water in wait, your head tilted as you lie back on soft grass to watch for ripples, for the swell of a large fin moving beneath. Nothing. You read your book as the night progresses, nearly completing it entirely before you make your way back home.

Weeks pass by like this— work, river, home and repeat. Occasionally it’s the same large snake that greets you when you wander there, more often it’s the large fish circling about waiting for crumbs of whatever treat you choose to bring. The bank and the small hill overlooking it have become a separate home to you, one where you can be away with the fairies, talking to your animal friends that never seem to stick around for long.

When the weather grows warmer, you even dare to take a swim.

You’re stood on the slick stones of the bank, wearing nothing but a t-shirt and a pair of underwear. It’s not proper swimming attire, but you reason that you’re not at the beach, not a soul is around, and it doesn’t really matter at all that you might look a bit silly. The prospect of swimming along that behemoth below is a tad terrifying, but you wouldn’t dare to wander too far in. Maybe the fish would even be intelligent enough to not attempt to eat you after you’ve been so kind to it.

It’s hot, and with a sticky layer of sweat glossing your skin, your worries seem minuscule in light of an easy way of cooling off. You toe at the calm water for a moment, testing its temperature before willing yourself to take a step forward, then another before you seat yourself in the vibrant expanse of darkened blue. Here, you realize, is the best place to stargaze, too; they shimmer all around you, within reach as you tap at the surface of water, watching it undulate beneath the pressure of your fingertips.

You could reach the moon, too, if you swam further out. A few meters from the bank and you would be directly beneath its reflection, bathed in that ethereal glow.

You watch for your friend for a time, trying to prioritize your wariness over your whimsy. When the fish doesn’t tread by you, the water remaining calm, you rise to your feet and take slow, metered steps as the water parts and flows against your shins.

Though the river is disturbed no matter how gently you stride forward, nothing slides out from its depths in pursuit of you. Nothing happens at all when you reach out to splay your hand out against the reflection, the water now gently lapping against your stomach rather than your legs.

You hadn’t expected any sort of shift in your reality, that would be ridiculous, but perhaps some sort of clarity; a further calm for a weary mind. It doesn’t come, and with a disheartened splash you wade your way back towards the shore.

This has been your sanctuary for some time. Excusing the snake, there’s not been any sort of threat to you, not here. A safe water world all your own. Though, that peace is shattered the moment that you make it to the bank and hear the water shift some small distance behind you. Turning your head, you’re met with the sight of a man, the bulky muscular silhouette towering in the patch of moonlight you had just stood in. Bright blue eyes catch the light, reflecting like an animal’s as you scramble back to where you’ve left your shorts.

He stands there, silent and unmoving like an obelisk even as you hastily dress yourself with a thundering heart and breaths that sound more or less like gasps, senses heightened by your panic as you turn tail to run.

No one had been there. You were sure of it when you sunk into the water. There was no sound when this person had swam over to take your place. He was just there, as if he had been the entire time and you somehow failed to notice.

You make your way into the woods framing this place, hurried steps and untied shoelaces. You don’t even bother with your flashlight.

Finding your way back home with aches in every muscle, the desperate rampage you had taken to get away finally coming to a close when the door slams shut behind you, you quickly shower and mull over what’s just happened. A ghost, perhaps. It had to of been. Any other person would have made noise in their approach, especially being that big. The mind could play its tricks; what you had seen was likely not even there at all— a terrifying figment of your imagination. That sets you at ease, somewhat, but not enough.

You don’t sleep well that night, tucked beneath your blanket and staring at the filtered moonlight through your curtains. Work isn’t on your mind at all come morning until your phone chimes with a notification from your manager, questioning your tardiness. A languid crawl out of bed follows, another shower, an unsatisfying breakfast, all before you opt to send a text back to let him know you won’t be in today.

It could be excused, you’re reliable and decent enough at the job; not one to boast, but far more eager to please than the rest of your coworkers. You would be entirely useless if you went in on no sleep, you reason.

You don’t want to go back there, not under the veil of night, but you find yourself horribly curious the longer that you bide your time indoors. You had to know if the thing that you saw was really there, had to calm your nerves. What if he had always been watching each time, and you simply hadn’t noticed? The forest bordering the river is terribly dark at night, anyone could crouch behind the shield of a tree and remain undetected until they willed the courage to drag you in, cup a palm over your mouth to silence your cries.

Maybe it was the monster the people in town rumored about.

The thought of some strange, silent thing living beneath the water waiting for an opportune moment to take you by the neck and drag you down to the silty floor to watch you drown horrified you. Yet, that’s the one conclusion that sticks. Those eyes… so lurid and haunting, no human being had eyes like that.

You inhale sharply, steeling your nerves as reach for a pocket knife for defense, toss it into the bag slung over your shoulder, and storm out the door.

The trek there is nothing short of dull.

No matter where you look, what shadows rise up beneath the dim glow of a falling sun, there’s nothing out in the woods. The river is equally tame. The water babbles over rock, cicadas buzz off in the distance, and not a thing seems amiss. Your search for footprints that don’t belong to the soles of your shoes turns up empty. The only thing that suggests just maybe it wasn’t all in your head is the book you had neglected to retrieve in your fear the night before.

The cover, every page within, now warped as though it had been pulled into the water and spit out to dry. You pick it up, peeling through damp pages, running your fingertips over the smeared ink. It’s possible that a particularly aggressive splash could have sullied it, but something tells you that that isn’t the case. Either way, it’s unreadable now. You sulk a bit as you slip the ruined thing into your bag and step towards the smooth stones to watch the water instead.

Night creeps in slowly with you there, and you’re on high alert for a time before you begin to relax as usual. Even giggle to yourself at how silly it was you believed you saw a ghost at all as you entertain yourself by skipping small stones across the water.

No large snake, no massive fish, no titan of a man appears before you, only a calming crescent moon and a few wandering wood ducks, gliding down from the bank to splash about. A thought comes to mind as the calm emboldens you: what would happen if you got in just one more time?

There’s nothing to suggest that you’re playing with fire as you leave your shoes neatly in the dry sand. If the ducks could swim unbothered by fish or men, then surely you could, too. You watch the little creatures a distance away as they dip their heads beneath the surface and chitter away amongst themselves while you take your first step in.

You don’t dare to go as far this time, stopping when the water brushes over your knees. You wait there while time seems to slow to a crawl, expecting the absolute worst, glancing further down the river, dipping your hand below the glassy surface until your fingertips brush the sand beneath.

It’s horribly hot and you’re still exhausted from the sleepless night before. The water feels nice, and you feel as though you have some sort of claim to it as you’ve been here more often than anyone else would dare to. Ghosts and monsters be damned, you seat yourself and let the water lap over your shoulders, tilting your head back to watch the stars.

When the singing begins it takes a moment to register just what it is that you’re hearing. It’s not beautiful, not like the myths have said. It’s hissed, a low whisper, a mockery of what a human song would sound like. The voice is rasped, lilted yet cold. The realization that it sings words from your book of poetry is what terrifies you the most, the warped pages all making sense now.

Your eyes dart to either side of you, forward, before realizing the voice is coming from behind you. Cold spreads through your veins as you try to force yourself to stand, but in your fear you find yourself petrified, rooted in water that would surely become your grave.

You can’t bring yourself to turn around, to inevitably find your eyes locked onto the shadowy frame of a man far too large, his eyes glistening and pale like the moon hanging above.

The voice pauses when it finds you unmoving, and you can hear the rustle of the creature shifting its weight where it’s stood on the rocks lining the bank. You’ve no clue how deep the river gets, where the opposite side leads, but your only chance of escape seems to be swimming through in the hopes that this thing doesn’t choose to chase after you. A part of you knows that he would, that that is exactly what he expects you to do, goading you to flee deeper with his eerie song so that he can drown you just as he did the others.

You do the opposite as you squeeze your eyes shut and crawl back towards the bank, making sure to keep some distance despite your willful blindness. You wouldn’t look at it, wouldn’t talk to it, you would just go home and never come back.

“Best to leave you alone, hm?”

You still as your fingers brush against wet moss, the voice no longer a whisper but loud, loud as it echoes your words from days past just above you. Beating back your own curiosity proves futile, because you look up at the damned thing then, expecting to see an impossible terror before you, sharp fangs wet with blood and appendages too spindly reaching out for you. Instead, you see only a man.

He’s crouched, only a meter or so away, and you immediately recognize his broad figure. The same as the night before. From this distance you can make out the finer details, the length of net covering his face and neck, the webbing between each finger. Still a scary sight, but only in the way it’s unfamiliar and imposing rather than instilling any sort of primordial fear.

“Excuse me?” You pull yourself fully out of the water, rising to your feet and taking a tentative step back. You’re prepared to run, a coil pulled too tight on the verge of snapping.

The man, creature, whatever he may be just tilts his head, lets the silence hang in the air for a moment before he has the audacity to laugh whether to himself or at the strange, bewildered expression on your face.

His stare is assessing as he sucks in a breath, follows suit in rising to his full height. From the size of him alone, you know you’re not getting away. A mere stride for him would be two or more for you, a deliberate tug of your wrist from him could snap it in an instant.

Yet, he doesn’t reach for you, only gestures toward your bag lying on the ground with a subtle flick of a finger. You give him a quizzical glance in turn, not bothering to retrieve it. You could come back during the day with a friend, gather it and never return. Only, your knife sits somewhere inside, the only protection that you’ve got. The realization spurs you to bend over and toss the strap over your shoulder.

“I’ll… I’ll be going now.”

The stare remains fixed upon you as you take another step back, blinking slowly every now and then as you both remain in some strange stasis.

It takes you a moment to put the pieces together. The reciting of words from the book, the mimicking of the words spoken to the snake, the hint at your bag… he’s expecting something and it’s not to steal away your life, only to be fed and have your company. It’s not charming, it’s awfully strange and eerie, but you find yourself giggling at the prospect of taming some murderous, shapeshifting monster with subpar treats and poetry.

You pull open the bag, searching for anything you may have brought along that he could eat, eventually prying out a small package and offering it out to him.

“Is this what you want?,” you ask, voice hushed and trembling.

He shakes his head, rustling the net cloaking him in the process. So, he understands, he’s just been willfully ignoring every other thing you’ve said prior. You store the package away with a perturbed expression crossing over your face.

“Then what?”

Any relief you had felt seems to dwindle when the giant takes a half-step closer. His skin is cool and wet as the river as he brushes his hand over your forearm, curling a set of fingers around it. The touch is gentle, but there’s a promise of violence lurking somewhere in the depths of his eyes.

“Come with me,” he urges in that harsh whisper from before, delicately squeezing as he pulls you towards him, leading you back to the river with a tight grip and a step back over the stones. Though his touch is passive, there’s a frightening strength lurking someplace beneath his flesh, tacked to bone, and as your gaze trails lower to rest to rest at your feet, the space between you two, the evidence of a life prone to violence and strength is laid bare before you.

You don’t fight the hold as he leads you to water so deep it caresses the base of your neck, right below the milky glow of a waning moon. Deeper still, as you’re pulled below, pressed down to the very bottom with his body lain over you. You can only hold your breath so long before an involuntary gasp leaves you, and a wave is funneled straight into your lungs.

Panic is fleeting, but the adrenaline stays ever-present. You claw, push, kick, to no avail. Pinned down by a hand weighing like an anchor you feel your vision flooding and hazy as his head knocks against your jaw, mouth sealing tightly over yours. It’s not a gentle kiss, the net fashioned into a hood digs into your skin, teeth scrape over your lip until you feel the sting of blood drawn.

All at once, your vision darkens and it’s over.

You find yourself lying back on the shore as the morning sun warms your face, causes your dampened shirt to cling to your skin. Disoriented, but alive, brushing your thumb over your lower lip as you sit up to stare at the subtle waves lapping over moss and rock.

Just a dream, you tell yourself, knowing full well you hadn’t fallen asleep.

Just a dream, even though you avoid the river entirely now. Your route home from work changes too, avoiding even a glimpse of the path that leads down to that place. You don’t even replace the book, you toss what remains of it after fishing through your bag, murmuring something about it surely being cursed and entertain yourself with film at night instead.

Sleep remains tentative, you wake with every sound, and your dreaming is filled with visions of a figure pushing you down into deep water, his weight bearing down upon you so heavily that you can not move until you wake with a start, eyes searching your bedroom.

Several weeks, and the fear does eventually fade.

The morning that the rain begins to fall, you realize you haven’t even thought about the river in days. There’s no monster prowling your nightmares anymore. You lived through what may or may not have occurred, and that was the end of it, simple as it may have been.

A late shift at work has you wandering out into the rain, umbrella in hand. You’re grateful that you live close, that you’re not entirely soaked to the bone when you step inside of the mundane building. Your coworkers notice your change in demeanor immediately, chirping about how glad they are that you’re finally feeling better, looking more yourself as the hours pass you by. It brings a smile to your face, a real one that you haven’t had in place since that last night.

Even in the summer, there’s a chill to the air in the late afternoon as you hurry home from work and make your way inside, stripping out of your wet clothes and setting your umbrella aside. It’s darker outside than it should be, even more so indoors. Reaching for the switch to turn on the lights proves useless— the power’s out.

You light your way with your phone, ignoring the way your pulse quickens and your heart flutters with the fear that something just doesn’t feel right. Your skin prickles with the thought of some unseen pair of eyes watching you, blue and cold. You only relax when you slam your bedroom door shut, locking it and pressing your forehead to the wood as you sigh. The puff of breath that escapes your lips is not the only in the room, you find out when the light of your phone illuminated your bed. Crouched beside it, a towering figure with a face veiled by fishing net. Words don’t come when you open your mouth to speak, and your heart stutters in your chest as you stand shaking but otherwise petrified.

“You didn’t come back.”

Of course you hadn’t.

Most people wouldn’t have.

“No. I’ve been… busy,” you choke out the excuse, hoping to pacify whatever emotion you imagine lurked beneath his tone, undetectable through the hiss of his voice. “I’ll visit soon, promise,” you lie, back pressed against the door as your fingers curl over the knob.

Your fear seems almost unwarranted. He doesn’t move toward you, only stands to wander back to the window where he must have broken in.

“Tonight?,” he asks in a voice so soft, the voice he must use as a lure because tugs at your heartstrings immediately, makes you want to follow despite the threat this thing poses merely by existing, despite everything.

“It’s cold— I’ll get sick,” you murmur. “How did you even find me..?”

“I will keep you warm.” The question goes unanswered.

You find yourself stifled again as he lumbers towards you, brushing cold fingers across the side of your face. It’s not a mockery of a kiss you receive next but a firm bite where your neck meets shoulder, not yet hard enough to draw blood, but enough to make you shiver, to grip at the wall of muscle that makes up his chest.

There’s a desperation to his movements as he herds you towards the window, pushes you toward the path leading back to the river. You’re soaked to the bone in seconds, hardly able to keep your eyes open past the weight of dampened eyelashes. The rain is so heavy it feels as though every step is like the first you took into cursed water, your feet sinking into the mud along the path with each tentative stride. The realization that you’re there doesn’t even hit you until you’re chest-deep in the chill, violent waves pushing against you, each carrying the threat of toppling you over entirely.

The palm splayed out against your bare back keeps you upright, leading you to a smooth rock jutting out in the midst of what seems a sea of frothing white and blue. The sea above is just as dark, angry clouds roaring as you’re pressed down onto your back, shivering terribly.

He keeps his promise though, a tight grip on each thigh as he pries your legs apart, sinks in between them and blankets you from the rain. Even with the cold pressed to your back, you feel the warmth of a summer sun above you, scorching from inside, just as blazing as the look in his wild eyes. The last of any resolve slips when you’re pulled beneath the violent waves, a tangle of limbs and desperate kisses coaxing oxygen into your lungs. Each roll and pull no less tumultuous than the waves overhead. A placid end when the rain comes to an impromptu halt, just as he stills over you. Hands rush to cup your face with one final, desperate and biting kiss.

When the morning sun pulls you from sleep, cool moss against your back and the weight of his head resting over your middle, the shallow water lapping lazily at your figure, you find that you no longer fear drowning.

[buggygerm]

OH HEY...... hey guys......

[petite-phthora]

Hell yeah

[DP x DC fic]

[Love at first… murder? - part 17]

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Part 1

Ao3

---

Danny opens the door to see Red Hood on the other side. They smile and greet each other before Danny steps outside.

“What’s with the bags?” Red Hood asks, gesturing towards the bags Danny has with him.

“Well, this one,” He starts, holding one of the bags up, “is filled with the tp for the manor. While this one,” he holds up the other bag, “has to do with the second part of the date.”

“It’s a surprise for later, so no peeking!” Danny says, wagging his finger.

Red Hood holds up his arms in surrender and nods in response.

“Alright, I won’t peek.”

“Good.” Danny nods, satisfied with the answer.

“Though, would you like me to carry one of those?” Red Hood asks, pointing towards the bags.

Danny opens his mouth to respond but pauses, giving Red Hood a suspicious look.

“This isn’t some ploy to look inside the date bag, is it?”

Red Hood shakes his head in response.

“Nope. Just a genuine question on whether you want me to carry one of those bags or not. No ulterior motives.” He says, not sounding all too convincing.

Danny, who has his eyes still narrowed, gives in.

“Alright. But you carry this one.” He says, handing over the bag with the tp in it.

Red Hood takes it with a nod. They then start walking towards the entrance of the building. Once outside they head over to where Red Hood parked his motorcycle.

“Here, you can put the bags in the saddle bag,” Red Hood says, opening said saddle bag and putting the bag he was carrying inside it before gesturing for Danny to put the one he was carrying in.

After everything is secured and ready, they take off towards the manor.

Instead of going to the front of the manor with the gate, Red Hood takes a different route. They stop somewhere around the back of the manor, beside the stone wall surrounding the property.

Danny takes the bag with the tp with him, leaving the other at the motorcycle.

After looking over the wall to see that none of the manor’s residents are near, they go over it. Luckily for them, the wall isn’t too high and they climb and get down from it with ease.

They go over to the manor and once close enough they stop. Danny holds out the bag he brought between them and opens it up. He takes out some tp rolls and hands one over to Red Hood. They grin at each other.

“Let’s give this manor a little make-over”

“Hell yeah”

Those are the last words spoken between them before they start throwing the rolls at the manor.

---

Danny has another roll of toilet paper in his hand, preparing his next throw. Red Hood is next to him, helmet under his arm, having taken it off a while ago.

They’re both grinning at each other, Red Hood giving Danny a thumbs up in encouragement.

Both grins are quickly wiped off their faces when they hear a pointed ‘ahem’ from behind. Danny turns around startled, the toilet paper roll he was holding falling into the grass when he drops it.

Red Hood, who hadn’t jumped like Danny had, turns around curiously to look at who was interrupting their fun.

Behind them stands an older man with gray hair and a mustache. He’s dressed in an impeccable three-piece suit. He looks at them with a kind and open expression, as if they aren’t trespassers currently defiling the place he works/lives at.

“Good afternoon, Red Hood and guest. Would either of you care for some refreshments? The cookies are just about done.” The newcomer says.

Danny and Red Hood turn to look at each other. Danny gives him a questioning look. Red Hood just shrugs in response. They both turn back to the man in front of them and Danny speaks up.

“Hell yeah, we would love some cookies. If you don’t mind, sir…?”

“Alfred Pennyworth, I’m the Wayne family butler. And your name is?” Mr. Penny inquires as he starts leading them inside the manor and towards the kitchen.

“Danny Fenton at your service, Mr. Pennyworth,” Danny says, doing a silly little bow and almost tripping before he manages to right himself again with a sheepish grin.

“Please, call me Alfred, Mr. Fenton.”

“Only if you call me Danny.”

“Alright. Now, Mr. Danny, Red Hood, would either of you care for a cup of tea?”

---

Jason is looking at Danny and Alfred from a small distance as they are chatting over some cookies and tea. He has his arms crossed and a soft smile across his face.

He doesn’t jump when a voice coming from his right speaks up.

“New Brother?”

He turns to look beside him to see Cass curiously looking over in Danny’s direction. Jason gives her a slight scoff.

“That’s in-law, for you,” he pauses, the next word coming out a lot softer as he turns back to look at Danny who seems to be laughing at something, “hopefully…”

Cass nods in response.

“You’re happy?” She asks with a tilted head.

Jason nods seriously.

Cass smiles.

“Good. Then I’m happy.” She says before disappearing, leaving them be.

---

Behind Danny’s back, Jason catches Alfred’s eye and signs to him.

“I just remembered, the laundry should be done now. Please, excuse me.” Alfred says before leaving the room.

Once Alfred is out of sight Danny turns towards Jason, shoving the last bits of the cookie he was eating inside his mouth.

“So, you ready to get that autograph?” Jason asks him, holding out his hand towards Danny.

Danny glances over at the door Alfred just left through before looking back over at Jason and smiling at him.

“Hell yeah.” He says before taking Jason’s hand and using it to get up from his seat.

Without letting go of his hand, Jason starts leading Danny through the manor.

There’s no way they’d have been able to avoid all cameras in the manor, especially since they went inside with Alfred, so Jason doesn’t bother trying to be sneaky.

They already know of Danny anyway…

While they’re walking towards where Jason knows Tim’s room is, Danny looks curiously around the place.

“Say, how do you know your way around here so well?” He asks Jason.

“I’ve been around here a few times.” He replies casually.  “You don’t wanna know how many of their gala’s have been attacked or the amount of times the Wayne’s have been held hostage” He rolls his eyes. Jason stops walking.

“Alright, I’m pretty sure this is Mr. Drake-Wayne’s room,” Jason says, opening the door of one of the various rooms in the manor and stepping inside.

“Do I want to know how you’d know which rooms belong to which residents?”

“Probably not.”

“Alright, then I won’t ask,” Danny replies with an unconcerned shrug.

Danny looks around the room, inspecting it while taking care not to touch anything.

“Hmmm, do you think he’ll have any documents with his signature here? Or does he keep them all at that Wayne Tower thingy?

“Might’ve been a smarter idea to have gone there for something of use…” Danny says, muttering the last part more to himself than to Jason.

Jason shrugs in response, walking towards the desk.

“He probably has something lying around we could snatch. But if need be, I wouldn’t say no to breaking into the tower and getting the signature from there.”

“More breaking and entering, huh? Would that be another date?” Danny says before fake swooning. “How romantic” Danny grins, trying to ignore how warm his face feels.

Jason snorts at the bit. He then starts looking through the papers lying on the desk,  picking up one of the pieces of paper. He scans it, finding it to be some sort of agreement contract between Wayne Enterprises and some other tech company.

It didn’t seem too important and, knowing Tim, if it were he’d probably already have multiple copies and back-ups at another location.

Now that Jason’s thinking about it, this paper is most likely already a copy and not the original. So he feels no remorse handing it over to Danny.

“Here, check this out.” Jason points to the bottom of the document where Tim’s signature is located.

Danny takes the document from him, glancing over the signature with a smile.

“Alright! This is perfect, thanks Red!” He looks up from the document and beams at Jason, who makes a ‘don’t worry about it’ gesture.

Danny then puts the paper into his bag for safekeeping before speaking up again.

“Soooo… Wanna finish our tp project before ditching this place for the second part of the date?”

“Hell yeah,” Jason responds with a grin.

---

Taglist:

@i-always-say-yea @uraniumwizard @why-must-i-be-like-this @griffinthing @i23432i @imsotiredfanficlovertm @jaguarthecat @arkita-shadow @ilydana @jai-twin

[goodmorgan]

What’s your favorite Arthur smut(s) 👉👈 besides your own of course

Thank you for asking! 💖

Here are some of my recs:

Fics on Tumblr:

Out of Touch by @redemptionbaby

Neighborly Affection series by @verai-marcel

Seven Deadly Sins series by @twola

Loss of virginity by @amorgansgal

Fics on AO3:

The Debt by louderthanbombs

Desire of the Wolf by Talkin_to_a_Lady

The Scenic Route by crispywriter

Please be mindful of each fic's tags and enjoy! :)

[harmonictechnicality]

Eddie’s Memory Log: Day 72

part 1 here | part 2 here | part 3 here | part 4 here | part 5 here (ao3 link here)

Of course Steve is being realistic about this, he has no other choice. That’s not true - he has infinite choices, which is the shitty yet amazing part about being a human with freewill.

But he’s thoroughly convinced himself that he only has one choice: be cynically realistic. Pragmatic. Steve actually picked up a goddamn dictionary to figure out his feelings, and that’s the closest word he could find.

He’s gotta be pragmatic about Eddie’s memories. If he’s not, he’ll fucking dissolve into broken shards of hopefulness like last time. It'll all burst out like he’s pissed off, which is so unfair. 

But if he remains neutral, he won’t get hurt. Right?

However, the kissing and the touching and the sweet words are all way too good for Steve to be a complete cynic. Because god, he wants all of that with Eddie. Exclusively with Eddie. He wants to know how Eddie’s heart monitor will sound if he kisses that caved-in spot between his neck and his ear. He wants to know if it’ll speed up or skip tones if he squeezes Eddie’s thighs. His waist. His cheeks. 

Shit, Steve can’t stay pragmatic if he’s thinking about exploring Eddie like a lickable atlas. 

He clenches his fists into his steering, holds onto the forgotten days. How miserable those days felt. How they’ll feel even worse if he’s too optimistic.

Practical. Steve can do practical.

Eddie looks better than Steve remembers (which was fourteen fucking hours ago). Still. He’s pinker in his cheeks, in his nose too. His hair is combed out at the roots, still fuzzy and wild everywhere else. Almost like he gave up because the tangles were so bad.

He’s wearing one of the faded green hospital gowns today, the color of toothpaste. Steve likes it when he wears this one instead of the off-white ones. Those remind him of outdated nightgowns, the ones that porcelain china dolls wear.

Faded green is better. More life. Less death.

“Are you glued to the door or something?” Eddie says a few seconds after Steve turns the door shut. Still just standing there.

“No.” Steve doesn’t move.

Eddie’s brows lower, forehead creasing. “Gum stuck on your shoe?”

“No.”

“Wait, don't tell me - there’s a force field in this room, and only you can see it.” Eddie points directly at Steve, wagging his finger at him. Steve inspects all of his fingers on that hand, searching. 

No ring.

Steve’s ring isn’t there. Not on that hand, at least.

Eddie snaps twice. “Very Jean Grey of you, Stevie.”

Steve exhales, rearranges the hair on his forehead. He’s tapping over his jeans, thinking up a better way to go about this. Quickly decides there is no Better Way. All Ways suck.

“Munson...”

“Harrington…”

He still needs to see Eddie’s other hand, to look closer. Peer over the stupid bed covers and know for sure. “Just… give me a second.”

“You’re freaking me out, man.” 

“That hurts coming from you.” 

“As it should.” They both go quiet after that. 

It’s definitely Steve’s turn to take the conversational baton, but he can’t. He’s too focused on getting a good view of Eddie’s hand without moving too close. If he gets too close, Steve knows he’ll be tempted to push him into the bed, connect his mouth to Eddie’s and not stop until his lip muscles lose all mobility. 

Steve gets on his tippy toes, slanting his torso sideways to get a better view.

“What the hell are you looking at?” Eddie tosses up both of his hands. Steve lasers in on every goddamn finger.

“Nothing.” Steve says. The ring isn’t there. “It’s nothing.” 

Eddie isn’t wearing his class ring. That’s all there is to it. No reason to get analytical or quiz Eddie on his foggy memories. Steve has his answer in plain sight.

Eddie doesn’t remember.

This is why Steve needed to remain pragmatic, that stupid word he looked up in the event that something like this might happen. He’s still disappointed, still actively working to keep up his decent posture and pleasant disposition. 

Fortunately, the cynicism helped. His foundation isn’t fractured. His heart isn’t skydiving without a parachute.

Steve is as okay as he can be knowing that Eddie Munson forgot about kissing him.

His legs are no longer cement blocks. He’s able to move away from the door just a bit. Moving around actually helps with the disappointment, he’s not really sure why. Maybe it’s because his neurons or whatever have multiple tasks to perform, not just all obsessing over the same fucked up feeling. 

Who knows, at least Steve is taking steps. Metaphorical and literal ones.

“Hey.” Eddie says.

“What?”

Eddie tilts his head to the side, his eyes raking over Steve’s whole body. “You should lock the door.”

“Why?” 

Eddie shrugs. Steve catches a quick smirk before Eddie covers his mouth with his ringless hand.

“Why, Eddie?”

Eddie shrugs again, and has the fucking gall to laugh this time. He pulls out the guitar pick necklace that’s sitting underneath his hospital gown. Except the guitar pick is not the only charm hanging from the chain.

The ring.

Steve’s class ring has been added to it.

His legs are locked once again. Deadbolted to the floor. Magnetized. Frozen. Whatever comic book bullshit Eddie mentioned earlier.

He can’t move.

“If I remember correctly, you told me to wear it.” Eddie’s voice turns lemony-sweet. Almost biting. “You didn’t specify it needed to be on my hand.”

“You’re…” Steve is suddenly short of breath, seeing Eddie’s thumb glide over the metal of his ring.“You’re such an ass.” Christ, he doesn’t believe how gone he sounds when he says it. Even amongst Eddie pulling this trickster douchery nonsense, he’s still fucking weak for him.

“The door.” Eddie punches out each syllable. “Lock it.”

Steve fumbles, stupidly fumbles with the damn lock, takes centuries to get the shit to click properly. He can hear Eddie snickering, which sets him the fuck off. Steve’s suddenly next to the bed, resting one knee on the edge. Gets his hands wrapped up nicely in Eddie’s hair.

Steve can feel Eddie mouthing baby into the kiss, makes him press into it more. All he wants is to feel that one word heating up his lips, pulsing sound-waves against his mouth. Steve lets his hand travel down to Eddie’s chain, pulls once, causes Eddie’s mouth to fall open. Steve does it again to see if it’s a reflex or permission to kiss deeper, fuller.

Eddie hums, closes his mouth over Steve’s bottom lip, lets the vibrations rumble there. He grips around Steve’s hand, the one holding the necklace, and he squeezes them together. 

“You remember?” Steve’s words come out choppy. Split up between breaths and Eddie’s mouth over his own.

Eddie nods, can feel his eyelashes tickling Steve’s cheek. “All I could think about.”

“Me too.” Steve gives the necklace a tiny yank. Eddie’s hand jolts to Steve’s waist, more delicious reflexes that Steve wishes he could chew on.

Steve leans away from the kiss, dipping down to the necklace instead. At first, he just places his teeth on the chain, let’s his tongue feel the small grooves. 

But something possesses him to get weird. Let loose. So Steve sucks on both charms at once, makes too much sound, spit dribbling at the corners of his mouth. He’s fully testing the limits on Eddie’s accessory-based reflexes and it’s working so damn well.

Eddie gets a handful of Steve’s thigh, gives him a firm lift. It’s practically impossible to balance over the bed when Eddie does that maneuver. Steve starts toppling over, smushing Eddie’s face, not sexy at all.

“Cut it out.” Steve whispers, trying to get back up. Trying harder not to laugh.

Eddie groans. “Just get on top of me already.”

“You’re injured.”

“And you’re still not in my lap.”

They transition back to kissing, Eddie’s tongue flits around Steve’s gums. Steve can feel the flicks in his fucking core, deep in the middle, all warm flashes that make his muscles tense up. Like the nerves are connected, like Eddie could alert his whole body to gleam under his touch. 

If it weren’t for this horrid hospital layout, Steve would have Eddie all over him. Tangle them up in unholy ways. Pray mercilessly that no one ever finds a key to unlock the door. Goddamnit, this public respect thing is getting old.

“Can’t touch you how I want like this.” Eddie nestles into Steve’s neck, sucks on his skin till Steve’s head falls back. Steve already can tell that it’ll leave a mark from how sensitive it feels, raw and tingly. 

It only takes one more dig into his thigh for Steve to give up his Respectful Guy charade. Crawls into the bed, throws one leg over Eddie’s side, sinks down into the spot. Christ, he can feel how warm Eddie is from here, and it’s jostling up his mind. Steve can finally comprehend why every girl he’s ever hooked up with insists on making out like this. It’s a fucking recipe for sin.

“Shit, this is…” Steve claws his hands over Eddie’s chest, over the gown. Hopes he doesn’t undo any wires or bandages.

Eddie grins. “Different view?”

“Yeah.”

“You like?”

Steve gets lower, cages his arms around either side of Eddie. “Like the guy I’m looking down at.”

“Good answer.”

Kissing like this beats every other position that Steve’s horned-up mind can think of. It’s all muted moans and wet lips. Eddie’s still in his sweatpants from yesterday, thank every star in the sky for that. Steve can already feel how turned on he is, has to keep resisting the urge to hook his finger into Eddie’s waistband. Mess around with the fabric until Eddie whines.

“Steve.” 

Just like that.

Eddie keeps targeting the bruise he made. Nurses at the skin like he could make new colors if he sucks hard enough. Maybe teeth-marks, maybe speckled blues. Fuck, Steve wants both. More.

“Feels so fucking good.” It does, it really does. Steve can’t think about how dumb and slutty hickies are when it feels this good.

Eddie kisses over it, washes the sting away. “Like making you feel good.” 

Eddie is starting to smell less like hospital disinfectant and more like Steve. Like Steve’s bedroom and Steve’s shower gel. Like Steve’s laundry detergent and Steve’s car freshener. God, Steve wants to roll his hips just a little harder, tongue him a little deeper. Get his hands on every inch of Eddie until they smell unrecognizable from one another.

“Can I?” Eddie tugs on the hem of Steve’s sweater, eyes fully blown, lips naturally pouting from all the kissing. This is how he should always look, make a goddamn monument out of this adorably fucked-up expression.

“I’ve got it.” Steve straightens back up, peeling his sweater over his head, undershirt going with it. His hair is already tousled and ruined from Eddie combing through it so aggressively, he doesn’t even mind all the static making it worse.

Eddie’s devilish smile drops to a regular smile, then disappears altogether. His hooded eyes are now wide, unblinking. His hands go straight to Steve’s stomach, fingers splayed out completely.

“Holy fuck, Steve.” 

It takes longer for it to register than it should. Steve has royally screwed up. Majorly. Eddie starts skimming over all of Steve’s scars, the ones shaped exactly like his. 

Those distinct ones that Eddie doesn’t remember receiving. Believes whatever bullshit story the doctors told him when he woke up.

This is bad.

This is terribly bad.

Eddie’s hands fall, returning back to his side. His voice sounds flimsy. Small. “They’re just like mine.”

“Yeah.” Steve agrees. Cause what the fuck else would he do? “They are.”

“I wasn’t in a car crash… was I?”

A car crash? Real original, very creative for a group of people that spent a decade of their life training their brain muscles to be the size of the Titanic. Bravo, geniuses.

Steve just shakes his head. Doesn’t let his bitterness show too much, upset Eddie further.

“Fucking knew it.” Eddie deflates back into his pillows, slamming his fist over the side railing. The sound makes Steve’s shoulders jump, decides now would be a good time to un-straddle himself from Eddie. Sit in a chair like a non-horny person might do. 

“So whatever happened to me… it happened to you too?”

Steve can’t get the words out just yet, still giving Eddie non-verbal answers. Head nods, shoulder-shrugs, depressing looks away from his intense stares.

The room is way too quiet. Steve’s silence is stifling. Even the empty spaces feel crowded.

“Shit.” Eddie must feel it too. The mysterious claustrophobia brought on by full disclosure. “What… what happenedto us?”

Steve forces the words to come out this time. “You’ll never believe me.”

“Well you’re in luck. Cause even if I do believe you, I might not even remember.”

“That’s not funny.”

“Didn’t say it was.”

Steve hates this. Hates that he caused this by being careless. Hates that it’s his fault and he can’t blame it on anyone else. 

“Fine.” He shakes off the hatred because it’s stupid and it’s getting them nowhere. Just dead-end roads and abandoned streets. Steve gets somber instead. “The door stays locked.”

“Is it that bad?” Eddie asks, straightening himself up in the bed.

“It’s that bad.”

“Jesus christ.”

Yeah. Any explicit response is fitting for what Steve is about to attempt.

“Exactly.”

Steve is doing a shit job at explaining all this interdimensional monster fuckery. Having Dustin here as backup would’ve been handy, especially since he gets all the DnD references that seem to further confuse Eddie. 

Like… Eddie is taking all the references way too literally to how he uses them in his complicated board game - they have to pause every time a new term comes up. Has to elaborate that ‘no, it isn’t the same as those scarily intricate drawings in your guidebook. It’s just whatever the twerps came up with on that day.’

Honestly, Steve expects the subject matter to be the difficult part, not the skewed fantasy terminology. All the making out has shuffled Steve’s brain, made him forget how strange Eddie is.

He kinda likes it though. Hell, he’s fawning over the strangeness.

It’s been almost two hours, Steve can’t believe he’s gone over everything in such a short duration. Definitely missed some details, but whatever. Eddie gets the gist, that’s what matters.

“So…” Steve says.

“So…” Eddie copies.

“Thoughts?”

“I have them.”

Steve rolls his eyes, crosses his arms. “Do you think I’m bullshitting you on any of this?”

“If you were Mike Wheeler, maybe.” Eddie jokes. He jokes all the damn time, but Steve is fairly certain that this is one of those self-defense jokes. The side of his humor he wears as a shield. “I swear to god, that kid thinks up the craziest fucking scenarios. Almost scared to hand over the reins of Hellfire to a twisted mind like that.”

He takes a minute, snorts at his own commentary, then unwinds. Settling down.

“But you…” Eddie says, pointing at Steve, staring hard. “Well, I don’t exactly think Steve Harrington, Lord of Frenching, would be able to conjure up such reveries with your particular flavor of imagination.”

“That sounds like an insult.”

“Maybe.” Eddie says. “But if you were somehow both a total hottie and a total nerd, I’d be thoroughly wrecked.”

Steve perks up, twirls a finger into Eddie’s hair. “I’d like to see that.”

Eddie shoves him away, definitely giggling. “This is precisely what I mean! Trying to seduce me right after telling me there’s another world directly beneath our feet. You’re just…”

“Ridiculous?”

“Exceptional.”

How can Steve feel this flattered after explaining the most traumatic timeline of events? He’s blushing, the kind of blush that girls would sit in front of their mirrors to apply perfectly, apply evenly - Steve is doing that kind of blushing, just naturally. And yeah, he might have that effect on Eddie, but Eddie has the same effect on him.

They let the far-fetched truth resonate for a while. The silence is back gathering the space between them, but it’s less suffocating this time. It feels valid.

Eddie shifts his weight in the bed, looks at a scar on the inside of his arm. “So, I was almost a bat feast, huh?”

Steve touches the scar in response. Hopes Eddie understands the confirmation.

Eddie sighs. “Did anyone else… did we lose anyone?”

“Verdict is still out on that one.”

“Missing?”

“Coma.”

“Oh.” Eddie looks away. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.” Steve is sorry too. Should’ve been him.

“Someone I know?” 

“She was your neighbor, so probably.”

Eddie looks down at his lap, eyebrows knitted together. His go-to frustration face.

Right.

Eddie doesn’t remember where he lives.

“Her and Sinclair used to date.” Steve tells him. “He’s with her right now, actually.”

“She’s here?”

Steve sings an ‘mhmm’ through closed lips.

Thinking about Max never gets easier. She basically sacrificed herself and Steve just let her do it. He let a fucking child convince him that they had no other choice. Of course they had other choices. 

Infinite choices. The shitty yet amazing part about being a human with freewill.

It should’ve been him. That should’ve been the choice.

“Can we go visit with her?” Eddie interrupts Steve’s intrusive thoughts, probably for the best. “Would that be weird?”

Steve studies Eddie’s expression for a minute. It’s uneasy, distressed. Just plain sad. All of that is more than understandable. This is heavy shit. 

“Not weird.” Steve gets up. “Think it’d be pretty nice actually.”

Eddie waits outside Max’s door while Steve heads in first. Just checking to make sure Lucas is cool with them covering his shift for a little while. 

Steve gives a few taps over the door before peaking in. “Just me, Sinclair.”

“Good to see you, man.” Lucas looks up from his book. He’s been reading Max the whole The Dark Tower series to her since July. She has an undying love for Stephen King, they’re all pretty optimistic she can hear powerful words - and all of his are.

“Heya, Mayfield.” Steve lays a hand on her shoulder, rubs his thumb back and forth. “All the other losers at the skate park are gonna be so jealous of you. You’ll have the sickest scars there, no competition.”

“Steve.”

“What? She agrees.”

They all refuse to whisper around her or talk about her in the past tense. Like she’s not even there. Like she’s already gone.

She’s not. She’s in there somewhere, Steve just knows it. If Eddie can come back, so can she. Max is a goddamn powerhouse. 

“How’s Eddie doing?”

“He’s… you know.” Steve instinctively rubs the purplish-gray bruise on neck, face prickling up. “He’s good.”

The best, actually.

“Glad to hear it.”

“He’s here, by the way.” Steve sneaks that in there. “Wanted to visit with our girl, if that’s cool.”

Lucas does a double take. “Wait - he remembers?”

Surprise, surprise. Steve opens his big, fat (pretty) mouth for a second time today. “No, no… I told him.” Way to go, dumbass. 

“Steve!”

“Hey! He saw my scars.” Steve matches volume. “I had no choice!”

“How exactly did he see your scars?”

Damn damn damn. “That’s…not… never mind.” Steve is stumbling, the words are all scrunched together, total nonsense in his throat. “It’s sort of irrelevant now. He knows. And he’s here, so…”

Lucas sighs, gives Steve a good ol’ fashioned Eye Roll, and looks over towards Max. “Guess I should take a lunch break anyways. I’ll be back in a half hour.”

Steve nods, pulls a chair right up next to Max. She’s in better condition than she was after her last surgery. Less gaunt. Sure, there’s no major changes, but still. None of them are giving up on her. She’d kicked their asses in whatever afterlife that may exist.

Lucas drops a kiss into Max’s hair, whispers something in her ear. Steve does his best not to eavesdrop, doesn’t seem like it’s any of his business. Lucas gives Steve a pat on the back and sighs again. The two of them are in this place the most, Steve completely relates to how draining the atmosphere can be. Exasperation is so warranted.

“Send Eddie in on your way out.” Steve says.

“Will do.”

Lucas and Eddie chat outside for a while, so Steve takes the opportunity to catch up with Max, keeps his hand on her forearm the whole time. He tells her about Eddie, how he likes him. Really likes him. Knows she wouldn’t give a shit about something like that, about liking guys. She’d probably make fun of him for making a lame ass mixtape though. So he tells her about that too - lets her imagine how nauseating he can get when he crushes this hard on someone.

He tells her that everyone misses her, Mike included, even if he’d never say it out loud.

“He’s always buying new stickers for your casts.” Steve says it like it’s the juiciest gossip. “Tries to convince us that Lucas asked him to. The kid’s a shitty liar though, but you already know that.”

Her heart monitor is nothing like Eddie’s. It’s a dull pattern, never changing. There’s no ballad or pop song fragments. No song at all. 

Steve tries not to dwell on how much that hurts, leaves splinters in his chest.

The door squeaks and Eddie slides in. He seems kind of nervous, anxious maybe. But he meets Steve’s reassuring gaze and lets go. Smiles. All the splinters in Steve’s chest turn into petals. He loves how happy he can make Eddie, just by looking at him. That feels genuine and rare. Veryrare.

Steve signals his head towards Max, needs Eddie to greet her properly. Present tense, no whispers.

Eddie looks back at Max, takes two steps forward. “Um…”

“Something wrong?”

“Remember when I told you I have crazy, vivid dreams?”

“Yeah?”

“Well…” Eddie scratches the top of his head. Looks at Steve in disbelief. “She’s in almost all of them.”

Shit. “Are you serious?”

“Little Miss Charlie McGee.” Eddie sings, arms waving toward her. “In the flesh.”

Steve’s voice goes flat. “That’s not her name.”

“Be cool, babe. She gets the reference.”

Eddie quickly picks up on their Max Etiquette. He approaches her like they’re old friends, shows off his visible battle scars, makes her feel included. Steve is captivated by Eddie’s ease, his summery energy he develops with her.

“So you two talk?”

Eddie waves him off. “I talk. She just…”

“Right.” Steve assumes the answers. Finally wraps his head around what Eddie is telling him, that he dreams about Max, often. “Still - this is huge. Like… this is a big fucking deal!”

“Mellow your vibes, please.”

“Says the most un-mellow person I know.”

Eddie shushes him, gives his full attention to Max. “We gotta get you out here, McGee. If I had known you weren’t just my little dream angel, I would’ve busted you out of this joint months ago.”

He’s so fucking great with her, so normal about all of this. Within a few hours, Steve has turned Eddie’s perspective on life inside-out, yet he’s still so attentive. Totally adopting Steve’s patience and gladly offering to Max, the person who needs it most right now.

Steve steals a quick kiss onto Eddie’s cheek, sort of misses and pecks his chin instead.

Eddie bites his lip, scolds Steve halfheartedly. “No kissing in front of Little Red.”

Max would definitely deck him for calling her little.

Steve kisses Eddie’s cheek again, doesn’t miss this time. “Just… really like you.”

“Like you too, Stevie. Could bake you into a pie, save you for dessert.”

“Barf.”

“Uh huh - get used to it.” Eddie hugs Steve from behind, sways them back and forth like a cheesy prom dance. “It’s gonna get so much worse. Red is probably so sick of me yapping her ear off about you.” 

Steve twists his neck around to look at Eddie. “So… she knows?”

Eddie nods, scratches the back of his neck. “I don’t ever shut up about you.”

“Could’ve ended the sentence with I don’t ever shut up, and it would still be accurate.” 

“Feisty.”

Steve looks towards Max. He smiles, thinks about how she’d tell them they’re both total dipshits before doing a kickass flip on her skateboard. “She brings out the best in me.”

They fill Lucas in on the fact that Eddie dreams about Max almost every night. Of course, Lucas wants as many details as Eddie’s mangled mind can give him.

The dreams are simple: a dark room, almost pitch black. Max is sitting cross-legged in the center, staring directly at Eddie. She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t stand up either. But if Eddie talks, she’ll non-verbally respond in some type of way.

For instance, Eddie says he told her his top five favorite movies of all time. She stared at him blankly until he got to number four: Firestarter. She smiled. He says it was brief, but it was the first time he discovered that she was listening to him. Understanding him.

“Hence the name -“

“Charlie McGee.” Lucas chuckles, getting the reference. Steve doesn’t - pretty sure he was necking Sydney Sawyer for the whole duration of that film.

They’re all sitting in the stairwell outside of Max’s room. No point in discussing this in there, upsetting her with their schemes and impractical theories. No one has concrete answers, not even the doctors. Why should three losers be an exception to this?

Pointless as it may be, they continue to brainstorm. 

“Any new Kate Bush albums?” Steve asks.

Lucas shuffles back and forth. “We have the stereo playing all the time in there. I think that would’ve woken her up months ago if it were that easy.”

There’s another long pause. A few sighs ripple out, echo.

“Eddie?” Lucas says.

“Yeah?”

“Remember that character you came up with in your last campaign?” Lucas’ energy changes, fills the corridor they’re standing in.

Eddie’s mouth opens, then shuts. 

Steve has to tackle back the urge to remind Lucas that Eddie struggles with recent memories like that. He’s an expert on All Things Eddie, but that’s not exactly something he should flaunt right now. Steve knows how to read the room for christ’s sake.

Lucas faces Eddie, seems determined. “Come on, man. It was so badass.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

“The oracle’s assistant…” Lucas nudges eagerly. “Ring any bells?”

Eddie sheepishly looks away, looks at Steve for support maybe. He should know better, Steve isn’t going to be helpful with nerd shit. But Steve elbows Eddie’s side, gives him a weak smile. Just a subtle bit of encouragement.

They both glance over to Lucas who is deep in the thought, mumbling to himself.

“They relinquish all their autonomy while the sun hangs in the sky…” Lucas recites. Steve thinks he’s imitating Eddie’s narrator voice. It’s not too bad, actually. “But when darkness falls and their eyes grow heavy with sleep…”

“The lowly assistant governs the slumber of their ruler.” Eddie finishes the phrase with a wolfish grin. “Sinclair, you’re a certified genius!”

“You came up with it.” Lucas pats Eddie's shoulder, grinning just as wide. “Do you think it’ll work?”

“It’s worth a shot.”

“Do you even know how to -”

“Not really.” Eddie squints, contemplating. “But how hard can it be?”

“Dunno. Never tried it.”

Steve finally cuts into their little exchange. “Would either of you care to translate your dweeb-ology to me?”

Both Lucas and Eddie stop murmuring to each other and gawk at Steve. They’re not laughing at him, not yet at least. More so, they’re staring as if they somehow forgot Steve was even there. Like their board game bullshit sucked them onto their own nerdy planet, far from Earth.

Eddie places a hand on Steve’s cheek, still wearing that performance smile he gets when his fantasy lingo takes hold of him. Steve is fully aware that it doesn’t look sexy, the way Eddie does it, but his breath still gets caught in his chest at the contact. 

“My dear, sweet Stevie.” Eddie sings, sounds sinister. He playfully smacks Steve’s cheek a few times before removing his hand. “Have you ever of a lucid dream?”

Steve scrunches his nose. “Sounds gross.”

Eddie: Nope - your mind is just filthy.

Steve: Least my mind works…

Eddie: For a harlot, sure.

Steve: A what?

Eddie: Nothing.

They’re about to continue their bickering when Lucas clears his throat. Gives each of them a disturbed expression. “You two sound like my parents.”

Steve and Eddie both gag at the implication, denying any resemblance to fucking grownups. No way. They may not be in high school anymore, but they’re definitely not adults. They’re both trapped in that state of maturity limbo, where age is merely a suggestion, not a law. Sort of like Steve with speed limit signs.

“Whatever.” Lucas heads for the door. “I’ll go keep Max company while you fill Steve in on the plan.”

“You got it, Sinclair.” Eddie gives Lucas a stern salute as he leaves the stairwell.

As soon as the door shuts, Steve's hands are all over Eddie. Pulling the drawstring of sweatpants closer to him, curling his fingers at the back of his neck. He can hear Eddie make a surprised noise, but doesn’t dwell on it. Just presses him into the wall, kisses him hard. Steve tries to kiss quietly, minimal lip smacking, but Eddie heaves into his mouth and Steve loses all of his control.

“Distracted?” 

Steve mumbles something like, ‘so hot,’ but his lips can only do so many tasks at once. Right now, he’s way too preoccupied with running his tongue over the ridges of Eddie’s teeth, tempting him to bare down. 

Eddie gives into the temptation too easily, grazes his front teeth over Steve’s tongue, Steve’s bottom lip, Steve’s jaw. Goddamnit, the dull pricks of teeth turn Steve’s insides into custard. So fucking decadent and absolute mush.

“Was it my Dungeon Master voice?” Eddie sneers, pulling down the collar on Steve’s shirt to lick over the bruise he placed there earlier today. “Did that get you all horned up for me?”

“Do you ever stop talking?” Which is a backwards way of saying yes. One thousand percent yes. Fucking christ, who knew Eddie’s gravelly narrator voice would be borderline audio porn for Steve?

Eddie swirls over the bruise again, then leans back into a slobbery open-mouthed kiss, real messy and wet. His hands slip into Steve’s jean back pockets, cupping his ass, makes his knees lock.

“Wish you weren’t in such a bulky material, darling boy.” Eddie uses that voice. His nails dig into the scratchy fabric, so many dirty noises bouncing off the walls. Eddie isn’t even asking Steve to take off his clothes, but he doesn’t have to. The voice, the desires, it’s all there. All heavy and whirling in Steve’s mind.

“Oh okay fuck,” Steve’s words all sound whimpery now, almost depraved. He sinks into one more kiss. Makes it last, makes it sting. Finds the willpower to create a non-ass-cupping distance between them. 

Eddie wipes his mouth with the back in his hand and smirks. He tilts his head up at Steve’s hair, which Steve already knows is proabably fucked up. He’s always teetering on a stylized sex hair look, so it’s gotta be wet dream worthy right now. Steve smooths out the sides, minimal effort to look presentable, and Eddie just spectates. Enjoys the show that is Rattled Steve Harrington.

“You’ve got a freaky side.” Eddie says, way too vile. 

Steve keeps flattening out strands on his head, ignoring the heat settling into his cheeks. Ignoring Eddie’s comment too. “Just tell me about the gross dream thing.”

“Fine.” Eddie plops down on the top step of the stairs. “Take a seat, fellow freak.”

Turns out, it’s not gross at all. It’s actually kind of cool. Really cool.

From Steve’s understanding (and Eddie’s elaborate explanation), lucid dreams are kind of like directed dreams. Like the individual who’s experiencing them can actually decide their own actions. Change outcomes and shit. If Steve had known that was an actual ability, he would’ve done things a lot differently in that dream he had about getting snowed in at the Playboy Mansion.

Okay… maybe Steve is the one that’s making it gross.

“So, you’re gonna lucid dream tonight?”

“I’m gonna try. Try being the keyword because I don’t think it’ll be that easy.”

“Sam will be back on Monday.” Steve reminds him. “We could see if she knows anything about it.”

Eddie clicks his teeth, nodding along. “That’s not a bad idea, Harrington. That woman is a wealth of knowledge.”

“If she runs for president, I’m endorsing the shit out of her.”

“Oh, absolutely.”

They head back to Eddie’s room, writing down anything that seems helpful or significant to their plan. Steve leaves a bit early to beat traffic. It’s not ideal, he’d rather stay the night. 

Leaving Eddie is tough, gets tougher every time. Steve makes him put the ring back in the drawer, just in case he forgets. Can’t take any chances.

“How could I ever?” Eddie circles his thumb around Steve’s palm. Traces small shapes into his skin.

Steve shrugs. “Just to be safe.”

“Okay.”

“But… don’t.” The word forget stays unsaid. It already holds too much power amongst them. No reason to give it more fuel, more gravity.

Eddie brings Steve’s palm up to his lips, kisses away all the invisible patterns he put there. “I won’t.”

It’s not a promise, they know better than to promise things that are radio static. Fuzzy and unclear. Mental fog. Even so, Steve lets those two words fuse his broken expectations back together.

Just until morning.

That’s all he needs.

Day 73:

The phone is ringing. It’s four in the fucking morning and the phone is ringing.

Steve decides after the third time that he’s not answering - out of spite.

But then it rings two more times and he cracks. Swears every curse word he knows walking over to the phone, invents some new ones too. His eyes still refuse to open, he’s blindly picking it up off the hook.

“Who is it?” He whisper-yells. That’s the only volume his voice has at four in the fucking morning.

There’s an obnoxious kissy sound coming through on the speaker. 

“Damnit, Munson.”

“Don’t be rude, you love it when I tease.”

“I don’t love anything at four in the morning except the inside of my eyelids.”

“Ouchie.” He can tell Eddie is pouting into the speaker. Can practically hear his lips pushing out, being a real dick about it.

Steve yawns. “Is this important? Did the dream thing work”

“Wouldn’t know. Can’t sleep.”

“And how am I supposed to help?” Steve gets to be a dick too if he has to form coherent thoughts at four in the fucking morning.

“Bedtime story? Lullaby? Dirty limerick?” Eddie suggests, sounds totally wired. “I’m not picky.”

Ugh. Steve is such a pushover in general. But for Eddie Munson? He’s a lovesick fool. “I can stay on the phone and you can listen to me snore. Final offer.”

“Sure, I’ll take it.” He hears Eddie clapping. “But at least tell me what you’re wearing.”

“You’re joking.”

“Most of the time, yes. I am.” Eddie says. He waits for an answer that he does not receive because fuck, why would Steve talk dirty right now? Eddie fake-coughs into the speaker, puts on the most pathetic voice. “Just give a dying man some x-rated visuals and I’ll shut up.”

“Good god, you’re not dying.”

Now Eddie is fake-crying because of course he is. Such a drama queen. As soon as they get his memory back, Steve is getting him a goddamn talent agent. Let him win a few awards for his untimely performances.

“Red pajamas bottoms.” Steve gives in. Classic pushover style. 

“No shirt?”

“No.”

“Fuck.”

Steve laughs, can’t help it. “Thought you said you’d be quiet now.”

“It was an involuntary fuck, I promise.”

“Whatever you say, babe.”

He falls asleep hearing Eddie hum the last track on his mixtape that he made for him. The one that’s always at the top of his stack.

There’s no visual torture from Eddie today. The necklace is in plain sight, Steve’s class ring sitting directly over top of Eddie's guitar pick. No need to make assumptions or compose his cauldron of feelings. 

Nope. Eddie remembers. Eddie likes him and didn’t forget. Steve could toss the binder of progress into the dumpster, let it live out the rest of its days in a goddamn landfill for all he cares.

He’s not gonna do that though because he’s nowhere near Eddie Munson on the Dramatics Scale.

They spend the early part of the afternoon working through questions that Eddie can try to ask Max in his dream. It keeps them busy while they wait for Sam to arrive on her shift. Steve picked up quite a few packets of gum at the gas station - both to sweeten their request and replenish her supply.

Eddie is pretty exhausted from not sleeping much during the night. Anytime Steve fiddles with the mismatched necklace charms, Eddie answers him with languid, plush kisses. The slowest, most mindless kind - the type of kisses that makes Steve feel as if they’ve been kissing each other for years, not days.

“You’re scrumptious.” Eddie praises, his tone is all tipsy from the affection.

“You’re heavily medicated.” 

They’re pretty disgusting today, probably from all the happiness that breeds gross shit. Steve is whirling strands of Eddie’s hair, watching it stay curled. Eddie is tickling Steve in inappropriate areas. A fuckton of tongue-kissing.

So gross.

“Stay tonight?” Eddie says randomly.

Steve uncurls Eddie’s hair from his finger, thinking over the request. “What if I mess up the lucid dream process?”

“Sweetheart, you are a mess repellant. You dust away all the bad shit and make things shiny and clear.”

“Can’t clean your messy memories though.” Steve points out.

Eddie purses his lips. “Yeah well, that’s asking for a miracle.”

“I guess so.”

“I know so.”

“You and Max deserve miracle-level results though.”

“See what I mean?” Eddie peppers kisses into Steve’s hair. “Scrumptious.”

Unlike Steve, Sam is a miracle worker. Anytime there’s a lull in her shift, she sits with the two of them, discussing the mechanics of lucid dreaming. Tells them how she did sleep studies during her last two semesters of college.

“Lucky for you, some of the medications you’re on, calm your mind to begin with.” Sam explains. “That helps with your long term memories, but it also eases your mind in general - sleep included.”

“Like a muscle relaxer for his brain?” Steve chimes in.

“Essentially.” Sam says. “This should make the lucid dream process fairly easy for you. Your mind is already open to new perceptions.”

“I do sometimes feel like I’m steering the actions in these dreams.” Eddie agrees. “It sort of feels second nature to me.”

That checks out. Steve grabs the binder, shows Sam a few notes he took on the first day:

‘It doesn’t take long, sleep seems more natural to Eddie right now than being awake.’

She scans over the words a few more times before speaking again. “You’d be surprised. A lot of head trauma patients that take a cocktail of treatments say the same exact thing. They describe it as the dream world being easier to navigate than the waking world. Less pressure to meet societal standards.”

Sam gives a few more tips while she goes through Eddie’s nighttime medication routine. Most of them have to do with Eddie checking in with his surroundings, noticing differences or passage of time, things like that. They could potentially wake him up during his REM cycle, but she sort of doubts that they’ll need to do that. Her assurance seems to rub off on Eddie. Steve is fucking grateful for that.

“Should I leave?” Steve gets up, noticing the time. Visiting hours are about to end. “I mean… Will I be a distraction?”

Sam doesn’t look up from her chart, just motions towards Eddie. “Does Steve bring you comfort or stress?”

“Comfort.” Eddie answers fast, noticeably red. “Definitely comfort.”

She clicks her pen, looks up at Steve, and smiles. “Then he can stay.”

Eddie spends over an hour constructing a solid argument as to why Steve should sleep in the hospital bed with him. He even includes a thesis statement and a variety of credible sources (if one considers Nightmare on Elm Street to be a credible source). 

“What if a doctor walks in and sees two dudes cuddling like teddy bears? What the hell do we say?”

“We tell them it’s for science. Duh.” Eddie folds the blanket back, pats the spot next to him. “Besides, they’re fucking surgeons, Stevie. I’m sure they’ve seen weirder shit.”

“Valid point.”

After an excessive amount of maneuvering and soft-pretzeling their limbs together, Steve is in Eddie’s hospital bed, under the covers. He places a few chaste kisses onto the back of Eddie’s neck before sinking into the cushion of their shared-pillow.

“Hey, Steve.”

“Yeah?”

“Did you ever think this would happen?”

“Did I ever think I would be spooning a guy with a memory-deficient brain and plotting a way to wake up a girl who survived an unsurvivable death?” Steve squeezes the two of them together. Lets the rhetoric of his question oscillate along with the shitty fan in the corner of the room. He can feel Eddie laughing against his chest and it makes him squeeze harder. “Yes. This is exactly where I thought my life would take me. Thank you for asking.”

“Smartassery and pillowtalk.” Eddie smacks Steve’s hand that’s wrapped around his stomach. “I’m a lucky guy.”

Steve thinks he’s the lucky one. He’s earned the trust of someone that has every reason to resent the whole world. He has a second chance to get to know someone that shouldn’t even be alive. Steve is the luckiest idiot in this dimension and every fuckstorm alternate dimension that may exist out there.

The beeps on Eddie’s heart monitor are slowing down. Steve knows what that means, it’s his second most fluent language these days. Eddie is drifting off, almost asleep.

“Bout gone?” Steve keeps his voice hushed, barely audible. 

Eddie hums a grumply, ‘mhmm’ and moves Steve’s hand over his heart. No need to listen to the monitor now. 

This is it. This is their chance to make a difference, reverse the injustice. Be heroes.

“Go find our girl, Munson.”

“You got it, babe.”

Day 74:

This is the best night of sleep Steve has had since… well, since that reality-shattering night back in 1983. Nancy Wheeler cocking a gun at a goddamn creature and spitting in the face of cowardice. Sleep hasn’t been the same since then.

So to sleep throughout the whole night, not jolting awake, not once. That’s an outright win for Steve fucking Harrington.

Eddie sleeps longer, more soundly too. That’s nothing new, he always sleeps like this - since day one of the memory log that Steve started keeping, but stopped needing. Stopped relying on it. 

His brain has made extra space, exclusive storage, just for Eddie. It’s weird to reflect on, but that’s a common thing Steve has done when he falls for someone. He automatically creates a penthouse for all of their quirks and isms to reside comfortably in. Live luxuriously inside his fucked-up head.

It’s around eight in the morning by the time Eddie starts stirring, scooting in closer to Steve’s touch. Fucking hell, it makes he feel wanted. Important. 

Eddie slowly flips around to face Steve, twisting himself up in all his tubes. Doesn’t matter. Steve is certain that Eddie knows by now that he will untangle him without making it weird - no arm scribbles necessary. They’re beyond that.

“Morning, demonic tinker bell.”

“I remember that.” Eddie is still groggy. “I remember you.”

It’ll never get old hearing him say that. “Would’ve been so fucking awkward if you didn’t.”

Steve’s lips are all chapped from sleeping with his mouth open, but he kisses Eddie anyways. Honestly, Eddie doesn’t seem to care. Might be too sleepy to notice.

He’s lost a lot of weight, being on a hospital diet and throwing up all the damn time. Even so, Eddie looks doughy and sweet in the morning. Steve wants to squish his drowsy little face, smush his nose, honk it like a car horn.

They kiss a little longer before the anticipation becomes too much. Steve has to know what happened in Eddie’s dream. “So… any luck?” 

“Are you a gambling man?” Eddie asks through a yawn. “Cause if so, then yeah.”

“Holy shit, really?” Steve starts shaking Eddie’s shoulder. “Did she tell you what might help wake her up?”

“She didn’t speak, but she was holding something this time.” 

“Holding what?”

“Think it was Corduroy.”

“The material?”

“The bear. You know, the children’s book?”

No, Steve doesn’t know that children’s book. While most of the kid's parents were reading Little Golden Books, Steve’s nanny was reading him excerpts from her murder-mystery novels. Although, his dad did occasionally hand Steve the comics out of the morning newspaper. Whenever he was around, that is.

“I asked if the bear was hers and if she still has it.” Eddie pokes Steve’s cheek. “And she nodded yes to both. That’s a start, right?”

“Definitely a start. It’s gotta be.” Steve sits up in the bed, stretches and cracks every fucking bone in his back. “I’ll go grab us some coffee and fill Lucas in once he gets here.”

Eddie gives him a thumbs-up, reaches onto the desk for his walkman. Steve’s walkman.

Nah. Who is he kidding? He’d put a goddamn bow on it. He’d let Eddie keep it forever.

It’s Eddie’s walkman now.

Lucas heads to Eddie’s room once he arrives. They drink their coffees while Eddie fills him in on the dream updates. It’s nice to see Lucas all perked-up again, he’s been pretty dejected for several months now. Even if they’re just clinging to scraps of hope, it’s better than grasping at maybes and question marks. That’s all they’ve been doing up until now.

“I’ve seen it.” Lucas says. “Green overalls? Ripped arm that’s missing all of its stuffing?”

Eddie hums into his coffee cup. “Looks like she sewed it back together with yellow threads?”

“That’s the one.” Lucas confirms. “It’s in her bedroom - she keeps it in a box of stuff from her grandma.”

He fills Steve and Eddie in about her grandma, how she took Max in during the worst part of her parent’s separation. Whenever the fights were unbearable, she’d take Max to the park for some fresh air. Lucas says he’s pretty sure that she bought Max her first skateboard. The bear must be a gift from her too, must be pretty meaningful.

“Do you think you can get it?” Steve wonders, looking towards Lucas.

“For sure, I’ll drop by tonight after I leave.”

“Wait.” Eddie interrupts their order of business, wildly waving his hand. “When is McGee’s birthday?”

“November 6th.” Lucas answers.

Steve checks the weekly calendar on the wall, the one used to track Eddie’s medical schedule. “That’s three days from today.”

“Do it then.” Eddie demands. 

“Why?” Steve and Lucas say it at the same time. 

“The song.” Eddie begins to hum the tune of happy birthday, conducting himself along with his index finger. “It was very quiet, but I heard it during the whole entire dream.”

Lucas has a skeptical look on his face. “So, you think we should… wait?”

“It’s a gut feeling.”

Lucas huffs, seems apprehensive about this idea. He’s been incredibly patient, more patient than Steve on his best days. But even the most tolerant individuals have boiling points. This might be his.

So Steve tries to intervene, uses his coach voice for good measure. “If Eddie says wait, then we wait.”

And that’s exactly what they do. 

They wait.

Day 76:

It’s the day before Max’s birthday. Steve hasn’t really left the hospital since Monday, too busy checking in on her and keeping Eddie stress-free, just in case he needs to lucid dream again. They’re doing that Inseparable Thing - that obnoxious clingy shit that lovesick people do. Is that what Steve’s experiencing? Lovesickness? Ugh, he needs to ask Sam if she can write a prescription for him - get the gooey feelings under control or whatever.

Lucas arrives with a box, probably the one he mentioned to them a couple days ago. Carefully, he pulls out a raggedy teddy bear.

“That’s the one!” Eddie almost chokes on his potato soup from the excitement. “That’s the bear from the dream!”

“It’s… falling apart.” Steve makes an unpleasant face.

“It’s well loved.” Lucas corrects him. “Clearly, this means a lot to Max.”

Steve gets up, starts pacing the room with a pestering thought. “Remember what El told us? About happy memories being stronger than the hateful ones?”

“George Lucas would eat that shit up.” Eddie replies.The name sounds familiar, but Steve doesn’t catch on. “I mean, come on. That’s very Dark Side versus The Force.”

Lucas high-fives Eddie. “Dude, you’re so right.”

“This is a Star Wars thing, right?” 

They both look at Steve like he just murdered their silly little nerd vibes.

“I’m gonna pretend like he just didn’t refer to Star Wars as a thing.” Eddie shudders. Lucas joins him the theatrics.

Steve rolls his eyes, recalls Eddie’s reaction to his dice collection. “Let me guess: it’s not a thing, Star Wars is phenomenon.”

“Pretty boy catches on fast.” Eddie winks, gives Steve a dark look that makes him think they’re gonna be up to some fairly vulgar stuff later.

“Steve might be onto something…” Lucas admits. Honestly, why is it so hard for people to admit that Steve has good ideas sometimes? “Maybe what she used against Vecna the first time wasn’t her happiest memory.” 

Steve studies the bear, examines its matted fur and the questionable stains on its overalls. Max must’ve had this for a long time, considering all the wear and tear. “Maybe this is connected to her happiest memory.”

Lucas nods. “She probably repressed a lot of her childhood, there was too much crazy bullshit going on with her family splitting up.” 

Eddie sighs, they both look up at his thoughtful expression. Deep, comtemplative eyes. “I bet some of her good memories may have been shoved aside with all of the bad memories she tries to avoid.” 

Of course Eddie can relate to memories getting shoved aside, hidden away whether he likes it or not. There’s pieces to this scenario that each one of them can link to their own past. It’s not surprising, but then again, not much surprises Steve anymore. 

He learned early on with all of this monster fuckery that the phrase common ground, gained its notoriety for a reason. It’s much more common than anyone thinks. Finding it, even amongst a group of clashing personalities, is easy. 

Common.

Lucas hides in Eddie’s room in order to stay past visiting hours. They plan on taking the back stairs to sneak into Max’s room just before midnight. Eddie suggests that just Steve and Lucas go - he doesn’t want anyone getting suspicious if he’s not in his bed.

Steve offers to stay with him, but Eddie is insistent. Stubborn. “You’ve gotta help Sinclair. Make sure he doesn’t royally fuck things up.”

They both know that’s bullshit. Out of the two of them, Steve is the fucker-upper. “What if you need help?”

“I’ve got Sam.” Eddie reminds him, places a quick kiss over Steve’s wrist. “And besides, I’ll just be sleeping. Nighttime meds usually knock me out cold.”

“Usually.”

“I’ll be fine, sweetheart.” Eddie speaks in the kindest register Steve has ever heard from him. It’s really nice. “I’ll be here when you get back.”

There’s an unwanted fear taking over Steve’s mind right now. A selfish fear.

“Remember me. Okay, Eddie?”

Eddie’s kind register doesn’t waver. “Okay, Steve.”

It’s almost midnight. Steve places the stuffed bear in the crook of Max’s right arm. Lucas slings her arm over it, keeping it secure. Eddie told them that’s the arm she holds it with in his dreams. Might as well be as accurate as possible with this.

They keep the conversation light while they wait for the clock to strike twelve. Little topics like how uncharacteristically warm it is for November and how no one has been able to conquer her Dig Dug high score at the arcade. Things like that.

“It’s almost showtime, Mayfield.” Steve leans in two minutes before midnight.

Lucas laughs, stroking her shoulder. “Still annoying that you’re older than me.”

“Oh, it shows.” Steve teases. “She’s more mature than both of us combined.”

“And she never lets us forget that either.”

“Never.”

Day 77:

The clock alerts them that it’s midnight. Both of them are holding their breath, staring hard down at Max. Watching. Waiting. Wishing for change.

A few minutes go by, but nothing happens. No difference whatsoever.

“Maybe it’ll take awhile.” Lucas says. Hope trembling in his voice.

Steve gives a half-smile. “Yeah. That could be it.”

An hour goes by.

And then another one.

By three, Steve stands up. Mainly to keep himself from falling asleep, but also, to give his nerves something to do.

“Witching hour.” Lucas states blankly. As if Steve is just supposed to know what the hell that is. Steve peers over and sees that Lucas isn’t talking to him. He’s talking to Max. “You love witching hour.”

“Is that right?”

Lucas nods. “She says it’s that time of night where her mind is most clear. Which I always found equally bizarre and cute.”

Steve chuckles, sits back down. “Why is that?”

“Witching hour is said to be the hour where ghosts and demons are most likely to… materialize.”

“Materialize?”

“Show themselves.”

The phone next to Max’s desk starts ringing as soon as those words leave Lucas’ mouth. Both of them jump in their seats, Steve’s pretty sure he mumbles something explicit and incoherent.

He picks it up so that Lucas doesn’t have to let go of Max’s hand. “Hello?”

“Just me.”

Steve sighs at the familiar voice. “Speaking of demons…”

Lucas whispers, ‘is it Eddie?’ And Steve nods, laughing a bit at the impeccable timing.

“Can’t keep your mind off me, huh?”

“Something like that.” Steve replies. “Is everything okay?”

“I saw something.” Eddie whispers. “Well, I heard something. She’s not up yet… is she?”

“Not yet, no.”

“You know the happy birthday tune I’ve been hearing?”

“Yeah?”

“It was louder tonight, more distinct.” Eddie states. “So I walked closer to Max, and it got even louder.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know, man but I think… I think the song is inside the bear.”

Steve looks at the toy, tries to connect the dots. Not doing such a swell job. “You mean like a voice box or something?”

“Something like that, yeah.” Eddie yawns, the medicines must have really done him in tonight. “Just test out the theory and give me a call back, yeah?”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Good luck.”

“Sweet dreams.”

And the line clicks dead.

“What did he say?” Lucas jumps up, adrenaline must be kicking back in.

Steve heads toward Max’s bedside. “He thinks that song is coming from inside the bear. Does it have a button or anything?”

They carefully inspect the bear, without moving it from Max’s hold. Neither one of them notice anything resembling a button or a pull-string. Steve takes a step back, while Lucas continues to search. 

Before they left tonight, the position she needed to be in seemed weirdly important to Eddie. He made a big fuss about it, rambled for quite a long time:

‘It’s wrapped under her right arm, every damn time. Other things change, like her clothes or her hairstyle, but never her position. Always hugging that damn bear like it’s her long lost twin.’

“Hey, Sinclair. I might know what you can try.”

“I’m listening.”

Steve hopes this doesn’t come across stupid but… “I think you need to hug Max.” Okay. It sounds a little stupid, for sure. He tries to elaborate. “Well… hug Max and the bear. Eddie said she's always hugging it - that must be what’s making the song play.”

Steve bends down, pushes the green overalls to the side, just to check.

“No fucking way.” Lucas gasps, looking over Steve’s shoulder.

There it is. Right in the middle of the bear’s body, lays a red heart sticker. There’s words printed on it, but most of the lettering has faded away. Steve squints and thinks it might have said something like ‘press here.’ No way to know for sure though.

“Go ahead, Sinclair.” Steve motions for Lucas to take his place. “Hug the birthday girl.”

Lucas gulps, slowly switching spots with Steve. He glances back one more time, maybe for reassurance, which Steve gladly gives to him. Just a few pats on the back. Three times for three in the morning. The witching hour.

Max loves the witching hour.

He leans over, almost kneeling, and wraps Max into a gentle embrace. “Happy Birthday, Mad Max.” Lucas squeezes her lightly at first, then tighter. Nothing too tight, nothing that would undo all of her intricate wiring. But enough to make the song start playing.

The birthday melody is almost inaudible. The speaker inside the toy sounds extremely eroded, overused. Steve isn’t the biggest music expert, but even he can tell that it’s out of tune. All the notes are distorted and boxy. 

It’s playing though. It’s working that much.

Lucas doesn’t let go of Max the whole time. He keeps squeezing her and the bear. Steve stays incredibly still, not on purpose, just out of anticipation. Caution, too.

The last note plays out for a long time, much longer than it needs to. Steve almost wonders if it got jammed, but it eventually clicks off. Letting the room go silent. Just their heavy breathing, the air conditioning, and Max’s heart monitor.

Her heart monitor…

“Oh my god.” Steve hears it almost instantly. The change in pattern. A new tempo of beeps. Faster or maybe slowly or maybe it’s switching between the two, he’s not quite sure. But it’s definitely something…

Something new.

Almost a key change. Almost a song.

“Steve…” Lucas lifts up, keeping one hand over Max’s arm. “Something’s happening.”

The pattern changes again. It’s picking up the pace, becoming more lively.

Steve and Lucas both shift their focus to her face, her eyes. They’re still closed, but they’re moving now. They see all the rapid movements underneath her eyelids, causing her eyelashes to twitch, to flicker.

She’s still in there. She’s still in there and she’s responding.

“Get a nurse.” Lucas says urgently, never letting his focus leave Max’s face.

Steve rushes into the hallway, grabs the first nurse he can find. He’s not even sure if he forms a full sentence to her, just a jumbled mess of exclamations. But it must be enough to get his point across because she jumps into action. Pages the medical team on staff and makes a mad dash to Max’s bedside.

Within ten minutes, her room is swarmed with nurses and doctors. Her eyes begin to crack open, muscles working harder than they have in months. The monitor is getting stronger, steadier. Might be the best tonal-based arrangement Steve has ever heard in life. 

There’s a brief lull while the doctors add a few notes to her chart. Steve takes the opportunity to pull Lucas aside, tells him he’s going to fill Eddie in on the good news. Lucas is all smiles, waving Steve off. Steve is all smiles too as he jogs up the stairs.

Max is waking up, there’s no reason for any other expression to occupy his face at this time. Smiling is the only appearance that seems suitable for this sort of occasion.

That’s the philosophy circling Steve’s mind when he gets to Eddie’s room, and it immediately vanishes at the sight of Eddie sobbing in his bed.

“Oh my god, what’s wrong?” Steve hops onto the creaky edge, pulling his sweater sleeve over his hand to rub away all the tears and snot. It’s fucking gross, but Steve can’t process anything besides comfort right now. Gross shit is secondary to sadness.

But… Eddie’s not sad. He’s laughing. He’s still sobbing, but he’s laughing too. What the hell? Steve is fucking baffled.

Eddie grabs Steve’s drippy sleeves and waves his arms wildly before placing Steve’s hands over his tear-stained cheeks.

“It all came back,” Eddie chokes out, smiling through his sniffles. “All of it. Every last pesky memory.” He moves Steve’s hands from his cheeks to his temples. “It’s all right here, Steve. I remember it all.”

Oh. Oh fuck.

Steve keeps his hands there, bringing Eddie’s face forward to kiss him madly. His lips are extra wet, everything tastes a bit salty from all the teardrops. They’re kissing with the damn door still open, but fuck anyone who dares Steve to remove his lips from Eddie ‘Unabridged Edition’Munson.

They’re laughing and kissing and mopping up tears with mouths and tongues and Steve’s sleeve yet again. 

Steve brings their foreheads together, feels more powerful now that they’re on the same page, memory-wise. He’s fucking elated, can hear it every damn word he utters. “When? How? When? When?”

Eddie sniffs again, kisses the corner of Steve’s mouth. “A few minutes into the devil’s hour.”

“Is that different from the witching hour?”

“No, Stevie, they’re the same thing.” Eddie’s forehead wrinkles, his face is blotchy from all the crying. “Color me impressed that you know what the witching hour is.”

Steve gets up to shut the door, lock it, anything to avoid the explanation on how he just learned what the witching hour is - thanks to Max’s obsession with it. “Wait… shortly after you called me?”

“Not long after that, yeah.” Eddie finally blows his nose into an actual tissue this time. “I would’ve called, but I’ve been a blubbery mess ever since. It’s just…”

“Overwhelming?”

“Very. A fucking monsoon of emotions.”

Steve dries the last few tears off of Eddie’s face. “Do you think Max waking up helped unlock the rest of your memories?”

He recalls Eddie’s birdcage tattoo, rephrasing the question. “Like maybe, you were both trapped somewhere else? Somewhere less -”

“Less normal? Supernatural, maybe?”

Steve has flashbacks of red lightning bolts and floating ash particles everywhere. “Yeah. That.”

“Feels like it, yeah.” Eddie nods slowly, still processing probably. “Almost like we needed each other to shut down the whole system. Break free.”

“Escape.” Steve touches Eddie’s side, right where the tattoo is located.

“Exactly.” Eddie grins. “We escaped.”

“Fucking wow.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself, Steve Harrington.”

Steve crosses his legs on the bed, fully facing Eddie. They stare at each other for a moment, before Eddie tackles Steve with a hug. He wraps his arms around Eddie’s waist, laughing at the abruptness. Not complaining though. Steve would never complain about receiving an Eddie Tackle Hug.

However, an unwanted fear, similar to the one he had last night, enters the forefront of his mind.

Eddie remembers everything now, even the bad shit. He probably remembers Steve being the ultimate shithead in high school. He also probably remembers Steve having a massive crush on Nancy Wheeler just a few months ago. 

Steve slips out of the hug, shrinking into his stupid fears. “Does this change anything?”

“Like what?”

“About…” Steve gestures over himself. Tries to play it off like it’s no big deal, but it is. Masking that is impossible.

“About you?” Eddie scoffs, taking Steve’s hand. He deliberately rubs his thumb over Steve’s left index finger, where Steve used to wear his class ring - the same one that’s sitting over Eddie’s chest, next to his guitar pick. 

“My naive little Stevie boy. You think that I, a mere mortal who used to wait around Starcourt Mall for hours to catch a glimpse of your impeccable backside, would just be over you like that? Please. Be serious.”

“Okay.” Steve un-shrinks himself, gets stuck in Eddie’s shimmery eyes because he can. “Just checking.”

“Well if you’re just checking, let me help you get a more thorough analysis.” Eddie is the one in Steve’s lap this time, tongue going straight down Steve’s throat. It’s fucking predatory, the way Eddie’s kissing him. Way too dirty right away. 

Minutes earlier, Eddie was bawling his eyes out and now he’s actively trying to tongue-fuck Steve in a goddamn hospital. Patients are probably coughing up blood two doors down, but here they are - panting and getting hard just from licking into each other’s mouths. It’s sick and demented, but so is all the bullshit they’ve put up with this year. 

An eye for an eye, or whatever those bearded proverbs say.

Steve keeps his hands gripped over Eddie’s hips, twisting at the material of his sweatpants. He knows that he’s being noisy now. Every time Eddie grinds the slightest bit over his thigh, he’s moaning, chanting Eddie’s name like a slutty hymn. If they don’t slow this the fuck down, Steve’s sweater won’t be the only damp article of clothing amongst them.

“Driving me crazy here, Munson.” Steve grits his teeth, stays as quiet as possible which somehow makes the pleasure hit harder when Eddie nibbles on his ear.

“Like you this way.” Eddie snarls, blows into Steve’s ear this time.

Steve does a full-body shiver, wants to fucking ride off of that motion, but no way. Not here. Not in the godforsaken medical inferno. Absolutely not. 

He releases his grip on Eddie’s sweatpants, cracking his knuckles. “Can we like… not let the first time we fuck be in a head trauma ward?”

“You mean to tell me you don’t find the smell of formaldehyde to be a turn-on?”

“Quite the opposite actually.”

Eddie tries to bribe Steve with massages so that he can stay in his lap. He promises to be on his best behavior, but Steve isn’t a complete moron. Eddie’s Best Behavior, is still naughty, still vulgar as all fuck.

He makes a big scene out of it, collapsing onto his pillows, complaining how cold he is to no longer be in the arms of a ‘real man.’

Such a weirdo. Steve loves it.

“Do you want this back?” Eddie flips Steve’s ring over the chain around his neck.

Steve shrugs, shaking his head. “You should keep it.”

Eddie continues to fiddle with the chain. His shoulders drop, settling into their natural position. “But you don’t need the visual indicator anymore. I’m not gonna forget.”

They can say that word now. Forget. It no longer holds the same power over them. 

“I know you won’t.” Steve stops Eddie’s fidgety fingers from clanking the ring against the chain anymore. He keeps their hands pressed together, resting on top of their two charms. 

“I want you to wear it to remember instead.”

One month later…

Unlike the weirdly warm November, Hawkins is having a freakishly cold December. Steve dresses in layers to begin, but the extra-puffy jackets and hair-flattening beanies are concealing some of his best assets.

This wouldn’t be such a mega bummer, except it’s Eddie’s first day out of the hospital. So Steve is losing his shit that this is how Eddie is going to see him for the first time in months. Out in the wild. On a fucking date.

A real date, not a hospital-adaptation of a date. A real one. One that Eddie insisted on planning out entirely, start to finish. Refusing to tell Steve a goddamn detail about it.

They’re meeting in the Hawkins High School parking lot, right after sunset. Eddie is celebrating his homecoming with Wayne during the day, before his shift at the plant. Steve keeps the heat on when he parks, mainly because he’s expecting Eddie to be fashionably late. The guy’s never been known for his punctuality, neither has Steve though.

Steve listens to three and a half songs on the radio by the times Eddie’s van screeches into the parking lot, braking way too fucking close to Steve’s car. Several months in a hospital bed has made his already dismal driving skills even worse. He turns down the radio and watches Eddie slip out of his van. 

It’s dazzling, seeing Eddie outside, back in his preferred attire. Steve feels dazzled. One time, Steve spotted Ralph Macchio on the sidewalks of Indianapolis, was totally starstruck by him.

Eddie Munson has the same effect, only much much better. Cause Steve gets to kiss Eddie and mark up his neck like he’s a fucking coloring book.

Eddie thumps his row of silvery rings on the window, breaking Steve’s dazzle-induced trance. Steve smiles, rolls the window down halfway.

“Cold much?” Eddie grimaces at Steve’s heavy coat. Immediately knocks off his stupid beanie.

“It’s the middle of winter.”

“Guess I’ll need to warm you up then.” Eddie unzips a small portion of Steve’s jacket. “Get you out of these ridiculous clothes.” He sticks his cold fucking hand into Steve’s shirt, against his bare chest.

“Jesus!” It’s so cold that Steve’s teeth start chattering at the contact. “See - I think you’re just using the weather as an excuse to get me naked.”

“I’m always looking for a reason to get you naked.”

Steve rolls the window down the rest of the way. “Well the joke’s on you then, babe. You don’t need a reason.”

“No?”

“Nope. I’m a sure thing.” Steve kisses him, gets his hand on his leather jacket, decides right away that he likes this material way more than the gauzy cotton on those hospital gowns.

Eddie playfully chomps at the tip of Steve’ nose, a weird little habit he’s formed over the last month. It never fails to make Steve snort with laughter. “That sounds a lot like something a hometown slut would say.”

“The one and only.”

As soon as Eddie gets in the car, he’s begging to drive it to the secret date location. Steve would rather gnaw off his non-dominant hand than let Eddie Munson drive his precious baby around town. He’s crazy about the guy but not that crazy.

“Just give me the directions and I’ll drive us there.”

“No fun.” Eddie stomps the floorboard. 

Steve clicks his fingernails over the buckle on Eddie’s belt. “I think I’m very fun.”

“Fucking drive, you tease.” Eddie groans, reluctantly moves Steve’s hand back to the steering wheel.

It doesn’t take long for Steve to figure out where Eddie is taking them, Steve catches on after the second left turn. 

“The library?” Steve questions at the stoplight. “It’s past six, there’s no fucking way the library will be open.” Besides, why the fuck would he want to go on a study date with a guy painted in leather?

Eddie doesn’t respond, just keeps navigating and humming along to whatever Billy Idol song is playing on the radio.

Steve parks in the corner of the library lot, just in case this is all a ploy to get them somewhere dark and alone. Eddie might just want secluded car sex, and Steve would not complain at all if that’s the big surprise. 

Clearly that’s not the surprise, because Eddie skips to the front doors, messing around with the lock.

Steve hurries after him. “You wanna get us arrested on our first real date? That’s your idea of romance?”

“I’ve been in white-walled prison for the last seven months.” Eddie takes the bobby pin that’s in between his wicked grin, jiggles it into the lock a few times, gets it open with ease. “Let me earn my troublemaker title back, okay?”

He spits the bobby pin onto the ground and swings open the door. Steve doesn’t know why his thigh muscles clench at the aggressive spitting action, but fuck, it happens. Definitely not an innocent reflex, that’s for damn sure.

Once inside, Eddie takes Steve’s hand, guides him through a maze of bookshelves. If Steve had been a brighter pupil in school, he may know where they are headed, what section they will end up at. But he skimmed through most classes, only gave his full attention to the subjects that piqued his interest (which weren't many, especially not ones of practical use). 

“Here.” Eddie motions down to an aisle with empty shelves. There’s three books stacked together at the end of the corridor, along with a few candles. There’s probably some unspoken law amongst librarians that candles should never cross the threshold of library, although Steve doubts Eddie gives a fuck about library laws - or any legal system for that matter. 

It’s dark and warm, streams of smoke coming off the illegal candlelight. Steve takes a few steps closer to examine the books under the dim flames. Reads each title on the bindings.

“You didn’t.” Steve peers over at Eddie.

“I sure did.”

They’re Eddie’s literary references, the ones used to describe his varying moods in the hospital. Taming of the Shrew, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, andBeowulf.

“What the hell did you do with all the other books?”

Eddie shrugs, slides his hands into his front pockets. “They’re safe.”

Fucking suspicious. “That’s not reassuring at all.”

“It's not?” Eddie invades Steve’s space. “This isn't reassuring?”

Eddie kisses Steve’s neck, pulls him in by the waist. Steve peels off his stupid puffy jacket so goddamn fast. He naturally lets his arms drape over Eddie’s shoulders, allows himself to get dizzy in his heated touch, soft lips. His hands meet at the base of Eddie’s neck, clawing all up his scalp. Steve can feel Eddie’s muscles tighten, exhaling into the kisses across Steve’s collarbone.

“So, what am I today?” Eddie whispers.

“Hmm?” Steve’s listening abilities are hazy from the wandering touches. Not comprehending thoughts so well anymore. Not like this.

“Kathy?” Eddie pecks Steve’s left cheek. “Hyde?” Then his right. “Grendel?” Then the bridge of Steve’s nose, before biting it like he always does now.

Steve feels seduced - at least, he thinks this is what seduction feels like. Usually he’s the one doing the whole Mrs. Robinson routine, he’s not used to being Dustin Hoffman in the seduction scenario.

He trudges through the dreamlike fog that Eddie has constructed in his mind, finds a way to reclaim sobriety in this moment.

“Which one is it?”

“How about…” Steve takes a deep breath. Kisses Eddie on the lips and pulls away. “How about boyfriend?”

Eddie’s nails dig into Steve’s back, clutching way too hard.

“Would that title work?” Steve asks, only a small inkling of doubt seeping into his confidence. 

Eddie stops digging, his forehead un-wrinkles, his gaze becomes gentle. He takes Steve’s hands into his own, just dangling between them and finally smiles.

“Boyfriend works.” Eddie answers - the smile turns into a dopey grin. “As long as you’re cool with sharing titles.”

Steve looks at Eddie’s chain necklace and nods. “Sure. We can share.”

They stay like this for a while, Steve only notices the passage of time from the dripping wax over the candles. The flame is getting weaker, the room is getting darker. They stay the same. They stay grounded. Steve’s not in any rush to move or stop spewing mushy nonsense back and forth with Eddie, but he’s aware. He’s aware that the rest of the world is keeping a schedule, while they quietly riot against Time altogether.

Eddie is the one that eventually breaks the frozen moment. “We haven’t seen my favorite section of the library yet.”

“Oh really?” Steve’s voice is rich and buttery from the pure��swooning he’s been doing all evening. “Are you planning to burn that section down with your pyromaniac tendencies as well?”

“You’ll just have to see for yourself.” Eddie blows out the candles and starts dragging Steve away once again.

They jog up two flights of stairs, race to the fire exit, and wind up at a sketchy looking ladder. Eddie doesn’t hesitate, starts climbing, skipping every other wrung.

“What the living hell, Munson?” Steve doesn’t even know why he’s whisper-screaming, but he is.

Eddie bangs his fist at the top, cracking open the square-ish door on the ceiling. He looks back down at Steve with a crazed expression. “Don’t tell me you’re scared of heights.”

“No, just…” Confused. Steve’s often in a state of confusion though, so what’s fucking new? “Out of the way. Coming up.” 

Eddie hoists himself up and disappears. Steve lets out a string of swears, still whisper-screaming as he climbs. When he gets to the top of the roof, he sees Eddie sitting directly in the center. He’s looking up at the stars, seems happy. Seems alive. Free.

There’s a grocery bag beside him, rustling in the night breeze. Steve smooths out his jeans and joins Eddie on the ground. Or roof. Roof-ground. Whatever the fuck people call it.

Steve is about to snoop through the bag, when Eddie grabs something from behind his back, cradles it against his chest. “This is my favorite book. Right here.”

Steve squints his eyes, but it’s hard to see the binding in the dark. “The Hobbit?”

“No.” Eddie leans in for a quick kiss. “But it’s so fucking sexy that you’d guess that.”

He holds the book flat out in both palms, offering it to Steve, who realizes it’s not a book at all. It’s a binder.

Eddie’s Memory Log binder.

“Did you…” Steve takes the binder, trembles from his sudden nerves. “Did you read this?”

“Every page.”

Fuck. Steve is fully embarrassed now. Yes, Eddie has seen him writing shit down in this for months, but parts of it are personal. Some pages are less about the notes, and more about how Eddie made Steve feel. It’s like someone just told Steve they published his goddamn diary (which he does not have a diary, fucking gross).

“I actually added some notes.” Eddie flips the cover open. “You should take a look.”

On the first page, next to this bullet:

Eddie doesn’t remember he has a sense of humor.

Eddie has scribbled in tiny lettering:

Not true - you’re just not as funny as you think you are, Steve Harrington.

Next to this note of Day 5:

Eddie remembers Grease? (Of all the movies Steve thought this guy would reference… Grease? Is it the leather? Hm.)

Eddie had added:

First of all, I will poison your stupid grape sodas if you ever tell anybody I like Grease. And second… of course, it’s the leather. And Frenchie is comedy GOLD, obviously.

On Steve’s corner-note on Day 38 that says:

Eddie notices Steve’s ass…

Eddie has edited to say:

Eddie notices touched Steve’s ass…(as of Day 72. Put in the history books, folks. Teach the kiddies about this in schools across America).

There’s so many random notes, Eddie manages to fit them on the busiest of progress days. Steve flips further along before Eddie stops him, picks out a specific page.

Day 66.

The day where Steve stapled Eddie’s card to the page.

The day where Steve wrote this:

Robin was right. Definitely think I’m falling for him.

Eddie has added his note underneath, in dark red ink:

That’s good. Because he’s definitely falling for you too.

Steve looks up, almost gets a head rush from moving so fast. Eddie seems nervous too. For once in his life, he seems to be reconsidering his boldness.

“Are my rewrites okay?” Eddie snags the binder back, sets it to the side so he can scoot in closer.

“Hell yeah.” Steve closes the gap, leans in for another kiss.

“Good. Because now I have bad news.”

“What?”

“I lied. I didn’t get back from the hospital today.” 

Steve’s stomach drops. “You didn’t?”

“I got back yesterday.”

“Why would you lie about that?”

“So I could get this done and surprise you.” Eddie lifts his leather jacket and undershirt to reveal his side, his rib cage. He still has some bandages from the hospital in certain areas. However, Eddie has clear wrapping in one spot. Steve bends forward to examine the markings.

It’s a tattoo. A bird tattoo, the bird on the opposite side of the broken cage, escaping its enclosure. Free like Eddie. It’s the same one he planned on getting after graduation. But… he didn’t graduate. Not necessarily.

“Felt like I still deserved to get it, ya know?” Eddie says, shaking a bit from the cold. “After all, I did escape death… and that damn hospital room. It still works.”

Steve nods, fights the urge to touch it because he knows it’s probably still sore. “What kind of bird is it?”

“A canary.”

Steve studies the tattoo even closer, a sideways smirk creeps up on his face. “Is it… yellow?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Eddie quickly lowers his shirt and jacket back down. “But the least vomit-inducing yellow they had available.”

“Did you get this bird for me?” 

“Absolutely not.” Eddie says, very defensive. “I’m not a trashy white girl who drunkenly gets a tattoo at her bachelorette party.” 

“Got it.”

Eddie pauses, hesitates. “You may have helped inspire the color choice though.”

“I see.” Steve is so fucking glad that it’s dark outside because he knows he’s flushed. Can feel the blood spreading all over his face.

“Do you like it?”

“I love it.” Steve is able to say it this time. Means it. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Eddie grabs Steve’s hand, kisses the spot where his class ring used to reside. “Would be a complete idiot not to fall in love with you, Steve Harrington.”

Saying it isn’t terrifying. Hearing it isn’t alarming his flight senses. All the usual declaration jitters have departed. Packed up and left town. 

Maybe it’s because there’s a clarity over their relationship that Steve has never had before. A clarity that is only obtained by coming face-to-face with Death so many times. Eddie is alive, Max is awake. Why would three little words scare Steve when he almost lost them both?

And besides, Eddie isn’t going to forget that he’s in love with Steve. That Steve loves him back. That’s no longer something they have to worry about either. Yeah, the world may be an apocalyptic fuckshow, but Eddie’s memory is sublime. Never forgets a goddamn thing anymore.

Looks like Steve’s wish came true in that regard. He really is un-fucking-forgettable.

“What’s in the bag?” Steve takes a peak, can’t see shit in the dark though.

“Our dinner.”

“You made me dinner?” Steve isn’t sure how he’ll politely decline Eddie’s food. He may have fought monsters with homemade weapons, but he’s certainly not brave enough to eat something prepared by a dude that considers Vienna sausages to be gourmet.

“I bought dinner.”

Thank god. 

“What’s on the menu?”

“For me? Lo mein. For you…” Eddie pulls out two separate containers and winks. “Kung Pao Chicken.”

Steve smiles, positively beams at his boyfriend. He takes the container and plastic silverware, digs right in. He takes a big bite, watches Eddie’s goofy, lovestruck expression while he chews.

“What do you think?” Eddie seems eager for his approval.

Steve doesn’t keep him waiting. He swallows his bite and answers Eddie the same way he did many months ago. “Excellent choice.”

“The food?”

“The food, the date, the guy.” Steve reaches out to hold Eddie’s hand, knotting their fingers together. Once a gesture of helpless support. Now meaning exactly what Steve says out loud:

“Everything.”

It means absolutely everything.

💌 The End 💌

[grahamcore]

if you’ve read a metric ton of fanfiction and had your memory of canon retroactively altered you may be entitled to financial compensation

[chungmyungenthusiast]

Banter

Notes I Pure fluff maybe + chung myung content ?!?! woah.. keep in mind that this is not edited and checked :3

Chung Myung will never let you live this down. No way. Especially when he, quite literally, had you pinned down. "Give up yet?" He asks, his tone teasing as he looks down at you with that shit-eating grin he knows you have a hate-love relationship with. God, you want to wipe that grin off his face so bad. "Love," You start, your tone seemingly pleading as you look up at him. The one and only Mount Hua's Divine Dragon, Chung Myung, swore he could explode at any given moment. And while that normally is a threat to the other disciples, it means something else now. Slowly but surely, you lean closer to him. You then pout, "Please.." A kiss, then you turn the tables on him. For a split second, he was caught off-guard with that kiss; you didn't waste any time switching your positions. How cute he looks when he's under you. "I'll kiss you, okay? So please, keep your voice down."

Notes II Chung Myung deserves all of the kisses and hugs in the world.

[livesincerely]

on my hands and knees for a take a shot snippet 😭 i just know this fight is gonna take me out

Ask and you shall receive! But brace yourself

00000

“Jackie, stop,” Davey says, his voice shaking. “I know you wouldn’t, it ain’t like that—“

“Then what’s it like, Dave?” And now Jack can feel his own eyes starting to sting, a lump forming in his throat. “Explain it to me. Because I don’t understand.”

Davey’s mouth parts, his features drawn and pale.

“I… I can’t,” he breathes, the refusal nothing but a sigh on the wind.

“…You can’t,” Jack repeats quietly, and he feels something crack and crumble, deep inside. “You can’t? Wha⁠— What the fuck am I supposed to do with that, Dave? Huh?!” His voice breaks as it all comes pouring out of him, a geyser of feeling that’s finally erupted. “Am I supposed’ta jus’ sit around with my thumb up my ass, waitin’ for you decide I’m good enough to talk to again?”

“Jack⁠—”

“‘Cause that’s the thing, ain’t it, Dave? Jack spits. “It’s not that you can’t explain it⁠⁠—Race and the rest of ‘em, they all know damn well what the fuck’s goin’ on with you, don’t they? It’s that you won’t explain it to me. Not even when I’m down on bended knee, worried outta my skull, beggin’ ya to let me in.”

And then, because he couldn’t keep in even if he tried: “Why can’t you trust me anymore?”

Davey makes a noise in the back of his throat, low and wounded. 

“Jack, I⁠— It’s not that simple⁠,” he says, his eyes wet and pleading, and the fact that even now, Jack can’t hardly stand to see him cry, is infuriating.

“Seems pretty fuckin’ simple from where I’m sittin’,” Jack says, forcibly hardening his heart. “If you don’t want me around anymore, then that’s⁠— that’s fine. You ain’t the first an’ you won’t be the last. But I thought you’d at least have the decency to say it to my fuckin’ face instead of draggin’ it out like this.”

He shoves himself to his feet, his arms and legs trembling faintly. “Message received, okay?” he says with a bitter scoff. “Loud an’ clear.”

“Jackie, wait!” Davey’s fingers clutch at his forearm, his hands clammy and frantic. “You don’t⁠— It’s not that I don’t want to tell you⁠—”

“Then tell me!” Jack shouts as he whirls back around. “For fuck’s sake, Dave, you’re acting like I broke your heart!”

And Davey looks absolutely gutted⁠—cracked open, exposed, and raw—and he staggers back a half step, dropping Jack’s arm like he’s been punched in the gut.

Jack stops dead in his tracks. The frustration that had been swirling inside him, the churning froth that threatened to capsize everything in its wake, flickers and dies like a candle being snuffed out. Icy cold seeps through every crack and crevice of him, down into his lungs and out through his veins, freezing him right to the bone.

Silence. Gaping and unfathomable. Then:

“I think you should go,” Davey whispers. 

Jack’s throat clicks, the chamber jammed. 

“…Dave,” he starts, hushed, hardly daring to breathe, suddenly and impossibly aware of just how brittle the space between them has become. “Davey, did I break your heart?” he asks.

Davey swallows so hard it looks painful, like he’d rather choke it all down than let another word escape. “Please go.”

“Are you in love with me?”

“Jack,” Davey says, his voice utterly shattered. “Stop it.”

But Jack can’t. He doesn’t know how.

[archerlullaby]

There aren’t enough TOTK comes back to the Chain fics out there so I figured I would write one. Hurt/Comfort, some angst, and some self-worth doubts. TOTK Link needs a hug tbh. Also, This is a Zelda slander fic, though I don’t directly hate her she kinda gets on my nerves in totk. MY BOI IS JUST SO TIRED LET HIM SLEEP PLZ.

Weariness and Worth

He was just so damn tired. He tried to be patient. He tried to put on the “Hero Façade”. But his resolve had begun to splinter with each passing moment alongside the princess.

He dragged his feet to the nearest cooking pot as Zelda strode purposefully up the Lookout Landing staircase. As soon as she got her wits about her after falling from the sky, she vehemently insisted that Purah is the first one she needed to see. It had only been a few hours since he had dragged her out of that lake, his body aching from his fight against the literal incarnate of evil, and the first thing she focused on was how she was home. How she needed to talk to Purah. How she needed a change of clothes. How she, who was a dragon for 10,000 years thank you very much, would like a good, hearty, home cooked meal, so Link, could you whip something up while I talk to Purah, please and thank you? He sighed, and all but collapsed at the edge of the fire, eyes starting to close of their own accord. The others in Lookout Landing all but ignored him, the Princess taking up all the attention while she smiled and waved as the individuals around her practically worshiped the ground she walked on.

“You look pretty worn out there son,” the elderly stablemaster chuckled, startling Link out of his stupor. This old man was the only one not rushing to greet the princess, and is instead settled a couple yards away from the cooking pot, his gnarled walking stick leaning against the inside of his knee. Link did his best to give him a smile, but only came up with a strangled-looking grimace. In the very least, he was grateful somebody at least acknowledged him. The stablemaster sighed.

“If only I was younger, maybe I’d have a chance with the young lady. I used to be something of a hero myself back in the day. Now all I got are my horses and these old bones!” He laughed, rapping a knuckle against his knee. “You are one lucky young man!”

Link’s grimace turned into a scowl. Yet again was he fooled into thinking someone cared about him. How naive of him. He stood and turned away from the old man, taking the Purah Pad from his hip. After stoking the fire, he decided on meat and rice balls. However while flicking absentmindedly through the Purah Pad for ingredients, he felt a very deep, sharp ache slam into his ribs. The pain gnawed at him like a wild beast, quickly buckling his knees and knocking the wind out of his lungs as his butt hit the ground. He gingerly felt around his chest, and came to the conclusion that becoming a dragon’s chew toy probably wasn’t the healthiest thing for ribs. He chuckled darkly. At least his shining sense of humor survived. The amusement was short lived, however, and tears pricked the corner of his eyes when he realized he used all his healing potions during the fight against Ganondorf, and that nobody, not even the stablemaster a stride away, cared enough to come to his aid. Everyone was so enthralled with that Princess. He fought the urge to bury his face in his arms and cry because he’s the Hero, the Chosen One, the Sworn Protecter of the Crown. Instead, he gathered himself quietly, stood, clipped the Purah Pad back to his hip, and hobbled out the southern gate without barely a glance towards the gathered crowd.

It had been an hour when he finally stopped walking, or rather, when his legs gave out and he flopped to the grass. The sun was just touching the western edge of the world, dew and darkness creeping into Hyrule Field as crickets began to sing. He knew he should go somewhere safer, somewhere where the wolves and the monsters wouldn’t catch his scent, but he could hardly keep his eyes open, and the smell of the earth and grass was so encompassing that he couldn’t bring himself to care about the danger. So instead, he closed his eyes and peacefully listened to the sounds of the coming night. That is, until his thoughts caught up to him. Coward, they called him. Abandoning duty for some pitiful, self-absorbed notion that he should be recognized, awarded, for accomplishing that for which he was destined to accomplish. These thoughts swirled through his head and screamed in his ears until he thought he would be deafened by the voices themselves.

That is, until the familiar and oh-so-welcome sound of time and space being torn open met his ears. Link blearily stumbled to his feet, and was met with the sight of a portal suspended in air just to his right. It couldn’t be. It shouldn’t be. He’s Link, he doesn’t get this type of fortune in his life. He felt like he could cry as he tripped over his feet and fell just a step away from the entrance, the burn in his side stealing away his breath. He only paused for a moment as he considered what this meant. He would disappear again, the people of Hyrule clueless as to where he went. Zelda clueless as to where he went. He bit back a bitter smile. She’ll just have to find him this time. Perhaps it was cruel, but he found that he couldn’t bring himself to care. So, on his hands and knees he dragged himself to the very edge and lurched through the swirling colors.

It was so warm, so gentle, so peaceful to just lie floating in the darkness. This didn’t feel like the icy cold waters of the shrine of resurrection, nor was it similar to the dark and damp cave he woke up in on the sky islands. No, this felt like a warm, thick wool blanket wrapped itself around his body, a soft embrace. Perhaps it was the downy feathers of the soft bed in Rito Village. Or maybe, Link mused, this was the water bed at the Seabed Inn in the Zora Domain. Sidon had spoke about a warming technology for the beds Kayden was trying to develop. Whatever it was, Link wanted to stay in it forever. Unfortunately, this peace was cut short.

“Cub? Wild, please look at me.” A familiar voice cut through the fog as he started to come around. His body changed from warmth to and almost refreshingly cool, as if aloe had been spread over a burn. A gentle magic encompassed him, one that was similar to Mipha’s, though less like a bubbling stream and more like that of the sun in the deep woods. He sighed, and snuggled further into the comfort that called to him. “Cub. CUB. Link!” Something tickled his nose, and it quickly pulled him away from soft darkness and into an irritating light. He blinked his eyes open all the way and was met with the welcome sight of a face donning a single black mark upon his forehead.

“Twi?” He muttered, voice raspy from lack of use.

“Oh, Wild, what happened to you?” Twilight asked, voice thick with emotion. Wild opened his mouth to reply before Twilight shook his head. “It doesn’t matter right now. All that matters is that you’re okay.”

“Damn right. You fell through that portal and straight into Time’s lap. You’re lucky he wasn’t wearing his armor. You would’ve ended up with a concussion to add to your broken ribs!” Several chuckles came from the group, and a hearty laugh rang from Warriors. Hyrule, with his hands alighted on Wild’s side, looked pleased with his joke. Twilight merely shook his head and brushed his hand through Wild’s bangs. Wild had a thought to bat the hand away, but the worrying felt so good, so needed, that he found himself leaning into the touch, and, as Twilight continued his ministrations, Wild couldn’t help the tears that began to leak from the corner of his eyes for a second time that day. He brushed them away quickly and palmed his eyes.

“Sorry. M’fine,” he said gruffly, “Help me get up please.”

Twilight opened his mouth to protest, but Wild was already trying to shuffle himself out of Time’s lap when large hands, one on his forehead and the other on his shoulder, gently pushed him back down.

“Rest, Wild. You have no need to push yourself now. Your family is here to care for you,” Time’s voice rumbled from his chest, soft but demanding.

“But—”

“No arguing.”

Wild relented, and settled back into Time’s embrace, eyes feeling heavier than he would like to admit. Though despite the welcoming tendrils of sleep that curled around his consciousness, he couldn’t find it within himself to give in, not yet.

“What’s the matter, Cub?” Twilight still knelt next to him and Time while the others had begun to set out their bedrolls. Wild merely shook his head.

“It’s just-” he swallowed, “I’m afraid if I fall asleep, everyone will be gone when I wake up,” he whispered, embarrassment turning his head and closing his eyes so the others couldn’t see his face. “That always happens to me.”

He shouldn’t be saying this. He’s the Hero. The Savior of Hyrule. He doesn’t get to show weakness. Wild doesn’t want to open his eyes and see what surely must be disappointment on Time’s face, or disgust in Twilight’s eyes. Only a gentle warmth along his side breaks him from his thoughts. He looks down hesitantly and is met with the wide eyes of Wind, who has taken residence tucked along Wild’s hip, an arm thrown across his chest. The youngest gave him the biggest smile he could muster.

“It’s okay to be scared. I promise I’ll stay right here until you wake up in the morning. Even if you snore,” Wind said, and snuggled closer into his side. Time shifted, lying down close as Twilight tucks his pelt under Wild’s head.

“We all will,” the eldest reassured. It was only then Wild allowed himself a small smile. The doubts still ate at him, but they were lessening in their ferocity. The tiredness he felt before settled deep in his bones, an exhaustion so deep it slowed his breathing and finally closed his eyes, and finally, finally, he could sleep.

[loguetowns]

blood red.

cw. mentions of blood/wounds, swearing.

fangs bared and flaring tempers. animosity in every look, an intensity that bubbles from just being in the same room. hate burns red, but then again, so does love. after all, isn't hate still an emotion of passion?

king is annoyed. he's pissed off, irritated – maybe even angry.

he drums his fingers against the fabric of the armchair. there’s a rip in his shirt, his hair is a mess, and – worst of all – his helmet is broken. he pushes his hair out of his face, irked that he can’t tie it up.

the bane of his existence walks in with a first aid kit. he sighs, loudly and obnoxiously, and you glare at him as you sit down.

“don’t make this any more difficult than it has to be.”

“who’s the one that made it difficult in the first place?”

without missing a beat, you simply state, "that would be you."

you carry on, unwrapping bandages, as king merely gapes at you. ever since kaidou placed you under his supervision, you have been nothing but disrespectful, disobedient and disruptive to what should have been an otherwise simple job.

"i'm not the one who tried to climb out a 10-story window," he hisses. "i should've let you fall straight into those thorns."

"no one asked you to help," you reply coolly.

the absolute gall of you.

"believe me, i don't care if you die," he squirms in his seat, biting back the sting of his cuts. "but kaidou wants you alive."

"as if i care what kaidou wants," you mutter as you cut away at his shirt. when he pulls away, you hold down his arm. "stop moving."

the idea of some brat ordering him around makes his blood boil, and if it weren't for the fact that he'd likely start bleeding again, king would love nothing more than to put you in your place.

"i'm not the problem," you continue, ignoring his death glare. "you're the one that's been hissy this whole time. you must be nothing special if your only responsibility is babysitting."

at the attack on his pride, his last thread of patience snaps. "you annoying brat! can't you just fucking cooperate?"

"fuck you!" you finally crack, a fierce anger taking over. "you want people to cooperate then maybe don't lock them up!"

"i wouldn't have to lock you up if you weren't such a pain in the ass!"

"i wouldn't be a pain in the ass if you weren't being an ass to begin with!" you grab his arm. "now fucking hold still!"

you slap disinfectant on king's bloody gash, and he howls at the sting. "that hurts, dammit!"

he glowers at you, seething at the pain. you tell yourself that he deserves it, but – to your annoyance – you can't bring yourself to relish in his suffering. unfortunately, you're not nearly as heartless as king is.

there's a twinge of guilt as you take in his dirty clothes and blood-stained skin.

he wouldn't be in this mess if he didn't rush to catch you.

to king's surprise, you don't make any sort of retort or taunt at his outburst. instead, you press your lips into a thin line and start wrapping his cut in silence. you apply the bandage firmly, but gently, and it doesn't go unnoticed by king.

too angry and proud to say anything else, king merely looks away as you finish dressing his injuries.

"don't move," you deadpan when you're done. "raising your arms will only open the wound."

"fine," he grits. he shakes the hair out of his face, growling in irritation when it don't move the way he wants it to.

you watch as he sighs in resignation, and that stupid voice inside you tells you to do the right thing. you curse your guilty conscience.

"here, let me help."

you stand behind king, carefully gathering his loose curls together. the air is thick with awkwardness as your gentle hands betray the hostility that you're both used to. you start tying his ponytail and take a deep breath.

"thank you," you say in a voice barely above a whisper. "for saving me."

king stills, at a crossroads for how he wants to handle this. it takes this small admission of your gratitude to make him stop and realize the gravity of the situation.

he did help you.

king – one of the all-stars of the beast pirates, right-hand-man to kaidou – showed you mercy when he had no reason to.

and you – captive of the beast pirates, prisoner against your wishes – showed him a grace that he doesn't really deserve by tending to his injuries when you had no reason to.

still staring at the wall, he mutters,

"you're welcome."

like it or not, the two of you are stuck here together – and maybe with some time and a little bit of kindness, you could learn to like it.

part of my (ongoing) character + colour series!

[spaceprincessem]

you and i'll be safe and sound | 50k buddie fic | ao3 link

[or the buddie hunger games au]

“That was very brave,” Josh says and Eddie is startled by how genuine he sounds. “What’s your name?”

“Eddie Diaz.” He hears himself say, his voice carrying over the hushed and horrified crowd.

“Well, Eddie,” Josh says, “was that your brother?”

“Nephew.” Eddie manages.

“How sweet,” Josh squeezes his shoulder and Eddie feels like he wants to crawl out of his fucking skin, “how about we give Eddie a nice big round of applause?”

Eddie watches as the crowd all kiss their three middle fingers before raising them to the sky. An old and rarely used gesture of their district, occasionally seen at funerals. 

It means thanks, it means admiration, it means goodbye to someone you love. Eddie can’t stop the lone tear from falling out of the corner of his eye. 

Everything slips out of focus as Josh moves to call out another name. His head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton wool. Another name. Another person Eddie is either going to have to out live or kill in order to survive. 

Eddie’s hunted animals before, but he knows that doesn’t compare to this. To taking another life in front of the entire country as a pawn in a game he doesn’t want to play. He thinks it’s a miracle he doesn’t vomit on stage.

“Our second tribute from District Twelve is Evan Buckley.”

Eddie’s eyes snap up and he’s pretty fucking sure his heart stops beating all together. If he lets his eyes flutter close he can feel the patter of rain, harsh and ice cold, against his skin. The way the air saturates with the smell of burnt bread.

He can see the shape of a boy thrown out into the mud, hands cradling something precious in his hand. The way that bundle was placed in Eddie’s own, shaking palms as a voice whispered, I’m so sorry I can’t do more before he was gone. 

But Eddie doesn’t let his eyes close. He watches as Evan Buckley — Buck, please just call me Buck — ascends the stairs to take his place next to Eddie. 

Not you. Please. Anyone, but you.

Eddie is struck by how much Buck’s eyes remind him of Christopher. So wide and blue and beautiful. Eddie wants to scream. He wants to tear every building apart, brick by fucking brick, with his bare hands. He wants to burn down the Capitol. He wants to cry. He selfishly wants the person standing across from him to be anyone, anyone, except Buck or Christopher. 

No, Eddie thinks as Josh tells them to shake hands, the odds are not in my favor today.

Buck’s hand is soft and warm and fits perfectly in Eddie’s. Buck looks at him with such devastation Eddie isn’t sure how they haven’t both shattered into little, tiny pieces. Because there are two things Eddie knows for certain now that he and Buck are in this together.

He will have to kill Buck to get back home.

Or Buck will have to kill him. 

And that, Eddie thinks, will break him for good. 

read the rest on ao3

tagging everyone that showed interest @alyxmastershipper @shortsighted-owl @ebdaydreamer @spotsandsocks @mysteriouslyyounggalaxy @heartbeatdiaz @elvensorceress @colonoscopys @buddierights @cowboy-buddie @prince-buck-diaz @slowlyfoggydestiny @loveyourownsmiilee @thebestbooksaround @too-precious-for-this-worldd @tails89 @thekristen999 @wildlife4life

[tennessoui]

(cradles your face gently in my hands) your productivity, especially in fandom spaces, is not a reflection of your worth or measure of your talent we should leave those thoughts in 2022

[itslikeaspaceship]

She’s not used to this kind of affection really. It’s odd, scary kind of, the way he’s so gentle with her. Maybe it’s because after the hospital she was convinced it was a one-time thing, that he’d only done it because she was to fragile for him to treat her any other way, but the longer they lived in Jackson the more she realized that Joel was just like this.

For such a large man, he was so insanely attentive.

At times it was even intimidating.

She remembers the first time he’d ever wiped food off her face. He had sighed beforehand, staring at her as she rambled on and on to Tommy about whatever dinosaur she was currently fixated on. She could see him out of the corner of her eye, and every second that passed with him staring at her, the more she’d talk. This wasn’t the first time adults had gotten mad at her for being excited, but Ellie wasn’t gonna back down just because he wanted some quiet.

Eventually the sighing stopped and he instead reached out his hand toward her face. That’s when she flinched.

Joel was a tough guy, sure, but she’d never gotten the impression he’d hit her. Apparently she was wrong.

She pulled back, taking a deep breath to prepare for the sting, but nothing happened. Peeking open an eye she saw that his thumb was resting against her chin, and he was simply just frozen in place. Even Tommy had stopped eating.

“You had some soup on your face kiddo.” He said, clearing his throat.

“Oh.” She leaned back into his hand then, allowing him to swipe his thumb along the juice on her face.

The rest of dinner was quieter, and she knew they were watching her, silently talking back and forth with their eyes.

It wasn’t like it was that big of deal, FEDRA agents did it all the time, it’d just been so long that he’d taken her by surprise.

Joel however didn’t see it that way.

When they’d gotten home, he’d ushered her inside, sitting her on the couch and demanding her to stay there. “I’ll be right back, don’t move.”

She listened for about five minutes until curiosity got the better of her and she ended up peeking through the curtains. She watched as he paced back and forth, jaw clenched while he muttered to himself.

She couldn’t understand why he was so angry about this. It wasn’t like she actually thought he was gonna hit her, it was mostly just muscle memory, and besides, it was a normal adult thing to do. Right?

When a kid messes up, that kid gets punished. She was talking to much when he might’ve wanted her to stop, so he was punishing her. Except obviously he wasn’t and maybe he was mad because she was convinced he was.

She bit her lip at the thought. Why wouldn’t her brain just fucking shut up for once?

“Ellie.” The door creaked and she jumped from her spot at the window, throwing herself back down on the couch.

Joel’s footsteps were heavy as he made his way to her, but his face wasn’t as harsh as before. She couldn’t decide if that comforted or scared her.

“Look Joel-”

“No ma’am.” He said, one finger flying out from his clenched fist. “It’s my turn to talk.”

Her breath was caught in her throat at that. Maybe she was wrong, maybe he was angry at her.

He was quiet for a moment, mouth opening and closing until eventually he began to speak. “When we were at dinner tonight, and I went to get that food off your face, why in gods name did you flinch?” Maybe he could see the fear in her then, and so he made sure to clarify. “I’m not mad, I promise, I just wanna know. I need to know.”

Even then she wouldn’t look at him, eyes glued to whatever surface looked the most interesting at the time. “It’s not even that big of a deal Joel. I knew you weren’t gonna hit me.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw his own widen for a split second. “Ellie.”

She groaned, tossing her head back. “Seriously Joel can you just let it go. I get it, I had food on my face and you were wiping it off. Now I wanna go to bed.”

She tried to jump up from the couch, feet carrying her as fast as she begged them to go, but Joel was faster.

“Ellie we are not done here.” He grabbed her wrist, making her jerk around.

“I don’t understand why you’re making such a big deal about this. It’s not your fucking problem.”

“The hell it isn’t. Ellie you thought I was gonna hit you, your insane if you think that’s not something we address.”

And maybe it was the confusion about this whole situation, but something in her snapped. “Why the fuck do you care?! You said it yourself, you’re not my dad, and I’m not your fucking kid so stop acting like this is something it’s not.”

She saw hurt flash in his eyes then and it made her feel physical pain knowing she was the one who caused that, but for some reason her mouth just wouldn’t stop.

“I know your pissed okay, but just let it go. It’s none of your business and-” Suddenly his arms were reaching out, and though she tried to fight it, he was wrapping them around her, pulling her as close to him as possible.

She didn’t react at first, body tense and arms straight at her side, but then Joel did something he’d never done before. He kissed her head.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered against her hair, his lips falling against her temple once more.

For some reason every bit of fight left her body then, and she completely crumbled against his chest, arms looping around him and squeezing him as tight as she could.

“I’m so sorry kid.” She didn’t mean to cry, but a few tears escaped anyway, and she just wiped her face on his shirt, relishing in the utter warmth it brought.

“I’m sorry that I ever made you feel like you were anything less then my kid.” He rubbed her back as he spoke, voice so gentle she swore it wasn’t really him talking. “And I would never ever hit you. No matter what you do, how bad it is, we keep our hands to ourselves. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” She whispered.

After that day, he saw the incident as cause to treat her like actual glass. His hands were so light everytime he touched her, cradling her against him like she was this precious thing. It was so confusing.

It would be different if she didn’t care, it wouldn’t bother her so much, but it hurt worse when she started craving it, and it became almost a problem when her body felt as if it was failing just because he didn’t kiss her head bye.

There was one day where he was leaving for an early patrol, and of course, he was late. And instead of the regular forehead kiss and Joel hug, he just yelled out his goodbye and ran out the door, promising he’d be back before dinner.

She hated that day. Every hour that passed all she could think about was how she wanted Joel. She didn’t eat lunch and barely touched her dinner.

Joel stared at her the whole time, trying to gently encourage to take a few bites, but it was like a switch flipped. Sure Joel was here but she hadn’t felt him, so why would she want to do anything at all?

“Ellie?” He gently toed her with his boot, eyes all soft and easy. “You gotta eat something baby.”

She just shrugged her shoulders, pushing some more food around with her fork. “I’m not hungry.”

“Not even for cheesy potatoes?” He said lightheartedly, putting his fork on her plate. And despite her mood, she couldn’t help but smile.

Cheesy potatoes were in fact her favorite, but the catch was, she never put them on her own plate. Instead, she let Joel get them in bulk and then she’d steal whatever she wanted from the pile, knowing he’d finish the rest. He always teased her about it, telling her to get her own food, but she saw the smile and the little shakes of his head that came with it, indicating he was in fact amused.

But tonight she hadn’t even looked at him or touched his plate for that matter, she opted instead to stare at her own food and dwell on why she felt so weird. It was a feeling she assumed that not even cheesy potatoes could fix.

“No.” She sighed, putting down her fork altogether.

Joel looked absolutely flabbergasted at that. “You’re not eating cheesy potatoes? The world must be ending. You feelin okay?”

She shrugged for probably the millionth time today. “Yup, just not hungry.”

He gave her a hesitant look, stopping his movements as well. “Hey, you sure?”

Fuck, why did he have to be so nice about it? So fucking gentle?

“Mmhm.” She mumbled, running her sleeve across her face to catch those stupid tears she hadn’t even meant to cry.

“Ellie.”

“No it’s good, I’m good.” She gave him what was probably the least assuring smile ever, and picked her fork back up to push some more food across her plate.

Joel didn’t like that, and so he stopped eating altogether. “Why don’t we just go home?”

She knew it wasn’t a question, and yet she still argued. “No it’s fine Joel, just finish your food, you’re hungry.”

“Mm, not really.”

“Jo-”

“I think I’ve had enough cheesy potatoes to fill both of us for a week, let’s go home.” Though this statement was said with love, she heard the demand in it. It was time to go home.

“Okay.” She said quietly, slipping on her jacket and racing out the door.

More tears threatened to spill over as she raced to the house, feeling Joel’s stare as he walked behind her. She didn’t understand why he couldn’t just fucking let things go. They didn’t need to talk about everything, which of course was what he was gonna do, but things would all be so much easier if he would just fight with her. If they would yell and scream, hell, sometimes she’d prefer him to just dig a hole and throw her in it. For some reason she felt it would hurt less then actually telling him what was the matter.

It would also be less embarrassing.

She swears she’s in the clear when she pushes the door open, already forming a plan to get him off her back, but she’s barely even inside for a minute before he’s right behind her, telling her to stop.

“Ellie.” That’s all it takes, one single word and she’s turning around, feet glued to the ground.

“I’m going to bed.” It’s defiant, an opening to an argument, but it’s easier then admitting what she really wants.

“No ma’am you’re not, sit down.” He points to the couch, slipping his coat off and tossing it on the rack.

Every muscle, every bone in her body says to keep walking away, to start a fight. But her mind won’t let her. She must stand there for what feels like forever debating whether or not it’s worth it, but when Joel looks at her, eyes still soft besides the gruff sound to his voice, she caves immediately. With a groan she begins stomping over to the couch, hearing Joel mumble something about dinosaur feet on his way to her.

Any other day she’d laugh, come back with some stupid statement about how he’s older then a dinosaur, but all she can think about now is the way he gently placed his hand on her shoulder when he walked by, how the place where it was is warm and tingly. How she feels like there’s a piece missing from her just because it’s gone.

“You gonna tell me what the hell is goin on or am I gonna have to beat it out of ya?” He says it with a smile, a ploy to get her to laugh. She doesn’t.

“Nothings wrong.”

“That’s not what I said.” He replies, hands clasped in front of him as he leans forward. “Talk to me kiddo.” He just stares then, waits for her to speak, to yell, anything. But she feels stuck, like she’s walking through quicksand, going so far down she can’t breathe, can’t see anything other then her own fear.

“Ellie hey,” He grabs her hand, running his thumb over her knuckles. She cracks a little more, eyes growing misty as she feels his callouses touch her newly soft skin. Why is this so hard?

“Look at me honey.” He crouches down, hands on her knees. There’s warmth everywhere on her body now, reaching from the tips of her toes all the way up to the top of her head, and yet somehow she’s still so fucking frozen in place.

“I can’t” She croaks out, a little sob shaking her upper body.

This obviously scares him, she feels it in the way his jaws ticks a bit, his hands tightening their grip on her own. “Ellie I promise you, whatever it is, no matter how bad it is, you can.”

She fights for a little while longer, Joel’s thumbs keeping her grounded as they brush along the skin of her hands and every now and then her knees.

How does she explain this? Where should she even start? Hey Joel, I feel like a fucking mess whenever you don’t hold me all the time because I’m a little baby with absolutely no self-worth and can’t function unless you kiss my head goodbye.

That wouldn’t do. No matter how much it was true, it wouldn’t do.

The frustrations of not being able to voice it made her chest feel even tighter, her fingers instinctively curling around Joel’s as she fought to breathe.

“I can’t.” She says again, eyes closing shut.

She hears him sigh before he readjusts to sit on his butt, hands never moving from hers. “Try.”

“I-”

“Ellie try.”

She inhales deeply, still struggling to find her own footing. It’s like a war inside her brain. Tell him, don’t tell him, back and forth nonstop. The only thing that seems to quiet it is when he lifts her hands to his lips, kissing her knuckles and massaging her tense hands. “Try.” He whispers again, in what she reads as a plea.

But how?

“You know,” The words come before she can even understand what’s happening, and she starts to stop, but he whispers it again and so she keeps going. “You know in the mornings when you like, when you hug me bye or like,” She sighs, still struggling. “I don’t know, when you kiss my head and stuff.”

She thinks she sees recognition flood his face and for a moment can breathe. “Oh Ellie, if you don’t like that just….” Everything goes quiet and her ears start ringing. Just kidding, he doesn’t get it.

“No.” She says quickly, “no please it’s not that.”Confusion now, and she feels even worse. “It’s, I like it when you do that.”

“Ellie I’m not understandin. I’m sorry.” She inhales again, trying not to cry. It’s not his fault he can’t read her mind and it’s not his fault she doesn’t know how to speak it.

“Promise you won’t make fun of me? No matter how crazy.”

“I promise.” He says it with no hesitation, without even blinking. She thinks that’s a good sign.

She takes a deep breath. “I don’t like it when you don’t do that. Like this morning when you left without a hug and you didn’t do anything like at all I thought I was gonna explode the rest of the day.” She’s quiet for a moment. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me?”

Joel gives her a little smile, cupping her cheek. “Baby there’s nothing wrong with you.”

“Yes there is.” She says frantically, pulling everything away from him. “I’m almost fifteen, I should-I should be able to function by myself. I should be able to go to sleep without you around, I should be able to have a normal fucking day at school without needing your hugs. But I can’t do it.”

He opens his mouth to reply, eyes going even softer as he watches all of her frustrations fall into his hands. “Ellie.”

“No there’s-there’s something wrong with me, I know it. I’m like a baby and I shouldn’t-���

“Hey now,” He says, grunting as he moves next to her on the couch. “Don’t talk like that, you’re not a baby and there’s nothing wrong with you.”

“Yes there is.”

“Ellie listen to me.” He guides her eyes to meet his, rubbing his thumb along her cheek. “You’ve gone your whole life without anybody to hold your hand. Nobody to say it was okay when you were scared, nobody to take care of you when you’re sick. And your goddamn tough for that.”

She smiles a bit at that and he takes it as a window to keep going.

“But you’re still a kid, and kids need affection. It’s normal, hell,” He laughs, “Sarah still cuddled the same damn way you do. So it’s okay.” Ellie sniffles, nodding her head at his words. “And really the only difference between that babygirl and this one is that you have a shit ton of catching up to do. But it’s okay.” He repeats it, needing her to get it through her thick head. “You hearin me?”

He leans their foreheads together, his lips gently kissing her temple and she just closes her eyes, reveling in the feeling of his utter presence “Yeah.” She thinks she does.

“Good, now no more theatrics.” He says jokingly, pulling her to his chest. “Okay?”

“Okay.” She laughs, nuzzling into his side.

It’s still not easy really.

It takes her weeks to finally walk up to him and just wrap her arms around him in a hug, but she does it, and a little bit of the weight loosens when he rubs his hand over head.

He takes the whole thing like champ, tries to make it easier for her to come to him. She doesn’t understand what he does differently or if he even changes anything, but everything else seems to just fall into place on its own until eventually it becomes normal for her to randomly walk up to him and fall against his chest. No matter where they are or who they’re with she learns that it’s okay, cause he’s gonna pull her in close and keep her shielded from everything and everyone, every single time.

And now, instead of feeling likes she’s walking through quicksand, it’s like she’s standing in a field of flowers. Easy, safe, and most importantly, home.

[blushweddinggowns]

But then she woke up the next day and nothing was better. She had slept till noon and by the time she came downstairs her mom let her know that she had two messages from Steve already. 

Those were definitely getting ignored. At least for today. 

She didn’t even know what to say to him. If her feelings for him weren't obvious to him before then they probably were now. Or he thought that she was a total homophobe which made her want to cry for a whole new reason. 

You’re the first person I’ve ever actually told this too, because it just feels like I can trust you. 

Nancy groaned at the memory. God, she had blocked that part out. He probably thought she hated him by now, but she didn’t. She couldn’t even be mad at him, not really.  He didn’t do anything wrong. She was the one who didn’t want to see what was right in front of her. She didn’t know what to do. And when she didn’t know what to do she called Barb, but that wasn’t an option for this.

…was it?

No. It wasn’t. She shouldn’t tell her. She wouldn’t tell her. But then again…if she guessed on her own what had happened that didn’t really count right? And if there was anyone Nancy could trust it was her. She’d never say anything. She just wasn’t the type of person who would endanger someone’s life for petty gossip.

Plus Nancy needed to apologize anyway and it was time she took the verbal tongue whipping that she deserved for leaving her there last night. She called her, sighing when it went to voicemail. She knew she was awake by now and she was definitely home. God, she was even more pissed at her then she thought. 

She spent the weekend sulking, while successfully avoiding Steve and leaving multiple I’m Sorry messages on Barb’s machine. But she wouldn’t be able to avoid her on Monday, she’d find her then.

But then her mom called her, crying. Barb had been missing since Friday. Which didn’t make any sense. Nancy was at their door within the hour, but they had nothing to tell her except that her car was gone and the police had been called. She even went back to Steve’s to look for her, her intense embarrassment suddenly felt like nothing in comparison to not knowing where he best fucking friend was. 

But lucky enough for her he wasn’t there. And Barb’s car wasn’t there either. And Nancy could have sworn it had been when she started walking home. Hadn’t it? What had happened to her after she left? 

Nancy was aware that breaking into Steve’s house to investigate was probably a bad idea. But it was his own fault for showing her where the hide-a-key was. It’s not that she thought that Eddie or Steve would do anything to Barb, but if she was crashing at his house she needed to know about it. But she didn’t find anything. She checked every room, she checked out back, but nothing. There weren’t even signs of a struggle. No blood, nothing that could indicate anything happened here.

But still…if Steve and Eddie were the last people to see her, she couldn’t just pretend that it didn’t matter. Against her better judgment she kept digging around, looking for anything that could help her figure out where she was. She was a little frazzled to say the least. Her best friend was missing and she was trespassing in her ex-crush’s house looking for. 

She was lucky she even heard the front door open while she was rifling through Steve’s desk, immediately followed by his and Eddie’s voices. 

Shit, shit, shit. 

She could hear them coming up the stairs. Of course they were coming up the stairs, his room was upstairs and Nancy….really didn’t want to get caught doing whatever the fuck this was. Could she be blamed for hiding in the closet? God, what kind of hellish weekend was this?

Nancy held her breath as the two of them walked in. She couldn’t see much through the slants in the closet, but she could hear everything. 

“Are you sure you left it here?” Eddie asked, “It might just still be at school.”

“I’m sure,” Steve answered while he shuffled around the room, “I had just finished it and put it back in the book before you came. Give me five minutes and I’ll find it. Just need to retrace my steps. Okay, Friday, I was studying before they came over. And then you happened and…”

She could hear him shuffle around the room before exclaiming, “Ha! Told you it was in here!”

“Why is it under the bed?”

Steve snorted, “Babe, ask yourself that question.”

“Okay whatever. You got me there. Nancy would be proud to know you were this dedicated to turning in homework.”

Steve sighed, “Please don’t say her name right now. I’m sad enough as it is. God, what if she already told Barb and they both hate us? I didn’t even get to say goodbye before they both left.”

“Oh Stevie…” Nancy could hear Eddie move to him, and then an unmistakable, wet kissing sound before he said, “I know this sucks, but it will be okay. You said it yourself right? Nancy’s not that kind of person to hate you over this. And if she is then we do what we always do, lie and move on.”

Steve sighed, “You make it sound so easy.”

“Because it is that easy. Besides, you still got me don’t you?”

Another wet sound before Steve giggled, “Yeah. I do. Now let’s go home, this room is making me depressed.”

Nancy could almost cry from how relieved she was when she heard the door close, even if all of that was hard to hear. Though having to hear them kiss wasn’t exactly pleasant. And she…she didn’t want Steve to think she hated him. But she also couldn’t focus on that for right now. Because now she had proof that whatever happened to Barb had nothing to do with Steve and Eddie, thank god. She would still have to ask them about her, get all her bases covered, but she felt pretty damn confident that they had nothing to do with her going missing. Which meant if she told anyone about this stupid party the cops would waste all of their time questioning them while Barb was still gone. Hawkins police had been functionally useless for finding Will Beyers, what were they going to do with Barb? Less than nothing?

Well Nancy wasn’t going to let that stand. She was going to find her herself. 

She just didn’t think she’d end up doing it with Johnathan Beyers of all people. Or that monsters turned out to be fucking real. Or that her little brother was involved. Or any of the insane shit that happened to her in the span of one week. 

Honestly, in comparison to all of that Steve coming out to her really wasn’t that big a deal. 

But him and Eddie showing up to the Beyer’s place to deliver condolence cookies sure fucking was. Though she had to admit, watching Eddie stab the monster in the back with the knife he kept in his shoe kinda made her more understanding on why Steve was so into him. 

She hadn’t even thanked him, either of them for their help. She was too busy rushing to the hospital with Johnathan. Because if they found Will, then that meant that they found Barb, right?

And they had. Just not all of her. Joyce was the one who ended up telling her. And the one who held her while she sobbed. 

Suffice to say, it was a pretty bad fucking week. It had been a few days since then and Nancy had spent most of it crying about Barb. She couldn’t even tell her parents because of the stupid NDA. Mike and Johnathan were too busy celebrating the fact that Will was alive to deal with her.  She had never felt more alone in her life. She couldn’t tell anyone. She couldn’t talk to anyone- 

Well…actually…she couldn’t talk to anyone who hadn’t been there. And even though they didn’t really know what was going on, Eddie and Steve had been there. If they haven't been forced to sign a shady NDA yet then they would be, and it had said nothing about discussing it with the people who already knew. 

But Jesus, now she had to think about Steve. Steve, who didn’t care that she had been ignoring him. Steve and Eddie who still jumped into help save their asses, despite being completely in the dark. How was she even going to face them? 

After everything that had happened, the whole gay thing felt so small. She could get over it, couldn’t she? And maybe her feelings for Steve hadn’t died completely yet, but they would if she tried right? Plus…as sad as it was, Steve was probably the closest living person to her at this point, even if they had only started getting close the past few months. She…missed him. Hell, she even missed Eddie.  

She hadn’t talked to either of them since that day. But she wanted to. She just wasn’t sure if they would want to talk to her. It’s not like she had anything to give them to make up for getting them almost killed. Or for running away. And she did want to make it up to them. She just didn’t know how. 

Unless…maybe there was something she could do after all. 

I’m not some kind of casanova. I haven’t even had sex with a girl before. All of those dates never got past first, if that. But we needed a way to not be obvious so that’s how that happened.

Steve’s words rang in her head. Maybe it wasn’t a good call to offer up being a fake girlfriend to the guy she still technically liked, but it was something. And it would benefit Eddie too. Plus, she could probably save a few girls from some heartbreak while she was at it. 

Okay, that was something. A plan was forming and plans always helped Nancy to feel like she was back in control. Now she just needed to go over there and apologize, explain everything that happened without crying, and offer up being a fake girlfriend as penance. That wasn’t so hard right? Plus it had the added benefit of getting her to move for the first time in two days. 

She rode her bike over to the Harrington’s place, completely unsurprised when there were no cars. Steve had said it himself, this wasn’t where home was. Luckily she knew where the trailer park was. She didn’t know which one was Eddie’s but she did recognize Steve’s car parked out in front of it. 

It took more than a few knocks for someone to answer the door, but she didn’t bike all around town for nothing. Though…it became pretty obvious pretty quickly that she had um, interrupted something when she came over. If the insane amount of hickies on both of their necks was anything to go by. But the conversation went well enough, of course it did. Both of them were understanding, maybe even understanding to a fault. And they had managed to make her laugh for the first time since she’d known Barb was missing. And both of them jumped right onto the fake dating idea. Eddie seemed especially relieved, he even promised to make her muffins for every other fake date they went on.

And just like that she had them back in her life. Thank fucking god. Nancy wasn’t the type of person who always needed to be surrounded by others to be okay. She liked being alone, honestly preferred it more than half the time, but she couldn't get through all of the shit they’d been through alone. She just couldn’t. And she didn’t have to, because Eddie and Steve were there for her every step of the way. Especially Steve. 

It’s not that he took Barb’s place, no one could. But he quickly became the person she’d go to for…well. Everything. Talking about Barb, on the days she could without crying about it, complaining about her Dad and brother, or even dumb things like who she went to first when she heard a song she really liked. She didn’t think that everything would feel so easy with him after what had happened. But it did.

And while she was a lot closer to Steve, having Eddie around wasn’t too bad of a feeling either. He had a gift for lighting up any room he was in. Steve and Nancy actually shared a lot of the same interests and didn’t have many differing opinions, which just made it so much more fun when Eddie went against almost everything they said. He always kept things interesting, that was for sure. 

But Steve just…understood her in a different way. A way that she needed. And if she could just forget about the whole My best friend fucking died for no reason thing for a second then she’d be doing pretty good right now. And also the small issue of I might still be in love with Steve thing.

That one was harder to ignore when she saw him nearly every day. And it made her feel sick. She didn’t want to feel like this. She didn’t want her heart to speed up every time he hugged her. She didn’t want to imagine a world where him holding her hand actually meant something. She didn’t want any of it, and she didn’t know what to do about it. There was nothing she could do. It was a lose-lose scenario. 

For one thing, it was never going to happen. That became painfully clear after Eddie and Steve got the go-ahead that she was a safe person to be themselves around. They were…ugh. Disgustingly in love. And the more she learned about the truth in their relationship the more nails  were hammered into the closed door of Steve and Nancy ever being together. Plus, she didn’t even want to be with him. Even if Steve magically fell in love with her tomorrow it would ruin Eddie. She couldn’t even fantasize about it because it just made her too damn sad. She wasn’t even sure Steve could be Steve without Eddie at his side. 

Besides, if anything she likes seeing them in love, as weird as that was. But the two of them beat her parents out of the park as an example for what love could be. And she wanted that with someone who wanted her. And Steve was never going to be that person. So why hadn’t the feelings gone away?

They were worse when she was having a bad day. And today was an especially bad day. It had been a few months since Barb died.  It was a Friday night and Nancy’s parents were gone for the weekend, Mike was at Will’s, and Steve and Eddie always did their own thing on Fridays. 

No one had remembered what day it was. Or if they did, they didn’t care. March 26th. Barb’s birthday. Nancy didn’t tell anyone and she didn’t do anything besides sending flowers to her parents..  No one else in school knew. She didn’t even go, she allowed herself the small liencay of skipping, even if she was regretting it now. 

Because she had had a strategy for dealing with Barb being gone. And that was keeping herself busy to the maximum extent possible. If she wasn’t studying her ass off she was doing an extracurricular, and if she wasn’t doing that then she was hanging out with Steve. And if she wasn’t doing that then she was busy trying to read everything Tolstov ever wrote. The busier she was, the less time she had to think. And the less time she had to think meant that her mind wouldn’t wonder to Barb, or how she died, or how alone she probably felt or how scared-

And her strategy was not working. At least not for today. Now she was back to where she was last year, crying alone in her room. Steve had called after school to check up on her and he seemed to believe the lie she put out about her period being particularly bad. It was good for no follow up questions at least. She would have the next 60 or so hours to be alone and miserable.

So why was there someone pounding on her door? Nancy groaned as she forced herself out of bed, yelling down the stairs, “Jesus, I’m coming!”

It had to be Dustin looking for Mike. It’s not like anyone wanted to see her. She didn’t even bother opening the door, she just yelled through it, “Mike is at Will’s house!”

Steve laughed nervously on the other side, “Well that’s good, because I’m pretty sure that kid hates my guts.” 

Nancy’s eyes widened at the sound of his voice. She opened the door and there he was, sheepishly waving at her on her front stoop, "Hi? Can I um, come in?"

Nancy stepped aside to let him, quickly wiping at her face to hide any stray tears. She was pretty sure she looked like shit, but too little too late for that one. 

She shut the door and turned to face him, suddenly feeling very awkward, “I thought tonight was date night?”

Steve shrugged, “Every night is date night if you try hard enough. Do you want to sit down or…?”

Nancy shook her head. What she wanted to do was get back to sulking, but she needed to figure out why he was even here before she could do that, “Steve, what are you doing here?”

Steve fidgeted in place and Nancy hated how adorable she thought it was, “Well you sounded weird over the phone and I was just worried I guess. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Or at least she would be fine after she was left alone to rot, like she deserved, “You don’t need to worry about me.”

Steve ran a hand through his hair, “Nancy look, I know you can take care of yourself. But I just thought since it’s…well y’know.”

How would he…he couldn’t know. Could he? Nancy narrowed her eyes at him, “What are you talking about?”

Steve frowned, suddenly looking a bit more unsure of  himself, “It’s Barb’s Birthday today right?”

Nancy stared at him, eyes wide, “H-How do you know that?”

Steve shrugged, “We um, talked about it once.”

“And you remembered?”

Steve cocked his head at her, “Of course I remember. We were having this whole debate about cars and then I asked what she’d want when she turned sixteen and she mention- Nancy? Are you okay?”

Nancy was not okay. She could feel the tears already welling up in her eyes. She thought…she didn’t think anyone remembered. Or cared but…Steve did. He hadn’t even known her that well. Which was fucking horrible because Barb would have loved him. She did love him, begrudgingly back when they barely knew each other. And Steve would have loved her. Because Barb was smart and funny and sweet like Steve and…and Nancy was crying. Like crying, crying. She was sobbing so hard it felt like an out of body experience. 

She could feel herself sinking to the floor, hands covering her face as she wept. She hated crying in front of other people. She hated looking so weak and pathetic. She hated feeling like this. She was supposed to be better than this. Why did she even have to cry about? She wasn’t the one who was dead. 

God, was this what a mental breakdown felt like?

She could barely hear the sound of Steve kneeling next to her over her own sobs, but she did feel it when he wrapped his arms around her, “Hey, hey, you’re okay. Everything’s gonna be okay. You’re not alone.”

That just made her cry harder. Because she should have been alone. She deserved to be alone. 

“No, you don’t Nancy. Don’t say shit like that.”

She hadn’t even realized she’d been talking out loud. Yep, this was definitely what a mental breakdown felt like. But Steve holding her was helping. He was even rocking her a little, murmuring reassurances in her ear the whole time. 

It took awhile for her to calm down. She couldn’t even tell you how long it had been. But somehow Steve had gotten them off the floor and to the couch, an arm still around her shoulders as she sniffled.

She wiped at her face, a sea of emotions flowing through her. Grief, shame, longing, and all of it was fucking awful. 

She couldn’t even look at Steve, “I’m sorry. I…I don’t know what came over me.”

“Nance, don’t apologize. You think I’ve never had a good cry session on the floor before? It’s normal.”

But it wasn’t normal for her, “You shouldn’t have to see me like this.”

“Why not? Nancy, your best friend died. What else are you going to cry over if not this?”

Even months later, hearing someone else say she died felt like a knife to her heart. Her eyes were already welling up again. Fuck it, she had already embarrassed herself to hell and back in front of him, why not a little more?

“I miss her. So much. Every day. And I can’t stop thinking, why her? What did she ever do to deserve this? And I can’t stop thinking if I hadn’t taken her to your house that night, would she still be alive? Is it my fault she’s dead? O-or am I just making her dying about me? And it makes me feel like I’m going crazy,”  She was babbling, and she’d be shocked if Steve could even understand half of what she was saying through her shaking voice. 

But Steve was listening to every word, patiently waiting as she got everything out before speaking, “Nancy, it’s not your fault she’s gone. And you’re not bad for thinking about what happened. I…I know there’s nothing I can say to fix this. But you're not a bad person because of what happened to her. And there was no reason. It was just fucked up and wrong and no one’s fault but the people in that lab.”

Nancy knew that he was right, even if it didn’t feel right. It still felt like her fault. And even if it wasn’t it didn’t take away the fact that she was gone. But…at least she wasn’t alone. She hadn’t even told him to come, but here he was anyway, all because he remembered her best friend’s birthday.

Because that was the kind of person Steve was. And she loved him for it. And he was handsome and kind and Nancy’s sense of self-preservation was at an all time low. 

The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, “I think I’m in love with you.”

She regretted saying it the second it was out there. She could feel Steve freeze up next to her. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.

Why had she said that? This. This right here was why she didn’t do vulnerable, because you say the dumbest shit imaginable. Shit that ruined friendships. What was Eddie going to think of her when he found out? He’d probably never talk to her again and now she put Steve in this horrible position and…God, why did she suck so much?

She looked up at him, near cringing at the shocked expression on his face, “Im so sorry Steve, that’s a terrible thing to say. Please don’t tell Eddie. I don't even know where that came from-”

Steve shook his head, shaking himself out of his surprised stupor. He smiled at her, aiming to comfort, “Hey, hey calm down, I’m not mad.”

But he should have been. Or at least Nancy thought he should, “Steve, I would never try to get in between you guys. You know that right? I’m just all fucked up and-”

“Stop apologizing. It’s okay. I get it Nancy. I do. But uh, I’m not sure you do.”

Nancy stopped, her third apology dying on the tip of her tongue, “What?” 

Steve sighed, “Nance, I love you but I think you’re looking at me through some rose-colored glasses here, alright? We work because you have the friend version of me. I think a week with romantic Steve would have you running up a wall.”

That’s what he was focusing on?

“Huh?”

Steve bit his lip, struggling for the words before saying, “It’s just-and stop me if I’m totally wrong here, but I think that it’s not everyday a boy and a girl get as close as we did without the romance part. So it’s easy to get confused. I know you love me. But…I don’t think you’re in love with me. I think you think it would be easier if you were, but Nancy, I swear to you it wouldn’t be.”

This conversation had taken a weird turn. And it didn’t make any sense to her, “What are you talking about? Anyone would be happy to be with you Steve. Look at you!”

“Exactly!” Steve groaned, circling a hand around his face, “Look at me! Do you know the shit I put Eddie through on a daily basis?”

“What do you mean?” Nancy asked.

“I mean I’m a nightmare! First of all, he’s not even allowed to sleep at night without me. And I’ll like, koala cling to him. All night long. And it doesn’t stop in bed. If we’re alone, his lap is my home away from home.”

Nancy stared at him, gnawing on her lower lip as he talked, "You're exaggerating."

Steve shrugged, "You're right. Half the time he’s on mine. But it gets worse. Do you remember when I was gone for that tournament a few weeks back? It was maybe two days?”

She nodded.

“I called him eight times. And he picked up every single one of them. Because if he hadn’t, I would have obsessively called him until he had.”

Jesus Christ, that could not be healthy, “Are…are you serious?”

Steve ran a hand through his hair, equal parts embarrassed and determined, “Dead. And that’s not even top five in the clingy shit I do. Did you know there was a weekend I literally didn’t let him out of bed for like twelve hours? Or the fact that I’m responsible for like every class we’ve ever skipped because I drag him into some dark room to makeout?”

Steve may have been right about the rose-colored glasses. If he ever tried any of that with her she’d strangle him, “You guys do that?”

“We do worse. But I’m not trying to add to your trauma here. But think about it. You’re…you. You’re independent, you love having alone time, you like the quiet, you want people to ask before they hug you. And I love all of that, I do! I love that you’re so straight-foward. I love that you're all no nonsense, but…well…I’m all nonsense. God I don’t know what other way to say this but I’m a brat and believe me, you’d dump me in a few months, a year tops.”

She hated how true that was. But Steve was right, she knew he was right. She would never be able to handle someone being that clingy. She stopped sleeping with her stuffed animals when she was ten because they made her too hot, but a whole person, attached to her side every night and day? She’d die. And maybe…maybe that explanation cleared up all the confusion. Because she still didn’t actually want him before she knew all of that, out of guilt. But now…it was a little more than just that. 

“But…” Steve trailed off for a second, before giving Nancy’s hand a light squeeze, “If I was straight, I’d love nothing more than to get my heart broken by you.”

Now Nancy was tearing up for a whole other reason. Maybe in love had been the wrong phrasing, but she really did love this guy. This strange, sweet, freak of a man. 

She squeezed his hand back, “Promise me this won’t change anything?”

Steve shrugged, “I can’t promise that. I think it will change things, but for the better alright? No more secrets between us, yeah?”

Nancy nodded, with one small caveat, “But you still won’t tell Eddie right?”

Steve grinned before pulling her into another hug, “That you thought you were in love with me for five seconds? Never.”

Nancy pulled away first, wiping at her eyes again. They were actually sore from all the crying she’d done in the last couple of hours, “I feel like I should send him flowers for dealing with you now or something.”

“Well…if you wanted you could tell him that yourself. How about you come back to the trailer with me? You can be alone with us.”

Nancy laughed at that, “That doesn’t make any sense.”

"It kind of does though."

It really didn’t but Nancy didn’t care. She smiled at him, relaxed in a way she hadn’t felt in months,“Yeah, that sounds good.”

While she was happy she’d get to spend more time with Steve, she was more than a little nervous to see Eddie, especially since she was interrupting their night. Even though Steve insisted over and over again that it was more than fine. Best case he’d be begrudgingly accepting, and worst he’d be obviously annoyed. Nancy wasn’t sure which she preferred. 

What she hadn’t expected was for Eddie to hug her right after she got in the door. Or better yet, ask before he did it. 

“You get full movie picking privileges,” he announced right after. He looked her up and down, frowning to himself a little, “"Have you had dinner yet?"

"Um no but I’m okay-"

“But nothing. I could throw you like a football. You’re eating something.”

Steve snorted behind her, “Did you just get possessed by an Italian grandmother? He makes spaghetti one time-”

“And you loved it!”

Nancy smiled to herself as she watched them bicker. But there was no longing to go with it this time, she just felt…happy to be around them. And she did eat, just to shut Eddie up, the nag. 

But she got him back. She was never going to let him live down the fact that he cried during Harold and Maude. She had them sit through all of her favorite movies, and by the third act of Valley Girl, they were both fast asleep. 

Steve was leaning against her shoulder while Eddie was half draped over the armrest, snoring in what looked like one of the most uncomfortable positions possible. She leaned back into the couch with a sigh as the movie played, her eyes slipping closed on their own. And for the first time in a long time, Nancy knew that she was going to be okay. 

~

Part 1 Part 1.5 Part 2

The end! At least for the Nancy POV. Everything from this little series was from this fic, and I might post more snippets if it can be relatively short for tumblr styling. This honestly isn't that short but I didn't want to split it in two so here we are!

@northa @dustcommander @attic-cat-blog @dinosareawesome2137 @obsessivlyme @fuckign-uh-hi

@a-little-unsteddie @ghost--enthusiast @jestyzesty @missarte-beltane

[puhpandas]

Rabbit Burrow

(3,785 words) Part 1 (part 2 found here)

Tony Becker, one year after surviving the attack from GGY, tracks down Gregory post-SB. But he has to get through Vanessa before he can get to Gregory.

Tony likes to think his detective skills are pretty good. So when he swings a leg over the seat of his bike and wheels it near the entrance, he hopes it's the right place.

He'd tracked down Gregory to this apartment complex somewhere in Gale county. It's still in Hurricane, and Tony had been able to reach it with just a bus ride. The apartment is somewhat run-down, but clean enough to where you can tell it's well kept, just old. The air conditioning units he passes on the way to the front door are brand new.

He'd taken the closest bus to Gale county right after school let out. He'd been restless all day up until finally acting on his findings. Tony has been searching for Gregory for a year. Finally finding something and having to wait for his middle school day to end was agonizing. He just hopes his Mom and Grandma wont be too mad at him.

He'd wrestled his bike he'd ridden to school that day discreetly onto the bus and wedged it in-between his legs and the seat in front of him. The air had been humid and thick all day with the signs of a storm, and Tony had seen the dark clouds and heard the thunder peeking over the treeline outside the bus window on the way here. He ducks inside the front door and beats the rain by seconds.

"Can I help you?" The receptionist asks him, giving him a weird look when he steps inside. Shes a lady with long, styled black hair and covered in jewelry. Tony tries not to look too suspicious as he sends her a polite smile, heading to the elevator on the wall to the left. He would also be wary if someone he'd never seen walked into a resident building.

"Just seeing an old friend." He tells her. He presses the button to the third floor and tries to break her gaze by stepping behind the closing doors. The elevator shakes a bit before moving up.

He tries to take a deep breath. Theres some kind of excitement floating around in his chest at the fact that he's done it, but he pushes it down, lowering his expectations.

Despite his theories, he really has no clue what to expect. Theres some sort of worry mixing with the excitement, and all he decides is that if he escaped once, he can do it again.

It both took too long and not fast enough when he finally reaches the third floor. He double checks his crumpled sheet of notebook paper in his hand once, then a second time, something nervous but anticipating thrumming in his veins.

He steps onto the beige carpet of the long hallway, fresh vacuum marks in it, and follows the number plates by each door before coming to a stop near the middle of the hall.

3-05 The plate reads back to him. He quadruple checks his paper again. Its right.

He sighs out deeply, not even realizing he was holding his breath. Despite himself, his brows crease ever so slightly.

He shakes it away, pushing past it. Maybe digging too deep is what got him into trouble before, but its different now. Tony... Tony's learned things during his search for Gregorys location. If there was any point during his investigation that he would call digging too deep, it would have been months earlier from now.

Besides. Tony has always been bad at staving off his curiosity.

He thunks his knuckles on the white wood of the door quickly after that, three times in succession. He kind of bluescreens for a second when he realizes what he just did, then shakes it off. Waiting with wide eyes at the door, watching for a rattling of a doorknob or listening for incoming footsteps.

Nothing. He waits a few more minutes before knocking again, this time a little louder and harder.

Tony perks up when footsteps finally near the door, and his lips part prematurely when the doorknob rattles, not even put-together words yet on his tongue. They fall away immediately when a woman with blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail opens the door, one of those chain locks keeping it open maximum of three inches. "Hello?"

He stutters for a moment, words lost on his tongue, before he clears his throat, putting on a polite smile. "Hi, there." He says. "Um. Who are you?"

"I should be asking you that, kid." The woman raises a brow at him, never opening the door more than the chain lock allows it. She peers at him through the gap, and Tony tries as discreetly as possible to look past her head and shoulder into the apartment itself. "What are you doing here?"

When he looks back, shes still looking at him in a way Tony can only describe as cautious. The light in the hallway on the ceiling is flickering, and it casts split second shadows on the womans face that makes the bags under her eyes that much more prominent and her face that much more intimidating. "Well?"

Tony realizes he hasnt answered, and coughs slighty. "Oh. Sorry." He says, reluctant to continue. "I'm... I'm looking for Gregory."

Tony watches intensely to see if the name rings a bell or catches her attention. Just as he expects, her face twists ever so slightly in recognition. Tony catches something adjacent to panic or fear in her eyes until it's gone not half a second later.

"Who's asking?" She asks eventually, voice carefully even after a what appeared to Tony to be a mini conundrum in her head.

"His friend." He answers honestly. He ducks his head when the woman scrutinizes him, looking almost angry, but restrained enough to not show it. "I mean it," He says earnestly. "he and I... we were best friends. Last year. I came here to look for him."

Her eyes widen ever so slightly at that, and she studies him, eyes flicking back and forth over his face and his clothes and his hair. Tony doesnt miss the way her eyes linger for a millisecond on his scars. Its silent in the hall save for the two looking at eachother, and the buzzing of the flickering light on the ceiling is enough to save him from hearing his own heartbeat.

"Okay." She says eventually, and Tony subconsciously feels himself sag a bit at the relief that he won't turned away right as he was this close. She shuts the door without a word, and all Tony can do is stare at the peeling landlord white paint on the door as the sounds of the woman unlatching the multiple locks on the other side reach his ears. He waits patiently, until she cracks the door open not much wider than it had been with the lock, but just enough to fit his body in. "Come in. But no word to anyone. Got it?"

About what? Tony's about to ask, but then he steps through the door and the words die on his tongue.

"Oh." He says outwardly when Glamrock Freddy Fazbear sits on the couch. His body is adjacent to the patchwork quilt Tony has on his bed that his Grandma made him, and any of the makeup he had been painted with has long since scratched off.

His eyes are shut, and theres two jump cables attached to his ears that are plugged into a portable something. He doesn't so much as twitch when Tony enters the room.

The woman gives him a look after she re-locks only the deadbolt behind him and passes him into the apartment. "Oh." He repeats. "Not a word."

She nods at him, and it's only now that Tony can see the rest of her that isnt just her face. Shes in her twenties, if he had to guess, and she has a white tank top on with some sort of stain near the collar along with Hello Kitty fleece pajama pants. Her socks are mismatched and her nails are painted a purple color that could rival the deep bags under her eyes.

She collapses into an armchair (which hes pretty sure has a mismatched leg attached to it half-hazardously) and only looks at him silently as he steps further into the house, not so discreetly angling his body to get a peek past walls and open doors across the house.

Shes about to speak when Tony does first, "Wheres Greg?" He asks straight up. "Can I see him?"

Her lips twitch, and she just leans further back into the chair. The TV is playing some sort of Spring baking show, and the droning of the host mixes with the pattering of the rain on the window on the wall by the TV.

Anticipation and impatient-ness buzzes under his skin at being right here, and this woman undoubtedly knowing Gregory certainly doesnt help.

She only hesitates for a moment, but Tony can see the influx of thoughts that undoubtedly ran through her mind. She opens her mouth, taking a slow breath, before, "At school."

"He goes to school?" Tony gasps slightly, eyes widening. He moves to the couch, toeing past Freddy Fazbear as to not touch him even with just a brush of his jeans before sitting down, facing her. "What school?"

"He goes to Raindrop." The woman tells him, seemingly not hesitating this time.

It doesn't ring a bell, but it must be a middle school in Gale county. "...I go to Hailstorm." Tony says. "We both did. Or used to."

She stares at him after that, fingers drumming on the arm of her chair. She says nothing, just scrutinizing him, before, "You sure have a lot of cryptic ways of telling me how you used to know Gregory."

He wants to apologize, because it seems like what to do in response to that statement, but for some reason, that feeling in his gut he's learned to trust as his Detective sense tells him that he shouldn't.

Shes still looking at him intensely, and the rain outside pattering on the window somehow feels louder. There's some thunder outside that rumbles the floor, and the lighting casts a shadow on the living room. A few white lines across the coffee table caused by the blinds covering the window.

Her face doesnt so much as twitch, he notices, and she doesn't blink when she looks at him. Her green eyes bore into him, almost glowing in the shadow cast beneath her bangs. It reminds him of how he'd done to her not minutes ago. What he does to people he wants to analyze. To see how they react to something.

That's what shes waiting for, he realizes. He has a feeling that if he doesnt match her cryptic bluntness and instead apologizes and caves that easily, that it will somehow result in her turning him away.

Theres a glint in her eye when he becomes aware of reality again enough to look, and he thinks she somehow just came to the conclusion that Tony figured it out.

Then, he tries to sit up a bit straighter, and muster up that same glint mirroring back at him. "You sure have a cryptic way of letting me know you dont trust me."

Her mouth twitches slightly, but its all Tony needs to know he'd guessed correctly.

Its silent for a moment, and the woman grabs the remote on the next arm over and pauses the baking show she'd been watching. She shifts in the red velvet seat, as if getting comfortable, before, "Tell me how you know Gregory, and I'll tell you how I know him."

He has a feeling he isnt getting to Gregory unless he gets through this woman first, so he clears his throat, leaning his forearms on his knees.

"Me and Gregory met early last year at the beginning of the school year." He begins. "Right after summer ended in August. He was the new kid, and he sat at our table at lunch since it was mostly empty. Me and my friend arent the most popular, so there was room to spare."

She waves a hand, signaling him to stop. "Your friend?" She asks. He nods. "How many of there were you?"

"...Just me and E-- my friend." He says. "There were two of us, and when Greg sat at our table, we remembered how he looked a little lost earlier in class and we introduced ourselves. Then we just... clicked, I guess. He would partner with us in creative writing."

"Writing, huh?" She smiles slightly.

"Yeah." He replies. "Then, it was just business as usual for the months afterwards." He pauses, fidgeting with the hem of his jacket he loves so much that reminds him of the trenchcoats big city investigators wear. "Then... I had gotten wrapped up in this mystery."

She shifts, crossing a leg over the over and holding her hands together. "A mystery?"

Tony nods, remembering it like it was yesterday. He thumbs the part of arm where a scar is on his arm that his jacket covers. "The three of us would always go to the arcade in the Pizzaplex." He tells her. "And one day, I noticed high scores that seemed impossible to reach, and I became obsessed with solving who it was who had gotten there."

Tony thinks hes very good at reading people. So he doesn't think it's just his imagination when the woman in front of him goes a little rigid in her seat.

Theres some sort of creases under her eyes, Tony notices, that weren't there before.

"What did you do?" She asks.

Tony has a feeling that she somehow knows already. So he doesnt beat around the bush.

"I solved the mystery, eventually." Tony says. "Because GGY had been Gregory, and he'd invited me to the Pizzaplex and tried to kill me."

She sags a bit, looking somehow infinitely more tired, but no surprise detected. "But you survived."

"Not..." He shakes his head, picking at the skin by his fingernails. "I wouldn't have. If not for Greg saving me."

"Huh?"

"He--" Tony searches for the words, looking at the carpet between his knees and remembering that afternoon in every vivid detail he'd looked over countless times before. "He'd tried to kill me, yeah, but... he was almost fighting himself as he did it. He was like having a fistfight with himself."

He doesn't look up at her, he just keeps remembering how Gregory had gone rigid right before plunging the knife into Tony's gut a second time and stopped himself. How it had looked like somebody yanked Gregory backwards, but it had been his own self throwing his body. Just so he didnt hurt Tony again.

"He looked like he was a malfunctioning robot." He recalls. "He was like, hitting himself, and was making noises like he was fighting something. I was too frozen to move at the time, but then he threw me a really high security pass for the Pizzaplex and told me to run."

Then he had collapsed in front of him, like he was holding himself down. He doesn't tell the woman, though.

He looks back up to see her staring, eyes wide in suprise. She looks deep in thought for all but a few moments before shaking herself out of it. "So what did you do?"

"I ran." Tony says. "He had got me already. He stabbed me in the back, the first time. That was how I knew he was attacking me in the first place. But I ran away with the pass, and I went to a room with a ton of monitors and erased the security footage."

Her eyes blow wide as saucers, that time. "You got stabbed," she begins. "and instead of getting help, you erase the security footage?"

"Yeah." Tony nods. "Greg would have gotten in trouble if I didnt."

She's silent, after that. Tony just keeps picking at the skin on his fingers. "I somehow knew that Gregory didnt deserve to be. He just..." Tony trails off. "He didnt seem..."

"Seem like himself?" She suddenly cuts in, and Tony's eyes widen.

He nods, a small tilt of his head, and the woman sighs. "That's what being mind controlled will do to you."

A year ago, probably longer by now, Tony would have never believed that. He would have never thought something so outlandish that is only ever shown in fiction could be a possibility.

Not that he was wrong, to. Really, anyone in their right mind wouldnt think so. But things have changed since then.

And Tony has seen a lot of things during his search that probably nobody else has. Plus, This woman has been so cryptic up to this point. If she told him this straight up, and it's clear that she knows Gregory...

Suddenly, everything that day seems to make perfect sense. And everything he'd found that he'd filed away into his little mental Gregory crazy wall.

(He'd used to call it evidence wall, like normal people do. But, well, at some point, maybe Tony had thought the things he'd been finding were a bit too crazy to deem as normal.)

Theres been a stretch of silence while Tony had been taking that in, and he only breaks it to say, "Is mind control a topic you're familiar with in this house?"

Her eye twitches, a bit. And now that Tony is looking for it, he notices that same strange sheen on her eyes that Gregory had during their friendship. That weird red tinted film that makes their eyes turn a completely different color when the light hits them right.

Tony doesnt yet understand how the mind control Gregory had been under works, but all he can hope is that there are some side effects.

She stares at him, eyes narrow, and theres another roar of thunder outside the window.

"Who are you?"

"Tony." He answers. "Tony Becker. Ring a bell?"

She hums, and she looks at him in a way where he feels like he's being dissected.

"He didnt remember anything for a while." She says eventually. "But hes been having dreams, lately. Sometimes he talks about two kids he used to be friends with."

"Me and Ellis." Tony's eyes widen. It doesn't even occur to him that he shouldn't share Ellis's name.

"He worries about you." She says. "I've heard him say he hopes you're okay. You and that other kid. You must have been close if he remembers being that good of friends with the two of you."

"We were." Tony replies. Memories of him, Ellis, and Greg going to the Pizzaplex and trying to get the most dunks in the basketball hoops flash in his mind. He thinks about when Gregory would come over to Tony's little run down house that he shares with his Grandma, and they write graphic novels together for the fun of it.

Gregory liked to call them comics before he'd suddenly decided that stuff wasnt cool anymore and stopped coming over. It had been like everything Tony saw him enjoy that wasnt painfully average for a child suddenly didn't mean anything to him anymore.

And then Gregory tried to kill him in a dusty back room.

Everything hed given up seems to make more sense now. It wasnt willingly at all.

"He doesn't remember your names." She speaks up suddenly, ripping Tony out of his thoughts. "But he remembers more and more every time he has a dream. Something reminded him of you one day, I guess. That must have been when it started."

Tony opens his mouth, but the beeping of a digital clock interrupts him. He follows the womans arm as it reaches across the seat to turn it off.

The time reads 5:00pm.

He watches as she looks over at him, and nods to the door. "After school activity." She informs him, getting up out of the seat. His eyes follow her as she moves towards the front door. "I'm his ride."

Tony's eyes widen at the implications. "So I just--"

"Stay here." She tells him. She grabs a flannel off of the small coat rack by the front door and slips it on, sliding some Adidas sandals on top of her socks and reaching in the pocket of the coat to grab car keys. She pulls them out, and Tony notices that theres a keychain of a white rabbit dangling from the key ring.

The breath is suddenly stolen from his lungs, and he bolts off of the couch, a buzzing under his skin. "You're bringing him?"

She nods to Freddy Fazbear. "If you can wait." She smiles at him, and it's the first time Tony has seen her smile, instead of the carefully kept nonchalant-ness. "He'll wake up pretty soon once he's done charging. So you won't be completely alone."

Tony doesnt know what to say to that. Thousands of words spawned from the thousands of thoughts hes had about finding and tracking down Gregory are on the tip of his tongue, but he only gets any out when the woman begins to leave the house.

"Wait!" Tony reaches out a hand. She turns around, a brow raised. The door is still slightly ajar, and the sound of heavy rain reaches his ears. "What's your name?"

She smiles a bit at the question. "Vanessa."

"Vanessa," He asks, oddly desperate. "Dont tell him I'm here." He swallows. "I want to see him remember me."

Vanessa tilts her head, but nods after a moment. "Sure, kid."

She smiles one last time on her way out, and says, "Tony Becker."

The sound of the rain outside disperses when the door shuts and locks, and Tony doesnt move for a long while. He just stares at the landlord white door, electricity under his skin and something floaty in his stomach.

Greg. He thinks in his mind when he finally rips himself away and looks around some more, seeing a door propped slightly open down the hall with a bed and a desk with pencils and paper strewn all about. He doesn't dare go in, but stares at what he can see. Its been a while.

The silence is numbing, when he can only hear the faint whirring of Freddy Fazbear on the couch next to him and the rain on the window, he plants himself on the couch cushion next to the animatronic, grabbing the remote and resuming the baking show Vanessa had been watching.

He doesn't listen to a word. He just trembles with anticipation and bobs his leg up and down as he stares at a random corner of the screen.

ao3 link

[thetismcave]

I really want to read at least one fic that addresses sojiros early treatment of akira (and the fact that he basically said he thinks it would have been the right choice to ignore a person who needs help), the protagonist’s authority/adult related trust issues, and/or sojiro earning the protags trust because I want the development of found family

I want fic recs because I can’t seem to find what I’m looking for >:(