In the end, it is the sound of a car door slamming shut that snaps Buckley out of her stupor, and she all but flies off the steps towards the truck. Towards where Eddie can vaguely make out the shape of a badly bruised face, the play of light and darkness not enough to conceal the deep purple splotches or the sluggishness of his movements as he raises his head. Turning toward Buckley like a flower to the sun.
She presses her hand to the window for a second, just looking at him — and Eddie is glad he can’t see either of their faces. He has a feeling that what he’d see there would haunt him forever.
He looks away from them, back to Wayne who doesn’t seem at all surprised to have another stray in his home, simply rounds the car to talk to her. His words don’t make it all the way to Eddie, but a part of him is glad about it.
This is not his moment. This is not about him. He’s just… sort of there. Steve’s got Robin, and Wayne’s got Steve. Eddie’s just standing around in his kitchen, worry gnawing at him that he’s missed his mark. Missed the role call. Missed his position in the scene, and now it carries on without him.
Rooted to the spot, beginning to feel restless and unsettled as a new kind of anxiety creeps up on him to swallow him whole, Eddie looks around for something to do. Something to be useful. But there’s nothing… What does he… How can he—
“Ed,” Wayne calls, his voice a little strained as he has Steve’s arm across his shoulder to support him down the driveway and up the steps.
Buckley is on Steve’s other side, her jaw still clenched, her mouth still shut. In their middle, Steve’s eyes are shut, but a frown between them speaks of the pain he must be feeling still. He doesn’t complain, though; barely even groans. Eddie flits his eyes back to Wayne, feeling stragely caught. Not sure if he should go there and help, take either of their places, or—
“Can you grab a glass of water, please, son?”
Water! Glass! Yes, he can do that, he can do that. The cool handle doesn’t feel real against his hand, still sort of freezing, but he manages to open the cabinet and get out a glass. Hyper-focused on the smooth texcute against his fingers, the edges and curves seeming deeper and wider now than usual.
He grabs another for Wayne and one for Robin, and carries them over to where they’re gently placing Steve on the couch, feeling robotic in his motions and losing all momentum the second the glass hits the table with a dull sound that courses through his whole body.
“Thanks,” Harrington croaks, and Eddie is reminded of Blue. Of Not gonna break, Eddie. Of You know, sometimes I wish he would.
He flinches back and swallows hard, rubbing his clammy hands on his jeans and decidedly not looking at the black eye, the massive swelling, or the split skin he can see so clearly now that the blood has been wiped away, tiny strips of band-aid serving as little highlights on bruised and broken skin.
“You got it, man,” he mumbles, his voice a perfect mirror to Harrington’s croak, but Eddie has no excuse for it other than cowardice and strange, petrifying kind of fear stuck somewhere between He’s gonna die on my couch and He’ll be okay if only he stays here.
In either scenario, Eddie feels like he shouldn’t move. Like this should become a still life, a painting; a companion piece to Robin’s, just moments ago.
He looks to Wayne, not moving his head, just his eyes, feeling like a deer in the headlights even though none of this is about him. Wayne, bless him, is already looking at him, and his face is filled with such patient determination and understanding that Eddie feels another sob welling up in his throat.
“Go change your sheets, Eddie, and grab the spare bedding from the closet. Steve’s parents aren’t home and he’s not to be alone. Doctor’s orders.” He turns to Robin, who’s cradling Steve’s face with such tenderness, her slim, trembling fingers look wrong against the reds and blues and purples of his face. “You can stay, too, just let me call your parents so they know where you’re at.”
She looks like she wants to be polite and tell him that’s not necessary, but that look is quickly replaced with relief that Eddie feels is contagious almost.
“Thanks.”
Another croak. A rasp. And Eddie wonders if she thinks about still lives, too, or if she’s just holding back tears.
who did this to you pt. 4 snippet. to fill the silence
(preceding snippets for this chapter are here)
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Wyatt’s stomach was still churning too uncomfortably for him to think about dinner, nor did Brynn seem too bothered either; she was far more interested in taking herself to bed. He’d been too distracted to notice earlier, but he suddenly realised she hadn’t even brought a bag along with her.
Wyatt: You didn’t bring anything with you?
Brynn: I not really have anything…
Wyatt: If I knew you were going to set out with nothing, I might not have been so keen to let you leave.
Brynn: It was important to me.
Wyatt: I know.
Brynn: You came to find me, didn’t you?
Wyatt: Perhaps-.. but I changed my mind in the end.
Brynn: Before or after you fail?
Wyatt: [snorts] In between.
Brynn: I not mean to ghost you-.. I hoped to get a new phone, but something more important popped up.
Wyatt: It’s okay.. I have your phone, by the way.
Brynn: Oh-.. is Gael still breathing?
Wyatt: Unfortunately.
Brynn: Maybe you knock some sense into him.
Wyatt: I doubt it.
Brynn: Hm, me too-.. I would have liked to see his face.
[Wyatt snickered lowly; he should’ve taken a picture]
Wyatt: Would you still have come back? You know, if it weren’t for-…
Brynn: I always plan on coming home.
Wyatt: I take it you were busy saving your money?
Brynn: Yes! Though your friend Darien helped me in the end.
Wyatt: I’ll have to pay him back then.
Brynn: Pfft, I pay myself! That’s why I take so long.
Wyatt: I could’ve helped you, if you’d asked.
Brynn: I not think it fair.
Wyatt: What do you mean?
Brynn: Is so expensive.
Wyatt: And?
Brynn: I not want to bankrupt you.
[Wyatt squinted, realising he’d never mentioned the fact that his lifestyle didn’t quite match his bank account]
Wyatt: Brynn, I could buy us a private jet if I wanted-.. several, in fact.
Brynn: Really..?
Wyatt: Mhm.
Brynn: You live so modestly; I never would know.
Wyatt: Well, at least you’re not after my money.
Brynn chuckled sleepily; she hadn’t returned with the intent to sit idly on her hands, but it was nice to know there was no rush to find employment, or to make money. She was beyond exhausted after the past few months
Brynn: Does that mean I not have to get a job?
Wyatt: Not unless you want one.
Brynn: Will you keep yours?
Wyatt: Probably not. I just wanted to know what it felt like-.. mundanity.
Brynn: Is kind of rewarding, no?
Wyatt: Oddly so.
Brynn: I think we have something more rewarding to spend our time on soon.
Wyatt: How long do we have to, uh.. prepare?
Brynn: I not know exactly.
Wyatt: You haven’t been to the doctors?
Brynn: I not able to just walk in without being registered! I feel fine, anyway.
Wyatt: We’ll sort it out tomorrow-.. get you some clothes n’ stuff afterward.
Brynn: You are soft.
Wyatt: Only for you.
With no worries left unsaid and no more secrets between them, Brynn draped herself over Wyatt and crashed-.. hard. Some people clearly didn’t understand her choices, but she’d never felt so loved, seen, or safe with anyone else before. She was finally home, and for the first time in her life, she was truly content…
Previous // Next
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y'know what we don't talk about enough? Hazel died. We talk about how she grew up in the 30's and 40's and we talk about how out of place she feels in the modern world, but! She died! She was dead! She has spent more time dead than alive, and not by a close margin!
How does that effect a person??? We got some of it in the flashbacks, but once those caught up with her present timeline and she shared them, they just kind of... disappeared. And she was a regular girl with some weird past experiences. That's one way of doing it, sure!
I think it would have been a lot cooler if she was just a touch creepier. If she felt a little bit Wrong. Yeah, in general she's more approachable than her brother, she's more sociable and less closed off, but. If you actually spend any time with her, it can be difficult to tell which child of the underworld is actually more unsettling.
Hazel is bright of personality and has a dazzling smile, but sometimes she'll just... shut down. She'll go completely blank for like half an hour and nobody knows what to do with it. Sometimes she forgets she's alive. Sometimes she'll spout the grimmest shit you've ever heard like it's nothing, she won't even notice it's weird until the room goes quiet. She spent decades in Asphodel, which is designed to make people forget about themselves and wander around for eternity, only she didn't have the luxury of forgetting! Wild! After she comes back to life, sometimes she forgets that she's allowed to Do Stuff now. She can spend so long sitting and staring at nothing. Sometimes she'll start crying on cloudless days because it hits her again that she can actually feel the warmth of the sun on her skin and she can hear birdsong. Every little mundane experience is a blessing and she will make you remember that in the most foreboding way possible.
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thinking about nami's backstory and how she begged for help twice, and both times ended up with Gen getting beat up and sliced to ribbons, as well as the rest of the villagers getting attacked as nami watched in horror, and this was after watching her mother get shot in the head
then later on in arlong park, she watched as several marine ships came to try to help and watched as arlong and the fishman pirates sank each and every one of them before the navy stopped sending help altogether and in just a few hours nami realized that she can no longer ask for help, it won't successfully come without lose of life of either random people or those she cares about
so at that moment she decided that she can't rely on anyone, can't ask for help lest they get attacked, and that she is completely and utterly on her own
and then comes in luffy and the straw hats, determined to help, but i think it's important here to know that luffy waits until nami asks for it, something she was avoiding until arlong backed her into a corner and everyone she loves was about to be killed despite all her effort and struggles
asking for help meant death to whoever would, but not asking for help would lead to the deaths of those she was trying to protect
so she asked
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i’ve decided to send an ask for each story you posted in the wip game kdnehdhs who did this to you? lives rent free in my brain 💛💛 (@a-little-unsteddie)
thank you so much 🥰🤍 still slowly working my way through the asks, so have a few more words to make up for the wait 🫶
who did this to you (pt.4) // tales of blue
part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | read on ao3
🌷 preceding snippet no 1. | no. 2
Finally, finally, the familiar sound of Wayne‘s old truck rounding the corner into the trailer park interrupts the tense silence that seems to have fallen over all of Forest Hills tonight, and Eddie has half a mind to run out there, run toward them and get the whole story. Just to be sure that everything is fine. Just to be sure that Steve’s still… That he’s still there.
He stays right where he is, though, staring at Buckley‘s wild hair, feeling her shadow walk over him as Wayne pulls up to their driveway and stops. She is right in the centre of the headlights, but still she doesn’t move. Eddie wants to scream at her. Wants to nudge her and shove her out of the way — imagines it, imagines all the alternate universes in which he finds her wide eyes scared and unseeing as Wayne‘s voice sounds behind them, telling them that Steve didn’t make it.
Except in this one, Wayne said they’re coming home. In this one, shit like that doesn’t happen to eighteen year-old boys and their friends.
Aside from that girl. Barbara Holland.
Eddie swallows, his eyes flitting between bright lights to the silhouette of Buckley right in their centre. Like a doe, he thinks. Terrified of what she’ll find.
Don’t you wanna know? Eddie wants to ask her. Don’t you wanna see? What are you afraid of? What did you see? Who is he, Robin, and who are you? Why the fuck won’t you move?
In the end, it is the sound of a car door slamming shut that snaps Buckley out of her stupor, and she all but flies off the steps towards the truck. Towards where Eddie can vaguely make out the shape of a badly bruised face, the play of light and darkness not enough to conceal the deep purple splotches or the sluggishness of his movements as he raises his head. Turning toward Buckley like a flower to the sun.
She presses her hand to the window for a second, just looking at him — and Eddie is glad he can’t see either of their faces. He has a feeling that what he’d see there would haunt him forever.
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