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luxaofhesperides · 4 months

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For the ghostlights drabbles: “Say my name” with a favor being called in?

Duke had saved Phantom years ago, back when he was just out of high school and working to take down a branch of the government that was kidnapping and experimenting on people, targeting magic users and metas. Phantom had been working on his own to take them down, and they met in the middle, trashing a lab and freeing as many people as they could.

They had managed to shoot his back, knocking him down and making him bleed a glowing green. Phantom couldn’t move, protecting two kids with his body, and Duke couldn’t reach them in time before they were taken away by another swarm of agents.

He was able to go after them in time, free Phantom and the kids, and evacuated the victims before Phantom rained hell down on the facility.

At the end, standing in the background as they watched paramedics treat the victims and take them towards the nearest hospitals, Phantom had turned towards him and thanked him.

Or rather, he thanked the Signal and offered him a bracelet with a rounded orb of ice, glowing faintly in the dark. If you ever need me, he had said, Hold this, and call me name.

Phantom vanished once the last of the victims were transported to a safer location, and Duke hadn’t seen him since.

He’s kept up with news about Phantom as best he can, but from what he could tell, Phantom is based primarily in Amity Park, Illinois, and the town is fiercely protective of their hero. News rarely leaks out of there, and with them running on their own servers and independent internet, it was nearly impossible to get in from the outside.

Phantom remained a curious and distant figure in Duke’s life. He holds onto the bracelet still, guarding it carefully and sometimes running his fingers over the ice that never melts.

But he doesn’t call in that favor. He’s never to.

At least, not until now.

Sucking in a breath, Duke prepares himself and holds the orb of ice in the palm of his hand. He’s in civies, unable to hide his identity for this, and closes his eyes. “Phantom,” he says.

For a moment, nothing happens. Duke blinks his eyes open and frowns, mind already forming new plans to contact Phantom. Then the ice goes bitingly cold, almost painful, and the temperature in the room drops dramatically. The ice lifts up from his hand, floating in the air, then cracks open.

White-blue light spills out of it, growing brighter as it seems to swallow up the room entirely. Duke hurries to back up, an arm thrown up to protect his eyes. His breath mists out before him and he shivers as the sound of ice cracking fills the room.

And then, just as suddenly as it started, the light disappears and the cold fades away like a bad dream.

Slowly, Duke lowers his arm and looks up at Phantom, floating in the middle of his living room with a crown made of ice, engulfed in blue fire, hovers above his head. He looks older, more regal, holding his head high.

He regards Duke carefully for a minute, then tilts his head and says, “Signal?”

“Yeah, it’s me. Man, I’m so glad you came.”

“You… need help with something? You’re calling in your favor now, right?”

Duke nods. He understands Phantom’s confusion; being in the hero business means that favors like these tend to be used only during the most hopeless of times, when the world is close to ending, when the chances of getting out of a situation alive is close to impossible. It’s exactly the kind of thing Duke was expecting to call Phantom in for.

Not the kid sleeping on his couch.

“You’re a ghost, yeah?”

Phantom blinks at him. “Ghost king, now. Why?”

“Well…” Duke rubs the back of his neck, nervously. “I didn’t really know who else to call, and I can’t do this on my own since I’m not a ghost. But this kid got attached to me and won’t leave, so now I’m taking care of her and I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“I don’t know why you think I have any experience with kids but—”

“She’s a ghost.”

Phantom stops short. “Ah. I see.” He floats down until his feet touch the floor, and then he’s standing like any other person. “Where…?”

Duke looks past Phantom’s shoulder, and Phantom turns to follow his gaze. Chelsea, the ghost girl, looks to be around nine years old and is fast asleep on the couch, curled up under Duke’s softest blanket.

“Signal,” Phantom says quietly, “What, exactly, is the favor you need from me?”

“You can say no,” Duke starts. “I get that this is a lot. But I need help raising her. And since you’re a ghost, I figured you could help me learn about the ghostly side of things. You don’t have to raise her with me or anything! Just… I would appreciate any help you’re willing to give me.”

Phantom doesn’t say no. He doesn’t say anything. He just stares down at Chelsea, an unreadable expression on his face.

On the couch. Chelsea shifts in her sleep, brows furrowing as she makes a choked noise in the back of her throat.

Moving on autopilot after so many nights of this routine, Duke kneels next to the couch, fishing one of her hands from beneath the blanket. He gives it a few reassuring squeezes, keeping it a slow rhythm to pull her gently from her nightmare. She settles down in just a minute, brow smoothing out as she continues to sleep.

The silence grows and Duke is all too aware that his heart is the only one beating.

He doesn’t hear Phantom move. Doesn’t realize he’s right next to him until he sees Phantom’s hand reach out towards Chelsea. When Duke looks, Phantom is sitting on the floor next to Duke, looking at Chelsea with something soft and devastated in his eyes. His hand hovers about her head for a long moment, then slowly lowers to rest on her head.

The touch looks gently, barely putting any pressure on her head, but it’s enough to make Chelsea’s eyes snap open, suddenly wide awake. She stares at Phantom with wide eyes, then sits up and looks between him and Duke.

“Who are you?” she asks in a small voice that makes Duke want to stand against the world to keep her safe.

Phantom smiles. It’s casual and charming and makes him look like anyone else, as if he’s not a powerful king from a realm unreachable to humans. “Hi there,” he says, “I’m Danny. I’m a ghost like you. Signal called me and asked me to meet you.”

The Ghost King is good with kids. Who would have thought?

Chelsea looks at him for confirmation and only relaxes when he nods. “I’m Chelsea. What do you mean ghost? I’m not dead.”

Both he and Phantom tense, carefully keeping their expressions neutral. She hasn’t told him much at all, just that her parents were gone and forgot her and she got hurt, so she wanted to stay with ‘Mr. Signal’ because he’s a hero and heroes keep people safe and he was the only one who was Black like her. Duke hadn’t had the heart to say no, and began searching for her family, only to find that her parents had fled the state, and likely the country, after killing their only child through neglect and a dangerous environment.

It was then that he realized that her powers were not because she was a meta, but because she was ghost.

It still hurts to realize how young she is, how much of her life had been stolen from her in an instant. Duke hadn’t been brave enough to broach the topic with her, instead choosing to let her grow comfortable in his presence, get them both settled into a routine now that he was her primary guardian.

“I know it sounds scary,” Phantom says, “And you may not want to believe me, but it’s true. I’m sorry that you died so young, but that just means you get to hang out with me and other ghosts from now on!”

Chelsea crosses her arms over her chest and glares at him. “I am not dead,” she says.

“Cici, I’m sorry to say this, but you are,” Duke cuts in. “That’s why I called… Danny. You have new powers as a ghost, and he can help you get used to them.”

“I’m not dead!” she says again.

“Kid,” Phantom begins, but Chelsea shakes her head hard and hops off the couch.

“I’m not lying! Watch, I’ll prove it to you!” She closes her eyes and scrunches up her nose, concentrating. Her hands curl into tight fists by her sides, and the glow around her grows dim. Two faint, stuttering rings of light appear around her waist. They flicker and wobble in the air, as if weak and uncertain of their own existence, then split apart, one moving up towards her head while the other falls to her feet.

Beside him, Phantom sucks in a sharp breath, but Duke can’t turn to see what’s wrong when he’s trying to take in the sight of Chelsea suddenly full of vibrant color, looking more solid that he’s ever seen her, very much alive.

“See?” she says proudly, lifting her arms and doing a spin to show off her right she was. “I told you I’m not dead!”

“No, you’re not,” Phantom agrees, sounding shell-shocked. When Duke is finally able to look away from Chelsea to check on him, he looks awed. There’s the smallest smile on his face, just the slightest upturn of his lips, but it makes him look softer.

Duke turns his attention back to Chelsea before he can be caught staring. “Cici, can you come here for a second?”

She goes before he’s finished speaking, crossing the space between them in a single jump, then grins up at him. Her hair is a bit of a mess, the two buns he managed to get her hair into falling askew. He makes a note to visit the old aunties in the Narrows later to ask them to teach him how to do hair. For now, he holds out a hand and Chelsea drops an arm into it.

It seems to good to be true, having her be alive, but her pulse is steady and strong when he presses his thumb against the inside of her wrist.

“Well,” he says, leaning back and letting go of her arm. “You certainly proved us wrong.”

Chelsea doesn’t have much time to look smug before PHantom quietly says, “You’re like me.”

“What?”

“You’re like me,” he tells Chelsea. “A halfa.”

She tilts her head to one side. “What’s that?”

“Someone who is half human and half ghost. Both dead and alive.”

Duke blinks, taking in the words, then turns to face Phantom so quickly he’s worried he might give himself whiplash. Halfa, he said. Like me, he said.

And sure enough, two rings of light, bright and strong, appear around Phantom’s waist before splitting in half, moving over his entire body.

Gone is the Ghost King, all powerful and adorned in dark clothing with a crown of ice above his head. In his place is a guy who looks to be Duke’s age, eyes a deep blue and his black hair messy, feet set solidly on the floor. He looks completely normal, completely human, and no longer an impossibility.

“You still up for learning how to use all your new powers?” Phantom asks.

Chelsea grins. “Yeah!” And then, with a quick flick of her eyes going from Phantom to Duke that he almost misses, very innocently asks, “Are you going to stay with us then?”

“I… don’t know?” Phantom looks to Duke for an answer.

Already, Duke can see this going two ways. The correct way forward, the normal one, has Phantom popping in every so often, taking Chelsea out for a few hours to work on training her and her powers. It’s easy and routine and they can keep their boundaries uncrossed and be professional.

The other path is what Duke wants most that he shouldn’t impose onto the literal Ghost King. He could have Phantom living with them while he’s on Earth and out of Amity Park, having a place at the table, a section in the closet for his own clothes, a quietly domestic night together while Chelsea sleeps where they can get to know each other more, get to know each other outside of news reports and texts on a screen.

“You can stay with us if you want,” Duke offers, casually, “It might keep my apartment safe from her powers acting up on their own again.”

“Are you sure? I could always just fly in on the weekends or something.”

“I’d appreciate having you around. So you can help Cici.”

“If you don’t mind,” Phantom says, looking away. Like this, fully alive with a beating heart, it’s easy to see the blush steal away across his cheeks.

“I don’t.”

“I don’t either!” Chelsea pops in, looking far too gleeful by their awkward conversation.

Duke can’t help but laugh, feeling lighter than he had in ages. The relief of knowing that Chelsea is alive, for the most part at least, eases the guilt of thinking he had been too late to save her, that there was no chance she could have made it out and had a future, makes him feel weak. All the exhaustion of the past few weeks hits him all at once and he wants nothing more than to collapse in bed and sleep for twelve hours.

“Alright, squirt,” he says, reaching out to pat her head. “It’s late. We can talk more in the morning, so go to bed. In your actual bed this time, not on the couch.”

Chelsea stands up taller, ready to argue, but Duke gives her a Look™ and she quickly shuts her mouth, nods, and drags her feet back to her room (the former guestroom he can never give any of the other Waynes ever again, once they find out about her).

Sighing, Duke collapses onto the couch once he hears the door shut behind her. Phantom joins him after a few seconds, sitting tentatively on the edge of the couch. The cushion moves beneath his weight, another reminder of how solid and alive he is right not.

Duke wants to touch him, to reach out and feel for himself his pulse, the warmth of his body, his chest lifting with each breath.

He doesn’t move. He stays where he is, hands carefully still, and tries to think past the dizzying thoughts of she’s still alive, I’m not too late, he’s still here, he’s alive.

“Rough week?” Phantom asks, voice purposefully light.

“Something like that.”

“You should get some sleep too.”

“I don’t think I can. Not after everything. My mind’s too loud right now.”

Phantom shifts closer to him, hesitant in a way that Duke has never seen before in him, and asks, “Want me to stay with you until you mind quiets down some?”

“Yeah. I’d like that. Thanks, Phantom.”

“You know, if I’m going to be around so often as Chelsea’s halfa mentor, then you might as well call me Danny.”

Truth be told, Duke didn’t think that was his real name. He’s glad to know it’s not.

“Then call me Duke.”

“...Are you sure? You could still hide your identity from me.”

“Nah, I trust you. A name for a name, yeah?”

Danny smiles. “Duke,” he says, testing out the name, and it’s never sounded better than when it falls from Danny’s mouth.

“Danny,” Duke returns. He belatedly realizes that they’ve leaned towards each other, drawn together like gravity, stuck in each other’s orbit. It feels natural. It feels like this is where they’re meant to be.

Maybe he should be more cautious. They’ve only meant once before, after all. But he’s read all he could on Phantom and has seen how Amity Park loves him. He’s stressed and exhausted and trying to figure out how to look after a half-ghost child that’s already been dealt a bad hand in life. He should be keeping Phantom at a distance, watching over him carefully to ensure he isn’t a threat to Chelsea.

But Duke saw how he acted with Chelsea, so gentle and understanding and kind. That’s all he needed to see.

He may not know much about Danny, but he knows this: he is trustworthy.

Enough to entrust his identity to him.

Enough to entrust Chelsea to him.

It’s more than a favor; it’s a promise to walk this road together.

There’s no one he’d rather do this with.

“Thanks,” he says again, “For all of this. I know it’s a lot.”

Danny shrugs. “I don’t mind. Really. It’s nice to know there’s another halfa out there, no matter how she came to be one. Makes things feel less lonely.”

“Will you tell me more about halfas?”

“Later. Once you get some proper rest. We’ve got time, haven’t we?”

“We do,” Duke agrees, affection settling warm in his chest. “We’ve got plenty of time.”

Learning how to control her new powers won’t be easy for Chelsea. Learning how to take care of her won’t be easy. Learning how to do things together, as Duke and Danny rather than the Signal and Phantom, won’t be easy. But Duke knows with a certainty he feels in his bones that they’re going to be fine.

So long as they’ve got each other, they’ll be fine.

#ghostlights #dc x dp #dp x dc #dcxdp #dpxdc #dc x dp fic #prompt fill #my writing #thought a lot abt what the favor could be but i could not resist the idea of surprise co-parents once i thought of it #here's a kid who clings to someone she knows is safe bc she is scared and alone!!#heres a stressed out hero trying to take care of a kid with no knowledge of how to do that!! and the kid is a ghost!!#heres a ghost king expecting to be used as a weapon and called in for a big battle suddenly finding another halfa!!!#so much going on here. so much to think abt with this!!!!!#i do love found family like this where they all kinda stumble into it and do their best to make it good #also could not resist making yet another oc. chelsea has my whole heart i love her <3 shes my daughter first #the bats dont know abt chelsea yet!! bc she can go invisble. its all been instinct every time they pop over to visit duke #soon she'll be able to control it and meet them properly #by properly i mean dukes gonna go over for sunday brunch and a little girl is gonna pop out from behind him like 'hi! im new!'#they will all love her of course. they will be shocked but happy!!#and a little less happy abt the GHOST KING duke has been hiding in his apartment that hes co-parenting with #sorry for the long tags im obsessed w this idea i want to Expand on it #maybe one day... with my other wips out of the way...

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linddzz · 4 months

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Dreamling is at its best when it's either "we met three days ago and the wedding is next week (the wedding is a formality, Morpheus already tied our souls together don't ask how)" or a multi century slow burn where the burn is really just a long fuse leading to a cartoonish stack of gunpowder barrels and nothing in between

#i say as i have my multi chapter fic of them continuing that long fuse after the reunion #i never claimed to be consistent #actually i still say it counts bc morpheus is about to explode from 'this is my nice platonic friend who i am learning friendship with'#to #'i want to eat Hobs heart every day like the eagle on Prometheus except im also fucking him'#it counts #dreamling

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dianagj-art · 1 year

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"I got you"

I might have gone overboard with this (was supposed to be just a sketch) but I cant get this scene from "Wrapped in Regret" out of my mind

#rottmnt #rottmnt fanart #Future leo #rottmnt movie #rise leo #rottmnt leo #i might do that first one my new header #light sourse? i dont know her #why do i love drawing angsty stuff so much #but rottmnt is giving me so much food rn I also have fanart planned for other 2 fics I'm reading #and all of them are from escenes that totally stabed me on the heart #is it too early to be posting? fuck it is almost 6 am #dg art #dg fanart #dg comics

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loveinhawkins · 1 year

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“Why are you whistling?” Eddie asks after he’s heard Steve do it for the fourth time.

“Huh?”

Eddie imitates him; it’s not like Steve is just casually following a tune in his head—it sounds deliberate. Encouraging whistles, one right after the other, in groups of three. Like a… like a call to something.

“Oh.” Steve chuckles slightly, gestures vaguely to the trees around them—to the evening fog that’s settling in, clinging to the branches. They’ll be nearing Lover’s Lake soon, surely. “Guess ‘cause of, uh… it’s just… a habit.” He smiles as if to himself. “In case of… dogs. So they come to me first.”

Eddie shakes his head. “Dogs. Right. Do I need a translator around you all?”

Steve’s smile grows. “Maybe. Not gonna spill all our secrets just like that, Munson. Gotta respect, um…” He clicks his fingers. “Narrative tension.”

Eddie snorts. “Fine. I’ll get the full story outta you yet, Harrington. Just you wait.”

“Mm-hmm. It’s a good one.”

“Why?”

Steve shrugs, but Eddie follows where his eyes linger: Lucas, Max. Dustin.

“Uh, I guess… it wasn’t really the beginning of… everything. But, um, it kinda was one. A beginning, I mean—for me, anyway.” He huffs, seems to hear himself. “Sorry. That was cryptic as hell and I wasn’t even… Hey, man, lemme know if you find a translator, think I need one for me, too.”

Eddie smiles. “Sure.”

But even as they’re walking towards uncertainty, even though Eddie knows there’s so many little stories he’s missing, all tangled up in the big one…

He finds that he can understand a lot about Steve without needing words.

There’s a tautness to his body as he walks, like even when seemingly relaxed, he’s always ready to run. Like there’s an unbreakable string pulling right from the centre of him, and Eddie already knows that it’ll lead straight to the kids.

Three whistles in the dark.

So they come to me first.

Eddie’s growing certain that this story in its entirety won’t exactly put his mind at ease. But for some reason, as they walk side-by-side, his heartbeat slows, like he’s finally calm enough to feel something other than fear.

Something close to fondness.

Maybe.

I don’t need a translator, Steve Harrington. Turns out I can read you pretty damn well.

#another hike from skull rock to lover’s lake missing scene #s2 steve has a special place in my heart ❤️ oh the implications of the junkyard scene & the tunnels scene #pre steddie #steddie ficlet #steddie fic #steddie #steve and the party #eddie is perceptive #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson

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kittykatninja321 · 6 months

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One thing that is not nearly discussed enough is the way that 16 year old catatonic Jason imprinted on Talia like a baby duck. Like can you imagine the image of Talia walking around the league base being followed by a mute dazed looking teenager and nobody’s allowed to say shit about it?

#League assassin 1: who the hell is that? League assassin 2: oh that’s just Lady Talia’s pet zombie boy don’t worry about it #Jason Todd #dc #See what annoys me the most about the ‘Talia is a cold hearted manipulator who is just using Jason’ trope in fic is that #even the least charitable reading of Jason and Talia’s lost days dynamic cannot change the fact that he was her poor little meow meow #and that there is genuine fondness there. From BOTH of them

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strawberryspence · 7 months

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inspired by the recent events (think of a singer and football player) and ofc, inspired by the brilliant, @henderdads, who has graciously allowed me to make this into a whole thing. 👀

check out the original post!

*i don’t know ANYTHING about the NFL, so sorry for the obvious mistakes*

”What do you mean?” Steve looks up from tying his shoelaces, and stares at his agent.

“Harrington, how many times do I have to say this?” Robin smirks at him, “He’s here. He’s sitting with Mama Joyce.”

Steve’s 100% sure a wire short circuits in his brain. He blinks rapidly at her before asking once again.

“Eddie Munson?”

Robin hums, “Ahuh.”

“Like the 12 time Grammy winner, Eddie Munson, from Corroded Coffin?”

Robin slaps a hand on her forehead, “Yes, Steve! Eddie Munson is in the stadium right now. You’re the one who asked me to arrange his seats.”

Steve jumps from the wooden benches, “I didn’t think he would come!”

Robin crosses her arms, “First of all, you were the one who made that bracelet with your number on it—“

“I WAS DRUNK!”

Robin puts up a finger, “You weren’t drunk when you brought it to his concert and asked Lucas Sinclair to hand it to him. You also weren’t drunk when you announced it on a podcast, when it could’ve been a secret for all of us to keep. Second of all, you whined and annoyed me until I finally caved in, called his publicist to finally arrange the whole thing and the thanks I get is more whining?!”

Oh no. Steve stares at her, as all of the things she said finally sinks in. Oh no. Eddie Munson is in the crowd. He came. Steve asked and Eddie came. He’s gonna watch Steve Harrington play. Weirdly, he wonders if this is what Eddie feels when he’s about to play sold out arenas. Steve’s never felt nervous to play, the field is— well— his comfort place and not once has he had this sense of dread to play. Not even when he had to play the Super Bowl.

"I didn't think he'd come!" Steve panics.

“Uh-oh. No time for panic attacks. The game starts in about 15 minutes.”

“Oh my god.” Steve groans as she pushes him out of the locker rooms to the halls. There’s TVs in every corner, and one TV catches his attention.

There he is.

Eddie Munson’s sitting beside his adoptive mother and his siblings. Dear God. In what world is this real?

The commentator squeals in delight as he broadcasts, “Here’s one for the books, one that’s surely going to break the internet tonight. In the crowd tonight, we have the lead singer of best selling metal group, Eddie Munson. The rumors are apparently true! Harrington and Munson are definitely friends, maybe even more?”

Steve groans as Sinclair moves pass him, bumping shoulders. A huge smirk on his face, “I didn’t think you could do it, but I have to say, I am very proud of you.”

”Leave me alone.” He sulks as Lucas walks down the hall laughing his head off.

When Steve started talking to Eddie, he never really thought he’d end up here. Did he want something serious with Eddie? Well, yes. He’s been crushing on the man since he realized he was bisexual and Eddie was already the cover of the Seventeen magazine for nth time. But Eddie was a superstar singer who’s still on a world tour that has already sold billions, so no, Steve didn’t expect him to be here. He also knows that Eddie just got out of a pretty public break-up, so he didn’t expect anything but friendship. He just— shoot his shot and prayed to the Gods.

Steve thinks back to the conversation they had a few nights ago. A conversation only possible through the help of prayer and two shots of vodka.

“You wanna go out this Sunday?” Steve asks, trying his best to keep the nerves under the wraps.

“Isn’t that the day of the game?” Eddie speaks over the phone and Steve still can’t fathom the fact that he’s talking to Eddie Munson on a regular Wednesday night.

“Yeah, I mean. We can go out after the game.” Steve gulps, and he feels the need to take another shot.

”Huh.” Eddie hums, “Would that be a date, Harrington?”

“Yes.” Steve lightly bangs his head on the wall, “I mean, if you want it to be.” Steve covers his mouth to muffle the embarrassing sounds that comes out from him. What a wuss.

“Here, let’s play a fun little game. Let’s wait till Sunday.” Steve can hear the smirk in his voice, and god, Steve will have to look up the damn “Eddie Munson smirks for 10 minutes” compilation on Youtube again.

”What do you mean?”

“I’ll think about it. On Sunday, if I’m in the crowd then maybe we can get some dinner. If I’m not, then maybe next time.” There’s a playfulness in his voice that makes Steve want to tear his hair out.

Steve gnaws at his lips, that sounds easy enough, “Okay. That sounds… easy.”

Eddie laughs. It’s music to Steve’s ears and he feels pathetic, “Not so easy, big boy. If I’m there, you have to get a touchdown and then it’s a date. If not, then we hang out with your siblings. They’re pretty cool.”

Steve stares at the wall in his room, there’s maybe 50% chance he’ll get a touchdown. He could talk to Sinclair and McKinney to get him the ball. He could do it. It’s just another touchdown. He’s done—what?— like 50 touchdowns in his life.

”Okay.” Steve gulps, “Let’s do it.”

“HARRINGTON!” Steve blinks back to the present, lifting his eyes away from the picture of Eddie Munson wearing the red windbreaker representing his team.

Hopper’s calling him over, a smirk clear on his face. Why is everyone fucking smirking at him? “I see you’re distracted. I hope this doesn’t cripple your ability to play.”

”Hop!” Steve groans, only for his coach to laugh and pat him in the back.

“Go on! Line up!” Hop smiles, winking at him, “Good luck out there.”

Steve puts on his helmet, before taking a few deep breathes.

He just needs a touchdown. One touchdown.

Steve smiles.

He’d do anything for Eddie Munson.

A touchdown is nothing.

#okay so again i dont know anything about nfl and football #i will write more after i finish this three hour long video about football #thank you cass for allowing me to write this #i love you from the bottom of my heart #this are the only worms i have right now #steddie #dae writes #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steddie rants #steddie headcanon #daeheadcanons #steddie famous au #steddie fanfic

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try-set-me-on-fire · 10 months

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Ok well i had the brief thought “what about an ER nurse Eddie au?” and then this popped fully formed into existence so fuck it Friday pt 2.. warnings for smoking and vague references to critically injured kids

“That doesn’t seem very healthy.”

Smoke curls up from the cigarette held loosely in Eddie’s hand. “It’s not, particularly.”

Buck’s hands are in his pockets as he strolls away from the glass doors out into the ambulance bay where Eddie is doing the mature, professional equivalent of playing hide and seek. He comes to a stop barely a foot or two away from where Eddie leans against grimy concrete. “Didn’t know you were a smoker.”

“I’m not,” Eddie sighs, “Particularly.” He looks over Buck’s face as he takes a drag, cataloging bruises and cuts. He hadn’t been the one to look him over before he was discharged, probably because he was out here avoiding having to do so. “Only when it’s- only after the bad shifts.” And only once a month, even if the bad shifts come again and again. He bought this pack in January, it’s stale as shit.

Buck’s eyes follow the smoke as it drifts skyward. “Rough one today?”

Eddie thinks he probably doesn’t have to explain to Buck that it’s sometimes better when a kid is dead on arrival so he doesn’t have to try his best to administer care he knows will be useless. He doesn’t have to explain a day where nothing goes right and he loses more people than he can save and he still has to walk away from someone’s parent or wife or sister, left behind forever in a waiting room on the worst day of their life, and go on to lose the next person too. Doesn’t have to explain why he’s out here, and not in there. “Mm. We’ve got this repeat customer, always hate to have him back.”

Buck’s eyes flick to his face before they settle somewhere around his elbow. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. He seems like a nice guy. I worry about him. He’s here too often.”

Buck doesn’t look up. “What was he in for this time?”

“Minor concussion. Bruising. Lacerations.” Eddie sucks cancer into his lungs. “Heard a house fell on him.” Exhales it into the night.

Buck does look up this time, eyes a darker blue out here in the shadows. “Part of a house. Just a staircase and the- like, the balcony, really.”

“Maybe he should stay away from those.”

“From houses?” Buck asks, half his mouth twitching into a smile.

Eddie rests his head on the wall behind him. “Guess that’s not really practical.”

“No.” Buck is quiet for a moment, one hand slipping out of his pocket and running through his hair. Eddie wonders what he looks like, when he’s not here. He’s more styled, sometimes, when things aren’t very bad. He wonders if he’s usually all gelled up and neat. Eddie kind of likes the loose curls. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Making your day worse.” Buck looks genuinely apologetic, and Eddie shakes his head.

“The guy made it out okay this time.” Buck is just close enough that Eddie can kick at his boot with his sensible orthopedic sneaker. “You didn’t even need stitches.”

“That’s good.” Eddie’s left foot is pressed along the inside of Buck’s right, and Buck is staring down at them. “His favorite nurse was on break. I would have missed you if someone else had to do them.”

Eddie laughs, just a few bursts of soundless oxygen. “You gotta find new ways to see me before something happens that I can’t fix.”

Buck moves, taking the few steps necessary to lean against the wall beside him. Carefully, he takes the cigarette from Eddie’s hand, holds it between two of his own fingers, and takes a drag. Eddie watches it happen like he’s monitoring somebody’s pulse ox, and when Buck coughs he laughs again, louder this time. “Fuck,” Buck says, laughing too. “Thought that would be cooler than it was.”

“Smoking isn’t cool, firefighter Buckley,” Eddie says, taking the cigarette back and pulling from it again between smiling lips.

“Hm,” Buck says, grinning out into the night. Then he sighs, and rolls his head along the concrete to look at Eddie. “I think there’s nothing you can’t fix.”

They’re very close. “There’s lots I can’t fix.”

Buck shrugs like he disagrees. “I also think I’d like to find other ways to see you.”

Buck’s eyes are even more in shadow at this angle, and they’re the color of the lake back in El Paso that he and a bunch of kids went to after graduation, drunk off beer somebody’s cousin got for them, skinny dipping with breathless terrified delight under bright constellations. “Then ask me.”

Buck inhales as Eddie exhales. “What time’s your shift end?”

“5:30 AM. So, probably 6:15.”

Buck traces the two fingers he’d used to hold the cigarette down Eddie’s arm. “You wanna get breakfast with me?”

“Yes. I would.”

Buck smiles, and Eddie snubs out the cigarette on the wall between them. “I’ll meet you here?”

“Alright.” He takes a step forward, then a step to the right so he’s standing in front of Buck. “Two hours.”

“Uh huh.”

He should really get back inside. They’re understaffed, as always, and there are too many patients, as always, and not enough beds, as always. “See you then.” He doesn’t make any move to leave.

“See you then,” Buck almost whispers. He leans forward, and Eddie still doesn’t move, so he presses a tiny kiss to the corner of his mouth for just a moment. His lips are warm. Eddie hadn’t noticed it was cold outside.

Buck pulls back and leans against the wall again. Eddie smiles, puts a hand in his pocket, and walks back toward the doors.

#my writing #fuck it Friday #i swear I’m going to finish trapped buck and Chris and work on proposal fic before i work on this more #but it would be a bunch of glimpses of Buck’s various hospital trips from Eddie’s nurse perspective #and maybe shuffle some events around? like maybe eddie still gets shot but by a disgruntled former patient this time and #so he does a stint in the maternity ward and buck shows up there #and Eddie is like you’re having a kid?#and bucks like no my sister is what are you doing here #and when buck gets the story he’s like fuck. shit. im sorry i wasnt there #and eddies like picturing seeing buck in that moment of violence and says im glad you weren’t #also Eddie could still be the one who restarts his heart after the lightning strike #this bit is maybe the last scene actually sorry for posting the end first #have a good breakfast boys #buddie #evan Buckley #eddie diaz #911 abc

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