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puppiesandnightlock · 6 months

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Batman - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types, Super Sons (Comics), Batman and Superman: Battle of the Super Sons (Movie 2022) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Jonathan Kent/Damian Wayne, Jonathan Samuel Kent/Jay Nakamura, Jonathan Samuel Kent & Damian Wayne Characters: Jonathan Samuel Kent, Damian Wayne, Jay Nakamura, Dick Grayson(briefly mentioned) Additional Tags: Unrequited Love, First Love, First Crush, I'm Sorry Damian Wayne, Fuck you Bendis, The Author Regrets Nothing, jonjay is more there towards the end, this is sort of a character study but not really, Damian's POV, POV Third Person, canon's my bitch so :p, My First Work in This Fandom, Despite the summary, there is no actual realationship, no smut or kissing or love confessions sorry, Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Emotional Hurt, Heartbreak, First Heartbreak Series: Part 1 of SuperSons Week 2023!! Summary:

Damian realizing how many of his firsts belong to Jon

(not smut)

__________________________________________________________________

Damian had re-examined the feelings that had been locked away over time. He’d briefly tangled with some people who’d made him feel similarly, but the feelings had been fleeting, dissolving just as quickly as they’d built up.

This…thing he felt for his best friend was something much stronger, something that made him want to sacrifice everything for the other boy, to shove down his own everything , just to see the smile on his face. It was electric, as warm and comforting as the sun's rays, but at the same time, terrifying.

His oldest brother said it sounded an awful lot like love.

______________________________________________________________

written for Super Sons Week Day One, Prompt "The First Time"

Emotions had never come easy to Damian. Ever since he was born, he was taught to control them, to stay an unfeeling weapon. Emotions were a weakness one could not afford. When he’d come to his father’s, he’d been startled to learn that that was not the case. It was absurd, the way this group of non-blood ties called themselves family. It took a tragedy for him for him to understand, to fully enter.

Somehow, when it came to Jon, everything was different.

The literal ball of sunshine contradicted his everything. They were almost always at odds with one another, the routine of “I hate you!” and “Happy to hear it!” becoming a constant. It was hard to tell when exactly they fell into less biting and more playful in their bickering, the words traded back and forth holding a fondness more than a stinging blow. Jon had slowly but surely wormed his way into the lead-covered heart of the former assassin. A little too deep, in his opinion.

It was a night on patrol, simple enough, legs swinging from a Gotham rooftop. Jon was gesturing animatedly, mouth moving a mile a minute to recount a tale of some sort.

Damian had watched, observing the way the streetlights from below and the sliver of moon visible from the clouds of smog had shone down on him. They made his pale skin glow as if the moonlight was flowing beneath his skin, the dots of his freckles prominent his rosy cheeks. His raven curls framed his face, flopping in his eyes as he moved around.

It sent a flutter to the older boy’s stomach, Damian nearly tumbling off the roof in his surprise.

It…was not unpleasant.

For months, he tracked this feeling, this warmth and almost unease. His heart rate, the heat that would rise to his cheeks, the strange thoughts of shutting the boy up by pressing his lips to the other boy’s soft looking ones.

The increased protectiveness, the flutters, the unfamiliar feeling of joy.

And maybe something new.

He came to the conclusion that it was simply an infatuation of some sorts, perhaps even some sort of spell from a patrol he’d forgotten. He could bury it deep under everything else, lock it away with the ugly feelings and twisted League memories.

Then Jon left.

It was a few weeks, a few measly weeks, but it was enough to cause a chip in the barrier Damian had so carefully built up. There was no warning, no goodbye, no estimated time he would be gone. He scowled when the name was mentioned, hid away when the conversation led to Jon, worked and trained until the shadow hovering above him could be shoved down.

And just when he’d finally stomached everything, that stupid kryptonian showed up, ridiculously taller, more mature, and just as beautiful as he had remembered. Maybe even more so.

The horrors of what he’d gone through left Damian seething. He should have been there for him. He should have had the monsters murdered for the pain they’d inflicted on the one he held so dear.

His brain screamed that this was dangerous, these feelings were dangerous, and by God, it was true. But for a moment, he let them overwhelm his senses just to bask in having his best friend back. When he was asked for his opinion on the Legion, he schooled his features to a mask of indifference.

Just this once, he wanted to be more selfish than he’d ever been, to throw a huge hissy fit at his age of fourteen and force him to stay.

But he deserved happiness. After everything, Jon deserved happiness.

This…thing he felt for his best friend was something much stronger, something that made him want to sacrifice everything for the other boy, to shove down his own everything, just to see the smile on his face. It was electric, as warm and comforting as the sun’s rays, but at the same time, terrifying.

His oldest brother said it sounded an awful lot like love.

He’d suspected it, but now presented with a confirmation, Damian was at a loss. This was the first time he’d ever considered something like this. There was always a huge deal made over these things, these first loves. He resolved to hide it until no longer able to, until the day came that he would tell him.

For the longest, he assumed it would be straightforward and easy, nothing standing in the way of them. The teen let himself drift in the ideas of possibilities, the pleasant warmth squeezing his heart.

How disgusted his grandfather would be.

Soon came the day of Jon's return, and he’d ran through every possible scenario, including the less than preferred ones, although he was quick to pass them over. He spotted the familiar dark curls, and allowing himself a small smile, weaved his way through the people, ready to be engulfed in those warm arms again.

His steps faltered as he watched a pink bob go towards the curls, and lifting up on his toes, spotted someone coming up from behind Jon, taking his hand and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

He watched as his best friend blushed before turning to kiss the pink haired person properly.

Damian hated pink.

He almost turned, but running was the fool’s way out. Forcing a nonchalant expression on his face and weighed by the despair clawing at his stomach, he commanded himself to straighten his shoulders and march up there, with all the joy of seeing his best friend again.

Jon squealed at him coming into view, and crushed the shorter boy in his grasp before excitedly dragging him by the hand over to the other man, introducing him as his boyfriend, Jay.

His boyfriend.

Damian greeted him, managing to sound stiff and dismissive at the same time. The words burned into his brain, the disgusting joy radiating off of them both sickening him.

He wanted to hate Jay, to detest him with all he had, to destroy him for taking what could have been his. But he couldn’t. Because Jon loved him, and Jon was happy, and if Jon was happy, he was happy.

So all through the lunch, he listened to Jon’s familiar chatter, the sweet blue eyes shimmering with love and joy, and something else that appeared when he talked of Jay, and how they met. Something Damian knew would never be directed towards him. He kept up the fake laughter and cheerful smiles until it all became too much. He shook Jay’s hand and embraced Jon tightly, the pricking of tears in his eyes as he did so. He knew it would be the last time.

The distress was churning in his stomach as he walked up the steps of the manor, ignoring his father, his brothers, his sister, and his pets.

He ignored everything until he stepped into his room, shutting the door behind him. As soon as he was alone, he fell to the floor, the carpet fibers beneath his nails as he gripped it tightly, the tears streaking down his face and breaths coming in long drawn out sobs. His stomach clenched and he stumbled to the restroom, everything from the afternoon spilling out of his body.

He was hunched over the restroom floor as he wheezed, the pain consuming him whole. This was nothing like the pain from his line of work, nothing like being shot.

This was something new entirely.

Titus nudged him with his nose, concerned, until Damian reached up a hand and ran his fingers through the soft fur on his head.

He was Damian Al Ghul Wayne, Heir to the Demon’s Head, Son of the Bat. And he was broken by something so simple it was almost laughable.

It was funny, he supposed afterwards, lying under the covers with Alfred the cat on his chest.

Jon had taken up so many of his firsts. His first friend, his first partner, his first crush.

His first love. His first heartbreak.

And most importantly, his last.

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@super-sons-week-2023

#jondami #damijon #super sons week 2023 #jon kent #damian wayne #prompt #its a lil sad #sorry damian #jonjay #its my first in this fandom #hope i did okay #jon kent and damian wayne #super sons #supersons #fic #my writing #dc fanfic

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the-kittens-of-vol-tron · 1 year

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Keith's dad didn't die in the fire. He died of burns days later in a hospital and young Keith watched as his father deteriorated before his eyes.

Bonus points if it's revealed through flashbacks when Lance sacrifices himself and he just breaks

I want to watch someone break

Don't pressure yourself to work on this until you're ready

Angst <3

TW: Topic of death, Self Harm (Hair pulling and neglecting self-care), Injuries

-----

“Come on baby we have to get up.” Keith poked the boy that laid on top of him.

Lance groaned, “five more minutes.”

Keith chuckled, “these five minutes have turned into fifteen. We have to get up.”

Lance mumbled something under his breath before he rolled off his boyfriend. “I hate you.”

“Yeah, I bet you do.” Keith sat up and planted a soft kiss onto Lance’s hairline. “See you at breakfast?”

Lance nodded, “love you.”

“Love you too.” Keith left the room, nodding at Shiro who was leaving his. “Morning Shiro.”

“Morning Keith. Lance awake?”

“Yeah. Let me get changed and I’ll head down to the deck.”

“I’ll be waiting.” Shiro walked down the hallway and Keith entered his room. He focused on the fuzzy feeling that bloomed in his gut. For once in his life he was happy. He was with his found family. His family. It still felt weird to say. And to top it off, he had Lance. He actually got the boy he wanted.

Nothing could ruin this.

---

“We can’t win until that weapon is destroyed!” Pidge screamed as their lion was hit with another blast.

“But how? All of our blasts don’t even scratch it?” Hunk asked, nervousness plaguing his voice.

“It opened up before each attack. I think that’s its weak point.” Pidge responded, moving her lion so she was next to Shiro.

“Well, it’s getting ready to attack again!” Hunk said, and everyone prepared for the next attack.

“I know what to do.” Lance’s voice crackled over the coms as he flew his lion into the opening. A bright light filled the surrounding space. The weapon broke into multiple pieces.

“Lance?!” Everyone called his name, twisting their lions to check the surrounding space.

“Allura! Can you track the blue lion?” Shiro asked, his voice falling into a slight panic.

Keith couldn’t hear anything. He could feel anything, his vision swam. Lance. He needed to find Lance.

He tried to squeeze the handle of the Red lion. Maybe he was moving, maybe he wasn’t. Nothing made sense. Lance couldn’t be gone. He was just right there. They had breakfast together. They shared the same bed last night. He wasn’t-

Beep.

He smacked his helmet, He couldn’t handle this right now. Not right now.

Beep.

His breath hitched in his throat. He silently pleaded to himself for it to stop. He couldn’t think of this. He didn’t want to think of this. He was gone, Lance wasn’t. Lance couldn’t be gone.

Beep.

He leaned forward, sliding his helmet off. Yanking on his hair as soon as he could. This couldn't be happening. This wasn’t happening.

---

He awoke breathless, his hair clingy to his forehead with sweat. His heart was beating out of his chest and he found himself hugging his knees. Rocking back and for softly.

He took a deep breath, nearly gagging on the stale air. He stumbled off the bed, rushing out the door into the bright hallway. Gasping.

He hated that smell. The medical smell that made your lungs hurt.

A voice sounded by him, a familiar hand rubbing his back. “In and out Keith. Take a deep breath.”

Keith choked on his own breathing. He needed to get away from the smell.

Beep.

He grabbed at his hair again, his body falling into a fetal position. “Make it go away. Please.” He knew his voice was jumbled. He figured Shiro was telling him something or calling for help but he couldn’t move.

Beep.

He came to in a bright room. Shiro sitting next to where he laid. “Hey, you okay?”

He tried to rub his eyes. “Where?”

“The med bay.”

His blood ran cold. “No...I gotta-I can’t be here.”

Shiro frowned at him, “Keith. We need to make sure you’re taking care of yourself. Losing Lance-”

“GET ME OUT OF HERE!” He found himself falling off the bed, trying to scramble out of the room.

“Keith!” Shiro followed him, grabbing him slightly. “We can leave but just try and calm down.”

He didn’t properly calm down until he was in Lance’s bed. His green jacket pulled tightly around him. “Shiro I-”

The older man raised his hand. “It’s okay. You’re...dealing with a lot. We all are.”

Neither of them spoke. Just letting the silence grow between them. Shiro released a tight breath. “The team is here for you. We’re all here for you.” He placed his hand on Keith’s shoulder. “And we will find him.”

Keith closed his eyes. “What if he’s gone.”

“No. We’re not going to think like that. Until we know for sure. We’re not going to think like that. You can’t let yourself think like that.”

Beep.

He squeezed his eyes tighter. Praying that beep would go away.

---

Keith stared at the table, trying to keep himself from dissociating completely. This was the first time he was eating with the group in weeks.

A slight smokey smell filled the air and Hunk ran from the kitchen, waving an oven mitt around. “Sorry, I turned the oven on too much. My mind has been distracted lately.”

Keith tried to shallow his breathing but it was too late. The slight smoke filled his lungs. The beeping noise filled his ears. The bright room, the white bed sheets. The bandages. The smoky smell that stuck to his clothes.

Keith stood from the table, running out of the room. He didn’t stop until he was back in Lance’s bed. Holding his jacket. Breathing in his smell that had started to fade.

---

He swung at another bot, tumbling out of the way in a less than grateful roll. He was tired. His muscles screamed at him to stop. His head swam. When was the last time he slept?

He had been avoiding it since Hunk burnt that food. He wasn’t mad at Hunk in any way. Maybe mad at himself? For not being the first one to move toward the weapon. For losing Lance. For thinking about him right now? He buried those memories, why were they resurfacing?

“End training sequence!” Shiro’s voice boomed across the training deck. “Keith!” He jogged over to him. “Allura found the Blue lion.”

---

Lance was alive. Hurt, but alive.

They had to travel to a small planet. Apparently, the Blue lion had mini-warped to another galaxy. Crash-landed on the planet.

Keith stood outside the room Lance was in. Where Lance was healing. The others stood by him, nobody moved. Keith took the first step, relieved that nobody tried to follow and he stepped into the room.

Bandages. So many bandages. They covered his arms and neck. How far did they go under his clothes? His breathing was shallow, but he was breathing.

Keith took a step closer, his eyes glued to the white material. He took a hesitant breath.

The air was stale. Medically cleaned.

His body shuttered and he closed his eyes.

Beep.

Was that in the room or his head?

Beep.

He found himself stepping backward. Tears burned his eyes.

Beep.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled before he ran out of the room. Out of the building, Straight to his lion. Only then, he allowed himself to cry.

---

He hugged his knees closer, cursing himself for how cowardness. Lance was back in the castle. He was put in a pod. He would be awake any moment.

And where was Keith? Lance’s loving and devoted boyfriend?

In his room, not Lance’s. His room, sitting in the corner trying not to freak out.

“Deep breath in. Deep breath out.” He mumbled to himself.

Beep.

He covered his ears.

Beep.

“Go away.”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“Go away. Go away. Go away!”

“Hey...hey babe what’s wrong?” Smooth hands grabbed his wrist, pulling them away from his head.

He lifted his head, his eyes falling on the ocean. “Lance!” He lunged forward, wrapping his arms around the other boy. Lance quickly reciprocated. “I thought you were dead.”

Lance laughed, “I did too.”

They held each other until their bodies cramped. Only then pulling away. Lance sitting next to him.

Keith stared at Lance’s arms, they were covered by his sleeves. How badly was he hurt? How badly was he left scared?

Lance followed his eyes. Rolling up his sleeves. “No scars. The people that took me in had this...remedy? I don’t know. Allura told me about it. Git rid of the scars. Even the one of my back from Arus.”

Keith nodded, closing his eyes again.

“Shiro...said you were having a hard time.”

“I guess you could call it that.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Beep.

Keith took a deep breath, reaching for Lance’s hand. “I just want to be with you.” He rested his head on his boyfriend’s shoulder. The beeping noise finally faded for a bit.

-----

I hope I did a good job on this <3 I was going to add Keith telling someone about his dad but

1) Writing fatigue

2) I think he would be too stressed to tell people what was happening

I really hate hospitals so I used this to kinda...project my hatred to them

Thank you!!! <3

#kangst #keith angst #tw injuries #tw topic of death #tw self harm #klance #klangst #langst #keith voltron #keith vld #keith voltron legendary defender #keith kogane #for viv #keith centric #hope i did okay #posted on ao3

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ncutii-gatwa · 1 year

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It’s Blog Rec O’ Clock! 🦄Tag Away!

I’ll stare directly at (enter blog here) but never in the mirror

The wisest Swiftie of them all

Your “we’ll never go out of style” Person

Someone that reminds you of a Midnights 3AM track! Who & which track? (bonus if you say why!!)

Someone who could totally draw the 13 on Taylor’s hand/write lyrics on her arms (or help Andrea… can anyone really do it better than her? Probably not but we can aspire)

The person secretly on Taylor’s account and responsible for the green dot

Pick one (1) person to meet Taylor with (ONLY ONE. I’m watching you 🫵.)

Recommend anyone that has any kind of merch store you think we should check out! (clothing, stickers, homemade items, candles, anything!)

Who comes to mind when you listen to Speak Now? What about Lover? EVERMORE?

HI AGAIN!

. I’ll stare directly at @newrcmantlcs but never in the mirror

. The wisest Swiftie of them all - hard to choose because some swifies are too smart for my brain to comprehend. but any swiftie that can get deep meanings of every lyric and make strings and strings of connections between stuff is superhuman to me

. Your “we’ll never go out of style” Person - @snownonthebeach ❤

. Someone that reminds you of a Midnights 3AM track! Who & which track? (bonus if you say why!!) - @loversmore reminds me of bigger than the whole sky. i just think her blog vibes are the same relaxing and smooth ones that the song has

. Someone who could totally draw the 13 on Taylor’s hand/write lyrics on her arms (or help Andrea… can anyone really do it better than her? Probably not but we can aspire) - oh! @thatwasthenightthingschanged

. The person secretly on Taylor’s account and responsible for the green dot - @lipslikethegardensofbabylon

. Pick one (1) person to meet Taylor with (ONLY ONE. I’m watching you 🫵.) - IF IT AINT WITH @snownonthebeach I DONT WANT IT

. Recommend anyone that has any kind of merch store you think we should check out! (clothing, stickers, homemade items, candles, anything!) - @notmuchfordancing has some real pretty stickers

. Who comes to mind when you listen to Speak Now? What about Lover? EVERMORE? - speak now, @castlescrumblingtv | lover, @staybeautiful | evermore, @spendforevers

#i got mail #blog rec anon #hope i did okay

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glitchinginhyperfixis · 2 years

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1. How do you think Will would react when he finds out that Mike is in love with him? 2. How do you think Mike would react when he finds out that Will is in love with him? (if Mike isn’t in love with him) 3. How do you think will felt after "it's not my fault you don't like girls"? 4. How and when do you think Will found out that he loves Mike and how did he react to his own feelings? 5. What future do you think Will likes to envision for himself and Mike? 6. What future do you think Will sees for himself in his adult life? 7. How do you think Will was feeling at the snowball? 8. What do you think Will imagines in the situation if someone finds out that he is gay? 9. How do you think Lonnie’s abuse affected Will? 10. What do you think Will was thinking of season 3 Mike and season 3 El?

1. honestly, i think he would be in disbelief and would maybe even doubt mike’s feelings, even if only for a short time. (i’ve always pictured something similar to the amy-laurie situation since the comparison was made). but he would definitely be happy and relieved once he realizes that mike’s feelings for him aren’t going to disappear.

2. i think he would be shocked but supportive. he would definitely be accepting of will, but i would think that in the moment, he would sort of freeze up.

3. devastated. exhibit a: castle byers

4. ooh. that’s a hard one. i think deep down he’s always known, but i think there were a few moments that almost tipped him off. one being the snowball. also, crazy together. i think his moment of realization was at some point in s3, but i’m not sure when. it was definitely brought on by mike and el’s relationship though. (or possibly ‘it’s not my fault you don’t like girls’).

5. probably that one brought up by a lot of bylers where he’s an artist and mike’s a writer and they create stories together. something like that. one where they live in a shitty apartment, but they’re happy, and their friends and family all support them.

6. i think he’d imagine himself as an artist. i don’t think that he’d picture himself with anybody if he was thinking “realistically” because to him, he probably wouldn’t think he’d get to have that. i do think he’d imagine himself still being super close with joyce and jonathan, and then el when they became siblings. he’d also hope that he would stay friends with the party into adulthood.

7. sad, but i don’t think he knew why yet. i think he knew he didn’t like girls by that point, or at least that he didn’t think of them the same way the others did, but like i said above, i don’t think he knew he liked mike yet. but he probably felt uncomfortable and sad, especially seeing mike and el together. (i think he’s always felt that way about them, but he hated feeling that way and had no idea why he was feeling it).

8. i think that deep down will knows his family and friends would accept him, but he’s still afraid. (he already knows jonathan accepts him, and i think he knows joyce would too). i’m sure he’s imagined both scenarios at one point. one where they accept him and one where they hate him.

9. i think it affected will (and jonathan) in a lot of ways. will’s feelings about his sexuality were definitely influenced, especially if you think about the fact that lonnie called him slurs (and lonnie probably either got physical with jonathan or both of them). i think it also makes him think about his mom’s wellbeing a lot more than he would if lonnie hadn’t been abusive (but so did the entirety of stranger things, because he knows she worries about him more than she should have to). generally, i think it made him scared and wary of how people would react to his sexuality, or how they would perceive him.

10. i think he thought their relationship was stupid and was annoyed at them for only ever spending time with each other, but at the end of the day, he always cared about mike. if i’m recalling correctly, he and el weren’t super close in s3, but i do think he cared about her. after “it’s not my fault you don’t like girls,” he felt hurt and betrayed by mike. but the ‘stupid girl’ comment had more to do with mike than el, so i didn’t think that implied any feelings of ill will toward el.

#i think i kind of repeated a bit and didn’t do a great job of phrasing but you get the gist #this was fun #byler #hope i did okay #ask #ask collection

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the-phantom-peach · 3 months

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skyward sword… yeah <3

Crimson Loftwing

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

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triona-tribblescore · 4 months

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okay so they may have a minor chokehold on me at the minute-

#LISTEN GUYS LISTEN #THE SONGS ARE REALLY FREAKING GOOD OKAY?#AND LIKE #DID THEY REALLY HAVE TO MAKE THE LAST MOVIE HAVE ANGST SO THAT MY SOUL WOULD BE APPEASED THAT MUCH?#GODDAMN #Hello trolls community i hope you accept my humble contribution :')#I think u guys are pretty cool~#trolls #trolls band together #trolls 3 #trolls fanart #broppy #trolls floyd #trolls branch #trolls poppy #tribbleart #<3 #dreamworks trolls

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miyuuchii · 5 months

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i keep noticing branch likes to step in front of poppy all defensive when he thinks there's incoming danger.

she acts cool but she's totally smitten everytime she thinks about it afterwards heh

#broppy #branch #branch x poppy #poppy #trolls #trolls band together #its my first time drawing trolls #i hope I did okay AAAAAAA #first time drawing adult trolls I mean #ive been practicing for HOURS #miyuuart #miyuutrolls

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stil-lindigo · 8 months

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warmth.

a comic about not being alone.

creative notes:

all my other comics

store

#to all the trans men and women and anyone who feels like they have to stifle themselves for their own safety #may you never feel like youre alone in this #this comic is one of my more grounded ones #it just felt right to not try to decorate this one in a lot of symbolic fanfare #sometimes i have to go above and beyond to fit the vision. this felt right being pretty understated.#i really did my best with this one and i hope it shows #you all deserve so much joy and so much love from your partners in life #and i hope you like this and if you dont thats okay too #thats all #thank you for your support #and as always #thank you for reading #comic art #lgbtqia+#queer comics #hearteaters #stillindigo art #stillindigo comics

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dolotonglo · 30 days

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so that popularity poll huh

#ace attorney #thank you for the idea aroace attorney i hope i have done you justice 🫡#haha justice. get it. like apollo #anyway #HES RLLY THIRD WHEELING LIKE THAT ITS SO FUNNY 😭#ace attorney shitpost #shitpost #gyakuten saiban #phoenix wright #beanix #miles edgeworth #apollo justice #CONGRATS GUYS!!! 🥹#beanix fans r WINNING today #also listen. i know someone else did this already #but i finished this before i saw theirs okay #let me have this i worked so hard #dolotalks #doloposts

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flowercrowngods · 5 months

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who did this to you. part 2

🤍🌷 read part 1 here pre-s4, steve whump, protective (but scared) eddie

This is not happening. None of this is happening, he’s… He’s dreaming. He’s high. High as a kite somewhere where reality doesn’t matter, where it can’t fucking reach him and he’s— He’s not panicking behind the wheel with Steve Fucking Harrington bleeding against the passenger side window.

It’s not happening.

Because if it were happening, Eddie would simply throw up. He’d leave his van on the side of the road and run the fuck away. Away from Harrington and his trouble, away from his rattling breath that’s so loud and unsteady, Eddie doesn’t even dare to turn on any sort of music, even though he’s itching for it, his hands clenching and unclenching around the wheel until his knuckles go white.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he mumbles under his breath, barely aware of his surroundings at all, his eyes flitting from Harrington to the red stain against the window, back to the road and then down to the white-knuckled grip and the speckles of dried blood that is decidedly not his.

Lost in his panic and disbelief, Eddie almost runs a red light.

It’s harsh, the way he hits the brakes, and the sound Harrington makes is pathetic enough that Eddie feels like maybe this might actually be happening.

“Sorry,” he breathes, his voice no better than Steve’s — and he’s not the one with a concussion, a broken rib, and that… fucking fear. Of something. Or someone.

Who’s hurting you, Steve?

Jus’ everyone, sometimes. God you don’t… You don’t even know.

He doesn’t even know. He doesn’t wanna know. All he wants is for Harrington to stop fucking bleeding, to keep his eyes wide open and—

“Ed,” the boy says, wheezes, and it sounds like he wanted to say his full name, but had to swallow first. Blood, Eddie thinks. Don’t let it be blood. “Think I’m… ‘M gonna throw up.”

“Please don’t throw up,” Eddie says before he can stop himself, hating how small his voice sounds, how urgent — like that’s the thing to be urgent about. God, he’s such an ass, but he… If Harrington throws up, Eddie will lose it. He knows he will.

He chances a glance over at Steve, who has somehow managed to get his right arm tangled with the handle at the door, keeping himself upright and safe from Eddie’s rather frantic driving style. His head is drooping, moving this way and that against the red-stained glass, and he blinks unseeingly as blood begins to trickle down from his nose and temple again.

He’s making himself small, and Eddie wants to pull him upright and tell him to stay like that, tell him to stop looking so terrible, so horrible, so…

So much like Eddie’s fucking problem.

He hates it. Hates everything about that vision. Boys like Harrington shouldn’t look like this, shouldn’t hold themselves like this, shouldn’t… Shouldn’t have no one but Eddie to take them somewhere safe.

It’s just not tight.

“Don’ wanna throw up,” Steve says at last, the pause too long for Eddie’s liking, and he sounds so solemn about it, yet so helpless, and Eddie kinda wants to scream. Wants Harrington to scream. Anything to stay awake and maybe not ruin his car. Anything to not fucking die in it.

“Tell me something,” he says then, because he knows he has to keep Harrington awake and speaking. Just for another ten, fifteen minutes, he tells himself. “Anything, yeah? Tell me anything. Gotta keep you awake there, you hear me? Sounds great, right, staying awake?”

He’s rambling and he knows it, desperation shining through his words and the god-awful way his voice breaks a little. This is not about him, he knows it isn’t, but still he wants to punch himself, wants to pinch himself and stay fucking calm.

But who could stay calm in a situation like this? The silence is filled with the horrible wheezing and rattling of Harrington’s breath barely audible over the engine, and Eddie has to look over several times to make sure he’s still there, still with him, still alive. His panic spikes each time.

He’s just about to reach over and shake him a little, snap in front of his face to get him back, when—

“I don’t know what.”

It’s quiet, that voice, breathy and tiny and almost invisible, and Eddie wants to scream again.

Tell me why you’re so scared. Tell me why your old buddy did this to you. Hagan would never touch you, so why did he now? Tell me what happened to Hargrove. Tell me why you sound so fucking small.

“Tell me about your…” He fumbles for a moment, taking a sharp left and pretending not to hear the choked-off whimper. Focusing on good things. On normal things. “Your favourite person.”

Eddie cringes at himself the moment the words leave his mouth. Your favourite person? Really, Munson? He scrambles to find something better, something cooler, or maybe something easier like asking his favourite fucking colour, but the overthinking really doesn’t mix well with the already panicked state of his mind. And Eddie just blanks.

Beside him, though, Harrington sits up a little straighter, smearing more blood against his window in the process that Eddie pretends not to feel nauseous about.

God, he never did like blood.

“You wan’ me to tell you ‘bout Rob?”

“Sure, yeah,” Eddie says, a little too loud, a little too shrill, actually running a red light this time because he doesn’t want to brake again and hurt the boy some more. There’s no one around anyway. This is Hawkins. Fucking dead-end of a town. It doesn’t need red lights, or boys who look like Harrington. “Rob. Tell me ‘bout him, what’s he like? Favourite colour, all that shit.”

“Her.”

Eddie blinks, looking over to find Harrington looking at him — or trying to, his eyes still drooping and empty. But it’s a good sign. People don’t die when they look at you, right?

“What?”

“Her,” Harrington says again. “An’ blue. Deep ‘n’ dark blue. She’ll say something corny when, when you ask her, jus’ to fuck with you. Sunset gold or rose, jus’ to mess with… But is blue.”

Eddie doesn’t really listen, doesn’t really process what Steve is saying, already thinking of the next question just to keep him talking. But then he continues on his own.

“Mornin’ blue dep— de… makes her sad, though. So only dark blue. Says it’s why we’re friends. You’re so blue, Stevie. Got half’a my clothes, still, she does. All the blues.”

That's... really fucking endearing, actually.

And he says it with a half-smile, too, bloody and pathetic as it is. Like it’s a secret that only the two of them are in on, only Steve and Robin. It’s kind of sweet.

Not for the first time today does Eddie find himself wondering, Who the hell are you, Steve Harrington?

He exhales through his nose, ignoring the way he’s started to shake with all that panic that’s been sitting inside him for a little too long now with no way to let it out.

“Not much longer,” he mumbles under his breath again, or maybe he just thinks very hard. Maybe he doesn’t know where he is at all. It’s like he blanks every few seconds, too busy thinking and trying not to.

Before he can tell Harrington to talk some more about that girlfriend of his, there’s a pained, confused little whine that forcefully tears Eddie’s eyes from the street for a moment only to meet hazel eyes widened in confusion.

“Wh— Where… Where’re we going?”

Oh no.

“Why’m I in y—“

“You’re safe,” Eddie interrupts him, speaking slowly because suddenly his tongue is too big for his mouth, and not entirely sure if he’s reassuring Harrington or himself. “You’re hurt, okay? It’s bad, but it wasn’t me. I’m taking you to… to someone. My uncle Wayne, he’s— He knows about that kinda stuff. You were telling me about Rob. Remember her, Blue? How about you tell me some more, hm?”

Eddie’s voice is unsteady with worry and fear and panic, and he’s doing a piss-poor job at hiding it. The thing is, he’s going to cry. He’s actually, absolutely, no-doubt-about-it going to scream and cry and punch a fucking hole into something when this day is over, when his van is no longer bloody, and when Steve Harrington won’t have reason to look at him any longer.

Oh, how he wants to skip forward. Past the nausea, past the fear, past everything that’s happening right now. Maybe past the insomnia that will come with a day like this, too.

Past all of it.

Or better yet, travel back in time and never get to that fucking boat house.

But he can’t. So he breathes.

At first, through the ringing in his ears and the racing of his own heart so loud and so forceful he’s shaking with it, he worries that Steve’s gone silent again, that he’s gonna ask again, ask what happened, ask where he is, ask all the questions that make Eddie feel like he’s been doused in ice water because they’re questions that only get asked in stupid movies where terrible things happen to people.

But then he hears him mumbling something. Numbers.

“What’cha mumbling there, Blue?”

“‘S her number,” Steve says, his voice slurring again, worse than before, and Eddie hits the gas a little harder. “‘S jus’ her number. Robbie’s number.”

And he mumbles again. Over and over and over, until Eddie couldn’t forget it if he wanted to, ingrained into the frayed edges of his mind now.

He lets him ramble, lets him repeat the number until the words slur together and he can’t separate a four from a nine anymore. Each time Harrington hesitates, each time he stumbles over the words or forgets a digit, Eddie wants to punch the wheel.

He doesn’t. He only grips it tighter and counts down the turns he takes, the streets he passes, the fucking trees that are familiar, before, finally, the trailer park comes into view.

The sob Eddie lets out when, with shaking, trembling hands he pulls up to his home to find his uncle having a smoke outside is deafening to his ears after the quiet weakness of Harrington’s voice.

It startles him, makes him stop his rambles and sit up straighter when Eddie finally kills the engine. For a moment, without the steady, rolling hum, the car is filled with the small, tiny whines Steve makes on each exhale. Like it hurts to even breathe.

“Wha’s wrong?” He asks, but Eddie can’t really hear him. Can’t turn to him, can’t— “Eddie?”

He’s out of the car before he can take hold of another thought, stumbling out of his open door on legs that feel numb and heavy. The urge to cry is back again, the burning in his eyes only getting worse when Wayne takes in the dried blood on his clothes and hands with careful, calculated worry.

“Ed?”

“I didn’t know what— where—- I’m… Wayne, I’m sorry.”

“Slow down, kid,” Wayne says, raising his hands as if to calm a spooked deer. Like Eddie is the one who needs his help. And he is. He really, really is, and he shouldn’t be, because this isn’t about him, but—

Wayne grabs him by the shoulders to keep him still, and only now does Eddie realise he’s shaking again, restlessly moving his weight from one leg to the other. His uncle steadies him, gently pressing down on his shoulders to ground him, and Eddie nearly sobs again.

“Ed. Are you in trouble?”

“No,” Eddie scrambles to say, becoming aware of what this looks like, hiding his hands behind his back on instinct, like that’ll make Harrington’s blood disappear. “‘S not my blood, I didn’t do anything, I swear! I swear. It’s, uh. I just found him. In the boathouse, I found him, and he was… God, he looked so bad, okay, but he didn’t want the hospital, and he was, like, so scared of something, and we don’t even talk, we don’t even look at each other, but I just… I didn’t know what to do, and you know something about concussions and people who were beat to shit and, again, I’m—“

“Eddie,” Wayne says, his voice so calm but so assertive that Eddie shuts up immediately, gladly handing over to controls to his uncle now. “Who’s the kid?”

He nods towards Eddie’s van, where Harrington looks to be halfway unbuckled, but his eyes are closed and his face smushed against the door again, like he just gave up.

“Shit,” Eddie says, adrenaline and panic slowly falling from him with Wayne’s hand on his shoulder. He sags into his uncle and rubs at his face. “It’s Steve. Uh, Steve Harrington, I mean.”

“Okay,” Wayne says, and he’s so calm. So calm. Eddie feels like he’s about to fall apart, and Wayne is the only one keeping him together, with that’d steady, warm hand on his shoulder. “And you promise me he didn’t give you trouble? Or anyone else who’ll come finish what they started?”

Eddie shakes his head profusely, getting a little dizzy with it. “I promise I’m not in trouble. He said Hagan did this to him, was alone when I found him. No trouble, Wayne, I swear, I’m not like that, you know I’m not.”

“Okay,” Wayne says again, and Eddie wants to weep. “I know you’re not like that, but some people are, y’know? You did good, son. You did good. Now help me get him out of that car.”

It takes his uncle tugging him towards the van for Eddie to kick back into motion, nearly falling over his feet turning back around. It’s only Wayne’s “Easy” murmured under his breath that keeps the ground from opening up and swallowing him whole.

He climbs in on the driver’s side while Wayne rounds the car and gets to Harrington’s side.

“Hey there, Blue,” Eddie says, his voice shaking and the nickname slipping again — but it’s easier to call him that than his real name, it’s easier to pretend it’s literally anyone else in here with him, bleeding against his door.

It’s easier to pretend it’s not Harrington’s breath rattling the way it does, easier to pretend those pained groans so high in their cadence they can only count as whines don’t come from Hawkins High’s Golden Boy who graduated a few months ago and was supposed to be done with bullshit like this.

“Come on, up you get,” he tells him, not daring to raise his voice too much.

He looks so frail. Like he’s already broken. Or like he’s trying not to. Like he’s holding on.

Eddie pretends not to think that the hand he places on Steve’s cheek to gently pry him from the window is not the only thing keeping that boy together right now.

Harrington groans, whines, wheezes, but opens his eyes to meet Eddie’s. Jesus, we’re they this blown before? Or this swollen?

“Hey,” Eddie says, just to say something. Just so he won’t have to hold the boy’s face in silence, just so he won’t have to focus on all the blood. Just so he won’t have to hear more questions that people aren’t supposed to ask.

Steve opens his mouth, his breath coming out a little sharper, like he wants to say Hi rather than Where am I? or When will it stop hurting? Like he wants to say How can I help you help me?

Somehow, Eddie manages a smile.

Wayne chooses that moment to open the door — just unclicking it, not pulling yet; giving Eddie enough time to support Harrington, make sure he doesn’t fall.

“Careful,” he whispers, though whether it’s for Wayne, for Steve, or for himself, he can’t quite tell. Maybe it’s a plea to the rest of the world, and to anyone else who will listen.

Steve is still staring at him. That’s probably not a good sign. He leans back a little, turning Steve’s head to make him follow him. Slowly, of course. Gently. Eddie can’t remember ever having touched something like it was going to break if only he looked at it wrong, but somehow he’s hyper-aware of it now.

Because Harrington is staring at him. Entirely too still, like he has no strength, no coordination to do anything but stare. And yet Eddie is the one who, now that the adrenaline has fallen from him, now that he can let someone else take over, now that Harrington doesn’t need him anymore, finds himself unable to look away.

Because Steve is just a boy. And so is Eddie, who can feel Steve’s breath against his wrist. And maybe, out of the two of them, Eddie is the fragile one. The one about to break.

“Blue, you with me?”

Steve nods. Doesn’t speak again. Doesn’t move. Eddie swallows, briefly looking back down at Wayne to see if he’s ready. His uncle nods, ready to catch Harrington should he go down, and Eddie turns back to the boy who’s smeared with his own blood.

“I’m gonna take off your seatbelt now, yeah?” he tells him, not entirely recognising his voice anymore. “That man out there, that is Wayne. My uncle. He’s safe. He’ll take care of you, okay?”

“Safe,” Steve breathes, and that shouldn’t be the one thing he focuses on. It shouldn’t sound so unsure. So insecure. So hopeful, so relieved, so— Fucking earnest.

Swallowing all these thoughts, all this desperation and all those questions, Eddie reaches over Steve, one hand still supporting his head and feeling the overheated skin of Harrington’s cheek against his palm, the hint of stubble and the crust of dried blood. As if in slow motion, not daring to make a wrong move and hurt him more than he already does, Eddie frees him the rest of the way, letting the seatbelt slide into its hold behind his shoulder.

“Careful,” he says again, just to say anything, but he is careful, and his hold on Steve is steady.

“‘M careful. Not gonna break, Eddie.”

“I know.” But maybe I will.

“Good. ‘Cause… Don’ wanna break.”

Eddie smiles, despite everything. “You’re not gonna break, Blue. Wayne’ll catch you.”

Harrington loses his focus then, his eyes glazing over, but the small smile on his lips widens. “Blue. ‘S nice.”

Yeah, Eddie thinks. He kinda is.

Somehow, miraculously, they get Harrington out of the van and into the trailer. He throws up halfway to the doorstep, and Eddie curses under his breath while Wayne talks quietly, asking him yes and no questions that Eddie can’t really hear through the ringing in his ears — a strange mix of fear and relief, a panic not quite over, but soothed by his uncle’s familiar voice; even if it’s not directed at him.

“Don’t worry about it, kid, the next rain’ll take care of that. Stop apologising.”

It throws him then, rather suddenly and violently, watching Wayne supporting Harrington, watching the blood smeared boy with the swelling, angry red bruises in his face. Somehow it’s different, seeing him in his home.

This was always a safe space. Always void of everything terrible.

And now there’s a broken boy on his doorstep who’s not Eddie.

He remembers the fear, the panic, the plea for no hospital, Eddie. Can’t go there.

Why not? You need a doctor—

Monsters. Only monsters there.

It paralyses him and he stays where he is, holding the door with an arm that’s heavy like lead, standing on legs that begin to go numb again. He watches, but not really, as Wayne sits Harrington down on the living room couch, between magazines and brochures and some of Eddie’s calculus notes from last night that he was searching for a sketch of a monster he was so certain he’d drawn in the margins a few weeks back.

Now there’s blood on his calculus notes. And Eddie is helplessly keeping the door open as though he’s going to run away any second now. Letting in more trouble to join Harrington on his couch.

He should… He should close the door. Help. Run. Disappear.

“Ed,” Wayne calls, snapping him out of his stupor. “The first aid kit, please. A bottle of water. A clean, wet cloth. A blanket, too.”

Wayne talks him through it, takes it one step at a time, has Eddie bring him one after the other like he knows how much he’s keeping his nephew together by keeping him on the brink of usefulness.

Soon, Wayne has everything he needs, taking care of Harrington and his wounds, keeping him awake and talking so much better than Eddie did, even making him smile here and there, hiding his wince when the motion pulls on his split lip or the huffed breath sends a jolt of pain through his rib that Eddie is absolutely certain must be broken with the way he holds himself — with the way he lets Wayne hold him up.

Wayne is doing his thing and Eddie is hiding, gripping the kitchen counter like a vice, staring both unseeingly and hyper-vigilantly as exhaustion washes over him, dragging him under and draining him of more than adrenaline. He slumps against the cupboard behind him, rubbing at his face like that’ll make it all go away.

It’s not right. It’s not. This is Eddie’s home, it’s supposed to be safe, it’s not…

He breaks away, ripping his hands from the counter and all but stumbling outside, heaving a deep breath and giving in to the urge to cry. Tears spring to his eyes and he wipes them away angrily, because it’s dumb, it’s so stupid, it’s absolutely fucking insane that he should be so worked up when Harrington talked about dying earlier.

These things don’t happen. They don’t!

“Stop fucking crying,” Eddie grumbles, sniffling and wiping away more tears as he closes his eyes against the afternoon sun. “Get a grip, Munson, Jesus Christ, there’s no reason to cry you big fuckin’ baby.”

Nobody’s there to contradict him. Nobody’s there to make it worse. So he lets his eyes sting for a while, lets his lips wobble, his jaw clenched shut, the balls of his hands pressing into his eyes, breathing deliberately.

In. Hold. Out. Hold.

He doesn’t even scream. Doesn’t punch the still bloody side of his van, doesn’t run into the woods and disappear into the void.

He simply breathes. Tries not to think about boys dying in mall fires, and even less so about boys beaten and abandoned in boat houses.

Doesn’t think about fucking Hawkins in Bumfuck-Indiana and the cursed way it has, driving its people mad.

Doesn’t think about, They said my brain is hurt, Eddie. Doesn’t think about the Monsters Harrington mentioned. Doesn’t think about Blue, doesn’t think about I’m tired, Eddie. Don’t wanna hurt anymore.

Doesn’t think about blue, blue, blue.

He’s shaking when he comes back inside. He’s shaking when Harrington meets his eyes, looking a little clearer now, the blood washed away and everything bandaged a lot better than Eddie managed. He’a bundled in Eddie’s blanket. It’s wrong. It’s so, so wrong.

Eddie can’t move, and neither does Steve.

“Steve,” Wayne says, waiting until those eyes tear themselves away from Eddie and back to him, though Eddie sees them fill with such trepidation, he almost asks what’s wrong. “I won’t hear a no on this, and I won’t let you go home. I’m taking you to the hospital. Especially if you tell me your head was hurt like this before, more times than one.”

“Three,” Blue breathes, a little dazed still. Not magically healed, not even from Wayne. Another thing that doesn’t feel right.

“Three times,” Wayne says, nodding, like he’s encouraging Steve to continue.

“But I don’t want a hospital.” Again with that tiny fucking voice. Like the Monsters are hiding under hospital beds.

“I know, son,” Wayne sighs, tugging the blanket a little tighter around Steve, and Eddie’s eyes begin to sting again when he notices the tone Wayne uses. When he realises. When he remembers.

”I want my mom.“

”I know, son. But she’s not coming. Your mama is gone, Ed, and this is your home now. Think we can make that work, hm? You and I?”

Eddie had never felt so lost as he did then, clutching his blanket to his chest, burying his face in the wet fabric even as this man — his uncle — tugs it tighter around him. Like he is fine with Eddie wanting to hide as long as he doesn’t run away.

He had shrugged, then, even though we wanted to shake his head, tell him no, tell him he wanted his mama.

”I’m scared, uncle Wayne.”

And Wayne had smiled a little, and nodded. “Then we do it scared, Eddie.”

Actually, Eddie feels like he never stopped doing it scared.

And now there is Steve, who Eddie never believed knew what being scared felt like. It’s dumb, of course, because even Harrington is just a boy, but he was always untouchable to Eddie. They never talked. They never existed in the same space together, not in a good way and not in a bad way. Their worlds just never aligned, never collided, never coexisted.

And now…

“I’ll tell you what’s going to happen, okay? There’s a doctor, Doctor Clarke. Like— Yeah, like your science teacher, remember him? ‘S got a brother who’s just as much of a genius, and just as kind. He’ll take a look at you, yeah? Make sure your brain isn’t too hurt, clean your wounds, give you something for the pain. He won’t, uh. He won’t hurt you, kid. Whatever’s got you so scared, Dr Clarke will be nice to you. Especially when I’m there with ya, I’m an old pal of his. And I will be. Won’t let you outta my sight until you’re well enough to run away from me, you hear me, kid?”

Eddie’s hands are hurting, his fingertips raw from where he’s been biting his nails while Wayne talks Blue through what’s going to happen — and he wonders, with the way Steve’s eyes are glued to Wayne, if he ever had anyone talking him through shit like this.

“Okay,” Harrington breathes at last, still sounding way too small. “But. I’m…”

“Scared anyway?” Wayne offers. Steve nods. You’re so blue, Stevie. “Then we do it scared anyway.”

And they do. Wayne goes to get the car so Steve won’t have to walk too far, leaving Eddie alone with him for a brief moment.

He watches, from his place in the kitchen, how Steve’s face falls into a look of utter exhaustion and tiredness; the adrenaline washing from him just the same. Eddie wants to reach out. Wants to say something, break the spell of tension and silence and I know we don’t talk, but I’m glad you’re doing a little better. I’m glad you’ll go see a doctor. I’m glad you haven’t died, I guess. Do you really think you will? Are you really so scared of that?

But Eddie keeps biting his nails, and Steve keeps his eyes closed, blanket around his shoulders. And they don’t talk.

“Thank you.”

Eddie perks up, not entirely sure he didn’t imagine the words — but Harrington moved slightly, his eyes still closed but his face now turned towards Eddie.

“For, uh. This.”

“I didn’t do shit, Blue,” Eddie says. “That was all Wayne. All I did was freak out, I promise.”

Harrington shakes his head, though, slowly. “Mh-mm.”

Eddie’s mouth snaps shut, because there is no room for discussion here. They don’t talk. And he doesn’t want the bubble to burst with insecurity and sourness.

“Thank you,” he says again, and he sounds final about it. It makes Eddie wonder what he’s like, really like, when he doesn’t consist of pain and nausea and disorientation.

He has a feeling that, despite everything, despite Monsters under hospital beds and torture in boathouses and mall fires that kill teenagers, Blue Harrington might be someone good to talk to. Compassionate as shit, even when all he wants to do is pass out.

“You’re welcome,” Eddie rasps, pretending that his eyes don’t sting.

He wraps his arms around his chest like he’s hugging himself, or like he’s holding himself back. From reaching out, from asking, from telling, from talking.

Unwittingly, even with his eyes closed, Steve mirrors him, and Eddie wonders if he, too, it holding himself back, or just curling in on himself some more even though it must hurt, feeling so small.

Maybe that’s what fear of death does to a nineteen year-old. It’s so fucked up. Eddie wants to scream again.

Outside, he hears a car door fall shut just before Wayne reappears in the door, giving Eddie some kind of meaningful look that he wouldn’t mind deciphering on any other day, but today he fears he needs words.

“I don’t know how long this’ll take. Will you be okay, Ed?”

“Will I be— Yes! I’m not the one with the concussion, man, of course I’ll be—“

It’s a bluff, comes too fast, and Wayne sees right through it before Eddie even realises it, and he steps closer. A warm hand on his shoulder. His eyes stinging again.

“You did good, kid. Everything will be fine. But it might take a while. It’s fine if you need to go somewhere, just… Don’t drive. Call Jeff if you need someone, just. Don’t do anything stupid. And don’t get behind the wheel. Deal?”

Eddie swallows hard, hit by another desperate, aching wave of I wanna go back in time and skip this day. A wave of tired exhaustion and wondering, aimlessly, just who the fuck Steve Harrington really is.

“Deal,” he says, and Wayne pulls him into a hug.

Eddie follows them outside then, trailing behind them like a lost little puppy, helping Harrington into Wayne’s car. His movements are still slugged and a little disoriented, so Eddie decides to lean in again and fasten his seatbelt.

“Careful,” he mumbles, allowing the boy a moment’s warning, a moment to adjust before the weight settles on his chest.

Dejá-vù hits him and makes him pause, with Harrington staring at him again.

“I’m careful,” he says, the corners of his mouth tugging into a little smile.

More lucid than earlier, and Eddie thinks it that which takes his breath away for a moment.

“Not gonna break, Eddie.”

“I know,” he says, still not moving back, instead reaching up to tighten the blanket around his shoulders even though the seatbelt is already there to hold it in place. “You’re not gonna break, Blue.”

The smile on those lips is genuine now, gentle enough to not be ruined by the blood crusting them.

“Thanks. Again.” And then, when Eddie finally pulls away to close the door and tell Wayne to drive safely, “I really do like that name.”

It soothes the urge to scream.

Eddie closes the door as gently as he can — which isn’t much, because the car is old and not exactly smooth.

“I’ll see you later,” he tells Wayne. Promises. To stay out of trouble, to stick around, to not run away for a while again, to stay out of his car.

Wayne nods, a faint smile on his lips.

“Later, Ed.”

And then they’re gone, and Eddie is untethered again. Wonders, for a few seconds every now and then if it really happened, if this is real.

But it did. And it is.

And after sitting on the steps for a while, having a smoke and staring at where Wayne’s car disappeared ten, twenty, forty minutes ago, Eddie heads inside.

He has a phone call to make.

🤍🌷 tagging: @theshippirate22 @mentallyundone @ledleaf @imfinereallyy @itsall-taken @simply-shin @romanticdestruction @temptingfatetakingnames @stevesbipanic @steddie-island @estrellami-1 @jackiemonroe5512 @emofratboy @writing-kiki @steviesummer @devondespresso @swimmingbirdrunningrock @dodger-chan @tellatoast @inkjette @weirdandabsurd42 (a thousand percent sure i missed some but oh well such is the 3am disease)

addendum 22 jan 24: onwards to part 3

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie fanfic #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve harrington whump #this is so long i am SORRY #i hope tagging y'all was okay (and equally i'm hoping i missed nobody but also it is 3am)#who did this to you #most of y'all will know most of the beginning already maybe i should have split it up but i wanted y'all to have Something New too #and then the Something New got out of hand and oh well :(#dio words

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