Just a nerd who loves steddie and musical theater

Eddie turns his head toward Dustin’s panicked voice, and suddenly, his legs regain their mobility. He turns away and runs toward the gate Dustin has opened from who knows where. It doesn’t matter; he just has to get out of here, he has to leave this place…

“Hurry up!” Harrington shouts, appearing behind Dustin and gesturing wildly, and Eddie picks up the pace. He’s not much of an athlete, he hasn’t run in ages, and his lungs are on fire, aching painfully, but he doesn’t stop; he can’t stop now. Wheezing, he pushes hard with his legs; he’s almost there. The gate is right there, just a few steps away; he reaches out his hand; he can almost grasp Harrington’s, just a little further and… The vine wraps around his ankle, yanking sharply, sending him sprawling face-first onto the ground and dragging him backward, pulling him away from his only way out.

Eddie lets out a cry of pain and frustration, he was so close! He turns, trying to tear the root free, but it coils tighter, winding its way up his thigh. Eddie screams and struggles, but it’s no use. Another vine wraps around his torso and yanks him backward, pinning him to the ground. More vines coil around his arms, pulling them away from his body and stretching them out to either side, pinning him in place. He knows he is helpless, yet he keeps fighting. He isn’t going to give up now; he can’t give up now. A new vine wraps around his ankle, completely immobilizing him, and the swarm of Demobats is so close. There is nothing left to do. Eddie knows it, it’s too late. He is going to die.

Throwing his head back, he locks eyes with Dustin and Steve one last time. He wants to cry, to scream their names, but another vine coils around his exposed throat and tightens so fiercely that no word can cross the barrier of his lips. His breathing becomes labored and he casts a final glance at the gate as it closes, slowly, inexorably, as if wanting Dustin and Steve to witness the spectacle of his death. It is sordid, it is grotesque; it is exactly what the Upside Down is.

“Steve” is the last breath that escapes his lips as the horde of Demobats rushes toward him and he loses consciousness.

Breathless, his heart pounding wildly in his chest, Eddie starts awake, a scream of terror trapped in his throat. The room is dark. It is pitch black; he doesn’t know where he is; tears are streaming down his cheeks, and his body is trembling. Panic washes over him. He is going to die, he is dying, he is dead. He doesn’t know anymore; it is so dark, he is so afraid... his breathing quicken, too fast, too deep, he is suffocating, he is going to die...

A slight movement behind him catches his attention, and before his mind can spiral again, he feels fingers gently caressing his bicep. The fingers are soft and affectionate, sliding cautiously over his arm and tracing circles on his skin, slowly bringing him back to reality. He is safe. His hands are trembling, his whole body is still trembling, but his racing heart has slowed. He is safe. His breathing is still uneven, but it no longer makes him dizzy. He tries to remember Vickie’s advice: breathe in through the nose, breathe out through the mouth, repeat. He is safe.

His body relaxes slightly as fingers trail up his arm. Steve, they’re Steve’s fingers. He’s at Steve’s place, in his bed; he is safe.

Images from his nightmare overlay reality. He knows it isn’t real, he is safe, yet he can sense Vecna’s presence; it is omnipresent.

Eddie is on the verge of spiraling again. His breathing is ragged with every intake of air, and exhaling is a struggle; his fingers are starting to go numb, and he can feel the tingling sensation creeping up his knuckles. A whimper of terror escapes his lips.

He is safe. He is in the Upside Down. He is going to die. Steve, he is at Steve’s. He is safe. He is in the Upside Down.

His heart is pounding faster and faster in his chest. He is safe. Steve. He is in the Upside Down.

A gentle but firm grip squeezes his shoulder, and he feels himself being pulled backward. He doesn’t resist. Steve. His mind is still muddled, but he lets it happen. Steve, it’s Steve moving him, he is safe. Steve handles him gently, turning him around until his head rests against Steve’s chest. He is safe.

He clutches Steve’s pajama T-shirt, clenching his fist so tightly he might tear the fabric; another whimper escapes his lips as tremors rack his body, his eyes squeeze shut, and his jaw clenches. He needs to calm down, he needs to breathe, he is safe.

Steve’s fingers find the back of his neck and trace soothing circles before moving up to the back of his head, sliding through his hair. His touch is gentle and pleasant, a soft caress, and Eddie focuses on the sensation, the stroking against his scalp, Steve’s slow breathing, and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Steve is a reassuring presence, he is safe.

Eddie’s mind is still muddled, but Steve’s fingers in his hair help keep him anchored in reality. Steve is his anchor; he is his lighthouse in the night, his light at the end of the tunnel, his rainbow in the dark. Steve is the reassuring presence that pulls him from the shadows, that brings him back to the surface. Without Steve, Eddie would simply sink deeper and deeper, swallowed by the darkness, by the visions, by the nightmares.

There’s a cracking sound outside and Eddie tenses, his whole body on high alert; he suddenly inhales and Steve’s fingers move a little faster against his scalp, as if to say, “I’m here, you’re safe”. Steve’s fingers drift lower, caressing that spot just above the nape of his neck, the one that always makes him shiver. Distracted by the touch, Eddie focuses on the sensation: Steve’s fingers sliding through his hair, tracing circles or odd shapes as they move up toward the crown of his head. Eddie’s hand lets go of the pajama fabric and rests flat against Steve’s stomach, feeling it rise and fall with his breathing.

Steve’s fingers are slow; they leisurely roam over Eddie’s scalp, massaging, moving downward, then pulling away for a split second before landing back on the crown of his head and starting to slide slowly again. Steve keeps this up, and Eddie forgets the world exists.

Steve doesn’t speak; he knows it’s pointless. After a nightmare, Eddie’s mind is still muddled, struggling to reconnect with reality; his thoughts are hazy, and words reach him incoherently, like an unpleasant buzzing, he hears them but is unable to understand them; it feels more oppressive than helpful.

Steve’s fingers keep running through his hair, occasionally brushing against the curve of his ear, it’s so soothing. Steve knows how to calm Eddie down, how to care for him, how to make him feel safe and get him to go back to sleep despite the fear. Everything seems so simple and natural now, but it wasn’t always that way: in the beginning, whenever Steve tried to reassure him or tell him he was safe, Eddie’s terrified screams would only grow louder, because, still entangled in his nightmares, the words sounded like threats to his ears.

Steve’s fingers find the back of his neck again, caressing that spot at the hairline and sending such an intense shiver of contentment through him that his whole body relaxes. Eddie doesn’t want to fall back asleep, but he knows the caresses will soon get the better of him; he can already feel sleep taking hold.

Steve’s fingers run tirelessly and tenderly through his hair in slow, soothing caresses, and Eddie snuggles closer to him. He is safe; everything is fine. The darkness can’t catch him anymore; it can’t hurt him anymore. His heartbeat synchronizes with Steve’s, and before Eddie realizes it, he has fallen asleep. He is safe.

Eddie's been working on this mixtape for a few weeks. Months, really. 

He needs the right songs, and that takes time. It'd be easier if he could pop down to the record store and buy all the new releases, the hot music and dub them that way, but, well — money. 

And there's the fact that the town still loathes him. Name cleared or not. It's easier to just lay low until the heat dies down.

If it ever dies down.

Eddie hits the record button. The play button goes down with it.

"Whatcha doin'?"

Eddie nearly jumps out of his skin. Gareth's standing behind him.

"Nothing," Eddie says, defensive. Curling in around the boombox. Like that's gonna hide that he's definitely doing something.

"Are you ripping this? This?"

Eddie can't reasonably explain why he's ripping a Don Johnson song off the radio. Not at all. So he doesn't even try.

"Why are you here?" Eddie asks. 

Gareth doesn't answer, flopping down on Eddie's bed. It's been hard to get used to the new mattress. He misses his old one. He misses a lot from before Spring Break. Things have changed, and he'll never be able to go back to before. It's a very distinct line in his life.

A rift.

Just like the ones that ripped through town. Only, this one was through his own life.

Eddie doesn't dig his hole any deeper. Just sits in silence, and when the song is over, he presses the button, and stops the recording. Hoping Gareth will just let this go.

Carefully sliding it out of the tape deck, and back into its case. 

He probably has fifteen or twenty minutes left worth of room. So, a handful of songs. Maybe he'll get this finished by the end of the year.

"Can I see it?" Gareth asks, holding out his hand.

"No," Eddie says, sliding it into his shirt pocket. There's nothing to see anyway. The tape, and the case, are both unmarked. Nobody would know what's on this tape except for him without listening to the whole thing.

Gareth pulls his hand back, making himself comfortable on Eddie's bed.

"It's for Steve, isn't it?"

The question hangs there, unanswered, until Jeff and Goodie bust into his room, shifting the focus.

Later, when they're alone again, Gareth taps Eddie on the chest with the back of his hand, ring clacking against the plastic tape case in his breast pocket.

"For what it's worth, I think he's on the same page."

Eddie ignores this statement, because it's too scary to contemplate that Gareth might be right.

Eddie holds onto the tape. Leaving room for one more song. Finishing it means he has to actually give it to Steve, and he's not sure he's prepared to do that. Even if Gareth seems to think Steve would be on board. 

Eddie isn't so sure.

The finished mixtape is in his pocket. Burning a hole, as they say. 

Another night of them bumming around, shuttling the kids all over town as winter hits. Steve keeps flipping the station. Looking for something. 

"There's nothing on," Steve says, and this is Eddie's window, but his heart is hammering against his chest. Fuck.

Steve surfs past 94.5 again, and Eddie pulls the tape out of his pocket.

"Here," he says, handing it over. Hand shaking, but he can blame that on the bats. Easy.

"I'm not in the mood for screaming," Steve says in a snit, and Eddie loves him. Bitch that he is. 

"It's not screaming. It's for you," Eddie says, screwing up every ounce of courage he's ever had. 

Steve shrugs, and takes the case. Sliding the tape out, popping it into his tape deck. There's a smidgen of Casey Kasem on the front, but Steve doesn't seem to mind, and when Addicted to Love comes he starts bobbing his head with it. 

It feels like a win to Eddie.

The next time he gets in Steve's car, the tape is still in the deck, Steve's said nothing, so Eddie says nothing. They're going to Indy, and with Robin in tow, Eddie's in the backseat. 

When the tape ends, Love Will Conquer All finishing it out, Robin screws up her face.

"Whichever girl made you this has got it bad for you," Robin spouts off.

Steve's eyes flick up to the rear view mirror. Eddie meets them for a second, then looks away. Like the landscaping to his right is suddenly mighty interesting.

Eddie was not prepared for the slamming on the brakes, and braces his hands against the back of Robin's seat as Steve abruptly pulls over to the side of the road.

Robin's screaming at Steve, and Eddie's about to have a nervous breakdown. Maybe he should run. 

He doesn't have time. 

Steve has yanked open the back door on the other side of the car, and is climbing in, sliding across the leather. Eddie is scrunched against the door, pinned, trapped, and Robin has turned around, looking over the headrest at the unprecedented spectacle unfolding, and this is not how this was supposed to go. Not at all.

"Eddie," Steve says. It's a full question, and Eddie nods. A quick short movement.

"Holy shit," Steve whispers, and then he's scooting closer, hands finding Eddie's face that's hidden behind his hair, turning him, lips pressing against Eddie's. 

Robin's making noise. Eddie can barely hear it with the blood rushing in his ears, but Steve's lips are warm, firm, and sure.

Gareth was right. Steve's on the same page.