[ part of steve actually thinks he might be over-assuming in a lot of this. because yeah, alright, he's had his fair share of nightmares. of sleepless nights where his brain never really turns off and the worries stack higher and higher until he's fairly certain he's going to collapse under the weight of them. he knows the creeping, unexpected fears that wrap themselves around your ribcage and slowly tighten until you forget what it is to take a full breath for the first time, and he knows the bone aching exhaustion that follows.
but eddie..eddie died. eddie was torn apart by bats. eddie was left in the upside down because they'd all thought it was over, and he found his way back. found some way to communicate, to get steve's attention, to keep going. eddie was left behind in the upside down because he had been dead, and now he was breathing, and steve couldn't even begin to think what that could do to someone's brain. vecna's influence, the upside down's shadow, the demobats' scars. those are grounds for nightmares, and maybe steve is being an ass by being here. if he's inserting himself into the aftermath of every one of eddie's bad nights because some niave part of him thinks that if he can't fix his own shit, maybe he can help eddie's.
a while eddie repeats, and part of steve thinks he said something wrong, while a larger part seems to relax at the companionship in that repeat. in the fact that maybe, somewhere in the early morning and the shadows of the guest room lamp, they both understand.
eddie shifts a bit in how he's sitting, and steve kind of just lets himself watch. lets himself be a bit selfish in how it does help some distant part of him just to watch eddie moving. to watch him breathe, talk, just...move. and maybe it's because these are the hours of the night that steve is usually the most lonely. when he's the most out of touch. there's something about eddie just being here that has been grounding for him, even when he is curled over himself, the tight curl of his frown when he says i guess you can imagine.
and steve just nods, because yeah, he can imagine. he remembers seeing max lifting up into the air. remembers the fear, the panic, the way he'd just screamed. and max had survived. but eddie? the guilt returns, there, turning his stomach in some kind of way that steve almost misses the hum. almost misses the question. but when he catches the end of it, his brows lifting like he's coming back from zoning out. ]
The nightmares? [ even if he'd known that was what eddie meant. still, steve asks, and then whether or not eddie answers, he gives a small shrug of his shoulders. ] Sometimes I think they are, but then other times they're worse than ever. You get kind of used to them, though, which helps. Kind of.
[ there's a pause here, before steve seems to deflate. just a hair, just a breath, but enough. ]
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but eddie..eddie died. eddie was torn apart by bats. eddie was left in the upside down because they'd all thought it was over, and he found his way back. found some way to communicate, to get steve's attention, to keep going. eddie was left behind in the upside down because he had been dead, and now he was breathing, and steve couldn't even begin to think what that could do to someone's brain. vecna's influence, the upside down's shadow, the demobats' scars. those are grounds for nightmares, and maybe steve is being an ass by being here. if he's inserting himself into the aftermath of every one of eddie's bad nights because some niave part of him thinks that if he can't fix his own shit, maybe he can help eddie's.
a while eddie repeats, and part of steve thinks he said something wrong, while a larger part seems to relax at the companionship in that repeat. in the fact that maybe, somewhere in the early morning and the shadows of the guest room lamp, they both understand.
eddie shifts a bit in how he's sitting, and steve kind of just lets himself watch. lets himself be a bit selfish in how it does help some distant part of him just to watch eddie moving. to watch him breathe, talk, just...move. and maybe it's because these are the hours of the night that steve is usually the most lonely. when he's the most out of touch. there's something about eddie just being here that has been grounding for him, even when he is curled over himself, the tight curl of his frown when he says i guess you can imagine.
and steve just nods, because yeah, he can imagine. he remembers seeing max lifting up into the air. remembers the fear, the panic, the way he'd just screamed. and max had survived. but eddie? the guilt returns, there, turning his stomach in some kind of way that steve almost misses the hum. almost misses the question. but when he catches the end of it, his brows lifting like he's coming back from zoning out. ]
The nightmares? [ even if he'd known that was what eddie meant. still, steve asks, and then whether or not eddie answers, he gives a small shrug of his shoulders. ] Sometimes I think they are, but then other times they're worse than ever. You get kind of used to them, though, which helps. Kind of.
[ there's a pause here, before steve seems to deflate. just a hair, just a breath, but enough. ]
Have you slept at all the last few nights?