[ maybe this entire thing is based on over-assumption. over-assumption in staying, over-assumption in how eddie feels around steve — quieter, familiar, safe — or how he wonders how steve feels about all of this. about sitting on the floor, not quite criss-cross-applesauce, not quite just hanging out, because the breathing is still broken, still fumbling around the post-nightmare haze. crazier things have happened, he’d have to argue, than king steve wanting to spend time sitting on the floor talking about how neither of them could sleep.
the true depth of the events behind them haven’t exactly caught up with eddie. perhaps there’s cerebral understanding in the fact that he was dead, once, but there is a lack of comprehension. there is still the unshakable dread, that sickly sort of cold that feels sticky on his skin and he can still feel the dark. maybe — maybe the upside down takes more from you than just a pound of flesh. and in all of this, dying had ultimately been the easier part. not in any of the events that led up to it, not the fear or the pain, but — well, he’s not sure how to define it. a part of him didn't want to. but then there was the first breath back, and then everything was moving and thinking and doing and trying to get out, and if it wasn’t for steve, he hates to think how much longer he’d have need to spend down there. so no, steve wasn't ass. steve was a goddamn hero.
eddie turns back around to steve, only to catch him already looking. he blinks, but it’s slow, and the edges of his frown lessen; tightness around his eyes softens. it seems like steve is caught up in his own head and eddie waits with quiet patience, and finds himself wanting to know more of what’s rattling inside there in the first place.
sometimes they’re worse than ever, and eddie deflates at that too. deflates because it givens the unspoken understanding between them shape.
his laugh is sardonic and dry. ] I wouldn’t call it sleeping, Steve. I’d call it losing the battle, maybe.
I’d call it avoiding the inevitable, and you can only run from that for so long, so — [ he exhales, defeated, though the humor seems to be at his own expense. running again and this time from his own mind and doesn't that ever feel like a step down. ] — so I don’t know. Probably got as much sleep as you did, man. [ a gentle callout, if anything, holding steve's gaze for a moment. ]
It feels like it takes a part of you, right? Sometimes I think I'm still there — [ he shakes his head, feels bad for even speaking of it again. ] — if you hadn't come for me, man. If you hadn't —
[ he cuts himself off with a shaky laugh. it's — not that eddie was particularly afraid of being vulnerable as much as maybe he wasn't good at it. and it's just that this particular vulnerability comes with a particularly sharp sense of guilt. the feeling that maybe he's in large part responsible for steve's sleepless nights. sure, even if he stayed dead, it would have stayed the same (over-assumption?) but steve still had to return to go and get him out. because he was too weak and scared of doing so himself. his next words are muttered, quiet and only for the space between them. ] — sorry you had to come down there again. If that — I don't know. Made it worse somehow.
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the true depth of the events behind them haven’t exactly caught up with eddie. perhaps there’s cerebral understanding in the fact that he was dead, once, but there is a lack of comprehension. there is still the unshakable dread, that sickly sort of cold that feels sticky on his skin and he can still feel the dark. maybe — maybe the upside down takes more from you than just a pound of flesh. and in all of this, dying had ultimately been the easier part. not in any of the events that led up to it, not the fear or the pain, but — well, he’s not sure how to define it. a part of him didn't want to. but then there was the first breath back, and then everything was moving and thinking and doing and trying to get out, and if it wasn’t for steve, he hates to think how much longer he’d have need to spend down there. so no, steve wasn't ass. steve was a goddamn hero.
eddie turns back around to steve, only to catch him already looking. he blinks, but it’s slow, and the edges of his frown lessen; tightness around his eyes softens. it seems like steve is caught up in his own head and eddie waits with quiet patience, and finds himself wanting to know more of what’s rattling inside there in the first place.
sometimes they’re worse than ever, and eddie deflates at that too. deflates because it givens the unspoken understanding between them shape.
his laugh is sardonic and dry. ] I wouldn’t call it sleeping, Steve. I’d call it losing the battle, maybe.
I’d call it avoiding the inevitable, and you can only run from that for so long, so — [ he exhales, defeated, though the humor seems to be at his own expense. running again and this time from his own mind and doesn't that ever feel like a step down. ] — so I don’t know. Probably got as much sleep as you did, man. [ a gentle callout, if anything, holding steve's gaze for a moment. ]
It feels like it takes a part of you, right? Sometimes I think I'm still there — [ he shakes his head, feels bad for even speaking of it again. ] — if you hadn't come for me, man. If you hadn't —
[ he cuts himself off with a shaky laugh. it's — not that eddie was particularly afraid of being vulnerable as much as maybe he wasn't good at it. and it's just that this particular vulnerability comes with a particularly sharp sense of guilt. the feeling that maybe he's in large part responsible for steve's sleepless nights. sure, even if he stayed dead, it would have stayed the same (over-assumption?) but steve still had to return to go and get him out. because he was too weak and scared of doing so himself. his next words are muttered, quiet and only for the space between them. ] — sorry you had to come down there again. If that — I don't know. Made it worse somehow.