abraxaslogs | [ semi-closed ]

Entry tags:

[ semi-closed ]

Who: steve and closed starters
When: after nero's death, approximately end of march/beginning of april
Where: solvunn, horizon
What: the aftermath of nero's death
Warnings: mentions of death, probably swearing, trauma, violence, blood, dealing with death, etc.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ steve doesn't really think about it, doesn't really think to do it, instead something deep and small and scared in him spurred on by panic more than actionable thought. nero is dying, nero is dying and he has to do something, anything, he has to-

there's nothing steve can do. the wounds are beyond anything he can manage, anything any normal person can manage, and nero's hands are so tight that steve almost feels like he's being crushed under the weight and-

he has to do something. he has to do something or nero is going to die (is he already dead? fuck, fuck fuck fuck-) and there's so much blood and the scent of it is suffocating, thick in steve's nose, his throat. c'mon, c'mon steve think, think, what can he even do? what can he even-

or, maybe, it's not what he can do. maybe it's- he's wasting time, god if these couple of seconds are the reason nero's eyes don't open back up-

really, he doesn't know what he's saying. doesn't know what he's thinking. he pours anything he can pull together to call them, not knowing if any real information gets through but he's panicking and he's hoping and he's, god. god god fuck fuck shit]

wanda
wanda help wanda please
its nero hes
we're with lorelai at josselyns
there was a god or some demon spider thing
neros
help
wanda please

Edited 2024-05-14 23:55 (UTC)

( steve's message reaches her, an influx of panic and desperation in the words that she's not quite felt before—or at least in a really long time. her heart is in her throat, and she knows that this isn't a prank that the two young men have signed to annoy her. wanda knows that she mustn't delay.

she drops everything she is currently doing and wastes no time in deciding between flying and teleporting; the latter she does quick, towards the area the funeral pyre had been set, and the rest of the way there is a matter of using her telepathy to find them (and yet she can only sense one). it works like a radar, and it takes wanda no time at all to find steve. she feels bile coming up her throat as she sees nero's prone form, and there's only so much she can do to take in the scenario around her.

a half-exploded spider-like carcass (which looks so familiar), ichor that feels to be everywhere in the clearing.

—no, no time to think about any of that. )

Nero.

( the name is hissed out, like she can't remember to speak, and she's falling to her knees to put her hands where the blood has pooled, trying to discern what can be done. steve holds nero, and—maybe—together, a miracle can happen— )

I can fix this. ( she continues, quietly, a string of words that may not be too true, but ones she wants to believe in. her hands, coated in blood, shine with the red pulses of her magic. ) Please. Nero.

[ there might have been a time where a prank like this from steve could have been possible. a time where slightly mean jokes or made up situations edged just a little too far onto the wrong side of the line, and he would laugh and laugh and laugh. that had been a steve before all of this. a steve who didn't know what it felt like to deal with death, who didn't know the hole it left in your chest when faced with it. the steve that wanda knows probably wouldn't even be able to joke about it, not when he still can't go all that long without remember eddie, without remembering wanda too.

still, it doesn't matter, because this couldn't be any further from that. this? this is panic. this is fear. this is steve's absolute desperation for someone to arrive and tell him he's dreaming, that this is some kind of hallucination, that the gods or the singularity or someone is making all of this up.

he needs wanda- he needs wanda, and so when she arrives and falls to her knees next to him, steve lets out a rush of air. it feels like he hasn't taken a breath in ages, in hours, and when he turns to her, his eyes are red and wide. the words come spilling out, tripping over each other, falling from his lips. ]

He- he- he- she, the thing, it- it won't stop bleeding. I've been trying to- I- I don't know, he stopped responding a little bit ago but I can't tell if he's- I can't find a pulse? I don't know where- I- [ steve is covered in it all, his blood and nero's, the ichor, everything else. he knows he doesn't look good, but nero looks works, and he's so still.

steve stutters where he is, holding nero but not sure if he should move or stay, if he should help wanda in some way or if he's in the way. his eyes jerk from wanda back to nero, then back again, breath stuttering in his chest.

wanda's magic flares, and steve prays- prays to the gods, prays to god, prays to fucking wanda if it will even do anything. ] Please, please, please, please-

( wanda's magic manages to close off the deeper wounds, with a squelch and a melting of skin, leaving ugly scars, because wanda has no time in making it pretty. she needs the bleeding to stop, and there's hardly anything she can focus on given how much of a mess everything else.

how silent it is—when it shouldn't be.

even with steve harmonizing a chorus of 'pleases' as she tries to push her magic through to stilled organs, emptied out veins, hoping to jump start any of these—

it's quieter still, when wanda's magic stops. the glow of scarlet no longer paints any of them, and her hands are bare and human as she stops and curls her bloodied hands into tight fists.

there is no bleeding to stop.

there is nothing to bring back.

there isn't a soul tethered to this body—and wanda cannot bring back the dead. this is a lesson she taught her sons, a lesson she had to learn to live with herself, despite all her powers, despite all her magic.

wanda turns over towards steve, puts a hand to his shoulder. )

Steve.

( her voice cracks, a tinny whisper. there's nothing here to save. )

[ Steve watches Wanda's magic work like it's the only thing keeping his heart pumping. his eyes flutter across Nero's body, trying to find any clue, any semblance of proof, that it's working. part of him feels like he sees it, a shift of Nero's chest, a breath hidden under the layers of grime and blood and tattered clothes. it'll be any moment now, won't it? just like those movies, just like all the times he watched the great big heroes lay prone in the rubble and everything is silent for one second, two, maybe even three, before they cough. before everyone else around them takes a breath.

Steve watches, and he waits, because it will be any minute now-

and then the minute passes. and then another after that. Wanda's magic stops and Steve is still staring, still waiting, because Nero has to come back. he has to. c'mon, c'mon...

a third minute, and Steve catches Wanda's hands pulling away from Nero out of the corner of his eye. Steve doesn't look, though. doesn't turn to Wanda just yet. because there's still a chance, isn't there? it could still happen. this could all just be some prank, and Nero could be taking his time, and all of this will be something that they laugh about after and Steve will hate Nero for but that's okay, they'll be okay, because Nero's okay.

a fourth minute. Wanda's hand on his shoulder. Steve. ]

No. [ Steve says, but it is too late. the burning behind his eyes takes over, tears spilling from the corners. his voice is barely more than a whisper, but it is also hoarse, desperate, as it breaks over the word. ] No, no, no-

[ but even in his denial, even in the litany of no he echoes, Steve knows it. knows that if Wanda couldn't fix this, if Wanda - with all her power, with everything she can do, couldn't save Nero, then there was nothing for her to have saved.

Steve is the one who ruined this. Steve should have called her earlier, should have stopped Nero from getting stabbed, should have been better, faster, smarter, anything- and he didn't.

a sob breaks out of him, rocks through his ribs and out his throat, and folds forward, eyes held tightly shut as his forehead falls to Nero's body - cold, coated with so much blood, lifeless - and he cries. ]

( steve is thinking all those things about how he ruined this, how it is his fault that nero is dead, but he might as well be screaming it; the emotions and the words are so loud as they reach her, and for a desperate moment she wishes she could stall the way he is thinking of himself. nero wouldn't want it this way.

when he folds forward against nero's body, wretched and helpless, wanda reaches for him, puts her hand to his back, rubs smooth circles over his clothes.

she needs to be strong for him. )

Steve. ( after a minute, she starts again, trying to pull him back. ) We need to take him back to the Settlement. I can do it myself if you rather not have to see it.

( to see the evidence of nero's death any longer. )

[ steve doesn't remember how he got here.

he knows... god. he knows that he's here. knows that he knows this fence, and knows this door. he knows that he didn't walk here alone and he knows that he should be go on inside and get cleaned up. he knows aloy is watching him, as he takes each step down the path to the room he's called home for these last months, years, whatever, and he knows that she will probably come back around later to make sure everything's fine. he knows it's... late? early? maybe the middle of the night. he knows he's exhausted, he knows that he feels like he's going to puke, he knows that he might just collapse the second that he gets to the door, and-

he knows eddie's inside.

god. eddie. when steve left earlier that morning, they hadn't spoken in... a while. the fight they'd had the day before? a couple of days? sat awkward in the space between them. steve had muttered something about going on a mission, had told eddie it'd be with nero, and he'd left without really even acknowledging if eddie had heard. and honestly, really, steve had been an asshole about this whole thing. he knows he has, had known even this morning before he left that he had, but he hadn't quite gotten to a point of being able to talk about it yet. to apologize. part of him had thought 'i'll ask nero about it' and that when he got back, they'd work it out like they always had and it'd be fine, and-

fuck. nero.

steve stumbles over that last step to the door, clattering a little as he catches himself from falling, and waves back to where aloy is probably still standing, probably still making sure that steve makes it in. he's fine, he'll be fine, but god- he probably just woke eddie up if he hadn't already been awake. he doesn't know if wanda or aloy messaged him to warn him (they probably didn't), or if he is going to just get steve dropped on this front door step, but-

god. steve hopes dustin isn't here. prays that he isn't. the last thing he needs is to be showing up in the middle of the night looking like absolute shit and scare the kid. he is still covered in cuts and gashes, black ichor clinging to his clothes, his nails, patches of skin that the light rain and wind hasn't washed away. he's also, somehow, still covered in blood - his own, maybe, but mostly neros. majority nero's. nero's, who...

steve blinks, forces himself to breathe, tries the door - to find it locked. fuck. ]

Edited 2024-06-08 22:50 (UTC)

[ In retrospect, it’s actually sort of impressive that Eddie and Steve haven’t fought like this before. After all, a broken bottle being used as a shank isn’t exactly the best way for any friendship to start, but aside from that, this is the first hiccup.

They haven’t really spoken properly for a couple of days, which is incredibly bizarre and awkward when you live in the same house and can’t avoid crossing paths. Still, there have several times over the last couple of days where Eddie has considered apologizing. He eyes the back of Steve’s head, almost says something, and then he walks it all back. Why should he apologize? He didn’t do anything wrong. It’s not his fault Steve is somehow offended by the entire concept of not bottling something up for once, and he hasn’t tried to force the topic since. So they both remain stubborn and unmovable assholes in their own ways, and Eddie only acknowledges Steve’s leaving with short “yep”.

But that was hours ago. Now it’s getting into the early hours of the morning and the house is quiet and dark, but he’s still wide awake, listening to the walkman Steve gave him for his birthday on low volume and kicking himself for being worried. Steve is an adult, Nero is an adult, they can both handle themselves—but with the crazy weather recently, anything could happen, and it’s difficult to ignore the twist of anxiety in his gut.

Low volume or not, it’s sheer luck that he hears the commotion outside at all. It happens just as he’s turning the tape over, and he tears the headphones off and stills, straining to listen for the creak of the door. It doesn’t happen, and he starts to put the headphones back on when he hears the rattle of the doorknob. Yeah, that must be Steve. The family who owns the home must have locked the door before turning in for the evening.

For a brief moment, he considers being a dick about it. Thinks about pretending he doesn’t hear anything and making Steve wait, or making him figure it out himself and climb in through a window or something—just something petty and stubborn and totally unnecessary because he’s still so frustrated with this entire stupid fight.

But he can’t bring himself to do that, no matter how irritated he is. With a huff, he gets to his feet and takes just a little extra time making his way to the door to make it appear like he hasn’t been wide awake and concerned for hours. He prepares to say something smarmy about the time, but the words die on his tongue the minute he swings the door open. ]

What—

[ Oh, god, that is…a lot to take in. There’s blood, so much blood, and something that looks like black tar, and somewhere under all of that is Steve, looking like he’s just had the worst night of his life. ]

Whoa, whoa, whoa. Jesus fuck, dude. What—

[ Eddie’s stomach turns, and he doesn’t really stop to think. He pulls Steve in through the open door, out of the rain and out of the wind, and even when he becomes very aware of the feeling of sticky blood and ichor beneath his fingers, he doesn’t let go. He just…tries not to panic, tries to stay calm, tries to keep his voice even and handle this and anchor them both, because hysteria is not going to help. ]

Is that--that's not your blood, is it?

[ it's actually pretty amazing they made it this far without having one of these fights. and maybe that's why this one seems to linger so much longer than it probably should. really, by this last day, steve's not entirely sure he's even still mad at eddie for anything real. he's still upset, yeah, but the anger, the need to fight, that's long since left him. instead, he kind of hovers in that weird, dark in-between, not really sure if he has anything to say but wanting to say something to fix this.

it feels weird, whatever this is. eddie holds his ground, just as steve does. neither of them really talk but they're still living together, they're still in each other's spaces, they're still-

it doesn't matter anymore, not when steve can barely remember why he was mad. what the fight had been about. he can't even bring himself to think about it as he fumbles at the door, tries for the handle and misses. his limbs aren't really working as they're supposed to, his reactions feel off and sluggish, but that's probably just the exhaustion setting in. he's not... he's not that hurt. is he? he blinks, and it feels like he's thinking through sludge, through mud. what was he doing again?

time passes, though he can't really figure out how long. he's looking around for the key, something to get the door open so he can get inside and maybe he can...

the door opens, then, and steve blinks tiredly at the light that comes through the open door. he hears a what and steve frowns, trying to... remember. think. get through. ]

Eddie? [ which would feel a little ridiculous to ask, if he had the energy to put together any kind of thought. why would eddie be here? honestly, he should be glad that it's eddie and not the couple who owns the home. that would have been a little too much for him to handle at the moment. instead, it is eddie, and steve feels...

eddie doesn't really give him any time to explain, jerking him through the door and closing it behind him. as soon as the door is closed and there's a buffer between him and the storms outside, steve feels off-kilter. like the consistent wind had been partially what had been keeping him upright. steve feels himself sway as he shakes his head. ]

It's- it's not all mine, no. I'm- I'm okay. It's- [ he owes eddie an apology, he owes eddie an explanation. he can only imagine the nightmarish image he's giving right now, and since he probably woke eddie up in the middle of the night with all this- god. god he should be doing better than this. he should be doing anything.

except that eddie is asking about the blood, and when steve looks down to his hands- caked in blood and ichor and mud- his hands are shaking. trembling. ] Um. [ he swallows, but it doesn't make it around the lump in his throat. an overwhelming sensation of cold starts to shudder through him as he shakes his head. tries to pull it all back together but he's not sure he can.

when he looks back to eddie, his eyes are burning, but he won't cry. he won't. ] It's Nero's. He's- he's dead.

What?

[ It’s Nero’s. He’s dead.

He hears it, understands it, but it takes a moment for his brain to fully comprehend it. Eddie didn’t know Nero particularly well. Knew him by association, mostly, and critiqued his out-of-date pamphlet once (they ended up being changed the next month, so his well-constructed criticism was not in vain). But anyone could recognize Nero as a mainstay around the commune, someone who had been there longer than most of them and seemed perfectly confident and capable of handling—well, anything.

A Summoned hasn’t died here before…right? They’d know if one of them had died before, they’d take it as a word of warning, and if it was going to be anyone, it honestly doesn’t seem quite right that it would be Nero. But Steve wouldn’t be saying it if it weren’t true. He wouldn’t be here standing here covered in someone else’s blood, shaking and ready to break and somehow still claiming he’s okay.

Eddie doesn’t have it in him to call him out on it this time. He just steadies himself with a deep breath and hisses out: ]

Shit.

[ His head immediately begins to swim with a thousand questions. How? What happened? Does anyone else know? Where is he now? What about you? He bites every single one of them back. He doesn’t ask what happened, doesn’t push for information, because whatever happened, Steve is clearly not doing well and overwhelming him with questions seems like the absolute worst thing he could do right now.

And Eddie—Eddie doesn’t know how to handle this. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do, doesn’t know how he’s supposed to make this any better. He knows he just can’t, but he tries. Tries to reel himself in, tries to act as an anchor, tries not to make anything worse, just…tries his absolute damnedest to be there. ]

Alright. It’s—it’s alright, dude. It’s going to be alright.

[ His tone is quiet, almost cautious, because no, it’s not alright. They both know it, but one of them has to pretend it is, or that it can be.

Whether it’s an attempt to ground himself or Steve, Eddie still hasn’t let go. He can mask his anxiety, but it’s still apparent in the way his fingers just dig a little deeper into Steve’s arms, blood and ichor growing colder beneath his hands by the second.

He allows himself to ask one question, just one: ]

You were with him?

[ okay, that is a fair point. steve is far from 'okay' in the normal sense of things. but the relation steve is dealing with is nero, speared open and dying in his arms, blood thick in his senses and light leaving his eyes. compared to that?. steve is great. steve is totally aces. but compared to literally any other moment or situation? could not be further from okay.

still, right now his attention is elsewhere, on other things. and thank god that eddie's hands haven't quite left steve's arms, because he's using that touch, that grounding connection, to keep him from fully falling apart. steve doesn't know of any other summoned who has died, didn't even know it was possible, or that it would ever be possible for nero. he was too strong for that, too good at... everything. fighting, healing, surviving. but steve... steve just went through too much to even try and deny what happened. talked to nero as it was happening. watched as he faded away-

fuck. fuck. eddie curses under his breath and steve's eyes close because this is more than he's willing to deal with. more than eddie should be dealing with. more than- more than what is fair. but what part of any of this is fair? nero is dead, his body out there in the woods with wanda, and- jesus. jesus. jesus. eddie's still talking but steve doesn't hear him, just shakes his head because it's not going to be alright, it really isn't, because nero is dead and that is kind of that, isn't it?

just like barb. just like benny. just like chrissy and billy and patrick and heather and mrs. byer's boyfriend and fred and eddie and-

steve's breathing picks up, a delayed kind of panic as keeps shaking his head because- no. no he's not going to do this, and he's not going to do this to eddie. it feels a lot like his control is slipping through his fingers, his hands turn, gripping onto eddie's arms as steve realizes he needs to steady himself. did eddie just say something? yes. yes he just asked a question. steve forces a long breath, forces himself back in the moment, and when he looks up and sees eddie looking back at him, he-

you were with him?

steve's eyes go wide for a moment, his entire body stilling. and then there's nero, there's nero looking back up at him, there's nero's soft chuckle and nero's voice and-

steve nods, slowly, and then whatever resolve he'd been building cracks and falls away. he coughs, but really it's an attempt to cover what feels almost like a sob, breaking out of his chest. he drops his head, closes his eyes, tries to hold back the way that they burn but he knows he's doing a poor job of it, too. that no matter what he might try and do, whatever he might try and bring back together, he is definitely...

well. he's crying. there's no way around it now. ] Sorry, sorry-

[ Steve nods, and Eddie’s stomach flips. He’s not sure if that makes things a little better or significantly worse. Because it’s just something else else to add to the growing pile of things Steve keeps a little too close to his chest, another trauma, another painful thing the two of them will likely never talk about in depth after today.

But at least Steve can have the comfort of knowing that Nero wasn’t alone, and small though that may be, that means something. Eddie should know. He still feels an immeasurable amount of guilt that Dustin had to be there to watch him die, to have to see him weak and bloody as the light died from his eyes. But for his own sake, he’ll never not be grateful that he wasn’t scared and alone.

And Steve—god, Steve is crying. Eddie has bawled like a baby and come close to completely breaking down more than once, but he’s never seen Steve cry. Never even seen him come close, and it’s sort of alarming, because how is he supposed to fix this? What is he supposed to do? What is he supposed to say?

He swallows all his panic. Panic won’t help anything. Instead, he steadies himself with another deep breath, and blood and guts be damned, he wraps his arms firmly around Steve and reels him in close, holding him tight and just trying his goddamn best to make sure he knows that someone is here. He doesn’t have to deal with this on his own. ]

Alright, man. Alright. Don’t apologize. Nothing to apologize for.

[ It’s not alright. It’s not, they both know it, but there has to be some sort of assurance that it can be. The same sort of assurance that was offered to Eddie back in that boathouse, a place and time that seems like half an eternity ago. It was really one of the only things that kept him together.

As he does his best to console Steve, he distantly thinks that he sounds like his Uncle Wayne. Wayne would know what to do in this situation. He’d be able to say no more than five words and somehow make it all more bearable, because Wayne could always handle this shit. But Wayne isn’t here, and Eddie is, so he has to be the one to handle it now. ]

Hey.

[ Whether Steve stays close or pulls away, Eddie’s voice is soft. ]

He wouldn’t want you to go the same way. You’re gonna totally freeze if you don't get changed.

[ given time, steve will probably reach a point that he is glad he was there. if nothing else, for exactly how eddie is thinking about it - so nero wouldn't have been alone, so someone was there to... to... to what? watch as he faded away? steve hasn't ever really had to think about it this intensely, this deeply, because he'd always had that separation. distance. and now he's-

well. right now he's crying, like the final pillar has cracked and everything he was holding back just crumbles. his hands are still holding eddie's arms, though his grip is anything but tight. he hates himself, very suddenly - for not being able to keep it together, for not being able to do anything about it, for falling apart on eddie, who has his own shit to deal with where it concerns death and dying, and god. god. he's kind of a huge asshole, isn't he? crying like a little kid when eddie didn't ask for any of this.

that's when something changes - more quickly than steve can keep up, eddie is suddenly there, his arms around steve, holding him in a tight hug and is muttering something about alright and don't apologize that steve doesn't really pay much attention to. it's hard to, really, when eddie's holding him close and steve is crying and without any kind of hesitation, his arms wrap around eddie's middle, his face goes to eddie's shoulder, and he just kind of hangs on.

it's not pretty, the way steve just kind of clings on to eddie as he keeps crying, each breath stuttered and fractured. he doesn't know how long it is they stand like that either, steve's focused on trying to keep breathing, trying to calm down, and his hands are punched in the fabric at eddie's back and god, god he's kind of pathetic, isn't he?

hey it's eddie's voice that breaks through, right around the time that steve can take his first long, slow inhale. he hasn't loosened his grip, really. hasn't moved from where he's still clutching at eddie where they stand. eddie's voice is soft when he mentions freezing, and changing, and how they should probably move from right inside the door, and- oh. yeah. steve nods, and eddie can probably feel the careful, specific process steve has to go through to extract himself from where he'd definitely (embarrassingly) been clinging on to eddie like a lifeline. ]

Yeah. [ he says- and it's rough, barely more than a grunt. steve doesn't look at eddie when he finally steps back, rubbing his face with his sleeve. ] Yeah- I'll. Yeah. [ he should probably bathe, too, now that he thinks about it. now that he's calmed down to a point that he can feel the layers of grime and blood and dirt that coats him. ] Sorry. [ he says again without thinking about how eddie had just told him there was nothing to apologize for. steve feels a bit like he's not really here, like the fragile, quiet aftermath of a bomb, but-

no. he needs to go change. eddie's right. he nods again, taking a step towards their room. ]

[ It’s sort of amazing how that fight and the way Eddie had come to the door with the stubborn intention of continuing it—it does’t really matter anymore. It all just sort of crumbles away, leaving the two of them standing there in the doorway. As quiet as it all is, it’s nothing like all those awkward, strained stretches of silence from the last few days, and Eddie stands there, acts as an anchor, holds him close and lets him clutch as tightly as he needs to.

This ordinarily might be a little too close. It might feel like an overstepped boundary, but Eddie knows how important Nero was to Steve, knows how close they were. This isn’t going to be easy, and it’s going to be a long time before this wound even begins to heal. All Eddie can really do is be there for him, and this is the only way he knows how to show it.

He just wishes he’d stop apologizing. Every time Steve says sorry, something in his chest tightens, and he wants nothing more than to tell him that you’re allowed to cry, dude. But he gets it, so he just shakes his head and mumbles, don’t worry about it as Steve steps away.

He gives Steve a few moment of space, makes sure he makes it through the door to their room, and then…he’s not sure what to do. He waits it out, pacing the hallway outside the door and wringing his hands, and then he takes another leaf from Wayne’s book. He leans against the door and calls in to him: ]

Hey. You, uh…think you could stomach some food too, or…?

[ It’s been hours, after all. ]

[ no, the fight really doesn't matter anymore. so much to the point that if Eddie had still been mad, had still wanted to talk about it, still wanted to press his point, Steve most likely would have folded then and there. he doesn't know if he could stand his ground under that, because Eddie isn't wrong. it's just- god. it feels like any time Steve gets close to letting down his guard, any time he thinks things could be easy for a minute, the weight of the world shows up to slap him across the face.

he probably would have apologized, too. still might. anything if it could make this all feel less tough.

thankfully, it doesn't seem that Eddie is still upset. or, probably, whatever it was they'd fought about and then left to sit awkwardness between them doesn't matter nearly as much. Steve settles his breathing, slow but still shaky, and Eddie just... god. Eddie is there. Steve feels himself collapse and then pull himself together and Eddie is there through the whole ordeal. it feels... better. feeling like there is something else, someone else, to anchor to.

Steve goes and showers, pushes himself through the motions even though there is a distinct part of him that wants to sit in the show and stare at the wall for the next hour or so. Eddie's voice cuts through in the midst of it, where Steve blinks and realizes he's been staring down at his hands for a little too long. what's Eddie even saying? something about food?

the idea of it turns Steve's stomach - the smell of rot and blood and dirt still thick in his nose, the back of his throat. his hands are relatively clean, the worst of it all washed away with the water, but... ]

Nah- I'm. Not hungry. [ he ends up calling back, turning off the water a few moments later. everything takes a little more effort than he wants to use, but he does it anyway, forces himself to do it anyway, and a few moments after that he's wandering back out to the main space, hair still wet, looking a lot more like a wet dog than a person.

he doesn't know why he doesn't expect it, but Eddie is still there when he comes out, and Steve ends up blinking a couple of times at him.

what is he supposed to say, now? what are they even supposed to do? sleep, probably, but the idea of sleeping shoots a kind of panic through Steve's chest. ]

[ Eddie still hasn’t sat down by the time Steve returns to the main room, really not looking a whole lot better despite being clean of all that blood and ichor. And god, it pains Eddie to see him this way. It pains him to already know that it’s simply not enough to pick up the pieces and carry on, because that’s not how death works. There’s a wound where a good friend used to be, and something like that always leaves a scar. ]

Hey—

[ He speaks, his voice oddly tight, and then stops, because “hey” what? What can he say or do or suggest that’s even going to help? There aren’t a whole lot of options available to him, and while sleep does seem like the most obvious suggestion, Eddie can take one look at Steve and recognize that it’s probably not happening. Too much has happened, and the sun will start to rise soon enough anyway. ]

If you just…I dunno, sit for awhile? That’s cool. We don’t have to talk, we don’t have to do anything, we can just…exist for a bit, you know?

[ steve doesn't know how it is he's feeling, and that leaves him a bit listless where they stand. he's noticed that eddie is still here, that it's the middle of the night and they should both be asleep, but the thought of sleeping, the thought of going to bed, the thought of trying just fills him with dread. and, wait, shit, does he need to find dustin? does he need to tell dustin? is that-

hey-

he blinks, and doesn't realize how long it's been. eddie is looking at him, not expectantly but definitely like he's about to break, like he's about to do something off, and steve doesn't disagree with him. doesn't think he's wrong. but god, he feels like such a pathetic- ]

I- [ there is the responsible voice in him that's saying he needs to get over himself and sleep. no good will come from him staying up, no good will come from any of this, but god damn he's not prepared to go at it alone.

so when eddie continues, when he says sit for awhile, when he says they don't have to talk, steve feels something like anxiety unclench from his ribs. ] Yeah. I...yeah. That. I can do that.

[ steve looks around, somehow looking lost in his own home, in their home. ]

[ Steve just looks lost. Eddie has never seen him quite like this, not even when he’d returned from the island. That had been concerning, and it still is, but this is…just sort of heartbreaking. If Nero weren’t dead, Eddie might find a reason to be pissed with him, but there’s really no point in starting beef with a dead man.

For a moment, he wonders if it’s worth saying that he knows what Steve is feeling, that he lost his mom when he was a kid and that it fucking sucks, and nothing anyone says is actually helpful in the moment, but it does get easier with time. But he knows Steve, and he knows he’s going to turn it right back to him with sympathy for a wound that’s no longer fresh. Empathy is a wonderful trait to have, but this isn’t about Eddie and he’s not going to give Steve a single opportunity to apologize for something out of his control.

So he says nothing. He just reaches out to take him by the arm, to lead him out of the dark hallway and into the refuge of their shared room. Eddie makes sure Steve actually makes it through the door, and his gaze falls upon the walkman and headphones still strewn across his own bed. ]

Hey, listen—I know loud music is probably like…the last thing you wanna hear right now, but uh…most of this stuff— [ He picks through the small collection of tapes and holds one up ] —is actually pretty chill. If you just wanna tune the world out for a good thirty-six minutes…?

[ Sometimes, it doesn’t really matter that you listen to. Anything to cut through the buzzing of the rest of the world is enough, and the sweet sounds of Dio might even be enough to lull Steve to sleep if it’s turned down low enough. ]

But I won’t be offended if you say no.

[ it's not a conscious thing when he does it, but rather his instinct, his reaction, his body needing help and reaching out to the only people he can think who can fix this. the messages are sent pretty much simultaneously, mostly because steve can't manage the thought it would take to make them distinct.

he has to do something. he has to do something or nero is going to die (is he already dead? fuck, fuck fuck fuck-) and there's so much blood and the scent of it is suffocating, thick in steve's nose, his throat. c'mon, c'mon steve think, think, what can he even do? what can he even-

the message that aloy gets is half-constructed, more emotion than it is anything specific. if emotions could be sent or seen in the scrawl of the handwriting, she can probably put together all the context clues she needs. steve is barely hanging on, and he's reaching out to the only ones he can think of who could help. might help.

he grasps at nero a bit wildly, tries to press on wounds, tries to check if he's breathing, tries- ]

aloy
aloy help its
nero hes
help
theres so much blood
i dont know
i cant
help
i cant tell if hes breathing hes

Edited 2024-05-18 18:15 (UTC)

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wanda.

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eddie.

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aloy.