steve harrington. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hairington) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
abraxaslogs2024-07-28 11:19 am
hairington) wrote in abraxaslogs2024-07-28 11:19 am
[ open ]
Who: steve and you
When: july-august
Where: nocwich, horizon, solvunn, etc.
What: steve is forcing himself back into some form of life/routine, at least he hopes so
Warnings: n/a
When: july-august
Where: nocwich, horizon, solvunn, etc.
What: steve is forcing himself back into some form of life/routine, at least he hopes so
Warnings: n/a
no subject
[ Those places were usually more sad than anything, but a venue was a venue and Eddie is quick to leave the argument there, turning his focus toward racking his brain for ideas instead. When he turn back to share them, he’s aware they aren’t his most creative, but he feels like he’s offered a variety of options, and—
Shit. Shit, shit, shit—
Before, it could have been written off as a fluke, but now Steve crowds into his space and it seems very purposeful. Eddie would know. Invading peoples’ space is his thing, and more often than not, it’s just to be strange and off-putting. But this isn’t strange or off-putting. It’s…kind of charming and it all shakes Eddie to his very core.
Ironically, outside of the feeling of fear, it really does take a lot to properly rattle Eddie. He was never thrown off by the disinterested, lukewarm crowds he performed to back in Hawkins. Not one of the daily insults or judgmental looks ever made him stumble. But now—he feels really rattled now. Not enough to run, but enough to make his eyes widen and his head swim, and—shit, there it is again. The way his heart skips a beat and then leaps right into his throat, so quickly and with such force that he’s afraid it’s going to leap out of his chest and onto the dingy Family Video carpet.
It’s a bizarre feeling, and one seems to be growing more and more acquainted with. He’s kind of afraid to put a name to it, but he finds himself thinking that, yeah, maybe Clarisse kind of did kind of have a point...and, shit, he absolutely doesn’t know what to do with that.
You trust me, right? Luckily, that snaps him out of it--sort of. He’s still very aware of Steve’s hand on his wrist, but he manages to blinks back to some semblance of reality. ]
Uh—Honestly?
[ Only with all that remains of my young life, dude is what he would like to say. But god, that seems like too much. Entirely too much, so Eddie reels it all in and does what he usually does. He puts on a show of pretending like he needs to think about it, like he’s weighing every possible option—and in the end, he just grins like he can’t carry his own joke all the way through to the punchline. ]
I’m almost offended you even need to ask. But, uh…obviously.
no subject
but right when steve is about to keep arguing, he sees it - that. that flash of something in eddie's eyes that confirms the whole thing for him.
because here's the thing - steve knows that look. it's been a couple of years, maybe. maybe a couple before that, too. it doesn't matter, though, because he recognizes it now - the widening of eyes, the pause in eddie's expression. steve is close enough to see it, to get that front row seat, to know (or, rather, to have it confirmed) that this isn't just something he's been crazy to cling to since they woke up from the crater. clarisse had all but yelled at him to do something about it, and steve... steve had been so terrified of eddie's reaction would be that he hadn't.
now?
now they're close, and steve's smiling, and eddie's right there and his eyes are so wide and ah, yeah, for all king steve might be a thing of the past, he has been in this place before. he knows this look. and that familiarity, plus the sudden rush of his own heart pounding in his chest, steve's smile grows just a bit wider.
eddie asks honestly and puts on a show, and steve feels...good. giddy, excited, young almost. it doesn't completely remove the rest of it, the clicking of keys in the back room and the hole in his stomach are all still there. but its quieter, for a moment, as eddie takes up space in the room. all the space, it seems, the second he grins back at steve.
obviously. ]
Good- c'mon.
[ steve doesn't let go of eddie's wrist, instead turning and all but dragging the other behind him. he pulls him out into the parking lot, and steve waves at shadow where she sits atop nero's fan in the front parking lot. he lets go of eddie when they get to his car, sliding over the top (because he can, okay, let him be as cool as he thinks he can right now) and climbing in. there's a general sense of urgency to his movements, one he assumes eddie will pick up on, as he turns the keys and his bmw comes to life.
( part of steve wishes he had the imagination to be able to upgrade his car, he guesses there's something to say about it being his. not that it matters, that's going to come into play a little later. )
the next however long goes by much faster than it probably should. steve might be speeding, the horizon might be helping, there might even be something to say about the nerves and the low-thrum of excitement, or maybe it's just the music playing out of his speakers - another one of eddie's tapes. whatever it is, it helps, and before either of them know it steve is pulling into the roadhouse in dean's horizon domain and stepping out of the car.
he turns, his back to the front door of the roadhouse, and shoots a grin at eddie. yeah, okay, he's definitely trying to at least appear cool here, which is probably backfiring, but let him live. ]
You mentioned getting wasted, right?
[ at least to start. steve has another idea, a bigger one, but this is going to be step one. ]
no subject
And Steve just doesn’t let go of his wrist. Not until he absolutely has to—when he’s dragged Eddie out the door and slides across the BMW’s top just to get to the drivers seat. Eddie rolls his eyes, but it’s hard not to smile. It’s hard not to chuckle. And, shit, it’s even harder not to be totally charmed.]
Jesus Christ. Okay, okay, okay. Okay—
[ He mumbles beneath his breath—hopefully out of earshot if he’s lucky, but nothing about Eddie Munson is subtle, and it’s easy to catch the way he pauses to shake out his hands in an attempt to relieve some of his nerves before approaching the passenger seat. Does he know what this is or where any of it is going? Absolutely not. But he’s still interested in seeing it through.
Stop overthinking, he commands himself. Just stop. Because overthinking is how he ends up spiraling and questioning everything. Overthinking is how he gets scared. And sure, he's nerves are jangled as hell, but he’s not quite petrified yet. So he takes the plunge, takes a deep breath and ducks into the passenger seat. ]
That trick normally get you a lot of compliments, Steve?
[ It’s not cruel, not mocking, just light and amused, all mixed up in a tone of fondness and a smile. With his stomach and heart doing cartwheels over one another, he truly feel like he’s dying all over again, but he doesn’t need to show it.
(He is actually impressed, though. That trick doesn’t work on a van unless you want a broken arm and a head injury).
The drive is…it’s normal. Eddie chooses the music without asking and refuses to sit still, fingers tapping along with the music—as always. But this time, rather than staring out the window at the strange scenery that passes, he finds that his gaze keeps drifting to Steve, almost drawn like a magnet, and it doesn’t stop until they reach the Roadhouse. A familiar enough place. ]
Did I?
[ He knows he did, and he probably needs a drink at this point. Just something to soften his nerves a bit. ]
Yeah, I guess I did. Once or twice.
no subject
Yeah, actually. Why? Do you feel like complimenting me?
[ it's cheeky, cheekier than maybe steve has any right to be given the situation, but eddie's in the car and he's already reaching for the music (a familiar enough movement, to steve - watching eddie fiddle with the tape player, the radio, comfortable in steve's car in a way that does a lot to those knots in steve's gut).
steve feels eddie's eyes on him for most of the drive, feels the kind of tingling sensation of being watched. every now and then steve glances over, just to catch eddie watching him, and his smile lingers, his confidence building, and building, at about the same rate his nerves do. he's already made his decision for what the rest of the day, afternoon, evening, whatever this is going to be. now he just needs to make it work.
and then they're here, and steve rolls his eyes at eddie's question - turning and walking through the front door, assuming eddie will follow.
just like every time steve steps through the front doors of the roadhouse, the familiarity of it strikes him. the music, that he knows. the wood of the dive bar. the way the whole place, while not in any way his, could have easily been on a highway leading out of hawkins. steve goes straight for the bar, stepping behind it and searching the bottles. ]
How're we feeling? Jack? Tequila? [ steve looks...overly familiar with his surroundings, back here. like he considers this place as much a home as his own domain.
but this isn't it, either. this is only the first stop. ]
no subject
Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves.
[ Spoken with a grin and a tone that implies that, yeah, he would like to give out a compliment, but he’s going to be stubborn and hold onto it for a bit.
He doesn’t intend to be caught looking, but he doesn’t bother to pretend like he isn’t either. Half a dozen times he considers just outright asking—What is this? Put a word to it. I dare you. But he stops himself every time. In a situation like this, maybe it’s just better not to know. That way, at least there are no expectations to make or break, and Eddie’s nerves remain only moderately jangled rather than severely jangled.
Eddie does follow, watches as Steve makes his bar like he owns the place before beginning to drift toward the jukebox with faux nonchalance. Like it’s not his intended location when it so very clearly is.
This was one of the first places Eddie ever found himself in the Horizon—stood like a statue right here in front of this jukebox for at least an hour, hoarding it from the other visitors and absorbing to every new-to-him Metallica song he could find. There’s probably plenty more that’s worth his time, but as he scrolls idly through the jukebox’s offerings, he’s not really looking for anything in particular. Maybe this is just a quick stop. Maybe they won’t be here for long, but that doesn’t mean he can’t peruse. ]
Uhh—
[ He mumbles out loud in response to Steve, momentarily distracted by the jukebox. Because he spots Journey on that list and for half a second, he considers it. God, why is he considering it? He is absolutely not giving Clarisse any opportunity to be painfully smug. He grimaces at himself and quickly chooses something a little more his speed—something a little more guitar-driven and a lot less…crooning lead singer-driven. Pleased enough with his choice, he pushes away from the jukebox. ]
Now, I don’t know about you, but I say we dream a little bigger and take both.
[ He leans against the bar and tilts his head, watching Steve open cabinets with a familiarity that goes beyond that of a casual visitor. Even Eddie, who actually worked in a shitty dive bar back in Hawkins, wouldn’t dare to assume he knows what’s what back there. ]
When have you been here before?
no subject
and every time he glances over and sees eddie looking, it feels... right. like he's headed in the right direction. like maybe all of this isn't for naught. but he doesn't jump quite yet, and since eddie doesn't seem like he needs anything spelled out for him just yet, maybe the timing will work out too. maybe he'll have time to really lay it out. maybe-
they make it to the roadhouse. steve makes it behind the bar. eddie wanders off to the jukebox, and if every nerve of steve's weren't vibrating under the surface, this would be a hell of the way for the night to settle. music, worn wooden walls, a television in the corner that is playing who knows what, and they can feel safe. calm, for two seconds, in the midst of it all.
but this isn't where the night ends, and when he calls out for eddie it's in equal parts for the question and to bring him back, to not let him get too distracted. it works, and as eddie wanders back and mentions both, steve laughs and sets them on the counter - grabs a couple of beers, too, for the hell of it. it might be the horizon and none of it might be real, but there is that sort of thrill of stealing bottles from your dad's liquor cabinet - even when he knows dean wouldn't mind. ]
Here? Oh- all the time. Dean's been teaching me how to fight for a while, since the uh- basement explosion thing, and we usually meet here. [ a couple more bottles of beer, a few bags of shitty off-brand chips, and steve is turning back to face eddie - motions for the bottles he can't quite hold with everything else. ]
Now grab those, and follow me.
[ because yes, there is still more to all of this. steve walks back from behind the bar, and heads off across the room to a couple of doors along the back wall. ]
no subject
It keeps his hands and mind busy for a moment, though; a little reprieve before he has to take a deep breath and turn back to try to keep his focus on the topic of which alcohol is best to bring along on this mystery venture. ]
As you wish, my liege.
[ Eddie grins and dips into a mock bow, but he does as he he’s told, gathers up the remaining bottles without a complaint and follows after Steve. It occurs to him that the only part of this place he really knows is the jukebox, because he’s fairly certain he never even saw those doors before. But that’s fine. As long as Steve knows where he’s going, which seems very likely. ]
Yeah, well, next time you’re here, feel free to tell him there is not nearly enough Judas Priest on that jukebox.
[ It’s not exactly a real request. Eddie can absolutely critique Dean’s jukebox offerings on his own, but he’s really just looking for an excuse not to stop talking. So far, he’s doing a decent job of keeping his jitters at bay, but the music grows fainter as they put distance between themselves and the jukebox, and he knows his brain will take any beat of silence to interfere. ]
Or, uh, don’t. Your choice.
no subject
Judas Priest? That's your only suggestion?
[ inside the door is a reinforced set of concrete steps that descend underground to the far larger, more expansive structure beneath. steve moves quickly down the hallway, the slight nervous energy of feeling like he's sneaking in somewhere he's not supposed to be. if eddie wants to try and look, the bunker they're moving through is much more inviting than anything steve had cooped up down in his own bunker, with wooden paneling and bookshelves, warm lamps and marble floored hallways.
he'll continue down a long door-lined hallway, trying his best to move quickly but still look casual. there is a flutter in his stomach that he knows, though it feels...weird. or- not weird, actually. these nerves have been around for a while now, probably before even the singularity dream, but it's only been recently that steve feels like he knows what they're related to. what this might be about.
it's why they're here, after all. dustin's disappearance is a heavy shadow over every thought they've had, every decision they've made, but steve... god. he knows exactly what dustin would say, has heard exactly what dustin would say, back in those memories, back in those years that didn't really exist. it's what pushes steve forward even now, through the hallway and towards a large garage door.
he presses a button, and the door lifts - revealing a massive underground garage full of expensive, beautiful classic cars, sports cars, muscle cars (the impala, too, just there). it's a sight, takes steve's breath away every time he sees it, but they're not here for him. he looks to eddie when the door is fully open, knowing that while they don't feel the same when it comes to cars, it's kind of hard not to be impressed by the sight.
he waits for eddie's reaction, his eyes on him instead of the sight before them. ]
Not bad, huh?
no subject
I mean, I could write you a list. Might get kind of long, though.
[ And maybe he will, because, no, it’s never just Judas Priest. Eddie can come up with an infinite amount of music he’d like to hear added to that jukebox, and he can’t help but grin just a little about the fact that Steve has realized as much.
He stops for as long as he can to poke around the bunker—just long enough to try read the spines of a few of those books, but it’s never more than a moment or two so Steve doesn’t slip too far out of sight. And it’s really rather interesting how willing he is to follow Steve, because ordinarily, he might balk at the sheer unknown of—well, all of this. He doesn’t know where this tunnel goes or where this entire trip is leading, but he know that he puts a hell of a lot of trust in Steve, and that’s enough to keep him from jumping out of his skin.
Eddie’s eyes widen as they step through that door. He’s not sure what he’s expecting, but it’s not this—a garage packed full of beautiful classic cars, the likes of which he’s really only seen in the movies. ]
Whoa—wait--holy shit.
[ It’s true, they’re not really on the same when it comes to cars. The way Eddie feels about beautiful guitars and new gear is probably the closest comparison to how Steve feels about cars. But o matte the difference, it doesn’t mean that this sight isn’t absolutely incredible. ]
Jesus Christ—what
[ He laughs in disbelief, shaking his head as he peers out a the sheer cavalry of cars before them. ]
You’re telling me this has just been here this whole time?
no subject
[ it has only been a couple of years worth of music education that steve has gone through to know this much, but he'll take the wins where he can. he doesn't quite notice is eddie pauses at any point during their walk, his focus on the plan. the steps, where they're going. the hallway is a familiar enough sight for steve, so he's not even thinking about the library, the books, the warmth of the space. this is the home of the men of letters, one of the few places that steve has really felt comfortable. really felt like it could be home.
but that's not the focus here. this is. and so as the garage door opens and gives way to the entire garage, and steve can't help but grin. it's not even his to show off, but eddie's eyes go wide as he wanders through the door, and steve holds onto that grin for a little longer - follows eddie inside the garage like he has any right to the swell of pride at showing it off. ]
Right? [ if steve had a little more self awareness, he might have tried to find a different equivalent of an event. like a concert venue, maybe someone who had a record store somewhere in their horizon. as it stands, he's still trying, and hoping this works, and eddie's reaction is making him feel like it is. ]
They're Dean's, or I guess they used to belong to the Men of Letters or something? Some kind of group from Dean's home world who all died in the fifties or something. [ steve walks in behind eddie, looking around the place like he has any reason to feel this pleased. ]
Take your pick. [ he says, his grin widening as he glances to eddie and then to the lineup again. ] Oh- except that one. [ he motions to the impala, parked among the other cars. ] But the others- fair game.
no subject
[ Because now it feels like a challenge, and Eddie is incapable of anything completely normally, so he’s likely going to write down every band and obscure song he can recall ever hearing in his life and what Steve is going to receive to pass along to Dean is going to look more like a book than a list. ]
Man, you’re really going to honor my ridiculous request, huh?
[ It’s not exactly shocking that Steve is willing to do something Eddie’s asked of him—but goddamn if something about that doesn’t just make his head spin. Maybe it’s because it’s something that really doesn’t matter, and yet the only question that’s been asked is “that’s your only suggestion”? It’s small and difficult to put a word to, but there’s just something about it. ]
Got it. Impala’s strictly off limits.
[ He grins like he’s going to try to figure out a way around that rule, just because. It really doesn’t take genius to work out why the Impala isn’t an option here. It’s clearly the favorite out of the bunch, well cared for and parked in a prime location. He wouldn’t bat an eye to learn it’s Dean’s own car.
So he says nothing. Instead, feeling just a little emboldened (or just annoying), he slides his hand across Steve’s shoulders as he steps around him, then proceeds to take off down the line of cars, politely tucking his hands behind his back as if nothing happened at all.
He surveys each car carefully, not really looking for anything particular. They’re all beautiful vehicles and as far as he can tell, all well maintained. Finally, he stops in front of what he knows is a ’77 Pontiac Trans Am, if only because he’s seen Smokey and the Bandit enough times to recognize it as such. ]
Hell yeah. Right this way, Bandit. I’ve made my decision.
no subject
[ and it's said too fondly, punctuated by a smile that may or may not be a little too soft. there's an interesting combination somewhere in there, where steve knows what to expect when he casually offers eddie a chance to go way too hard in any direction for any task at all, so much that he assumes it will happen every time. so much that it doesn't bother him, and if anything, he feels off whenever eddie doesn't.
it's not meant to be a ridiculous request - Eddie knows so much more about music than steve ever will. but still, the feeling he's just signed his soul away settles in and steve knows, he knows some part of him might regret it. but that's just the way these things go, now. the way eddie goes. the way eddie is.
and still, steve will pass the book along. and probably give dean some kind of apologetic smile before he just...runs away. because he'll do just about anything for eddie, big or small, and that is a fact that steve has lost track of how long it's been true. ]
Strictly off limits, yeah. [ steve doesn't really elaborate, beyond that. he might be willing to sneak off down into dean's private collection of sports cars, might be more than okay stealing alcohol and wandering through the bunker, but there are some lines you never cross. and this is one of them.
eddie knows it, too, judging from how he doesn't press for more info. but steve's doesn't really linger on that, considering how eddie (probably just to be annoying, he's definitely doing it just to get a rise) slides his hand across steve's shoulders and just goes on his way. the touch feels- god, it's stupid, it's silly, but steve feels a kind of electricity shoot down his spine at the touch. and the reason that's silly, that's ridiculous, is because he is here because of that - isn't he? so why does it surprise him?
it doesn't matter, he has a plan, and steve follows after eddie as he expects each machine - the bottles and beer still held in his arms as they all but shop. he doesn't rush eddie, more curious about what it is the other's looking at, before they come to the pontiac and steve's eyes roll back. ]
I should'a guessed. [ a beat, and then- ] You wanna drive? Or me?
no subject
[ Eddie has always known he doesn’t have the most easily digestible personality. He's loud and abrasive, takes things further than they really need to be taken, and turns every dial up to ten just for the sake of drama. He also knows that if he was ever going to change any of that, he would have done so a long time ago. Acceptance is kind of the only possibility here—and that’s clearly what he’s gotten.
He can’t see the way Steve smiles fondly as he trails behind him, putting full trust into his navigation of this place, and Steve can’t see the way Eddie smiles in the exact same way--like this is all starting to call into place and make sense, and it’s probably made sense for a long time but neither of them were willing to acknowledge it. It’s at least partially evident in his voice, though, as he softly tacks on: ]
Good to know.
[ When he drags his hand across Steve's shoulders, he absolutely is trying to get a rise, though maybe it’s not just about being annoying. He takes off before he can catch any reaction, doesn’t look back to even try to discern a facial expression, but he doesn’t hear any complaints, so…
Steve joins him by his car of choice and, of course, rolls his eyes. Those will roll out of your head someday, he wants to quip, but Steve offers him the opportunity to drive, and Eddie grabs for it just as soon as it’s placed on the table—before Steve can remember that his reputation as a driver is less than stellar and take it back. Despite what Robin and Max seem to believe, he is perfectly capable of driving carefully. He’s aware that this car isn’t his own, and this is the Horizon. The Pontiac will get back to the bunker in one piece no matter what. ]
Oh, no. No, no, no. My turn is long overdue.
[ Grinning ear to ear, he pulls the door open, tosses the bottles he’s holding into the backseat (carefully), and seats himself behind the wheel. The key is already in the ignition, an he turns it immediately, practically cackling as the engine roars to life. It’s one thing to ride in a nice car—it’s another to be behind the wheel, especially when the chances of that happening back home were slim to none. ]
Guess that makes me the Bandit, then.
[ Steve’s hands are still full with half of the Roadhouse’s stock of alcohol, so Eddie takes mercy. He leans across the seat and opens the passenger side door, already looking like he’s having he time of his life. ]
You know, you’re probably gonna have to finally tell me where we’re headed, though. Unless you want to end up in Nanaue’s fish realm or something.
no subject
it did not escape steve how easy it was to fall in step with eddie's theatrics. between dustin, who steve now knows just how intensely that kid modeled himself off of eddie, and robin, it's really the kind of person steve prefers to surround himself with. not that it really matters anymore - that time of acknowledgement, of realization, is long gone. they've been this close for two years now, more if he really wanted to think about it, and now-
now eddie drags his hands over steve's shoulder and steve knows, he knows that's intentional. even if that nervous curl is still there, those butterflies thrown into overdrive. whether or not eddie notices, steve feels it - the urge, the pull, following after him like there was never another choice of where he'd go. where he'd want to go.
the offer, and the subsequent excitement, has steve's chuckling a little. he knows they tend to have a routine, knows that he usually drives. but the whole point to this was to help eddie, was to get eddie (and steve) out of his head, and what better way than to force it to do something else? ]
You can be Burt this time. [ and yes, steve is aware that makes him carrie. and somehow he's not...mad? eddie gets in, tossing his bottles in the back and jumping behind the wheel, and steve just sort of watches him - brows up, entertained by how excited he is, but also by this whole...thing.
it's not until eddie leans over and opens up the passenger door that steve shakes his head, slipping into the passenger seat and dropping the bottles and cans at his feet. that is the nice thing about taking the passenger side, he supposes, as he cracks open one of the cans. he doesn't have to wait to start. ]
If you start driving, I'll tell you. [ a beat, as steve leans back in the seat - pretty content where he's seated for the moment, and definitely not ignoring how those nervous butterflies haven't really faded. ] But we're not going that far. And definitely not to any fish... will you just drive? Jesus.
no subject
There have been a few brief glimpses of what that might look like—like how Eddie’s spent the last week totally out of mind with worry, looking for a person he logically knows isn’t here anymore. He’d still be in that space if things hadn’t been turned so neatly around. He started the day all dark clouds and gloom, so desperate to avoid the fact that Dustin is gone that he was outright denying it. Now, those clouds have cleared. He’s smiling ear to ear, laughing and joking and practically vibrating with nervous energy of a totally different sort. And it’s not like his worries are gone—the day he stops worrying about Dustin is the day the world ends, after all, but the plan has worked well enough for now. He’s not in his head anymore, and he’ll thank Steve for that later. ]
Alright, alright. Jesus.
[ He chuckles and with significantly more care than he’s ever handled his own van, navigates the car toward the exit and takes off. And yeah, being behind the wheel of a car like this is about as fantastic as he’d expect, and truth be told, he’d be content to just drive—meander for awhile and end up god knows where in the Horizon. But there’s clearly some sort of plan here, and Eddie would like to see the outcome of all of this anticipation and anxiety.
Tapping his fingers against the wheel, he takes his eyes off the road just long enough to tip his head toward Steve with bright eyes and an expectant smile. ]
Better hurry and give me some directions if you’re not looking to end up in fish city, Steve.
no subject
eddie drives the car like it's made of porcelain, and steve's reminded of the first time he was down here- dean, who had been trying to get steve out of his own head about nero. to get steve to do something, to connect with someone. honestly, the whole reason he's brought eddie down here was how impactful that had been for him, how much it had worked, and how steve doesn't really have a whole lot of examples of this kind of thing working.
now- does he have a very different idea of how this is going to go? yes. and it's already heading healthily in that direction. they just have to keep it going.
he drinks, lets eddie carefully move the car out of the garage and out onto the flat kansas road. eddie starts off in a direction, still careful, but steve gives him a little time to get comfortable. takes another drink himself, the passenger princess he is right now, and it's only when eddie asks him again for directions that he sighs. ]
Okay, dude, for one- you have to actually drive this car like it's supposed to be driven. You're not gonna crash into some minivan out here. Have fun. [ he gestures out to the flat, desert-like nothingness that stretches out before them.
the sun is setting on this version of dean's horizon - the colors brilliant and picturesque and all the ways those travel magazines his mom used to be obsessed with characterized them. whether it's the horizon itself, or steve's intent and influence that it's making it happen, but he's pretty pleased. ] And two- go for the Horizon. It's not that far.
[ a pause, and then steve grins himself - conspiratorial. ]
Just trust me on this, okay? And drive.
no subject
[ Because never in his life has he had the opportunity to be behind the wheel of such a beautiful car, and he’s aware that his reputation precedes him—that he drives like a maniac or he can’t be trusted behind the wheel, and maybe his anxiety level is slowly creeping up just being in such close quarters again, and the idea of screwing this whole thing up (whatever this “whole thing” is) is really something he would not like to experience.
But then again—this isn’t exactly a normal drive. Those don’t really exist anymore. This is the Horizon, and as much as it pains him to admit it, this car doesn’t actually physically exist. He turns his gaze back to the wide open expanse of Kansas landscape before them. No pedestrians, no buildings, not even any trees—just sky and road and field, and ordinarily he’d look at the flat, empty nothingness and consider that maybe here are worse places than Hawkins after all. But with the sun going down and splashing the sky with fire and gold—it’s actually kind of beautiful. ]
But, uh, if you insist…then I suggest you hold onto your ass.
[ He reaches over and snatches the can right out of Steve’s hand, takes a swig, and hands it right back. Then, with a wild grin as the only warning, he floors it, laughing as the car begins rushing at near full speed toward the horizon line. It really is everything he needed—he feels totally free as he drives like a total madman, anxiety and nerves lifted for the time being.
Now they just have to not end up anywhere largely populated by sea life. But he does trust Steve, and he suspects there won’t be a fish in sight. ]
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[ there's something magical about it, really. being behind a beautiful car, having so much space to simply drive. whatever eddie's reputation, whether or not he's a safe driver, doesn't really matter out here. there's something about space, but also something about the horizon, maybe even something about the night itself that makes this all feel a little impossible.
but steve doesn't mind the feeling - likes it, in its own way. a kind of adrenaline, a kind of buzz. steve knows how it feels to let go for the first time out across this flat land, the way he'd felt like he could breathe for once, and now all he wants is for eddie to know how it feels too.
I suggest you hold onto your ass. steve doesn't even have the time react to that before eddie is flooring it, steve barely able to grab hold of the can of beer before they're speeding off. it takes him a few moments to really get his seat back again, and then steve is laughing a little too, finishing the can off and turning up the radio.
eddie can drive for as long as he wants to. it'll only be when he starts feeling restless, starts feeling ready to chill out, that he'll see something right off on the horizon. a stack of rocks, possibly familiar. a sign for somewhere to go. steve will notice it after eddie does, sitting up a bit straighter in the passenger seat. ]
There- right over there.
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[ It’s a casual response, spoken with a grin and truthfully no different than any of Eddie’s other smartass quips, but there’s something to be said about how easily he implies years, how it trips off his tongue without a moment of hesitation. Eddie’s anxiety over what may happen in the future hasn’t lessened. It’s as strong as ever, and he worries constantly about what may happen if the opportunity to go home ever presents itself, but it’s clear that some part of him is comfortable enough with the concept of having more time--wherever or however that may occur.
That empty horizon seems stretch out forever, nothing but the enormous sky and the little car beneath it, but the drive is far from dull with Eddie behind the wheel. Steve is right, there’s nothing to run into out here, so Eddie make the most of it, weaving in zigzags from one side of the wide road to the next every so often. He steals Steve’s beer more than one more time, sings loudly to the songs he likes, and taps his fingers against the wheel to the ones he feels a little less strongly about or doesn’t really know. To his credit, he doesn’t complain about a single one of them.
It would probably be an incredibly obnoxious situation for anyone who wasn’t used to Eddie’s Eddieisms to be stuck in, but it’s clear that he’s having a blast, and whatever troubles had been weighing him down at the start of the day have been lifted from his shoulders for the time being. Truth be told, it just may be the first time he’s felt truly free in months.
Eventually, he does come down from his high a little bit, gets a little restless and a little tired of looking at the empty road. He’s no less enthused by this little venture , but his loud singing drops to a soft mumble and he allows the speedometer to dip to a more reasonable number. There’s really no reason to keep an eye out for traffic or animals, so he lets his gaze drift back to Steve for a moment.
He starts to say something, maybe finally considers paying Steve that compliment, but he doesn’t get the opportunity. He spies their destination at long last—he’d recognize it anywhere—and shoots back upright to make the turn. He peers through the windshield and laughs, not cruelly, just out of sheer surprise and astonishment. ]
Huh. Holy shit.
[ He’s smiling, though, a good sign. ]
Well, you know, I was expecting the quarry, but, uh, maybe another time.
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[ is all that steve adds, comfortable with falling into the energy of the night. he doesn't know how long it is eddie needs to just drive, so steve gets comfortable and drinks and lets eddie steal the can however much he wants. the six pack is there, and they work their way through at least a couple of cans, singing loudly (and for steve, badly) to whatever song comes on the radio. there is some part of him that clocks how it isn't just eddie's songs that make it on, how reo speedwagon and queen and journey and even songs that neither of them seem to really know slip into the rotation. he has to reach out to hold himself up more than once, as eddie sends them spinning and careening and zigzagging across the dust and dirt, but it's... it's good, it's really good, and it's been a while since steve has really felt like they could just be like this.
he's not thinking about dustin, which he will feel guilty about later, but for now makes it all feel lighter. he's not thinking about nero, either. about eight hundred years, or about whether or not they'll ever go home, or even the fact that going home is a lot more complicated than that. instead, they're in this moment, he's right here with eddie, in the front seats of this beautiful car, and-
he's happy. they're happy- that, at least, he knows. he's confident in.
so he lets eddie drive, and drive and drive until things slow down and steve picks up on it. that eddie's attention has shifted, that the excitement of the drive is slowing, and that's when he sees it. steve can't help but grin, feeling the slowly rising excitement of his plans coming together coming back into it all. holy shit he says, and steve laughs a little.
when eddie finally stops the car, steve shoots eddie that same cocky grin from earlier - feeling cheeky, feeling light. he climbs out and only leans back in to grab for the bottles of alcohol. ]
We can do the quarry late, if you really want to go swimming for some reason. Now come on- we're almost there.
[ steve closes the door and turns, looking up at the perfect recreation of skull rock looking down at them. he takes a breath, something like nerves starting to bubble in his stomach, and then he heads over towards the rocks. ]
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Eddie does a terrible job parking (of course he does, but no one is here to judge him), and swings the door open before he’s even put the brake on. He cuts the engine, the music dies, and Eddie begins his usual song and dance, offsetting his nerves with more talking, more stupid comments that really don’t mean anything at all. Enough noise to drown out the buzzing in his mind, because it is really and truly buzzing with the volume of a full symphony now. Because according to local Hawkins lore, this really isn’t the place people come by chance. ]
You know, I really don’t. We can’t all be Olympic level swimmers, dude. And to be completely honest? I’m really not all that enthused to find out what’s in that water. So, uh…this is fine.
[ The circumstances surrounding his last visit to Skull Rock weren’t the best, but the memory feels oddly distant now. It’s a miracle that he can look at the stack of rocks and not immediately picture himself cowering beneath it, alone and frightened and hoping for someone to show up and help him to set things straight. There are two years between himself and that person now—or more, depending on how you care to look at it—and while the change isn’t extreme, he’s come a long way. ]
Jesus. A hike too? How much more work are you gonna make me put in here, dude?
[ But he’s grinning, and he chuckles as he dips low, sweeping out an arm to urge Steve forward. It’s clear he has no true complaints about any of this so far. ]
After you.
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But right now - there is none of that. Not solvunn, not the upside down, not the fact vencna- Henry- is here and has been for years and still it all happened back home. Steve doesn’t think about the people they’ve lost- max, dustin, robin- or about the ones they still might. a part of him knows this won’t last forever, but maybe that’s why it’s easier to pretend it can just be for now.
And so Eddie does a terrible job parking, and Steve shoots him a look- because really, really, this car deserves better. They both know that. But it is fine, in the end. The car will survive as will they, for now.
Eddie is nervous, Steve can tell by the way he seems to turn the nervous energy up to eleven. Steve watches him for a second, before shaking his head. ] It’s not Olympic, dude. I wasn’t even close. Just vice captain and honestly the quarry during the summer was kind of- actually, it doesn’t matter. You coming?
[ it’s hard to think of anything from Hawkins not carrying with it some kind of weight, considering the last memory Steve has of skull rock is the same as Eddie’s. But before then, before that point, it had been something else.
Jesus, a hike too?. Steve rolls his eyes at the grin, at the dip. But his smile is still fond, excitement still fluttering in his stomach, his chest. He does start walking, his arms full of the bottles they’d taken from the roadhouse, and it’s only a few more steps before he’s looking over his shoulder, brows up. ]
It’s not that far. And if you don’t stop complaining, I’ll carry you there, and I don’t know if either of us want that.
[ before Eddie can even think about taking Steve up on what was definitely a bad idea from Steve’s perspective, he’s walking off towards the rocks. It’s not a far hike, only like ten minutes or so, before they’re both arriving at the stack of rocks and Steve lets out a breath, finally, and drops the bottles and beer off to the side before he turns to Eddie, checking his expression.
He grabs for one of the bottles and twists off the cap, taking a long drink and letting his face screw up at the taste of it before passing the bottle off. when Eddie takes it, Steve lowers himself to sit, and whether or not there had been moments before, a kind of softer grass and ground replaces the sand and sticks of the Kansas horizon. Almost like this small corner of the horizon is taking more and more after Indiana. ]
C’mon, sit. I’m almost out of surprises so we might want to work on the getting wasted bit.
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[ It probably isn’t, and no one did ask him, but he knows Steve is unlikely to attempt to convince him otherwise at this point.
He is insanely nervous. No part of him feels any sense of calm, but it’s nice to feel a different sort of anxiety for once. This isn’t fear, it’s just…anticipation and uncertainty. The talking helps, though he’s aware that it isn’t subtle and his nerves must be stupidly easy to read.
If you don’t stop complaining, I’ll carry you there, and I don’t know if either of us want that.
Well, Eddie chokes, goes red, and he counts himself lucky that Steve turns and just misses the opportunity to watch him stumble oh-so gracefully over his own feet. By the time he’s steadied himself, Steve is already out of his immediate earshot, and Eddie could easily let the entire thing go…but he doesn’t. He’s not quite buzzed, not yet, but the stolen sips of alcohol he’d had in the car haven’t had no effect on him. He cups his hands around his mouth and calls: ]
Well, Harrington, you know what they say about assumptions…
[ He lets his words dip into laughter, leaving it up mystery and interpretation just how serious he’s really being. Either way, he keeps any and all complaints to himself, joking or otherwise, and the two of them make it up to the rocks without further incident.
Eddie does sit when he’s bade to (he’ll pace anxiously for the rest of the evening if he doesn’t), but as expected, he doesn’t sit still. He never does. He’s eternally restless, a quality that even death could only quash for all of two minutes. All that nervous energy has to go somewhere, and the result his his leg jittering, enough to shake his entire body and to rattle the chains and zippers on his jacket.
That and the soft clinking of glass bottles are the only sounds between them for a moment, as Eddie watches the landscape shift into something more familiar. It’s an unexpected feeling, the way it tugs at his heartstrings and makes him yearn for a place that he left on the worst terms possible. Hawkins may have no love for him, but it’s always going to be his home, and part of him truly does miss it. But even if he could go back—
He shakes his head. This isn’t the time or place. Finally, he clears his throat. His gaze flickers to Steve, and he grins as he passes the bottle back. ]
So, uh…It was pretty cool.
[ As promised, he’s stubbornly held onto his compliment for so long that it barely makes any sense with the context is so far behind them, but it’s clearly important to Eddie that he says it, and he’s happy to provide a reminder, unprompted: ]
The car thing. Back there. With the—
[ He makes a gesture that is seemingly meant to mimic the movement of someone sliding across the hood of a car. ]
Yeah. I was very impressed. Just so you know.
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[ steve's not all that worried about it, really. his swim career is far behind him, just as most of his jock years are. it only came up at the lake when all of their lives were at stake and he was looking for a legitimate reason that nancy couldn't argue with, and- well. yeah. she didn't, in the end, and considering how things went right after...
god. that was what...two and a half years ago? three? it's been long enough that steve very nearly doesn't remember it, not really, and that's a weird enough thought in and of itself. instead, for once, steve feels like he's more focused on the stuff that's happened here, with the two of them, than he is on hawkins and all they left behind. and that's a weird thing, something that steve will probably have weird feelings about later, when he decides to actually ruminate on it more than a half second or so.
for right now? he's barking a laugh at eddie's you know what they say about assumptions. ]
You want me to carry you, you're gonna have to ask. [ and it doesn't really matter, because eddie is laughing, and steve is grinning, and he's left wondering if the flush on eddie's face that he barely catches when he glances over his shoulder is because of the beer or the fast car that's brought them both here or if it's actually something else. steve, feeling confident, feeling like he had a pretty good idea the right answer to that question, turns his attention back to the walk (and yes, misses eddie nearly falling over himself, as sad as that is). but it is okay, it is, because steve settles and eddie joins him. steve sets about their drinks and gets comfortable, and eddie buzzes with nervous energy.
it's possible that steve's own movements are trying to deal with his own nerves, the fact he sets the bottles out and tries to make it look...he doesn't even know. organized? less like he's thrown everything around them? he fiddles with setting them in one place, and then another, grabs for one of the bottles and works open the cap before handing it over. he might not be jittering like Eddie, but steve isn't still, either, focused on... well, it's not hosting, exactly, but there is a method to all this, and something about the shifting of the space around them seems to match. to slowly shift, and change, a little faster, and then a little faster, and then finally stopping somewhere else.
it's enough like hawkins - the dirt and the trees around them, the stones and the open sky. but the sky is a little brighter, a little different, and the weather is nicer than it ever really was. the colors a little more clear, the feeling a little more...
( it's been long enough that some distant part of steve might recognize he's almost started to idolize what he does remember, nostalgia wrapped up in just enough time that it feels better, feels safer, feels more like home than it did when they left it. )
he takes the bottle back, his brows lifting at eddie starts talking. it was pretty cool he says, and steve's brows furrow just a smidge, like he can't quite place what eddie's talking about. it's actually not until eddie mentions the car, and makes the gesture, that steve's expression softens, and then his face splits into a grin as he - seamlessly, casually, really really smoothly - shifts a little closer to eddie. ]
Very impressed? Seriously? Man, I didn't take you for a Dukes of Hazzard guy. I feel like I've gotten you all wrong.
[ steve tips back the bottle, taking a long swig of it himself. it's definitely nerves, he's nervous, and it's been a long time since that's been the case around eddie.
but it's fine- this is fine. they're here. it's fine. when he looks back to eddie, he feels his own cheeks getting a little warm, his smile less grin and more... sheepish. he gestures around them - the sky (too bright and too full of stars to be from home) and the trees (too full, too clear, too tall) and even the rocks. ]
Well. We made it. My big surprise.
[ steve, feeling that voice in the back of his head go all this build up? this is going to be disappointing, looks away from eddie and instead up to the sky, his free hand fiddling with the trinket he's had tied on his belt back in solvunn for over a year now. ]
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He remembers early on being told not without him. Steve wouldn’t go back alone. But that was half an eternity ago, and it feels cruel and unfair to still hold him to it. It would be like losing a limb at this point, sure, but Eddie won’t be the one to ask him to stay.
But he frets about that almost daily, and for one moment, he can put it on the back burner. Right now, he’s happy, truly happy, where he is and who he’s with.
At the mention of Dukes of Hazzard, he rolls his eyes and shoots Steve a haughty look, narrowed eyes and a scowl, as if he’s truly offended that his television-watching habits have been called into question. ]
Don’t insult me, Harrington. You know I have better taste than that.
[ As usual, his stony expression doesn’t last more than a moment. He breaks and he laughs, trying to relieve a little of his lightheadedness and ground himself once more.
Because as he looks around, looks at this beautiful, idealized version of home, a version that actually feels like home for once in his life, it really begins to set in that this is all for him. Of course it is; the two of them are the only ones here, the only ones who can truly appreciate this, but up until this moment, he didn’t allow himself to dwell on it. None of this just happened. It was all planned to some degree, whether on the fly or days in advance. He’s not disappointed, not by a long shot. He’s overwhelmed in the best kind of way. ]
Hey, so…
[ He finally begins, twisting a lock of hair between his fingers in yet another clear display of nerves, but he can’t seem to form the correct words. He doesn’t even know what the correct words are. He knows he’s searching for an answer, confirmation that this is what he thinks it is, but he knows that if he opens his mouth, there’s no going back. There’s no putting the lid back on that box, no making things the way they were before, and if he’s totally wrong about all of this, that’s going to be disastrous.
But he can’t be all wrong, right? Eddie would move heaven and earth for his friends, but this feels pointedly different than using his own gas money to drive someone into Indianapolis, or constructing a Hellfire campaign specifically around one person’s character because they’ve been having a shitty time. He’s never bent the Horizon like this for someone, no one ever bent the Horizon like this for him, and no one has ever looked at him quite like this.
It would all be blatantly obvious to anyone else (and probably is blatantly obvious to everyone else), but this isn’t something Eddie has a lot of experience with, and it’s hard for him to know how much his anxiety and their time in the crater is coloring his perception of things. Maybe it’s all wishful thinking.
He tries again. ]
I, uh—
[ Nope. And again. ]
This has been—
[ Again, his word catch. He snorts at himself and his own inability to form words, covering his face with a hand and shaking his head, mumbling “Oh, Jesus Christ, get a goddamn grip” into his palm.
It takes a deep breath and pulling the bottle back for another swig, but he manages to center himself just enough to try again. It’s his turn to move closer now, to bridge the gap between them just a little more. He’s not so smooth about it, and their knees knock together just a little harder than Eddie intends.
Screw it. If it goes south, he can try to blame the alcohol. ]
Okay, man, so…maybe I’m way off base here, but, uh…this feels like—something? And if it’s not and I’m just wildly misguided, I, uh…I’m gonna need you to tell me I’m an idiot and break it to me real quick and clean. Bullshit-free, you know?
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