Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

There's a boy pressed against him. No bottle. No sharp press of glass. Just the tight, relieved embrace of someone who loves him.

They'd barely made it through the portal, and then they had—everyone had—and Eddie is hugging him as hard as humanely possible. Steve doesn't think he'll ever let go, and god, he doesn't want him to.

Robin piles on top after a minute or maybe just a few seconds. Time's a little tricky, right now. Dustin manages to squish himself between Steve and Eddie, and then Jonathan and Argyle get back and they form two little hug-puddles between them all; Steve's with Robin and Eddie and Dustin and Joyce's with her kids and Hopper and Argyle, too. Families returned to each other, whole and safe.

The portal on Eddie's trailer ceiling seals up from above them.

It doesn't leave so much as a crack.

That night, or at least what's left of it, is probably the longest night of Steve's life. Jonathan gives him his keys back and between his car, Nancy's, and Eddie's generous donation of one hot-wired van, they all go home.

Just to Steve's, though, because he has the space and it's hard to separate after these kinds of things.

Max and El look exhausted when they find them in the attic of the old Creel house. But Max's bones aren't broken and her eyes are their normal clear blue, and El's bleeding but only from her nose so Steve breathes a sigh of relief.

They'd done it. They're okay.

So Steve ferries them all home, and together they drag in the couch and chairs from the den and pile his mother's throw pillows on the floor and somehow make enough space in Steve's giant living room for everyone to sleep. Steve ends up on one of the pillow-nests between Eddie and Robin, with Nancy on Rob's other side.

He doesn't sleep, not really, but he rests. His hand finds Eddie's heartbeat like it did in the boathouse so long ago, and the steady beat beneath his fingers, constant and slow, is enough for his eyes to close and his breathing to even out as he listens to the sounds of everyone else's breathing, finds comfort in that infallible proof of life.

He doesn't really sleep, so he also doesn't dream. And Steve is grateful for that. It's a long night of resting, filling his lungs with everyone else's air, making sure his friends' sleep sounds stay constant.

But they do. Soft snores from the kids, louder snores from Hopper's end of the room, Robin's half-asleep shuffling, the cute little noises Eddie makes when he's sleeping, quiet hums as he burrows closer, deep breaths from his chest. And eventually, Steve does fall asleep.

It's weeks before things start to feel normal. Or, at least, whatever normal is to people who know that nightmares are real. It always goes like this. Picking a spot where they all sort of stay together, at least for the first few nights. Then they'll break off into littler families. It was the Wheeler's basement the first few times. And now it's Steve's living room.

Eventually, they'll be okay with being alone again.

But not quite yet.

"What'd it feel like?" Steve asks sometime later, a new day ahead of them both. "Dying, I mean. Being dead."

Eddie pauses, dog-earing the page on his book to look up at Steve. He places it down on the couch beside him, scooting closer to lean his head down against Steve's shoulder.

"Not sure I remember, really." Eddie says. "I think it was dark. Like a big void. I'd be there in the real world and something would hurt, hurt bad, and then it'd just...stop. It'd go dark, and then I'd be slamming you into the wall again."

Steve hums thoughtfully. He'd died a few times, too. But he'd mostly just gone to that in-between place as the loops started up again. "You think that's what waits for us?" Steve asks. "When we do die?"

Eddie's quiet, his hand finding Steve's and lacing their fingers together, bringing it to his lips to press a kiss to his knuckles. "I don't think so," Eddie says finally. "I don't think I was ever really dead."

In those weeks following the death of Vecna, Steve realizes he's sort of paranoid.

The loops are over. All of it is over. He was there when the portal sealed up on its own. He watched Vecna's body burn.

But.

Some things set him off. Some things, he needs to happen or he becomes incapable of doing anything at all. He really can't sleep without Eddie, now. Without the warmth of his body against him, his fingers pressed to one of Eddie's pulse points.

They've tried sleeping apart. One night about two weeks after everything, and many days after Eddie's tearful reunion with his very worried uncle. Eddie'd said he needed to catch up with Wayne. Said he should actually sleep at his place that night.

And Steve knew he was fine. He was just at the trailer. Spending well-needed time with his sweetheart old uncle. But Steve had laid awake anyways, unable to shake blue-red lights and orange smiles from his mind

So at two in the morning, he'd gotten in his car with a burning kind of need to see him. Just to lay eyes on him, make sure he really was okay. And he'd gotten there and found Eddie in the entryway, struggling to find his boots so he could do the same.

It was slow kisses in the kitchen after that. Slightly salty from relief, from the tears of laughter, too, that come from being so broken up about another person, and that person being equally broken up about you. Then it was silently undressing each other in Eddie's bedroom and fumbling in the dark for lube and Steve's palm over Eddie's mouth to keep him quiet. Going slow, because they've got time now. Fingers seeking warmth and finding it, sinking in. Taking comfort in Eddie's labored breathing once they'd both finished, in his rabbiting heartbeat and finally falling asleep somewhere around four.

They don't always sleep well like that, either.

Steve wishes he could predict it. Could know when he'd wake up shaking, or when Eddie'd go tense and still, his breaths turned shallow. Some nights are fine. Some nights they just sleep. But most nights, well.

Steve gets used to not sleeping much.

He and Eddie get used to a tired Robin calling in the middle of the night, too. It's what they did last summer, after Starcourt. Call to hear each other's voices, and when it got really bad, Steve would go to her.

They do that sometimes, too.

Robin's bed is small but they make it work, all packed in like sardines. Robin curls in against his back and wraps her gangly arms around his middle and Eddie tucks up against Steve's chest, breathes deep and easy into his neck.

Steve tends to get the best sleep those nights.

There's things that set Eddie off, too.

He's scared of forgetting. Of waking up one day like they're back in the boathouse all over again, where Steve is really just a stranger, where he doesn't remember everything they've gone through.

"It's stupid, I—" Eddie says thickly, his nose pressed into Steve's jaw. "I just...I remember not remembering. What if it happens again, I can't—I can't forget you."

Steve hauls him closer, pulls him to sit fully on his lap, one arm cradling Eddie's bent knees, the other wrapped securely around his shoulders.

It was a small thing that brought them here. Steve's car was in the shop, so he'd asked Eddie to pick him up from work. And Eddie had gotten caught up planning a new campaign with Will, and it'd slipped his mind. He'd forgotten, at least until Steve had thought to give the Byers a ring to see if Eddie was still there.

"You're not gonna forget, baby." Steve says. "It's over. Vecna's dead."

"I know," Eddie says a little miserably. "I know, I'm sorry, I don't know why I forgot today I just—"

"It's okay," Steve says. "I don't care that you didn't pick me up right at five, sweetheart. You're not gonna forget the big stuff, I promise. And even if you did, I'd tell you it all over again."

"Yeah?" Eddie asks. He fists his hands in Steve's shirt a little desperately, looks at him with his gorgeous brown eyes, all big and disbelieving.

"Of course," Steve says. "Can't get rid of me."

Eddie nods but his bottom lip is still trembling slightly. "Right," he says, "Right, right, yeah."

Steve silences him with a kiss. A kiss that Eddie seems to sink into, some physical reminder that they're both right here.

"Do you wanna stop thinking about it?" Steve asks into Eddie's mouth, swallows down the sweet moan he gets in response. Because sometimes the best way to get Eddie to stop worrying about forgetting, is to make him forget what he was worrying about in the first place.

"Please," Eddie says. "Yeah, that sounds nice."

So Steve kisses him a little more. Real gentle, pulls his lips apart with his own so his tongue can slip past, lick along the seam of Eddie's mouth. Shifts the two of them so he can hold Eddie's face in his hands, his index reaching up past his ears into his soft hair, his thumbs pressed into Eddie's cheekbones, right near where his dimples show when he's smiling. The way Eddie likes being held.

It doesn't take him long until Eddie's leaking into his jeans, until he's squirming in Steve's hold, trying to chase friction between them. His breath comes out sticky, sweet gasps when Steve cups a hand around him through the fabric, digs his thumb down into the zipper.

Eddie whimpers. His hips spasm against Steve's grip, his own hands tugging sort of uselessly at Steve's shirt. Steve leans back to ruck it over his head, pushing Eddie down onto the couch once it's off.

Eddie's ankles lock behind Steve's tail bone and he hisses when Steve runs his hands up his stomach, pulling Eddie's shirt up with them. Steve gets it over his head and pauses when it's at Eddie's wrists, twisting the thin cotton once, twice, around them.

"Fuck," Eddie says. He's grinding up onto Steve's thigh, dampness spreading from Eddie's jeans to Steve's now.

"Too tight?" Steve asks, even though he knows what the answer is.

"No," Eddie says quickly. "Perfect."

Steve smiles and kisses him, bites down on Eddie's jaw near his earlobe, puts his teeth on that, too. Eddie leaks a little more in his pants, his bound arms holding Steve as close as they can around his shoulders. His pretty eyes slip closed when Steve actually gets his zipper down, pulls the waistband of his boxers down under his balls.

Steve knows the fabric will bite at his skin there. He also knows that Eddie likes it, that he'll ghost his fingers over the marks tomorrow, that he'll lose his fucking mind if Steve touches them later.

Which he will. God, yeah, he will.

"You too," Eddie says. "Wanna feel you."

Steve releases Eddie's dick long enough to pull his out, shushes him when he moans in protest, licking up the side of Eddie's neck so he shivers, sliding his tongue into his mouth when their cocks brush against each other, licking all the sounds from his mouth.

Eddie gets to the edge quickly. Usually does, when Steve lets him. He makes his fist tight around them both, squeezes extra on the upstroke. And Eddie's whining, hips thrashing, murmuring out a string of words and noises before he's coming all over Steve's fist and his stomach.

Steve almost joins him. He has to let his own dick go once Eddie starts coming so he doesn't end too quickly. Eddie's still coherent enough to think and to worry, so Steve waits. Gives him a few minutes to come down, swiping his fingers through the mess on Eddie's stomach.

And when Eddie's breathing normally again, Steve tugs his jeans and boxers the rest of the way off. Keeps the thin t-shirt wrapped around his wrists, though. He likes how Eddie looks like this. All stretched out for him. So much skin.

"Not done with me yet?" Eddie asks.

"Never." Steve says. Eddie's cheeks flush pink at that, real pretty. Flush a little darker when Steve drags his wet fingers across his skin, teases them at his entrance.

"Mm," Eddie moans, sucks a breath when Steve pushes them in. The come isn't enough to make it not sting. But Eddie likes to feel it, so Steve works them in slowly, goes real deep until tears prick Eddie's eyes, sensitive and overwhelmed. Steve spits on his fingers, makes them wetter that way, pushes more, teases at a third, but he pulls out and dashes up the stairs for lube all the same.

It doesn't take long for Eddie to get hard again, either. Steve gets four fingers deep and the tip of Eddie's cock turns almost purple, beads of precome sliding down to make it shiny. Make it wet.

"You wanna come like this?" Steve asks and he leans forward, lets his lips just barely touch over Eddie's weeping dick as he says it.

Eddie shudders. Moans real loud, nodding jerkily.

Steve sucks him down, lets his throat go as lax as he can make it, pressing up with his fingers when he hollows his cheeks out and goes lower. Takes more.

Eddie comes for the second time in Steve's mouth, his bound hands cradled over his neck, holding him close. Steve kisses him when he's finished, something twisted up inside his chest when Eddie licks the taste of himself from his mouth, his breath gone shivery, hands twisted up to curl into his hair.

"Can I blow you?" Eddie asks, nearly purring. "Wanna taste you, please."

Steve laughs and kisses him. Puts his thighs over Eddie's shoulders when Eddie sort of melts down to kneel on the floor. Holds his hair back with both hands, gathers it all into one so he can cup over Eddie's jaw, stretched wide to fit all of him.

Eddie takes him easily, his whole body loose and well-fucked. Steve keeps his head steady with his grip on Eddie's hair, moves his hips back and forward again into the sweet warmth of Eddie's mouth.

"You're not gonna forget." Steve says softly, groaning when the head of his cock slips into Eddie's throat, soft pressure. "Look at you, sweetheart, you're made for this."

Eddie attempts to hum. The sound it makes is fucking filthy. Steve grinds his cock a little deeper, a little harder, pulling out to fuck himself on Eddie's tongue. Lets him breathe before he does it again.

Eddie cries and his nose runs and his lips turn pink and swollen, tongue gone lax and flat over his bottom teeth. Wet lashes in dark clumps and precome and spit leaking out the sides of his mouth. He's gorgeous, Steve thinks, for what must be the millionth time. 

"So fucking pretty," Steve says, a tightness in his thighs. "Gonna come in your pretty fuckin' mouth, Eddie."

Eddie nods slightly, with Steve's dick still fully in his mouth. It tugs at that tightness, pulls it close. Steve was almost there already but then he's coming, pulling back to watch his spend coat Eddie's tongue, dribble out between his lips.

"God," Steve says, sliding off the couch to kneel over Eddie, knees spread wide over his hips. "You have the best mouth."

Eddie smiles. Lets Steve suck the taste of himself from his tongue.

"You wanna come again?" Steve asks, because he thinks Eddie might need it. "Can you, even?"

Eddie bends his elbows so he can fit his arms over Steve's head. "I think I got hard again," he whispers. "Kinda hard to tell."

Steve grins and bites gently at Eddie's bottom hip, lowering himself down to sit on Eddie's lap and yeah. He's hard again.

"Shit, sweetheart. Just from sucking me off?"

Eddie nods. Steve falls maybe a little more in love with him.

He works Eddie open again while they wait for his dick to fill out. Eddie's on his knees, on the carpet, his back curved so he can hold himself up on his elbows, then just his shoulders when Steve pushes in with three fingers and they give out completely, the arch of his back a little more prominent, knobs of his spine showing through his skin. Steve bends down to kiss the ones he can reach.

Then Eddie's stretched enough for him, and Steve's dick is straining at the sight of all his soft, pink skin. He sinks in easily, both of them making punched-out groans when he does it. Steve squeezes more lube between them, laughing at the click of it inside Eddie, how Eddie's skin glistens with sweat and lube and pre.

"So pretty." Steve repeats. "Love you so much."

Eddie just nods into the floor. His hair's frizzy from Steve's treatment, damp with perspiration, obscuring most of his face from view. Steve leans forward to card some of it back, sucking in a breath at Eddie's glossy, blissed expression, his eyelids drooping heavily, mouth slack and drooling.

He definitely needed this, then.

And really, so did Steve.

He fucks him slowly, pulling Eddie's hips down onto his dick, earning sweet gasps with each press in. He's a little ruthless, too. The angle lets him tilt his hips just slightly, makes it so every thrust drags his cock over Eddie's prostate.

"So good," Eddie mumbles, turning his head to look back at Steve. "Feels so good."

It doesn't take long here, either. Eddie's dick leaks pre like his lips leak drool, and it just takes Steve circling his hand around the wet mess of it for his thighs to start shaking, for his body to go even tighter around Steve's dick.

"That's it," Steve says. "That's good, baby, come on. One more, sweetheart."

Eddie whimpers. When he comes, it's weakly. Lasts for a very long time. Steve's eyes nearly roll back at the sudden pressure, and even with all the lube and stretching, he has a fleeting thought that he might not be able to pull out. He comes, too, collapsing over Eddie, giving his softening dick a final squeeze before he lets go.

Eddie turns over so they can hold each other, his skin buzzing with contentment, all his earlier worries forgotten. They don't move from the carpet for a long time.

Robin does end up holding him to the nail polish thing. She makes him bring it to work, smacks a big wet kiss to his cheek when he pulls two bottles from his pocket; Robin's dark blue and the purple-y color she'd selected for him when she first tried to paint this nails.

"Gross, Robbie." Steve says, with a half-hearted attempt to wipe it off.

She just laughs at him, stowing away the bottles in her purse for later, and after their shift is over she's taking them back out again, to just hold in her hands on the way back to her house.

She trims his nails first. Says there's no reason in painting them if he's just gonna get a hangnail and ruin the whole thing. Steve tries to argue that he cut his nails just two days ago, that he doesn't wear them long anyways, but she trims them all the same. Files them, too, and makes him wash the nail dust off his fingertips with her raspberry scented soap.

"So," Robin says, lifting his pinky finger up from her knee to paint it in long, careful strokes. She gets purple on his cuticle anyways, cursing under her breath as she swipes at it with a q-tip. "How's Eddie?"

"You saw him yesterday," Steve laughs, muttering an apology when the movement makes her screw up again, on his middle finger this time.

"Yeah. But how is he?" Robin winks at him. Horribly. It's like a blink but more awkward. Steve loves her so much.

"He's good." Steve says. "We're good. He blew me this morning, before work."

Robin screeches and her nail polish brush goes off kilter, smears it all over his top knuckle. "Disgusting," she declares, then, "Did you blow him back?"

"'Course I did." Steve says. "I'm not an animal."

"Good," Robin tells him. "Though he probably would've been perfectly content to just wait til you got home."

Steve snorts. She knows a good deal about what he has with with Eddie. "Yeah, he probably would've been. But even I wouldn't want to leave him hanging for that long."

Robin hums thoughtfully, tilting his hand to paint his thumbnail. "He makes you happy," she says. "And I think he loves you like, a ridiculous amount."

Steve's chest gets a little warmer, a little fuller. Robin pulls his other hand toward her, sets it on her knee to paint it, batting his other hand away and miming for Steve to blow on his wet nails.

So Steve does, curling his fingers over his palm and swaying them back and forth in front of his mouth to get all of them evenly. "I love him, too."

"He liked you in school, you know." Robin says.

"Yeah?" Steve asks, even though he already knows this.

"Mhmm. He told me, right at the beginning. Said he was hopeless, and even I thought it was, too, but. You surprised us, I guess. And I'm so, so glad that you did."

Steve grins. "Yeah, well. Kinda hard not to love him. Spent so fucking long trying to just get him to live, of course I fell for him, too."

Robin's eyes are bright when he meets them. Sparkling blue. She squeezes his hand, carefully, because his nails are wet, picking it up to drop back in his lap so she can start on her own.

"Can I try?" Steve asks, cringing a little at the globs of blue smeared on her skin. Robin nods and hands him the brush, placing her fingers overly-delicately in his hand to be painted.

Steve goes carefully. His hands don't shake. Robin's nails look neat and blue and shiny at the end of it, and she grins and high-fives him. Sends him off after dinner with a bottle of black nail polish so he can paint Eddie's nails, too.

Eddie's got a stewing sense of guilt.

He doesn't let himself forget that Vecna was his invention. His creation.

It makes him laugh, almost. It was just a DnD character. The final boss in his campaign.

Now Eddie knows what he really looks like. Who he really is, what he's actually called. What he's capable of. How he kills.

He can't help but feel a little responsible. And like, yeah, he knows Vecna/Henry/One existed well before his campaign ever did. Before he was even born.

But.

He really can't hear that name anymore. Skips the pages in his manuals that mention him. Doesn't want to picture Chrissy or Patrick or Max or Steve—

Yeah. Eddie feels real bad.

It's easier to not think about it, most days. Eddie thinks about it anyways, but he tries to live in the moment. Be present. Appreciate the life he has now, with his uncle and friends and shiny new diploma—thank you, U.S. government for doing one thing right, Eddie thinks—and whatever it is he has with Steve.

A good thing. A very, very good thing.

Eddie thinks it might even be permanent. It makes his heart feel too big in his chest to think about it for too long.

But that dread is always there. Things are different now. He's different now. Everything's only almost normal. It's like how Steve flinches when the lights flicker or how he has to lean into a conversation with his good ear. Eddie would bet millions that Steve didn't used to do those things before.

Eddie got a shit brain out of it. He feels more forgetful than ever, and it's probably just skewed because he knows he was a little scatterbrained before March but now, forgetting things feels so much worse. Weighty. It really means something, if he forgets.

And DnD makes him feel sick sometimes.

He doesn't want to lose it, though. He fucking loves a good campaign. So he pushes through the sickness, mostly, takes breaks when they get too bad. Plans campaigns with little Will Byers now, and what they make is fucking epic.

It's during one of these planning sessions that Eddie realizes that maybe, it isn't actually his fault. He's flipping through a manual, purposefully skipping the three pages that he's memorized the locations of, when he suggests they make the monster a demogorgon.

Will goes pale.

Eddie immediately feels bad. He doesn't really know why, but Will's face just looks so sad, and it's his fault that it looks like that.

"Sorry," Eddie says. "Scrap that, uh."

Will shakes his head. "It's okay, you've never fought one." His eyes still look too big on his face, though, his cheeks still devoid of color.

Fought one? Eddie thinks, and it makes his stomach sink. The illustration in his manual shows a beast with two heads, gaping maws, and long, eerie tendrils that come out from its shoulders like arms. It's horrifying. No kid should have to face that, not in real life.

Jesus.

"Still sorry." Eddie says. "I, uh. Guess I don't know everything. Any other creatures we should stray from?"

Will laughs at that. Eddie feels a little better. "Mind flayers," he says, turning back to his campaign notes. "I really, really hate those."

"Got it." Eddie says.

He makes Steve tell him everything, from the beginning, when he gets home. He's had some kind of idea about what had happened, but it's high time, really, that he hears the whole story.

So Steve starts from the beginning. The day Will Byers disappeared, he'd been taken by a demogorgon.

"Not like, a DnD, one." Steve says, running a hand down his face. "The kids, they make everything into a DnD monster. Dustin said those ones have weird tentacle arms and multiple heads, I dunno. What took Will was...was the same kind of thing from the junkyard. You know what they look like."

Eddie pulls him closer, heart in his throat. "Oh," he says. That flower petal face haunts his mind sometimes, the dark throat lined with teeth, clawed hands that swipe and grab and throw.

And Steve tells him that the Mind Flayer was made of smoke. Then it was made of blood and bones and people, and Eddie realizes why the mall fire death toll was so goddamn high.

"—and then in March, y'know, they're all playing your campaign now, so Vecna becomes something more than DnD, and it makes sense, I think, to give it a name they recognize—"

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut.

So it really was just happenstance. These kids, these goddamn kids need a way to make sense of what they're facing. And Eddie's campaign was just a method of doing that.

He doesn't feel better about it, not really.

But it helps, knowing.

It helps, too, that Steve notices that Eddie's tensed up in his lap and makes his voice go soft and soothing, brings him back to here and now. He pets Eddie's hair and tells him sweet things; he's guessed correctly what Eddie's upset about. Eddie lets himself drift a little, warm and safe on Steve's couch.

"Not your fault, not your fault," Steve soothes like a mantra. Whispers it right into Eddie's hair.

And slowly, Eddie starts to believe it.

Steve starts a collection. Eddie notices it happening pretty quick.

It's just one at first. Decorative and unassuming. Eddie still pauses when he looks at it, sees it sitting on Steve's coffee table where they eat most of their meals. But the thing makes him smile.

It's a tiny, glass hourglass. The sand inside it is bright pink. Eddie thinks Steve probably got it when he went to the mall two towns over with Robin.

But then it's two little hourglasses. This one's got blue glass, white sand.

Three. Lime green.

The fourth one is purple.

And it doesn't stop after that.

Eddie thinks it's some kind of compulsion. Some made up thing to make him feel safe. And it's sweet, anyways. Eddie mostly thinks it's cute. A good luck charm, probably. And he feels a little fond, too when he looks at them. It hasn't gotten easy to forget everything they've gone through, but the world does feel mostly normal, now. It's a gentle reminder of why he's so messed up about things. A nod to why he's got sticky notes stuck to every surface, smudged writing all over his hand. So he doesn't forget things.

Eddie's got all his reminders. And Steve's got his hourglasses.

He knows it's not really normal. He doesn't think he wants it to be, either.

Steve's house is full of hourglasses, after a while. At least one in every room, and the rooms they use the most get several. They've started to creep into Eddie's trailer, too. There's one on his bedside table, smoky gray glass with shiny black sand. Eddie'd grinned big when he saw it, made sure to kiss Steve's temple in thanks.

Eddie's on the armchair when it happens. He's been rereading Tolkien, but the crash of broken glass makes him put the book down.

"Steve?" Eddie calls. He's making dinner in the kitchen, must've dropped a plate. "You okay, baby?"

No response.

Eddie leaves the armchair, wondering idly where Steve keeps band-aids in case either of them get nicked cleaning it up, and then he sees it.

Bright red strewn across the kitchen floor, broken glass glimmering around it.

"Oh shit," Eddie says. "I'll get the broom, where is it?"

Except.

Except Steve doesn't respond. He's standing in the middle of the kitchen, frozen in place. When Eddie looks closer he sees how big Steve's eyes are, glossy with unshed tears.

The red sand makes a circle pattern around his feet, scattered wide across the kitchen tile. Steve's feet look like they're bleeding, too, like he'd stepped back in shock. Eddie doesn't think Steve's even aware that he's hurt right now.

Eddie crosses the kitchen quickly, mindful of the shattered glass. He pulls Steve to him, drags his thumbs beneath his eyes to brush away his tears.

"You're alright." Eddie says. Steve shakes his head slightly. His mind is elsewhere.

"You're alright," Eddie says again. "And so am I. It's just broken glass, sweetheart. Easy fix."

Steve blinks, then. "You're here," he says, his lips barely moving.

"'Course I'm here." Eddie says. "I'm here, and I'm safe. Everyone's safe. Everyone remembers. We're okay."

"Oh, god." Steve says. "I broke it, Eddie, I fucking—"

"It's okay. It happens. It doesn't mean anything. It's just glass." Eddie pulls Steve's head down to his shoulder, kissing the side of his face before he speaks again. "It's just glass. We'll sweep it up. I can buy you a new one, even. It's okay. Everyone's okay."

Steve nods a little numbly. But he lets Eddie take him to the bathroom, sits on the toilet so Eddie can treat the little cuts on his feet, doesn't say anything when Eddie wraps them up with way more bandages than necessary.

"All better," Eddie says when he's done, standing and tilting Steve's head up so he can kiss his forehead. "All fixed."

Steve's eyes are still wet. But they don't look as far away anymore. "Thanks," Steve says, his voice sounding raw.

Eddie decides they'll have an early night. "Of course, baby," he says, helping Steve to stand up again, his heart lurching in his chest when Steve winces at the sting of putting pressure on his feet. So Eddie makes him lean on him, takes some of that weight. Steve lets him lead them both to bed, lets Eddie tuck him into his chest once they're both changed and under the blanket, fitting his cheek to Eddie's sternum so he can hear his heartbeat.

They can sweep up the sand in the morning.

For now, they'll sleep.

Steve gets him a cat named Mittens.

Eddie's, well.

He's a little beside himself, really. She looks like the cat he had as a kid. Before—

Eddie doesn't like to think about it. But he loves Mittens. She's fluffy. Tiny. Black with green-yellow eyes. Sweet as pie. The only difference between her and his old cat, at least as far as looks, is the mittens. Tiny white patches on all four of her feet, that hide under the rest of her fur unless she's kneading his leg or stomach or hair or something, and then her socked little feet show and Eddie gets to coo at how goddamn cute she is.

"You like her?" Steve had asked when he'd brought her home. "Sheryl at work, you know, she fosters cats and is always trying to get Rob or I to take one, and normally I'm really good at saying no, but she brought pictures, baby, and she matched what you told me about your old cat and I just had to see her, at least, and then Sherry managed to get me to take her into the car."

Steve had bitten his lip. Looked between the teeny tiny cat on the kitchen floor and Eddie.

And Eddie had kissed him stupid. At least, until the cat had started swiping at his socks, curious and new, and he and Steve plopped themselves right down on the tile to ogle at her.

Mittens is a good distraction. A tether, in a way. She's soft and cute and innocent, and it's a reminder for Steve as much as him that things are better now. They can raise a tiny kitten together. She was probably born after everything in March, too. Something different. Something good.

She's not exactly like Eddie's old cat. Her eyes are a little more green, he learns, and her fur is a little longer and she's about three-quarters of that cat's size (or Eddie is just simply bigger now).

But she curls up on the pillow by his head all the same. And besides.

Change is nice.

Eddie remembers everything now, sure, but it's not like he's thought about every moment of his eleven spring breaks. Some stuff is forgotten because human brains are funny that way, always making space. There's little things that remind him of little moments, though, and for those Eddie is grateful.

"You know Dio!" Eddie says, springing to his feet from where he was repairing his battle vest on the carpet.

Steve looks at him with wide eyes, and then Eddie remembers the loop before that one and corrects himself, "No, you don't. You lied about knowing Dio."

"Um," Steve says, and Eddie cackles, swooping down to kiss him, kiss him hard.

"Were you trying to impress me?" Eddie asks, and he's trying to be a dick about this but it comes out all breathy and earnest so he fails. Miserably.

"I was trying to make you happy," Steve says, waving a hand. "You love talking about all your metal bands."

"Can't believe you lied to me," Eddie says grinning. "I'm gonna make you a mixtape now, Stevie, and then you'll actually know Dio and everyone else."

Steve just nods. Pulls him down for another kiss, this one lazy, smiling.

It's only natural, then, that Eddie gets Steve a dog.

They're making a family, in a way. Him and Steve and Mittens and Wayne as the old psuedo-grandpa. Putting down roots. Eddie hates the town a little less, like this.

The dog's name is Lady. Eddie thinks it suits her well.

She's a little brown sheepdog. Shorter than knee height but bright and bouncy and with the sweetest dark eyes Eddie thinks he's ever seen on an animal. She herds the kids when they come over, nipping gently at their ankles to get them all in the same room. She loves Robin, too. Likes to put her soft head on Robin's lap and show her belly for scratches.

And if she loves Robin, then she adores Steve. Lady likes to sleep curled protectively over Steve's middle, so Eddie has to move her sometimes because he also wants to snuggle up with Steve. She's real sweet about it though and shuffles over with only a small whine, like she knows that she's Steve's dog and Eddie is Steve's person.

She and Mittens get along like a house on fire. Mittens likes to bat at Lady's ears or tail or paws, whatever she can reach, really, and Lady will nudge her softly, often trying to get her to be in the same room with Eddie and Steve.

She's happiest when everyone is together. And Eddie knows Steve breathes a little easier when his house is full with the whole Party. He does, too.

"She's a sheepdog, isn't she?" Steve asks him after about a week of having her, carding his hand down her her back, all curled up in his lap with her head on his knee. "Aren't Border Collies sheepdogs?"

Eddie's face flushes. Can Steve read minds? "Yeah, think so. Shame we don't have any sheep for her," he deflects.

Steve laughs good-naturedly. "There was, once or twice, during the loops, where you said 'sheepdog,' right before—yeah. Right before. Does Lady have anything to do with that?"

Eddie blushes a little harder. Buries his face in Mittens's fur since she's napping in his arms at the moment.

"Maybe." Eddie says.

Steve hums but doesn't say anything more.

Eddie sighs, lowering Mittens down gently so he can turn and face Steve. "You protect people," Eddie says. "All the kids. Me. Like a sheepdog."

"So you and the kids are sheep?" Steve asks, mirth in his eyes. Lady cocks her head at him, and Eddie thinks that they are perfect for each other.

"The kids are, yeah." Eddie says. Pleads with his eyes for Steve to see the rest of it so he doesn't have to explain his stupid metaphor.

Steve nods once. He gets it. "Picturing you with a crook right now," he says smiling.

Eddie smiles back.

"—good, Eddie. God, feels amazing."

Eddie's eyes nearly roll back in his head. He feels fucking amazing. All stretched out like this, his wrists bound together and secured to the headboard, Steve's thick cock halfway down his throat.

He can't breathe. Can't think. Can only see Steve above him, sweaty and glowing, knees bracketing Eddie's shoulders so he can feed his cock into his mouth. Can only hear his own throat working hard to swallow, to not gag too harshly, Steve's labored breathing, how his hands grip the headboard near Eddie's wrists so tight that it creaks.

Steve pulls back. Eddie chokes. Breathes. Begs with his eyes that he knows must be crying to go again.

Steve grins, loose and easy. He shuffles backward so he can lean down for a kiss, to steal Eddie's breath that way instead. His hands glide over Eddie's side, pinch at his nipples until Eddie's jerking against his binds, and then a little more for good measure. A twist, a pull that has Eddie crying out, back arching off the bed and his blood runs too hot for his body and his dick leaks pathetically in his boxers that he's still wearing and Steve just laughs and kisses him a little dirtier. Licks his way down to bite at Eddie's chest, and then, only then, when Eddie's practically drooling and fucking delirious with pleasure, does he sit high up on his chest again and shove his cock into Eddie's mouth.

"Jesus." Steve mutters. Eddie's mind is buzzing. He feels so full. There's a heavy silver plug in him from this morning, keeping Steve's spend deep inside. Steve's cock on his tongue, past his throat, spit and precome falling out his open mouth. And if he squirms a little, the metal just barely brushes his prostate.

So Eddie squirms a lot.

"Gonna make me come, baby." Steve says. "Look at you like this, so perfect. Feels so good, Eddie. You feel so good."

Eddie can't do much more than take whatever Steve gives him, not at this angle, but he does what he can to tighten his lips around him and suck, pressing his tongue up to the underside of Steve's dick, working his mouth open wider so his chin digs a little against Steve's balls.

Steve comes with a low groan. His hips stutter and force his cock a little deeper. Eddie sucks the salt from him, lets it pool on his tongue so Steve can see it, can watch him swallow. There's a long, thick string of it when Steve stops coming, when he pulls his dick back so Eddie can breathe. It grows and grows with distance, stretchy with spit and mucus, breaks sticky onto Eddie's chin. Eddie keeps his mouth open, sees how Steve's eyes seem to darken when he sees the white inside, feels how his fingers flex over Eddie's wrists when he swallows pointedly, lets his mouth fall open again.

Steve licks the string of come from his chin. Feeds it back to him. "Jesus, Eddie," he says. "You're making me wanna fuck you again."

Eddie's breath hitches. He hasn't come since this morning. He kind of wants Steve to just pull the plug out, to slip right in and chase his pleasure in Eddie's body, to not even touch him. To use him. To take.

But he also really, really wants to come.

Steve moves down his body. Settles in between Eddie's thighs, his back curving so he can mouth at him through his boxers, trace the shape of Eddie's dick with his breath, his lips, his tongue. Steve finds the head of his cock through his boxers, presses his tongue firmly against the growing wet patch there. Sucks him through the fabric, kneads over his balls with three fingers.

Eddie's hips jerk. He squeezes tight around the plug, writhing on the sheets for friction, bucking up to get more of Steve's tongue on him, more feeling, more pressure, more—

"Be good," Steve says. His voice is sweet and mean. His hands hold Eddie down, down on the bed and down against his body and his mouth. Eddie cries out. He needs his fucking boxers to come off, his dick feels like it's burning. Too hot, too much. Steve blows cool air on the wet spot on the fabric and Eddie lurches like he's been shocked.

"I need—" Eddie says, delirious. Fucked out. "Stevie, baby, please."

Steve pulls his boxers down to just above his knees. It doesn't give him much room at all but he slips a hand between Eddie's thighs to reach the plug, pulling on the base so it stretches and burns, lowers his lips down to lick at the base of Eddie's cock, where it's not enough, not yet.

There's a humming between Eddie's ears. Steve drizzles cool lube on him like syrup, lets it drip from his balls to his thighs to his cheeks then the plug. Eddie feels wet like a girl and that thought twists at something weird inside him. His face is hot but his thighs feel cold, and Steve's fucking the plug into him in earnest now, biting kisses into his pelvis, saying soft things when he stretches him to the plug's widest point, pushing it back in to do it again.

Eddie almost comes. Steve doesn't let him, stops moving entirely while he waits for Eddie to calm down a little. There's a lump in his throat and tears in his eyes but Eddie breathes and staves off his orgasm, choking on nothing, whining when Steve pulls the plug out entirely.

"Shh, sweetheart, you're alright." Steve says. "Doing so good. One more time. One more and then I'll fuck you and you can come." Steve swipes his fingers through the lube on Eddie's thighs, curls them around each other and pushes in with four. Four thick fingers, big knuckles, short clean nails, painted light purple, coated in lube and now the come that was in Eddie from that morning. The stretch aches. Eddie throws his head back so he can take it, pulls uselessly at his binds, his thighs twitching since they're still kind of held together by the boxers pulled down to his knees.

Steve rubs hard over his prostate, tugs lightly at his balls with his other hand, digs the tip of his tongue into Eddie's slit, swallows down all the precome he's leaking.

Eddie feels consumed. Held down when he starts thrashing, that big warm hand leaving his balls to push his hips down, hold him still so Steve can fuck him, can tease him with his tongue til he's crying, til Eddie's mind has gone fuzzy and white.

And then Steve stops again. Eddie cries out, sagging into the mattress. He feels like Steve's wrung ten orgasms out of him, when he hasn't even come once. His dick is straining, leaking profusely, and yet he feels sort of numb.

Steve shushes him. Soothes him. Takes his fingers out and strips Eddie's boxers off the rest of the way, huffing out a laugh that sounds fond when Eddie's legs fall open, wanting him closer. Steve digs the heels of his palms into Eddie's inner thighs to relax the muscle, pressure that feels like too much and almost hurts but doesn't. Turns Eddie's insides to liquid instead.

The hands move up from his thighs, ghost over his cock and squeeze once at the tip of it, move up his body, over his stomach, Eddie's muscles gone taut from have to stop himself from coming a second time and then made loose again with sweet touches, gentle caress. Steve's fingers find his chest, thumbs playing with his nipples, pressing hard, pushing into the skin and then up, a slight bite of short nails.

The hands go to his neck. Travel up to Eddie's jaw, fingers brushing over his ears so he shivers. Holding him. Tilting Eddie's face into the kiss Steve gives him, open-mouthed and wanting. Eddie whines and pulls a little at the headboard, hears it creak. Desperately tries to get Steve's tongue in his mouth, his teeth on his lips, something. Steve gives him both. Gives him everything.

"Wanna fuck you," Steve says. "You want that?"

Eddie nods as best as he can with his face held between Steve's hands, hears himself beg for it, feels his lips move to say 'please,' sees through the wetness in his eyes how Steve smiles, tilting his head again to kiss over his bangs.

Steve's cock goes in smoothly. One long motion, slick with lube. It doesn't hurt, not after the plug and four fingers, but Eddie feels it. How his body stretches to take it, how he opens up for more of Steve, the head of his cock passing over his prostate, making him squeeze around it, making Steve gasp softly and kiss him harder. Tongue deep in Eddie's mouth, spit on both their chins, the air between them thick and wet and heavy.

Steve fucks him with slow rolls of his hips. Gets him close to the edge and keeps him there, their bodies angled so Eddie's cock touches nothing, just sits there and leaks.

"You wanna come, baby?" Steve asks, grinding his hips into him so the hair at the base of his dick will leave Eddie's skin pink and hot, so it'll burn. "You've been so good."

"Wanna come," Eddie says, his eyelids heavy, voice thick.

Steve kisses him again and Eddie's eyes slip closed when Steve's tongue licks past his lips, and he comes with his tongue in his mouth and his cock grinding against his prostate and Steve's big hand around his dick, stroking him sweetly.

Eddie's mind goes staticky. Fizzes out. He comes hard and his whole body shudders, ankles locking tight behind Steve's back as he falls apart on his cock, his shoulders protesting with how much he pulls on the restraints, spilling all over Steve's fist.

And Steve follows soon after, keeps fucking into him even after Eddie's done and just laying there shaking, his dick twitching with interest when Steve stills, groaning into Eddie's mouth as he comes in sticky ribbons, pulling out and pulling back so he can watch it leak out of Eddie.

"Jesus Christ, you're beautiful," Steve says, untying him with his clean hand, gathering Eddie to lay sideways in his lap and peppering his face with kisses. "Do you wanna come again? Just one more time?"

He's reaching between Eddie's legs already. He knows he's gonna say yes. But Eddie nods anyways, gasps when Steve rubs over his hole with come-stained fingers. Pushes his come and Eddie's into him, laughing softly at the slick sounds it makes, fucks him harder so the sounds get louder, so Eddie's cheeks color pink.

Steve leans down, lifts Eddie a little higher with the arm that's holding his shoulders up so he can bite at Eddie's red face, press his teeth gently into his cheek and lick a path down to his lips to kiss him. Eddie's brain floats but not far. Steve's careful nibbles on his lips and tongue and cheeks and neck keep him here, in the moment, whining at the feel of teeth. Steve could go harder, if he wanted. Make him bleed. Eddie would like it. But Steve doesn't. He's so careful to not break skin, but he does leave marks and Eddie likes those a lot, too.

Eddie's cock fills out pretty quickly. Steve's fingers are relentless, stretching him wide and fucking into him quickly, building up a friction that has him dribbling onto Steve's stomach, hiding his face in Steve's chest.

"Look at you," Steve says, curling his fingers over Eddie's prostate. "So pretty like this, so sweet."

Steve shifts them, drawing one knee up so he can lean Eddie's upper body against it, keep him semi-upright. His newly freed hand curls over Eddie's dick, slow strokes that feel like torture with how hard his fingers fuck him, not quite matching, not quite enough.

"Please," Eddie says. "Wanna come again, need more."

Steve bends to kiss him, abs flexing to hold them both upright. Eddie holds tight around his middle, breath catching in his throat as Steve tugs harder on his dick, hand sliding through his mess of precome, matching the rhythm of the fingers in his ass.

Eddie comes almost immediately. It's a softer orgasm than the first one but its warmth seeps deep into his bones. Stays there a while. Steve soothes him through it. Helps him come down. Cleans him up and kisses him and decides he wants to clean him up even better and helps him to the shower. Washes his hair.

Eddie's mind drifts. He doesn't think of any one thing; it's all just a little quiet. Fingers massaging shampoo into his scalp and soft lips on his and the squeak of the shower water getting turned off, strong arms guiding him out of the tub and a plush towel running down his body, settling over his head and making the world dark and quiet laughter from Steve as he takes the towel off him again, kisses him like they've got all the time in the world.

Something glows in Eddie's chest to think it. 

The world slows down as he and Steve take to bed. Lady and Mittens come find them from downstairs, curling their soft little bodies around them, warm and safe.

It's a good night. No nightmares.

In the morning, the world will speed up to normal. Steve will go to work and Eddie'll go see his uncle and time will pass as time is wont to do, and the nightmares won't stop but they'll get less frequent and sand will gently trickle into the glass below and some will spill out and slowly, things will get to be almost normal, again.

Almost.