I'm kinda cheating with this one, because I technically already posted about this song a while back - and, also, it doesn't have lyrics lol - so I figured in order to make up for the repeatsies, I'd throw in a little fic while I was at it. ;)
This is for @undreaming-fanfiction's Steddie Music List tag - hope you enjoy and happy hols for whatever makes you feel warm and fuzzy this time of year.
Eddie had shown up on his porch and it had nearly been dusk. Steve knew this because he'd been in the middle of staring blankly into his fridge, trying to figure out what he wanted to eat for dinner, when he heard the knock on the door. Frowning to himself, Steve made his way through the living room, already mulling over who could be showing up like this out of nowhere on a summer evening.
Steve winced as he picked at the collar of his polo shirt, somehow both damp and tacky with sweat. He stifled a shiver as a draft of frosty conditioned air licked at the back of his neck.
"Whoa. Steve. Did I interrupt something or are you just really happy to see me?" Eddie teased, pointing at him.
If anything, Steve's frown deepened and he followed the line of Eddie's gaze, locked on --
"Oh. Shit. I -- jeez. No, I --" he grumbled as he folded his arms over his chest. "It's just cold in here. Not becau -- why are you here?"
"I --"
"Are you dying?"
"Currently, no, but thank you kindly for your concern, sir."
"Are any of the kids dying?"
"Uhh - last I saw, the gremlins were all poured into cars with Hopper and Mrs. Byers headed to the water park."
"So -- what? Your van died again? You need a ride someplace?" Steve shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, reaching behind him to tug at the hem of his shirt, peeling the soaked fabric away from his skin.
"No, I - don't..." Eddie began, slowly tilting his head to one side as he watched Steve fuss with his shirt, eyes slowly squinting as he regarded him. Giving his head a little shake, he straightened it again and gave him a cheeky, double-barrel dimple grin. Reaching out, he grabbed hold of the hem of Steve's shirt in front, giving it a playful tug. "I wanna take you somewhere."
"Now? It's like -- a million degrees, still," he muttered, flapping his shirt over his chest. Somehow, Eddie touching his shirt had only made his body feel hotter, not cooler
"Yeah, and I can see your nipples through your shirt like one of the girls in Hollywood Chainsaw Hookers. That can’t be healthy for you, Steve. Or your nipples."
"Hollywood -- wh --?"
"Hey, I didn't name it, man," Eddie said with a huff. He gave Steve's shirt one last tug before letting go, shoving his hands into his pockets. "So... what do you think? Come with me?" He swayed a little in place, then, dark eyes shining as they met his. "And hey, I promise - if you don't like it, we can just come back and we can get high and eat pizza. Deal?"
Steve couldn't say no. Thought about it, sure - but if only just to toss the idea away as a fool's errand. Because he just couldn't. Not to Eddie, or Robin, or Dustin or any of the rest of the little shitheads. But how many times had he said yes to something? Something just for himself.
Because Eddie could have gone with the kids to the park, if he'd wanted to. Had probably been their first option, in fact, considering the size of his van. But instead of tagging along and playing shepherd to his sheepies, Eddie was... here.
"Okay," he said, and the answer feels so much easier than he'd thought it would. It feels nice to say yes.
"Really? You mean it?" Eddie's eyebrows leapt up into his fringe and then his hand is plastered onto Steve's chest, patting him there excitedly. "You're not just toying with my tiny black burned popcorn kernel of a heart are you, Steve. That wouldn’t be very nice of you."
"What? No?" Steve blinked at him and laughed and that felt nice, too. His face felt warmer.
-
Eddie had insisted on driving, not daring to tell Steve where they were headed. He steered the vehicle with lazy ease, one palm flat on the front of the wheel while he picked through this ancient cardboard box sitting beside him with the other. Steve watched him, splitting his attention between Eddie and the road ahead of them.
"Hey, don't sweat it, Steve. I've been driving since I was eight. I know what I'm doing," Eddie assured him, the corner of his mouth curling up to let one dimple peek out. He plucked a tape from the box and held it between his finger and thumb, giving it a little jiggle. “Anyway. I don’t even have to look, see? I know each and every one of these tapes by feel. This one's Metallica.”
"Eight?! Eight years old. Who teaches an eight year old to drive?"
Instead of being affronted or hurt or even a pretend, hyper-melodramatic version of either of those, Eddie just laughed. "Ne'er-do-well fathers who need getaway drivers," he replied cryptically.
Steve wanted to ask, but too many things were cluttering in on him - too many questions at once - and he didn't even know where to start. Where the hell were they going? Why now? Eddie hadn't seemed particular worried or hurt or in trouble, so why --
"I can hear you," Eddie said, eyes still focused on the road, still smirking like a smug asshole.
"Huh?"
"I know you wanna ask, big boy, but I promise - you're gonna like this."
They'd driven out well beyond the trailer park, past the site where Starcourt had once stood, and were starting to trail into the sprawling farmlands nearby.
Steve gasped as Eddie gave the wheel a sharp turn, off into the waist-high grass, the van barreling through the underbrush like it was nothing. The two of them jounced about in their seats as the van's weak suspension encountered the odd stone or gopher hole, but when the van finally came to a stop and they both hopped out, Steve was confused.
Glancing around, it was... ordinary. Just a bunch of empty field, overgrown with buckthorn and wild grasses and flowers, bisected by train tracks.
On their side of the field, Eddie had parked them just beneath a large tree, its branches swaying gently overhead, leaves as big as Steve's hand catching muted green fire in the remaining rays of daylight. But the sky... the sky was colors Steve had never really seen before, not in Hawkins. Deep, vibrant violet and navy blue mixed with an intense fuschia smudging together at the horizon. There was a rustling noise to his left and as he glanced over, he saw Eddie, hands in his pockets, ambling in the direction of the tracks. “Does my liege require a hand-lettered invitation? I’m afraid I left my calligraphy set in my other pants.” He called over his shoulder, and Steve couldn’t not follow him after that. If, for no other reason, than to say –
“Eddie? You still haven’t told me what we’re doing, you know.” He said, and he hated how lost he sounded even to his own ears.
“I know.” Steve caught up to him just as he was responding, lips pursing around the words and into a roguish grin. He reached up, lightly cuffed Steve on the arm. “It’s okay. You’ll live.”
I promise.
Eddie came to a stop a few yards away from the tracks, though they were still standing a lot closer than Steve’s nerves would have liked, hands still tucked away in his pockets. Steve found himself looking over at Eddie, eyes tracing the silhouette of his profile, the stray drop of perspiration rolling down the side of his neck, the florid pink of his scars through the deep cut-out sections along his sides. Deep enough to see the subtle curve of his hip, little more than just a shadow beyond where Steve could actually see – But then, Eddie was reaching out, grabbing hold of Steve’s wrist as he turned sharply towards him. “Almost…” he murmured, more to himself than to Steve, eyes flashing as he bounced a little in place. His fingers slid higher up his forearm, tightened, and Steve wondered if he’d have burn marks of Eddie’s fingerprints there in the morning. “Steve, look!” He barked out, reaching up to pat at his shoulder with his other hand, encouraging him to turn. It took him a few seconds once Eddie spun him around, but Steve’s eyes finally caught on it and stayed there: a train. Not a passenger train, but one of the huge, hulking freighter things that hauls coal and oil and shit all over the country, and it was coming right along the track they were stood beside. Steve sucked in a sharp breath and he reached back blindly, grabbing, and Eddie’s hand found his. The train roared by them, the sheer power and speed of the locomotive enough to create huge drafts of breeze that spilled off of the tracks and poured into the tiny glen in rolling waves where Eddie had parked the van. It was strong enough, even where they were standing, to tousle Steve’s hair all about and he laughed. He tipped his head back, eyes falling closed as he let the breeze caress his cheeks and neck. The train rattling by was so loud, it was hard to hear much of anything - even his own voice - but when Eddie threw his head back and let out a long, hearty wolf howl, Steve heard it. It nearly made him shit his pants, but after a split second of panic and one additional split second of making sure Eddie wasn’t, in fact, a werewolf - he let his head loll back on his shoulders and howled right along with him. Meanwhile, in Steve's head, he replayed the sight of Eddie standing beside him, face thrust up at the sky, curls whipping all about his face as he howled. Eddie’s hand tightened around his and he squeezed back, throat starting to hurt almost immediately, but … it felt good. It was like he was gathering up all of the anxiety and worry and pain of the last couple of years and forcing it all out through his lungs. He howled until he felt the burn in his eyes, the way the violent rumbling under his feet started to subside as the train sped off to its destination, left him panting, left him shaking and half bent at the waist, but then… Two arms, slipping under each of Steve’s own and meeting around his waist, pale and sinewy and so strong, locking around him like a belt or a bandolier. Two hands bearing three chunky rings on the left and a small, pretty one on the right. Eddie’s lips, pressing close to his ear. “I’ve got you,” he whispered. “It’s okay, Steve. I’ve got you.”
Steve reached down, thumb brushing over the delicate black and white stone set into the silver ring, fought down a shiver of a different sort. He reached, fingers curling and catching Eddie’s fingertips. He drew Eddie's hand up, and pressed it over his heart, fingers lacing over and entwining with Eddie’s in a sure, firm grasp. “Thank you for this,” Steve said, his own voice hushed, angling his head back to make sure Eddie heard him. He could feel Eddie’s smile against his shoulder, the arm still wound around his waist giving him a careful squeeze. “Anything for you, big boy,” he replied, voice a low, syrupy rumble. I promise.
