through the gaps
ao3 Written for @steddie-spooktober Summerween prompt, “pines,” 504 words. Rated G, Missing Scene, season 4, the hike from Skull Rock to Lover’s Lake, (a hint of) Steve Harrington Backstory
Eddie’s trailing behind. Steve can hear it, the way his feet drag against the ground. He’s been tapping on his water bottle ever since they left Skull Rock, alternating between his nails and rings striking the metal, clink-clink-clink.
Steve gradually slows his step to match Eddie’s, glances over like a thought’s just occurred to him.
“Hey, dude, can I have some water?”
The tapping stops.
“Y-yeah, sure.”
Eddie hands the bottle over, blinking a few times.
Good, Steve thinks. Keep him distracted; keep him here.
He takes a sip of water—a tiny one, really, but just enough to sell the illusion that he needed the bottle in the first place. When he passes it back to Eddie, he almost expects to be caught out—the weight of the bottle has hardly changed—but Eddie’s eyes have gone distant again.
Three jerky taps in quick succession.
“Is this, uh,” Eddie clears his throat, his voice quiet, strained, “safe? Like, I keep thinking we’re—” He gestures uneasily at their surroundings, “—that someone’s gonna come bursting through the trees and get us.”
“Nah, we’re good,” Steve says lightly, “no-one comes out here.”
For a little while, there’s silence, broken only slightly: the muted snap of branches underfoot; Eddie’s tapping. Occasional vague words Steve can’t quite catch—Dustin, Lucas and Max in a trio up ahead, Robin and Nancy right alongside them.
“No-one?” Eddie says suddenly.
The word is brittle. Steve can hear the fear in it, the embarrassment.
“I swear.” He looks Eddie in the eye. “Trust me.”
Eddie nods. The tapping slows.
Steve’s glad for it, because he doesn’t think he could’ve stumbled through a more thorough reassurance. He could’ve said that Skull Rock’s reputation as a make out spot has dwindled away to nothing—folks avoiding the woods ever since November ‘83, a town superstition that stuck, grew roots. But then he’d have to get into why he knows that: the late night drives when he can’t sleep; the endless walks, never meeting a soul.
He looks over again. There’s something flickering in Eddie’s eyes, past horror draining the light out of them. Steve can almost see it in his pupils, like negative film: the murky depths of Lover’s Lake.
“You ever climb trees, Munson?”
Eddie frowns, like he’s replaying the question in his head to make sure he didn’t mishear.
“Um, yeah? Not, like, recently.” A pause. “You?”
“Obviously.” Steve nods at the trees they’re walking past, towering white pines. “Climbed those when I was six. Piece of cake.”
Eddie laughs—a startled sound, as if he’s surprised that he’s still capable of it. “Oh, I’m sure.” He grins. It’s crooked; real.
Found you, Steve thinks.
“You don’t believe me?” he says with the bravado of an old sailor whose tales have been doubted. “I’ve climbed ‘em plenty of times.”
Eddie keeps smiling. “Guess you better regale me.”
Dappled sunlight lands on his face through the gaps in the trees, and Steve wants to believe that’ll always be true; that light will always find its way back to them.
