Eddie has a bad habit of picking at his skin when he's nervous. Not, like, shy nervous or stage fright nervous, but the real kind of nervous, not-sure-I’m-gonna-survive-this kind of nervous. Like while he was alone in the boat house, he'd shredded every one of his cuticles. That time Hopper caught him behind The Hawk, very obviously selling his wares, he'd bitten his lips bloody.
Tonight he's picking a scab off his knee. It's practically healed already, so it won't bleed, he just needs to feel something on his body come loose before he does.
“You good, dude?” Steve asks, so in tune to Eddie's nervous disposition. Such a good guy. What a friend.
Eddie lets his head hit his knee caps with a thunk.
“Yup.”
Steve snorts. “You don't look good. I mean… You know what I mean.”
He smiles, tilting his head to look at Steve, always happy to give him a hard time.
“Oh, absolutely. You think I look good, don't cha, Stevie?”
He gets a couch pillow to the face for that, but they're both laughing so he doesn't think he's crossed the line yet.
Yet, yet, yet.
“Seriously, what's up with you? You've been quiet. It makes me want to call the squad.”
“Har har,” Eddie mumbles, but he does uncurl himself, sitting back against the couch again. “I'm trying to work up the nerve to ask for advice but it's-” Christ, he doesn't even want to admit to being embarrassed, that's how embarrassed he is.
“It's what?” Steve asks, the picture of earnest encouragement. “You can talk to me about anything, man, we're, like, bonded in blood or whatever.”
“Right. Yeah. Except this has the potential to get real awkward, real quick, and I'm not sure we're at that level of friendship yet.”
“Well,” he drawls, “if you ask me whatever it is that's got you all flustered I'm sure that will level us up. Right?”
“I'm not flustered.” God damn his red fucking face. Steve just laughs at him. “It's just, I don't have anyone else to ask about this. Jonathan probably doesn't have this particular problem, cause he's got- Uh. Sorry.” Steve waves it away, so Eddie goes on. “The kids are too young and the band guys don't understand what we went through-”
“Eddie, just spit it out.”
“Fuck! Okay, fine! You asked for it.” He takes a giant breath, steels his spine and just says it. “The Trauma is affecting my ability to get laid and I don't know how to fix it. Every time I get close to it I freak out and have to bail.”
There. All out now.
He looks over at Steve, and it's so much worse than being laughed at or pitied. He just looks sad.
He shakes it off quickly, hair barely moving, Eddie notes. He finds Steve's hair routine both endearing and ridiculous.
“Yeah. Okay. That's super common, just so you know,” Steve assures him first. “Robin says it's all connected, your mind and your body, so trauma can, like, get trapped in weird places like that. I can't play baseball anymore. Cause the memory of beating demodogs to death.”
“As you do,” Eddie quips.
“Right. But your thing. Uh. Yeah, it took some time before I could relax enough to even attempt getting laid, let alone actually do it.”
“So?” Eddie drawls, waiting. “How did you get over it?”
Something is off. Steve's not known for being skiddish about sex, but his hesitation and his inability to look Eddie in the eye is setting off alarms.
“Hey, if this is too weird for you-”
“No, I'm good, it's fine. Just, I'm the only person you have to talk to about this, so I'm gonna try to be helpful but, uh,” he scratches at the back of his head awkwardly, “in all honesty, I haven't been laid since before Vecna either. Way before. So. Yeah. Not sure I should be giving out advice on anything.”
That's crazy. Like actually crazy. He can't even compute Steve Harrington not absolutely dripping in women. He must have some look on his face because Steve gives a dry sort of laugh, self deprecating, and leans back against the couch with him.
“Weren't you on a date with Brenda Mulligan the night- Vecna’s first attack?”
Steve shoots him a look. “Y- Yeah, but that didn't go anywhere. We weren't, like, compatible or whatever.”
Oh, yeah, it was weird that Eddie knew that at all, let alone remembered it nine months later. “That's too bad,” he replies lamely.
“Yep.”
He feels terrible for dragging down the whole night, it would've been better if he'd just kept his mouth shut. But that's never been his strong suit, as evidenced by him blurting out, “If the hottest guy in Hawkins can't find a suitable date, what fucking chance do I have.”
Steve snaps, “Don't say that. What the fuck?”
Great, now he's gone and made it weird. Good job calling your straight friend hot, you fuckin’ dipshit.
They sit in the awkward silence, out of things to say or out of useful things to say. Either way it's them breathing, the clock ticking, and the M.A.S.H. rerun playing softly in the background.
Steve clears his throat. “Whatever, let's get back to the point. You don't have to tell me if you don't want but…what do you think the specific reason is for your…issue?”
He thinks about it. Has been thinking about it, for a while now. “My dick still works, if that's what you're wondering.”
Steve chuckles, high and surprised. “Good for you.”
“Yeah. It's more like, I can't get out of my head. I start worrying about my scars, explaining them if someone asked. I think about how even though I don't want anything long-term, I wouldn't be able to do long-term anyway, because I'm a fucking mess. If it's really bad, I'll get flashes of Chrissy or Patrick's bones snapping, as a little soundtrack to the fun shit happening outside my head.”
Steve looks sad again. Maybe it is pity but it looks more turned inward, like he's dealing with his own shit more than Eddie’s.
“You hooking up with strangers then?”
Eddie blinks at Steve. “Well…duh. Right? Not like I have guys lined up around the block here in Hawkins.”
Steve is full blown scowling at the TV. It's weird.
“What if-”
Eddie waits but Steve doesn't finish his thought.
“What if…what?” He prompts, giving a little nudge with his foot.
He's still avoiding eye contact, not even turning his head to look in Eddie's direction.
In a soft voice, almost too quiet to hear, he says, “What if we helped each other out?”
He must've heard that wrong. Or he's misunderstanding.
“What?”
“What if we help each other out? Like, a mutually beneficial arrangement.”
That can't be right. No fucking way. It's a test. Like as soon as Eddie agrees, Steve yells ‘Aha! I knew you wanted to molest me! Goodbye forever!’ and runs out the door.
“What, exactly, do you mean? Like, what are you getting out of it?”
Steve finally looks over. “Well, I would think that was obvious. If you're willing.”
Eddie's legs are starting to go numb.
“Okay, so I blow you and you blow me, except when you're doing it I have to watch you take it like you're being force fed liver and onions at Grandma's house?”
Steve slowly shakes his head no.
“Oh, okay, so you're going to blow me and enjoy it,” he snaps sarcasticaly.
Steve nods once.
“You want to blow me?”
“Mmhmm,” he hums without moving a muscle.
“Since when!” Eddie brings his octave down from the upper atmosphere. “Since when, Harrington? This is insane behavior. Should I call the squad for you? I'm serious. I'll do it.”
“You don't have to say yes. I was just offering.” He says it like Eddie isn't one green flag away from stomping on the gas.
He starts nervously laughing, which makes Steve flinch unfortunately, but he can't stop.
“It's cool, just forget I said anything.” He moves like he's about to get up and leave, which is fucking insane because it's his living room. Eddie stops him with a tight grip around the bicep.
“Don't you dare. If you're even remotely serious, we have to have a much longer conversation. Sit.”
Steve drops like a sack of bricks. Which is…something.
“Right. First off, this is uncommon behavior in a straight friend. Is there something you'd like to tell me, so I don't think you've been body snatched?”
He pinches at the top of his nose, like Eddie is inconveniencing him greatly. Too bad.
“I'm probably bisexual.”
“Probably?” Eddie asks with a raised eyebrow.
“I'm an inexperienced bisexual,” he amends through clenched teeth.
“Good. Great. Happy to hear it.” His heart may explode from his torso à la Ridley Scott's Alien but sure. “Second on the agenda, what do you mean help each other out? What's on the table? Mutual handjobs and then we never talk about it again?”
“No,” Steve answers immediately. That's good. “I'm open to…whatever you're open to.”
“Steve.” He has to clear his throat. “You dont even know what you're agreeing to.”
“I trust you.”
Fuuuuuck.
“Okay, right, uh, let's circle back to that later. Third thing, what, uh, what is your level of commitment with this?”
He just stares at Eddie, all doe eyed. It shouldn't work, Eddie fucking invented that look. It's gotten him out of more scrapes than he can count. Now it's being used against him but to what end? Does Steve want to get bundled up in a blanket and tucked into bed? Because Eddie can make that happen for him.
“Whatever you want, I guess,” he finally says. “I mean, like I said earlier, friends who help each other out. Casual. I'm not interested in looking for Mrs Harrington anymore and you're having a problem relaxing around guys who don't understand what you went through.” He makes a gesture like ‘Ta da.’
He's not wrong. It makes sense. But…
“Fourth thing. Is this just an experiment for you? Cause I'm all for you exploring your sexuality but, historically speaking, friends are a bad place to start.” AKA ‘it will break my fucking heart if you decide you're not that into it and it's because it's me.’
“Eddie. Look.” He gets more comfortable, facing Eddie straight on finally. “What you're going to provide is practical knowledge on what has only been theoretical up to this point, but the theory has already been well established.” He taps his head. “Understand?”
A smug confidence melts Eddie into the couch. “You liiike me,” he sings. “You think about me naaaked. You wanna-”
Steve lands on him, lacking any elegance or grace, and nearly caves their skulls in with his Jay Garrick approach to kissing. Eddie doesn't say a fucking word. He does wonder at the fucking majesty that is making out sober. What a revelation. Steve keeps making these tiny, almost wounded noises, to the point where Eddie tries to back up and do a check in but Steve doesn't let him, he chases him down and latches back onto Eddie's bottom lip like he's Hannibal Lector. It's stupid hot.
Everything is going great until Steve lets out a sound that legitimately has Eddie worried he's upset about something.
He pulls back and asks, “Are you okay?”
“Oh fuck, I'm sorry. I just can't, I can't believe I got this fucking far. You're so hot I'm losing my fucking mind.”
“Me?” Eddie snaps. “Dude, you're out of your mind.” He pokes Steve in his meaty chest. “Literal. Prom. King.”
“Fucking stupid high school shit, are you kidding me?” He sits up, straddling Eddie's hips, which is boner enhancing to say the least; he's got Steve's thighs in his grasp immediately. “You don't get it, I'm gone on you. I've got it bad, man. I was playing it cool earlier-”
“At no point tonight were you in any way playing it cool.”
“-but, fuck it, guess I'm ruining it, cause I can't be cool about this. I don't want casual. I don't even want to date you,” and before Eddie can even worry about that, he says, “I wanna skip straight to boyfriends, man. I know you said you didn't want long term with anyone but-”
Eddie interrupts again, this time by pulling Steve back down horizontal and kissing him like he just bravely declared himself as all in.
If this is a pod-person, well, that's a problem for Tomorrow Eddie. Tonight Eddie just landed Steve Harrington as a boyfriend.
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DPxDC Afterlife, But It's A Bar
[discontinued, feel free to add on]
It was weird. Not wrong, alarming or dangerous type of weird. Not good or comforting either.
Just plain weird.
It all started a few days ago, on Wednesday, to be exact. On a rare occasion, Jason was patrolling outside of his territory ("cover for me, I have a date" my ass, Replacement), and he spotted something out of place. A neon green, almost toxic colored sign that read "Afterlife".
Honestly, who names a place like that? But judging by the placement and design, it was a bar, and Jason could almost appreciate the irony. Maybe it had a slogan along the lines of "our drinks will send you beyond the lines of life and death" or something. But at the same time, it could be interpreted as "alcohol can and will be the death of you," which, technically, is not the best PR campaign for a bar.
Jason decided to visit the place anyway. He was curious about the implied death joke, sue him.
Of course, he didn't visit immediately. He was still on patrol, and he just heard the sound of gunshots to the west. Not to say that the place was quiet.
(Oddly quiet for a bar in Gotham, now that he thinks about it)
Anyway, the next day, he went there not as Red Hood but as Jason Todd, an ordinary civilian who decided to grab a beer in the evening. Only to not find the place.
He couldn't have just miss it - he remembered the street, he knew the building, he was absolutely fucking sure where the "Afterlife" should have been. He searched the whole block nonetheless, and then proceeded to check the whole area, but to no avail.
Damn, it seems like he can't get to the afterlife both literally and- the other literally. Yeah, he might be having too much fun with the oddly chosen name for the nonexistent bar.
It didn't exist on the maps and internet either. At this point, Jason was contemplating the idea of it being a hallucination or a dream. He even checked the recording on his helmet from Wednesday night, but the whole time he was in the area, the video was filled with interference and static.
Weird. Slightly suspicious, but Red Robin, who's been patrolling the same area for weeks before him, never reported any interferences, so it probably had something to do with his helmet and not the area in general.
On Thursday night, he purposefully went there right after patrol. And the nonexistent bar suddenly existed again! The same neon green sign, the same quiet street around it.
Seriously, what is this mysterious fuckery?
Now, if he was a Bat, he would have reported this to others and investigated, lurked around in shadows, and approached with caution. If he was a Robin, he would have still reported and then straight up marched in there and saw how it goes.
Alas, he was Red Hood, so he decided to watch for the bar guests and see just who the hell goes in and out of the place.
And there was the next weird thing.
No one was going in or out. Jason sat there for a whole hour, and not even one person entered or left the building. Despite the muffled sounds of music, voices and laughter coming from the place.
The final kicker was the fact that after some careful questioning and dropping hints, Jason found out that no one except him ever saw the "Afterlife"'s sign. No one's even heard of it, both the Batclan and the Gothamites.
The fuck?
So he did the next logical thing. He brought the smartest member of the Bats with him. Tim owed him anyway. Might as well use it now instead of later.
Friday night proved two things: one, Tim was still his favorite to work with out of all the bats and birds, not questioning anything as to why Jason is asking him to check out a bar, and two, Jason just might be going insane.
Tim couldn't see the "Afterlife" even when Jason pointed at the sign from not further than ten feet. The irony of the stipid name was not even amusing anymore.
Tim didn't ask any questions after this experiment, and Jason didn't want to admit that he is losing the grip of reality, so they ended up simply parting their ways after. Can the Pits cause brain damage? More damage than there was in the first place, that is.
Now that he thinks about it, the color of the sign is really similar to the Lazarus waters. He should have noticed it sooner, but in his defense, who would look at the bubbling pool of toxic waters and think, "Oh, that would make a dope neon sign"? Apparently, the owner of the "Afterlife".
The color might be just a coincidence.
...no, in the world he lives in, coincidences like this just don't happen. Besides, Jason doesn't believe in shit like fate or destiny.
So, here he is, on Saturday night, standing in front of the door to the Afterlife. It would have been funny if it wasn't so weird. What's even more weird is that the closer he gets to the door, the less nervous he feels, like the place is radiating some calming aura. Wait, no, scratch that, Jason is so not calling it a calming aura for God's sake. That sounds just like those homemade witches with their crystals, tarot readings, and whatnot.
He's going to call it... tranquilizer vibes. Yeah, that's better.
He takes a deep breath, getting ready to see whatever it is on the other side, pushes the door open, and walks into the bar.
...
Whatever he's been expecting to see, it's not this.
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