#steddie backdraft

[h3rmitsunited]

Backdraft: A Steddie Sky High (ish, but not really so much anymore) AU

Chapter 3 arrives Chapter 2 was Eddie freaking out, now we get Steve freaking out. TW: for basically an entire chapter of a panic attack.

Sky High AU tag

Ch1 , Ch2

Link to Ao3

Steve made it all the way to the driveway that led into the Forest Hills Trailer Park before his brain decided to kick him back into reality, screaming at him as his hands tightened on the steering wheel. ‘Hey Steve? You’re being a big stupid dipshit right now, like legitimately insane, and this is the worst idea you’ve ever had, so do not do this big dumb stupid idiotic and, did I mention, insane, thing!’

His brain was being honestly… like… a little dramatic. Sure, yes. He had broken into the student files at school to get Munson… Eddie… to get the guy’s address, but that was only because he wasn’t listed in the fucking phone book like a regular normal person would be, so he couldn’t just call him up on the phone to ask him what was up. And he couldn’t talk to him at school because he hadn’t bothered to even show up to school today, and it was Friday, so they were going into the weekend, which meant two long 24-hour days that he’d have to spend sitting at home and overthinking everything until Monday, and then who knows if Eddie would even show up on Monday either! So, sure, he stole the guy’s address. If he admitted that it was a little stalker-y, then it kind of cancelled out the creepiness, plus, like it wasn’t like he came here to fight Eddie or anything…

All Steve wanted was to have a calm, normal, rational discussion with the guy.

The guy that was the son of the man that tried to burn him to death.

And the guy that had burned his hand yesterday.

Steve glanced down at the thin white bandage wrapped around his palm, the tender wound giving a cursory throb underneath the fabric. He shook his head, trying to brush away the twinges of panic in his chest.

It was an accident. Yesterday.

It had to be.

It couldn’t have been…

He shook the train of thought off with a shudder, mostly because if he even allowed the possibility into his head that it could have been anything other than a silly little accident, he’d lose his fucking mind… well, more than he already had.

He just needed to clear the air. Talk with Munson… Eddie… Eddie Munson, son of Dean Munson, otherwise known as Arson, convicted arsonist, murderer and attempted murderer of little nine-year-old Steve Harrington, sentenced to life in prison with no opportunity for parole.

Fuck.

He slammed his head into the steering wheel, breathing shakily.

This was such a stupid idea.

Why hadn’t he called Robin? He should have. She would have talked him out of this.

He knew why he hadn’t. Mostly it was because he didn’t really want to be talked out of this.

Plus, Robin had left for some band performance out of town earlier tonight and she’d be on the bus until like midnight and then gone the entire rest of the weekend and he hadn’t told her anything about Eddie anyways. Not about what happened after she left the cafeteria yesterday. Not about the panic attack, or the burn, or… any of it. He wasn’t sure exactly why, maybe he just didn’t want her to worry, maybe he didn’t want her getting dragged into this if it was… something more than an accident. If Eddie was coming after him to finish his father’s job, he wouldn’t put Robin in harm’s way.

He just needed to know if there was an issue, if Eddie was a threat, and then… then he could tell Robin.

And he couldn’t wait.

He’d arrived to an empty house after dropping Robin off earlier after school and even walking in through the threshold was absolutely suffocating.

Alone in that dark, cold, hollow house.

Alone staring at the burn, stinging on his palm.

Alone thinking about brown frizzy curls and wide brown eyes on a face that kept morphing in his adrenaline-fueled mind, snapping and cracking as the bones formed into Eddie’s father, that yellow grin taunting him, the choking odor of smoke in his nostrils, the heat surrounding him, sweat pooling in the small of his back, panic blurring his vision and squeezing his lungs; a vice getting tighter and tighter, and he was back in his childhood bedroom, in that house that had burned down years ago, and he couldn’t see through the black air for the door to get out, and his throat felt like it was crushed and he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t get out, he was going to die all alone, he was only nine years old, he wanted his mom. Oh god, please, someone help, ple-

Steve gasped, drawing in a stuttering breath. He felt tears slip down his cheeks as he squeezed his eyes closed, his nails scratching up and down his thighs in a desperate attempt to ground himself.

He couldn’t be in that empty house. And he couldn’t wait to talk to Eddie.

So, he was here.

The sign for the trailer park looked eerie in the dim glow of the streetlight just down the road. The paint was chipped and faded and the cartoon like trees that were painted on the background looked like big dark spikes stabbing up through the words. Steve stared at it before glancing back down at the slip of paper resting on his center console. Eddie’s address, scribbled messily in the couple seconds he’d had alone in the office at school. It was more difficult to read now since he’d ripped it to pieces when he’d gotten home and thrown it in the trash. Because who did that? Stole someone’s address from their student file? Stalkers. Weird creepy stalkers did that. And Steve… he was normal. He was just a nice, normal guy. A guy who didn’t steal addresses and show up unannounced at people’s houses at 9:30pm.

That had been the plan, at least. Throw it out. Don’t think about it. Move on. Watch something stupid on TV and go to bed. Normal, well-adjusted 18-year-old shit.

And then, one minute, he’d been leaning against the counter in that cavernous kitchen in that echoing empty house, scooting a fork around a shitty lukewarm microwave meal, and the next he was digging through the trash like a manic raccoon, frantically taping the stupid fucking tiny papers back together before sprinting to his car and racing down the road.

Steve started pounding his head lightly against the steering wheel. His brain was going full force on the berating again.

‘God, this is weird. This is so fucking weird and stupid and… fucked up. You shouldn’t be here. Come on, Steve, why are you here? Why are you even here? Fuck, what would Robin say if she knew? She’d lose her fucking mind. She’d say something like…

“Steve-“

No, not Steve-

“Dingus, Eddie is the son of the guy that tried to literally burn you alive as a tiny little innocent baby boy-“

I was nine, Robin, I wasn’t a baby-

“I’ve seen the pictures, Steven. Nine year old you was a precious little sweet-faced baby boy. So, shut up. You saw how he was looking at you yesterday. Glaring at you like he wants to kill you. He hates you, he hates you so much, and you’re just gonna, what? Walk up to his door like a gift-wrapped murder present? Like, Ho Ho Ho Merry Christmas, I’m here for you to chop my limbs off and cook me up for dinner because… well, apparently you’re a cannibal now, too? Was he a cannibal? I thought he was just a like fire guy?”

Are you asking me?

“I am you. I’m literally just your thoughts with Robin’s voice. I think you might actually be losing it a little.”

I’m not. I’m fine.

“You are definitely not fine. You know you’re not fine, because if you were fine, then you would have told me, real Robin me, what happened after lunch yesterday with Eddie instead of committing an actual crime and stealing the guy’s address. Just go the fuck home before you do something stupid. Go home and call me tomorrow morning. And don’t talk to Eddie. What good could ever come from talking to a Munson?”’

Robin’s voice morphed into his father’s at the end and it took a second for him to shake off the tightness in his chest. Mean Brain Robin was probably right, at least, before she’d turned into Richard Harrington.

Or not right.

What was she even trying to tell him?

He was having trouble keeping track of the racing thoughts in his head. They were all just bunching up behind his eyes, sharp and throbbing, and he rubbed his fingers over his temples, willing the pain to go away before it turned into a full-blown migraine.

The pain had him clenching his hands into fists, drawing a throb of pain from the burn on his palm. He could feel his muscles shaking now, the constant anxiety that had been under his skin since hearing Eddie’s name yesterday, the flashes of flames flickering behind his eyelids. Usually, the pain was helpful. It grounded him, drew him back from the panic into what was real and what wasn’t.

But he couldn’t shake it that easily this time.

Not even by focusing on the facts. Arson, Dean Munson, Eddie’s father, that psychotic dickhead, was locked up for life. He was in the most secure prison because his parents had a lot of influence and never wanted that man to see the light of day again after what happened. There was no way that he was getting out, and there was no way Steve would see him again.

And Eddie was… not Dean Munson. He had fire powers, but he was… something else. Steve didn’t exactly know what, considering that he had barely three minutes interacting with the guy, but he couldn’t picture the Eddie that had referred to himself as a ‘regular metalhead nerdy shithead’ was made of that same psychotic stuff that his father was.

Steve knew how it felt when people looked at you and all they saw were your parents. Knew how the weight of those expectations could fuck you up, especially when you already had stuff that was fucking you up. He wanted to give Eddie the chance to be… not his father’s son.

All of this panic about Eddie being on some vengeful rampage to murder him now that he knew he existed and went to the same school was just… panic. Nonsense. Bullshit.

But that didn’t mean he could just think his way out of it. The panic, the thoughts, the worries, they were still there. That terrified little nine-year-old boy, crying in a hospital bed surrounded by black-suited strangers asking question after question, forced to wait alone for three days before his parents finally showed up, barely getting a hug from his mother before they raced out of the room again. He was still that kid, still trapped in his home, engulfed flames, his throat crushed in the grip of a man with a snarling grin, barely surviving only to be ignored and abandoned by the two people he relied on to protect and raise and love him.

He couldn’t push aside that part of him because that’s what every single person in his life had done. Nobody had listened to him, nobody had cared enough to comfort him through those fears, to hold him when he woke screaming for months after the fire, to get him the help he actually needed to be able to deal with this shit.

Steve sat up from the steering wheel, wiping a hand roughly over his face, taking another shaky breath. His skin was wet under his palm, and he cursed himself for being so fucking pathetic.

He was scared. And he hated it.

Even thinking the words, ‘I’m scared’ sent a hot flash of anger and shame up the back of his neck. He’d blame dear old dad for that one. Another souvenir from being raised by an invulnerable superpowered dickhead that never wanted to deal with a kid in the first place, especially not a traumatized one coming off a recent murder attempt.

‘Stop crying, Steven, for god’s sake. We are in public and you’re making a scene. It’s been months. You’re too old to be behaving like this. Go to your room if you’re going to sit here and cry like a baby. I don’t want to hear it anymore.’

The rage choked every nerve, sharp and tangled and thorny, digging in painfully tight so there was absolutely no way to ignore it. He hated the way it made him feel so out of control, hated how it made him look in the mirror and see his father’s sneer staring back, how it sucked the air out of his lungs, how it made him shout at Robin when it became too much, how she’d insist on forgiving him, on brushing it aside, but he could see how it hurt her, and it killed him.

And he was so tired of it.

Tired of living like a prisoner in his own house, of spending an extra hour checking every lock and door and window, of jumping at shadows, of choking at the faintest smell of smoke, of jerking awake throughout the night, soaked in sweat and gasping for air, of the desperation for something to come along to just stop… everything, just for a little while.

Tired of pretending he was okay to keep Robin from worrying.

Tired of seeing Dean Munson’s face behind his eyes every time he blinked.

Tired of walking around landmines whenever his parents graced him with their presence.

Tired of feeling trapped in his own body by these feelings that just constantly surged out of control. So angry. So scared. So everything. All the time.

He was tired of all of it.

But he finally had the opportunity to confront… something. Not Arson. Not his parents. But… something.

Eddie scared the shit out of him, but he was inside one of those trailers. He was here and he’d hurt him and the least he could fucking do is apologize and tell Steve that he wasn’t plotting his murder or whatever. Steve wasn’t going to just sit at home and wait around like a scared little kid for something to happen.

Not this time.

So, Steve turned the car off. He pocketed his keys and grabbed the taped together paper the address was written on. He grabbed the door handle. He took a breath.

He took another breath.

He closed his eyes.

“Fuck, I can’t do this.”

He shook his head, clenching his jaw.

“No. I can. I’m doing it. Just open the fucking door, Steve. Open the door and just walk.”

His hand tightened around the door handle. He felt like crying. He felt like punching a hole in something.

“Don’t be a fucking pussy. Goddammit!” He bit the insides of his cheeks and forced the door open so hard it whipped back and almost smacked him in the arm. Didn’t matter. It was fine. Because he was getting up. He was getting up from the seat in the car and he was standing, and he was taking a step and this was great. This was going great and fine, and-

“Nope. Nope. No. Can’t do it.” He stopped in his tracks, just past the entrance to the trailer park. What if Eddie opened the door and just fucking blasted him? What if he needed to get out of here fast? His car was parked all the way out here. But if he parked inside, he’d have to maneuver around all this shit in here. He was a fast runner. He could probably make it out faster than Eddie. But maybe it’d be better not to risk it. He could park it somewhere inside where it wasn’t-

“No. Just go,” he muttered to himself. He knew if he got back into his car, he’d end up in another thirty-minute spiral. He just needed to keep walking. His fists clenched at his side, and he breathed through the throb of pain and kept putting one foot in front of the other.

It was dark, but there was something about the trailer park that felt so alive compared to his house. The rusting bikes that were leaned up against the worn panels on the outside of the homes, the murmur of voices and television sets coming through the thin walls. He could hear a couple of dogs barking off somewhere he couldn’t see, back and forth like they were arguing over something. If things were different, it might have felt nice, comfortable, but instead it just made him feel like he was being watched, like he was intruding on a world he didn’t belong in.

Just a ghost in the wrong place.

Steve clenched the paper in his fingers, repeating the address in his head, trying to stay focused. Six. He needed to find trailer number six.

He passed by number five, his heart pounding wildly. He could just barely make out the number on the trailer next door, the curve of it just visible enough that his anxiety was spiking even more, but not enough to get him to turn around. It would have been better if he had.

Steve felt himself trembling as he walked up the dirt path to the dimly lit trailer, his eyes trained on the door, intently focused on the task at hand. He took a hesitant step up the stairs and raised his fist, breathing in and-

"Can I help you, son?"

A gruff voice came from the dark porch parallel to the stairs. Steve yelped, nearly stumbling off the step, catching himself at the last second. His eyes searched in the shadows, his vision slowly adjusting as a man came into view, the cherry of his cigarette burning red by his lips.

It was-

“No,” Steve whispered, horrified, his stomach dropping to the ground. “You’re supposed to be-“

He completely forgot that he was standing on the edge of the stairs, and took a step back, falling to the ground with a sharp cry. His ankle caught the edge of the step, jolting painfully to the side, sending sharp pains up the nerves in his legs.

He wouldn’t be able to run. He couldn’t even move.

The pounding of his heart seemed to freeze completely, the air like a rock in his lungs. His fingers tore at his chest, shaking violently, as he struggled to breathe.

"No, no, no," Steve gasped, screaming at his body to just fucking move, run, do something, but he couldn't get his muscles to cooperate. He could hear the creak of wood, the muttered cursing of that man. That monster.

Steve had been wrong. Dean Munson wasn’t in prison. He was out. He was here. And Steve had walked right into his trap. And Eddie, fuck, he had to be in on it. He wanted him dead. They both wanted him dead.

He couldn’t breathe. He could feel the hands on his neck. It was hot. It was so fucking hot and he couldn’t breathe.

"Fuck!" Steve’s body finally reacted, letting him twist onto his stomach, crawling across over the dirt towards a pile of trash next to the trailer.

"Hey, kid. You okay? What the- Son, now what in the hell are you doin'?"

His ankle was screaming with the movement, chest aching, jaw throbbing as he clenched it tighter, teeth creaking as they pressed together. His head was getting lighter as the lack of oxygen worked against him. His father was right, he was just a fucking coward. He was a coward, and he was going to die.

Dean Munson was behind him. He was a few steps away from finishing the job and Steve was just laying there. He was just going to let it happen. He could see his vision fading at the edges, darkness creeping in as the panic surged like a tsunami crashing over him.

Pathetic. Weak. Coward.

Not this time.

Steve gritted his teeth, spying the flash of a glass bottle in the pile of trash.

A hand brushed over his shoulder.

"Kid? You okay?"

Steve’s hand wrapped around the neck of the bottle and his vision went dark.

___

Taglist: @marivictal

[h3rmitsunited]

Backdraft: A Steddie Sky High AU (sort of)

Chapter 4 is posted!

Read on Ao3

Summary:

Eddie finds the aggressive visitor at their trailer. Steve gets a little help. Wayne practices his patience.

[h3rmitsunited]

Ao3 First Lines

Got tagged by @hbdttg Thanks!

Rules: post the first lines of your 10 most recently published ao3 stories (if you have less than 10 fics posted, post the first lines of all your fics)

For Whom the Bell(Hop) Tolls - Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency - WIP - 8.6k

It was a name like any other name, and by that, he meant it had letters and was words that were meant to refer to a person.

Backdraft - Stranger Things (Steddie) - WIP - 14.0k

Steve was sitting at the lunch table, two weeks after the start of school.

Leaky Pipes - Stranger Things (Steddie) - Complete - Rated E - 8.1k

There was an awkward moment of silence when Eddie swung the front door open and came face-to-face with what was most likely the hottest man he had ever seen.

Stolen Pleasures - Stranger Things (Steddie) - Complete - Rated E - 3.1k

He was panting like he was running a marathon, fingers scratching and digging into Eddie's back, lips hanging open and eyes squeezed closed.

Tiger Stripes - Stranger Things (Steddie) - Complete - 1.8k

The Party gets used to looking out for signs that Eddie is hurt.

A Blanket Bed in the Corner - Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency - Complete - 2.1k

They get to Hobbs’ small house late that night.

Silver & Honey - The Witcher - WIP - Rated E - 68.6k

Geralt shoved through the crumbling remains of the door, stumbling into the space that the portal had just been.

Just Wear the Blue One - Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency - Complete - 2.9k

"Todd, relax," Dirk said, wiggling his feet on the floor as he sat watching Todd from the end of the bed. "It's going to be fine."

The Valentine’s Bunny - Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency - Complete - 2.6k

Todd woke up, mostly as he usually did, bleary-eyed, aches and tight muscles shouting at him, because as much as he would like to think he was still a somewhat young man, he was in his thirties and people in their thirties apparently didn’t get to wake up without some part of their body reminding them of that fact, and letting out a half-groan/half-yawn that Dirk loves to make fun of him for.

We’ll Never Let You Go - Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency - Complete - 1.5k

Dirk watches Todd walk away.

I was surprised to see that these were all posted (almost) in just the past year (plus like a month and a half). I feel like I’ve been in such a slump, but also I’ve written, and actually posted way more than I had in a lot of my other years on Ao3, so like, kudos to myself lol.

Tagging (if you want to or you haven’t already been tagged somewhere else because I don’t pay enough attention to this): @generalized-incompetence @clockworkcheetah @goatyoat @krikkiter68

[h3rmitsunited]

Backdraft: A Steddie Sky High AU

A chapter 2??? A chapter of Eddie freaking out?? Over 6000 words???

Sky High AU tag

Read on Ao3

Chapter 1

"Shit… shit-fuck-shit-fucking-fuck. Come on. Come on, you fucking-" Eddie's hands were shaking as he held his arm under faucet, flames still licking angrily up his wrist. The water splashed over the fire, sizzling and sending puffs of hot steam into the air, but didn't seem to make the flame any smaller.

He knew it wouldn't.

Water only helped sometimes, but only when he was calmer, when he was able to allow the water to do what it was supposed to. He was way too amped up right now. All of his nerves prickled violently under his skin like they were seconds from igniting, desperate to burn that energy off.

He'd been doing well. He’d been doing so fucking well.

Someone rattled the door handle to the bathroom. He flinched, watery eyes darting to the makeshift barricade of a frantically placed mop stuck between the handle and one of the stalls. Whoever was out there gave it a hard shake, and Eddie held his breath. He heard someone mutter outside, giving another couple of bangs on the door before it went quiet. A shaky breath trembled out of his mouth as he listened to the set of footsteps walking away.

He needed it to stop. The roaring burn in his ears, the high-pitched whine of panic. He just needed to claw it back into his body, deep down and suffocate it until it shut up for a few goddamn minutes.

Nobody could see him like this. Not when they were barely two weeks into the school year and his poor excuse for a guidance counselor was already breathing down his neck about being one fuck up away from another suspension.

'Keep it under control, Munson. You start flaming in the hallways and they're gonna have to cuff you again.'

His wrist spasmed under the flow of water like it was reacting to the memory of last year. One too many accidents… and even if he didn’t hurt anybody, every time he flared up, people got nervous. The people in charge got nervous.

Three weeks. They’d cuffed him for three agonizing weeks. Left him powerless and so numbed out that he was barely aware of anything that was going on. Couldn’t even find it in himself to care about the way that Wayne looked at him or the mocking words of the other kids at school.

After they finally took them off, everything crashed into him like a speeding train, and he spent two days smoldering in the empty cement pool at the edge of the trailer park, vacillating wildly between anger and panic and sadness and fear. He could finally register the worry laid into Wayne’s expression, the exhausted shadows under his eyes, the clench of his fists. Eddie knew those three weeks hadn’t just been hell on him, but on Wayne too, and he didn’t hesitate to agree when Wayne made him swear not to let that happen ever again.

And he’d been trying. He’d been trying so hard.

But they just didn’t want him to get out of this place intact.

They didn't treat the fucking Hero track kids like this. Those dickheads got to strut around picking up lunch tables with their stupid magic muscles and flying up to get kittens out of trees, and everyone would just ooh and ahh like it was the coolest thing, while the kids like him, the freaks with powers that made people uncomfortable, that were inherently destructive, that had parents locked away, never to see the light of day again; they had to keep their powers chained up tight. They were treated time bombs, like there was no point to treating them like they could be anything but disasters.

Risk Management Track. That was the… political term for it. It’s about creating a safer world, they said, a safer future, a safer population. Bullshit.

Everyone knew Risk Management was future villain culling, a direct pipeline to prison. They slap a bright red warning label on your forehead, tell you that you’re a danger to society and set you up to fail, and then when you inevitably do, they take your powers away… permanently, or they lock you up.

Eddie was already on thin ice, which… well, as a guy that could blast fire out of his hands, the ice wasn’t somewhere he wanted to be. He’d failed what was supposed to be his final year last year, he’d already been cuffed once, and he’s been around enough to have heard the rumors that you only get three chances. The fourth fuck up and you’re done.

No more powers.

The flames curled around his forearm, stroking over the dark tattoo inked under his elbow. It should be a reassurance, the feeling almost soothing, but knowing that he wasn’t supposed to use his powers, made the sensation sour.

Just fuck off already, stupid fucking fire…

He had planned to keep his head down this year. Less stress on his uncle, less trouble for him, and maybe the assholes that liked slamming him up against the wall behind the school to teach him a lesson or whatever shit they called it, would lose interest. He hadn’t helped his reputation much last year with his tendency to get worked up and rant up on the lunch tables about the injustice inherent in the system, mostly considering that they usually sounded like the dramatic monologue the villains make before the execute their evil master plan.

So if he just didn’t…

No.

No. Even if he didn't do that, even if he was on his best behavior, they'd still look at him like he was a bomb just waiting to go off. Like he was one misstep away from becoming his father. They were just looking for an excuse to take his powers away for good.

Fuck.

Oh fuck.

And he'd just given them the perfect one.

His stomach sank, his hands coming up to grip the edge of the sink.

Steve Harrington.

He had been shaking his hand.

He had been shaking his fucking hand when he…

He'd burned him.

The fucking kid his father had tried to burn alive, and he… he…

The flames on his hand flared up in a second, violently matching the pounding of his heart. They covered the sleeve of his jacket, licking at the bottom of his hair. Eddie squeezed his eyes shut, grinding his teeth together.

He was fucked.

He was so goddamn fucked he couldn’t even try to laugh about it.

There was no way that anyone was going to believe he'd done it by accident. Not at this school. Not him.

Someone that had done… that… by accident would have apologized, tried to make sure the guy was okay, not run off like a coward, locking himself in the bathroom because he couldn't face the music. 

And man, was that music loud, just screaming and screeching in his ears.

You deserve to be cuffed, Eddie. You were always going to end up just like your father, Eddie. Your uncle has wasted nine years of his life fighting the inevitable, Eddie. You’re a fuck up and that’s all you’re ever going to be, and they might as well put you down now before you hurt anyone else.

"Fuck," he breathed out, shakily. "FuckfuckfuckfuckfuckFUCK."

Wayne was going to be so disappointed.

His other arm erupted into flames, wrapping around his back and chest and Eddie stumbled back from the sink, shoving into one of the stalls and falling to the floor between the toilet and the wall. He squeezed his arms tightly over his knees, rocking back and forth, panting heavily, eyes closed. The roar of his fire nearly covered the sound of his pounding hear.

It took a minute before he could register another sound. The soft echoes of music around his neck (thank goodness for fireproof cassette players). He reached quickly to tug the headphones back up to his ears. His favorite mixtape was still playing, one of the last songs on the playlist, but a good one, loud and fast and hard. He needed it, desperately.

He turned it up louder, letting the music overtake everything else. The panic, the fear, Harrington and that weird look on the guy's face, the inevitability of having his powers taken away, the heat of the fire on his own skin, the way it felt so good, how he just wanted to let himself enjoy the feeling of it, but he couldn’t because it was bad, and he was bad.

The guitar screeched in his ears, cutting off those thoughts.

He kept breathing, letting the air draw deeper into his lungs with each breath, rocking against the bathroom wall and clenching and unclenching his fists. His lips started subconsciously mouthing along with the words, head lightly bouncing with the beat.

Breathe, Eddie.

His fingers followed along with the notes of the guitar, he could feel the uncontrolled heat shifting, absorbing back into his body, circling around his fingers like the press of his rings, physical and rough like the feeling of guitar strings. He liked when his fire was like this, responding to his movements, part of him instead of something he had to fight against. He wished people could see that too, but they were too afraid, too judgmental.

For good reason, his mind supplied, unhelpfully as Harrington's face appeared back in his head. The fire flared hotter, and he knocked his head against the wall, focusing on the pressure on the back of his scalp.

Guitar. Drums. Loud. Breathe.

It took ages before he finally managed to drag the fire back into his skin, wincing at the discomfort of it. It took another few minutes before he was able to stand back up without his legs collapsing out from under him. He was exhausted. He hadn’t a flare up that bad since… since a while. Months. They took a lot out of him every time. He’d usually end up passing out for hours afterwards, and if he wasn’t expecting an entire squadron of security guards wielding fire extinguishers and handcuffs to be waiting outside the doors, he might have just flopped back and taken a nap right there in the corner of the bathroom stall.

But he couldn’t hide forever.

Eddie expected to be tackled the second he walked out, but the hall was empty. Other than the soft echoes of teachers talking in the classrooms down the hall, it was quiet.

Eddie swallowed.

What the hell did he do now?

Go to class and wait for the executioner's axe to drop? Run to his shitty guidance counselor to confess and just hope that by getting there first, they'd be more likely to buy his excuse? Try to track Harrington down to explain himself?

He wondered if the school had warned Harrington that he was here. It would have been smart if they had. Not that Eddie was planning to hurt the guy, but he figured Harrington at least deserved to know that the son of his attempted murderer was here wandering the halls. They hadn’t given Eddie a heads up on it, which obviously was not a great plan considering what just happened, though he couldn’t be sure that they hadn’t intended for something like this to happen, so they could finally just get rid of him once and for all.

Eddie couldn’t tell if Harrington had known who he was when Eddie had walked outside and asked if he was okay, or if he was just as blindsided by the introductions as Eddie was. Though… Eddie hadn’t given him his last name… had he? Maybe he still doesn’t know.

He's not sure if that’d be better or worse than him knowing.

Eddie thought back on the interaction, on how panicked the guy had been crouched by the wall, like he couldn't breathe. How he'd asked if Eddie had been staring at him, that he'd looked like he wanted to... what had he said? Wanted to stab him with a plastic fork or something? He'd been scared of him. 

So... he knew?

But then... then he smiled. He'd relaxed and smiled and shook his hand. And more importantly, he'd taken Eddie's word. He'd acted like he believed that Eddie hadn't been trying to stare murder daggers into his back.

So, no, he must not have known who he was, then. There's no way he would have shaken his hand or stood there talking to him if he knew that he was the son of the man that tried to kill him eight years ago.

The skin of his hands prickled in a warning, and he knew he was moments away from flaring up again. He didn’t have the energy to deal with that again, so he needed to stop thinking about this.

He wasn’t going to class. It only took a couple of steps to realize he was way too tired to even try. And he couldn't leave school. The shuttles back down to the parking lot wouldn't start running until after the last class, so he was stuck up here for at least a couple more hours. The benefits of going to a school that’s stuck a mile in the air, he thought sarcastically.

Telling his guidance counselor what happened seemed like a pretty shitty option too, since they seemed way too eager to fuck his life up, and he’d basically assaulted the son of two of their most important alumni.

Not basically. He did. He just hoped he hadn't burned the guy too badly.

Eddie groaned, scrubbing his hand over his face. His feet started moving before he registered where he was going. He had one place here that he could hide out, at least until the consequences of his actions tracked him down.

_____

"Okay?" Mr. Hammond… Benny, as Eddie called him when the other students weren’t around, glanced up from the car he was pointing into the hood of, giving him a pointed look. He was surrounded by a group of what looked like toddlers (were freshmen really that small, what the fuck?) who stared over with wide eyes.

Eddie pressed his lips together, nodding hesitantly before eyeing the door at the back of the garage. Benny knew him well enough to see the anxiety in his expression and he rolled his eyes and waved him off. "Go on. She's still in there."

Eddie huffed a relieved sigh, forcing himself to walk to the door, rather than run despite the urge otherwise. He ignored the stares from the younger students and Benny snapped his fingers a few times.

"Alright, alright, focus back on me. Supercars don't fix themselves… well, some of them do, but we’ll get to those next semest-" Benny’s voice faded out of Eddie’s ears as he walked across the room.

Eddie would never be able to repay everything that Benny had done for him over the years. He was an old friend of Wayne's, back when his uncle had been working as a truck driver and Benny worked in some shithole diner on the side of a road in the middle of nowhere that just happened to frequently be on Wayne’s routes. They chatted and became friends over the years, even when life took them in different directions.

Benny had a similar story to Eddie; mom gone, his dad was locked up when he was still pretty young, but old enough to understand what was happening, family never had much money, and he had a power that made people scared of him. He was an incredibly hard worker, though, and with everything he went through; it never made him mean. After he left that diner, he kicked around in a few jobs, ended up finding out he made a fairly decent mechanic and learned enough to get a job at the school teaching sidekicks… hero support… how to work on complicated superhero cars.

And lucky for Eddie… and Wayne… that he did, because Eddie had been a mess, still was, obviously, but he'd been... a different mess then.

Young, scared, emotionally volatile, way too recently got his powers at the same time his father was being sentenced to life for what he’d done with his. Wayne tried hard to be there for him, but he’d never had to deal with a traumatized kid with the ability to throw fireballs out of his hands when he got pissed off or overwhelmed or frustrated or any burst of emotion, which apparently just happens way too much when you hit puberty. He just couldn’t handle it all on his own and the school administrators were absolutely no help, pushing him to get him on sedatives or temporary cuffs and aggressively bad “power control” counseling that was barely a step up from a dog shock collar.

But then Benny was just… there. He didn’t know what Wayne had told him, but after a particularly argument that led into a three hour long flare up, the next day at school, Eddie was sent into the basic supercar mechanics class and kept after class for a short talk that led into longer and longer talks week after week and then Eddie didn’t feel like he was so alone in this. It still sucked, but he had someone that understood and that helped. He couldn't change how everyone treated Eddie, but he could give him a safe space to retreat to breathe just for a little while.

After the first year, Eddie didn’t need the excuse of a class to go to him. Benny always had his back office and had told Eddie that whenever he needed it, whenever, the door was open, and he'd deal whatever crap the administrators wanted to give him for skipping.

The door to the office creaked as he pushed it open. Eddie breathed in the scent of grease and oil, shuffling past a few cluttered tables and drawers with tools and books stacked on top of them, and walked around a shelf into the small area behind it, barely big enough for the ratty sofa shoved against the wall and a coffee table made of a couple boxes. A familiar black guitar case was propped up in the corner.

Something released in his chest just by looking at it.

Eddie tossed his backpack to the floor, snatching the case up in his hands. He dropped down onto the couch with a grunt, pulling the case against his chest and folding himself over it, like he was trying to meld it into his body.

The weight of it, the smell, the feel of the stretched leather; it was enough to drain another wave of the panic away, even with the guitar still safely closed away.

His hands warmed as he dug his blunt fingernails into the surface of the case. Worn black leather, scratched and scraped and slightly burned in a few places, roughened by the years and an anxious teenager that had needed something to get his panicked little fire hands on.

Eddie drew in another deep breath, snapping the latches open. A shiver of anticipation crawled over his spine, like it did every time he pulled the old girl out. He had often joked that it was more exciting to unlatch a guitar case than it was unbuttoning someone's jeans, and he was sure his buddies thought he was joking more than he actually was.

The hinges of the case crackled softly as he lifted the lid, breath catching in his throat as he caught sight of her. An old, scratched acoustic, the Gibson name nearly worn off the head. She was beautiful.

Eddie reached over to lean the case against the side of the couch, and laid the guitar flat across his thighs.

There were a couple of char marks laid into the dulled finish and a dark black ring around the neck, but, luckily, he'd never been so lost in himself that he caused any severe damage to the poor thing.

The guitar pulled his focus, giving him something to latch onto when the… everything got too much, and his fire seemed to respond well to having the direct intention in his actions, as opposed to the chaos that he usually ended up falling into.

He kept his thoughts neutral as he brushed the pads of his fingers lightly over the strings. The sound sent a shiver up his back, and not a good one. He hadn't played her since spring, before he’d gotten into trouble, and she was achingly out of tune.

Eddie tutted softly, secretly pleased to have a task to distract him. He hoped that he could get her sorted out before reality came to drag him away.

"Sorry, sweetheart. Benny hasn't been taking care of you, huh?" 

He tugged his headphones down again around his neck, and clicked the tape off, setting it aside, and started to get to work. His tongue jutted out as he carefully and quietly picked at the strings and twisted the knobs into the right places. By the time that strumming a few chords didn't sound like a discordant mess, Benny was leaning in the doorway with a careful look on his face.

“She missed you,” Benny said, smiling softly. Eddie nodded with a soft sigh, looking back down at the strings and giving a pointed strum. Benny took a step inside the office, pushing a few books off of one of the low chests of drawers, and sat carefully on top of it. He cocked his head and Eddie knew he wasn’t getting out of here without answering a few questions. "What happened?"

Eddie sighed again. Benny knew. He always knew when something was wrong. He picked at one of the strings with his thumbnail and shrugged. Benny stayed quiet, just watching and waiting.

Benny couldn’t help, not with this. He’d messed things up too badly this time to be able to smooth things over. He just wanted to pretend like he hadn’t, just for a little while.

"Nothing.”

“Eddie.”

“Benny.”

“You look tired, kid.”

Eddie nodded, knowing what Benny was getting at immediately. “Yeah. Flared up a little in the bathroom. It’s… it’s fine.”

He could feel Benny’s frown without even looking up, the weight of the concern being sent his way pressing onto his shoulders.

“Been a while since that happened.”

Eddie nodded again. “Yeah. I know.”

Benny stood up quietly, walking back past the shelf to the front section of his office. Eddie could hear the soft pop of a fridge door opening and then shutting, and Benny walked back, setting a bottle of Yoohoo and a wrapped sandwich on the makeshift table. Eddie eyed them, but didn’t make to pick them up yet.

“’M not really hungry.” Eddie tightened his grip on the guitar as his stomach growled loudly. He huffed in irritation and Benny laughed.

“Right,” Benny added sarcastically. Eddie rolled his eyes and set the guitar aside, picking up the bottle and giving it a few shakes before popping the cap off and taking a sip.

The too-sweet flavor washed away the layer of musty smoke that always coated his mouth after a bad flare-up.

“Should I be worried, Eddie?” Benny was sitting on the chest of drawers again, watching him.

Eddie snorted softly, taking another mouthful of Yoohoo.

“Aren’t you always?”

Benny seemed to pick up on that Eddie wasn’t ready to talk about what happened, and he didn't push. He knew well enough not to. He just nodded. "Alright. You know where to find me if you want to start sharing.” He glanced around the room. “You need anything else?"

Eddie shook his head, biting his lip.

"I don’t… is it okay if I stay here until classes are over?"

Benny huffed, cocking his head.

"You gonna make a habit of it?"

Eddie shook his head. "Nah. Just today..."

Benny nodded again, staying quiet for a moment. "Learn anything new?" He motioned at the guitar. Eddie was grateful for the change in subject, needing the distraction. He half-heartedly nodded.

"Couple things… You wanna hear 'em?"

Benny snorted. "Well, what else am I gonna listen to? You know the radio up here is crap."

Eddie nodded in agreement, grinning back at him, before setting the half-empty bottle aside and dragging the guitar into his lap again. He had a few new favorites that wouldn't sound as good on an acoustic as they did on his precious, true love that he kept safely in his bedroom at the trailer, but they’d still sound alright, and it was the playing mattered, the movement of his fingers, the attention, the distraction.

He played, relishing in the sensations on his fingers, the sound of the notes pulling and humming together, filling the empty air around him, letting everything else fall away. He could feel the swirls of heat at his fingertips, curling up his wrists, pushing down the fear and doubt and worry. He opened his eyes, catching the warm, gentle glow of his fire wrapping around the body of the guitar, dancing up the strings, sparking harmlessly in the air to the rhythm. It didn't burn, just danced, happily, flickering and warm and… safe…

Sadness caught in his chest. He loved this, loved being able to let his power out, to shine and glow and meld with the music he made, but it wasn’t… he wasn’t… he was dangerous.

How could he enjoy this now? After having undeniable proof that he was just meant to hurt people. After burning someone because he was just… surprised.

Maybe it was better if they took it away.

He pulled the fire back in, laying the guitar aside. Silence filled the room again. It hurt, pressing at his ear drums like how they felt before popping as he rode the shuttle up to the school. He didn't deserve the music though.

He curled up on the end of the couch, folding his legs up as much as he could with the tight pants he was wearing and closed his eyes. 

Just a little longer and he could leave. He could leave and talk to Wayne and Wayne would talk him down from the ledge… again, reassure him, help him figure out what to do.

His fingers crawled up to his head, digging into his hair, tugging the strands until the pressure was just right to ease something in his body and pull him into a heavy and aching sleep.

______

"Eddie."

Eddie sniffled, letting out a tired groan. He shifted and his hand caught in his hair, pulling a few strands uncomfortably hard.

“Wake up, kid.”

Eddie groaned again, blinking his eyes open blearily, expecting the familiar posters and faded wallpaper of his bedroom in the trailer and Wayne peeking his head around the door. He jerked up, fire flaring at his fingertips, when he wasn’t in the trailer, his hand still stuck in his hair.

“Fuck,” he hissed. He could feel his rings tangled around a big chunk of his frizzy curls, and the flames that were burning hot around his hand.

Eddie's eyes darted around, quickly trying to determine where he was, who was speaking, if he was safe. Benny waved at him from the doorway, wisely standing at a safe distance away. Eddie wouldn't forget about the time he'd burned one of his eyebrows off when Benny tried to nudge him awake, and he was sure Benny hadn't forgotten either, even if he insisted Eddie hadn't needed to apologize.

Eddie huffed out a relieved sigh, recognition washing over him and cutting the strings that had pulled his muscles taut as he’d woken up. He slumped against the back of the sofa, half-heartedly tugging at the tangled mass on his head. He felt hungover despite not having anything to drink, his body feeling like it'd been dragged ten miles down a road covered in broken glass.

Benny tutted at him, grabbed a pair of thick gloves off of one of the shelves and wandering over while pulling them on.

"Last bell just rang.” Benny gently grabbed Eddie’s hand, the gloves keeping him from getting burned by the fire that was slowly getting smaller as Eddie’s panic settled. He started working to get his hair free and Eddie closed his eyes, focusing on pulling the fire back in. “You ready to go?”

Eddie groaned and scrubbed his hand over his face, feeling the seam of the armrest imprinted on the side of his face. Great...

“As much as I ever am,” he said, very much lacking any enthusiasm. He could feel one of his rings come free and Benny passed it down for him to hold in his other hand.

“Hmm, very believable.”

Another ring came free and some of the tight pressure on his scalp released. Eddie let out a sigh.

“Benny?” Eddie asked carefully. Benny’s fingers paused for a moment before starting to work again on the last ring.

“Yeah?”

Eddie swallowed tightly. “Just… I wanted to… thank you. I mean, for letting me come here, you know?”

Benny’s fingers stilled again, this time Eddie watched the gloved hands come down off his scalp and move to his shoulders, holding him in place as Benny leaned down and sat on the box table behind him, now face-to-face. His expression was serious.

“You know how that sounds, don’t you? You’re making me real worried, kid. You planning on doing something stupid?”

Eddie shifted under Benny’s gaze. He clenched his jaw and shook his head. Not really a lie. He’d already done the stupid thing, though if it was smarter to turn himself in, then maybe he was still being stupid.

Benny huffed and shook his head. Eddie knew the look on his face. Disappointment and resignation. It ached to look at and Eddie tugged the last ring free of his hair, pulling a few strands of hair along with it and then busied himself with putting the guitar away.

“You know I’m not gonna push you on this. But whatever it is that happened, or that you’re thinking about doing, because I know you, kid, and I know there’s something going on, you gotta talk to someone, okay? If not me, then your uncle, or one of those friends of yours. You got people that care about you, that want to see you make it outta this place.”

The fire that had been wrapped around his hands when he woke was out. He could still feel it thrumming under his skin, ready for the next emotional outburst to burst to life, but for the moment, he could feel safe. He finished latching the guitar case closed and set it to the side, avoiding Benny’s face.

“Can you promise me you’ll talk to someone? Please? You know bottling this shit up isn’t good for you.”

Eddie pressed his lips into a tight line, fiddling with his rings as he slipped them back on his fingers. “You gonna call Wayne?” He hesitantly looked up at Benny.

“Do you want me to? He’s gonna know something is up the second you get home anyways, Eddie.”

He was right. Wayne had gotten scarily good at reading him over the years. If he went back home, Wayne was going to see right through him. Eddie shook his head.

“No. I’ll… I’ll talk to him when I get home. I promise. Thanks, Benny.”

He pushed himself up off the sofa, taking the sandwich that Benny shoved into his hand and snatched up his backpack, tossing it over his shoulder. He gave a bright grin and patted Benny on the shoulder before walking out into the garage. He could see students out on the sidewalks heading towards the buses and shuttles, laughter and shouting echoing through the propped-open door.

"Eddie," Benny said behind him, his voice stern.

Eddie's lips tightened. "Yeah?" His heart was racing in his chest.

"Say hello to your uncle for me. We're due for a beer sometime."

Eddie released the breath he didn't know he was holding, twisting around to give a haphazard salute to his teacher... mentor... friend... guy, and then started walking out the doors, falling into the crowd.

He was used to people looking at him. It was part of the performance. Give them something to talk about, something to pull their attention. They'd be talking about him anyways and at least this way he could pull their little puppet strings a little bit. Why talk about stupid boring things like his dad or the trailer park he lives in or the fact that one time when he wasn't paying enough attention, someone caught him staring at that boy in the locker room, when they could instead whisper about his awesome wild hair or his excellent taste in loud screeching music or the sweet tattoos that stuck out of his sleeves, usually not with as many complimentary adjectives, but, at least, they noticed?

Today though, he hated it. The eyes, the whisper, the voices. It felt like everyone knew, knew what he’d done. His mind warped the words he could just barely overhear people saying around him.

(Is that him? -- Did you hear what he did to the Harrington kid? -- Oh my god, he’s a total freak. -- Why don’t they just lock him up already? -- You know his dad’s a villain, right?)

He ducked into the back of the line for the shuttle, gritting his teeth, his eyes darting back and forth, searching for the armed guards that he was expecting to burst out of the school doors and drag him away. He desperately tried to push the thoughts out of his head.

They weren’t saying any of that, you’re being paranoid, you fucking crazy bastard. You always do this. Just breathe.

His arms itched uncomfortably, and he shoved his hands into his pockets, fumbling for the rubber bands that he always kept in them. Eddie worked them over his fingers, fidgeting and snapping the bands, concentrating on breathing, keeping his eyes forward, unfocused, until he noticed that someone was looking back, meeting his gaze.

Harrington.

One of the rubber bands melted in his hand.

He hissed in irritation, flicking off the warm rubber dangling out of his palm onto the ground. When he looked back up, Harrington was gone, just a glimpse of brown hair walking up the steps into one of the shuttles. It filled up, leaving him to stand and wait for the next one, which was good because he knew he was not emotionally capable of being anywhere near that guy right now, and it would definitely put everyone in that vehicle flying a mile above ground level at risk of exploding horribly.

He hadn't looked... well, Eddie didn't know. He was never good at reading facial expressions, and Steve seemed like someone that didn't like people knowing how he was feeling, not that he even knows the guy at all, besides the one interaction that ended with him burning his hand... so Eddie was mostly basing that on the fact that he'd found him earlier next to a dumpster alone and mid-panic attack behind the school, and he had seemed agitated at the fact that Eddie was there.

Just now though, he didn’t seem particularly surprised to see him… which hopefully means that he wasn’t expecting Eddie to have been dragged off in handcuffs…

He didn't think there was a way to interpret Steve's expression in a way that would give him the answer to all... or any of the questions circling in his head, the most panic-inducing and prominent of them being, did you tell anyone what happened; and the second, are you okay, so he was probably just going to have to wait and see what happens.

Which was less than ideal because Eddie was not the most patient of people. It was a good thing that his body was resistant to heat damage because he probably would have no taste buds left in his mouth with how hot he drinks his coffee every morning. He at least pours it into a mug, but that's mostly because Wayne drew the line at drinking straight out of their shared coffee pot.

It took another five minutes for the next shuttle to arrive, and then ten more to actually fly down to the parking lot, and then another five to try to remember where the hell he'd parked his van that morning, and he didn't see any sign that Harrington was still around by the time he made it to his door, grateful that nobody was waiting there to hassle him today.

He threw in a tape, turned his music up, and drove. His heart started pounding as he pulled closer to the trailer park, to Wayne, to having to talk about what had happened.

Eddie watched the sign for Forest Hills as he blew past it.

He’d go home later.

It was fine. He wasn’t avoiding Wayne, he just needed…

…Gas. He needed gas.

He carefully ignored the dash indicating that his tank was still about half-full.

He’d get gas, pick up a couple beers to bring back to Wayne and they could loosen up a little while they talk, because he really doesn’t feel safe talking about this while he’s sober. Seems like a recipe for disaster. For both of them.

Yeah, good plan. Great plan, Eddie. Gas, pack of beer, then home.

Then…

Then.

His hands tightened on the steering wheel, digging into the grooves that he’d melted into the plastic over the years. And he drove.

[h3rmitsunited]

Backdraft: A Steddie Sky High AU. Read on AO3. Read on tumblr.

I gave it a name… because the goblins have grabbed me.

(First post)(Eddie drawing)(Eddie drawing 2)(Steddie comic)

Did I get myself so obsessed with this AU that I wrote a thing and drew another silly little thing? Yes. I did. It was against my will, I swear. Fucking assholes grabbed a hold of my brain and dragged me kicking and screaming into this shit. And yeah, I haven’t really had the motivation to draw anything or write anything worth posting in months, so I am glad to have some motivation again, but I got other stuff I was gonna work on (and a huge test for my career coming up in like less than two months that I need to study for, so I do NOT have time for this)…

I’d like to say that this is just going to be a one shot, but my brain is not in the habit of listening to me, so we’ll see where it goes. Maybe will be a chapter fic, maybe a series of one shots in the AU universe, maybe I’ll post this and never touch it again. Who knows…

Let me know if you guys like any of this. I’m having fun with it, but it’s also validating to see that people like seeing it too. I am a fragile arteest with a need for kind words.

Also, like send me questions about this AU because I need to flesh it out and the prompting helps. (Like would Eddie still DM a Dungeons and Dragons game with a superhero world? Like magic stuff is real, so would people still be into that? I’m writing him still having his band buddies at least, so he’s not all alone at school, but I’m deciding if he’d still be a Hellfire nerd at school (and like Hellfire… very on the nose)). Plus the relationships and other characters are tricky to place with the backstory I’m thinking Steve has, and just changes to the Sky High sort of set up. Tricky tricky tricky.

[h3rmitsunited]

The Steddie Sky High AU continues (ish). This doesn’t really fall into the story I’ve been ruminating on with the Backdraft AU, so it’s basically just a redraw of a scene from the movie. Eddie just being Eddie and Steve being oh no do I like this guy?

(My Sky High AU tag here)