Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 39.5
(this takes place just before their first day back to school after the events of season one)
They slip out of the trailer.
The park is just waking up around them, a few birds chirping, Mr. Robinson’s car starting up as he drives to work. One of their older neighbors must have fallen asleep with the television on – he can hear its static blaring all the way out here.
It makes a shiver run up his spine. That almost familiar, eerie sound that resonates through a Demogorgon’s call.
But, the sun is shining and Steve’s safe and whole and warm at his side. So, he brushes it off, skipping over to the passenger side of the van and holds it open for Steve with a bow.
Steve rolls his eyes, but there’s no more desperation bleeding into his expression. He’s like a caged bird, freed. He even settles his fingers daintily into Eddie’s flourished out hand, like he’s a maiden being helped into a carriage.
Eddie closes the door once all of Steve’s limbs are in and accounted for, and damn near skips around the front of the van and flings himself into the driver’s seat.
Dio blares out of his speakers when he turns the key until Steve reaches over to turn the dial down. Eddie tries to pout about it but the edges of his mouth keep turning up.
Steve’s slumped over in the passenger seat, arms crossed as he lolls his head sideways against the headrest to glare over at Eddie. “You’re really not going to tell me where we’re going?”
“It’s a surprise.” He bites his lip against a grin as Steve huffs and rolls his head the other direction to glare out his window.
Eddie taps his fingers to the quiet beat of the song, blood sizzling with anticipation.
It’s a short drive, made longer by the careful way he’s stopping and starting, taking each turn ten below his usual. There’s precious cargo barely on the mend in here, and he won’t risk damaging it any more.
He pulls into an empty parking space, easing his foot onto the break. There’s only one other car in the lot, but the open sign in the front window of the diner is lit up. It’s a lurid red, but Eddie’s willing to forgive it.
“This is the surprise?” Steve asks. He’s not glaring anymore, but he’s looking doubtfully out of the windshield, eyebrows raised as he eyes the diner’s front door like he’s never seen it before. “Breakfast?”
Eddie reaches over to pinch his side – softly, gently – until Steve laughs that honking pig laugh that Eddie loves so much and has so rarely heard.
“You don’t remember?” Eddie asks, teasing. “You said you’d kill for some bacon, and now you don’t even want to go in?”
There’s something fathomless in Steve’s eyes as he finally looks over at Eddie. It makes heat pool in Eddie’s gut, sinking into him until he’s aflame. He wants to scoop out Steve’s brain, figure out what’s ticking away in there. He wants to rip out one of Steve’s eyelashes and make a wish.
“I remember,” Steve murmurs, looking up into Eddie’s eyes.
He still looks sallow and tired, but there’s a rudy pink blooming on his cheeks by the time Eddie rounds the van again to open his door. He doesn’t hold out his hand this time, but Steve still settles his fingers onto Eddie’s shoulder and uses it to lever himself up and out.
Eddie rushes back around to lock the van. Steve doesn’t wait for him, but he holds the door open wide to let Eddie in. There’s a little bell dangling off the handle that jingles under Steve’s shaky grip.
Eddie hurries in.
The waitress moves at her usual sleepy pace, calling out a quiet, “mornin’”, as she heads over to their chosen booth with unnecessary menus.
Her eyes widen when she catches sight of Steve’s state, but she doesn’t comment, just takes their orders and walks away without writing anything down.
They settle into sleepy silence.
Eddie’s breath stutters in his lungs when he feels Steve’s foot hook atop his under the booth. He taps the toes of his boot three times against Steve’s tennis shoe and smiles across at him.
The cook must be raring to go because it takes less than ten minutes for their waitress to round the partition, arms laden with dishes piled high with food.
Eddie’d followed Steve’s lead, so there’s two of everything. The pancakes are fluffy, squares of butter melting at their centers, sides of warmed maple syrup just waiting to be poured. The hashbrowns are greasy and crip on the outside, soft on the center.
The bacon’s bubbling with fat, edges crisp, steam still rising from its surface. Fresh off the griddle. Eddie skewers a piece on his fork. He thrusts it up toward the middle of the table, nudging Steve’s sneaker repeatedly.
“What?”
“A toast!” Eddie calls, beaming across at Steve when he finally gets with the program and raises his own fork and its dangling bacon. Eddie clinks their forks together. Fat drops in fat drops down onto the previously clean table. “To fresh starts!”
Steve brings his fork down to his mouth and takes a huge bite, closing his eyes in apparent ecstasy. “To good bacon.”
“And a monster free life.”
“And staying right-side-up.”
“Here, here!” Eddie cries, ignoring the way the waitress is glaring at the mess and ruckus their making.
Because Steve’s smiling down at his food, taking big, savoring bites. The edges of the morning have been sanded down.
Besides, it’s only fair. All Eddie had wanted when he got out was to hug Uncle Wayne, and he had. Steve doesn’t have a Wayne, so if he wants bacon, he gets bacon.
Eddie’d make sure of it, for as long as Steve will let him.
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Remembered this song from a boss fight early on in NieR Automata, during which a cult of robots had come together to pantomime the concept of religion. (the robots in the game are all trying to strive for a sense of purpose in being alive by mimicking behaviour of humans who have by now gone extinct but there's not enough time to go into all of that here).
And this cult of robots come to the conclusion that their version of gods if they follow the human translation of the word is "the creator" which to them are organic beings. And so if they are pantomiming religion in an effort to find purpose in being alive, then through the practice of religion you are supposed to ascend to a higher state of being equal to that of the gods.
And so, if you are a robot and your creator is an organic being, what is it that separates you from your creator? That is of course the realities of being an organic being, and being tied to the reality that being organic means having to die one day.
And so this robot cult comes to the conclusion that to ascend to a higher state of being is to become as gods, and for a robot to become as a god, their creator, is to ascend to that of organic being, and to do so is to embrace what separates machine from organic which is death.
And therefore, to die is to become god.
And then they all attack you and this song plays called "become as gods". Which includes the robot cult chant of "We'll all die together and become as gods" while the choir chants in the fictional language of the NieR series which is its OWN separate dump of lore, but which is roughly labelled and understood as "The language of the gods". That being a weird translation of the GATTACA code which makes up human DNA.
....
NieR Automata is a good game. It's one of only 2 games that managed to make me bawl my eyes out at the end. Not for a story reason, but for how the game directly connects you with every other human being who has played the exact same game and the concept of sacrifice to help another in ways I don't want to spoil because if you've never played and finished the true ending of NieR Automata there is nothing in this world that will prepare you for its ending and I would not dare to spoil that for you.
Anyway I rambled a lot but it was needed to explain the full force of this song for you to understand why it's not only a banger but a banger with some deep fucking WEIGHT behind it.
(btw this is genuinely unrelated I just remembered at time of post it's the Steam Summer Sale and Nier Automata is 50% off right now but that was not the point of this post)
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Regulus, lying on the floor, with his head held back by the wall, dry tears all over his face, and a hand to his heart. Barty’s non-beating heart. That’s how Monty had found him.
He was high out of his mind and can’t really tell what had happened in a cohesive manner – his mind holding together like shattered glass. That’s what hurts the most, he thinks. That he can’t recollect how it happened. The exact moment Barty’s heart stopped beating under his hand.
The last days are all fuzzy and shapeless and borderless in his brain, and he can’t tell if it were really days or hours or weeks. The drugs took that away from him too, you see. Like taking Barty wasn’t enough.
Regulus had no idea who Monty was at the time, and he didn’t care. All he wanted was another shot and to feel Barty’s heart beating again. He got none of those things. What he got, instead, was hell – and a kind hand to hold him through it.
From what Regulus has discovered so far, Monty – Fleamont, no last name – is a lawyer who mostly works paired with social workers, trying to help troubled kids. Not that Regulus has ever considered himself to be a troubled kid, he thinks of himself as a collected man actually, thank you very much. That is, if you disregard the part in which he got addicted to drugs and let his best friend and love of his life die in his arms. A well resolved man, even, if you will.
Though there’s a loophole to Fleamont's story, Regulus considers, suspiciously. Regulus is a man. Legally, at least. What could social workers do for him? Aren’t they a few years too late? How, exactly, does he fit in the ‘troubled kid’ category? He has no idea, and it’s infuriating.
He doesn’t know what his intentions are, and why he’s been keeping Regulus in this clinic – a private clinic, mind –, and it’s been driving him a bit mad. He’s tried to listen to whispers and interrogate his therapists but he hasn’t found a satisfying answer yet.
Regulus vaguely, and he means vaguely, remembers the night Fleamont found him. He remembers being fussed at, like he’d never been before, and it was almost like- like Fleamont recognized him.
He knows that’s stupid. He has never seen Fleamont in his life, and he has quite a memorable face. Regulus is good with faces and names, more than he would like, so he would definitely remember a man named Fleamont with a face such as his.
It’s been the itch to Regulus’ ear ever since he got sober enough to get a hold of his bearings.
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