Chapter Text
At this point, after weeks of denial and anger and despair and more anger, Eddie just wanted to feel his other's thoughts again. He couldn't stand the silence.
Maybe he wanted to act a little recklessly, endanger himself—but he couldn't forego his own safety entirely, at the risk of hurting someone innocent. He couldn't let a mother or a child be injured because of him. So he stayed patiently on the sidewalk when crossing the street, waited for the light to turn, helped Elizabeth carry her haul from the food bank.
He watched his step and kept to himself.
Later, when they got home—"Hey, Elizabeth, Timothy, I've got somewhere to be. I don't know when I'll be back but... thank you for always trusting me. Bye." He hugged them and left them below the streets of San Francisco.
Really, what he needed was something to take his frustration out on, other than himself.
The universe did not provide.
He settled for wedging himself between a dumpster and a pile of cardboard boxes in a dry alleyway, hoping to fall asleep eventually despite it being broad daylight—He kept picking at his cuticles and watching them heal just to remind himself he wasn't alone.
Was he trying to punish himself? He should've stayed in Sanctuary instead of this.
He dug his fingers into his forearms.
He could hurt himself.
For that brief trill of emotion.
But it would be gone faster than it took to heal him.
It was funny. People loved to talk about the tortured mind, but it was less crumbling walls and more the persistent poke of a child. Jab, jab, jab. Not verbal, really. Like a daydream, shoving itself into his eyes, intruding and unwanted. Tracking mud all over with images of what might happen, what could happen, if he just—
He threaded his fingers together behind his neck, bowing his head with a deep breath. He had to focus on other things. The way the gravel on the ground dug into his jeans. The sound of people out on the street. He curled his toes in his shoes. squeezed his eyes shut like a strained blink, imprinting pressure-light on his eyes even when he opened them back up again.
He knew it wouldn't matter if he did hurt himself, technically. It would just heal. But he didn't want to put his other through that kind of worry, if they were still there. Even though it might give him brief emotional catharsis. And he didn't need to stumble back into that place he'd been so many times before. That headspace had nearly killed him, probably would have if not for the miraculous humor of the universe grappling with every aspect of his life. Though he feared this backslide might be inevitable, especially two thousand miles away from their routine, especially having already spiraled halfway there after nearly losing everything.
After actually losing everything.
At least he wasn't seeing demons this time.
He shoved himself to his feet. He needed to find somewhere to stay, think through his plan. He had a few dollars left, not enough for anything more than a chocolate bar or maybe a bagel. Certainly not for shelter. Again, why not stay in Sanctuary to formulate his plan...?
He didn't know why. He just felt like he had to go somewhere else.
Needed somewhere he could be alone, where he didn't have to worry about other people.
Somewhere he could lay down and dream, hoping for nightmares to worm their way through the folds of his psyche. To fracture into protectiveness. To let him communicate with the symbiote resting in his body like a stone in his gut. Nothing else seemed to get the same response—sure, bodily harm and direct peril, direct threat, got him that brief EDDIE, brief DANGER ripped through his head and his heart but nightmares... Nightmares got him that pressed-up, wound-up incantation half-audible under his own displeasure.
It would almost be worth the way he woke up exhausted and awful.
He dragged his feet as he walked along the street.
Someone called for their father.
He turned his head.