Chapter Text
‘Y’know that part in the horror movies… where it’s supposed to be over?’
The rain was coming down hard against the window as Sten posed the question. Tim didn’t respond for a minute, still lost in grounding himself - the weight of his friend curled up on his chest, the taste of cold coffee and cigarette ash in the back of his throat, the sound of the rain hammering against the glass pane. His hand was loosely grazing the stitching of Sten's leather jacket, tracing the lines of the seams and haphazard patches they’d stitched to it; each stitch done by hand he recalled as he let his fingertips follow the pathways between thread, fabric and leather.
‘What’d you mean?’
The mess of purple-blue hair in his chest moved with the sigh of reevaluating their philosophy, cheek pressed against the nicotine-scented plaid fabric of his shirt; one ear listening to the downpour, the other to a heartbeat that seemed to be recognising the moment of peace.
‘Like… The monster’s gone, the credits are rolling. Like it's done. Over. You turn the film off, make some coffee, go to sleep… It’s over, but…’
The thought trailed off, unfinished somewhere. Tim sat with it, trying to piece together what Sten was trying to say. They had a habit of saying things that didn’t make sense unless you were in their head or had the full perspective. He’d chanced a guess a few times when they were like this, and he’d surprised himself when he actually seemed to understand, if only partially. It was a weird little window into a world seen through analogies and layers, complicated but plain as day if you knew what angle to point the camera at for a snapshot of their reality. The hand moved up to tangle in their hair, gently running the tips of his fingers into the shifting shades of blue, purple and red, massaginging the scalp behind the ear and catching the piecings. He gave Sten a minute to figure out the next sentence, staring at the ceiling as the rain continued.
‘Where it's quiet and it's safe and it's over but… It’s this feeling.’
Tim let the thought settle like a stone reaching the bottom of a pond, his own thoughts sinking back into the pillows for a moment before he understood their point. Sten didn’t sound distressed or anything when they reached that conclusion. Like they’d just recognised a simple fact of the world they lived in and wanted to share it despite knowing the meaning behind it could be like a blade to a thread - cutting loose something that could never quite stay where it was supposed to again if you pulled on it wrong.
‘What makes you say that?’
A noncommittal shrug was all the answer he got for the moment, their face burying in his chest again. They’d both dealt with some shit in the past - stuff best left behind, back in Rosswood, in Alabama. But neither of them could shake the feeling that something had followed them out here. Tim left everything behind and just seemed to collect the hitchhiker that was now lying on his chest along the way - a stray cat of a person, he rationalised. When they realised they had mutual goals of getting the fuck out of town and leaving it all behind, they both did so in the hopes that whatever they left back there wouldn’t come back. And so far, they'd been alright.
He took a chance on Sten - They, a leather-jacketed hitchhiker with a bloody nose, a dented lighter and a smile that didn’t reach their eyes until after they passed the sign that marked the Alabama border (They'd passed out soon after, he remembered... like they were waiting until they passed that threshold.) Him, driving away from his entire life and its accumulated problems that had (at one point, literally) gone up in flames, knowing full well what he had had to do to cut himself loose from that… Thing. He didn’t tell Sten everything that first night drive, or really anything for the first hour or so beyond a shared cigarette and some musical preferences. Only enough that it became clear that they both had honest and justified reasons to leave that town for good by the time they stopped along the interstate to finally give in to sleep.
One thing led to another after that night that started something like trust between them and now they’d become inseparable. It was little things - attempts to rebuild lives out of the rubble they’d both had left between them. They found jobs that didn’t ask too many questions, rented somewhere cheap between them where the neighbourhood wasn’t completely fucked… Now, they actually felt like they were starting again, clean slate. Only this time they had each other to act as anchors when it got harder to hold it together.
And it was good. Really good.
But there were still shadows. Tim never could get the sight of something in the corner of his eye out of his mind, flinched at the sound of cars backfiring, doors slamming, scrubbing his hands till they were raw whenever he thought there was still blood under his fingernails. He caught himself staring into space whenever he saw a flash of a yellow hoodie, only to snap back when the face underneath turned out to be someone else entirely. Sten had understood somehow, every time. They never asked for an explanation, any justification. They read into both the monosyllabic responses and agitated rambling with recognition and never pressed on wounds that seemed to be half-stitched. They just cauterised it with a distraction or let him vent over a cigarette. When it came to distractions, they were passable. Mostly it was just stories - strange crap they’d done years ago that sounded insane but innocently hilarious; Tales from their days working nightshifts at dive bars, underground music venues, old friends long gone - they never lingered on details that could have been easily fudged but it kept Tim sane enough to just listen to something that sounded like a pleasant imitation of an almost normal life.
Everything he knew about Sten was from their stories, which wasn’t nearly enough for him to trust them completely at the time (or so he told himself) and yet… He kept letting them in. And they did the same for him.
Shared stories turned into holding hands during the rough moments. Cigarettes and flasks of cheap liquor became traded coffee cups over plates of half-burnt bacon. Things remained platonic between them even when others might have seen something more intimate brewing. Both of them seemed to keep that idea at arms length too - open enough to let each other in from the cold but aware that they may as well have both been made of glass filled with kerosene. They didn’t need sparks to get along. Just an agreement that the phrase ‘handle with care’ seemed to be etched into their bones.
As time slowly passed, they almost seemed ‘settled’. Nothing domesticated, but they had their own mugs in the cupboard of their rentshare, steady work between them that made the bills managable enough to start allowing themselves small luxuries like half-price doughnuts and a mutual understanding of each other’s needs throughout the day. Sten's hair had grown out a bit to reveal the original dark reddish brown mixed with the strands of faded purple and indigo. They kept the old jacket and still customised their clothes with scraps of fabric to while away the hours between shifts and odd jobs, but they had seemed to calm down a bit in the weeks after they met. Ripped band shirts evolved into old thrifted sweaters and the army boots for odd socks; it was one of the things Tim noticed in passing during those weeks.
Before then, they'd looked half-dead on their feet some days, glancing over their shoulder for something that Tim would always just miss, only for Sten to smile to hide their ever-present anxiety. Their smoke habit had rivalled Tim’s on the bad days and despite the veneer of calm, they always seemed on edge, waiting for something to jump out and grab them out of reality. These days, the glances were fewer, the smoke less frequent and the sleep more restful.
They couldn’t remember when they started sleeping together - nothing intimate, almost always fully clothed (often too exhausted to change, too cold to bother or just not bothered at all), but it became a habit of comfort for both of them between shifts and during moments of calm. Whenever Tim felt like things from back then were crawling into his head again, he’d take the medication, lay himself in bed with the lights turned low and (if Sten wasn’t busy fixing something or at work) they’d be right there, curled up with their head on his chest like a stray cat come in from the cold. Somedays they’d be quiet, both appreciating the silence. Others they’d talk, like now. Usually nonsense. Sometimes they’d laugh, sometimes they’d vent. Everytime, it was just them. And it was nice.
‘What makes you say that?’
The question had hung unanswered until Sten inhaled deeply before turning their head again, cheek nestling into the curve of his chest.
‘It’s like the movie hasn’t finished when you turn it off, y’know? Still feels like somethings gonna jump out at you for a while if you're not careful. But it's not. And you know it's not. But you just have to... stay where it's comfortable. Where it's safe, like this.’
Tim smiled at their rambling, cocking his eyebrow in amusement as he curled his fingertips until they disspeared into Sten's hair again, rubbing circles into the scalp as he tried to place what had triggered this thought of his. He exhaled slowly before making his suggestion, chest lowering as he felt Sten's breathing match his own.
‘... Still having a rough time sleeping?’
Sten sighed, shaking their head gently against his ribs before cuddling closer, feeling his hand tangle further into their hair and leaning into it. It was true they were prone to what could be called 'nightmares', but it wasn’t like the films - screaming, sweating, etcetera. Never that dramatic. It was more like they... 'went somewhere else' when they fell asleep. They'd talk sometimes, mumbling usually and nothing Tim could catch on the occasions when it did wake him, only for Sten to wake up paralysed, heart racing and unable to remember themselves for a while after. It was unnerving, especially when they recalled the scenes from their dreams in such vivid detail.
They always felt real. Too real. But they would almost always wake up to Tim holding them, his chest to their back and one hand on their chest seemingly holding their heart into their ribcage as they stared into the dark trying to slow the beat before it broke out of their sternum. They'd lie like that for some time until Sten was able to move again, often turning over and curling up into Tim's arms to attempt to go back to sleep. Other nights (usually when neither of them had work in the morning), Tim would be the first to move, making crappy instant cocoa for both of them and putting some stupid movie on to distract them both until they both felt safe enough to pass out on each other. It wasn't much, but it kept them grounded in something long enough to get through.
Sten did the same for Tim on his bad days too in his own way - It was an arrangement that just... worked out for the both of them. They'd never divulge much about what they would see when they had those nightmares though - about the woods that seemed to go on forever no matter how far you ran, the abandoned building that turned into a maze, that weird face that seemed to look back at them from a bathroom mirror, sink covered in blood that they were sure wasn’t theirs. That thing in the corner of their eye that seemed to disappear the minute they turned to look, ears filling with static-like tinnitus before they could register it.
They had never told Tim what they could remember of those days before the car ride - an unspoken agreement to never bring up anything connected to Rosswood unless it was neccessary… But they had the understanding that the further they got from that town and the longer they stayed away, the better they seemed to sleep and the less it seemed to bother them. It had been weeks since their last bad episode.
‘No… Just… trying to convince myself that this is real right now. That I’m not gonna wake up back out there or somewhere again or something stupid.’
Tim pulled them closer, the pressure of their arms over the back of their shoulders helping to settle Sten's mind for the time being.
‘Just too good to be true… is that what you’re getting at?’
‘Nailed it.’
A half-laugh escaped his chest as Sten patted his upper arm, face buried in the nook between his bicep and chest as they smiled in unison. They both let the silence of understanding hang in there for a minute, rain continuing to pour as they rested with the revelation of Sten's philosophy.
‘I think I know what you mean now.’
Tim mused absent-mindedly, head tilted back as his eyes drew towards the window, watching the patterns the rain made against the glass as the dull ache in his head eased off into something close to a peaceful doze. He had his own demons he was running from, he knew that. But here it was… safe. Just him and Sten with anything else locked out of this place - this little haven. He recalled briefly with some bittersweet feeling memories of him and Brian; crashing at his parents place, watching old VHS tapes of black-and-white films in the attic room over snacks and playing Resident Evil and Silent Hill on that old Playstation 2 over the holidays between semesters.
He knew that feeling Sten was suggesting: That save room sensation between the fights with the monsters. That weirdly calming music that set you on edge whilst nearly lulling you to sleep. Despite the adrenaline from the horrors, knowing that once you left you’d have to face it again until you found safety - It was the same feeling when the credits rolled on a film; this weird serenity and peace of mind that just felt so fragile because soon enough you’d have to break it. The same feeling he had right before he lost everything, when he came so close to getting better, or so he felt at the time. He hadn't seen the wave crest until it was on top of him and he still felt like any minute he could end up back underwater if he wasn't careful - the awareness of the past danger making this moment of safety seem so fleeting despite how long it had been since.
Sten didn’t react to his response, only huddling tighter, clinging to a moment they knew they’d have to let go of eventually to go get a drink, go to the bathroom, stop their arms from going dead. Tim held them similarly, content to feel like moving would be tantamount to disturbing a cat in his lap even if he knew he too would need to let the moment pass as well. Tim didn’t need to say anything to reassure them; he couldn't even say anything just to reassure himself. They both knew this moment wouldn’t last forever. That this peace they’d found could break at any moment and they’d both have to fight again for something they rightfully felt they’d already earned for themselves.
For now, though… Everything is fine.
Everything is fine.