She's in a car. A familiar car, one that sends a stabbing fear straight into her gut. The old tan seats, the familiar charm from a family trip before her lifetime hanging on the rearview mirror. It's the state flower from California - a poppy made of silver that rings out every time it swings against the plastic it hangs off of. A small tag hangs from beside it, and she already knows what the engraving reads, no matter how worn down it has become. 1965. The year her mother and father went to California, the only reason being to let Parker see the beach.

Parker. She knows it's him slumped beside her in the seat of the car before she turns to look at him.

"Park?" she hoarsely questions, suddenly recognizing the smoke filling her lungs. It chokes her, burning her eyes and throat, making it almost impossible to make out the boy beside her, "Park, are you okay?"

She knows he isn't okay. She knows she crashed the car. She knows what has happened, because this dream is a memory .

But her mind must be playing tricks on her, because when she turns and expects to see her brother's matted head of light brown hair, she sees long, dark brown curls instead.

No . That's not right.

Her stomach begins to sink.

"Park?" She repeats this time, but she's not seeking out an answer; she's questioning whoever is in the passenger seat instead of her brother.

She knows. She knows who it is, and she's praying that she's wrong.

Without another word, her hand flies out to grab the shoulder. It's familiar beneath her palm, a shoulder she's grabbed onto many times in the last few months. A sob is already tearing its way out of her throat before she pulls the body back.

It's not Parker. It's Eddie.

He's covered in blood from the accident, nose dripping it and eyes lifeless as he looks at her.

"Eddie," she cries, hands beginning to shake as she rushes to unbuckle her seatbelt.

No, no, no. It has to be a dream. It can't be real.

"Eddie, please," she begs as she continues to yank on the belt, but it won't budge. She can't unbuckle herself. Her head begins to spin from the combination of smoke and anxiety, both physically paining her body. Everything hurts, but she doesn't care - she has to get Eddie out of the burning car.

"E-Eddie, move! Get- Get out of the car, Eddie!" She resorts to begging when her seatbelt won't come undone, giving up and feeling her body weaken. When she looks up, she finds Eddie already staring at her, unblinking and unresponsive.

He's not moving to get out of the car. He's dead.

All she can do is sob. An impossible searing blossoms in her chest, eating her from the inside out. She chokes out a chanting of 'no's, but no amount of denial can bring back her boy.

"You did this," Eddie says. She doesn't know how - she knows he's dead. The pain in her chest is proof, and yet, he's talking, "This is your fault."

"No," she denies, shaking her head despite the dizziness still persisting and pounding in her temples, "No, no. I- No."

"It's all your fault, Willow Jenkins," a voice says again, but it's not Eddie's voice that echoes from his blue lips. It's one she doesn't recognize as the pounding in her head becomes unbearable.

Willow shoots up in bed, panting and covered in a layer of sweat, tears pouring from her eyes.

"Hey, hey, hey," she jumps when a hand comes down on her shoulder, looking to her left rapidly, head still pounding as painfully as it had been in the dream.

It's Eddie. He's there, and he's perfectly fine save for the scared look on his face. She can see his lips moving, but can't make out a single word through her hearing, muffled by adrenaline and her racing heartbeat.

She collapses into him with a sob, arms wrapping around and clinging to him, palms rubbing over his back as if she's terrified he isn't real.

She had just seen him dead. It had been nothing more than a dream, but the image is burned into her mind.

"You're okay," she can finally hear his voice again, and it only makes her cry harder, "I'm here, sweetheart. It's okay."

He cradles her. She doesn't know when or how he has managed to tug her into his lap as he sits up in her bed, but he does. Her tears still come in waves, wetting his neck where she's buried her face.

She takes a deep breath, scared to smell the smoke of a burning car rather than the comforting cologne and spice she's met with instead. It should relieve her when she's met with the smell of Eddie, but there's very little that could calm her nerves right now.

He was dead. She saw him.

"It was just a bad dream. I've got you," he continues to reassure her, voice heavy with fatigue as he begins to rock her gently. His fingers dance in an attempt at soothing circles. Her knuckles begin to ache from how tightly she's fisting the band tee he had worn to bed in one hand, as the other tangles itself in the curls at the nape of his neck, threading through them as if she needs further proof that this is real. "You with me? You okay?"

She can only nod, breathing finally slowing. She struggles to take a proper breath, her lungs beginning to scream as she hiccups her way through shallow breathing.

"Alright, alright. Here, c'mere," he encourages her face out of the crook of his neck, and her eyes are met with her dark room. She's surprised to be able to make out the outline of things in the moonlight, eyesight fairly adjusted already, "Tell me five things you see, okay? Just five things."

Her eyes darted around the room, still not entirely calm, catching sight of her desk. Her voice is shaky as she can only get out the single syllable of, "Desk."

"Yes, yeah," he's still rubbing circles in her back, "That's one. What else?"

She searches the darkness, afraid to blink and see his bloodied face again, "My chair. Your jacket."

"Technically cheating, but I'll let it slide," he murmurs against her temple, holding her tightly to his chest, "Two more."

"My dresser," her voice is evening out a little bit now, and she allows herself to blink slowly. But she's met with the image of Eddie in the burning car once more, and begins to shake.

"One more."

"The blanket," she looks down at the bed, the rumpled bed sheets pooled over Eddie's shins from where she must have thrown them off of her body, "T-The comforter."

"That's five," he whispers, placing a quick kiss to her temple, "You did so good. You okay? You with me?"

She nods more surely this time. She's with him, but she's shaken.

"How about four things you can feel, you can touch? Think you can tell me those?"

She does, and with each item, her heart rate slows back down to normal. "You. Your shirt, your hair," she pauses, loosening her grip against his chest and removing her fingers from his curls. She brings a quivering hand up to his cheek, tracing his scratchy jawline with her fingertips before letting her palm rest against his warm cheek, "Your face. You... You really need to shave, you know?"

He chuckles lowly, eyes glowing through the darkness and she finally stares into them. They're not lifeless - they're bursting with life, with his own anxiety, with his own fire. Warm threadings of brown tones like an autumn sidewalk covered in leaves.

"Welcome back," he teases her softly. His fingers slow in their circles, and he doesn't loosen his grip on her quite yet, "Bad dream?"

"Terrible," she croaks back, eyes burning at the thought of what her mind had just conjured.

This is your fault , the voice echoes in her mind, sending a shiver down her spine.

"It's okay," he promises her again, eyes filled with sincerity and care, "You're awake now, I'll protect you."

She should have known better. Of course it was a dream. Her Eddie, the real one holding her now, wouldn't blame her for what happened with Parker. She doesn't understand why her mind is consumed with the event so suddenly, especially with the anniversary having already passed.

"I... You..." she trails off, her hand still cupping his cheek. Her thumb rakes over his stubble again.

"It's okay, we don't have to talk about it unless you want to," he comforts her in the same hushed tone he's been using the entire time.

She ignores his sentiment, because she knows she does want to. It's silly, nothing more than a nightmare, but it's not an image she wants to continue to deal with on her own, "You were dead. It was the crash with Parker, but you were in the passenger seat."

His entire face falls, softening for her. He doesn't say a word at first, only pulling her in for a tight hug. Her face is nestled against his neck once more, and this time, the smell of his cologne does calm her.

He's here . He's fine . It was just a dream.

"C'mere," he insists once he lets go of the hug. He slowly lowers the two of them back into her pillows, careful to keep his hold on her as he adjusts so she's nearly laying on the top of him, her hand still on his cheek. He reaches up and grabs that very hand before dragging it down over his chest. She immediately feels it - his heartbeat, strong and steady, albeit a bit faster than normal, "Feel that? Last time I checked, I've got a heartbeat. I'm alive as they get, I promise."

"I know," she mumbles against his shoulder, but she still presses her hand down to feel his heartbeat even better, "It was just a dream."

"Can't get rid of me that easily, sweetheart," he murmurs, and she can hear the way sleep is beginning to drape itself over him. He reaches down and tugs the blankets back up over them.

Her head is still pounding. Each throb in her temple is like a dagger, and she's sure if it weren't for lights already being off, her vision would be blurring. A migraine. An awful one, at that.

"Go back to sleep, I'll still be here," he insists, and she believes him. She believes him as she feels his breathing slow, falling into a recognizable pattern as it deepens, soft snores eventually escaping his lips.

She knows that he's here, he's fine, and she's okay. She knows it was just a dream.

But she doesn't fall back asleep. Wide awake, her palm still rests against his heart - her head thumps in sync with it.

—

It's hours later, when sunshine is already filtering in from behind her curtains and birds are noisily chirping, that Willow finds herself asleep once more. It's a dreamless sleep. There are no burning cars, no lifeless Eddies. Just her and the darkness.

When she does wake up properly, it's from movement beside her. She's still curled up against Eddie, clinging to him even in her sleep. It's clear that he's trying to shift out of her grasp without moving her or waking her up. And it's clear he's failed when she softly groans, peeling her eyes open as she releases him from her grip and rolls over.

"Sorry," he whispers, leaning over and pressing a quick kiss to her forehead that has her chest fluttering even in her unaware state, "Gotta piss."

"Mm," she hums in response, letting her eyes shut once more and pressing into her own pillow rather than his chest now.

She must fall back into a light sleep again, because she doesn't even notice he's left the room until he returns.

"Your mom's up," he quips as he sits beside her on the bed, a soothing hand coming down on her shoulder. She jumps slightly from the contact, startling awake and immediately turning over to look at his smiling face.

He takes her breath away when he looks like this first thing in the morning. Heavy lidded eyes and soft edges, still laden with sleep and a particular haze that draws her in.

"She is?" her voice is still scratchy from her restless night.

"Yep," he nods, laying himself down, half of his body draping across hers and crushing her on purpose, "She made coffee."

"Eddie," Willow laughs gently, trying to push him off of her, "Get off of me, you're crushing me."

"Me? Crushing you?" he gasps, looking up at her from where his head is resting on her chest, "Never! I'm light as a feather, baby."

"You are not ," she's still giggling as she continues to attempt to shove him off of her, but he only adjusts so he's laying on top of her even further.

After she struggles for a bit, he finally secedes and leans up on his forearms resting on either side of her head, caging her into the mattress as he looks down at her. "It could be worse."

"Yeah? How so?" she replies, narrowing her eyes at his suspicious grin.

"I could be tickling you."

"Don't you dare ," she warns him, immediately poking a finger into his ribcage. She's shocked when he wiggles from the touch, face lighting up in recognition, "I thought you weren't ticklish."

His face falls, "I'm not."

She pokes him again, and he squirms again, "Oh, Eddie, you so are."

She takes the revelation of his lie to her advantage, and continues to poke and prod at his sides. He immediately rolls off of her, wrapping his arms around himself to protect his sides from her determined fingers.

"S-Stop it!" he cackles as she sits up and continues her assault, eventually straddling him and swatting away his hands, laughing with him, "Menace! Stop it!"

They're both so wrapped up in each other that they don't hear Willow's mom knocking over their laughter. And they certainly don't hear the door open until she clears her throat.

"Am I interrupting something?"

Willow has never launched herself off of Eddie's lap faster. She bumps her head on her way down, wincing at the immediate throbbing as Eddie completely freezes beside her.

"It's not what it looks like," she immediately blurts out, staring at her mom, leaning in her doorway looking more amused than pissed.

"Are you sure? It looks like you were attacking the poor boy," her mother tuts, a sly smile making its way onto her face, "I was sure someone was getting murdered in here."

Willow's cheeks are blushing furiously, and she knows Eddie's face matches her mortified expression, "I... I was just... I was tickling him."

"It felt like a murder, though," Eddie adds, still frozen but finding his voice.

Her mom nods, humming thoughtfully before turning to leave the room, "Coffee's ready, if the two of you are done being violent."

Willow immediately jumps up, shooting a look Eddie's way. The poor boy is bright red, staring wide eyed at the doorway. She gives him an expectant look, but he makes no moves to get up, so she leaves him behind as she turns to quickly follow her mom.

She catches up to her in the kitchen, right as Anne takes a seat at the dinner table with her own mug billowing steam.

"I promise it wasn't what it looked like," Willow reasserts as she walks over to their cabinet that holds mugs, grabbing one for herself. It's a pristine white, and she can't help but think of the Munson's assorted collection of unique mugs.

Small details that make their trailer feel more homely than Willow and her mother's own house. Even after years of being on their own, they hadn't made any progress in adding their own flair to the cookie cutter inside of their home.

"I know it wasn't," her mom assures her over the lip of her coffee, "I'd be far angrier if I thought it was something else, dear."

Willow sighs out a breath she didn't know she was holding. She had gone through plenty of embarrassing scenarios in her lifetime, but being caught in the act by her mother was one she refused to add to the list.

"Any plans for the day?" Willow attempts to make casual small talk as she pours her own cup of coffee. She adds some sugar, some creamer, and blows gently across the liquid before taking her first sip.

"Janice, the nice lady who lives next door, wants me to help her with some gardening since it's my day off," she explains, before setting her cup down and looking over Willow with a serious expression, "Did you sleep okay?"

Willow freezes mid-sip, coffee still burning her tongue before she has half the mind to swallow it down and set down her mug.

"Fine," she curtly replies, not wanting to remember the awful nightmare, "Did you?"

"Well enough," her mom murmurs, still giving her a strange look, "I did wake up early this morning to what I thought was a yell."

Did I yell when I woke up?

Willow can't remember.

"Oh?" She tries to play it off casually, but her mother isn't having any of it.

"Are you having nightmares again?" Anne gets straight to the point, gaze softening on her daughter. Willow has seen the look on her face a few times before in her life: when she found out Willow had bruised up her knees from falling off her bike, at the funeral of her brother, when she got held back in middle school the year of the accident. It should be comforting, but it only reminds Willow that she shouldn't be having these nightmares anymore. It's concerning to still be hanging onto the past this way after all the time that has passed.

"I... It was just one, last night. It's not a big deal," Willow brushes it off, carrying her mug over to the counter in front of her mom.

"You used to have them right after the accident," her mom isn't dropping it, pushing on through the topic, "There was a six month period I had to sleep in your bed with you because they happened every night."

Willow remembers that. She remembers her mother's comforting arms, her soothing voice singing her back to sleep. In those six months, Willow had never felt more cared for, and it had grown an awful hatred inside her.

It had taken her brother dying to be babied in that way. She knows her mother also hated the fact, and regretted it immensely.

"I remember," she finally sighs. It wasn't a pleasant storm of memories, "Last night wasn't that bad. Eddie... Eddie was there. It was fine."

"I still have the number of the therapist we had you see-"

" Mom . No, it's been years. It's probably just a one time deal. Please."

She can see the concern written across the older woman's face. She knows that she means well, that all she wants is for her daughter to be okay, but a child therapist was not the solution.

"I almost came to your room," Anne quietly admits, "But when I got there, I saw that Eddie already had it under control. He's good for you."

Willow can't help but smile softly at that. Her mother is right - he is good for her. She's sure if he hadn't been there, the nightmare would have done a lot more damage to Willow's psyche.

Then again, he had been the star of the nightmare. She doesn't want to dig too deeply into that, though.

"You know, it's his birthday today," Willow mentions in an attempt to lighten the mood, shimmying her shoulders slightly as she leans back and attempts to relax some. The nightmare was exactly as she had assured her mother - a one time deal. She would get over it. It would be fine.

"Oh, is that so?" her mother coos back, gleeful look only enhancing when she looks over Willow's shoulder, "Speak of the Devil."

Willow spins around to see Eddie walking into the kitchen, a sheepish look on his face as he tries to smile kindly at the two women.