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Eddie died.
They all know it. Robin and Nancy and Steve all checked for a pulse. Steve tried CPR while Dustin shouted and sobbed that he was going to hurt him, even as Nancy said in a voice that was much, much too soft that he was gone. Steve had Eddie’s blood on him for days, under his nails, in the creases of his palms, on his lips and chin and cheeks from trying to give Eddie the breath from his own lungs. When he finally washed it away, he fell into grief all over again, watching it run across the tile floor, down the drain.
It took him a while to give up on the CPR. It might have been hours. He doesn’t know. He only stopped when Robin physically grabbed his hands and jerked them away, and he could barely even see through his tears, but he could hear her well enough.
He’s dead, Steve. He’s gone.
He left Eddie’s bandana on his chest. He didn’t know why he did it, why he carefully, tenderly pulled it off Eddie’s head as Robin and Nancy and Dustin watched, and folded it around his hand before placing it just over where Eddie’s heart should have been beating. He’d stopped there for a few moments, just looking at Eddie’s face. It would have looked like he was sleeping if he hadn’t been torn apart. Steve fixed his hair for him, fluffed it out and smoothed it down, barely noticing when it became streaked red with blood. And then he carefully took the guitar pick hanging from Eddie’s neck, and the ring on his left hand. (He gave the guitar pick to Dustin the next day as they sat in the hospital outside Max’s room. Dustin was all out of tears by then, but he took it with a trembling hand and clutched it to his chest, his whole body shaking. Steve kept the ring for himself. He knows they all saw it on his left index finger, but no one said anything about it.)
They had to leave him there. There was no way to get him back up through the ceiling. Dustin was sobbing the whole time, crying that they had to go back, that they couldn’t just leave him there. That he needed a nice grave, or to be cremated, that they needed to love him. That it was cruel. Steve had steeled himself, grabbing Dustin by the shoulders and telling him It’s not possible, Dustin. We did what we could. And Dustin had just fallen against him, holding him so tightly it hurt, crying so hard Steve could hear his voice become rough. He held him. He got Eddie’s blood in his hair.
When Steve got home, he fell apart.
There was no one around. Everyone was at home or the hospital, safe and healing, and he was…
Covered in blood. On his kitchen floor, sobbing and screaming and clutching at his shirt because it was suffocating him. Until the white tile was covered with Upside Down dirt and grime, with dark blood and tears.
It wasn’t fair, he didn’t think. Eddie had only just gotten involved. He had only wanted to help Chrissy, and now he’s in hell, bloody and eaten and raw, all alone.
If Steve had been there, maybe he would have been fine. If Steve had been there, maybe he could have fought the bats off, and Eddie would have gotten off with the same injuries Steve has. If Steve had been there, maybe he could have convinced Eddie to run. If Steve had been there If Steve had been there If Steve had been there If Steve had been there If Steve had been there
It wasn’t until two weeks later that he realised why he was grieving Eddie the way he was. Why he slept at night with Eddie’s battle vest in his arms, why he found himself staring at the ring on his finger for hours on end, why he saw Eddie’s eyes late at night when he was sleeping. (Those are good nights. All the other nights come with demon dogs and bats and blood and flashing lights. Often with one of the kids lying, unmoving, eyes staring up at the red sky, blank. Gone.)
When he realised, he couldn’t even cry. He just held Eddie’s vest tighter and closed his eyes against the dim glow of the overhead light. And wished they could have had a little more time. Wished he had kissed Eddie before they parted. Wished he had made Eddie promise to come back to him. Wished and wished and wished.
The others began to heal.
Max can’t see. Her legs are still healing, but her arms are okay aside from the occasional burst of pain, and Lucas barely lets her out of his sight. The first time he leaves her hospital room to go home, he has a panic attack. Erica helps him through with Robin, who always seems to know just what to say, what to do.
Dustin began to recover with the help of a therapist that Owens sets him up with. Steve sees her too. She’s nice, and helpful, even if Steve doesn’t feel much different than he did that first night without Eddie. When she asked how long he knew Eddie, he said quietly Not long enough. She seemed to get it.
Eddie is dead.
Everyone knows it.
The fact settled in Steve’s chest like a brick of ice that refuses to melt. He got used to it. Just like he got used to wet pillowcases under his face and Eddie’s vest resting on his chest in the morning.
Which is why he falls heavily to the floor when, two months after Eddie’s death, he hears Owens’s voice say, crackly over the phone,
“We’ve recovered Eddie Munson. He’s alive.”
• ───────────────── •
They’d gone down to try to recover his body while checking that everything was in order in the Upside Down. For Wayne.
He was breathing.
Still unconscious, unmoved, covered in dry, matted blood and torn clothing and dirt streaked with tears, but the bandana on his chest was moving up and down, and one of the men in the yellow hazmat suits said in a voice too loud, Holy shit, he’s alive.
And he was.
He is.
In a secret room at Hawkins Memorial Hospital, sitting in waiting while Owens talks to everyone in another secret room. This room has coffee that no one is drinking, and comfortable-looking chairs that no one is sitting in. They’re all listening intently to Owens, almost leaning closer to him in concentration, some of their eyes tear-filled.
He tells them.
They can go see him, but he won’t be what they’re expecting. He’s not the same Eddie.
No memory past meeting Chrissy in the woods. No good memory of anyone involved in the whole Upside Down business, only the vaguest recollections of some kids in the Hellfire Club. He’s scarred and scared and trying his hardest to not be, to pretend everything is fine. Be gentle is what Owens tells them. Don’t scare him, or startle him, be slow and patient with him when he doesn’t remember anything.
The kids go in first.
Robin and Nancy go behind them, lingering in the doorway.
But Steve stays behind, in that room with the coffee and the chairs, eyeing Owens.
“You’re not telling us something,” he says when the others are out of earshot, and Owens turns back to him with this resigned look in his eye. He shuts the door quietly.
“Why don’t you take a seat, Steve?” he says lightly, his tone too casual, too friendly for this all. Steve sits anyway.
“What’s going on?” he asks tentatively, his heart still reeling with He’s alive He’s alive He’s alive He’s alive.
“You were actually the person I wanted to speak to about this,” Owens says, sitting heavily in a chair near Steve. He pauses, looking at Steve, analyzing him for a moment. “You remember… We spoke about your side effects?”
“Yeah,” Steve says suspiciously.
It was the bats. Nothing bad, he had to assure Robin after his third appointment with Owens. Just weird things that didn’t happen before the bites. Things he couldn’t do but can now. Hear things from seemingly miles away. (The kids can’t sneak up on him anymore, no matter how quiet they are. It’s like he can hear their hearts beating.) Move things he would never have been able to move before. (Which he discovered after slamming his car door shut while angry and shattering the window.) See in the dark. (This one frustrates the others the most. (Except when he breaks things.) The kids complain about how creepy it is to hear him skulking around in the dark during sleepovers, and Robin complains that she can’t see in the dark too. It’s unfair, quite frankly. He just tells her she should be glad she wasn’t maimed by demon bats.)
“We believe Eddie has something similar,” Owens says slowly, carefully. “Just… A heavier dose, in a way, of the bat venom.”
Steve blinks.
“Explain?”
“Well. You know about his blood loss.”
Steve’s stomach twists. Eddie’s bloodied limbs and chest and face flash in his mind, followed by the blood running down the drain.
“Yeah,” he says weakly, feeling sick.
“When we tried a blood transfusion it didn’t work,” Owens says. “But he woke up. And… Started drinking the blood.”
Steve blinks, confusion momentarily replacing his sickness.
“Like… Like a vampire?”
“Well.” Owens tilts his head, shrugging lightly. “Yes.”
“What… the fuck.”
“Yeah.”
Steve lowers his head to the table in front of him, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. Owens waits for him.
“He’s okay, though,” he says after a few moments, lifting his head and looking at him. “Right?”
Owens’s eyes lock with his intently, his face hardening with almost uncomfortable sincerity.
“He will be.”
Steve stays in there, scratching at the wood of the table as Owens talks to him. Tells him about what Eddie needs: blood, fresh or frozen, which they’d learned through carefully monitored experiments, and endless, gentle support. He’s so confused, Owens says, his brows furrowing the first exhibition of earnest emotion that Steve’s ever seen. He always seems so put together, so professional, that it makes Steve’s chest clench.
Owens brings him a cup of coffee. Black. The way Steve likes it. Steve takes the cup, and he watches the coffee ripple as his hands tremble. He sets it down after a moment.
They told Eddie about the Upside Down. He doesn’t remember any of it. The vines, the bats. Nothing. Steve covers his face as Owens talks, taking slow, measured breaths to try and stop his eyes from stinging.
“So what do I do?” he asks when Owens finishes.
“What do you mean?”
“You said…” He pauses to clear his throat, blinking his eyes and shifting in his seat. “You said you wanted to tell me about his… condition. Or whatever. Why me? What do I do?”
“You have some experience similar to his,” Owens says gently. Steve can practically feel the teeth of the bats in his skin for a moment. The serrated tails digging into his neck, into his palms and fingers.
“Yeah,” he says, pushing the memories away with a tiny shake of his head. He does that a lot.
“And you seem to instinctively take up the role of protector,” Owens adds lightly. It makes Steve laugh. Just a little.
“Yeah.”
“He’ll be staying here for observation,” Owens says. “And then he’ll need somewhere to stay.”
“He can stay with me,” Steve says a little too quickly. His face burns, but Owens smiles softly.
“Thought you’d say that.”
He runs into Robin in the hallway on his way to Eddie’s room. (Room 236. He can’t stop repeating it in his head.)
“How is he?” Steve asks weakly. She sways forward and pulls him into a tight hug. “Like that, huh?”
“He’s confused,” she mumbles into his shoulder. “About everything. But he’s, like, doing that thing where he pretends he’s fine even though we all know he’s not.”
Steve sighs. His hands are shaking. He presses them to her back.
“He doesn’t remember us.”
“Owens said he wouldn’t.”
“He, like…” She sighs. They sway. He tightens his arms around her. She likes to be hugged tightly. “Says he recognizes us. Like he knows he knows us. But he didn’t know any of our names, or how he knows us.”
He pulls away and presses his forehead to hers, running his hands down her arms firmly as she exhales slowly.
“Was… Kinda scary.”
“‘S okay,” he murmurs.
“I know.”
He can feel her trembling. He pulls away to press a kiss to her forehead, letting her fall against him as he presses his cheek to her forehead, feeling her breath on his neck.
“Kept seeing all that blood,” Robin says weakly. His throat tightens. He sees that blood almost every night.
“He’s gonna be okay,” Steve whispers.
“I know. I know.”
He sighs, closing his eyes and swaying with her, pulling her around gently in a way that makes her exhale sharply. Her arms wrap around his waist.
“I’m nervous,” he says after a moment. “I’m gonna cry when I see him, for sure.”
“Oh, we all did,” she says, and he knows without looking at her that she’s doing that thing she does, staring wide-eyed, blankly at nothing. “So many tears. He had no idea why. I mean, he kind of did, they told him that he… you know. But it was kinda weird. But he’s also weird, so.”
He scoffs against her head.
“Didn’t even question it when Dustin almost killed him again by tackling him in a hug,” she says. Steve smiles, closing his eyes.
“Funny.”
“If I don’t laugh, I’ll… break down in tears, so.” She lifts her head, looking into his eyes. “‘S gonna be fine.”
“I know,” he sighs.
She reaches up to hold his face, squishing his cheeks between her palms.
“I can tell you’re still freaking out. Stop it.”
“It’s not entirely within my control, Robbie.” His voice is muffled, his lips squished.
“Stop freaking out. Deep breath.”
He inhales, raising his eyebrows, and she does the same, squishing his cheeks harder and suppressing a smile.
“Fishy.”
He huffs, rolling his eyes.
“Hello?”
Steve looks over Robin’s shoulder at Nancy’s voice, and Robin looks back without removing her hands from Steve’s face. Nancy is raising an eyebrow at them. Her cheeks are rosy. She’s been crying.
They all have, Steve notices as they all appear behind her. Erica is sniffling, wiping her nose with the end of her sleeve, holding onto Dustin’s arm.
“I’m emotionally preparing him,” Robin says. Her cheeks flush pink, and Steve snorts, poking her side. She yelps and lets go, smacking his cheek lightly as he snickers.
“Get outta here,” he says, looking at Dustin and lifting his chin, silently asking how he is. Dustin gives him a watery smile. Steve’s heart aches.
“You staying behind?” Nancy asks as Robin approaches them, reaching to touch Max’s head gently, fondly.
“Yeah,” Steve says, pushing his hands into his pockets. “I was talking with Owens, I’m just…”
She nods, understanding.
Dustin hugs him. He’s crying again, his shoulders shaking as Steve presses his cheek to the top of his head. He feels little. Like he’s aged backwards, just a little boy again, crying into Steve’s chest.
Steve kisses the top of his head when they part.
He watches them go, lingering by a window and watching them all, watching them half-hug each other, hold each other close. Dustin is still crying. Mike pulls him into a hug outside the van.
Steve exhales slowly. His heart is beating too fast. His hands are shaking.
He wanders down the halls slowly, meandering, taking slow breaths, letting his lungs fill and empty as he counts in his head.
One, two, three, four.
One, two, three, four.
One, two, three, four.
One, two, three, four.
His therapist calls it combat breathing. (He’s going to have to tell her about this. Seeing Eddie.) He hates that phrase, even if it’s accurate. He’s never been to combat. Not combat combat. Neither has Dustin, or Max, or Erica, or any of them. And yet.
They’ve all got it. The flashbacks. The dreams. The days they can barely get out of bed, or feed themselves. Sometimes Dustin can’t talk.
Steve stops in his tracks when he sees it.
Room 236.
He’s stuck. In the middle of the hallway. His breath catches in his throat, and he chokes a little bit, exhaling hard as he rubs his hand across his chest harshly. He only moves when a nurse looking down at her clipboard bumps into him, apologising breathily as she briskly passes by him, and he moves closer to the door. The numbers are metallic, gleaming in the too-bright fluorescent lights of the hallway.
He approaches tentatively, like he’s trying to hide, until he can see the window.
And Eddie.
He’s sitting on the bed, arms wrapped in bandages, wearing a hospital gown, looking down at a book in his lap. His curls are tied into a messy bun at the top of his head, a few escaping and brushing his neck. Steve hears him huff and watches as he tries to brush them away, but after a moment he just rips the hair tie out of his hair and reties it all, dragging his fingers through it so hard he catches tangles.
He looks away from the book, across the room at the wall, finishes his hair, and drops his arms heavily, sighing. Steve can hear it.
He’s pale. He’s almost glowing.
But the marks around his neck are dark, almost burgundy. And his cheek is mangled, part of it covered with a bandage, red and purple and pink. Steve aches.
He turns away, pressing his back to the wall next to the door, closing his eyes as his lungs constrict. He takes a slow breath, pressing his hands to his face as Eddie’s bloodied face flashes in his mind. He remembers how it smelled. His throat hurts.
It takes a while for him to breathe properly. When he gets it, he exhales sharply, huffing, pinching the bridge of his nose, and his skin tightens when he hears Eddie’s voice say, “Hello?”
He squeezes his eyes shut, scolding himself, remembering that Eddie has the same shit he does, the damn hearing and sight and fucking everything.
So he exhales again, turning around and taking the door handle, pushing the door handle before he can talk himself out of it.
“Hi,” he says quietly, stepping inside, watching as Eddie’s eyes widen. “Sorry, I was just…”
He shakes his head, unsure of what he’s trying to say, stopping. The door closes behind him.
Eddie stares.
Steve hurts.
Eddie’s almost gaunt, too thin, haggard. His eyes are still shining.
“Woah,” Eddie says, staring, wide-eyed.
“Woah?” Steve questions, forcing himself to inhale. He feels like he’s on fire.
“You, uhm. Sorry.” Eddie coughs, clearing his throat. His book falls shut in his lap. “I don’t… remember.”
“Yeah,” Steve says, shaking his head, pushing his trembling hands into his pockets. “No, Owens said. It’s… It’s okay.”
“Are we friends?” Eddie asks in a small voice.
Steve blinks. His eyes burn.
“Not really,” he says weakly. “We could have been, I think. If we…” His throat tightens around his words and he pauses, swallowing, blinking. “Had more time.”
Eddie nods, unblinking.
For a while.
Steve stares back, holding tears back.
“What?” he asks after another moment, scoffing, laughing lightly, uncomfortably.
“Sorry,” Eddie says, finally blinking. “Just… Wondering how I could forget a face like that.”
Steve blinks. His cheeks burn.
“Oh.” He exhales, dropping his shoulders. “Okay.”
Eddie stares again. Steve lets himself stare back, watching as Eddie’s eyes narrow so slightly Steve almost doesn’t notice.
“What?” Steve asks again, whispering it.
“You look familiar,” Eddie says. “Like…” He pauses for a long stretched moment. “Like a song I’ve heard once. But don’t know the words to. You know?”
“Oh,” Steve says again. “Yeah. I mean, no, but–”
Eddie snorts, gesturing toward the chair next to his bed.
“C’mere.”
Steve takes a breath, looking at the chair like it’s about to come to life and eat him, hesitating. But he sits down heavily, staring at the floor for a moment before he looks back at Eddie.
Who’s still looking at him.
He looks almost awestruck, eyes wide and shining, almost curious.
“You don’t remember my name,” Steve says.
Eddie shakes his head before he stops, eyes narrowing again, brows furrowing. He turns a little bit toward him, setting the book aside, his fingers tangling in his lap.
“It starts with an S,” he says after a moment.
Steve’s chest clenches. He nods.
Eddie’s face lights up.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Eddie does it again, that thoughtful stare, thinking hard, like he’s trying to use telepathy.
“...Sam?”
Steve smiles, relaxing a little bit, shaking his head.
“Simon?’’
Another shake.
“Samuel– No, that’s just Sam again. Sean?”
“No,” Steve says, laughing lightly.
“Shawn? With a W. It’s different.”
Steve laughs a little harder, scrunching his nose and shaking his head. He can tell Eddie’s doing this on purpose, being silly just to make him laugh, but it works anyway.
“Fuck. Sawyer?”
“No.”
“Spencer?”
“Mm-mm.”
“Uhm.” He pauses, thinking, his eyes searching Steve’s face like he’s going to find his name written in his skin, spelled out in his moles. “S-S-Sebastian?”
Steve shakes his head, smiling.
“Jesus, how many S names are there?”
“You want me to just tell you?”
“No. Shane?”
A shake.
“Uhm.” He stares again, scrunching his nose and shrugging to himself. “Sunny.”
Steve laughs, giggles, shaking his head.
“Good God. Uhm. Smith.”
“That’s a last name.”
“Maybe your parents are weird, I don’t know.”
Steve drops his head, laughing. When he looks back up, Eddie is smiling at him, his expression soft. Too soft.
“You want a hint?” Steve asks, ignoring it.
“A little one.”
“Uh.” Steve exhales, relaxing into the chair. Eddie moves closer, his legs crossed, tugging the blanket with him. Steve tears his eyes away, looking at the ground as he thinks. “Five letters.”
“Oh, hangman?”
Steve nods.
Eddie is grinning. Steve loves his smile. There isn’t any blood in his teeth, and it makes his cheeks squish up, makes his eyes squint, makes those perfect lines form in his skin. Steve lets himself gaze as Eddie looks up at some random spot across the room blankly.
“Five letters,” Eddie repeats, his eyes jumping around, envisioning the lines. “Starts with S.”
“Mhmm.”
“...A.”
“No A.”
Eddie lifts a hand and draws a circle in the air. Steve smiles.
“E?”
“Two Es.”
Eddie’s eyebrows fly up and his eyes jump around again, the Es finding their places before he gasps, jumping and grabbing at Steve.
“Steve!”
“Yeah,” Steve says, laughing, his skin lighting up again at the feeling of Eddie’s hands on him.
“Steve,” Eddie says again excitedly, beaming brightly, shaking Steve’s shoulders. “Steve, Steve, Steve–”
Steve is giggling again. His hands find Eddie’s forearms, holding him back. His skin is cold.
“That bring anything back?” he asks when Eddie stops shaking him. Eddie’s smile falters, but it doesn’t fall. He’s still grinning at him, staring intently at him.
“No,” he says. “‘S just nice to have a name to put to a face. I think Sunny is nice, too, though.”
Steve snorts, shaking his head and letting his hands fall. Eddie is closer. Close enough that Steve can see the faint lines in his skin, that he could count his eyelashes. Eddie stares back, almost smiling, his expression light and almost careless, like he isn’t covered in bandages.
“Steve.”
“Eddie,” Steve says softly. Too softly. He didn’t mean to do that. But Eddie doesn’t seem to mind, just tilting his head like he’s analyzing Steve the way he is Eddie.
His eyes catch on Steve’s neck and he tilts his head the other way like a curious puppy, leaning closer and narrowing his eyes. He lifts a hand before Steve can say anything, reaching up and touching his neck lightly, tracing his scars.
“You too, huh?”
“Yeah,” Steve breathes. “Didn’t really get it as bad as you, though.”
Eddie smiles softly, still looking, tracing so lightly that Steve almost shivers. His fingers hover over his throat, tracing a line down it, and Steve swallows nervously.
“They told me,” Eddie says quietly. “About the Upside Down and everything. About the bats.”
Steve blinks hard, staring at him as he looks at Steve’s scar.
“Pretty wild, isn’t it?” he says. His voice is quiet. If he speaks louder, it might break.
“Unbelievable,” Eddie says. “But…” He shrugs, sighing, fingertips still touching Steve’s neck. They’re not on his scar anymore, instead tracing a line in a pattern that Steve recognizes at his moles. “The blood and everything. I don’t know if Owen’s told you about that.” His eyes meet Steve’s, and Steve blinks tears back, hoping Eddie doesn’t notice them. He nods.
“He did.”
“You too?”
“Not that. But the other stuff. The… hearing. And you can see in the dark, can’t you?”
Eddie nods, cracking a small smile.
“‘S nice to not be the only one.”
“Yeah.”
Eddie is quiet. Still looking at Steve. His fingers are twisting in his lap, fidgeting with his rings absentmindedly.
“So it’s all true.”
Steve nods.
And then his eyes are welling with tears, and Eddie’s eyes are widening, and Steve chokes out, “I left you there.”
Eddie shakes his head, shifting to face him, looking at him intently.
“No, Steve, you…”
“I left you down there,” Steve says weakly as tears finally fall down his cheeks. “I’m sorry, Eddie, I wanted– I wanted to bring you home, I– I–”
“No, it’s not your fault,” Eddie says gently, reaching out to touch Steve’s shoulder, holding him firmly. “You– Steve. C’mon.”
Steve gasps for breath, squeezing his eyes shut and letting his head fall forward to hide his face.
“You did everything you could, man,” Eddie tells him, pulling at his shoulder, and Steve falls forward, a sob ripping its way out of his chest, and then he’s actually dying, because Eddie is pulling him into a hug, whispering quietly to him. “‘S not your fault, Steve.”
“I wasn’t there,” Steve chokes. His face is pressing into Eddie’s neck, and he draws his hands up to clutch at his hospital gown. “I wasn’t there for you, and you– you weren’t breathing, and I–”
“It’s not your fault,” Eddie says again, more firmly this time, leaving no room for argument. He shifts to take Steve’s face between his hands.
Steve’s chest aches.
He melts.
He exhales, closing his eyes, and Eddie’s thumbs wipe away tears that fall, and Steve didn’t realise this is what he’s been missing. Eddie’s hands on his skin, his whispers just reaching Steve’s ears.
It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault.
A sob rips out of Steve’s chest, and Eddie pulls him closer, tugging him onto the bed and carefully pulling his head to rest on Eddie’s shoulder. His fingers are pressing into Steve’s hair, scratching at his scalp, swaying with him, like he’s doing everything he can to make Steve feel better.
“God, Steve,” Eddie breathes when Steve’s crying slows, smoothing his hand over the back of his head.
“I’m sorry,” Steve chokes, pulling away, avoiding his eyes. “Jesus, you don’t even know who I am, I’m—”
“You’re Steve,” Eddie says softly, grabbing at his arms and tugging, keeping him from getting up. Steve exhales shakily, his lip trembling. “You…”
Eddie pauses, his fingers tightening on Steve’s arms. Steve can hear his heart beating.
“I don’t… remember you,” Eddie says slowly, carefully, thinking. His eyes are trained on Steve’s neck like he’s looking at his scars. “But I… I remember how you made me feel.”
Steve swallows, looking down at Eddie’s hands. He’s not wearing his rings, but Steve can see the indents of where they belong. His nails are trimmed, and clean, and Steve wonders if a nurse washed the blood away before or after he woke up.
“How did I make you feel?” he asks quietly, almost whispering.
Eddie is quiet, his jaw working, and Steve shifts to hold his arms back. His skin is cold. Steve’s thumb brushes over the bats inked into his forearm, gazing at them, wondering if Eddie looks at them differently now.
“I don’t know if I can say it,” Eddie whispers.
Steve’s stomach twists.
“You can say it,” he whispers. “Please. Say it.”
Eddie closes his eyes, sliding his hands to meet Steve’s.
“Think I… might have. Maybe. Could have. Had a crush on you.”
Steve closes his eyes. His fingers tighten on Eddie’s arms, and he exhales.
“Really?” he whispers.
He opens his eyes when Eddie doesn’t answer, and Eddie looks like he might cry, eyes wide and shining. A jolt goes through Steve when he sees them. Real. In front of him.
“Yeah,” Eddie says softly. “I don’t…” He shakes his head, hesitating. “Remember, like… Why. I guess. But you…”
He smiles a little bit, softly, almost fondly, and he lifts a hand to touch Steve’s cheek, his thumb brushing over his skin. Steve’s chest squeezes, and he can’t breathe, but he doesn’t really mind, because Eddie’s gaze is soft, and warm.
“You’re even a pretty crier,” Eddie murmurs almost absently like he doesn’t even realise he’s saying it.
Steve’s face crumbles, and he falls forward against Eddie, who catches him and mumbles a soft, “C’mere,” and pulls him closer, until Steve shifts farther onto the bed, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s waist carefully.
“Does that hurt?” Steve asks, conscious of the stitches and bandages and tape under Eddie’s hospital gown, but Eddie shakes his head.
“I’m on so many painkillers right now, man,” he says quietly, making Steve laugh lightly, stretching his legs out slowly. “I’m totally numb.”
They fall into each other, arms wrapped around each other, and Steve’s cheek rests against Eddie’s chest, against his skin where the gown has fallen a little bit. Eddie’s fingers push into Steve’s hair again like that’s where they belong, like he does this every day.
Steve closes his eyes, focusing on the rise and fall of Eddie’s chest with every breath, on the quiet beating of his heart against Steve’s cheek.
“God, I missed you so much, Eddie,” he says weakly. Because he needs Eddie to know. Eddie’s hand slides up his arm, squeezing.
“‘M right here, Stevie.”
Steve exhales.
Eddie smells like the hospital. Sterile. But the smell of cigarettes and weed still lingers in his hair, and Steve kind of wants to sit up and bury his face in it.
He settles against Eddie’s chest, lulled to sleepiness from Eddie’s hand in his hair, his other hand tracing down his arm.
Until Eddie’s hand rests on his.
“My uncle gave me that ring,” he murmurs. Steve’s stomach drops and his eyes fly open, and he starts to sit up, reaching to take it off.
The ring he’d taken from Eddie’s lifeless hand and scrubbed clean days later, because he couldn’t stand the thought of losing any part of Eddie, even his dry blood.
“Jesus, sorry,” he mutters, face flaming, heart pounding, more embarrassed than he’s ever been in his life, because he was just sobbing into the chest of a boy that has no memory of him at all, and his cheeks still feel tacky from his tears, and Eddie fucking died and he’s the one comforting Steve, and Steve fucking stole his ring off his dead body—
“Don’t be,” Eddie says smoothly, his voice soft. His hand stops Steve’s, grabbing it and pulling him back down against him, twining their fingers. “‘S okay.”
“It’s…” Steve lets him pull him back, stiff, anxious. “I shouldn’t have taken it, I’m—”
“It’s okay, Steve,” Eddie says. “Keep it.”
“But… Your uncle…”
“He won’t mind,” Eddie says softly. “‘S okay.”
Steve hesitates for another moment before he turns and buries his face in Eddie’s chest, taking a shuddering breath.
Eddie says it one more time. Murmurs it. Breathes it.
It’s okay.
Steve believes him.
Eddie hugs him tightly, one hand sliding up to hold the back of his head.
“‘M really tired,” he mumbles. Steve opens his eyes. He must be. Waking up after dying just to find himself ravaged and wounded, learning all the shit he had to learn about the Upside Down, meeting the Party all over again.
“Do you want me to go?”
“No,” Eddie says firmly, his arms tightening. “I don’t want you to go.” He’s quiet for a moment, and Steve squeezes his eyes shut. “…Will you stay?”
Steve just presses closer, tucking his face into Eddie’s neck, groaning quietly when Eddie rolls slightly, one arm around Steve’s neck, the other sliding up his arm to his shoulder, pushing his hair back. Steve shivers.
He stays awake after Eddie falls asleep, listening to every breath, to every beat of Eddie’s heart. Feeling Eddie’s fingers twisted in his overgrown hair, feeling his legs pressed up against Steve’s, and Steve kind of wishes he’d worn shorts today so he can feel their skin press, which is probably a weird desire, but what even is weird anymore?
He wants to stay awake there until Eddie wakes up, to be conscious and aware of every second he gets to have with him, but Eddie’s pulse is steady, and his skin is cool against Steve’s, and Steve starts to drift off long before he wants to.
He lets himself, because he can’t move to wake himself up without moving Eddie.
He doesn’t have any bad dreams.
Or good dreams, for that matter. For hours, until a nurse comes in to check on Eddie, Steve’s mind is peacefully, blissfully blank. Empty.
It’s awkward when they both stir to find the nurse looking down at them with a smile. Steve’s face is hot, hotter than it’s ever been, and he knows he must be fucking red as he sits up and detaches from Eddie, but the nurse just asks if they slept okay.
• ───────────────── •
“Steve, how are you today?”
“I’m alright.”
“So… A lot to talk about today.”
“…Yeah.”
“Would you like to talk about that or start like we usually do?”
“Uhm. I guess like we— like we usually do.”
“So how was work this week?”
“Okay. I’m… working on being patient with customers. Even though they’re not patient with me.”
“How are you working on that?”
“Uhm. Deep breaths and everything. Reminding myself that I’m… Like. Not responsible for how they treat me. And that, like… They might be having a shitty day. I don’t know what’s going on with them. ‘S also easier with Robin there.”
“How does Robin help?”
“Makes faces at me behind customers’ backs. Which maybe isn’t very professional, but it’s funny.”
“How’s Robin doing?”
“She’s good. She’s trying to spend more time with her dad, I think it’s going well.”
“And the kids?”
“Good. Mike asked me to teach him to drive. Begrudgingly. I think he just doesn’t want Nancy to teach him.”
“Seems like that makes you happy.”
“I guess.”
“How’s your eating been?”
“Eh. Alright. It’s… easier to eat during the day if I’m… I don’t know. Eating with Robin or bringing the kids lunch and stuff. It’s easier at night.”
“How can you work on that? Getting your nutrition during the day? Just dinner isn’t enough to nourish you.”
“Uh. I guess I could… I don’t know. Bring food with me to work?”
“That sounds like a good idea. What about keeping some in your car, too?”
“I could do that. Like crackers or something. Stuff that won’t go back in the heat.”
“That sounds good. …And how’s your sleeping?”
“…”
“…Steve?”
“Not… great.”
“Nightmares?”
“Sometimes. A lot of the time. But it’s also… Just. I don’t know. ‘S hard to fall asleep.”
“What helps?”
“…Robin sometimes. When she sleeps over, she’ll stay in my bed. ‘S nice to listen to her… breathe.”
“Are your nightmares still the same?”
“…No.”
“When did they change?”
“After… I guess we can’t really avoid talking about it that long.”
“Guess not.”
“...After Eddie came back. That night.”
“Would you like to tell me what happened in it?”
“…I was… in my room. And the— the lights started flickering. It was, uhm. Morse code. I don’t even know Morse code, but I—I recognized it in my dream.”
“Right.”
“It was…”
“…What was it saying?”
“I don’t… remember. But it was Eddie. I just… knew. He was in the Upside Down, trying to– trying to talk to me. Tell me he was alive. And I’d just… left him there. And I– I know he was dead, and it wasn’t my fault, and I did– I did everything I could, but I just…”
“What did you do when you woke up? How did you cope with it?”
“Just… moved on. I think if I— if I lingered on it, or, like, thought about it I would have just… I don’t know.”
“Do you think… maybe burying your emotions might not be the best idea?”
“I know, I just… I don’t know what else to do.”
“You’re allowed to have feelings, Steve. I know you weren’t allowed when you were little, but you are now. And I know you know it’s unhealthy to suppress them.”
“I know.”
“…What was it like seeing Eddie again?”
“…Sorry.”
“It’s okay to cry, Steve.”
“I know. It was, uhm. I don’t know.”
“…”
“I think I was just, like. Confused. I guess.”
“What was confusing?”
“Just… I don’t know— I mean, I grieved for him. I mourned. And then he… Like, obviously I’m happy he’s back, and I’m— I’m so happy he’s okay, I’m really really happy, I just… Why does it feel like I’m grieving all over again?”
“...Do you think it may have something to do with that he doesn’t remember you?”
“Probably. It’s just… I don’t know. Frustrating. I shouldn’t be grieving him when he’s right there in front of me.”
“Steve, you’re allowed to feel whatever it is that you feel.”
“I know. ...It’s hard being around him. But I also don’t want to leave him.”
“What’s hard?”
“...Remembering. And just… God, the way he looks at me.”
“How does he look at you? Why is it upsetting?”
“He… He looks at me like he remembers me. But also like he’s trying to figure me out. He doesn’t remember me, he told me. But he said that he… remembers how he felt about me.”
“How did he feel about you?”
“...”
“When you told you, whatever it is, it’s okay if you don’t want to tell me, was it upsetting? Or did it bring you peace?”
“...Both? …I think I’m just tired.”
“Are you letting yourself rest?”
“...I’m trying.”
• ───────────────── •
Steve is still anxious to see Eddie the next time he goes over. He knows the kids were at the hospital earlier today, can practically still smell them. (Dustin smells vaguely of the flowery perfume his mom wears. Steve doesn’t think anybody else has noticed.)
His hands are shaking as he makes his way back to Eddie’s room, down the long, lonely hallways. He forgot how much he hated hospitals last time he was here, too distracted by his fear and the beating of his heart. But he really, really hates them. Hates the buzzing and humming of the overhead lights, the lights that are almost blinding with how fucking bright they are, reflecting off the unnervingly clean, white floors and walls. Hates the sterile smell of bleach that blurs with the smell of humans, of bodies. (Steve knows no one else has noticed it. But humans have a certain smell. Steve hasn’t figured out if it’s their skin or their blood or their muscles or whatever, but it’s nearly intolerable when combined with bleach. It makes his head ache.)
There’s a nurse outside Eddie’s room when Steve gets there, scribbling something on her clipboard, and Steve hesitates, not wanting to interrupt or distract her, until she looks up and catches his eye. She smiles softly, deepening the lines around her mouth and eyes, and for a moment she reminds Steve of his own mother. Though the kind shine in her eyes is different.
“Are you going to see Eddie?” she asks when he gets a little closer.
“Uh, yes ma’am.”
“I should warn you he’s in a lot of pain today,” she says, holding the clipboard to herself.
He blinks, pausing, glancing at the door but unable to see through the window from where he’s standing.
“Can’t you… give him painkillers or something?”
“We have,” she says, almost sighing. “But they haven’t done anything. We suspect the pain is psychosomatic.”
Steve blinks again, his face flushing as he says, “I don’t– I don’t know what that means.” He’s anticipating an eye-roll, or a huff, or a look, but she just explains calmly.
“It means it’s mental instead of physical,” she says. “He feels it in his body, but there’s nothing physically wrong with him, which is why the painkillers haven’t been effective.”
“Oh.”
“We try not to tell patients that it’s just in their head,” she says, miming finger quotes awkwardly with the clipboard against her, “but in this case it is. This happens a lot with trauma victims.” She’s looking at him almost knowingly, like she knows what he’s been through. (Maybe she does. Maybe Owens told her.) “But a nice distraction might be helpful to him,” she says, smiling at Steve as she starts to head down the hallway.
His cheeks flush again, and he nods, thanking her quietly.
“Hey,” he says when he goes inside, looking at Eddie and shutting the door carefully. Eddie is sitting up, his knees drawn to his chest, holding a book in front of himself, but he puts it to the side before Steve can catch a glance at the cover. His hair is down today.
“Steve,” Eddie says breathily, eyes wide, eyebrows raised, almost smiling like he’s been waiting for him. He turns a little bit as Steve sits in the chair next to his bed.
“Heard you’re having a rough day,” Steve says softly.
Eddie nods, blinking, and Steve can tell it all hurts. Eddie looks exhausted, and even though he makes no indication of the pain, doesn’t wince and isn’t crying, Steve can practically feel it too. That ache in his sides, the sting of the bats’ teeth digging into his skin. Jesus.
He dismisses it again, shaking his head a little as he leans over to set his bag down.
“How you feeling?”
“Shitty,” Eddie says, and Steve gives a sympathetic smile. “Better seeing you, though.”
The smile turns sheepish, and Steve looks away, his cheeks flushing. Eddie reaches up and pokes his cheek, snickering. Steve sees his hand in his peripheral as he rolls his eyes. There’s a tube snaking up to the back of it, and his fingers look frailer than they did before he was gone. Steve wonders if he still has his calluses.
“Got something that might make you feel better,” he says, ignoring the ache in his chest.
“What’s that?”
“You remember last time, you mentioned those donuts from Ashbrook and Hackett’s?”
Eddie’s eyes widen and his mouth spreads into a glowing grin.
“From Dennis’s?” he asks excitedly, and Steve smiles, leaning down to unzip his bag.
“That’s the one.”
He resurfaces with a paper bag in his hand, and Eddie snatches it away, beaming.
Steve leans back in the chair, watching as Eddie unfolds his legs, wincing as he does, and opens the bag happily, almost wiggling in excitement. He holds the open bag to his face for a moment, inhaling and then groaning in euphoria as Steve laughs.
“These donuts are the only things that make me believe in God,” Eddie quips, pulling one out of the bag and gazing at it. “Isn’t that beautiful?”
“‘S gorgeous, Eddie,” Steve says dryly, but he can’t disguise the amused smile on his face, and he doesn’t miss the gleeful shine in Eddie’s eye when he glances at him. Eddie sets the bag down and carefully rips the donut in half, holding one half up to Steve, who stares at it for a moment, the back of his mind protesting. But he ignores it, reaching out and taking it with a hushed, “Thanks,” to which Eddie responds with a, “You bought them.”
Eddie lets out another groan when he takes the first bite, letting his head fall back, and Steve giggles. He giggles. Like a schoolgirl with a crush. He’s sick of himself.
“Shit’s better than drugs,” Eddie says dramatically. “I swear he puts something in them, ‘s why his recipe’s a secret.”
“How well do you know Dennis from the donut shop?” Steve asks, laughing quietly with his mouth full. The donuts are incredible, perfect in every way. Steve was never allowed to have them as a kid, and he tried not to even look at the shop while in the car with his mother, who would take any opportunity possible to launch into an extended rant/lecture about the dangers of sugar. He was terrified the first time he went to Dennis’s with Tommy and Carol. Neither of them seemed to even think twice before ordering a classic glazed and a chocolate sprinkle, but Steve felt like he was going to die, like his mother was going to be waiting right outside. She never found out. He still finds himself trying not to look at the shop when driving past it.
“You’d be surprised,” Eddie says lightly. “I hung out at his shop a lot when I was a kid, before I got my license, and I had to wait for Wayne after school.” He pauses, his chewing slowing, his smile falling a little as he stares blankly at his blanket. Steve waits, tilting his head and watching him.
“Do you think…” Eddie starts before he pauses to swallow, and he looks up at Steve, the shine in his eyes suddenly vulnerable. “Do you think he thinks I killed Chrissy and the others?” he asks quietly, scared.
Steve’s stomach twists, and he just looks back at him for a moment, hesitating. Not wanting to lie.
“I don’t know.”
“Probably, right?” Eddie says, looking away, and he sounds so fucking resigned that Steve wants to slam his own head into a wall, concussions be damned. “I mean, they all do. Probably even Wayne.”
“Wayne doesn’t,” Steve says, shaking his head. Eddie looks back at him curiously. “He doesn’t.”
“How do you know?”
“We went to talk to him when we were trying to figure out what happened to Chrissy,” Steve says. “He was, like, fucking adamant that it wasn’t you. That you would never hurt anyone.”
Eddie looks away again, nodding slowly, processing. Steve waits, lowering the donut and looking at him. The marks around his neck are still dark. Steve wonders if they’ll ever lighten to match his.
“I miss him,” Eddie says after a few moments. His voice is thick, and he quickly wipes the cheek that’s facing away from Steve.
“He misses you too.”
“He probably… thinks I’m dead. Doesn’t he?”
He looks at Steve, that resigned look in his eyes again, and Steve wants to cry.
He nods.
Eddie exhales, nodding again and looking back down, taking a forlorn bite from the donut in his hand.
“When we got back,” Steve says because he feels like he has to explain, “we were at the school gym, helping with the donations and shelter and– and everything, and Dustin saw Wayne putting up a missing poster for you.” He doesn’t tell him that he was replacing a vandalized one. Probably spending grocery money on printing them out at the library. “He just… He told me he couldn’t stand the thought of him waiting.”
Eddie nods again, his eyes glistening.
“I’m gonna see him again, right?” he asks abruptly, sounding like a child. “He’s– He’s gonna know I’m okay?”
“Of course,” Steve reassures him, even though he’s not in control of it in the slightest. “It’s not safe for him to know yet, but we’ll get to tell him eventually. ‘S gonna be okay.”
Eddie exhales, nodding, and they finish their donuts in silence. It’s not an awful silence, calm and relaxed even though Eddie looks too thoughtful, like his head is stuffed full.
“She was really nice,” Eddie says after a few moments, looking up at Steve. “Chrissy.”
Steve nods, his heart twisting.
“I’ve heard that she was sweet.”
Eddie nods, looking down, his fragile-looking fingers twisting in his lap. His rings clink together, and he picks at one of his nails. His voice is quiet when he speaks again.
“She wanted ketamine.”
Steve looks at him, at the side of his face.
“She didn’t tell me, like, why. But she asked if I, uhm. Ever felt like I’m losing my mind. And I gotta say, man…” He gives a dry, humourless laugh. “I definitely do now.”
“You’re not losing your mind, Eddie,” Steve says softly.
Eddie just nods.
“They told me how she died,” he says quietly. “Fuckin’ horrific.”
“Yeah,” Steve says softly.
“They told me what— what Vecna did to his victims,” Eddie says. His eyes are gleaming. “What he showed them, and— and I don’t know what exactly he showed Chrissy, but she… she didn’t deserve it,” he says, his voice breaking. “And I couldn’t do anything to help her, I’m…”
“There wasn’t anything you could have done, Eddie. You had no idea what was happening.”
“She was so scared, Steve,” Eddie says brokenly.
Steve pauses, his chest aching. Eddie’s eyes are filled with tears, threatening to spill over.
“For what it’s worth,” Steve says quietly, slowly, “she felt safe with you.”
“…You think?”
“Yeah. I do.”
Eddie nods, looking at the blanket that draped over his legs, at the paper bag that’s stained with grease from the two other donuts Steve brought him, and then he’s crying. His eyes squeeze shut and his lip quivers and he sniffles, turning his face away as tears fall down his cheeks.
“Sorry,” he chokes, wiping his face aggressively.
“No, ‘s okay,” Steve murmurs, watching. “You can cry.”
A sob escapes Eddie, and Steve hesitates before moving onto the bed, slowly sliding an arm around Eddie’s shoulders and pulling him closer. Eddie falls against him, crying, and Steve wraps his arms around him tightly, murmuring to him.
“’S okay, I got you.”
“She just— She just wanted drugs—”
“I know, Eddie.”
“She didn’t deserve it, Stevie, she— she just wanted help, I wanted to help her—”
“I know, baby, I know,” Steve murmurs, running a hand over Eddie’s head. “She knew you wanted to help her,” he whispers, swaying with him as Eddie’s hands clutch at Steve’s forearms.
Steve squeezes gently, running his fingers through Eddie’s hair carefully, rubbing his arm. Eddie cries. And cries. And cries.
When he stops, sniffling and hiding his face behind his hair, Steve reaches over to the bedside table to grab a tissue, and he holds it in front of Eddie, watching his hand appear from where it’s tucked between them and take it tentatively.
“‘S okay,” Steve says softly.
Eddie wipes his own face while Steve plays with his hair, while he holds him and sways with him absentmindedly.
“You’re really nice,” Eddie says after a little while. His voice is thick.
“Am I,” Steve breathes. No one’s ever told him that before.
“Yeah,” Eddie says softly. He doesn’t sit up, still leaning against Steve’s chest, head resting on his shoulder. “Wish I could remember you before.”
Steve’s chest clenches, and he exhales, closing his eyes.
“What is it?” Eddie asks.
Steve scoffs.
“Are we, like, connected or something now? Because of the bats?”
“Anything’s possible,” Eddie says lightly. “What is it?”
“…I, uhm. I don’t think you’d want to remember me from before.”
“Why?” Eddie questions, and he sounds genuinely curious, so confused that Steve hurts.
Steve is quiet, hesitating.
“I was… I wasn't great. In high school. I sucked.”
“Well you’re nice now,” Eddie says.
“I’m kind of a bitch, actually.”
Eddie laughs wetly, wiping his face one more time with the tissue.
“I’d like to see that,” he says.
“You will,” Steve says. “It’s inevitable.”
Eddie hums softly.
“You okay?” Steve asks after a moment, rubbing his arm again, and Eddie nods, pressing closer to Steve and sighing.
“You’re… really comforting. You know that?”
Steve scoffs weakly, his cheeks flushing with warmth.
“No. I didn’t know that.”
Eddie reaches up and grips Steve’s shirt, pulling him closer and exhaling.
“The kids love you,” he says, and Steve blinks.
“They do?” he asks, laughing softly. “Could’ve fooled me.”
“Mm. They think you’re so cool,” Eddie says. His voice is quieter, soft, and Steve can tell he’s starting to get sleepy, but he doesn’t move to get up. Eddie leans closer, drawing his legs up and curling into a ball against Steve, who reaches to take the paper bag and set it aside. “Practically worship you.”
“They’re always making fun of me,” Steve says.
“Why?”
“‘M lame,” he says lightly. “I don’t know anything about D&D or science or… I need translations to follow along with them sometimes.”
Eddie hums.
“They think you’re brave,” he says softly. “Henderson called you Steven the Selfless, Steven the Strong.”
“…Really?”
“Mhmm. Kid loves you.”
“…’S cool.”
“Hey, Steve?”
“Yeah?”
Eddie pauses, pressing his face into Steve’s chest.
“Is it cool if I fall asleep here?” he asks softly, holding Steve’s shirt, his fist tightening. “Will you stay?”
Steve’s throat tightens. He'd rather die than move.
“Yeah,” he breathes. “‘S cool.”
Eddie presses up closer, exhaling, and Steve gives in, gathering him into his arms and shifting to lean back against the headboard of the bed so Eddie can lay on his chest.
“Thank you,” Eddie whispers.
Eddie falls asleep quickly, no doubt exhausted from sobbing, and Steve looks up at the ceiling, listening to each of Eddie’s soft breaths, feeling his back rise and fall, playing with his hair. It’s soft and tangled, and Steve’s fingers drag through it slowly, carefully, unknotting it.
Eddie stirs after a while, turning his face into Steve’s chest and groaning softly, but it sounds strained instead of relaxed, and Steve looks down at him, feeling his body tighten.
“Eddie?” he asks softly.
Eddie exhales roughly, his fingers digging into Steve’s side, gripping the fabric of his shirt.
“Steve,” he says, his voice weak.
“You okay?” Steve asks, running his hands over Eddie’s back.
“Hurts.”
Steve tilts his head to look at Eddie’s face, seeing the way his eyes are squeezed shut, his brows furrowed, and his heart twists. His hands shift on Eddie’s back, and Eddie clutches at him tighter.
“Don’t go,” he chokes. “Don’t leave, Stevie.”
Steve’s throat tightens, and he runs his hand up and down Eddie’s spine gently.
“I'm not going anywhere, baby,” he murmurs. “I won’t go.”
Eddie groans in pain, pressing so close to Steve that it almost hurts. He buries his face in Steve’s neck, whimpering, and Steve wraps his arms around him, carefully avoiding the wounds on his sides.
“I got you, ‘s okay,” he whispers. “I know, Eddie, I got you.”
He ducks his head down, pressing his face to Eddie’s shoulder as Eddie lets out another pained noise, and then he’s pressing kisses to his shoulder over the thin fabric of his hospital gown. Firm, hard, and intentional kisses that Steve knows Eddie can’t miss.
The kisses soften after a few moments, and Steve’s face burns, because Eddie’s fallen quiet, just breathing heavily into Steve’s neck.
“You okay?” Steve whispers, listening intently to his breaths, to his heart beating, to his voice that’s weak and wobbly when he speaks.
“Don’t stop.”
Steve doesn’t stop.
Eddie’s heartbeat is almost loud as Steve kisses over his shoulder again, intense and steady, and Steve closes his eyes, losing himself to it. He presses his lips to the spot between Eddie’s shoulder and neck, just above the neckline of the hospital gown. His skin is cool, and Steve lingers, staying there and inhaling.
Eddie smells different from other people. Almost the same, but not quite. Like he’s a rhythm that’s a few beats off. (Steve wonders if Eddie thinks the same about him.) Even though he’s cold, his skin cooler than it probably should be, he smells warm. Like a fire, like a hearth, like something Steve would want to sit in front of after a long day.
Eddie exhales shakily into Steve’s neck, and Steve tilts his head to kiss the side of his neck softly.
“Go to sleep, Eddie.”
He keeps kissing his neck, until he stops at a spot that makes Eddie let out a strained exhale.
“There?” Steve breathes.
“Yes.”
Steve kisses the same spot softly, lingering, letting his teeth tease Eddie’s skin, sucking on the skin. Not hard enough to leave a bruise, just enough for Eddie to feel it. He keeps kissing him when Eddie falls asleep again.
• ───────────────── •
The bell above the door rings cheerfully as Steve steps into Family Video, fumbling with his vest and sighing in relief when Keith isn’t at the counter.
Robin looks up with her customer service smile that drops immediately.
“What time’d you go to bed last night?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.
“Mind your business,” he says lightly, finally getting the vest on and exhaling, hopping up over the counter to join her, narrowly missing his own tape display.
“It is my business,” she says, leaning against the counter and watching him ruffle his hair. “I feed off your energy.”
“Okay, so let me feed off your energy today,” he says, and she shrugs, stepping closer, reaching up and grabbing his head like a basketball before she shakes, making a loud buzzing noise. He giggles, letting her before he swats her away and fixes his hair again.
“You gonna go see Eddie today?” Robin asks, hopping up onto the counter.
“Yeah,” Steve says, looking away, out the window, like he’s looking to see if anyone’s coming in. “‘Course.”
“‘Course,” Robin repeats, nodding, kicking her legs.
Steve looks at her, crossing his arms over his chest almost defensively, his cheeks flushing.
“What?”
“Nothing,” Robin says lightly. “Just… You know. Eddie.”
“I know Eddie what?”
She shrugs, smiling happily.
“…Being cryptic doesn’t work for you, Rob. Say what you’re thinking.”
She pauses, clicking her tongue as she thinks for a moment before she speaks.
“I saw him the other day and I very casually mentioned you, and he, uh…”
Steve stares, listening, trying to keep his face from shifting, from burning.
“He what?”
“Got all pink,” she says lightly, casually, like they’re discussing the weather and not Eddie fucking Munson. “Looked away and asked how you were.”
“Oh.” He looks away, rubbing his cheek. “What’d you say?”
“Oh my god,” Robin says slowly.
“You said ‘Oh my god?’”
“Steve.”
He looks at her, his face flushing with heat when their eyes meet. Her eyes are wide, staring intently, her head tilted forward.
“I…”
The front door swings open and the bell rings again before he can say anything, and he turns around sharply, greeting the customer with a bright Welcome to Family Video, can I help you find anything? and he’s grateful when the customer, an old woman with thick wire-rimmed glasses needs his help finding a movie her granddaughter is interested in.
Robin waits as he shows her around, asking questions about the movie, and it takes a while because she can only repeat the same things her granddaughter has said about it, oblivious to who is in it or what it’s called. It takes a good long while, and Steve does his best to focus on the task at hand and to actually help the poor woman, but his mind keeps wandering back to Eddie, blushing pink and asking Robin how Steve is, and he feels like he’s fourteen again with a pathetic crush. He asked about me! He wanted to know how I was! He knows I exist! And then his mind keeps wandering back to the way Robin looked at him, eyes wide, knowing.
She knows.
It’s not bad that she knows, really. She was bound to figure it out sooner or later. Steve does feel kind of bad that he kept it from her for so long if he’s honest. He doesn’t know why he kept it from her.
He finally sends the woman off with three movies, each with similar plots, just in case, and she thanks him and calls him a lovely young man. He smiles awkwardly and waves goodbye, and when he turns back around to find Robin leaning against the counter, staring at him intently, her arms crossed.
“So,” Steve says awkwardly. “Uhm.”
“So.”
He takes a breath, looking at the ground, at his shoes that are spotted with dirt. He’s gotten new shoes since the near end of the world. The old ones were stained with blood.
“When Eddie was gone, I, uhm… Realised something,” he says slowly.
“Okay,” she says quietly, and when he’s quiet, she speaks again. “Does this… have to do with why Eddie’s vest is in your room?”
He doesn’t look up, his cheeks flushing.
“Kind of, yeah.”
“Okay,” she says again. She waits quietly, but he can’t find the words he needs. He doesn’t even really know what to say, what’s the truth.
“It feels… Like. A lot. To say that I’m, like…in love with him,” he stammers out awkwardly. “But I don’t know…”
He looks up at her, and she’s staring, eyes a little wide, eyebrows raised.
“And you realised when he was… gone.”
Steve hesitates and then nods, and he can see her face fall, and it looks like she’s going to cry.
“You kept that all tucked away inside yourself?” she says, trying to be light about it, and Steve shrugs, half-smiling.
“Didn’t know what else to do with it.”
She sighs softly, looking at him, and he doesn’t get looked at like this all that often. Like he’s a kicked puppy. Pitied.
“Does he know?” she asks quietly.
Steve shrugs.
“We haven’t really… talked about it.”
“But he likes you too.”
“Does he?”
“Oh, yes,” she says firmly, nodding. “One hundred percent.”
His cheeks flush red, and he turns away, hiding his face in his hands.
“What are you gonna do?” Robin asks, moving closer to poke him, leaning against his back.
“Nothing?”
“Nothing? Why?”
Steve shrugs, swaying as she hugs his waist.
“Don’t feel like I need to,” he says, his eyes scanning the parking lot. “I mean— He’s going through so much shit right now, you know? His whole world is changing, and he doesn’t— he doesn’t need this right now.”
She sighs.
“Guess that makes sense.”
“‘S fine, though,” he says. “It’s… It’s getting easier to be around him.”
“It was hard to be around him?”
“God, yeah.” He pauses, reaching to run a hand over her forearm that’s across his belly. “Just kept seeing… The blood.”
“Yeah,” she breathes.
He pauses, staring at the countertop and feeling her press her face against his shoulder, considering, thinking if he wants to tell her this thing, this awful thing he’s barely even let himself think about.
He’s pushed it out of his mind. Ignored it. Pretended it wasn’t there.
“You know… how I did, uhm. CPR?”
“Yeah?” Robin says softly, her voice right under his ear.
“Uhm.” He winces at just the thought, closing his eyes and squeezing her forearm. “His ribs broke.”
She’s quiet and her swaying stops.
“Oh.”
“I kept— I kept hearing it. The— The snapping.”
“Jesus, Steve.”
“Yeah. Just… It was hard to be near him but I also just couldn’t stand to not be near him, you know. ‘Cause he was finally there, and he’s okay, and I just… God.”
She hugs him tighter, her face pressing against his shoulder, and he squeezes her arm, his other hand gripping the edge of the counter.
He doesn’t say anything else.
He wants to say the truth out loud, that he thinks Eddie would hate him if he remembered. If he remembered Steve from high school, asshole douchey rich boy Steve, if he knew that Steve left him behind.
He did. No matter how many people tell him it wasn’t his fault, that there was nothing he could have done, he can’t stop thinking it. He glanced behind himself before following Dustin and Nancy and Robin up back through the ceiling, back to the real world. He couldn’t see Eddie’s body from where he was, and he had to suppress a sob. His vision blurred as he pulled himself up.
He doesn’t say anything else.
“How’s, uhm. How’s Nancy?” he asks instead, and her face presses into him harder before she steps back with a heavy sigh.
“Uh. She’s okay.”
He turns to watch her lean against the other counter, her cheeks flushed, arms crossed the way Steve crosses his arms when he’s hiding something.
“Oh my god,” he says slowly.
“I’m sorry,” she says loudly, apologetically, but he just bursts into laughter, throwing his head back. “Steve.”
“It’s fine,” he says, still laughing, grinning as she huffs. “I get it.”
“She just…”
“Yeah.”
“God, Steve.”
“Mesmerising.”
“God, she is. She, like… Jesus, I can barely look away from her,” Robin says adamantly. “She’s fucking hypnotising, oh my god.” She’s pacing, throwing her head back as she rants, her hands flying. “She’s so smart,,” she gushes. “Her voice is so nice, and she— she listens to me, and her eyes, oh my god.”
“Her eyes,” Steve repeats, smiling.
“Her eyes.”
“Eddie’s eyes?” Steve says, exasperated, and she points at him, nodding, wide-eyed.
“Shiny!”
“Shiny!”
• ───────────────── •
“Hi, Stevie.”
“Hi, Eds.”
He calls him Stevie now. Only Robin calls him that, but it sounds different in her voice. She only says it sometimes, usually late at night when he wakes up from a nightmare next her. (They’re both light sleepers. His gasps or startles wake her up right away, especially because they sleep all tangled together, knotted like the chords in Steve’s junk drawer.) Hey, Stevie, it’s okay. I’m right here.
Eddie says it all the time. All the time. Even in front of the others. The other day all the kids were over in Eddie’s room when Steve showed up, and he could hear them all the way down the hall, trying to figure out how to have a D&D session in Eddie’s room, if they could talk Owens into letting them. Steve waited outside for a little while, just listening, almost embarrassed to be even be there even though he had no reason to be embarrassed. When he finally went in, the kids were surprised to see him, but Eddie didn’t seem to be. He just said Hi, Stevie like always, and Steve wondered if he could hear or smell him outside.
He likes when Eddie calls him that. It makes him feel… good.
Eddie smiles at him from his bed. He’s got his legs crossed under his blanket, and he’s wearing a black sweater now. It’s full of holes and a little faded, but he looks warm.
He’s sucking on a straw, drinking something dark and red from a clear pouch in his hands, and Steve blinks at it before he realises what it is. Eddie follows his gaze and laughs lightly, awkwardly.
“Weird, huh? It’s like some morbid juice box.”
“Human juice.”
“Ew.”
“You’re the one drinking it,” Steve says, and Eddie sticks his tongue out at him before he holds the pouch up.
“Wanna try it?”
Steve suppresses a smile, crossing his eyes to look at it in his face. He can see the way the blood’s stained the inside of the straw, the top of it stained like Eddie’s wearing lipstick, and he can smell it. Hot and a little metallic, but not as bad as it used to be. He looks past it at Eddie. The insides of his lips are stained red, and it briefly occurs to Steve that he’d taste like blood if he kissed him. He dismisses the thought.
“I think I’m good, thanks.”
Eddie shrugs, bringing the straw to his lips as Steve sits down in the chair.
“Your loss.”
“It’s good?”
Eddie shrugs again.
“‘S better than it used to be,” he says, chewing on the straw. “I used to pick at my lips until they bled, and it always tasted like shit. But this isn’t so bad.” He looks up at Steve, shifting to face him, smiling. “Either they don’t make blood like they used to or vampirism changes your taste buds.”
“Weird.”
“Super weird.”
Steve watches Eddie drink the blood. His cheeks are still too hollow, and they cave in as he sucks on the straw. Their eyes are locked, but it’s not weird even though Steve thinks it should be. Eddie’s eyes are shining brightly even though he’s faced away from the window. (Steve thinks that might just be an Eddie thing. Glowing from the inside out.)
“Have you noticed that people smell?” Steve asks abruptly, and Eddie’s lips curve into an amused smile. “Like– That they have a specific scent? I’m– That sounds weird, I’m…”
Eddie shakes his head.
“No, you’re right,” he says lightly. “It’s the blood.”
Steve blinks.
“The blood,” he repeats. Eddie nods.
“You smell them coming, don’t you?” Eddie asks. “People? You can smell them outside and stuff?”
“Yeah.”
Eddie nods again.
“You’re smelling their blood, Stevie.”
Steve leans back in the chair, staring at Eddie as he realises he’s right.
“Oh.”
Eddie drinks more blood as Steve looks at the ground, thinking.
“You smell different,” he says finally, looking back up at Eddie, who just raises a curious eyebrow. “From other people. It’s… I don’t know.”
“Is it bad?” Eddie asks, and Steve’s face flushes with heat as he shakes his head.
“No, it’s not– it’s not bad, I just… noticed. You’re different.”
Eddie just looks at him, blood-stained lips curved in a tiny, almost fond smile.
“You are too,” he says after a moment. “Different.”
“I am?”
“Mmhmm.” Eddie pauses for another sip, looking at Steve thoughtfully. “I think it was the bats. We’re the only ones that got bitten, we’re the only ones with weird blood.”
“Weird blood,” Steve repeats quietly, and Eddie nods.
“You smell…” Eddie trails off, his cheeks flushing pink before he looks away. “I don’t know. Better.”
“What do I smell like?” Steve asks, because he’s curious. Sue him.
Eddie looks at him for a moment, eyes tracing over his face, over his neck, and then he lifts a hand, gesturing for Steve to come closer. Steve suppresses a smile, shifting to sit on the edge of the bed next to him, and Eddie leans close.
Steve’s eyes flutter shut as Eddie presses his face into his neck, nuzzling into it, his cold skin against Steve’s, and he suppresses his smile again when Eddie inhales deeply. Steve can hear his own heart pounding. He knows Eddie can hear it too.
“Warm,” Eddie murmurs against his neck, smelling him again, his hand reaching up and finding the back of Steve’s head. “Like… fire.”
Steve laughs softly, holding back a sigh as Eddie rubs his face against his neck, his fingers pressing into Steve’s hair.
“Is fire good?”
Eddie hums softly, inhaling again slowly, his fingers curling in Steve’s hair, and Steve’s stomach flutters. Eddie’s hum is low in his throat, and it’s like Steve can feel it under his fucking skin. He squeezes his eyes shut, furrowing his eyebrows, fingers tightening where they’re gripping the blanket, and there’s no way Eddie doesn’t notice his heart rate increase.
“You know… Like. When you can smell a campfire from far away?” Eddie asks softly, his breath warm on Steve’s skin.
“Yeah,” Steve says weakly.
“‘S like that.”
Steve laughs softly, just exhaling sharply and smiling.
“Like a potential wildfire?”
“Jesus,” Eddie breathes. “Yeah.” His nose brushes over Steve’s neck in a way that makes Steve’s stomach flutter again. “Smell dangerous.”
He pulls away, and Steve forces himself to open his eyes, looking at him and sitting up straight. He hadn’t noticed himself lean closer. Their eyes meet again and Eddie lifts the straw to his lips to take a sip of the blood.
“What about me?” he asks after a few seconds, and Steve blinks.
“What?”
Eddie smiles. He knows.
“What do I smell like?”
Steve smiles and leans in, pressing his face into the side of Eddie’s neck as Eddie takes another sip, giggling. He inhales deeply, tickling Eddie’s neck with his nose, and Eddie reaches up to hold his head again, giggling and recoiling because it tickles but still holding Steve close.
“Fire,” Steve says when he pulls away, his cheeks warm when he sees how Eddie’s eyes are sparkling at him.
“Fire,” Eddie repeats softly, teeth teasing the straw. Steve nods.
“But like… a fireplace. Like in a home, not a campfire.”
Eddie’s lips are just barely smiling as he listens intently.
“So like a potential house fire,” he says, and Steve laughs, nodding.
“Dangerous,” he whispers.
Eddie takes another sip, looking away with wide eyes, suppressing a smile, and Steve snorts, shifting on the edge of the bed. He doesn’t go back to the chair.
“Anyway,” Eddie says lightly, leaning against the headboard of his bed and wincing slightly. “How was work today?”
Steve hesitates, sighing.
“I had a guy come in this morning and ask me, entirely serious, You know that one movie with the guy with the short brown hair?” he says, watching Eddie’s face light up. “As though specifying the colour of his hair was supposed to help.”
“Did you know it?”
“No, I didn’t know it,” Steve snaps, and Eddie squeezes his eyes shut as he laughs. “And he had the audacity to be mad when I said I didn’t know what he was talking about and he left.”
Eddie has a beautiful laugh.
He laughs like a little kid, raw and open and bright. His eyes are closed like he doesn’t need to see, and his teeth are a little pink with blood, and Steve’s whole body lights up.
They talk.
They talk about Steve’s work, about his shitty customers and about the movie he and Robin watched while the store was empty, and they talk about the hospital. About Eddie’s pain. He’s having a good day, his pain low in just a slight throbbing ache. He winces when he laughs, setting a hand on his side.
Eddie recounts when the boys came over yesterday, how Dustin and Will bickered, how Mike and Lucas rolled their eyes in true teenager fashion. Steve tells him that all sounds about right.
It’s all going well. Really well. Steve is happy here, watching Eddie’s eyes shine, watching him sip from the blood pouch, watching him smile and giggle.
Until Eddie suddenly stops talking, his eyes unfocusing for a moment as he looks at Steve before they focus again, meeting Steve’s, but something is different. He looks confused as Steve says his name, blinking at him and exhaling sharply, and then Steve notices that his hands are shaking.
“Eds,” Steve says softly, tilting his head. “Hey.” Eddie furrows his eyebrows, looking at Steve like he doesn’t recognize him, and Steve’s heart drops, because Eddie is hyperventilating, breathing too fast, too hard. His fingers tighten on the blood pouch, and Steve is grateful it’s almost empty.
Steve reaches out and takes it from him carefully, gently prying it from his fingers before he sets it on the bedside table and shifts a little closer.
“Eddie, hey,” he whispers, tilting his head to meet Eddie’s eyes. Eddie’s chest is rising and falling too quickly, and he looks panicked, scared. “You’re okay,” Steve says softly. “You’re alright, Eds, you’re…”
“Stevie,” Eddie gasps, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. Steve nods.
“I’m right here.”
Eddie pants, open-mouthed and desperate, and Steve moves closer tentatively, watching carefully in case he makes it all worse, but Eddie just stares at him until Steve reaches up to press his hand to Eddie’s chest.
“Slow,” Steve says softly, nodding, inhaling deeply, exaggerating it so Eddie copies.
Eddie tries, but his breath catches in his throat, and he gasps, choking, and Steve murmurs, “‘S okay, try again, baby, you got it. In. …And out.”
Eddie squeezes his shut, exhaling a soft fuck under his breath, and he reaches up to hold Steve’s hand against his chest, his hand trembling.
“Talk,” he says, his voice sharp between breaths.
“I’m right here,” Steve says, moving closer, reaching up to touch his head, to run his fingers through his hair. “Eddie, you trust me?”
“Yes.”
Eddie doesn’t hesitate. Barely even thinks about it. His hand tightens on Steve’s and he nods, and Steve wants to cry a little bit.
“You’re okay, Eddie,” Steve murmurs softly, leaning to rest his head on Eddie’s, his mouth right by his ear. “I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.”
“Promise,” Eddie gasps. Steve turns to press his lips to Eddie’s temple in a gentle kiss.
“I promise, Eddie, I fucking swear.”
Eddie exhales shakily, one of his hands reaching to grip Steve’s shirt, his fist tight on the fabric, and Steve keeps murmuring, whispering that Eddie is okay, that Steve will keep him safe. It seems to help.
When Eddie is breathing calmly, Steve doesn’t let go, doesn’t stop talking.
“I got you,” he whispers softly.
“‘M sorry,” Eddie says weakly, his voice just a quiet squeak, and Steve presses his face to the top of his head.
“Don’t be,” he tells him. “It’s okay, Eddie.”
“It was going so well,” Eddie whines, crying now. “I was having a— a good day, I’m ruining everything.”
“Eddie, stop,” Steve says, his voice more firm as he pulls away and shifts to hold Eddie’s face, and he leans close, whispering as their foreheads press together. “You’re not ruining anything.”
“It keeps happening,” Eddie says weakly. “I don’t even know why, it’s not like— like I was scared of anything, I’m just…”
“I know,” Steve murmurs. “It happens to… It happens to Max sometimes. I know.”
“Fucking hate it,” Eddie chokes.
“I know,” Steve whispers. “It’s not your fault, baby.”
“Steve,” Eddie breathes, blinking tears out of his eyes, and Steve presses a kiss to his forehead before he pulls him into a gentle hug.
“You don’t ruin anything,” Steve tells him as Eddie presses closer, curling into a ball. “You can’t ruin anything.”
“Stevie,” Eddie whispers. “Can you say it again?”
“Say what again?”
“Call me… that,” Eddie says, his shyness audible in his voice. Steve smiles softly, hugging Eddie tighter and shifting to press his cheek to Eddie’s head.
“Baby,” he whispers. Eddie presses closer, almost shrinking in Steve’s arms. “Baby, baby, baby, baby.”
Eddie sighs, melting against Steve.
“I got you,” Steve says softly.
“I know.”
Eddie is quiet for a few moments, tucking his face into Steve’s neck and breathing deeply. Steve smiles.
He reaches for the blood pouch, careful not to jostle Eddie, and he hands it to him, hearing Eddie let out a soft huff of laughter.
“You wanna try it?” Eddie asks after taking a sip.
“Should I?”
Eddie sits up a little bit, turning to look at Steve with a little smile that makes Steve’s body hurt.
He’s hit suddenly with loss. Heavy grief. Like Eddie’s just vanished, gone all over again even though he’s right in front of Steve, with his blood-stained lips and wet eyelashes and smile lines.
He pushes the loss down, ignores it, and Eddie doesn’t seem to notice it.
“Just a drop,” Eddie says, shifting to face Steve more, holding his finger to the top of the straw and lifting it up out of the pouch. Steve cedes easily, tilting his head back and opening his mouth as Eddie lifts the straw up.
Steve feels… exposed. Like this. Mouth hanging open, throat bared to Eddie. Vulnerable. Naked.
Eddie watches carefully, letting a drop fall into Steve’s mouth before he pulls the straw to his mouth, catching the rest in his mouth before he puts the straw back where it belongs, smiling as Steve closes his mouth. He doesn’t swallow yet, just looking at Eddie as the taste of it settles, spreads across his tongue.
Steve’s brows furrow, and Eddie’s smile widens.
It doesn’t taste like metal, or pennies. It tastes weirdly sweet.
“What the hell,” Steve says when he swallows, and Eddie giggles, chewing on the straw.
“Weird, right?”
“Yeah. Weird.”
Eddie turns to lean against Steve’s chest again, comfortably and easily, like it’s where he belongs. Steve closes his eyes because Eddie can’t see him, savouring the feeling of Eddie against him, the smell of Eddie’s blood.
“When I woke up, I was, like…” Eddie says softly, his speech a little muffled from the straw between his teeth. “Out of it? They were trying a blood transfusion, but it…”
“Didn’t work,” Steve says softly. “Owens said.”
“…Did he tell you what happened?”
“You woke up and started drinking it, right?”
“…Understatement.”
“What do you mean?”
Eddie sighs, pausing to sip the blood.
“I, like… Sat up in, like, some kind of daze, and I… grabbed the blood thing from where it was hanging, and… ripped it open with my teeth. And chugged it.”
“Jesus,” Steve says softly. He lowers his head to press his face to Eddie’s head.
“Yeah,” Eddie agrees. “Don’t know why no one in the room fucking shot me.” He laughs dryly, and Steve snorts, which just makes Eddie giggle.
“Do you have fangs?” Steve asks curiously. “If you’re going all in on the vampire thing.”
Eddie turns, leaning back in Steve’s arm so Steve is almost cradling him, and he grins tiredly.
“I’m still learning, but…”
His grin widens, and he squeezes his eyes shut, scrunching his nose. Steve gazes at him, at the lines around his mouth, around his eyes, between his furrowed eyebrows, and the loss fades away. He reaches up, touching Eddie’s cheek softly, and he thinks he might kiss him. (He would just be kissing his teeth because of how bright his smile is, but he wouldn’t mind.)
Before he can really think about it, his gaze catches movement in Eddie’s mouth, and he furrows his brows, tilting his head to watch as two long teeth appear slowly behind Eddie’s canines.
“What?” Steve says, watching, and Eddie laughs softly, happily. They’re sharp, thin like sewing needles, curved just enough that they don’t hurt Eddie when he closes his mouth.
“Not that I use them, but…”
“Wait, lemme see.”
Eddie giggles, opening his mouth and tilting his head back for Steve to see. Steve’s hand slips down his cheek to hold his chin as he looks intently. Curiously.
He wonders briefly what they would feel like pressing into his skin. If they would feel better than the bats.
He only realises he’s touching one when Eddie’s eyes open, and Steve’s face flushes with heat as he pulls his hand away.
“Thoughts?”
“…Metal.”
Eddie snorts, hitting his head against Steve’s chest as he laughs.
“Obviously you’d know.”
“Duh.”
Eddie giggles again.
“So you can control them?” Steve asks, curious. Eddie hums affirmatively.
“‘S kinda hard, but I think I just need to, like… practice.”
He’s quiet for a moment before he lifts his head to show Steve that they’re gone. Steve stares at his mouth. At his teeth, a little pink with blood, at his lips.
“Where do they go?”
Eddie shrugs, leaning back against Steve’s chest.
“Dunno. Doesn’t really matter.”
• ───────────────── •
Eddie’s uncle Wayne is in his room a few days later.
Steve pauses outside, looking through the window, hesitating, unsure of what to do as he looks at the way Wayne is holding Eddie’s hand, looking at Eddie. Eddie is grinning broadly, his eyes squeezed shut, cheeks squished up under his smile.
(He’s been gaining weight lately, and his cheeks are filling out. Finally. Steve loves it.)
Wayne looks like he’s been crying. Steve wouldn’t blame him.
Eddie turns his face toward the window, opening his eyes, and their eyes meet. Steve’s cheeks flush with heat before he pushes open the door, and Wayne looks up at him.
“Stevie-e-e…” Eddie sings before Steve can say anything. He’s smiling blearily, squinting at Steve, who blinks at him confusedly.
“He’s on painkillers,” Wayne says.
“Ah.” Steve takes his bag off, setting it on the floor next to Eddie’s bed, and he smiles at Eddie before looking up at Wayne. “Uhm, I’m— I’m Steve. Harrington.”
“Wayne.”
Wayne holds a hand out to Steve, and he takes it, shaking. His hand is warm, warmer than Eddie’s, and worn. Callused and rough and stained with sunlight and age.
“It’s nice to meet you, sir.”
“Don’t call me that,” Wayne says in a way that makes a laugh burst from Steve’s chest, and Wayne smiles, squeezing his hand before he lets go. “Eddie keeps talking about you.”
“Yeah?” Steve looks down at Eddie, at his delirious smile, and Eddie holds a hand up. Steve takes it, smiling as Eddie uses Steve’s hand to pull himself up a little bit, and then Steve stumbles over, sitting on the bed as Eddie tugs him closer, into a tight hug.
“Hey,” Steve says, his face burning as Eddie sticks his face in his neck, inhaling deeply. Wayne leans back, watching with a smile. “Eds.”
Eddie hums, nuzzling into his neck, and it tickles.
“Baby,” Steve whispers without thinking. “C’mon.”
Eddie giggles, letting himself melt against Steve, and Steve shifts to let him, his face hot. Eddie rests his head on Steve’s chest, and Steve smooths a hand over his head.
“He’s been talking about you all day,” Wayne says, watching easily, smiling absently. Eddie shoots him a look. “Wonderin’ where you are.”
Steve laughs lightly, looking down at Eddie.
“I had work today.”
“I forgot…” Eddie whines, pressing his cheek to Steve’s chest.
“‘S okay.”
“So nice,” Eddie sighs, closing his eyes. “Nice Steve.”
Steve suppresses a smile, combing Eddie’s hair back as Eddie slides down, slumping over until his head is in Steve’s lap. His hair is soft.
“He’s been saying that too,” Wayne says. Steve looks up at him, trying not to feel embarrassed that he’s playing with Eddie’s hair, that Eddie is laying on his lap happily, sleepily. Wayne doesn’t seem to mind at all, watching with sparkling eyes that almost match Eddie’s. “How nice you are.”
“Wayne…” Eddie whines, hiding his face in Steve’s lap. “Sto-o-op.”
“You’re gonna love him, Wayne,” Wayne teases, his gruff voice a few octaves higher. “He’s such a darling.”
Eddie sits up enough to reach one of the pillows at the head of the bed, and he flings it at Wayne, who laughs and catches it as Eddie presses his face back into Steve’s lap. His cheeks are red.
Steve giggles, running a hand over his head, and Eddie curls up into a ball, whining.
“So they, uhm…” Steve watches his own fingers run through Eddie’s curls. They’re getting frizzy. “They told you everything?”
“Yup,” Wayne says dryly. “Everything.”
Steve looks up at him. Their eyes meet.
He looks haunted. Tired.
“If you… have any questions,” Steve says. “I’ve been involved in this all for a few years. I might be able to help.”
Wayne nods, and Eddie mumbles quietly, “Mm. Darling.”
Wayne smiles, glancing at Eddie as Steve blushes again, looking back down at him.
“How’d you get involved in this all?” Wayne asks after a moment.
“Uh,” Steve says, sighing. “Wrong place, wrong time?”
Wayne nods.
“Seems like that’s how most people got involved.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Except that Eleven girl.”
“You met Eleven?”
Wayne smiles again, nodding. He’s still looking at Eddie, and Steve gets it. That he can’t stand to look away now that he has him back. Like Eddie’s going to disappear if he takes his eyes away.
“Oh, yeah,” Wayne says. “Real sweet girl.”
“I like to say she’s my favourite to piss the other kids off.”
Wayne laughs.
He has a good laugh. Like Eddie’s. Real.
They’re quiet for a moment, just looking at Eddie, who’s falling asleep in Steve’s lap, one hand brought up to hold Steve’s hip, gripping the hem of his shirt lightly. His expression is light, soft and sleepy and relaxed, his cheek squished against Steve’s leg, and he’s just barely smiling. Steve keeps playing with his hair, combing it back so he can see his face, pressing his fingers into his curls and scratching gently at his scalp.
“You feel the same way, don’t you?” Wayne asks gruffly. “That he feels about you?”
Steve pauses, his gaze lingering on Eddie’s face, on the way his skin almost glows against his black sweater.
“Yeah,” he says softly. “Think so.”
He risks a nervous look at Wayne, and Wayne is nodding, smiling softly.
“Have you told him?” he asks.
Steve shakes his head, holding Eddie’s head, brushing his thumb over the side of his neck. The scars are fading now. They’re still a little raised, but they aren’t dark and red. They’re almost like Steve’s now, a little silvery like his old stretch marks.
“We haven’t… talked about it,” he says quietly. “We don’t really need to.”
He pauses, biting his lip, and Wayne seems to see his hesitation. He gives him a moment.
“He, uhm… When I came in after he woke up, that first day, he said he… He didn’t remember me, but he, uhm, remembered how he felt about me. Before. That he still kind of felt the same. And he asked if we were friends, and I was… I mean, he was just meeting me, for, like, the first time, so I didn’t wanna be like well actually I have a huge crush on you, so I said we could have been. If we had more time.”
He looks up at Wayne again, his cheeks flushing, finally shutting up, and Wayne is smiling, looking at him, listening.
Wayne just nods. Steve guesses there isn’t really much he can say in response to that.
I have a massive crush on your nephew.
Well, that’s lovely.
They’re quiet again, watching Eddie. It’s a nice silence, empty in the way that a park is at nighttime, peaceful and void of any kind of expectations. Steve can hear Wayne’s heartbeat. It’s starting to sync with Eddie’s as he sleeps.
“Harrington,” Wayne says after a while, but he isn’t calling Steve’s name, getting his attention. He sounds thoughtful, like he’s just remembered Steve saying it. “Right?”
“Yes, s– Uh. Yeah.”
Wayne laughs at Steve’s correction, and Steve smiles.
“I knew your parents back in the day.”
Steve’s smile falters.
“Oh.” He cringes. “Sorry.”
Wayne shakes his head.
“No need,” he says softly. “Your old man never did anything to me personally. I just knew what kind of person he was.”
Steve nods, looking down. He traces the scar on Eddie’s cheek lightly. It’s a little darker than the scar on his neck, pink and almost red. It’s kind of beautiful.
“Steve,” Wayne says, and Steve looks up at him. He’s looking at him intently. “You’re safe, right?”
The words catch Steve off guard. No one’s ever asked him that, he doesn’t think. Not when he was in school, not when he was checking on everyone else, because that’s what he does. But Wayne is so… sincere. He knows what kind of person Steve’s father is. What he’d think if he found out that Steve was in love with a man. That he spends his time looking forward to holding a man in his arms, to playing with his hair and kissing his neck and calling him baby.
Steve nods, swallowing as his throat tightens.
“They moved,” he says quietly. “Left me the house.”
Wayne nods, exhaling, and after a moment he moves, leaning to the bedside table on his side of Eddie’s bed, reaching for the pen and notepad that have remained almost untouched the whole time Eddie’s been here. Steve watches as he writes something down, and then Wayne rips the page out of the notepad, holding it out to Steve, who takes it and looks at Wayne’s handwriting. It’s boxy, all capitals, a little bit slanted.
It’s an address. Steve recognizes the street name. It’s just outside town center.
“If they come back, that’s where you can find me,” Wayne says, his voice soft. “Okay?”
Steve’s throat tightens again, and he exhales shakily, nodding.
“Okay.”
Wayne stays a little longer, talking with Steve. About the kids, and Owens. Steve tells him about Robin and Nancy, more than what Eddie’s told him. (Eddie’s painkiller-addled brain had just told Wayne that they’re pretty and smart.)
When he gets up to leave, Eddie stirs, shifting and blinking his eyes open a little bit as Wayne murmurs that he’ll see him tomorrow. Wayne leans down to kiss his head, and Eddie mumbles a soft love you, Wayne, and then Wayne sets a hand on Steve’s shoulder, squeezing, his rough hands gentler than Steve expected. Steve smiles at him, oddly overwhelmed by the touch.
It’s silent when the door shuts behind Wayne. Except for Eddie’s soft breaths. Steve gazes down at him. It’s getting dark now, the room dim except for the silvery twilight that makes Eddie glow a little.
“I heard that, you know,” Eddie mumbles, and Steve’s face flushes with heat as he realises what Eddie’s teasing his about. Well actually I have a huge crush on you. Steve tugs his hair a little, watching Eddie smile.
“Go back to sleep, baby.”
“M’kay.”
Eddie sighs, nuzzling into Steve’s lap, and Steve watches. His heart aches. He’s never felt like this before, almost claustrophobic with it, like he suffocating on his own affection. He wonders if he’s ever actually been in love before.
He didn’t feel like this with Nancy. It was intense with her, of course, but not like this. He didn’t feel like he was dying a little bit every time he looked at her. It didn’t feel like the world was ending all over again. That’s what it feels like. The end of everything, unavoidable. Like his heart is being ripped straight out of his chest, and Eddie is holding it in the palm of his hand, and Steve is trusting him with it.
He would let him do anything with it. Squeeze it until it stops beating. Lift it to his mouth and drain it dry.
• ───────────────── •
“He keeps disappearing.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“He just… I don’t know. That thing keeps happening, where I’m looking at him and I suddenly feel like he’s just died. Like that same… pit. In my stomach. That was there when– when the CPR didn’t work. Like I’m never going to see him again.”
“Can you tell what triggers it? If anything is reminding you of that moment?”
“No. It’s… Last time it happened, we were just… laying together. He’d had a bad pain day and he couldn’t move much so I was just holding him until Wayne came, and it just… He was talking, and my chest suddenly got really tight and I wanted to cry, and I… I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want him to worry or anything, but it’s so overwhelming sometimes. To be, like, randomly grieving someone that’s living and laughing, and– and in my arms.”
“...When else has this happened? What was he doing?”
“He was… I don’t know. Laughing. Telling me about his lunch. Crying, once.”
“Do you think maybe it might be triggered by intense emotion?”
“...I guess. You’re good at this.”
“Hah. Thanks. Are you still doing the same thing? Ignoring it when it happens?”
“Kind of, yeah. He doesn’t notice it, usually. He did a while ago and I just kind of… told him I was tired.”
“Is this something you want to talk about with him?”
“I don’t know. I don’t– I don’t know what talking about it would do.”
“Would you rather he just didn’t know about it?”
“...I think. For now.”
“...Tell me about Eddie.”
“...You know about Eddie.”
“Tell me about you and Eddie.”
“...Me and Eddie.”
“...”
“I don’t… I don’t want to talk about that.”
“Because it brings you discomfort? Or because you don’t feel that you need any support in that area?”
“Uhm. All of the above?”
“That’s okay. If you want to talk about it later, you can bring it up.”
“Okay. Sorry.”
“Steve. You don’t have to apologize for not wanting to talk about something. We’ve discussed this; if you don’t want to talk, you don’t have to. It’s all your pace, right? If you just want to sit in silence for a while you can.”
“I know.”
“Is there anything you do want to talk about?”
“Not today.”
“Okay. Have you been drinking more water?”
“Yeah, Robin’s basically been force-feeding me.”
“Why do you think that is?”
“She loves me or whatever.”
“Or whatever.”
• ───────────────── •
There are too many people in Eddie’s room. It’s not a lot of people, a doctor and two nurses, but it’s still too many. Especially when Steve sees the doctor. He doesn’t like doctors.
“What’s going on?” he asks, hesitating in the doorway, and the nurses turn to look at him. He recognizes one of them. She’s the same one he met the day Eddie was in pain, the one that looks a little like his mother. Steve doesn’t like looking at her, but her eyes are kind.
As she comes closer, Steve looks past her and sees Eddie laying on his back, eyes almost closed as he looks at the ceiling, pale and pliant, moving as the doctor moves his arm. A pit forms in Steve’s stomach, and he starts heading over, eyes wide as he looks at the sheen of sweat on Eddie’s face, but the nurse stops him.
“He’s okay,” she says hurriedly, seeing the panic in his eyes. She nods, meeting his eye and taking a deep breath. “He’s okay, we just had to sedate him, he’s okay.”
“He…” Steve exhales sharply, his vision blurring, his chest aching, “No, he’s– He’s–”
He can’t breathe. Eddie looks almost grey, his hair fanned out on the bed under him, and Steve’s eyes are filling with tears, and he drops his back, his hands shaking almost violently. The nurse is saying something to him, but it sounds like she’s underwater, her voice muffled and muted, hidden by clouds.
“No,” Steve is saying even though he can’t hear himself. “No, I– I need to– He needs me, he–”
“Steve–”
He’s trying to push past her, tries to reach Eddie, but she holds him back, her hands strong against his chest.
“Eddie,” Steve says desperately, tears streaming down his face. “Please, I– I need to– No, please,” he sobs. “Please–”
“Let him in,” the doctor says, taking pity, and Steve doesn’t even hear it, but the nurse lets him pass, and he’s next to Eddie before she can exhale. He leans over him, touches his face. He’s cold.
“Eddie,” he cries. “Eddie, please, Eddie.” Eddie’s head shifts, and his eyelids flutter, but he doesn’t look up at Steve, silent, and Steve almost expects to see blood on his face, on his hands, even though the sheets on his bed are spotless white and his skin is clean.
Eddie lets out a soft moan, his eyes fluttering again at Steve’s voice, at his sobs.
“No, please,” Steve whimpers.
“He’s sedated, Steve,” the doctor says, and Steve looks up at him, tears streaming down his face. The doctor is looking at him intently, and Steve takes a gasping breath. “He’s okay.”
Steve looks back at Eddie. He doesn’t look okay. He doesn’t look okay at all.
Steve slips a hand down to his neck, feeling for his pulse, and one of the nurses leaves as the other and the doctor wait in silence. And there it is, beneath Eddie’s cold skin, slow and steady and strong.
Steve closes his eyes, focusing on it, trying to breath, and he collapses onto the bed next to Eddie, sitting. He presses his fingers into Eddie’s skin, feeling his pulse like he’s trying to hear it, and after a while the bed shifts and he opens his eyes to find the nurse next to him, holding a tissue to him. He takes it, embarrassed, and wipes his face, taking a deep breath and looking back at Eddie. He’s still holding Eddie’s neck, feeling his heartbeat.
“Sorry,” Steve says softly after a moment. “I just…”
“I understand,” she says, her voice quiet. “It’s jarring, seeing him like this.”
He wipes his face, looking at Eddie.
“Take your time,” she says gently.
“When is he… When is he gonna wake up?” he asks.
“We just removed the IV sedative, so about half an hour,” she says. “He might have some side effects, maybe some nausea and a headache.”
“Okay,” he says weakly. “Why…” He hesitates, looking at Eddie. “What happened?”
“We were removing his stitches,” she says softly. She has a nice voice, gentle and smooth. “He had some kind of flashback. We want to ask him more questions when he wakes up, but he started screaming, throwing things, trying to hide.”
Steve’s stomach twists.
“Was it…”
“Probably,” she says even though he doesn’t finish the sentence. “Even if he doesn’t remember. His body does.”
Steve nods, taking a deep breath.
He waits. The nurse and the doctor leave him alone while he sits there, holding Eddie’s hand. Steve presses his fingers into the side of his wrist, feeling his pulse beat steadily. After a while Eddie’s fingers twitch, and Steve shifts closer, watching his face. Eddie groans softly, his eyebrows furrowing.
“...’Tevie?” he mumbles weakly, and Steve squeezes his hand.
“‘M right here, baby,” he whispers. Eddie groans again, grimacing. “You okay?”
Eddie lets out a strained exhale.
“Feel sick,” he says quietly.
“Nurse said you might.”
Eddie tries to lift his head, but it falls back to the bed, exhaling.
“Come closer,” he mumbles. Steve shifts, reaching to touch Eddie’s face, and Eddie turns his face into his palm.
“Did they take the stitches?” Eddie asks, and it takes a second for Steve to understand him.
“Yeah,” he says softly. “It’s all done.” He pauses. “Do you wanna talk about it?”
Eddie shakes his head, taking a breath, and he pulls at Steve’s hand, lifting his arms weakly. Steve falls forward, laying on his chest carefully so he doesn’t hurt him, and Eddie’s arms wrap around him gently, just resting over his back. Steve squeezes his eyes shut, inhaling deeply and smelling Eddie’s blood, listening to him breathe, listening to his heart.
“Wha’s wrong?” Eddie asks, his voice gentle, sleepy. Steve realises he’s shaking, and he stiffens, trying to stop, but one of Eddie’s hands runs down his back, and Steve’s eyes well with tears.
“I was scared,” he says weakly, choking. “I was– You were just laying there, you looked…”
“‘M okay, baby,” Eddie says softly. Steve’s shoulders shake as he lets out a deep sob, and Eddie shifts so Steve falls onto his side, laying next to Eddie. Eddie pulls him closer until Steve’s head is under his chin, and he whispers to him. “I’m okay, Stevie, don’t worry.”
When Steve stops crying, he takes a deep, trembling breath. Eddie kisses his forehead. No one except Robin has ever kissed Steve’s forehead. Steve shivers.
Steve can feel Eddie’s chest rise and fall against him, and he slides his hand to press against it.
Eddie shifts to lay on his back after a while, his arm still around Steve, and Steve presses into his side, his hand to his chest, his head resting on his shoulder. He looks at him, at his throat and his side profile, at his bangs that are overgrown and frizzy from hugging Steve. His eyes are closed, but he looks more alive than he did when Steve came in, even though he’s still pale, tired. He winces.
“What is it?” Steve asks softly. “Do they hurt?”
“Just…” Eddie takes a breath, exhaling slowly. “Kinda nauseous.”
“‘S the sedation,” Steve says quietly, and Eddie nods, taking another deep breath, closing his eyes. “...Can I try something?”
“Yes.”
Steve hesitates before he reaches down, sliding his hands tentatively over Eddie’s chest and belly, and he slips his fingertips under the hem of Eddie’s sweater. He watches Eddie’s expression, watches the tension in his forehead release a little as he touches his bare skin, and he slides his hand under it all the way, pressing his hand to his belly, feeling the rough edge of a taped bandage at his fingertips. He realises he hasn’t seen the wounds there at all. He doesn’t know if he wants to.
Eddie’s skin is cool and soft. He’s still too thin, still gaining his weight back, and Steve hopes he can do this when Eddie is back to his normal weight, when his belly is healthy and squishy. Steve presses his hand firmly to him, brushing his thumb back and forth over his skin, watching as the tension slowly releases from his face, feels the tension release from his shoulders. Steve falls in love again.
Eddie reaches down and pulls his sweater up before setting his hand on Steve’s, exhaling. His fingers are gentle as he rubs Steve’s knuckles, the back of his hand, his wrist.
“Better?” Steve whispers.
Eddie sighs out a soft hum, nodding his head weakly.
“My mom used to do this when I was little,” Steve says quietly, watching his face again. Admiring him. “When I felt sick.”
“Mm. She sounds nice.”
It almost makes Steve laugh.
“She’s not.”
Eddie’s eyebrows furrow, and he looks confused for a moment, but Steve just murmurs, “Doesn’t matter.”
“You’re nice,” Eddie says softly. He’s falling asleep.
“You haven’t seen me be a bitch yet.”
Eddie smiles up at the ceiling, his fingers squeezing Steve’s wrist, his arm around him tightening.
“Yet.”
Steve keeps holding his stomach, feeling it rise and fall with every breath as Eddie sleeps. Eddie starts to snore after a few minutes. Steve listens, looking up at his face, at the way his eyelashes fan out, at the smile lines that linger in his skin. He smiles.
They remove the bandaging the next day. Steve makes sure he’s there, as requested by Eddie the previous night. (He asked so… softly. His voice was hushed, like he was nervous, like he thought there was a chance Steve might say no.)
Eddie stands near the foot of his bed as they do it, looking at the ceiling as Steve watches, sitting on the chair. The nurse is gentle with him, carefully removing the taped bandages, revealing his mutilated flesh. Steve wants to cry, watching.
They had to do a skin graft. On his chest, stretching over his ribcage. The grafted skin is a few shades darker than his skin, redder, not completely healed, and Steve looks at it, almost admiring it. This skin from the body of a stranger, holding Eddie together in a gruesome, violent way. At one spot on his belly, the scarring caves in, like a piece of him is missing, carved away.
The nurse murmurs to Eddie that he’s healing well, and something about some kind of oil cream he’ll need to apply to the scars, and Eddie just nods, avoiding her eyes, avoiding the sight of his own body.
The sky outside is cloudy, and the room is grey. The nurse leaves, taking the bandages with her, looking at Steve. Eddie doesn’t look at himself, still looking at the ceiling, and Steve looks at him without the nurse standing in the way. At all his scars, on his chest and neck and midriff and arms. On his face. Some are raised and red and angry-looking, others pink and silvery and a little faded. Some look like they’re swirling like storm clouds, others still resembling bites.
Eddie looks at Steve. His hands are hanging by his sides, shaking.
“You’re not gonna look?” Steve asks softly. He barely has to whisper.
“I don’t want to,” Eddie says weakly, his voice breaking. Steve exhales, seeing his eyes glisten, and stands, crossing the room to stand in front of him, and Eddie reaches out to him, his gaze unwavering. Steve takes his hands, holding them, steadying them. Eddie twists their fingers together, squeezing tightly, releasing, squeezing, releasing, looking up at the ceiling and taking a long deep breath.
When he looks down at his chest, he squeezes tightly and holds it, his eyes finding his chest, his stomach, his arms. Steve can’t see his face, but after a moment Eddie’s shoulders start to shake, and he lifts his head. His eyes are squeezed shut, tears streaming down his face, his lips pressed together like he’s trying to stop. Steve squeezes his hands, leaning forward and pressing their foreheads together as he exhales a quiet, “It’s okay.”
Eddie doesn’t let him let go of his hands, and his tears stop after a moment. He looks away again, sniffling, his cheeks wet. Steve lifts his hand, still linked to Eddie’s, and wipes his cheeks, tenderly wipes away his tears. When he lowers their hands, Steve leans down, pressing a slow, careful kiss to the scar at the base of his neck, just above his collarbone, murmuring against the roughened skin.
Beautiful.
Eddie sniffs again, looking away when Steve lifts his head, saying his name the same way he’d say stop, and Steve looks at him, biting his lip, hesitating before he squeezes his hands one more time and pulls away. Eddie exhales sharply, sniffling, wiping his nose on his wrist as Steve crosses the room again to the door.
He looks out the window. The hallway is empty. He covers the window anyway.
Eddie is watching him with teary eyes as he comes back, and he hesitates for another moment, taking a breath as he looks at Eddie’s chest, at the way the zombie head tattooed on his chest is half gone.
He takes a step back, closing his eyes and reaching to the collar of his t-shirt, tugging his shirt up and over his head, tossing it to the foot of the bed as Eddie looks at him, and he’s embarrassed, shy, and he wants to hide his body, the hair on his chest, the soft layer of fat on his belly, his mole-spotted skin, the scars covering his sides. Eddie’s eyes lower, looking at everything Steve hates, but his expression softens.
Steve watches him. Eddie swallows, his lip quivering, and he reaches out, his fingertips brushing so lightly over Steve’s scars that Steve can’t feel it. He can hear Edding breathing.
He turns around when Eddie drops his hand and looks at him, displaying the scars that cover his back and the backs of his arms. Long, angry scars from being dragged across the ground, over rocks and vines and branches, scars from infected skin after delayed treatment.
Eddie’s fingertips brush over them after a moment, tracing the rough edges, the healed skin that’s valleyed and ridged, like the surface of the Earth. Steve knows it’s discoloured. Eddie is quiet for a while, touching his back, tracing the backs of his arms, until he presses his hand to his back, between his shoulder blades, and Steve closes his eyes, his head falling forward.
Eddie exhales, pressing his forehead to the back of Steve’s neck, and his arms wrap around his waist, sliding across his stomach. Eddie’s chest presses to Steve’s back, and their scars touch, and Steve bites his lip, his throat tightening as he touches Eddie’s forearms.
And Eddie disappears.
Steve’s hands tighten on his arms, and he gasps, his breath catching in his throat, and his heart is suddenly pounding in his chest, and Eddie notices.
“Stevie?”
“Sorry,” Steve breathes, taking a deep, shaky breath as his eyes burn, but Eddie just squeezes him.
“What happened?”
“Just…” He takes another breath, squeezing Eddie’s arms again, closing his eyes, focusing on the feeling of Eddie’s skin pressing to his. “I don’t…”
Eddie sways with him, tucking his face into his neck.
“My therapist thinks it’s… like. Lingering grief. Sometimes I just… My brain just randomly feels like you’re– like you’re gone. Gone gone. It’s…”
Eddie slides a hand up to his chest, pressing it over his heart and holding him firmly. Steve turns around after a few moments, desperately hugging Eddie around his neck, hiding his face, and Eddie hugs his waist, sighing deeply. His skin feels good on Steve’s. Really fucking good. Like he’s lighting Steve up from the inside out.
“Steve?” Eddie whispers after a while.
“Yeah?”
“...Do you really think so?”
“Do I really think… what?”
“That I’m… That I’m beautiful.” He whispers it, like he’s scared of the words, and Steve’s heart breaks because Eddie can’t see himself the way Steve can, can’t see the way his veins branch like vines, the way his eyes shine like the ocean at midnight under the moon, the way smile glows. Because he can’t see how alive he is.
But Steve can. Especially after seeing him…
Die.
He saw him die.
He saw his eyes glaze over and he saw the light behind them fade. He saw his mouth hang open and didn’t hear anything come out. He saw his body shift and move, pliant as Steve manhandled him onto his back, as he held his head, lifting his chin and holding his nose and trying to give him his own breath.
The memory of it, of Eddie dead, haunts Steve’s fucking dreams. Haunts his daily life. Sometimes he looks at Eddie and all that he can think is I saw you die. I saw you die. I saw you die.
“Yes,” he whispers. “You’re beautiful, Eddie.”
Eddie nuzzles into his neck, exhaling shakily.
“Eddie,” Steve murmurs, running a hand over the back of his head, the grief fading into… whatever this is. “Beautiful baby.”
Eddie sniffles, hugging him tighter.
Steve helps him put his sweater back on, carefully pulling it over his head and fixing his hair for him, fluffing his curls and remembering how he fixed his hair before leaving him in the Upside Down. Eddie meets his eye and smiles, falling forward and resting his head on his shoulder, reaching a hand up and touching his chest. Steve’s cheeks flush as Eddie’s fingers brush through the hair. He laughs when Eddie sighs contently, and Eddie smiles.
“Soft.”
They sway together like they’re dancing, Steve’s arms around him, eyes closed. He thinks Eddie might fall asleep here, resting against his chest, face tucked into Steve’s neck, breathing slowly and steadily. When Steve leads him over to the bed, he has to detach himself from Eddie to put his shirt back on, smiling as Eddie whines at him, making grabby hands, and then he lays down next to him. He closes his eyes and beams at the wall as Eddie pulls him close and slides a hand up under his shirt to his chest.
Eddie is asleep when Wayne comes, and Steve kind of wants to die of embarrassment when Wayne walks in, his eyes find Eddie curled up against Steve with his hand under his shirt, holding his chest. Wayne pauses in the doorway, looking at them, and Steve, red-faced, shrugs weakly. Wayne just shakes his head and smiles, his voice quiet so he doesn’t disturb Eddie as he says, “Such a strange boy.”
“He got his bandages off today,” Steve says quietly. Eddie shifts on his chest, nuzzling closer, his fingers squeezing a little bit before he relaxes.
“How was that?”
Steve tilts his head, shrugging as much as he can with Eddie on him.
“...Not great,” Steve says softly. “It’s… I mean, it’s upsetting. He doesn’t even remember anything, so it’s like… One day everything is normal and the next he’s dead to the world and his body’s completely different, and…”
He cuts himself off, taking a breath.
“...How many are there?”
“I don’t know,” Steve says after swallowing thickly, his eyes gleaming. “A lot. They’re everywhere.”
Wayne sighs, sitting in the chair next to the bed, close to Steve, and he nods.
“He’s alive,” he says softly. Steve nods, looking down at Eddie and touching his neck as gently as he can. “How are you?”
“…Me?” Steve says, looking at him.
“You.”
Steve looks away, back at Eddie, blinking.
“I’m okay,” he says thickly. “Kinda tired. Hate seeing Eddie upset, you know?” Wayne nods, sighing. “How are you?”
Wayne smiles at him in a way that Steve can’t really read.
“‘M alright.”
He asks Steve about work, and Steve launches into stories that he saves for Eddie. The story about the man that asked Steve about a movie in the vaguest way possible, and how he and Robin had to rewind a combined thirty-four movies despite the signs around the store. Wayne’s eyes squint when he laughs, and Steve thinks he might love him.
Eddie wakes up after a while, and he also turns red when he sees Wayne, hiding his face as he pulls his hand out from Steve’s shirt, and Wayne just laughs. Steve has gotten over the embarrassment after a lack of judgement or curiosity from Wayne.
“Are you talking about me?” Eddie asks, his voice rough with sleep, sitting up a little bit and wincing. Steve follows, smiling, propping himself up on the headboard as Eddie leans against him like he can’t stand to not touch him.
“Only a little,” Wayne says, watching fondly.
Eddie looks at Steve, raising an eyebrow, and Steve smiles, shrugging.
“Only good things.”
“Great.”
Wayne pauses, looking at Eddie, watching Steve wrap an arm around him.
“How did it go?” he asks.
Eddie looks down, shrugging weakly.
“Fine,” he says quietly, a little sullenly, like he’s pouting. He reaches out for Steve’s hand, taking it and watching himself play with his fingers, twisting the ring and tracing his veins.
“Eddie,” Wayne starts, but Eddie interrupts.
“I look like a fucking Picasso painting, Wayne.” His voice sounds sharper.
“Eddie,” Steve says softly.
“I do.” He looks down at Steve’s hand, touching his fingers, his face tense, firm, and Steve kind of wishes he was still sleep. “...Wayne?”
“Yeah, Eds.”
“...Can I have a hug?”
Wayne gets up silently, going around to the other side of his bed and pulling his hands out of his pocket, and Eddie pulls away from Steve, reaching his arms up in a childish way that makes him look small as Wayne sits on the bed, taking him in his arms. He’s already whispering to him (It’s okay, Eds, you’re alright.) and Steve watches as Eddie’s shoulders start to shake as he cries, as Wayne runs a hand over his head, closing his eyes.
After a few moments Steve hears a deep sob, muffled by Wayne’s shoulder, and he squeezes his eyes shut as they burn. He curls into a ball, drawing his knees to his chest, and hides his face as he starts to cry, listening to Eddie. He’s almost wailing now, sobbing into Wayne’s shoulder, and Steve’s whole body hurts.
He knows what it’s like to not recognize himself. But at least he remembers what happened, at least he fucking knows how he became this. But as much as he knows Eddie wishes he could remember, he’s glad he can’t. Glad he can’t remember dying, can’t remember the flashes of the demobats’ wings in his face, the way they glistened a little bit in the dark light of the Upside Down. Glad he can’t remember the snapping of Chrissy’s body, can’t remember the fear he felt as he watched her float to the ceiling, the fear that made him tremble with his hand around a broken beer bottle.
Eddie sounds like a child. It makes Steve want to rip his own skin off. Makes him wish magic was real so he could find some kind of potion or spell or fucking anything to make the scars disappear. So Eddie could at least feel like himself, even in a world that thinks he’s dead, in a world that hates him for something he never did, something he doesn’t even remember.
Steve wraps his arms around himself, listening to Eddie cry. He can’t leave. He can’t move.
It feels darker in the room. Like the sun hasn’t even set, but disappeared completely.
He only looks up when there’s a gentle touch to his knee, and he lifts his head, blinks his eyes, still hiding, to find Wayne reaching out to him. He can’t really see, tears blurring his vision, but he can see the way Wayne’s eyes are glistening too, the way Wayne’s hand is shaking, and he takes it slowly, wanting to steady him, to make him feel okay.
Wayne pulls at his hand, tugging him closer to him and Eddie, and Steve moves, falling against Eddie’s back, closing his eyes and wrapping and arm around him. Wayne’s hand finds his shoulder, and it squeezes as Steve sobs weakly. Eddie is gasping for breath, so Steve presses his hand to his chest, over his heart, and Eddie slips a hand between himself and Wayne to hold it tightly, twining their fingers as he tries to breathe.
Eddie is still sniffling when Steve stops crying, still hiccuping and sobbing weakly, and Steve presses a kiss to the back of his neck, over his tangled curls.
Eddie squeezes his hand.
• ───────────────── •
“Nurse Hammond said she told you about the oil cream for your skin graft, is that right?” Owens asks, looking through some papers, glancing at Eddie over them. Eddie nods.
He looks nervous. Steve wants to reach over and take his hand. Or both. They’re twisted in his lap anxiously, his fingers bent and tangled so much that it looks like it hurts. But he doesn’t know if Eddie would want him to in front of Owens, even though Steve is pretty sure Owens wouldn’t care.
“You can use it on your other scars too,” Owens is saying, his eyes gentle on Eddie. “They’ll keep your skin soft while it heals.”
Eddie nods again.
“To wash, unscented soap, very gentle,” Owens continues. “Keep your physical activity to a minimum, keep out of the sun. If you want to go outside, wear a shirt to cover the skin graft to protect it. Don’t rub or scratch it or anything, and don’t pick at any scabs.” He gives Eddie a look. “I know it’s tempting.”
Eddie cracks a smile, nodding.
“Call or give us a visit if you have a fever of a hundred degrees or more,” Owens says, looking back at the paper. “If the pain gets worse or doesn’t fade, if there’s any kind of discharge from the graft or if the graft seems to be opening up. Or if you just have any questions or concerns. Alright?”
Eddie nods solemnly, his lips sealed. He looks tired.
Owens smiles at him sympathetically. Steve hates getting that look. He wonders if Eddie minds it.
Owens sets aside the papers, looking at Steve and then back at Eddie.
“You’ll have to stay inside,” he says gently. “For a while, at least. Walks will be okay, better if you’re with someone just in case. But Mr Harrington’s house has plenty of space, so–”
“What?”
Steve and Owns both blink, looking at Eddie, at the confusion in his eyes.
“You’ll be going with Steve,” Owens says, looking at Steve again. “Did we not tell you?”
Eddie looks at Steve, his eyes wide.
“I forgot to mention it,” Steve says, his voice sounding weird to his own ears after being quiet for so long. “But you… You’re coming home with me.”
Eddie blinks, his eyebrows furrowing a little bit.
“That’s a terrible idea.”
He looks at Owens like he’s expecting him to say something, to protest with him, but Owens seems just as speechless as Steve, who stares at Eddie, at the side of his face. Eddie looks back at Steve, eyes wide, and he says his name like something is obvious, but hurt is aching in Steve’s bones now.
“Can you… give us a moment?” he asks Owens quietly, and Owens nods, eyes wide, awkward.
“Of course, just… I’ll be back later.”
They’re both quiet until the door shuts behind Owens, and then Steve turns to him.
“What the hell.”
“Steve,” Eddie says firmly, still looking at him like that, like he’s fucking stupid and missing something painfully obvious. “It’s a terrible idea.”
“How the fuck is it a terrible idea?” Steve questions, and he knows his voice is stronger than it needs to be right now, but he can’t stop. “Jesus, Eddie, even if I didn’t want you there, you can’t stay anywhere else.”
“Why not?”
“Because—” He wants to cry. Eddie doesn’t want to stay with him. He thinks it’s a terrible idea. A terrible idea. “Because you can’t stay in the Wheelers’ basement like some stray cat, or— or in the Sinclairs’ or the Hendersons’, because Wayne lives in a tiny apartment in fucking town center, okay? Because I live a huge fucking empty goddamn house all by myself and it’s in the middle of the fucking woods and no one will see you.”
He’s talking with his hands, gesturing like his huge fucking empty goddamn house is right outside the window.
“Because if you need blood you can just go find a deer or a rabbit or something outside, and the house will give you plenty of space so you don’t go fucking insane cooped up inside all the time, because there’s nothing we can do.”
Eddie’s lip quivers.
“It’s a terrible idea.”
“Why?” Steve asks weakly, and goddammit, his voice cracks and he feels like he might cry, and for a moment he sees Eddie soften, but he doesn’t want his fucking sympathy, he just wants to know. “We see each other every day, it’s never been, like… a problem.”
“Steve…” Eddie huffs, looking away. “I freak out like every day,” he says. “Those fucking… moments that I feel like I’m dying and I don’t know why, and those moments that I just start crying for no fucking reason, and I don’t want you seeing that, it’s…”
“So, what, you’d rather do that all by yourself? In some basement?”
“Steve, I don’t want you seeing it,” Eddie says firmly, his volume matching Steve’s.
“I’ve already seen it,” Steve snaps. “I’ve been there, I’ve helped you.”
“Steve, I…”
“What’s your problem?”
“I don’t want you getting sick of me,” Eddie says finally, his voice sharp, loud, almost a shout, and Steve inhales, almost offended that Eddie thinks that’s even possible.
“I’m not gonna get sick of you.”
“How do you know?” Eddie asks, sounding close to tears.
“Because I love you.”
Oh.
Eddie blinks, falling silent, and the realization of what the fuck he just said settles in Steve’s chest like panic as he watches Eddie’s shoulders slump, as Eddie looks back and forth between his eyes.
“Jesus,” he exhales, standing, his hands reaching into his hair to pull at it, and he turns away, but Eddie’s voice stops him in his tracks.
“Don’t leave me right now. Please.”
His voice is weak, soft and delicate, and he sounds like he’s about to burst into tears, and Steve turns around, sitting back on the bed, closer, reaching for his hand.
“I’m not leaving you, baby, I’m sorry,” he says softly, quickly, as Eddie blinks tears out of his eyes. “I just…”
Eddie takes a shaky breath, his glassy eyes searching Steve’s like he’s looking for lies, and Steve squeezes his hand.
“I am not going to get sick of you,” he says quietly, carefully, intentionally. “Ever. Okay?”
“Steve, I’m already sick of myself,” Eddie breathes, and Steve’s heart splits in two.
“I’m sick of myself too,” he whispers honestly. “Does that mean you’re sick of me?”
“No,” Eddie chokes, closing his eyes. Steve reaches up with his free hand, wiping his cheek carefully.
“I’m not going to get sick of you,” he murmurs. “I’m not going to get tired of you, I’m… I’ll give you anything you need, Eddie. I wanna take care of you.”
Eddie exhales, gasping for breath, his other hand reaching to hold Steve’s wrist. He’s shaking. Steve gazes at him. He’s so beautiful. Even when he cries.
“Will you let me love you?” he whispers softly. “Will you come home with me?”
Eddie blinks his eyes open, sending more tears down his face, and he nods before reaching out to hug Steve tightly, his face in his neck, his tears wetting his skin, and Steve closes his eyes, holding him back.
He goes home two days later. A van shows up early in the morning to bring Eddie’s things as Steve is finishing with the laundry, as he’s trying to untangle the freshly washed and dried sheets from the duvet cover for Eddie’s room, and Steve watches as some men bring in boxes and boxes. One comes in with Eddie’s guitar, and Steve’s anxiety skyrockets even though the man is handling it carefully, gentle as he sets it down on the dining table because he doesn’t know where else to put it.
Steve touches it when they’re gone. It’s cold. It feels so… mundane. It’s just a guitar. A beautiful guitar, but just a guitar. Nothing really special about it other than the fact that it’s Eddie’s.
It’s shiny in the light of the dining room, in the sunlight that shines through it, the red almost iridescent in a way. Steve bites his lip, touching the strings, strumming them weakly, the sound of it, uneven and untuned, echoes through the room. He leaves.
Eddie’s eyes are wide when he gets to Steve’s, looking around at the house, at the driveway, at the woods. Steve is watching from the doorway. It’s odd to see him here. Like he isn’t supposed to be here.
“Holy shit?” Eddie says as he comes closer, and Steve cracks a smile, scoffing and standing up straight and holding his arms up so Eddie can hug him tightly. Steve buries his face in Eddie’s neck, closing his eyes and sighing.
The men leave. Steve brings Eddie inside.
Eddie freezes when he sees the guitar on the table, looking at it. Steve pauses, looking between him and the guitar, hesitating, trying to read Eddie’s expression. He looks almost confused, blinking at the guitar.
“Do you… remember it?” Steve asks quietly, and Eddie looks at him like he’s startled.
“Uh, yeah, that’s… my sweetheart.” He sounds hesitant. (And sweetheart. Jesus. Steve never thought he’d be jealous of an inanimate object, but to be Eddie’s sweetheart sounds heavenly.) “I just… I don’t know. It’s…”
He approaches it hesitantly, holding a hand up, touching it the way Steve did earlier today, just running his fingers over it, over the strings. Slowly. Like he’s scared of it.
After a few moments he pulls his hand away, letting it down so his sleeve falls over his hand, and he looks over at Steve where he’s leaning against the doorway, taking a breath. He looks too light. It’s fake.
“We can put it somewhere else,” Steve says gently. “I wasn’t sure if you’d want me to leave it alone or anything.”
Eddie smiles crookedly at him.
“Wanna see your room?”
“Yeah.”
He follows Steve up the stairs, reaching for his hand and hooking their fingers together. Steve squeezes as he leads him down the hall to the guest room, pushing the door open and stepping aside so Eddie can enter, still holding his hand.
“Woah?”
Steve laughs lightly, watching Eddie’s eyes scan the room, the stack of boxes and the duffle bags and the green tin lunch box that’s on top of the dresser, watching his face light up with a smile. He lets go of Steve’s hand, reaches over to it , flips it open and rummages through it.
“If Rick thinks I’m dead, do I get to keep all this?”
Steve laughs, stepping to look over his shoulder, at a roll of cash bound with a rubber band along with a few crumpled dollars and coins, a baggie of weed and another with a few white pills.
“I guess,” he says.
Eddie looks over his shoulder, quirks his eyebrows at him.
“You wanna get high?”
“With you, absolutely,” Steve says. He’s been high since everything with the Russians. Two times by himself, neither of which went well because he felt too distant from his body and anticipated the grounding impact of a fist in his face. Another time with Robin, because she wanted to see if it helped her sleep. It did, and seeing her there, calm and quiet and happy (she gets smiley and giggly when she’s high), made him feel kind of safe. It was nice. Maybe being with Eddie will make it fun the way it’s supposed to be. “But we can’t today, everyone’s coming over, and the kids no not need to be seeing us high.”
Eddie clicks his tongue, sighing disappointedly before he furrows his brows.
“They are?”
“Mhmm. In a few hours. For a housewarming kinda thing, apparently. I don’t know. They kinda just do what they want, this is the whole Party’s house.”
Eddie laughs lightly, closing the lunch box for later before he turns around, looking at Steve. His hair is frizzy. Steve kind of wants to put a leave-in conditioner in it. If Eddie would let him.
“We have time before everyone gets here?” he asks, his voice softer as he leans against the dresser. A drawer handle must be pressing into his back, but he doesn’t indicate it.
“Mhmm.”
Steve steps closer, reaching up to touch his hair, running his hands through it and pushing it back. It’s soft. Eddie’s hands find his hips after a moment as they look at each other, setting on him gently and tightening after a short moment, pulling him closer. Steve smiles softly, setting his arms over Eddie’s shoulders, tilting his head, and Eddie’s eyes are soft and sparkling, and Steve feels pretty under his gaze. He’s standing here like girls do in movies, arms over their boyfriends’ shoulders, smiling sweetly and blushing. Steve never thought he’d like to feel like this.
Eddie’s expression shifts after a second, his mouth twisting and eyes wandering thoughtfully.
“What?” Steve whispers.
“I, uhm…” Eddie gazes at him for another moment. Gazes. Steve thinks it to himself, that Eddie is gazing at him, like he’s some sunset or like he’s the stars, or like Eddie is in love with him or something. “I didn’t… tell you, but.”
He swallows nervously, and Steve touches the back of his head, pressing his fingers into his curls.
“What?”
“I love you too.”
Steve blinks, because somehow he didn’t see this coming at all. He told Eddie he loves him so easily, even if it was during a bout of anger and frustration and hurt, even if it was followed by brief panic, but somehow it didn’t occur to him at all that Eddie might… love him too.
“Oh.”
A slow smile creeps across Eddie’s face and he raises his eyebrows.
“Cool,” Steve says lightly, smiling, and Eddie’s smile widens as he laughs softly, pulling at Steve’s hips so he falls against him. Steve closes his eyes, pressing his face into his neck as he hugs him, his body flushing with heat when Eddie presses a kiss to his shoulder.
“You wanna start unpacking or put that off for later?” Steve asks when they part, still holding each other. Eddie sighs, looking past him.
“Guess I should start, huh?”
“Want help?”
“If you don’t mind,” Eddie says softly, and Steve tugs at his hair, pulling him closer to kiss his forehead.
“‘Course not.”
He helps unpack. He folds Eddie’s clothes and puts them away neatly, even though he knows that in a few days they’ll be a mess because Eddie definitely doesn’t fold his clothes. But Steve doesn’t care. Because in a few days, Eddie will be here. In this house.
Steve pauses when the thought occurs to him, looking across at Eddie as he’s sorting through a box, kneeling on the bed with his hair tied up out of the way.
It hadn’t occurred to him that he gets to think about this now. The future. The furthest ahead he thought after Vecna was tomorrow. Tomorrow he needs to drive Lucas and Erica to the hospital to see Max. Tomorrow he needs to get groceries and remember to get Robin’s favorite cereal. Unless someone told him something in advance. On Friday he needs to stop by Joyce’s for lunch. Next Monday he needs to pick up Dustin to take him to school before work.
Day by day by day by day.
But now it’s in a few days.
Someday.
“What?” Eddie says when he catches Steve staring at him. Steve shrugs.
“Love you.”
He grins when Eddie looks away, cheeks flushed, flustered.
The others come over around five, with pizzas and sodas and three movies and an endless supply of hugs for Eddie. Steve watches fondly.
It all makes Eddie tired, which Steve notices as they’re all settling in to watch a movie. (Steve didn’t catch the title. He doesn’t really care.) He looks drained, rubbing his cheek and pushing his hair back when no one’s looking. Steve comes up behind him as he’s washing the dishes as the kids find their places in the living room, touching his hips carefully, setting his chin on his shoulder.
“You wanna sit with me during the movie?” he asks quietly.
Eddie smiles at the sink, running a glass under the water. His rings are on the counter next to them.
“Is that really a question you’re asking me?”
Steve smiles, nuzzling his nose into his neck and inhaling, breathing in the scent of his blood.
“Mhmm. I'd like an answer.”
Eddie scoffs, washing the last plate.
“Of course I do, baby.”
Steve smiles into his neck, pressing a kiss to his scar. It matches Steve’s now, pink and metallic.
“C’mon, then.”
“I’m almost done.”
“Come o-o-on…”
“So annoying.”
“Get used to it.”
Eddie looks over his shoulder, setting the plate in the drying rack and shutting off the water.
“Gladly.”
Steve beams.
Eddie leans against Steve on the sofa when they go into the living room, after stepping over the children piled up on the floor. Steve knows they see the way their fingers are tangled, and the way Eddie is holding Steve’s wrist with his free hand, like he’s scared of getting lost. He knows they can all see the way he wraps an arm around Eddie when they’re sitting, and the way he leans back against the arm rest so Eddie can curl up next to him, and the way Eddie lays his head on his shoulder, his face in his neck as he falls asleep.
When a wave of loss hits Steve, his arm tightens around Eddie as he exhales sharply, his eyes suddenly burning. Eddie shifts closer, sighing, and Steve’s hand runs up to his head, into his hair. Eddie wakes up, blinking his eyes open, his eyelashes brushing Steve’s neck, and he knows immediately what’s happening, knows immediately that Steve is grieving.
“‘M right here,” he whispers softly, pulling an arm from where it’s tucked between them so he can wrap it around Steve’s waist. “I’m okay.”
“I know,” Steve whispers.
Eddie lifts his head after Steve takes a deep breath, and Steve looks at him. It’s dark in the living room, but Eddie’s eyes are shining as the movie turns into white noise, fading into wind.
“What?” Steve breathes. Eddie’s eyes flick across his face, and then he’s leaning up, lifting his chin, and pressing the softest kiss possible to the corner of Steve’s mouth.
Steve’s eyes well with tears.
He’s never been kissed that softly.
Eddie seems to know that the tears aren’t bad, because he smiles softly and shifts more, pulling at Steve’s leg so he rolls onto his back and Eddie can lay between his legs, on his chest.
Steve holds him tightly, hiding his face in Eddie’s neck when he sees Robin turn to look at them. Eddie sighs, shuddering.
They’re the first ones to fall asleep.
When Steve wakes up, his face is covered in Eddie’s hair, and he doesn’t move. He can feel that Eddie is still asleep, breathing steadily into Steve’s neck, and Steve closes his eyes again, listening to the clamber in the kitchen and smiling at the ceiling.
• ───────────────── •
Eddie spends his second night in his room, and Steve misses him.
It’s weirdly quiet without him, without his heartbeat. Steve struggles to fall asleep, but when he finally does, he doesn’t have any nightmares. Which is nice.
The house is quiet when he gets up for work, and he really wants to just climb into bed with Eddie, but he begrudgingly brushes his teeth and gets dressed and does his hair. He steps quietly down the hall and down the stairs to keep the stairs from creaking, but he stops short when he sees Eddie sitting on the kitchen island, legs crossed, a book in his lap.
“Oh.”
Eddie looks up. He’s wearing shorts, showing the scar on his shin, and mismatched socks, and a sweater, and his hair is tangled and messy, and he looks sleepy as he smiles at him.
“Morning.”
“Thought you were still in bed,” Steve says, coming into the kitchen, finding his wallet and keys. “What’re you doing up?”
“Made you breakfast,” Eddie says lightly. Steve blinks and looks past him to see a plate of pancakes on the counter.
“And why are you on the counter?”
“Because Wayne’s not here to tell me to get off of it.”
Steve raises an eyebrow at him, getting the pancakes, and Eddie sighs heavily, folding the corner of the page in his book before he slides off the island to sit on the stool under it.
“Thank you for breakfast, baby,” Steve says softly, setting the plate down closer as he comes up behind Eddie, wrapping his arms around him. Eddie sighs, tilting his head back, reaching to hold Steve’s forearms.
“You’re welcome,” Eddie mumbles weakly as Steve presses kisses to his neck, under his ear and over his scar and just above the collar of his sweater.
“What’s your plan for today?” he asks, mumbling against his skin before he opens his mouth because he can’t help himself, kissing him and kissing him and kissing him, teasing his teeth and tongue against his skin. Eddie’s breath stutters in his throat, and he tilts his head to give him space, reaching up to press his fingers into his hair.
“Uh. Sit by the window and… wait for you to come home. Like a wife whose husband is off at war.”
Steve snorts, biting his neck gently, and Eddie hums, snickering to himself.
“You’re so dramatic.”
He licks the bite mark before kissing it and standing up straight to hug Eddie’s head, covering his face. He sways, ignoring Eddie’s groan of complaint, grinning as Eddie’s hands tighten on his forearms.
“You’re so annoying,” Eddie says, voice muffled.
“I’m aware. It’s fun.”
He releases him, but Eddie catches his hand, pulling it closer and pressing a kiss to his palm. He turns around after a second, looking up at Steve, who touches his face, stroking over the silvery pink scar on his cheek, over his jaw and chin. His skin is so soft.
Eddie’s hands find his hips after a moment, pulling him closer and looking up at him, his chin on his sternum. He kind of looks like a puppy like this, blinking those fucking eyes and pouting to suppress a smile.
Steve smiles fondly down at him, brushing his bangs back. He takes a deep breath, gazing at him, focussing on the feeling in his chin pressing against him, the weight of his hands holding the loops of his jeans.
“‘M here,” Eddie murmurs.
“I know.”
Eddie smiles, turning his face into Steve’s belly, sighing heavily as Steve touches his hair.
“I have to go to work,” he says quietly.
Eddie groans obnoxiously, wrapping his arms around him tightly. Steve smiles, running his fingers through his hair and tugging.
“Eddie-e-e….” he sings quietly. “I’ll be back tonight.”
Eddie groans again.
“Promise?”
Steve leans down to kiss the top of his head.
“Promise.”
That evening, their routine starts. Steve comes home and just manages to hang his Family Video vest on the coatrack before Eddie is attacking him with a hug, jumping on him like he knows Steve is going to catch him. Which, he does, obviously, with a loud Eddie— Jesus! before he starts to laugh. He carries Eddie to the kitchen, where dinner is still warm, steaming on the stove, and he sets him on the counter to hug him.
This happens every day, give or take the few seconds it takes for Eddie to run to him depending on where he is or what he’s doing, and give or take whatever Eddie’s made for dinner. Usually some kind of pasta, or some TV dinners, or frozen pizzas. He’s surprisingly well-off in the kitchen. He chops carrots in four different ways, and he can multitask like a motherfucker, cooking something on the stove, washing lettuce in the sink, something baking in the oven without any kind of timer set, all while he hums some Metallica or something to himself. On the nights that he’s still cooking when Steve comes home, Steve likes to sit and watch, sitting at the island with his arms crossed over the counter, his chin on his arms as he gazes, watches Eddie sway and toss his hair over his shoulder.
On some days Steve just brings pizza home. And they sit in the living room, passing a bong back and forth while they eat, Eddie giggling as Steve recounts stories from work.
Every once in a while the kids will come over to see Eddie. They’ll bring all their D&D stuff, as well as some Tupperware containers of food from their mothers that they pack specifically for Steve, but the kids give them to Eddie. Steve likes D&D nights. The kids are loud and obnoxious and he can’t follow along with anything that they’re talking about, but they’re loud and obnoxious and they’re kids. They’re not fighting for their (actual) lives or holding candlestick holders as weapons or cleaning blood off their sneakers. They’re sitting around the weirdly ornate dining table, crouching or kneeling in their seats as they listen to Eddie intently, and they’re making fun of each other and bickering and throwing popcorn and yelling, and Steve sits in the living room, laying on the sofa and staring at the ceiling, listening, smiling.
Sometimes the kids stay overnight if there’s no school, all piled up in the living room like a litter of puppies, and Eddie santers into the kitchen to find Steve, eyes at half-mast, happy and content and tired.
It’s all marked on the calendar in the kitchen. Every D&D session, every visit from Wayne (Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays), every movie night with Robin and Nancy and Jonathan and Argyle, every lazy pizza night. Every Friday is marked with therapy - 3:00. The calendar is covered in doodles from Eddie, red and black marker, and Steve loves it.
It only takes two weeks for Eddie to start sleeping in Steve’s room.
The first time is after his first nightmare. Steve wakes up in the night like he sometimes does and goes downstairs to get some water, but finds Eddie sitting on the counter, holding the edge of it, staring at the ground with empty, tired eyes. His hair is tied up off his neck, and the neckline of his worn and faded sweater is falling off his pale shoulder, falling down to show his chest. His scars are healing. The skin graft is paler now, still a few shades off of Eddie’s, and the other scars are pink and tender-looking, and Steve wants to kiss them.
“Eddie?”
Eddie doesn’t move, still staring at the ground, breathing shallowly. Steve moves closer, careful and tentative, until he moves onto the floor, crouching to look into Eddie’s eyes. He sets a hand on Eddie’s knee gently, and Eddie blinks, his eyes focussing as they find Steve in front of him.
“Hey,” Steve murmurs, smiling softly.
Eddie blinks again, inhaling slowly.
“You okay?”
Eddie exhales, shaking his head slowly. Steve’s chest aches, and he stands up, moving closer to stand between his legs, touching his chin.
“What happened?”
Eddie takes another breath, reaching out to hold Steve’s waist, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. His gaze falls, landing somewhere on Steve’s chest, unfocussing again.
“Had a nightmare, but I…” His breath sudders. Steve slides his hand over Eddie’s jaw, lifting his other hand to touch his hip. “I don’t remember what happened, just that I…”
Steve leans in and kisses his forehead tenderly as he breathes.
“I was so scared,” Eddie says weakly, softly, sleepily. Steve nods, brushing his thumb over his scar. “But I don’t… God, Steve, it’s so— it’s so frustrating, I can’t remember.”
“I know, baby,” Steve whispers, unsure of how to empathize. He’s still glad he can’t remember. He doesn’t want him to remember. “It’s okay.”
Eddie’s face crumbles as he cries, and he pulls at Steve’s shirt. Steve hugs him tightly, running his hand over his hair, murmuring that it’s all okay, that Eddie is okay. Eddie feels heavy when he stops crying, like he’s about to keel over, but he sits up when Steve goes to get him a glass of water. He doesn’t finish the water, sipping at half of it before he pushes it at Steve, gesturing with a jerk of his chin for Steve to finish it. He does.
“Bedtime,” he whispers after setting the glass down, but Eddie exhales, moving closer, tugging at him again.
“Can I stay with you?”
Steve could cry.
“Of course.”
Eddie holds onto his arm as he follows him upstairs, and he’s almost asleep by the time Steve crawls into bed next to him, the lights off, a lamp on across the room. (Steve moved the lamp from the living room into his room not long after he got involved in it all. The dark is too quiet.)
Even in his mostly-asleep state, he reaches for Steve, rolling so he’s almost on top of him, face buried in Steve’s neck, cold hand slipping under the fabric of his shirt. Steve wraps his arms around him, holding him tightly, sighing when Eddie inhales against his skin, when he feels Eddie fall lax. He doesn’t fall asleep until he knows Eddie is, too. And he’s glad he doesn’t have work tomorrow.
The next time Eddie has a nightmare, he just sneaks into Steve’s room, climbs into bed next to him, and Steve just pulls him close, his arm around Eddie’s waist, his face buried in Eddie’s hair.
So it becomes normal. Once or twice a week, then a few times a week, until they’re just going to bed together, bodies pressed under the blankets. Sometimes with Eddie’s back to Steve’s chest, other times the other way around. Sometimes with Eddie just laying fully on top of Steve, other times with Steve’s face on Eddie’s chest, listening to his heartbeat.
Eddie gets up in the morning with him, throws together breakfast quickly, says goodbye with a peck to Steve’s cheek and soft eyes, and Steve wants to kiss him, oh, God, he wants to kiss him.
• ───────────────── •
There’s some movie on the television. Steve doesn’t really know what’s going on, isn’t really paying attention. Eddie is sitting cross-legged on the sofa next to him, a heavy book in his lap. Steve doesn’t know what book it is, but Eddie’s been reading it for a few days now.
Steve might doze off here, lounged in the corner of the sofa, listening to the movie turn into white noise with Eddie next to him.
His eyes are drifting shut when Eddie’s hand hits his leg suddenly, heavy and hard, tapping his leg sharply.
Steve opens his eyes, looking over at him with a soft questioning noise.
Eddie is looking at the ground in front of himself, eyes wide like he’s going to cry, the pages of the book falling shut.
“Eddie?”
Eddie exhales sharply, his hand falling limp, and Steve sits up as Eddie inhales again. He’s breathing too fast.
“Hey, whoa.” Steve scrambles up, fully awake, moving to kneel on the floor in front of him. “Eds, hey.”
Eddie huffs, his chest moving with every breath.
Steve takes his book and sets it aside, touching his knees. He hesitates, looking into Eddie’s eyes even though they’re looking through him instead of at him, and then he tries something his therapist recommended a while ago.
He starts tapping Eddie’s legs, firmly, intentionally. Right, left, right, left, right, left.
“Baby,” he says softly. “You feel it?”
Eddie blinks his eyes, finally finding Steve, and tears fall down his cheeks as he nods desperately, hyperventilating.
“Focus on it,” Steve says softly, nodding as Eddie looks back and forth between his eyes. “I got you, I’m right here.”
“Ste—”
“I got you, baby, slow. Breathe.”
Eddie stares at Steve intently, his eyelids flickering as he tries to breathe. Steve breathes slowly, exaggerating the rise and fall of his chest to demonstrate. Inhale, hold, exhale. Inhale, hold exhale. Until Eddie is breathing with him, eyes still frantic, panicked, still tense and stiff.
“You’re okay,” Steve says softly as he stop tapping his legs, reaching up to wipe his cheeks.
Eddie squeezes his eyes shut, face contorting as he cries, and his fists lift and hit his thighs hard in a weak, frustrated tantrum. Steve catches them when they raise again, his heart aching.
“No hitting,” he says gently, holding his hands as a sob escapes Eddie. “Hold.”
Eddie grasps his fingers, squeezing so tightly it hurts, but Steve smiles and nods.
“There you go, baby.”
Eddie takes a gasping breath, tears falling down his cheeks.
“You did so good, Eddie,” Steve tells him, smiling. “‘M so proud of you, baby boy.”
Eddie exhales shakily, his hands releasing his hands and falling forward against Steve, wrapping his arms around Steve’s neck. Steve closes his eyes, rising onto his knees, holding him tightly as he breathes.
“So good, Eddie.”
“Stevie…”
“Love you so much, baby, I got you.”
He shifts, carefully grabbing Eddie’s thighs, and he stands, picking Eddie up and moving to sit with Eddie on his lap.
Eddie sighs into his neck, whining.
“You know what triggered it?” Steve asks softly.
Eddie shakes his head. Steve traces his spine.
“‘S okay.”
• ───────────────── •
Eddie is watching Steve.
Steve doesn’t mind.
He does it a lot, just… stares. Gazes. Watches. While Steve cleans, talks, while he sews clothes. While he watches movies or bickers with Robin. He’s kind of used to it by now, feeling Eddie’s eyes on him, but it still flusters him a little bit sometimes.
“What?” he asks shyly, looking at Eddie, who’s watching him, unblinking.
Eddie shrugs, taking a breath, his brows furrowing as he thinks. Steve suddenly doesn’t care about the baseball game that’s on, turning the volume down low. It takes a moment for Eddie to speak again.
“Sometimes I wish I could… Like. Open your chest up and crawl inside.”
Steve blinks, starting to smile as Eddie blushes pink.
“Get all up close to your heart,” Eddie adds, shrugging.
His eyes meet Steve’s nervously, but Steve feels warm all over. Like Eddie loves him the same way he loves Eddie, with the same visceral gentleness. He’d like that too. For Eddie to rip his chest right open and climb inside his ribcage, to curl up beside his heart and feel it pulse. Steve wants to stitch his skin shut behind him to keep him there.
“I could keep you warm there,” he says lightly.
Eddie blinks.
And then his eyes are glistening and his lip is quivering, and Steve shifts, opening his arms.
Eddie catapults himself into his arms, laying against his chest as Steve hugs him, laughing softly.
“Jesus, Steve.”
Steve laughs again, kissing his head.
After a few moments, he shifts, pushing Eddie away a little, and he lifts the hem of his own shirt, quickly pulling it over Eddie’s head, and Eddie yelps with a loud Steve!
He’s laughing, struggling against the fabric and Steve’s arms, his face cool against Steve’s chest, and Steve’s face hurts because he’s smiling so much. He hushes him loudly, holding him tightly as Eddie cackles.
“Steve, why?”
“Stop fighting it!”
“Ste-e-e-eve…”
He gives up after another minute, still giggling as he relaxes against Steve’s chest, and Steve is grinning down at the shape of him under his shirt. When he finally relaxes his arms around him, Eddie sits up, pulling out from under his shirt, grinning, his hair messy and frizzy and staticky. He’s beautiful.
“Off,” Eddie requests, tugging at the hem of Steve’s shirt, and Steve obliges, sitting up and pulling his shirt up over his head. Eddie lays back down, pressing his cheek to Steve’s chest. Steve twists his fingers into Eddie’s hair, taking it.
Eddie sighs, pressing his hand to the center of his chest, just over his heart.
“This is as close as I’m gonna get, isn’t it?”
Steve smiles, kissing his head again.
“Mm. You’re already closer than everyone else,” he says quietly. Eddie makes a quiet questioning noise. “…Belongs to you.”
Eddie lifts his head, looking at him.
Then he looks at his chest, moving his hand aside, like he’s looking right through his skin, right at his heart, like he’s watching his blood flow.
He sets his heart over it, firm and careful, and Steve sets his own hand over, holding it firmly to himself, twining their fingers.
“‘S yours, baby.”
Eddie’s eyes flick back and forth between Steve’s like he’s trying to tell if he’s lying or not, and Steve smiles at him.
Eddie looks at his chest again, like he’s looking at Steve’s heart with new eyes, seeing it as his own, as his possession. He moves their hands away, slowly lowering down to his chest before he presses a soft kiss just over his heart.
“Thank you,” he murmurs.
“For what?” Steve whispers.
“Letting me have this.”
It kind of looks like he’s talking about Steve’s chest, about the fuzzy hair covering his mole-spotted skin, but Steve feels his heart swell like Eddie’s words are filling it.
“I’d give it to you,” Steve murmurs softly. “Over and over and over. If you want it.”
“I do,” Eddie breathes.
Steve smiles.
Eddie’s eyes find his chest again, and Steve knows he feels the same thing that he’s feeling, that same feeling he had when Eddie was still in the hospital. That he would let Eddie rip him apart, that he’d let him tear into his heart with teeth, that he’d let him drain him. That he kind of wants him to.
Eddie falls against him again, sighing heavily, breathing in the scent of Steve’s blood with his face in his neck. Steve pushes his hands under the hem of his sweater, closing his eyes.
• ───────────────── •
There’s a supply of blood in the garage refrigerator. Steve picks it up from the hospital and sometimes the butcher (who definitely thinks Steve has a very well-fed dog), but the refrigerated blood is only drunk by Eddie on days that he doesn’t go hunting.
He prefers fresh blood. It’s warmer. Sweeter.
He doesn’t have to feed every day, but it would help. He gets tired when doesn’t feed, gets slow and sleepy and pale. Steve hates it.
He does wonder if Eddie just doesn’t like it. The blood. He always stays by himself after hunting, taking a long shower or taking a nap in Steve’s room while Steve cleans or works or calls Robin to chat. And even though the blood brings him energy, and colors his cheeks, he always seem kind of down after feeding. Not as down as he is when he hasn’t fed, though.
“Hey,” Steve says softly, making Eddie pause as he’s clearing off the table. Steve hesitates, looking at Eddie’s paler-than-usual cheeks, at the way his hands are shaking a little bit. He steps close, touching Eddie’s face. His skin is colder than usual too. “…When was the last time you fed?”
“Uh,” Eddie says with a sigh, a shrug, and a resigned look in his eye. “I don’t know.”
“Baby.”
“I know, I—” He sets a plate down, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I kept forgetting, and I was going to tonight but I didn’t realise until it was dark and there isn’t any in the fridge, so I…”
“Jesus, sorry,” Steve says softly, because he hasn’t even noticed that the fridge isn’t stocked.
“‘S fine,” Eddie says, shrugging nonchalantly. “I’ll go hunting tomorrow morning.”
“How long has it been?” he asks, stroking his jaw.
“I think I fed after… after the last campaign.”
“Eddie.” Steve’s eyes widen. That was almost three weeks ago.
“I know, I’m sorry.”
“No, Eds, just—”
He takes the other plate that Eddie is holding, setting it on the plate and grabbing his hand.
“You need to take care of yourself,” he scolds gently, squeezing his hand as Eddie sighs. “You’re always telling the kids to make sure they’re drinking water, this is the same shit, Eddie.”
“I know.”
“…Why?”
Eddie stares at him, and Steve already knows.
“I don’t know,” he says softly, falling forward, his forehead resting on Steve’s shoulder. Steve hugs him, holding his head, sighing.
“You gotta take care of yourself, baby,” he says softly.
“I know.”
“Hey.” He tugs at Eddie’s hair to make him pull away and look at him. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice the fridge isn’t stocked,” he says quietly. “I’ll stop by the hospital tomorrow to pick some up, and I’ll pay more attention from now on, okay?”
Eddie nods, smiling weakly, and his eyes close. He looks like he’s just fallen asleep, and Steve’s stomach twists as he watches, moving his hand to touch Eddie’s cheek as he watches. His eyes squeeze shut a little bit, then open and close like his eyelids are too heavy. When his eyes finally open, it takes a moment for his eyes to focus and find Steve in front of him.
“Eddie, you need to feed.”
“…I will in the morning.”
“Eds…”
Eddie exhales. He’s almost too weak to even respond to Steve, and he’s shaking, and Steve knows he won’t be able to hunt tomorrow.
“‘S dark out, Stevie,” Eddie says quietly.
“Then just…”
They haven’t talked about it. Eddie feeding from Steve. Steve hasn’t told how badly he wants it, how badly he wants to help him like that, to be part of him like that. And maybe it’s kind of insane, kind of visceral and gross and possessive, but he wants to be Eddie’s.
“No,” Eddie says weakly. “Steve, come on.”
“Eddie, you won’t be able to hunt tomorrow, you need it.”
“Are you crazy?”
“Babe.” He holds Eddie’s face, feels him tremble. “I’ve already talked to Owens about it, he said it would be fine. You need to feed, you can barely talk right now.”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Eddie says, and he sounds close to tears.
“You won’t, baby,” Steve says adamantly. “I trust you.”
“Stevie.”
He pulls away, running his hands through his hair, but he sways, and he looks like he’s about to fall over, and Steve reaches out to steady him, his chest tightening.
“Eddie,” he says as firmly as he can, but his voice still wavers. “You’re… You’re scaring me. You need to feed, Eddie, please.”
Eddie blinks slowly at him, and Steve can see the fear fall away.
“Just… I don’t wanna hurt you,” he says softly.
“You won’t,” Steve says, holding his face again. “If it hurts I’ll stop you. Okay?”
Eddie nods, ceding.
“Okay.”
Eddie sits on the floor of Steve’s room. It’s his favorite room. The safest room.
Steve gets the first aid kit and sets it down next to Eddie as Eddie opens his eyes and blinks up at him, and after a moment of hesitation, he moves to straddle his hips, sitting on his thighs.
“Hey, baby,” Eddie says softly.
“Hi.”
He tucks Eddie’s hair behind his ear as Eddie’s hands find his hips.
“Okay?”
Eddie nods, his eyes flickering down to his neck.
“Yeah, just… nervous.”
“‘S okay.”
Eddie takes a deep breath, tracing his neck.
“Go ‘head, baby,” Steve murmurs, leaning closer. “Take it.”
Eddie leans in, nuzzles into his neck the way he does when they go to bed, breathing against Steve’s skin, and Steve’s heart is pounding in his chest. When he feels the sharp edges of Eddie’s teeth on his skin, he carefully focuses on not reacting so he doesn’t scare Eddie off.
And he bites.
It hurts. It hurts a lot. Two long teeth, puncturing the sensitive skin on the side of his neck. But Steve’s hand tightens in Eddie’s hair, holding him in place, and his eyes flutter shut, because a moment after the sharp pain that makes him jolt, it aches. It’s the best kind of ache, like pressing a fingertip into a bruise that isn’t meant to fade. And it feels fucking good.
Eddie’s teeth retract with another sharp pain, and a soft noise escapes Steve’s throat before Eddie’s mouth latches to the wound, and he sucks. Steve’s head falls back, and he inhales through his teeth, hissing, just as Eddie lets out a soft moan.
Eddie had said his blood smells different from other people’s blood, but now Steve is wondering if he tastes different too. It seems like he tastes good based on the soft sounds Eddie is making, based on the way his hand slides up to hold the back of his head.
Steve feels fucking divine here, sitting in Eddie’s lap, feeling his lips and tongue on his neck, feeling his teeth graze his skin. Listening to him suck and lick and breathe heavily. It’s sending shivers down his spine. His head feels like it’s full of clouds, like he’s spinning, like he’s high.
He moans.
He doesn’t mean to. He doesn’t want to distract him. But it escapes him, and he can’t take it back, but it doesn’t really seem to matter. If anything it encourages Eddie, who surges forward a little bit, sucking on the wound so harshly Steve chokes out a whimper, clutching at the back of his head, his fingers gripping his hair.
It feels so good.
Steve might pass out.
Eddie pulls away after a while, panting, his lips shining dark red.
“Are you okay?” he asks breathlessly.
“Yes,” Steve breathes. “Fuck, yeah, I’m okay.” He exhales slowly, running his fingers through his curls. “You feel better?”
Eddie nods, already seeming more awake, more alive.
“Yeah.”
“Okay.”
Eddie’s eyes wander down to his neck, to the wound.
“Is it still bleeding?” Steve asks in a hushed voice. Eddie nods again. “Don’t waste it,” he says quietly, tilting his head to the side.
Eddie exhales, leans in, and slides his tongue up his neck, licking the drip of blood away before he sucks gently again. Steve hums softly, scratching at his scalp.
Eddie drags his tongue over his neck a few more times before he lifts his head. There’s blood on his cheek.
His eyes are trained on his neck again, and his head tilts, his eyes widening.
“What?” Steve breathes.
“It’s healing.”
“Oh.”
Eddie watches it fade, brushing his thumb over it.
Steve doesn’t care about it. He slowly lifts a hand to Eddie’s cheek, swipes his thumb over the blood and wipes it away as Eddie’s eyes raise to meet his.
Steve’s breath stills in his lungs as he moves his thumb to Eddie’s mouth, and Eddie’s lips part, gaze unwavering. Steve slips his thumb into his mouth, exhaling roughly when Eddie closes his lips around it, sucking the blood off and then just sucking, his mouth warmer than the rest of him.
Steve feels kind of drunk. Like he might fall over at any second, like there’s some kind of venom in Eddie’s teeth.
He pulls his thumb away, and Eddie lets him, opening his mouth with a soft breath. A line of spit falls down his chin, and Steve’s thumb is shining with it as he traces Eddie’s red-stained lips tenderly. He can hear Eddie’s heart beating. It’s fast.
Steve leans down, tilting his head, and he licks the spit away from Eddie’s chin.
When he pulls away, Eddie’s eyes are closed, and he looks asleep, soft and peaceful and calm and fucking beautiful.
Eddie’s eyes open blearily at him after a moment, and they flick across his face. The air feels tight between them, like it’s going to snap. Eddie’s hands tighten on his hips.
And then they’re kissing.
Steve is holding Eddie’s face between his hands, holding him so tightly his cheeks are squishing under his palms, and Eddie’s hands are clutching at his back, clawing over him and gripping the fabric of his shirt so tightly it might rip. Steve doesn’t even think about it, focusing on kissing Eddie desperately.
They crash into each other. Again, and again, and again, so hard that it kind of hurts, so that their teeth clash, and they’re breathing each other’s breath, gasping into each other’s mouths. Steve can barely think at all, listening to the slick slide of their mouths, to their heavy breaths, to Eddie’s heart beating.
He pushes his fingers into Eddie’s hair, gripping it tightly, listening to Eddie choke out a quiet noise, and Steve shivers when their tongues slide, as he licks the taste of his own sweet blood out of Eddie’s mouth.
Eddie groans, sliding a hand up to the back of Steve’s head and jerking at his hair, pulling him away. Steve whimpers weakly, a chill running down his spine, and his eyes roll back as Eddie looks at him, panting. His lips are reddened and shining like he’s wearing lipgloss, hair messy and frizzy, eyes glazed over. He looks like they just fucked.
“Stevie, I…”
Steve leans back in and kisses him again, sucking on his lip, biting it. Eddie’s hands wrap around Steve’s waist, gripping him tightly, and it feels like he could manhandle him like this, like he could pick Steve up and toss him aside, onto his back, wherever Eddie wants him, like a rag doll. And that’s never even occurred to Steve before but, God, he’s into it.
He moans. Eddie swears against his mouth, his hips jerking up against him, and Steve keens, graining and falling against him, pressing down against him, because he’s so hard, and Steve can’t stop thinking about how that’s his blood in Eddie’s body. Eddie’s hand slides under Steve’s shirt, over his back, his spine, his scars.
“Off,” Eddie breathes sharply, desperately. “Please, Stevie, baby, I wanna touch you—”
“You too,” Steve says breathlessly, already crawling off Eddie's lap and reaching for the hem of his shirt. Eddie sits up, moving onto his knees, pulling his sweater off as Steve throws his shirt across the room, as he reaches for the button of his jeans. It’s frantic, and desperate, and graceless, but Steve doesn’t care, doesn’t care, doesn’t care. Eddie struggles to get his sweatpants off, and Steve has to sit on the floor to kick his jeans off, followed by his boxers.
They crash together again, holding each other’s faces, panting and whimpering and Steve is crying for some reason now, his eyes burning as he clings to Eddie, as he feels his chest on his own, as he feels the scars that mark him. He presses a hand into the small of his back, holding him close, groaning when their dicks brush. Eddie chokes out a breath, pulling his mouth away from Steve’s, looking down at where they’re touching.
Steve exhales shakily as Eddie lifts a hand and spits into his palm, looking into his eyes as he takes them both into his hand. Steve grits his teeth, his head falling back as Eddie jerks them, and he presses his hand into his back again.
“Lay back.”
Eddie lets go, wrapping his arms around Steve’s neck, leaning back and letting Steve lower him to the floor, and Steve crawls over him, kissing him as deeply as he can, like he’s trying to lick his Adam’s apple from the inside. Eddie groans, arms tightening around Steve’s neck, and a moment later he shoves his hands into Steve's hair, grabbing at it and pulling hard enough that Steve jerks back with it, choking and whining and fuck, he could probably come just from this, just from Eddie pulling at his hair and breathing into his mouth, inhaling every whine and whimper and moan.
Eddie watches him almost predatorily, breathing hard, eyes dark as he reaches down and gropes Steve’s ass, squeezing and grinning as Steve moans again, his eyes fluttering shut.
He feels hot. Like the heat in the room has been cranked up, like it’s midday, midsummer, instead of the middle of the night. Eddie moves abruptly, pushes him, and Steve goes easily, muscles loose as he rolls onto his back, as Eddie hovers over him, grinding against him and kissing him again.
“Eddie, please, fuck—”
Eddie grunts quietly, panting, pressing Steve into the ground with a hand to his chest, just over his heart, just over Eddie’s heart, and it’s a deep pressure that aches. Steve exhales with it, letting his head fall back to the ground as Eddie shifts, entwining their legs, pulling Steve’s knee so it’s hitched up on Eddie’s hip, and Steve cries out as Eddie grinds against him.
“Fuck, Stevie.”
“Kiss— Kiss me.”
Eddie leans down, licks across Steve’s parted lips before he fucks his tongue into his mouth roughly, eliciting a soft whine from him. Steve jerks his hips up, clinging to Eddie as they kiss messily, desperately.
“Eddie, please, please, plea—”
“What do you want?” Eddie pants, his hand running over Steve’s side, over his scars, as he holds himself up over him, his hair cascading down, in Steve’s face. His bangs are sticking to his forehead, wet with sweat, and his face is red.
“Bite me,” Steve chokes. “Bite me, please, and— and come on me, Eddie, I wanna be yours, baby—”
“You are mine, sweetheart,” Eddie says, his voice low and rough, and fuck.
“Say it again.”
“You’re mine,” Eddie says, nudging their noses together, pressing a lingering kiss to his lips. “You’re mine.”
Steve whimpers, squeezing his eyes shut as Eddie mouths over his neck.
Mine.
Eddie’s teeth graze his skin, and Steve chokes out one last please before he bites. Steve lets out a strangled moan, his fingers tightening in Eddie’s hair. Eddie doesn’t drink his blood, just licks over the puncture wounds and pauses as they heal. He bites again, just over Steve’s throat, and Steve groans low in his throat before he sobs.
“Okay?” Eddie asks softly, lifting his head, and Steve shivers almost violently as blood trails over his neck.
“Feel so good, Eddie.”
Eddie huffs a breath, a soft laugh, and he kisses Steve again. He tastes like blood. Sweet.
“Thank you,” he whispers, voice ragged, breathless as he moves against Steve desperately, fucking them together.
“Fuck— For what?”
“Feeding me.”
Steve opens his eyes, looking up at him blearily, reaching up to touch his face, to hold him like he’s precious.
“Want you to… be okay,” he says quietly, weakly, shaking as they slide together. Their skin is sticking now, tacky with sweat. “Wanna take care of you.”
“You do,” Eddie says, his head dropping, and he licks over the wound on his throat, licks away the blood that Steve’s forgotten about. “Take such good care of me, baby.”
Steve suddenly wants to Eddie to fuck him. To be inside him, to hold him so close they meld together, so close that they can’t tell whose limbs are whose.
He knows he isn’t anywhere near ready for it, for Eddie to fuck him, so he doesn’t say anything. Just mentally adds it to his bucket list.
“Love you,” he chokes as Eddie kisses him messily, smearing blood over his cheek. “I love you so much, baby, you…” He pants, arms wrapping around Eddie’s neck as he grinds against him, groaning. “You’re everything, Eddie, fuck— Fuck, my— my boy.”
Eddie groans again, into his neck, inhaling deeply, and Steve closes his eyes, rocking his hips up to meet Eddie’s, biting his lip when Eddie licks his sweat away.
Eddie reaches down to the small of Steve’s back, pulling up so his back arches, and it’s suddenly even more frantic, desperate and messy and almost disgusting, but there’s nothing disgusting about this, because they’re in love. This is love.
Eddie’s voice is rough in Steve’s ear, grunting and groaning and panting, and Steve thinks this might be heaven. His hands slide down Eddie’s spine, slick with sweat, and there’s spit on his chin but he doesn’t know if it’s his or Eddie’s. He doesn’t really care. It feels good.
He reaches down to Eddie’s ass and squeezes, groping him, and Eddie whines, his hand pressing harder on the arch of Steve’s back.
“Fuck— I’m— I’m gonna come, Stevie.”
“Yes,” Steve hisses, hands tightening. “Come on me, Eddie, please, please, I need it.”
Eddie sits up, kneeling between Steve’s legs, knees spread, huffing and pushing his hair out of his face as he reaches down to jerk himself off. Steve sits up, propping himself up on his elbows to watch raptly, chest heaving with every breath.
Eddie’s other hand grabs at Steve’s thigh, holding him tightly as he groans, throwing his head back, and Steve exhales. It’s like time slows down.
There’s blood smeared across Eddie’s chin and cheek, and his bangs are wet with sweat, and his eyes close as his lips part with a loud moan. And he’s coming, all over Steve’s stomach and chest, and Steve falls onto his back again, groaning as he reaches up to rub it into his skin, wanting it to stick. Eddie exhales when he finishes, setting a hand on Steve’s hip as he slumps over, and then he’s grinning dopily at Steve, reaching out to swat his hand aside and scoop some of the come off his stomach before he reaches for Steve’s dick, using the come to slick his hand.
Steve sobs, back arching as his hands grapple at the floor, trying to grab at the carpet unsuccessfully, and Eddie is beaming at him, holding his hips in place as he jerks him quickly, frantically.
“Fucking gorgeous, Stevie,” he breathes, leaning down to press a kiss to Steve’s hip.
“‘M gonna come,” Steve chokes, squeezing his eyes shut.
“Come for me, baby.”
“Kiss me.”
Eddie grins, moving to kiss him carefully, oddly gentle even though his hand is relentless. Steve can barely even kiss back, letting out weak, embarrassingly high-pitched noises into Eddie’s mouth as Eddie licks and sucks at his lips, hugging him around the neck. He can feel Eddie smiling against him as he comes, can hear him laugh softly as he works him through it, murmuring a soft, “There you go, sweet thing.”
“Fuck.”
Eddie sits up, kneeling between his legs again. He takes a deep breath as Steve’s arms flop onto the floor again, as Steve sighs, closing his eyes.
He opens his eyes after a moment, after the room falls silent except for Eddie’s breaths and slowing heartbeat.
Eddie is still smiling at him, his eyes shining sleepily, cheeks red, lips swollen from kisses, and Steve wonders how they’ve gone this long without kissing. With just soft kisses to each other’s cheeks and foreheads and necks. He wonders how he’s lived twenty years without tasting Eddie’s tongue.
Eddie reaches out after a moment, finger extended, and Steve thinks he’s pointing at something on his stomach, but he just draws a heart in the come that’s coating Steve’s skin. Their eyes meet, and Eddie smiles almost proudly as Steve rolls his eyes, dropping his head again. Smiling.
“You’re disgusting.”
“So are you,” Eddie says defensively, but Steve can hear his smile.
He pushes himself to sit up, his limbs heavy, tired.
“We need a shower.”
“You need a shower.”
“You are covered in sweat, shut up. Come on.”
They stand, and Steve can’t even be embarrassed by his body anymore after everything. After all the times Eddie’s touched his scars so lovingly, all the times he’s squeezed at the flesh just above his waistbands, not teasing or commenting, just holding. After all the times Eddie’s run his fingers through Steve’s chest hair, watching, gazing.
He starts toward the bathroom, but Eddie grabs his hand, tugging him back, and he stumbles against him. It should be gross, the way their skin sticks because of the sweat and slides because of the come, but he gazes back at Eddie’s soft smile, setting his hands on his chest as Eddie’s hands run over his waist.
“I love you,” Eddie says after a moment. Steve’s smile widens, and he lifts his chin, silently asking for a kiss. Eddie leans in, kissing him tenderly, sweetly.
Steve exhales when they part, eyes closed, but they flutter open when Eddie speaks, his voice soft and quiet.
“I know I… should have asked this, like weeks and weeks ago, but…” He hesitates, looking at Steve’s face. “Will you be my boyfriend?”
Steve’s heart swells, and he can’t stop the bright smile that spreads across his face, squeezing his eyes shut and nodding. Eddie exhales as if in relief, as if there’d been any possible chance of Steve saying no.
“Cool,” he says breathlessly.
They shower.
In the same shower that Steve stood in when he washed Eddie’s blood off his hands, when he cried and sobbed and grieved. Now Eddie is here with him, oblivious, smiling as he stands under the spray of water, as his hair drips in his face. Steve’s chest clenched as he watches, and after taking a breath, he reaches out to push his hair out of the way before he holds his face and pulls him out of the spray to kiss him.
The shower takes a long time because Steve doesn’t want to keep his hands off of him, but it’s the best shower he’s ever taken. Eddie carefully cleans the come off his stomach and chest, kisses over his arms as he washes away the soap, kneels on the tile floor to wash his legs and feet, gently pushes him to wash his back. He has to move his hair out of the way because of how long it’s gotten, but even that moment is tender, followed by a kiss to the nape of his neck.
Steve doesn’t think he’s ever been loved like this before. This softly, this tenderly.
Steve does the same for him, washes him carefully like he might shatter beneath his hands, carefully cleans away the blood on his face. Eddie lets Steve do his hair when they finish, lets him run his thanks through the curls with product on his fingers, lets him scrunch the curls before blow-drying them. And then they brush their teeth together, towels around their hips, poking and giggling at each other.
They crawl into bed together after flicking off the overhead light, their damp towels dropped on the ground to be dealt with tomorrow. Eddie wraps his arms around Steve as he’s still fixing the blanket over them, his bare skin cool against Steve. He kisses him when he’s settled. It tastes like mint toothpaste.
• ───────────────── •
“So tenth grade is sophomore,” El’s voice says carefully from the hallway. “Eleventh is… junior. And grade twelve is senior?”
“That’s right,” Max says.
“…Why?”
“If I knew I’d tell you.”
“We are sophomores.”
“Yup.”
Steve is smiling, listening to them make their way to the living room as he dries and stacks plates. He looks at Eddie, who’s doing the washing. The late summer sun is right on him, making him glow.
“You okay?” Steve asks him, elbowing his side. He’s wearing a tank top, fabric draping down over his sides. Steve appreciates it.
“Mhmm.”
Steve just leans against the counter, tossing the towel over his shoulder in the way that Dustin teases him for being mom-like. Eddie glances up at him and smiles.
“It’s just… I don’t know. I’ve only known them for a few months but… feels like they’re growing up too fast.”
“God, tell me about it.”
Eddie finishes with the last plate and uses his hand to rinse the sink before he shuts the water off and takes the towel from Steve’s shoulder.
“What…” He dries his hands, his mouth twisting thoughtfully before he sets the towel on the dish rack. He looks down, resting his hip on the counter, crossing his arms. “What’s it gonna be like when they’re all gone?”
“…What do you mean?”
“Just… Nancy’s in Boston. Jon and Argyle are going to California next week. Robin’s going to Indy in a few weeks. What’ll it be like when the kids go too?”
Steve hesitates, reaching out to touch his forearm gently, pulling so he uncrosses his arms with a resigned sigh.
“What’ll we do?” Eddie asks quietly, his voice almost lost in the muffled noise of the kids in the living room, shouting and laughing and bickering. Steve thinks Lucas and Dustin might be wrestling.
“We’ll get out of here,” Steve says softly, sliding his hands down to Eddie’s, linking their fingers.
Eddie blinks at him, his fingers tightening on Steve’s.
“What?”
“If… Look, I think they’re all planning on going to college. They’ll all leave and come back to see their families, but we… we can go. They don’t…”
Steve takes a breath, squeezing Eddie’s hands, hesitant to say it. Eddie can already see it in his eyes. He says it anyway.
“They don’t need us,” Steve whispers. “We can visit, we can keep in touch, but we don’t need to stay in Hawkins.” He pauses, leaning closer. “This town’s been nothing but cruel to you, Eddie. You’re allowed to leave.”
Eddie exhales, leaning to rest his forehead on Steve’s.
“We can stay for Erica,” Steve says. “She’s three years behind the others, so… It’ll be a while.”
Eddie nods.
“Lucas says she gets nightmares,” Steve says softly. “She sleeps in his room on bad nights. When he leaves, just… We’ll be here if she needs us.” Eddie squeezes his hands.
“And then…” Steve releases one of his hands, reaching up to touch his face, tracing the scar on his cheek. It’s almost metallic, silvery and shimmery in the sun, soft pink that looks like the sky during a nice sunset. “We’ll get out of here. Sell the house, take the van. Go somewhere no one knows us.”
“That sounds nice,” Eddie murmurs.
Steve knows it does. The idea of Eddie going out, going on walks on sidewalks instead of between trees in the forest, living in a cozy apartment that’s theirs instead of Steve’s childhood home. Maybe with a cat. Eddie seems like a cat person.
Away from all of this. All memories, of washing Eddie’s blood down the drain, of demon dogs snarling and growling from every direction, of bats and mist and fear. Away from angry mobs and childhood bullies.
It’ll be a long while. Six years at least. They can decide then, where to go, what to bring.
“We’ll figure it out,” he says softly, cupping Eddie’s cheek, brushing his thumb over his skin. “When the time comes.” Eddie sighs, turning his face into Steve’s hand. “Right now, though… We’re gonna go make sure Dustin and Lucas don’t kill each other—” Eddie interrupts with a soft laugh. “And we’re gonna help some little shits celebrate their last day of summer before school starts.”
Eddie smiles fondly, nodding.
“We’ll figure it out,” he repeats.
“Come on,” Steve says quietly, kissing Eddie chastely before he pulls him toward the doorway. Eddie stops short, pulling at his hand, and Steve looks at him. “What is it?”
“I…” Eddie is staring at him, wide-eyed, lips parted as he stammers. Steve comes closer, touching his face.
“What?” he asks. He doesn’t look like he’s having a panic attack, his eyes still focused and present, looking at Steve’s face.
“I just…” Eddie takes a breath, his hands finding Steve’s waist over his shirt. “You saved me.”
Steve’s heart twists. He didn’t save him. He tried to. He tried so hard he broke Eddie’s ribs, so hard he couldn’t breathe.
“Eddie…”
“After,” Eddie says firmly, shaking his head, clarifying. “After… After I came back. After I… I lost everything I’ve ever had, after I lost my whole life, you…” His eyes are glistening, and his voice is thick, and Steve cradles his face, his own eyes burning. “You made everything worth it, you— you made me feel safe enough to live again, to— to want to live again.”
Steve closes his eyes, pressing their foreheads together.
“Even though it’s…” Eddie can’t seem to stop, still talking. “Even though my whole life is in this house, and in the woods, you’re… You're like an adventure or something,” Eddie says, laughing softly. “You make me feel so alive, Stevie.”
Steve pulls Eddie into a hug, tucking his face into Eddie’s neck as Eddie’s arms wrap around him tightly.
“I love you so much, Eddie,” Steve whispers, his throat tight.
“I love you too, baby.”
They hold each other for another minute, just swaying and breathing and listening and smelling and being until Steve pulls away slowly, holding Eddie’s face between his hands as he kisses him carefully. They smile when they part, looking into each other’s eyes.
“Come on,” Steve says after a moment, beckoning with a head tilt. Eddie wipes a tear off Steve’s cheek.
They both startle when there’s a crash in the living room followed by Erica cackling, and Steve huffs as Eddie squeezes his shoulder and steps past him, barking a loud, “Hey!” as he goes to check on them.
Steve pauses to collect himself, taking a deep breath and rubbing his face as he listens to Eddie’s muffled voice scolding someone, followed by the sound of him laughing, and something washes over Steve.
Something that used to be grief, used to be the awful, horrifying knowledge that Eddie was gone, the sudden cold feeling that he still is, replaced by this, the sound of Eddie’s laughter, the knowledge that Eddie is here.
Eddie lived.