Chapter Text
Steve is a terrible patient.
Robin tells him so on the daily – when he insists he doesn’t need his pain meds, when he promises he’s feeling well enough to go for just a short walk despite being on ordered rest, when he swears blind he hasn’t been watching TV while she’s been at work.
It’s just…head injuries are a real bitch.
And on top of the dizziness, the boredom, the sheer frustration that accompanies healing something as serious as this, there’s also the fact that his entire life was swiftly going down the toilet, just like the scant breakfast he’d thrown up this morning.
He’d been dropped from the Black Hawks.
Ice hockey had been his life, but three consecutive concussions with the last one being serious enough to land him in the ICU had put an abrupt end to it.
It was for his own wellbeing, they’d told him. Another injury like that and he might be left seriously disabled, or even dead.
Besides, nearly a month after the injury had happened and he still gets dizzy just walking to the bathroom – there’s no way he’d be picking up a hockey stick again in the near future.
He stares blankly at the black TV. His head throbs.
Robin won’t be home for at least another hour – he could get away with watching something, he figures.
He’ll even put on his damn glasses, just for her.
The vision problems he’s experiencing might be temporary, the doctors had told him. Head injuries were tricky, and all he could really do was rest and wait.
Resting and waiting are not Steve’s strong points.
Sighing, he shoves his glasses on, blinks as the room comes into focus a little more.
His lounge is huge. The whole damn house is, made for someone with more money than sense, made for visitors, for entertaining, for parties.
Steve’s flow of visitors had dried up pretty quickly after the news went public that he’d been let go from his team. He wouldn’t be throwing any more of his famous all-night parties, wouldn’t be in the spotlight anymore, and so no one wanted him. Especially not when he was cranky, hurting, and angry at the damn world.
His real friends did what they could, but they were living busy lives. Nancy and Jonathan flew in from New York to see him, but they could only stay a few days before returning home. Will called him from Rome, where he’d gotten into some prestigious art school Steve had forgotten the name of.
Dustin called nearly every damn day, usually from a different place. “We’re investigating a haunted theatre tonight,” he’d tell Steve, or “this serial killer’s house” or any number of abandoned, falling-apart asylum or prison or hospital or school or fucking death trap, in Steve’s book.
And sometimes, just sometimes, Eddie would squeeze his face in beside Dustin’s on the video call, say something like, “Hey big boy, how’re you healing up?” and Steve’s cheeks would flush a little as he grumbled out a quick response and changed the subject.
Speaking of Dustin and Eddie – they’d posted a new video on YouTube.
‘A Night We’ll Never Forget – Hellfire Takes On Haunted Asylum.’
Steve taps the thumbnail, waits a second for his phone to cast to the TV, and settles in to watch Dustin and Eddie give their usual intro – it’s loud, and a little chaotic, the two of them practically bouncing off the crumbling walls as they explain the history of the building and show the camera some new piece of paranormal investigation equipment they’d bought.
If he could without hurting his head, Steve would’ve rolled his eyes a little. He doesn’t really believe in all that crap, but his friends’ enthusiasm is kind of contagious.
He watches the video, keeping one ear focused on the front door, listening for the rattle of Robin’s keys.
As much as he’s irritated by the way she mother-hens him, Steve loves her with all his heart, knows no one else would’ve been able to scrape him off the rock-bottom he’d hit recently. From day one after his accident she’d been at his hospital bedside, holding his hand, sitting with him as he cried into stiff white sheets after they’d said those three words that carried so many damn consequences with them – traumatic brain injury. She’d moved into his house when he’d finally been discharged, ignored his protests that she didn’t have to, had waited on him hand and foot and made sure he remembered his meds and his glasses and had put up with his grumbling and his outbursts and been the best friend a person could possibly be.
Still, he wishes she’d let up a little on the limited screen-time rule, because he’s fucking bored.
Dustin and Eddie’s video is good – maybe their best one yet, Steve thinks, as he watches them investigate the old building. It’s creepy, he’s gotta admit, as their equipment lights up or beeps or does whatever it’s meant to do when there’s a ghost nearby. Even if he doesn’t understand it all, it’s entertaining as hell to watch.
And Eddie looks good.
Even bundled up from the cold like this, even in the shitty light of the night-vision camera, Steve’s eyes are glued to him.
Eddie’s hot. Steve’s always known that, had just never done anything about it.
They’re too…different.
Eddie’s openly gay, he’s loud, he’s bold, he didn’t give a fuck what anyone thought of his lifestyle or his hobbies or his friends.
Steve can count on one hand the amount of people that know about his bisexuality. It just…it wouldn’t have been good for his image, for the team, even if Robin had insisted it would be ok now, that plenty of people would support him – Steve had never had the guts to openly come out to the public.
He’d lived his life in hiding, only letting his fans see what he wanted them to see – the golden boy of the Black Hawks, the partier, the ladies’ man that the media had painted him, charming his way through interviews and featuring strongly in all the teams’ social media posts.
Not that any of it matters anymore.
Lying on the same couch he’d been practically plastered to for the past two weeks, hair a tangled mess because washing it was too much effort, losing muscle from going from his intense work-out routine to nothing, smelling vaguely of stale sweat – Steve knows no one wants him now.
Slowly, squinting at his phone and having to backspace an embarrassing number of mistakes, Steve shakily types out a comment under Eddie and Dustin’s video.
Nice one guys. You probably both need tetanis shots cos that place lookd nasty as hell but you looked like youhad fun
He leaves off the part about Eddie’s ass looking amazing in those jeans.
It’s still loaded with typos but blurry vision, a brain half shaken to mush, and dyslexia to boot will do that to a guy. Didn’t matter anyway, only his friends knew his screen name.
Only a few minutes tick sluggishly by before his phone vibrates with an incoming call.
“Henderson, what can I do for you?” Steve greets, voice groggy. He sits up a little, winces, does his best to seem a little more alive for Dustin’s sake.
“You’re not supposed to be watching a screen,” Dustin scolds.
“What are you, my babysitter or something?”
“Someone’s gotta do it.”
“Well, you’re gonna have to wrestle that title away from Robs, then.”
“Where is she? How come she’s not kicking your ass for watching our video?”
“At work.”
“I’m gonna tell her.”
“Thought you were seventeen, not five.”
“Steve, you had a traumatic brain injury and now severe post-concussion syndrome,” Dustin spits out those words like they each weigh a ton.
“Yes, thank you, Doctor Dustin.” Steve stares blankly at the opposite wall, can vaguely see the spot where one of his teammates – Billy? Tommy? – had launched a puck at it while wasted and left a dent.
“I’ll block your account,” Dustin threatens.
“I could still watch the videos, peabrain, I just wouldn’t be able to comment.”
“Then I won’t upload for another two weeks, because if I’ve got my dates correct that’s when you’re allowed screen time again, right?”
Steve mumbles something under his breath.
“What was that?” Dustin demands.
“I’m bored, dude. You ever been confined to your house for a month and barely able to wipe your own ass without falling over?”
“Gross. But no,” Dustin admits, softening.
“Look, upload your videos man, I don’t want you guys to lose momentum, looks like you’ve gained some viewers. I promise I won’t watch till the doctor gives me the all clear, alright?”
Dustin’s quiet for a moment, and Steve can practically hear him narrowing his eyes. “You swear?”
“Sure.”
“On Robin?”
Steve sighs. He’s definitely going to have to stick to this now. “Alright. I swear on Robin.”
“Eddie’s here, he wants to say hi. Oh, he had an idea actually, might make you feel better, here I’m gonna hand the phone over.”
“Dustin -” Steve starts, because he’s not sure he actually wants to talk to Eddie right now, not when he’s spent the last hour thirsting over him, lying here in his pajamas that are well overdue for a wash and he knows he looks like shit and sure it’s not a video call but it’s the principal of the thing and –
“Hi Stevie.” Eddie’s smooth voice curls into his ear from the phone.
“Hi,” Steve manages, then clenches his jaw, regrets it as pain zaps in his temples.
“How’ve you been?”
“Oh, you know.” Steve lifts a hand, waves it vaguely despite Eddie not being able to see. “Top of my game, me.”
“Steve -”
“S’fine, Eddie. I’m alive, right? That’s what everyone keeps telling me. I’m lucky.”
“New meds making any difference?” Eddie obviously tries to steer the conversation somewhere more neutral.
“Kinda. They help with the nausea, not so good with the headaches though.”
“Sorry to hear that. I could give you some stuff next time I’m in town, we’re coming through soon actually -”
“He can’t have weed, Eddie, he’s got a brain injury!” Dustin’s muffled voice sounds in the background.
“It’s good for headaches sometimes!” Eddie argues back at him. “Anyway, we’ll be in Chicago in like…two weeks, and I thought maybe you’d like to come on an investigation with us.”
Steve blinks a few times. Takes his glasses off, pinches the bridge of his nose. “An…investigation?” he says eventually.
“Uh huh,” Eddie continues. “We’re gonna be filming at this old prison, and thought you might like to come along, get you out of the house for a bit. You don’t have to be on camera if you don’t want to, I know that might…spark some media interest you don’t want, but -”
“Eddie,” Steve interrupts, frustration crawling over his skin again. “You know I can hardly even walk down the stairs right now, right? I puke at least once a day, I’m on about eight different meds, my head hurts all the fucking time, and I forget the stupidest shit, like, yesterday I couldn’t find the A/C remote, turns out I’d put it in the fridge. Why? I have no fucking idea.”
Eddie’s quiet as Steve pauses his rant to catch his breath. And it’s not fair, him snapping at Eddie like this, Eddie just doesn’t know how bad it really is because he’s a busy guy, he’s out there touring the country and making his fun videos and interacting with his viewers while Steve’s stuck here, jobless and bored out of his skull and miserable.
“So no, I can’t come with you to…to talk to ghosts, or whatever. I’d be a fucking liability,” he finishes, breathing heavily.
There’s a shuffling noise from the phone, and then Dustin’s there again.
“We thought you were doing better?” he asks quietly.
“Yeah, well, I’m not,” Steve grumbles. “Not really. Well…well I’m better than when I first came home, but it’s slow, man, it’s…it’s really slow, ok?” As he talks, he loses steam, sinking back into the couch he’s gradually becoming one with.
A pause, and Steve hears Eddie and Dustin talking quietly in the background before Eddie comes back to the phone.
“Steve? Sorry, dude. We, ah, we didn’t realize it was that bad.”
“S’fine.”
“It isn’t. We’re your friends, and we should’ve come to visit you more.”
“I’m not really good company, anyway.”
“Not the point. I could’ve been awesome company, that would’ve made up for it.” Eddie’s smirking a little, Steve knows he is. “But look, we’ll come and see you soon, ok?”
“And if you do want to join us on an investigation, we could make that work!” Dustin pipes up. “We could…we could pick a safer location, we could even get a wheelchair, and -”
“Well, that’s a no,” Steve cuts in. His brain’s injured, sure, but there’s nothing wrong with his legs.
So long as his brain cooperates when telling his legs what to do.
Sometimes, that gets…a little mixed up.
Dustin sighs. “Fine. But, let me and Eddie do some thinking, ok? That way, when you’re ready, you could come along. I think you’d enjoy it.”
“But we’re gonna come and visit you anyway, big guy,” Eddie adds.
“Sure. Just, ah…don’t expect much in the way of entertainment,” Steve grumbles.
“You can just sit there and look pretty, how’s that? Won’t be hard for you,” Eddie replies, smooth.
Steve’s cheeks heat up again.
Somewhere in the background, Dustin’s gagging.
He ends the call not long after that, and then Robin’s hauling several bags of groceries through the front door and calling out to him.
“Steve! I’m home!”
“I hear you, Robs,” Steve croaks in response.
She does this every day when she arrives home – calls his name, makes sure she gets a response, makes sure he hasn’t just fucking…died on the couch or something, despite her frequent messages to check in during the day. She’d hated going back to work last week, but the bookstore had run without her for nearly a month already and they needed her back. Robin loved that job, but as she’d told Steve over and over, she hated leaving him on his own even if it was just for a few hours.
Steve listens as she crashes about in the kitchen, putting things away in the cupboards and fridge, squeaking out an apology as a cabinet door slams shut.
For the sake of his head, she’d been trying to be quiet, but Robin had never been the best at that.
“Right, I’ve got your painkillers, and it’s about time for your anti-nausea tablets too, and I’m gonna make you some toast or something because you’re supposed to have food in your stomach for these,” Robin announces as she enters the lounge, pills and a glass of water in hand.
Steve groans into a cushion, and Robin sighs.
“I know, I know, but you gotta eat.”
“How was work?” Steve asks, devoid of all enthusiasm after he obediently swallows his pills.
“Well, the new hire started,” Robin says, taking the glass back from Steve, who frowns at her. “I told you about her, remember?”
No.
“Uh…yeah,” Steve tries, knows Robin isn’t convinced.
“Vickie.”
“Vickie, right, right.”
“She’s really nice,” Robin continues. “And she gets on well with Chrissy. She doesn’t have much experience but we can train her up, and then maybe she can take on some of my hours so I can spend more time here with you. And oh my god, Steve, she’s really pretty -”
Steve cuts in before Robin can gush over this girl too much. “I told you, you don’t have to be here all day, I can actually survive on my own for a few hours.”
“I know, but you don’t have to.”
“You don’t have to like…give up your life for me. You know that, right? Just cos my life’s falling apart, doesn’t mean you have to throw yours away.”
“Steve…” Robin reaches out, goes to pat his arm, but Steve tugs away, avoiding her gaze, stubbornly silent. Robin sighs, shoulders slumping a bit. “Did you eat lunch?”
Steve racks his slow, stupid brain, and Robin waits while he thinks. “No.”
“You know you need to be eating regularly with these meds, dingus. Even if it’s only something little. No use me setting reminders on your phone if you’re not gonna actually pay attention to them.”
Steve grumbles in response. He’s heard it all before.
“I’m gonna go make you that toast, ok?” Robin pinches him lightly on the leg, grinning at him. “And then, if you’re reeeeealllly good, I’ll read you a story.”
Steve manages a smirk and a weak kick towards her, and Robin cackles as she heads back towards the kitchen.
He nods off. He does that a lot, now – he’s just tired all the fucking time, despite sleeping half the day away. Everyone keeps telling him it’s ok, he needs the rest, but Steve’s just not sure how much more rest he can physically get.
Maybe it’s just all the sleeplessness finally catching up on him. The grueling training, the matches, the travelling, the jet lag, the media, the parties that lasted till almost dawn…between all of that and more, Steve had never really had a lot of time left for sleep.
Now, he’s got nothing but time.
“Alright, sleepy-head, here’s your toast, eat it before it’s cold.” Robin’s voice wakes him a few minutes later, and Steve blinks up at her.
“Gotta take my meds,” he slurs out, brain still half-asleep and foggy.
“You already took them, like…ten minutes ago,” Robin tells him calmly.
“Did I?”
“Yup, promise.”
Steve takes a small bite of his toast, chews, thinks, but he really can’t remember taking his pills at all.
“Steve? Hey, it’s alright, the doctor said the memory thing is normal, ok? And you’re already improving from when you first came home.” Robin pats his arm, then adjusts his glasses where they’ve gone crooked on his nose.
“Hmmm,” Steve grunts in acknowledgement.
“You want a book, or music?” Robin asks eventually.
Without TV, those had become his main forms of evening entertainment.
“Book, I guess.”
“Sure. You want more Game of Thrones?”
Steve nods. Eddie and Dustin had both recommended it, and while he’s having trouble keeping track of all the characters, he’s enjoying the story, and dragons are fucking cool, right?
“Ok, let me just check back, and I’ll give you a recap, ok?” Robin flips back through the pages they’d read the other night and gives Steve a brief summary because there’s no way he remembers all the details.
To his best friend’s soft voice, Steve dozes off again, sleep tugging him down and claiming him quickly.