Work Text:
Eddie was in the hospital for a week.
Steve does his best not to think about what would have happened if Nancy hadn’t stopped him before they entered the Creel House and told him to go back. Even so, it was almost too late when Steve arrived. But he can’t think about that. Nope. Steve Harrington isn’t good at much, but if there’s one thing he’s become an expert in during the last three years, it is compartmentalization.
Owens’ government people had arranged it all, kept Eddie hidden in an old, blocked off section of Hawkins’ hospital.
Steve was there for it all, made Dustin leave the room when they cut off Eddie’s shirt and stitched him up, but couldn’t get his own feet moving and stood in the corner feeling useless. He had just watched, fixated on how pale Eddie was, the blood that wouldn’t stop coming out of him even though he couldn’t possibly have any left. He’d lain next to Eddie on the rusty bed after he was stitched up, twin IV lines joining them as Steve’s blood was transferred to the unconscious man next to him, lying to the nurse that he isn’t light-headed, go ahead, Eddie needs the blood.
There was something so wrong about Eddie lying there while people moved his limbs around and poked him with needles. He should’ve been up, making jokes, never ever once complaining about what he’d been through. Steve can’t get it out of his head.
The doctors had treated the others, too, plastering Dustin’s leg and giving Steve antibiotics for his demobat bites. Robin chastised him when she saw the injuries, still only covered by Nancy’s makeshift bandage, but in truth he’d forgotten about them. He didn’t do it on purpose. She said he was losing weight, and yeah he hadn’t eaten properly since Vecna made himself known, but at least he was alive, not torn to shreds or in a coma. Steve had nothing to complain about, he told himself firmly. Steve not having a fucking appetite was the absolute least of their worries.
They took shifts around Eddie’s bed, him and Dustin. The first night Steve had to drag Dustin away, half-passed out from exhaustion but refusing to let go of Eddie’s hand.
“Just get some rest, Henderson. Eat something,” Steve had said, blocking the entrance to Eddie’s room. “I’ll stay, alright?” Dustin hesitated, so Steve had him hand over the spare walkie-talkie. “There. Anything happens at all, I’ll let you know.”
He sagged against the doorframe once Dustin was out of sight. The nurses were gone, taking care of the flood of other patients still coming in from the opening of the gates. Sirens were a constant droning noise in the background, and flashes of light came in from under the curtains.
Steve had curled up on the floor with Eddie’s bloody jacket wadded under his head, listening to the steady beep-beep-beep of the heart rate monitor.
-
Steve volunteers at the shelter, helps clean up Hop and El’s house, visits Eddie, wakes up shaking, feeling phantom demobat teeth tearing chunks of flesh from his stomach, watches Hawkins’ population drive away until going to and from the hospital felt like being in a ghost town. Rinse, repeat.
He isn’t sure when Eddie had wormed his way into their group, but it feels like he’s always been there, now. He’d only realized when he’d found Dustin cradling his head and felt that sheer panic, didn’t know what to do, wished that for once there was someone else to deal with all of this. Dustin had lifted his head and looked at Steve so hopelessly. Steve had compartmentalized, muttered a quick apology to Eddie before hefting him over his shoulder, and had got them through that portal.
He and Eddie don’t talk a lot the first days in the hospital, and they definitely don’t talk about how Steve had saved him. On day three, Dustin brings Eddie’s Dungeons and Dragons things, and Eddie starts teaching him the basics. Steve tries to be friendly, but he discovers that’s hard when one of your kids is lying unconscious in a hospital bed, the others are dealing with new trauma heaped on top of old trauma, and the literal world is probably ending.
The real problem is, Eddie and Dustin and the rest of the group still think Steve doesn’t like Eddie, is only tolerating him. Steve isn’t sure how to change that, or begin to explain the way his heart constricts when Eddie makes a pained noise trying to move in bed.
Eddie had just wormed his way into Steve’s mind and won’t leave.
-
The nurses tell them on the eighth morning that Eddie can go home. He’ll need 24/7 supervision, though. Wayne had been found by Nancy and filled in - turns out convincing people of the Upside Down is a lot easier when it’s literally seeping through giant cracks in the earth - and he reluctantly agrees taking Eddie home is too dangerous, though he clearly wants his nephew home. Eddie is still a wanted man. As angry as that makes him, there’s no changing it. He needs protection as much as he needs supervision.
So Steve volunteers.
“What?”
“He can stay with me,” Dustin protests, while Mike says something about his basement and El points out Hop’s cabin is safest. Eddie looks overwhelmed by the kids fighting over him, big eyes looking between them all. “No, no, he can stay with me,” Dustin says again.
Steve has heard Dustin and him talking together as he walks down the hall to Eddie’s room, but they always grow quiet when Steve enters. It makes him feel like an intruder, but he knows he hasn’t been kind to Eddie, and he deserves it. It would be best for Eddie to be with Dustin, his friend, but it just isn’t safe.
“No, it’s not safe. And he needs 24/7 supervision,” Steve reminds them. “Family Video is split in half. I don’t have anything to do and my parents are at their summer home” - Steve had expected to at least need to convince them he was fine staying in Hawkins, but they hadn’t protested once - “So Eddie can stay with me.”
“But -”
“Henderson, it’s fine,” Eddie cuts him off. “I can stay at Steve’s well-appointed manor, no problem. Think of the water pressure!”
Steve does, and makes a mental note to turn it down. That would hurt Eddie too much. He seems to realize that, too, and his expression dims a little.
Something else Steve has noticed, from spending hours with Eddie each day, is that he’s an incredible actor. Better than Max, even. He tries his hardest to only let you see the parts he wants, and keep the rest carefully hidden. Steve can understand that.
-
Wayne drops off a duffel bag stuffed full of spare clothes and books and DnD pieces that Steve doesn’t really understand even with Eddie having spent the better part of two days explaining the rules. He also brings Eddie’s guitar and a stack of sheet music. Steve feels strangely sick looking at the instrument, even though he hadn’t been there when Eddie played in the Upside Down.
They wait until dark, and Steve helps Eddie, biting his lip and clearly holding in nosies of pain, to pull on a zip-up hoodie. Steve tucks his hair into the hood without thinking and quickly pulls his hand away. The nurses have already left, leaving them with a bag of supplies and a list of instructions Steve had written down stuffed inside. He shoulders that and Eddie’s duffel, holds the stack of sheet music under one arm.
Eddie grabs the guitar before he can, clutching it against his chest. “This baby needs her daddy.”
Steve shrugs, stomach wound too tight to smile. He keeps imaging this not working, someone spotting them and Eddie being dragged away, all the carefully placed stitches that had sewn him back together as Steve had watched popping open, him bleeding out in the backseat of a cop car while Steve runs after, useless useless useless -
Eddie snaps his fingers under Steve’s nose. He’s suddenly very close, getting up in Steve’s space like he keeps doing. “Hey. Big boy. You with me?” His tone is light but his eyes are round and worried.
Steve swallows. “Yep. Yes. Are you ready to get out of here?”
“Fuck, Harrington, I thought you’d never ask.”
Steve manages a rough laugh as he follows close behind Eddie.
They go out an old, unused back entrance. Steve has to pry the door open while Eddie makes encouraging comments about his big muscly arms, which is more of a hindrance than a help, and Steve hurries them into Hop’s waiting car before anyone can notice his red face.
Outside, the air is smokey and the sky is tinged darkly with red. Steve’s house is on the outskirts of Hawkins, and far enough away from the cracks that it should be fine. Should be.
The ride is rough. Eddie bites his already bitten lip and rubs nervous fingers over his guitar’s strings, strumming quietly. His nails are painted with chipped black paint. Steve realizes after a few minutes that he’s going over scales, the same few over and over.
Hopper drops them off in front of his parent’s house, giving Steve an encouraging pat on the arm. Eddie is already slowly climbing the steps ahead of them, looking like a newly-born bambi learning how to walk. Steve tries not to watch too closely. He feels ridiculously overprotective.
“Look after yourself too, kid,” Hop says gruffly. “Joyce said to let you know she’ll bring over a casserole tomorrow. Just let us know if you need anything. At all.”
“Okay, thanks.”
Hop nods gravely.
Steve watches him drive away, feeling strangely lost. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed Hopper’s presence, serious and competent and adult in a way Steve doesn’t think he’ll ever be.
“Hey, man, are you gonna let us in?” Eddie calls from the front door.
Steve starts, jogs up the steps. Eddie watches him dig out his key and unlock the door. “Are you okay?”
The house is dark and stuffy. “What?”
“You keep spacing out on me, man.”
Steve turns away to turn down the thermostat, hears the AC kick on. “I’m good. Just need to sleep. Here, can you get up the stairs or do you want to crash on the couch?”
“You carry me up those stairs if you have to. I am sleeping on an expensive, Harrington mattress tonight if it kills me.”
Steve leads the way up the stairs, heart kicking against his ribcage. Why does Eddie always know exactly how to fluster him?
Steve leads him to the spare room next to his, points out the bathroom, and sets Eddie’s things inside the doorway. Then he stands there, unsure if he should offer him help or leave Eddie alone. “Do you need anything?”
Eddie is looking around the blank, sterile room curiously. He looks so out of place against the neutral wallpaper, his mucky shoes are leaving stains in the cream carpet, and he still hasn’t had a proper shower since everything went down, so he’ll probably stain the bed too.
“Make yourself comfortable,” Steve offers.
Eddie stares at him.
Steve stares back.
They both crack up, from exhaustion more than real humor, Eddie clutching his side and his guitar. “Jesus, I didn’t know you lived in a hotel,” he says around a grin.
It stings. Steve had seen the inside of Eddie’s trailer, his room. It’s full of his personality, like his Eddie-ness was too much to be contained in one human body and had spilled over.
Eddie isn’t laughing now. Steve is sorry he made him stop. “Steve, shit, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”
Steve shakes his head. “No, it’s true. I’ve never spent a lot of time here.” Tried his best not to, going to after school activities and later parties or girl’s houses. And then with Barb -
“Yeah, but it’s still your house.” Eddie hadn’t asked about the absence of Steve’s parents and Steve hadn’t explained, but he thinks Eddie knows and it’s strangely embarrassing.
Steve remembers when he was younger and first started learning that other kids’ parents could be involved in their childrens’ lives, didn’t smother them with expectation but offered zero help to reach those goals like his parents did. He remembers learning that some parents hurt their kids, made them bruise. He remembers wishing his parents would do that, just so he could have something to point to and say here, this is where it hurts, this is what’s wrong.
“No, it’s fine,” he says. “It isn’t really my house, anyway.”
Eddie looks doubtful but he drops it.
It’s only when he’s in bed a few minutes later, hyper-aware of the other man in the room next door, quietly playing his guitar, that Steve realizes that’s the first time Eddie has called him by his first name.
-
Steve sleeps late, opening his eyes to a dark and gloomy day. His clock tells him it’s almost midday. The sky is overcast but he doesn’t know if it’s usual rainy spring weather or Upside Down type weather.
Then he hears a thud and cursing coming from down the hall.
Steve climbs out of bed with a groan, stumbling down the hall in only his underwear. The light is on in the bathroom and Eddie is sitting on the closed toilet, shirtless, his hair damp. There’s a comb on the floor.
He makes a frustrated sound. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
Steve feels like he’s still asleep. He slowly registers the puddles on the floor, Eddie’s hair dripping down his shoulders, onto his bony collar bones and the pale skin of his stomach. He’s managed to re-bandage himself, but pieces of gauze are already starting to slide off. His eyes are big and dark and frustrated, tears gathering in the corners. Steve doesn’t want to think about him bandaging himself, how much that must have hurt even with all the painkillers he’s on.
Steve clears his throat. “Why didn’t you ask for help?” He scrubs a hand down his face.
“Why don’t you,” Eddie retorts, looking pointedly at the just-scabbed over skin on Steve’s bare torso.
“Good point.” Steve takes his antibiotics down from the medicine cupboard and swallows them with water from the faucet.
Eddie looks like he’s happy to sit on the toilet in his underwear all day, so Steve gives in with a huff and picks up the comb. “Turn around.”
Eddie looks like he wants to protest, but he does. Steve does his best not to pull, but Eddie’s hair is a rat’s nest of tangles. It’s as soft as it looks, though, and after he gets the worst knots out and Eddie stops flinching, he sort of melts, leaning back against Steve’s legs with his eyes shut. They’re rimmed in black and blue. He must be exhausted, from running for his life from Jason and almost being eaten alive and now trying to literally grow back his flesh.
Steve finishes combing out his hair and retapes the bandages so they’re secure. Eddie doesn’t move from leaning on Steve. His hair is soft against Steve’s bare chest. His fingers are resting in his lap, idly picking at the last bits of polish clinging to his nails. Steve watches him finally open his eyes and look up at Steve, lashes blinking softly.
“King Steve brushed my hair. What a world.”
Steve snorts. He doesn't know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t that. He doesn’t know what’s happening between them, but it feels small and breakable. Finally, he says, “come on. Somewhere in that list it says I have to keep you nourished.”
“Gonna give me more blood like a vampire?”
Steve blinks. On the List of Things Eddie and Steve Aren’t Talking About, right up there with Steve Saved Eddie’s Life, was Steve Donated His Blood for Eddie. “What?”
He can see Eddie’s expression shutter. He leans away, standing suddenly. “Nothing.”
Steve grabs his wrist. “I didn’t think you even knew about that.”
“Yeah, well. Henderson can’t keep his mouth shut.”
Steve’s stomach clenches. “What did he say?”
Eddie is shaking his head. “Forget it, it’s nothing. You’d do the same for anyone, anyway.”
Which, yes, Steve would donate blood for anyone from the group, perks of being a universal donor. He’d be an asshole not to. But that’s not the point.
“Please?”
Eddie heaves a sigh. He sits down on the floor, avoiding a puddle, and Steve sits next to him. Why does he always end up having important conversations in bathrooms? At least this time he’s not coming down from a high.
“Dustin just said you gave me more blood than you should’ve.” Silence, for a moment. Eddie’s jaw works. He stares at his hands, picks at a scab on his knuckle, fiddles with his rings. His arms have yellowing bruises from IV lines, and Steve feels an irrational anger that even to save Eddie they had to hurt him. “And that you slept on the floor that night. And I know you did after that, too.”
“And?”
Eddie looks at him. “And I don’t get why.” Again that sting. “Like, I know you did it for Henderson, at first, but going through that portal was just going above and beyond, man, and I do. Not. Get. It.”
“Because you’re part of the group,” Steve says helplessly. He’s never been very good with words. Eddie is a part of the group, yeah, but that isn’t all of it. It’s that there were men out there who could like men, or women who could like women, but he didn’t truly know it, not until he met Robin. And then he’d started to think. He’d done a lot of that in the last couple years, since Nancy woke him up from the delusional life he was living, hiding from everything his parents had made him to be in this stupid fucking house.
He grabs Eddie’s hand, probably too hard. His rings are warm from the shower. Steve’s palm is wider but Eddie’s fingers are longer, and paler. He looks right in Steve’s hand.
Steve swallows. He feels a finger under his chin and looks up. Eddie is smiling, a quiet, private, gentle smile. “Robin was right.” His fingers move to brush the hair off Steve’s forehead, cup his cheek. “You are a dingus.”
Steve is being thoroughly kissed before he can complain or question when Eddie and Robin were talking about him, and then he isn’t thinking about anything at all except how soft Eddie’s mouth is on his, how Steve can feel the indents on his bottom lip where he’s bitten himself from pain. Steve licks over them and Eddie makes a noise in his throat like he’s in pain.
Steve moves away, flushing, worried, looking for where he hurt, but Eddie isn’t having that. He grabs Steve’s hand and pointedly places it on his naked waist and shuffles forward until he’s sitting on Steve’s thighs, his own legs spread around Steve.
Steve thinks he’s going to die. “Eddie -”
“Shush, big boy.” He kisses Steve again, demandingly, but it’s slower, less frantic. Eddie’s fingers find Steve’s bony spine and he breaks away with a frown. “You need to eat more, Harrington.”
Steve looks up at Eddie, hair still damp, mouth red and eyes shining. “Okay,” he whispers. Eddie cups his chin again and brings their mouths together. Steve feels like something precious. Tears are dripping down his face and he chokes on a sob before he realizes he’s started crying, everything he’s kept carefully locked up in his mind coming out at once.
“Hey, hey, I’m not that bad of a kisser am I? I wouldn’t really know.” Eddie wipes Steve’s face clumsily.
Steve laughs wetly. “You’re really, really not allowed to be a hero now, alright?” He hides his face in Eddie’s neck, breathing in the clean, soapy, alive smell of him, free of blood or disinfectant. He’s never liked people seeing him cry, not even his mother, not after his father told him to stop being a little girl and man up.
Eddie shushes him again, kisses the side of his face once, twice. “I promise. No heroics, Steve. I’m right here, okay? I’m okay. You’re okay. And the same goes for you, mister. You aren’t allowed to be a hero anymore, either.”
Steve nods wearily. Vecna is still out there somewhere and across town Lucas is probably sitting with Max in the hospital. The town is in pieces. He sighs and pulls back, meeting Eddie’s stern eyes. He’s barely an adult. He’s too young to deal with this, and if he’s too young, what does that make the poor kids?
“I promise, Eddie.”
Eddie wipes his own eyes, pushes his hair out of his face. “I think I need to supervise you 24/7, too,” he says, smiling into another kiss. Steve can’t imagine he’ll ever get sick of this.
He waggles his eyebrows like a dork. “Oh, yeah, Munson?”
“Yes,” Eddie says, serious even as he can’t seem to keep his hands off Steve, putting his arms around his neck and pressing their foreheads together, their chests, pressing into Steve’s lap until Steve makes an embarrassing noise. “You need to heal, too, Steve.”
Steve doesn’t know how to do that. “Can - will you help me?” It’s an awkward way of asking if this is something Eddie wants to do, if he’s going to stick around with idiotic, uncool, Steve Harrington.
“Well, duh.” He shifts, winces. “I think I need help getting up, first.”
Steve laughs softly, puts his arms around Eddie’s waist and pulls them both upright, grimacing when Eddie closes his eyes tightly in pain for a moment. “I can do that.”
Eddie kisses him again. God, Steve could do this for the rest of his life.