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Eddie’s hands were shaking.
His hands, which were covered in scrapes, bandages, and scraped bandages, could not stay still long enough for him to wrap this stupid fucking gauze around his stomach.
And of course Eddie knew, logically, that it could be worse. There could be more chunks of his flesh torn out beyond healing, could be deeper wounds that would definitely need stitching.
He could be dead. Ripped apart beyond repair.
But here he was. Standing (barely) in Steve “The Hair” Harrington’s fancy upper-class bathroom, smearing his blood on the marble counter and staining the tile floor with upside-down goo that had stuck to his boots.
Eddie Munson was alive. Least he could do for himself is get this bandaging around his torso so he could stay that way. But fuck did it sting. And he was so tired.
“Eddie?” There was a light tap on the bathroom door and a muffled voice- Steve’s- coming from the other side. “You alright, man?”
“Y-” his words got caught in his throat, like his body was physically preventing him from lying. Clearing his throat, Eddie began again. “Yeah, I’m alright Harrington. Don’t worry about me,” he responded, his voice hoarse and audibly scratchy. He stared at his body in the mirror, wincing and hissing as he attempted again- and failed, again- to wrap the dressing correctly. He could feel the tears prickling the edges of his eyes, but he stubbornly clenched his jaw and undid his work once more, preparing for his next go at what should be something so fucking simple.
Before he could register the soft click of the doorknob turning, Eddie was hearing a gentle sigh, but not from his own lungs. He looked up in the mirror, then to his left.
“Lift up your arms, Munson.” Steve Harrington’s voice was heartbreakingly tender, the smile on his lips not quite reaching his eyes but still filled with compassion all the same. And you’d think Eddie’s jaw would unclench with his presence, but it instead became tighter if that were even remotely possible. A bubble seemed to form in his throat, and so, silently, he lifted his arms just high enough to be out of the way rather than argue or protest.
His hands were still shaking.
Steve pulled up the sleeves of his yellow sweater and slowly unwrapped (as if it were even wrapped in the first place) the gauze from Eddie’s torso, the once-white fabric already red and damp with blood. “Let’s get some fresh bandaging,” Steve muttered, reaching over to the counter and grabbing the roll that Eddie had previously cut some from, as well as the scissors (which are also splotched with bloody fingerprints, Eddie realizes with a mental wince). Steve didn’t seem to mind that, however. He didn’t seem to care about any of the blood, actually. At least, Eddie couldn’t tell if he did.
Steve’s hands weren’t shaking.
They were warm and steady as he would wrap a line around and back again, holding onto the previous layer with his left briefly to keep it tight and letting go once a new line would overlap. Steve’s movements were slow, quiet, but also efficient. And usually Eddie’s skin would be crawling with the absence of noise or conversation, but this silence was nice. It was… it was comfortable. For once, a silence not coated by fear of vulnerability, a silence not suffocating to bear.
Steve’s eyes were focused on his task, which gave Eddie’s some reprieve to wander, to look over the man in front of him.
Despite solid movements, Steve “The Hair” Harrington looked absolutely as exhausted as Eddie felt. His eyelids were slightly drooped, the undereye bags even worse now than they had been before (Eddie could only guess why they had been that way in the first place, he had been the most recent addition to the party so there’s no telling what Steve had been through that Eddie hadn’t). With every rise of Steve’s sweater came slivers of skin that Eddie kept cutting back to, especially when he could see very similar, very fresh scars, that looked just like the wounds on his own body.
“Hey, we can be demobat scar buddies, Munson.”
The sound of thunder rolled faintly in the distance.
“We just have to get you home.”
His vision began to blur with the memory. His eyes stung.
There was a familiar feeling of warmth as Steve’s right hand splayed along Eddie’s left hip, keeping the cut gauze in place while he set the scissors back on the counter and grabbed for something else. With his left, Steve pinned the wrapped gauze in place, slowly removing his hands from Eddie’s body.
Barely a sound left Steve’s mouth as it seemed his words died in his throat. Even through bleary eyes Eddie could see the frown take shape on the other’s face, and his brain snapped back into the present as he wiped at his eyes with the heels of his palms.
Why were his hands still fucking shaking?
His laugh was wet as it escaped his lips. “Thanks, Harrington, really appreciate you helping me out, was kind of struggling there…” Eddie’s voice trailed off as Steve slowly pulled the other towards him, wrapping his clothed arms around his neck in a gentle hug.
Eddie gradually felt himself unravel.
His legs buckled and he crumpled to the floor, and Steve fell along with him. Eddie’s shivering hands were gripping onto yellow fabric for dear life, almost enough to rip but he definitely didn’t have the strength for it. Eddie could feel fingers carding through his tangled mess of hair as he cried, a face nestled in and leaving long, slow, lingering kisses to the side of his head.
You’re alive, everyone is alive, you are okay. Those kisses seemed to leave messages in his curls, the words traveling to his ears and making their home in his head.
Eddie leaned back from the embrace, his grasp on yellow slowly loosening and leaving stiff fingers in its wake. The arms around his neck and the whispers slip away, though they feel reluctant to do so. The hands, however, stay- they stay on Eddie’s battered face, cradling the sore jaw and sodden cheeks, wiping away the water left behind.
These hands- Steve’s hands- were trembling.
And so were his lips. And his voice as he breathed a whisper- “We’ll all be okay, Eddie,” Steve nodded, his eyes red with unshed tears.
“We made it home.”