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Eddie Munson cannot name a single good thing that he's done in his life.
Maybe it's just because he's out of it, from the blood loss. He strains his memory, trying to recall just one good deed.
He helped old Ms. Driscoll cross the street once. His long hair and tattoos must have put her off, because she seemed happier when he left.
He stayed up with a friend until three in the morning, nursing them through a bad trip. He was the one who sold it to them.
He paid for some kid's ‘Kill ‘Em All ’ tape at the music store when she didn't have enough cash, citing: “It'll change your life.” Maybe it did, and made her into an outcast like him.
He tried to save the world, but only ended up with deep bites from demon bats up and down his sides. He caused one of his only friends to break his foot while saving him.
Karma must not be real. If it was, Eddie would have been dead long ago.
Instead, he sits, very much alive, in the passenger seat of Steve Harrington’s fancy BMW.
Eddie rests his head on the window. The road rocks him gently, his eyes slip shut. He hasn't slept in days, not without being woken up with those horrible visions of bones and blood.
“Hey,” Steve's voice. “Don't fall asleep on me again. We're almost there, and I'm not carrying you in.”
Eddie forces his eyes open. Steve's eyes are focused on the road, but he must have been watching him. Eddie sees flashes of him in streetlights. He notes his silhouette: the straight line of his nose, the stray bits of hair that escaped their perfect form, his square jaw set tightly in place. He catches Steve's eye for a second, and wonders what he sees in him, if anything.
He was dead an hour ago.
He remembers it in flashes. He abandoned the real world to run into a swarm of bats from another dimension. Justified it by saying he was “buying some time.” He fought for a few minutes, before the bats pinned him down and ate him alive.
Eddie winces at the memory. His wounds still sting.
The bats suddenly dropped dead. Dustin limped over to him, tears in his eyes. He muttered his final words, and died.
Then he woke up, gasping for air, to see Steve's face, up close to his. Hands pressing rhythmically on his chest, over and over. Grasping at anything, anyone that kept him grounded. Dustin's voice cheering, bordering on sobbing: “He's back!”
Eddie groans in his seat. His throat is raw from screaming, coughing, vomiting. He catches his reflection in the side mirror and sees the demobats helped tear it up. “Where are we going?” His voice is hoarse.
Steve's eyebrows knit together. “Your memory’s really gone, huh? We're on the way to my house. You're staying with me while you heal up.”
Eddie jolts up, hissing at the pain. “No. No, Steve, I can't--”
“We already talked about it.” Steve tightens his grip on the steering wheel. “No one else can take you in. We can't take you to a hospital, since everyone still thinks you were behind… they're still after you. And your trailer is destroyed, so that's out of the question, too.”
“Jesus, my mattress was on the floor and there's a gateway to hell in my ceiling, but it's not like it's been torn in half.”
“You really don't know, this is--” Steve sighs. “Yes, it literally is.”
Shit. “What?”
“When we killed him--I think we killed him--the gates started spreading. Like earthquakes. Your trailer was one of the first things to go, but Hawkins has been torn up all over.”
Eddie's stomach sinks. “Like Nancy said. Shit.”
“Yeah, deep shit.”
He imagines his uncle coming home to nothing. He wonders if he’s still alive.
“What about the Sinclairs and Mayfield?”
“I don't know.” Steve swallows hard, and Eddie notices new bruises dotting his neck. “We're going to try to contact them tomorrow. But… I heard screaming. When we were in the Upside Down, near the Creel house. I heard… it sounded like sobbing. And someone speaking through tears. I'm not sure who it was. It got echo-y and I couldn't make any words out. But I don't think we're in for good news.”
The car rolls to a slow stop outside of a huge house in the woods. Steve doesn't move for a moment, and even in the darkness Eddie can tell he's trembling. The way he stares reminds Eddie of the trance, and he prays that his eyes don't roll to the back of his head any time soon. He wouldn't even know what genre of music to play for him, much less his favorite song.
“We're here.” Steve finally moves, leaving his seat and crossing to the passenger side. He opens Eddie's door and offers his arm.
“I thought you said you wouldn't carry me in.” Eddie wants to tease, just a little, but his tone comes out sincere.
“As long as you're conscious enough to stumble along, I don't care if you have to lean on me.”
Eddie takes his arm, but when he tries to stand, he gets lightheaded. Steve pulls him closer to keep him steady. Eddie feels his breath catch in his throat when Steve whispers: “I got you.”
Steve closes the passenger door with his hips and adjusts Eddie so he's hanging off of him in the classic arm-over-shoulders style. They walk (Steve walks, Eddie drags his feet) to the front porch. The motion sensor light kicks on while Steve digs in his jacket for his keys.
Now illuminated, Eddie notices that Steve is once again, not wearing his shirt under his jacket.
“When did this happen?” He asks, gesturing weakly to his bare chest.
Eddie swears he can see hints of pink creep into Steve's cheeks. “We needed something to stop the bleeding. It was the best we could do.” He glances down for the first time and sees through the holes in his tattered Hellfire Club shirt that his bites are bandaged with torn black fabric. “Once we get inside I'll get you some real stuff.”
Steve unlocks and opens the front door, dragging Eddie inside with him. “My parents are out of town for the week, so we can roam freely around the house until they get back. We can probably find somewhere else for you to stay in that time, but if not, I can probably hide you in my room for as long as we need.” He huffs out a short laugh. “I should call Mike. He once hid a girl in his basement for, like, a week and his parents didn't even know she existed until someone came knocking on their door looking for her.”
Eddie raises his eyebrows. “Is this the magic mind powers girl?”
“Yeah, El.” Any hint of happiness vanishes from Steve's face. “I haven't heard from her, or Mike, in days. I don't know if this shit has been on the news yet, or if the story will reach them in California. At least we finally beat something without needing her. Even if it didn't end quite so well.”
They face a staircase leading to the second floor. Through Eddie's eyes, it stretches up forever. Just looking at it makes him dizzy. Steve notices. “My bathroom and bedroom are up there. I can carry you, if you need me to. I know I said I wouldn't, but. Yeah.”
Eddie thinks he might die again if Steve carries him. He barely finishes the thought before he feels Steve's arm scoops behind his knees and picks him up in one fluid, easy motion. Eddie wraps his arms around Steve's shoulders and holy shit he really is going to die. His face is pressed right up against his chest and the apocalypse is no time to be thinking about stupid crushes.
Eddie had always thought Steve was cute. Even when his hair was tragically stupid. Even when he acted like a douchebag. Just seeing him at school was enough: easygoing but instantly popular and so above it all. The day he showed up with his hair done in the gorgeous, swooshy way that would become his signature look, Eddie went from barely caring to being obsessed. And seeing him tear that bat’s head off with his bare fucking feet? He swears he fell in love.
He doesn't know where he landed on Steve's radar back then, but he assumes he was somewhere low down with the other losers, but not so low that he would get bullied. He used to wish he was, just to get Steve to look at him.
The past week has only made him feel stronger. He had a chance to see his real personality, and realized how sincerely, deeply, caring he is.
Eddie might not remember all that much, but he knows that Steve was the one who brought him back to life. He didn't just save his life, he gave it to him.
He tightens his grip on the other man as they slowly make their way up the stairs. Every sensation feels too intimate: Steve's fingers pressing into his skin, his breathy grunts with each step, his heartbeat, slow and steady, right against Eddie's face.
Eddie takes a deep breath to slow his own racing heart, but God, is it a fucking terrible idea because now Steve is in his nose, the scent of cologne and sweat and blood and shitty hairspray all combining to drive him absolutely insane.
He squeezes his eyes shut and holds his breath, but he can't find a way to make this any less intense for him.
“Almost there.” Steve sighs, his voice strained with the effort of carrying a man his own size. Eddie wants to tell him to shut his pretty mouth so he can focus on not thinking about him.
They reach the second floor at last. Steve puts Eddie down in the bathroom, sitting up in the sink. “You should shower first. I mean, I don't know when the last time you touched non-lake water was.”
Eddie glances down at his hands, and they're filthy. He grimaces, he knew he looked like shit, but he never had the time to address it.
“There's towels on the rack there, I'll bring you some clean clothes. Just don't use up all of my shampoo. You can… shower by yourself, right?”
What little blood Eddie has left rushes to his face. What would he even say if he couldn't? He slides off the counter, tentatively stepping on the tile floor. He's stable. “Yeah, I'm good.”
Steve nods, and shuts the bathroom door. Eddie lets the water warm up while he undresses. Dirt crumbles to the floor when he takes his vest off. He stares at the mess, wondering how fucked up the inside of poor Steve Harrington’s car is.
He removes his rings one by one, dropping them on the counter along with his watch and chain bracelet. He slips out of the last blood-soaked article of clothing and lets it drop to the floor. He had to remove the bandages made from Steve's shirt, and he sees the full extent of the damage done to his body.
He’s covered in bite marks, he knew that, but his sides are ripped to shreds. The tattoo on the left side of his chest is mutilated. His mouth pops open as he stares at his reflection. His hand slowly rises to his chest, never touching skin.
They ate his fucking nipple.
Eddie steps into the shower, hissing when the hot water touches his wounds. He steadies himself and stands for a second, letting himself get soaked.
His body wracks with a sob and he falls into his hands.
Nothing will ever be remotely as it was. He lost his home. Not just his house, but the town he grew up in. He has no clue where his uncle is. He's permanently scarred, mentally and physically. He's going to live the rest of his life without a left nipple. It's too fucking much.
He cries silently into his hands for as long as he can. When he pulls himself together, he scrubs at the dirt on his face. He skips over the bottles upon bottles of soaps and hair products to get to the body wash. He attempts to clean the bites, tensing up every time he comes near a cut. His whole body aches. The water at his feet turns shades of brown and pink. He turns the water off before he has a chance to wash his hair, just to get out.
Steve is waiting for him on the other side, with a small stack of his sweaters and one pair of sweatpants and boxers each. They're roughly the same size, but the sweatpants don't quite reach Eddie's ankles. He doesn't touch the shirts yet.
“You didn't wash your hair.” Steve notes.
“I figured it wasn't really a priority. And I couldn't really stay in the shower for much longer.”
Steve shakes his head, but doesn't comment further. “I brought bandages.”
Eddie needs Steve's assistance to get on the counter again, but Steve washes his hands up to his elbows before touching him. He has to take off his jacket to do so, and Eddie tries not to stare too long. He catches a glimpse of the faded line between Steve's dirt-caked neck and the clean skin on his back that his clothes protected.
They have trouble getting back on the counter. Steve is careful to avoid the other man's wounds, but they cover most of his body. “Steady yourself on my shoulders,” he instructs, and Eddie complies. He takes hold of the other's legs and lifts him up. It's too sudden, and Eddie lurches forward. They collide, chests pressing together. The dirt from Steve sets Eddie's torn flesh on fire, and he reflexively tightens his arms around Steve's neck, which apparently hurts like hell. Steve curses, and Eddie is quick to return his hands to his shoulders. One more push, and he's finally up.
“It never gets any easier.” Steve says in between recovery breaths. He sees the fresh patch of dirt on Eddie's chest and sighs. “We have to clean you up again. Jesus Christ.”
Eddie watches him get a clean hand towel damp, and tries to hide his pain when it's pressed against his skin. He bites his lip and grinds his teeth but it hurts and Steve is so damn close to him and there's nothing he can do to distract himself.
“Steve. Steve, stop.” He pleads. The aforementioned man holds the cloth away and looks up at him expectantly.
“I need something, anything distracting. You have music here, don't you? I couldn't care less what you play, I just can't do this in silence.”
Steve thinks for a moment, then nods. “I'll see what I can find. Don't move, I'll be right back.”
Eddie sits alone in the bathroom for about five minutes before Steve returns with a record album. He recognizes the cover.
“Black Sabbath. I think you mentioned it to me when we talked in the Upside Down.”
Holy shit , he remembered that. Eddie tries to find the humor in seeing Steve Harrington meekly holding the ‘Paranoid’ album in front of him, but he's just shocked that he not only remembered the name of a metal band Eddie mentioned one time to him, but owns a record of one of their albums.
“I've got a record player in my room. We should be able to hear it from there. Does this.. work for you?”
Eddie blinks. “Why the fuck do you have that?”
“Well, cassettes may be the new thing, but I still enjoy the classic stuff.” A half-smile creeps onto Steve's face in response to his own joke. “My dad really likes buying music, even stuff he doesn't listen to. I think he thinks it makes him seem more cultured or something. I found this in his collection.”
Eddie shares his smile. “This definitely works. I cannot believe you have even a single scrap of metal music in your house, Harrington.”
Steve gives him a half nod, as if to say ‘you never know’ before disappearing to his room. A moment later, Eddie hears the opening of ‘War Pigs’ play.
Eddie feels himself melt with relief. Metal has a way of comforting him like nothing else. Steve returns, a slightly unsettled look on his face. The slow, creepy vibe of the music mixed with the low ring of air raid sirens probably put him on edge. Eddie understood, it wasn't for everyone.
Steve presses the damp cloth to him again, and Eddie loses himself in the music. He hums softly, and notices that it makes Steve relax a little.
“Is this the guy you were talking about?” Steve asks when the first lyrics are sung. “Os… Ozzy, was it?”
Eddie grins, even though it hurts more than ever. “Hell yeah. Ozzy Osbourne, the bat-eating legend. Second to none, except you.”
Steve keeps his eyes down and huffs out a laugh.
“He’s not in the band anymore, actually. They dropped him in ‘79.”
“Really? Why?”
“He was too high, they said. It's kind of bullshit because everyone else was on drugs, too. He makes his own music, though. And they got a couple of different singers to replace him…”
Eddie rambles, and Steve listens. He talks about Ronnie James Dio and Ian Gillian and how they're down to just one member. He barely listens to the music, except to comment on a lyric and explain its meaning. He's interrupted only once, when Steve gets up to flip the record to the ‘B’ side. He goes on about Tony Iommi and his unique playing style and how he played guitar even with tips of two his fingers cut off. He talks about persistence and power and politics and what he loves about the old and new Black Sabbath. He keeps talking until it's over, and he's bandaged before he realizes it.
Steve lets him finish his explanation on the influence ‘Lord of the Rings’ had on their first album before he speaks.
“You're all done.” He smiles softly, patting one of the few unmarred spots on Eddie's skin.
“I didn't even realize.” Eddie looks down, the deep jagged wounds now neatly covered in white bandages. He hears the final song on the album play distantly. “I kind of went on for a while, didn't I? Sorry for not letting you get a word in.”
“It's fine. It was…” Steve chews his lip, searching for an appropriate adjective. “...nice. I like hearing you talk about stuff you're interested in. I like listening to your voice when you get passionate.”
Eddie feels heat rise in his face and he locks his eyes on his lap. Steve likes his voice. He likes it when he talks about his favorite bands ad nauseum. “Thanks, man.” He says through a giddy smile.
“Any time, Eddie.” Their eyes meet. Steve rests one hand on top of Eddie's, and his soft hazel eyes are so genuine and comforting that Eddie is almost jealous of them. His own eyes are probably heart-shaped with the way he stares at Steve: openly, silently.
He thinks about kissing him. They're inches away, it would be so easy. Part of Eddie, deep inside, is begging to close the gap between their lips. A larger part of him knows that it's not right. Steve likes girls. Even if he swings both ways, he’s a natural flirt. He would have made the first move. Or at least responded to Eddie's flirting before. Maybe this is his move, his hand on Eddie's, taking care of him, playing music for him, listening to him. The silence doesn't break. Neither does the eye contact.
Steve’s other hand reaches up to Eddie's face. His fingers brush against his hair and electricity sparks through Eddie's blood. Eddie breathes deeply because this is happening, Steve is actually moving in to kiss him and it's not a fantasy. Holy shit.
Except the hand in his hair suddenly tugs gently. Steve chuckles softly. “Last thing, I need to wash this for you.”
Eddie falls back to Earth. “What?”
His fingers twist into Eddie's curls. “I'm not letting you sleep on my bed with week-old dirt in your hair, Munson.”
His bed. Holy shit . Eddie still can't form a coherent thought with Steve playing with his hair, only vague images of lips and flushed cheeks fill his mind. “You don't want that, even with clean hair.” He finally says, because he believes it's true. If Steve knew how obsessed he was with him, he wouldn't even want him in his house.
“Don't tell me what I want.” The humor drops from his voice, just for a moment. “Can you lie down on the counter, so your head’s in the sink?”
Eddie bites his tongue and complies, eventually getting into a cramped position with his legs pressed against the wall and his long hair draped over the sink. Steve pulls out his hair products from the shower shelf and brings them over.
He doesn't use soap at first. Steve lets water pour over Eddie's hair and uses his hands to loosen any dirt or leftover hair spray from the strands. He massages his scalp and Eddie feels his brain melt.
“Talk to me again.” Steve says. The stream of water slows to a trickle as he lathers shampoo in his hands. “Tell me something I don't know about music.”
Eddie shifts slightly to relieve the pressure from the awkward position he's in. “You're sure you want to let me rant again?”
“Yes.” He says curtly. “I mean, I already told you I liked hearing you talk. Just keep going.” He adds, more genuinely.
Eddie's mind is wiped clean of all thoughts the second Steve's hands return to his hair. “Let me think of something.” He mumbles, lost in the feeling.
“Tell me about the song you played in the Upside Down.” Steve suggests.
“Okay.” Eddie closes his eyes. “It's called Master of Puppets, by Metallica. They're a four-piece. Hetfield, Ulrich, Hammett, and Burton.”
“I'll pick up some of their music for you when I go out tomorrow.”
“You're leaving?”
Steve rinses the shampoo out of Eddie's hair. “I think they're relocating people to the high school, people who lost their homes.”
Eddie remembers the disaster that struck their town, and suddenly Steve's hands aren't so comforting anymore.
“Anyway,” Steve continues. “I want to volunteer if I can. Check on everyone. You can stay here, eat whatever you want, just don't break anything.”
“Always thinking about others. I can't believe I've never seen this side of you before.”
“Yeah. I didn't really start until a few years ago.” He lets the water run, even though he's done rinsing. “I’m sorry for anything I said to you before I really knew you.”
“You never said anything to me. I would have remembered.”
“Then I'm sorry for anything I thought about you. I really misjudged you.”
“It's okay. I'm used to it.” Eddie opens his eyes again and sees Steve is looking away from him. “And I misjudged you, too.”
“You really didn't. I was a piece of shit before I started dating Nancy.”
Nancy, who he's still in love with.
Steve shakes his head. “Sorry again. I asked you to talk and I interrupted you one sentence in. I just wanted to buy you something other than this one album to listen to while I'm away.”
“How considerate.” Eddie hums.
“It's the least I can do, really, if I'm forcing you to stay alone in my house all day.”
“Not even close.” Eddie sits up as much as he can. “You could have left me out there. You could have made me sleep on the couch. Steve, you're washing my hair for me. And now you're offering to buy the music I like, even though it'll probably get you ostracized, since everyone thinks metal is the reason their town was ripped apart in the first place.”
“I didn't think about that.” Steve confesses, but doesn't falter. “I guess I'll have to go out of town for it.”
“You're proving my point. Most people would have let me stay dead, maybe spit on my corpse as they passed. You're doing everything in your power to make me comfortable. It's very sweet of you.”
Steve keeps his eyes away from Eddie, but a soft smile crosses his face.
Eddie lays back down and closes his eyes. “If you don’t let up, I'm gonna fall in love with you.”
He says it breathily, like he's laughing while he's speaking. He hopes Steve takes it as a joke, because he can't see his reaction.
Steve is silent as he pumps a second dose of shampoo into his hands.
“The meaning of the song.” Eddie says after a pause. “It's about drug addiction, and how it controls your life…”
Eddie doesn't realize how exhausted he is until his hair is all washed and it's time to get up again. Steve helps him down from the counter and wraps a towel around his shoulders. He holds Eddie while he brushes his teeth with a spare toothbrush. The minty toothpaste makes him hungry, and his stomach lurches after days of eating nothing but junk food and beer. Steve senses it and promises a good breakfast for the next day.
They make their way to Steve's bedroom, a place Eddie has never seen. On the cusp of consciousness, he only notices a few things: the tan colored walls dotted with Polaroids, posters, and hand drawn portraits, the smooth, inviting sheets on his bed, the curtains fluttering gently in front of the open blinds. The room is bathed in soft yellow lamplight from the bedside table. As Steve lays him down, Eddie wonders how many people, if any, have slept with Steve without sleeping with him.
Eddie sighs when his back hits the mattress. He mutters a soft “oh my god” in relief, and he hears Steve's lips split into a smile.
“You don’t need any help with getting bandaged, do you?” He asks, knowing fully well he wouldn't be any help even if he was awake.
“I got it.” Steve pulls the covers over him and it's so sweet his heart hurts. “Go to sleep.”
He doesn't have to be told twice.
---
Eddie wakes up just a few hours later, gasping.
The yellow lamplight is gone. Steve's room is tinted a dark blue. It's so cold.
Eddie sits up and looks around, alert. The walls and floors are covered in black, twisting vines, and the air is full of ashy particles. He's been sleeping for hours but the mattress hasn't warmed up, the blankets are clammy and almost damp. He whips his head around to look out the window just in time to see a red bolt of lightning strike behind dark clouds. Goosebumps form on his neck and he reaches up to flatten them.
He's back.
He hears strange chittering echoing all around him and his eyes dart around the room to find the source. He notices other things are different: the posters are different, there aren't any Polaroids. The wallpaper is plaid and horrendous, with curtains to match. Steve is gone.
Eddie swallows hard. “Steve?”
No one calls back, but the air is tense. The chittering quiets down, as if it's listening to him.
He calls again, louder.
A low, gravelly voice replies: “Eddie.”
His blood turns to ice. He was already terrified, but a heightened dread fills his very soul. It feels like dying.
The voice calls his name again.
Eddie can't turn around. His muscles are tense, breath shallow. He knows something is right behind him, he can sense it reaching out to him...
“Eddie!” Steve shouts, shaking his uninjured shoulder.
Eddie blinks and the light is back. Warmth surrounds him, but the dread lingers.
“Are you okay?” Steve is in bed next to him, facing his back. “I heard you call for me, but you just kept staring.”
Eddie's still processing the shock of switching worlds so quickly. He notices he's trembling and presses his hands into the mattress to steady himself.
“Nightmare?” Steve asks, gently rubbing his hand up and down Eddie's shoulder.
It wasn't real. The realization calms him down more than anything.
“Yeah. J-just a fucked up, super realistic nightmare.”
“Lie down,” Steve instructs, and he forgot he was still sitting up. Steve presses smooth circles into Eddie's back. “Do you wanna tell me about it?”
The massaging throws him way off. “Sure, but, um. What's this about?”
Steve retracts his hand. “Sorry. Nancy used to get nightmares, and this usually helped her calm down. I can stop if you want.”
Eddie hesitates. “It helps.”
Steve starts again and Eddie leans into his touch. He tries not to think about the fact that this was something he did with his former girlfriend. His hands are rough but warm. They remind him that he's alive, in the real world.
“I dreamed that I was back in that place. I was in your room, but everything was sick and dark. I swear I could feel everything, it was so real.”
Steve hums. “I know what you mean.”
“I called for you, but something else kept saying my name.” The more he talks, the less fear he feels. “Then I woke up.”
“Well, you're safe here. The real world may be shitty, but at least there aren't any demogorgons running around. For now.”
Eddie giggles. “I can't believe you know what that is.”
“Believe me, I don't.” Steve laughs, too. He shifts so they're even closer. Eddie can feel Steve's chest pressed against his back. The blankets are pulled over them again, and he’s so grateful for the heat.
“Do you want to hear something funny?” Eddie asks as they settle in to fall asleep again. The light is still on; they both understand why.
“What is it?”
“In the dream, your walls were different. I don't know why, but I imagined they were plaid. The curtains, too. I have no idea why I dreamt it like that.” He giggles again. It's nice to look back and laugh.
Steve isn't laughing.
It takes Eddie a moment to sense the tension. “I guess it wasn't really that funny.”
“No--Eddie. It's just…” Steve chews his lip. “...You've never been over here before, right?”
“Never.”
“So you've definitely never seen my room.”
“Yeah?”
“The thing is, my room used to look like that. I redecorated it in the summer of ‘84.”
Oh. “So it looked like that--”
“In 1983. The year Will went missing.”
Holy fucking shit. “Holy fucking shit.”
The dread is back, doubled. Eddie thinks he might throw up, even though his stomach is empty. “Does that mean I was really there?”
“I saw you here when you were… dreaming, so I guess you're not physically there.”
“Jesus H. Christ!” He curls, hands shooting up to cover his face.
“It's okay. It's going to be fine.” Steve assures emptily. He wraps one arm around Eddie, and when he doesn't object to the touch, he moves the other closer until they're facing each other.
For once, the contact doesn't make Eddie's heart race. He steadies his breathing and lets Steve hold him.
“You need to sleep.” Steve says quietly.
“I don't want to go back.”
“You don't have to. I'll be here, I'll wake you up. Just call my name again.”
Eddie squirms. “What if something else hears me?”
It takes Steve longer to answer. “It'll be okay. I’ll wake you up.” He repeats.
Eddie isn't convinced, but he can't stay awake.
“I won't go out tomorrow.” Steve says. “I need to stay with you until you're okay.”
“Okay.” Eddie says weakly. He wants to ask if he's sure he wants to, but needs him to stay.
“I'll call Henderson tomorrow and find out what we can do. We’ll figure this out.”
Eddie nods and tries to get comfortable enough to sleep again.
Steve cards his fingers through Eddie's hair. “I promise it'll be okay. I'll keep you safe.”
Eddie repeats those words in his mind over and over until sleep finally comes.