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Steve Harrington was an asshole.
It seemed no matter how much progress he made in trying to get better, he was built on a rotten foundation. He was like one of those houses in that Poltergeist film that were built on top of a graveyard. He could try again and again to exorcise whatever demons he had that caused him to be nasty and mean, but by the end of the day he was haunted down to his core, and maybe it would just be better for everyone if they just… moved out.
God, this wasn’t even about him, and here he was, throwing himself a pity party like the spoiled brat he was.
Eddie Munson had asked so little of him.
It had been a stupidly simple task. Just show up. That’s all he had had to do and he couldn’t have even done that. It was Corroded Coffin’s first concert since Eddie was cleared of his charges, and all Eddie had asked of him was to be there to see it.
And Steve had forgotten. Like an asshole.
It wasn’t as if he had gotten distracted by something else either. He was home alone when the phone rang. He hated being home alone. Steve had even wondered who could possibly be calling him at such a late hour of the night.
“Harrington residence. Steve speaking.”
“Hey Stevie.” Eddie’s voice was cool and smooth on the other side. He wasn’t mad, or upset, or sad, or even slightly distraught, despite the fact that Steve definitely deserved to be yelled at for his blunder. “Are you okay? I didn’t see you tonight.”
And that was when it dawned on him. “Oh my God.” Steve smacked himself in the face. “Oh my God, I completely forgot. Munson, I’m so sorry.”
Eddie hummed lowly on the other side. “Eh, it’s ok. Turns out it was kinda shit anyway, you wouldn’t have had any fun.” He was trying to sound nonchalant but Steve knew he was lying. He knew this first concert back meant a lot to Eddie, and Steve hadn’t been there to support him. “Turns out no one wants to see a band when the lead singer maybe murdered some people.”
“No! Fuck,” Steve cursed himself out. “I should have been there. I’m going to make this up to you I promise.”
“Harrington, really, it’s fine.” The lack of a nickname didn’t go unnoticed by Steve. “It was bullshit anyway.”
Steve felt his chest tighten and his heart ache. He wanted to speak and… and he just couldn’t get the words out. He wanted to tell Eddie it wasn’t bullshit, that this had really mattered to him. He wanted to tell Eddie a lot of things were bullshit, (the fact a bunch of teens needed to save the world every year, the fact Eddie still had to face hostility after his name was cleared, the fact Dustin still wouldn’t believe him and Robin were just friends) but this wasn’t one of them. He wanted to say anything and everything he possibly could to get Eddie to believe that he wanted to have been there, but he couldn’t.
Steve froze, the word bullshit tumbling through his skull like a pinball machine.
“Steve?” He hadn’t even registered that he had pulled the phone away from his face until Eddie’s distant voice hit his ear. “You still there, buddy?”
“F-fuck.” Steve couldn’t stop his voice from breaking. What was wrong with him? “I’m so sorry, man.” He hung up.
He felt pathetic for acting this way. Eddie had made it clear it wasn’t as big of a deal as Steve was making it. He felt like he was throwing a temper tantrum, but the fact he knew he was making a mountain out of a molehill didn’t exactly stop him from doing so. If anything, it just made it worse.
Steve’s breathing was fast and heavy as he moved away from the phone. He could hear it ringing again, but it sounded further away than it actually was, and Steve just couldn’t handle talking to Eddie right now.
This wasn’t about him. Why was he making this about him? Steve pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes, wiping silent tears out of his eyes as he climbed the stairs.
And so the ghosts that lived inside the haunted house that was his brain were back, once again dragging him to the rotted and broken foundation that was his core.
Steve stumbled over his own feet as he pulled himself past his room and toward the bathroom. He just wanted to go to bed. Maybe a cold shower would calm him down, get him to stop acting like a child. He dug a hand through his hair, pulling his clothes off and dropping them wherever they decided to land. He really couldn’t give less of a shit about the mess he was making as he stepped into the shower, letting bone-chillingly cold water pour over his head and down his body.
He didn’t understand how this had set him off so badly. Steve had done much worse and felt nothing, but he fucked up once and suddenly he’s inconsolable? He didn’t feel this bad when he got his ass handed to him by Jonathan. He hadn’t felt this bad after he snapped back at Tommy H. and Carol. Steve had been above it all back then. When he hurt or disappointed people, it used to roll right off him, and he could move on like it was nothing.
A selfish part of him missed it.
And suddenly Steve was choking back tears because he realized how sad that was, that the moment he began working toward being a good person his life went to shit. He felt faint. He was an asshole and he was mean and he had hurt people, but it was also the last time he could remember being happy. Maybe he was faking it then too, but at least he was faking it well enough that he could convince himself of the ruse as well. Now? Now when he smiled it couldn’t reach his eyes, and Robin and Nance were always asking if he was okay, and all he could respond with was a pathetic “I’m fine, I’m just tired.” and they would believe him, because all of them were tired nowadays, and it wasn’t a lie.
He squeezed his eyes shut, letting the cold water roll over his face as silent tears slipped past his eyelids. Steve couldn’t sleep without his own brain screaming at him that he wasn’t safe. Every night he was haunted with a new flavor of fucked up horrible vision as his dreams mixed the past four years into a single shitty cocktail of fear and torment. His body burned and ached when he screamed himself awake, every wound and scar opening right back up as if they had never healed, because maybe they hadn’t. Maybe Steve wasn’t okay, and he was never going to be okay, and he was just like this forever. Maybe losing the vision in his left eye was just the first warning sign that Steve wasn’t just broken beyond repair, but he was cracking and breaking and ripping apart at the seams, and one day he was going to shatter.
And what would happen then? Who would be around to pick up his broken pieces? It was an unfair expectation he had that anyone would have to deal with his eventual breakdown other than him. The others already had so much shit to deal with, they didn’t need his problems on their plate.
Steve peeled his eyes open, his vision blurry and misshapen as he stared down the tile wall. He pulled his arms up to rub at his eyes, his limbs feeling heavy and unresponsive, almost as if it took extra effort just to get them to cooperate with him.
Steve wanted to lie down. He wanted to curl into a ball on his bed and never leave his bedroom ever again. He had only stood in his shower for a handful of minutes, not even bothering to wash himself at all, feeling too utterly exhausted to do anything more than simply let the water run over him. Steve let himself slump against the tile wall, his hand blindly grasping for the knob to turn off the steady stream of water. He felt like he was moved through thick sludge, his movements slow and heavy as he struggled with the simple task.
He finally grabbed the knob, turning the water off as he slid the glass shower door open.
He pushed himself off the tile wall, stumbling the short few steps it took to reach the sink as he grappled for the towel hung next to the shower.
Something was wrong. Steve hadn’t felt this sluggish and out of it since the Russians. He tried to clear his vision, propping his body against the sink as he rubbed his good eye. This vision was clouded and blurry, which was normal for his left eye but not his right. Was he going blind in his other eye too? Did he hit it on something in the shower and not notice? Steve’s breathing picked up again, growing ragged as he leaned closer and closer to the mirror until he was only a few inches from the glass.
His face felt numb. He couldn’t see but it felt like something was deeply wrong with him. Was he dying? Was Steve Harrington really about to kick the bucket alone in his big stupid empty house wearing nothing but a wet towel?
He needed to call someone. He needed to tell someone, he couldn’t die and have no one know about it. If he was dying, the least the universe could do was give him someone to talk to as he faded away and walked toward the light, whatever that even meant.
He stumbled out of the bathroom, his feet refusing to listen to him as he internally screamed at his body to cooperate. He couldn’t even hobble out of his own room without pressing his shoulder against the wall for support; how was he supposed to get down the stairs like this?
Steve was going to die. He was going to die and no one would be there to help him or hold him or even just talk him through it.
He kind of always imagined he would die one of two ways. The first way he imagined dying was in the throes of battle with the Upside Down. Maybe his back would be to the wall and demodogs or bats or whatever would quickly surround him, and he would be torn and ripped apart, but at least the kids would be safe, and his death would be noble and important, and at least they’d remember him fondly.
The other way was not dissimilar to what was currently happening to him. The second way he imagined dying was him going by some stupid freak accident. Maybe he would be walking next to his pool and slip, cracking his head on the concrete before falling into the pool and drowning, and his body wouldn’t be found for the next week. Or maybe one night when he was trying to drink himself into oblivion he would choke on his own vomit and die alone in his living room, the ending credits of Star Wars illuminating his corpse.
Steve tried not to think about death, but when he did, that's how he imagined it. Not like this, not his own body decided to just suddenly give up on him like everyone else in his life eventually did.
Steve was crying again, his hand gripping the banister of the stairwell and he slowly lowered himself to the floor. He wasn’t going to make it to the phone. Choked sobs racked his already failing body as he let reality set in. This was it.
He heard the front door open and shut. “Steve?”
Steve choked out a sob. “Ed- bie?” English felt foreign in his mouth, like he was talking through a mouthful of marshmallows. Somewhere out there, something had taken pity on Steve. At least he wasn’t dying alone. At least he wasn’t dying alone. He repeated the sentence in his head like it was gospel.
Eddie came rushing around the corner, still dressed up in his concert garb. He was sweat stained and disheveled from his head to his toes, and Steve wouldn’t have had it any other way. He was decorated with ripped fishnets and eyeliner that streaked like lightning bolts down his cheeks. He was blurry and out of focus, but he was so distinctly Eddie-shaped, and Steve couldn’t stop the sob that escaped him when the other boy came into view.
“FUCK!” The metalhead was climbing the steps two at a time, his hands finding Steve’s face to angle it up. His touch sent electricity down his spine, despite the diluted, far away feeling that forced his body to not listen. “Steve, holy shit. Are you okay? Can you hear me?”
Steve felt himself flounder, his hands slow and shaking as he attempted to grab Eddie’s arms, almost as if he was trying to anchor onto the other boy or prove that he was actually there. “I’mmmdyhing.” His speech was slurred and disjointed, and maybe it didn’t help that he was still crying, but Eddie seemed to understand.
“Fuck. Fuck! Okay, I’m- I need to call an ambulance. Don’t move, I will be right back.” Steve tried to reach back for him as Eddie slipped through his fingers, tried to pull him back in and hold him close because against all odds Steve Harrington was not going to die alone, but once again his hands refused to listen and Eddie had disappeared down the stairs.
Steve slowly felt his left arm and leg go numb as he sat dumbly on the top stair. It was always his left side that gave up on him, wasn’t it? His eyes slipped closed, leaning against the banister of the stairwell as tears slid down his cheeks, silent sobs shaking his pathetic form.
And once again, Steve was confident he was about to die alone in his big stupid empty house wearing nothing but a wet towel.
“Hey! Hey hey hey!” Steve’s eyes were sliding back open, Eddie once again cradling his face as he knelt on the stair in front of him. “Keep those eyes open, pretty boy. Need to make sure you’re still with us somehow before the paramedics get here.” Eddie choked out a chuckle, but from the tears in his eyes, it was clear he was just trying to keep himself sane.
“Ebdie.” Steve just couldn’t get his mouth around the words as his one arm that still was at least trying to work with him slid into Eddie’s sweaty, tangled hair. It genuinely felt like Eddie had neglected to wash it for the past four years, but Steve couldn’t find the energy to care as he wrapped his hand around it. It was Eddie. Eddie was here, here for Steve even though Steve hadn’t been there for him. Another sob squeezed its way out of his chest. He felt his body pitch forward, his still wet hair pressing against Eddie's chest as he tried to get as close to the other boy as possible. He wasn’t going to die alone. “I’mmsorss… sooorsy. Ssssoooorrreeeeee?” Steve pressed his eyes shut, his hand tightening its grip around Eddie’s untamed hair. Please for the love of god, don’t let him die without being able to apologize. “Ebbie. I’m-”
“Steve. Pace yourself. I think you’re having a stroke.” Eddie cut off, combing a hand through Steve’s cold, wet hair.
Steve slowly shook his head against Eddie’s chest. “Immmissed, yhour shhhhoow. Ed… Ebbie.”
Eddie choked out another laugh that was almost a sob. “Steve Harrington, you seriously cannot still be worried about that right now, as an ambulance is on its way to try and save your life.”
“Ed-”
“Stevie!” Eddie grabbed his face, pulling it far enough away so that Steve had to look him in the eye. Despite his fading vision, he could see the tears rolling down the other boy’s face. “You are not allowed to worry yourself into a stroke over my stupid concert! It’s fine! You forgot! Please don’t die on me about it!”
Steve blinked.
Oh.
He was not the first person to be dying in Eddie’s arms, was he?
There was dull noise in the background somewhere, and Steve could hear muffled, far off voices as Eddie pulled away from him, and Steve let his hair once again slip through his fingers.
The world got busy and confusing after that. There were so many people in his house and they were so loud and he couldn’t find Eddie in the madness until he was laying on some kind of bed that was also moving? And suddenly Eddie was walking next to him, mumbling words he couldn’t hear or understand in all the chaos. He wanted to reach out and grab him. He wanted to hold him and never let go, but then someone was pushing Eddie back as Steve was being lifted into the ambulance and he tried to tell them to let Eddie in but his mouth wouldn’t form around the words and his arms refused to point, so the end product ended up being more of a weird flail of his arm, partnered with a weird “Ehh.” sound, and all he could do was hope and pray they understood what he meant because he couldn’t do this alone and he really couldn’t do it without Eddie.
Tears slipped down his cheeks as the doors were pulled shut behind them, locking Steve in and Eddie out.
Steve Harrington was going to die alone.
___
Steve woke up two and a half hours later, dressed in a thin hospital gown, lying in maybe the most uncomfortable bed he had ever slept in ever.
But in the chair next to the bed sat Eddie, still dressed in his concert clothes, looking all the world as if he had passed out the moment he sat down.
Steve smiled, letting his hand slide across the sheets to reach out and grab Eddie’s hand. “Eds.” Steve whispered, even though they were the only two people in the room. He squeezed the other boy’s hand, sturdy and warm against his own. “Eddie, wake up.”
Eddie snorted, his eyes slowly prying themselves open as Steve gently shook him. “Hmmmmmg, I’m up.” A groan escaped him as he shifted in the uncomfortable-looking hospital chair, sitting up as he blinked slowly, attempting to process anything as he was still trying to wake up.
After a moment, he seemed to get it, sitting forward suddenly as he squeezed Steve’s hand back. “Hey! Hey, how do you feel?”
“Bebber. Ah- better.” Steve over enunciated, putting focus on getting all the sounds right. “Maybe still a little off.”
“God, you piece of shit.” Eddie let out a chuckle, letting his forehead rest on the side of the bed. “You scared the fuck out of me.”
“I’m sorry.” Steve hummed out, trying to shift closer. “For everything, I mean. I’ve been a shitty friend today.”
“You’re not allowed to have a stroke and call yourself a shitty friend, Steven.” Eddie mumbled, lifting his head slightly. “Please, don’t even worry about it. I’d rather you miss every concert of mine than have you stress out so much that you die.”
Steve opened his mouth, contemplating his words before closing it again. “I had a stroke?”
“Mini stroke.” Eddie corrected himself, slowly pushing himself to stand. “I should grab a doctor. Someone with a medical degree is going to be able to explain it better than Mr. Held-Back-Twice over here.”
Steve tightened his grip on Eddie’s hand, not wanting him to leave. What if I almost die again? “I- don’t-”
Eddie paused, seeming to understand. “I’ll be back. If I can’t find anyone in five minutes I’ll come right back, I promise”
Five minutes. Five minutes! Steve could handle five minutes. With a sigh, he let Eddie slip through his fingers for the third time tonight. “Five minutes, Munson.”
“Scout’s honor.” Eddie winked, letting the door fall closed behind him.
Steve had a million questions he wanted to ask. Why did Eddie stop by his house after the concert? Why did he stay? How did he get here? Did he really drive to the hospital for Steve? Oh god did Robin and Nancy know?
About three minutes later Eddie slipped back through the doorway, a doctor or nurse of some kind following him.
She wore mint green scrubs, and her hair was pulled back into a bun, tied there with a bandana. She clutched a clipboard in her hands, her eyes flitting down to it every other second. “Hey there, Mr. Harrington. Glad to see you’re awake. How are you feeling?”
Steve grimaced. “Uh, Steve is fine. And I feel fine? Kinda tired.”
She gave a nod. The name tag pinned to her scrubs read Dr. O’Neil. “Well, we’re glad to hear that. It looked like you suffered what we call a transient ischemic attack, but you might know it as a mini stroke. Luckily, they are known to only last anywhere from two to thirty minutes, and usually don’t cause any long-term damage.” Steve nodded as if he understood anything she was saying. “We do want to keep you here at least until the morning just to make sure it doesn’t develop into anything worse over time. If you’re up for it, we would like to run a blood test or two, just to see if we can figure out what caused this and hopefully prevent more from happening in the future. Does that sound good?”
Steve found himself nodding, not entirely sure what he was agreeing to. He wanted to grab Eddie’s hand again, but maybe right now was not the time for that.
Dr. O’Neil flipped through the pages on the clipboard. “Looking through your record, last year you reported having some trouble with a pinched optic nerve in your… left eye? We might also wanna check up on that again, as sometimes these things can impair your vision even more if you’ve had a history of problems in that area.” Once again Steve was nodding, only really catching every other word she said.
“Well, I’m going to get out of your hair and let you rest some more. I’m gonna put in that request for a blood test, hopefully, we can get that over and done with before you leave.” And with that she was slipping out the door again, leaving Steve and Eddie alone once more.
Steve turned over in the bed, glancing over at Eddie who was currently standing next to the bed, a look Steve couldn’t understand pulled over his face. “What?”
“You have vision issues?” Eddie asked softly, returning to his seat next to the bed. Steve felt his mouth go dry. He really needed to pay better attention. His brain felt like it was surrounded in a thick fog, and he hadn’t realized Eddie would have heard everything the doctor said. He locked up, his mouth opening and closing several times as he tried to find the words. Fuck fuck fuck. Eddie was going to find out he wasn’t as indestructible as he claimed to be.
If Eddie found out then Robin and Nancy and the kids would find out, and suddenly they wouldn’t let him protect them like he was supposed to. He was supposed to be the body they threw in the way of danger, and if he couldn’t do that? Then why have him around?
“Hey, hey, hey.” Eddie pressed a hand through Steve’s hair, combing through it. “What did I say about stressing yourself? You’re good.”
Steve squeezed his eyes shut, just trying to focus on the calloused hand shuffling through his hair. Eddie must have been exhausted. It was already something like 12:30 at night when they had talked on the phone. It must have been about 3:00 AM, and here Eddie was, still by his side. He found Steve imploding in on himself and still stayed, sleeping in the most uncomfortable chair Steve had ever seen just so Steve wouldn’t be alone.
Steve smiled. Maybe he wasn’t gonna die alone. He kept this thought to himself, sure only he would think it was funny right now.
“I, uh.” He swallowed hard. “You know how when the Star Court mall burnt down it was actually a huge Russian upside down operation thing?” Eddie nodded. Robin and Steve had told Eddie the story one of their movie nights, when Eddie wanted to watch Back To The Future and Steve and Robin refused. “Well, while we were in their science bunker, me and Robin got caught and… well, long story short, I got kinda roughed up and I’ve already had a million black eyes and concussions, I think it was just kind of the breaking point, because ever since I can’t really see out of my left eye.”
Eddie twirled his hand around Steve’s locks, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Who knows about this?”
Steve paused. “My parents know.”
“Steve.”
“You know?”
“Steve!”
“I didn’t want you guys to worry.” Steve shifted, sitting up slightly and Eddie’s hand fell away from his hair. He missed it. “I’m not fragile, and I- I thought if you guys knew you wouldn’t- you wouldn’t let me-” Words were getting harder for him again as he bit his tongue. “Fuck. I’m supposed to protect you guys and if I can’t do that-”
“Who’s supposed to protect you then?” Eddie cut him off, grabbing Steve’s hand. “I know you’re not fragile but we’re your friends, Stevie. We’re supposed to worry about you and want you to be safe. We can’t do that if you don’t tell us what you’re going through!”
Steve stared up at him. He had since found a sink or something to wash off the eyeliner, but flecks of black still lingered around his eyes. His bandana was tied around his forehead, pushing his hair back and out of his face, probably so it didn’t fall into his face when he played.
Steve was down bad, because if Eddie could be reeking of sweat and looking all the world as if he had crawled through hell just to land on Steve’s doorstep, and all the while running on two hours of sleep, then maybe this was more than a silly little crush.
He shifted awkwardly on the bed. “I’m sorry I missed your concert.”
“Motherfucker,” Eddie hissed out, shoving Steve’s shoulder lightly as he stood up. “Move over, I'm joining you."
Steve choked. "I-- what?" But quickly the request became a demand as Steve was forced to retreat to the right side of the bed, Eddie climbing onto the mattress next to him, their bodies only barely fitting on the shitty twin-sized mattress.
Steve couldn't breathe as Eddie slotted into bed next to him, his knees awkwardly digging into Steve's thighs as Eddie popped one arm under his head like a pillow, his other arm somehow settling on space above his hip. They were agonizingly close, but somehow not close enough. Steve could feel Eddie's hot breath fan over his forehead, but there was still a gap between them.
Steve needed it gone. He wanted Eddie to be pressed against his side forever, his untamed hair fanning against his chest as they slept. He wanted Eddie's calloused hands to glide across his back, holding him so close that you wouldn't be able to slot a penny between them. He wanted to wake up and find their legs tangled together, making it impossible for one to pull away without the other waking up. He wanted to hold and he wanted to be held.
He wanted Eddie, maybe more than he's ever wanted anything in his life.
Steve felt a hand comb through his hair and he melted, letting himself shift across the sheets until the gap disappeared and he was chest to chest with the other boy, his arm slinging lazily around Eddie's waist as methodical, slow hands tangled into his hair.
Now was not the time for confessions. They were exhausted, both emotionally and physically, and maybe Steve was afraid Eddie would think he was having another stroke if he tried to tell the other boy exactly how much he meant to him.
Now was not the time for that. Right now, it was time to sleep and recover.
And that was exactly what they did.