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“Fucking hell, Eddie, look at you,” Steve breathed out, keeping quiet so as not to startle the other boy. Eddie had already been on the paler side as it was, but the ghostly white of his skin was now borderline translucent, the cool blue green of his veins making him look as sickly as he likely was. His face was gaunt, his eyes were dull and hollow. His once glorious and impressive mane of curls was knotted and frayed, his clothes weathered beyond repair. Steve’s stomach churned at the sight of him. “I’m so fucking sorry, man.”
“‘S’alright,” Eddie groaned, lifting his arms weakly as Steve guided what was left of his tattered Hellfire shirt above his head. “I get it, man. Dustin comes first.” It was the most coherent he had sounded since he’d been back, but it didn’t make what he was saying any more fair.
“I should have made sure,” Steve said, stern. “We had time.”
Eddie went to protest, opening his mouth and waiting to conceive a response. “You didn’t know.” Was the best he came up with. It didn’t do much to convince Steve.
They sat on the cold tile floor of Steve’s bathroom, Eddie having been awarded the leisure of sitting on top of the bathmat. Steve prepared himself to nurse the kind of wounds that he had little to no experience dealing with. He tried to remember things Max had told him, general first aid stuff. He raided the small cabinet below the sink for peroxide, cotton pads he hoped were sterile enough, and the wimpiest first aid kit imaginable.
“Need booze for this,” Eddie groaned again, tilting his head back as he prematurely braced himself for what was about to happen.
“What you need is a doctor,” Steve mused as he rasied up on his knees. “Like, a real one.”
“So they can alert the cops that the killer has surfaced again and I get my sorry ass thrown right in jail? I think I’ll take my chances with you, Nurse Harrington,” He said, weak and gravely. It was a miracle he could talk at all.
“Hopper’s back now, though,” Steve said, laying out the medical supplies in between them on the floor. “So, maybe he can get you cleared. We’ll figure it out.” He tried to sound certain, willing his words to be true. He needed them to be. “Guess I’ll just have to be good enough for now, Munson.”
He couldn’t look Eddie in the eyes. His near-black eyes that were once somehow so impossibly, beautifully bright in spite of his troubles were now shrouded in bitter darkness and pain. He looked as tired as Steve felt responsible. Steve soaked a cotton pad in peroxide and hovered with it next to Eddie’s side.
“Squeeze my hand?” Steve asked, offering his free one up to Eddie, still refusing to meet his eyes.
“No, I’ll fucking break it, just do it,” Eddie groaned, bracing himself again. Steve nudged his knee with his knuckles, insistent.
“And I’d probably deserve it. So, squeeze,” Steve said, risking a glance. Eddie looked so defeated, so anguished and begging for any kind of release. “Please, dude. I know I can’t take your pain away or whatever, but would you please just let me try?”
Steve recalled the pain in his own sides, now reduced to a dull and unforgiving ache. He remembered his skin tearing, every nerve ending stinging with agony. He imagined it three times over, three times as strong and wondered if that would even be half as painful as what Eddie must have felt.
Eddie weakly took hold of Steve's hand, seeming to will himself not to relinquish enough of a burden on Steve for him to feel like they were even again.
Steve then carefully pressed the soaked cotton pad to the center of one of the bigger wounds on Eddie’s side, feeling the other flinch at the sharp stinging sensation.
“Shit,” Eddie whimpered, still not squeezing. “That might be worse than the bats,” he chuckled.
“Shut up,” Steve said, stone faced. Steve couldn’t make sense of Eddie’s ability to joke about any of this. “Just break my fucking fingers, I don’t care. Just stop-- don’t talk.” He pressed again, dabbing less than gentle over the raw flesh of Eddie’s abdomen.
Eddie squeezed. Steve could feel his pulse and for the first time since finding him close to lifeless only yesterday, Eddie felt real, warm, and alive to him.
As carefully as he could with just one hand, Steve continued to cleanse the wounds, monitoring the harshness of Eddie’s winces and the pressure at which he was squeezing his hand, taking it as an indicator for how he was doing and adjusting accordingly. He wanted so badly to take it all away, to let Eddie transfer every ounce of hurt over to Steve through their joined hands. Eddie had had enough. Steve wanted to shoulder it for him in any way he could.
He finished up, reluctantly pulling his fingers free from between Eddie’s. “Do you need help washing? Or do you want me to just turn around?”
“Who would I be to turn down a sponge bath from the great King Steve Harrington himself?” Eddie asked with a meak looking smirk. Steve supposed he should feel relieved that Eddie was still able to joke in this state, to laugh things off so soon after they happened. Maybe he was jealous that he couldn’t do the same for himself anymore. It just wasn’t as funny anymore, after all of it stopped being so unbelievable, after the fourth time he almost tasted the kiss of death. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before anyways.”
So Steve found himself bathing Eddie Munson, who had stripped down to just a dingy pair of underwear, in his tub. “Modesty above all else, of course,” Eddie had announced after having made the decision to keep his underwear on. Steve offered him a half-smile for his efforts.
The water was lukewarm, Steve imagined it would feel less daunting than if it were too hot or too cold. He hoped so, at least, as he wrung the water out gently across Eddie’s shoulders, his chest, his sides. Eddie had closed his eyes. He looked sort of peaceful then, a perfect foil for the now bloody water that surrounded him on all sides. Steve pulled the drain plug, starting the tap again to refill the tub with fresh water.
He carefully lathered a bar of soap in his hands, hoping his skin would feel less harsh than the rough grain of terrycloth against Eddie’s gnawed wounds. “This okay?” He asked to make sure, waiting for Eddie’s silent nod before placing his hands on his shoulders.
He took his time, making sure to wash every trace of the Upside Down he could from Eddie’s skin before moving to his hair.
“This too?” Steve asked. Eddie raised his brows, humming in question. “Your hair,” Steve clarified, brushing it off his shoulders, lightly caressing the skin of his back as he went. Eddie shivered. “Can I take care of that too?”
Hair had always been such a personal thing to Steve. He remembered being about five years old, standing as tall as he could manage on a stool in this very same bathroom, trying to mimic his father; the sweeping motion of his comb, the way he smoothed everything down with his hand and that gel that he always smelled like. Of course, Steve had perfected his own routine, partly a rebellious act against the way his father expected him to be. As corny as it seemed, Steve’s hair had since become an extension of himself.
“Yes,” Eddie answered, delayed, as if he’d been contemplating it. “Be gentle with her, will ya?”
“‘Course,” Steve supplied, scooping up a handful of water to release at the crown of Eddie’s head, little droplets finding their way down not only his hair, but the planes of his face, catching in his eyelashes and falling on his cheeks like fresh tears. Steve’s heart lurched. Eddie looked really beautiful like this, he thought.
It dawned on Steve as he brought his soapy hands to Eddie’s scalp that he’d never washed anyone else’s hair before, and it somehow felt even more intimate than when he’d washed Eddie’s body. He was careful not to tug at the knots as he went.
“Feels kind of nice,” Eddie confessed, almost as if it was involuntary. “This is nice,” He continued, more deliberate as he leaned into Steve’s touch.
“Can you lean back for me? Gonna rinse this out,” Steve said, with nothing else to offer to fill the silence. He was still too riddled with the guilt of leaving Eddie behind to accept any of his gratitude, this was the least he could do. He applied some conditioner once the suds were all gone, working through the tangles as gently as he could with a comb. Eddie winced.
“Steve?” Eddie spoke, his soft tone echoing off the tiled walls. “Do you think you could trim it some for me? The ends are kind of fucked.”
“You sure?” Steve asked, hands frozen in place, one grasping the comb, the other resting at the nape of Eddie’s neck.
“You literally carried me half lifeless out of that hellish version of Hawkins, dude. I think you can handle a little haircut. I trust you,” Eddie said, still turned away from him.
And he had rescued him, for all that was worth, after having abandoned him there to die. He, Nancy and Robin had gone back through one of the gates just two days after everything happened, when they hoped it was sage since Vecna was presumed dead. They wanted to at least give the man the funeral he deserved.
It was obviously still risky, but Steve had made a promise to Dustin that they would do everything they could to come back for Eddie’s body. When they finally found him, he was barely clinging to life. He was holed up beside his trailer surrounded by an army of dead Demobats, the feelings of relief and regret Steve felt were so jumbled; he could barely register that any of it was real at all. How Eddie had survived was beyond Steve, but the fact he hadn’t stayed behind long enough to get him out with everyone else gnawed sharply at his conscience, a pit of unwavering guilt taking root in his gut.
Steve had brought him straight back to his house, since his parents were gone, as usual. He settled him in on a nest of soft blankets on the couch, made him carefully sip water and fed him saltines. He dozed off on the couch after a few hours of being closely monitored by his friends. Then they all took turns keeping watch while he slept, checking his breathing, making sure he wasn’t feverish. Once they determined he was stable enough, Steve had sent the girls on their way, insisting he be the one to nurse Eddie back to health and that he’d call them if anything changed. He owed him this, Steve thought, for leaving him behind.
Now Eddie was sitting before him, half naked and completely vulnerable, asking him to trim his hair and Steve knew there was almost nothing Eddie could ask him that would be met with refusal on his end.
“I remember when we were kids, and you used to buzz your hair,” Steve recalled, deflecting. He wouldn’t take the credit he’d been offered, not yet. Gently, he ran his fingers through what he could of Eddie’s hair, getting caught in the more stubborn tangles at the ends before motioning for him to lean back again to rinse the conditioner. “The long hair suits you.”
“Yeah, the hairs kinda become part of my whole thing, which I’m sure you can sympathize with,” Eddie said, the faintest hint of blush dusting across his skin, bringing more life back into him. “Didn’t realize you paid that much attention to little ol’ me, Harrington.”
“Less than I probably should have,” Steve said, offering his arm to help guide Eddie up and out of the tub, grabbing a fresh towel off the shelf to offer him. He drained the water, watching as all the dirt and grime made its way down the drain. He wondered silently if they would ever fully wash their hands of that place. “Here, careful.”
Once he’d helped Eddie dry off, Steve carefully wrapped fresh gauze around his torso. He turned away while Eddie stepped out of his underwear and covered himself with the towel around his waist. Steve then led them over in front of the sink, standing behind Eddie and taking stock of their reflections, an unlikely pair, both lucky to even be alive. He rummaged through the drawers of the counter for a moment before finding an old pair of scissors, a little dull, but he supposed they’d do.
“Just the ends, then?” Steve asked, unable to mask the nerves in his voice. Eddie just nodded. With a deep breath, Steve set to work, watching as small clumps of dark hair littered the floor by their bare feet. He could feel Eddie watching him in the mirror, gaze intense as ever. Steve didn’t look up, choosing instead to focus on the task at hand.
“I haven’t thanked you,” Eddie said as the last of his tangled ends were cut away. “For coming back for me.”
“Eddie-“ Steve started, placing the scissors down on the counter. “Don’t do that.”
“You came back, Steve. Okay? That’s all that matters to me.”
Steve looked up, finally meeting his eyes in the mirror, their reflection almost as daunting as the real thing. They had been so glassy when he found him, cold and barely hanging on, now they were full of something that looked like fondness and it was almost too much for Steve to bear.
“I came back for your body Eddie,” Steve said, shoulders tensing. “Don't you get that? I thought you were dead. Dustin thought you were dead! You died in his arms and I had to drag him away. It fucking killed me, man. I can't wrap my head around the fact that you're even here right now. You're a goddamn ghost story, Eddie.”
His throat tightened and his eyes stung, but Eddie was not really his to cry over, and there really was nothing left to mourn when the thing that haunted him the most over the past few days stood there breathing in front of him. Eddie turned to face him and Steve looked back down at the floor. He shouldn’t be the one seeking comfort right now, shouldn’t be the one shaking with the shock of it all. Yet when Eddie took his face into his hands, he couldn’t find it in himself to pull away.
“You put the kid’s safety first,” Eddie offered, stroking his cheeks. “You said it yourself, right? I was as good as gone, and you made sure Dustin made it out safe. It wasn’t like it was a tough call to make, right? You gotta give yourself a break, man,” He continued, echoing a sentiment they had shared together once before. “But I’m here now, right? Okay? You got me out, and I’m fucking alive, Steve. I’m alive because of you.”
“Yeah, barely,” Steve choked out, swallowing a sob and allowing a watery laugh to escape instead.
“Got a free haircut out of it too,” Eddie chuckled warmly, still holding Steve’s face. “My new barber didn’t do half bad, either.”
“He's a pretty inexperienced guy from what I hear,” Steve countered, doing what little he could to ignore the growing heat across his skin where Eddie was touching him and the butterflies that refused to settle down in his stomach. “Not really sure who gave that joker a license for that stuff, he’s got no idea what he’s doing.”
“Well with hair like that you’d have to assume he knows enough for it to count for something.”
Tentatively, Eddie rested their foreheads together. Steve didn’t pull away-- didn’t want to. He’d rather let himself melt completely into Eddie; to press the heat of his own skin into Eddie’s as if to transfer some of his own life away so that he could keep the light in Eddie’s eyes burning, never wanting to see them snuffed out again.
“You’re going to have to let me thank you somehow , Steve,” Eddie said softly, quietly. His voice was still strained and weak, but his words dripped with confidence. One of his hands had snuck up to tangle in Steve’s hair just beside his ear, finger’s splayed against his skull, the other still cradling his jaw as if Steve were the one made of glass. “For going back down there after me, dead or alive. For licking my wounds, for all that shit.” He pulled back just enough to look into Steve's eyes. Steve looked back, more than grateful to see so much life in them, now; so much fondness.
“Just don’t make me do it again?” Steve pleaded, hoping he sounded as genuine as he felt. “I don’t want to lose you again, man. I can’t. And not just for Dustin’s sake, for mine.”
“What, you care about me or something?” Eddie teased with a smile. Steve found himself a little mesmerized by the wrinkles that appeared by his eyes.
“I think I probably care a little, yeah,” Steve confessed, hesitantly resting his hands over Eddie’s narrow hips, keeping his touch almost featherlight so he wouldn’t disturb the bandages. The pair of them were in uncharted territory, but that hardly seemed to matter when it felt like the exact right place to be.
“Yeah?” Eddie asked, his breath catching a little on his exhale. “How much?”
“Enough for this not to feel super weird,” Steve said, moving their faces impossibly closer for it still not to be quite close enough.The tips of their noses touched. “Enough that I want to kiss you.”
And then Steve kissed him. It was a cautious press of lips accompanied by trembling hands. Eddie’s lips were a little dry, a little chapped but he was warm and solid and there . He was alive in Steve's hands, alive against his mouth. Eddie kissed back, taking Steve’s breath as willingly as it was offered to him, as if it was the only air he’d ever need.