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It was surprisingly easy to break into Richard Harrington’s house.
Eddie’s first plan had been to break the back door’s window with a rock, but when he checks the door handle, it just falls right open.
See, Eddie always claimed he would never turn out like his father, but he was making exceptions for this. Wayne’s truck had broke down last week, completely fried, nothing anyone could do about it. Wayne had to end up using Eddie’s van, which wasn’t too bad, except it meant Eddie had to walk to school. Wayne had enough of it, so he got a car from the used car dealership downtown.
Which brings Eddie to why he was breaking into the house of one of the richest men is Hawkins.
Wayne wasn’t too much of a car man, he could change the oil and fix a flat tire but nothing else. Problem is, he went to the dealership before school got out, so Eddie couldn’t come with him. If he had just waited three hours, this entire thing wouldn’t have happened, but for all Wayne’s good qualities, he was prideful as a snake.
Eddie, in comparison, knew way too much about cars. He was pretty much raised at a mechanics shop, after all. His dad would just leave him there with his aunt and fuck off to wherever he wanted to commit the next crime. At least, until the police found out about it and sent Eddie off to Wayne after locking his dad up.
And Richard, that slithering baffoon, had added a solid 200 dollars of unneeded dealer installed options. On top of that, it’s been less than a week and the car had broken down three times. Every possible thing that could be wrong with a car had somehow snuck its way into this one, and now they were dealing with the fallout. There was only so much Eddie could do.
And Richard had made Wayne sign a statement that, in simple terms, said no-take-backsies.
So now Eddie was spending his blessed Saturday evening breaking and entering into the infamous Harrington mansion. Lucky for Eddie, the house had been pretty popular a year ago, so he knew all about its occupants. The Mister and Missus were rarely ever home, a true godsend for Eddie’s illegal escapades.
He sneaks into the kitchen first. Eddie’s never been subtle, but he forces himself not to clang pots and pans this late at night in case one of the neighbors got suspicious. He doesn’t find much of merit other than an entire cabinet with fine bone China tea sets. Unfortunately, Eddie didn’t know if they would survive the trip in his backpack, so he doesn’t touch them.
He does pour all the milk save for half a cup into the sink and fucks around with their fridge temperature. It was way too warm in the house anyways, so hopefully the food would go bad just enough for a stomach bug. In the living room he finds a ceiling fan and he climbs up one of the couches to pour glitter on the top of the wooden blades. He switches the labels on all their canned food and takes some eggs from the fridge, cracking them behind a couch and under their pompous bear rug, one inside a fake potted plant. He takes every single vintage silver spoon and all the fancy butter knives. He also finds many bottles of expensive wine, which he piles in his back pack as well.
Despite being the only drug dealer in Hawkins high school, Eddie had never actually been in the house before. Sure, he would deal in the front lawn, but he never ventured past the door. This being so, he gets lost fairly quickly.
The house seemed dead, like a bleached white rib cage. Expensive paintings and statues littered the halls, but Eddie couldn’t find anything that actually looked like a personal item. The Harrington’s were never home, but there was no spot of dust anywhere. Whoever the maid was did an awful good job.
Eddie couldn’t find any photos of the family, either. It didn’t make much sense. Their son had trophies galore, he’d won multiple awards for the games he played in high school. Eddie would never admit to knowing that, though. Truth was, Steve Harrington was a bit of a jerk but he had the prettiest hair. Eddie may or may not have gone to all his basketball games and swim competitions. For no particular reason.
No one had to know that.
Maybe he took all his things when he left. Eddie hadn’t heard of him at all since he graduated. Gareth, Mateo, and Jeff all had bets on what happened to him.
Mateo thought that Steve got disowned after Nancy Wheeler broke up with him. Jeff thought Steve had gone insane and either ran away or his parents paid to have him killed. Gareth thought he just went to college and was off in California being some tough lawyer.
For that tiny last half of high school, Steve hadn’t been the same. He ran around babysitting middle schoolers like an overprotective mom and flinched all the time over loud sounds and flashing lights. It made Jeff’s insanity plea make sense. The last Eddie had seen him, Steve had lost a lot of weight and appeared dead on his feet. It was honestly kind of sad. Steve had been made out to be this huge ladykiller, popular and loved by all with no care in the world, but by the time his graduation went by, the only person watching for him in the audience had been Eddie.
And no one knew about that.
In one bathroom, Eddie finds eight bottles of prescription drugs. Most of them just simple shit used for anxiety, but he does find four bottles of opioids, only two of them still filled.
“Missus Harrington has some issues,” he whispers to himself after reading the tags. He shrugs and shoves them in his bag. Really, she should be thanking him. These weren’t healthy.
In the overtly spacious hallways, Eddie listens to his own footsteps lightly echo across the floor. It shouldn’t have, but eventually it starts to creep him out. Did the Harrington’s purposefully try to manufacture a home you would see in a surrealist horror film?
While searching what appears to be Richard’s bedroom, (which made Eddie want to laugh. What type of couples have different rooms unless they had marriage issues? Eddie would so be looking in the newspaper for divorce announcements.) Eddie finds a few watches and collectible baseball cards. He quickly snatches those before peeing on Richard’s mattress.
After a solid thirty minutes of attempting to find his way out of the house, his bounty scored, he comes across a sitting room with the most hideous green curtains he’s ever seen.
Luckily for Eddie, Missus Harrington must like the curtains an awful lot, since there was an antique vanity on the opposite side of the room filled to the brim with jewelry. Eddie’s tunnel vision doesn’t let him see much else, diving for her jewelry box. Pearl necklaces, diamond earrings, gold rings, gems Eddie’s never seen before that he knew must cost more than Wayne’s entire trailer. When he opens a tiny drawer to the side, he even finds some lace gloves and dainty looking makeup. A sparkling hand mirror makes it way to his bag alongside a tiny golden statue of some sort of Catholic saint.
To the side, near the windows, was a group of fancy vases. Despite the darkness of the room, Eddie gets close enough to read the plaques drilled into the wall. Similarly to a museum, the vases had titles and their origins scrawled on the cards.
Eddie let’s himself jump up and down in joy.
These were historical monuments, if the cards were to be trusted. If they weren’t, we’ll, they were pretty enough to pawn off anyways.
A few years back, Eddie had caught the owner of the pawn shop, Dahteste, getting attacked by one of her clients and Eddie had scared her off with a butterfly knife. Dahteste was very reasonable and tended to give him better deals after that, though Eddie didn’t ask for it. Then Eddie gave her the knife and the next time it happened, she stabbed the guy and pretended to be with Eddie all night having dinner. Since Eddie’s pretty much already become an accidental accessory to murder, she let him get away with selling whatever he wanted.
Eddie reached for one of the vases.
“That one’s a fake. I broke it last year and had a replica made.”
Eddie would like to say that the scream that came out of his mouth was in fact very manly and not anything akin to how a nine year old girl would sound. Nope. Not at all.
With a (very manly) screech, Eddie turned around quick enough to give himself whiplash, almost tripping over the stand.
“That one, though? That’ll sell for a lot.” Comes the slow voice.
Unable to see the person in this lighting, Eddie speedily flips the light switch, backing himself into a colorfully wallpapered surface.
Steve Harrington was sitting on a couch equally as terrible in design as the curtains, covered in at least four blankets, a messy pack of beer by the couch legs. He stared blankly at Eddie with bloodshot eyes, leaning against the cushion until the soft furniture almost appeared to eat him.
“Fuck- shit, uh…” Eddie plastered his hands to the wall as well, wondering if he could jump out the window at this height without breaking a bone. His heart choked him with fear.
“Seriously, that one could go for eight hundred tops.” Steve says tiredly, his head twitching to one of the stands closer to the door.
“Wh- are you- Jesus Christ, are you helping me?” Eddie bit his tongue hard enough to bleed, unable to stop his heavy breathing.
“Sure, man.” Steve whispers.
The short conversation must be enough for Steve to stop caring, because he turns his head and further buries himself in the cushion.
After a solid twenty seconds with no movement, Eddie eagerly peels himself off the wall.
With wary feet, he grabs the vase Steve had mentioned, but before he can walk out the door, he turns back around.
“You’re really gonna let me take this?” Eddie challenged, “You won’t tell the cops?”
Granted, the police force in Hawkins went downhill after the Starcourt fire that killed Chief Hopper, the new chief being much of a downgrade, but Eddie still didn’t want to add to his already iffy record.
Steve doesn’t answer.
“Steve?” Eddie asked.
He puts down the vase, pulling his heavy backpack to the floor. He prays to the Catholic Virgin Mary statue in said backpack that the wine won’t break and leak all over the stretched cotton. He had spent a lot of time making the patches on it, after all, and hand washing that thing would be a bitch and a half.
Steve doesn’t move, cuddled in a ball near the end of the sofa.
“The silent treatment is a little low of you, Steve.” Eddie taunted.
Still, no reaction.
Eddie walks closer and grips one of the blankets covering Steve’s chest and legs. When he pulls it off, he only finds that Steve has another one covering him, his arms exposed.
Removing the layer gets a small reaction. Steve grunts, squinting his eyes open. He sloppily grips the small section of the blanket he could reach and tries to pull it over.
“Are you okay?” Eddie asks seriously. Steve’s pupils were the size of needles, blue lips that reminded Eddie very uncharacteristically of a smurf. “You look sick as fuck.”
It takes Steve a second to respond. He has to fight with himself to get air in his lungs enough for him to speak. “Thanks.” He mutters, pulling the blanket over him.
Eddie crossed his arms, “Not a compliment, pretty boy.” He says.
Steve ignores him, fingertips blue with cold, which didn’t make any sense because it was warm in the house. Too fucking warm.
Eddie took a step back. There was something scratching in the back of his brain, telling him to stay.
“Am I really boring enough that you’re falling asleep right now?” Eddie says loudly.
“Steve.” He says again, getting no response. After a few seconds of mental debate, finally Eddie’s eyes fall on the pack of beer on the floor.
Directly next to one of the orange pill bottles.
Eddie backs up further, eyes widening.
Holy shit.
“Fuck. Fuck. shit, shit,” Eddie hisses, hands coming up to his face. “Of all the days to forget my naloxone, what the fuck.” Quivering hands reached for Steve, pulling the blankets off of him once more.
There was only one conclusion that made sense given Steve’s lack of a reaction, slow breath, and blue hands. Eddie had accidentally walked in on Steve Harrington trying to kill himself.
He’s seen what a drug overdose looks like. He was a drug dealer , for fucks sake. How didn’t he notice it sooner?
He grabs at Steve’s clammy face, trying to wake him, startle him, anything. When he gets no response, Eddie forcefully picks up Steve’s legs and pulls them away from his body so he can see Steve’s torso.
He was still breathing, though the pattern was too slow, his chest sluggishly rising and falling at a snails pace.
Eddie forms his shaking hand into a fist and harshly rubs his knuckles against Steve’s sternum, whispering curses or prayers or both.
He wasn’t going to let Steve’s last action be letting Eddie steal artifacts from his mother’s sitting room.
He’s done this before, when he was younger. It’s been years, but the same fear from then grips him now. He couldn’t help that time, he didn’t know what to do, but Eddie was smarter now.
The pain and discomfort from Eddie’s fist makes Steve open his bleary eyes.
“Oh thank God. Jesus, man,” Eddie yelled, pulling Steve up, “you have to stay awake.” He ordered.
Steve makes a gurgling hum sound, but his eyes glaze over too quickly.
“Bitch, if you pass out again I’m going to give you mouth to mouth,” Eddie hisses, pinching Steve’s side to jerk him awake. “and I mean that as a threat.”
Eddie does his best to tip Steve’s head back to open his airway, keeping a hand in his slow beating heart. There really wasn’t much you could do about a drug overdose without medical attention, and if Eddie knew anything about the Harringtons, he knew medical attention might make things worse. For one, Steve’s parents might actually kill him for it. Rumors spread quickly in Hawkins, and the Harrington’s had a big reputation, large polished shoes to fill. Second, Eddie would have to explain the reason why he was the one calling it in. If Steve didn’t make it, Eddie would get jail time for breaking and entering, or maybe they would assume Eddie drugged him, or aided in administering the drugs.
Medical attention didn’t promise he would live, anyways. They would just give him oxygen, naloxone, fluids, and wait it out until Steve’s body made the choice for him.
Eddie had nasal naloxone at his trailer. If he could get Steve awake enough to get down stairs, he might be able to make it. He would have to put Steve in the recovery pose in the back seat, but they might be able to get there.
“How much did you take?” Eddie asked, shaking Steve’s head again.
Steve hums, blinking his eyes.
“I- what was left.” He whimpers eventually, leaning heavily against Eddie’s side. The few times Eddie imagined getting this close to king Steve, it was never like this.
“Not the whole bottle?” Eddie checked, attempting to get Steve standing. Conversation might help keep Steve awake.
Steve lurched forward, closing his pale mouth. He’s stumbling away from the door before Eddie can stop him.
A second layer, he rips away completely and grabs for the fake vase, throwing up into it.
It is probably the most disgusting sound Eddie has ever heard, but regardless, he thanks the Virgin Mary statue in his backpack for answering his nonexistent prayers. While throwing up was not ideal, since it was a choking hazard, it meant something was leaving his system.
He rushes over to hold Steve’s convulsing shoulders. He was wearing a soft yellow sweater that smelled faintly of mint and sweat. Eddie didn’t know why that was what he was focusing on. He didn’t expect the mint part.
Steve’s eyes still appeared bloodshot, but when he looks towards Eddie with confusion, his pupils aren’t nearly as small as they had been before.
Eddie grabs Steve’s chin to check, just in case, before making a split second decision.
“We gotta go.” Eddie says, helping Steve up. He didn’t trust Steve to not die, even now. He had the antidote at home, and he didn’t want Steve to stay in this house. With Steve’s breathing stabilizing a small bit, he had confidence they could make it if Eddie somehow evaded a speeding ticket.
“Why?” Steve croaked, letting Eddie move him down the stairs. He held limply onto Eddie’s neck, trembled wracking through his body in a worrying pace.
“Well, I peed in your dad’s bed.” Eddie says instead of going into the rant he could feel bubbling inside of him. He had to keep Steve calm. Panicking would only make things worse, and Steve wasn’t really in his right mind. “I don’t think you want to be home when he figures that out.”
Eddie makes sure to get his backpack, leaving the vase in exchange for aiding Steve.
“What the fuck-“ Steve responds, malleable as Eddie finds the back door and sneaks them through, though he knew no one was home. He had originally planned to slash three of Richard’s tires, but that would have to wait for another day.
He couldn’t slash Richard’s tires, but he could save his son. That would have to work.
✘ ♚✘
Steve sat blurry-eyed on Eddie’s kitchen countertop, a blue blanket with tiny bats covering his shoulders as Eddie stood by the stove making Sahlab. The sun was just rising high enough to peak through Eddie’s cracked window.
It’s been a few hours since Eddie got Steve stable. Still, he didn’t want to leave him.
He pulled out two mugs, one saying worlds best mom (which had been a gag joke from a girl in last years Hellfire club who had cerebral palsy and started calling Eddie mom after he rolled her dice for her.) and the other with a hoard of cats chasing after a human being. He hands the mom cup to Steve.
Silence falls over them as Steve sips his drink.
Eddie puts his dirty supplies in the sink, forcing himself to turn his back to wash them. He dries them with a rag and puts them away when he’s done.
“…Should we talk about it?” Eddie breaks the silence, standing in front of Steve with only a foot of space between them.
Steve took a large gulp from his cup, glaring at Eddie with tired eyes. “No.”
“I- see, personally, I think we should,” Eddie responded, “because you know, you almost died.” Eddie reasoned, putting his cup down. “Thank God you didn’t take an entire fucking bottle, I wouldn’t have been able to do shit. You got lucky.”
Eddie didn’t mean to sound accusatory. That wouldn’t help them at all. He didn’t want to belittle Steve, but his heart was still beating too fast for his body to catch up. Steve almost died, but he didn’t seem to care. Eddie’s never been this stressed out in his entire life, and that’s saying something, because Eddie’s done some weird shit. Some very traumatic, dangerous shit, but for some reason watching Steve Harrington almost die was what frayed at his nerves the most.
“I didn’t ask for this.” Steve grumbled.
“You didn’t have to.” Eddie says, trying to make his voice softer. “Let’s just say she really wanted you alive.” Eddie pointed to the statue he had taken from the Harrington house, sitting by the kitchen sink. He would need to sell everything as quick as possible. He would have done it last night, but he was caught up for obvious reasons.
This makes Steve scoff a little. “Are you really trying to tell me the Virgin Mary lured you to my house under the guise of peeing on my dad’s bed in order to save me from dying?” He rolled his eyes.
Eddie leans back, “I am saying that… I feel some insane shit has been happening here, and we shouldn’t rule that out entirely.” He stated slowly.
Steve shrugged. “I guess.”
He didn’t seem to be in much of a talking mood, but Eddie was vibrating out of his skull with words.
“What happened?”
Steve squints. “What do you mean?”
“Well… you’re Steve Harrington.” Eddie proclaims, picking his mug back up again and studying the grooves. “Everyone likes you. Why…” Eddie shrugged, looking down. He never suspected that King Steve could have a negative emotion. Not this type, at least. It was probably an insensitive question to ask.
Steve shook his head quickly in retort, his limp hair falling into his eyes. “They don’t, really.” He defended, “High school popularity doesn’t translate over well into adulthood.” He seemed disheartened at his own statement, clutching his drink hard and gulping half the mug down in one go.
Eddie nods, albeit a little awkwardly. He wondered if it worked the same for him. When Eddie graduated, would he stop being the freak? Will the town allow him to go about his business without constant harassment? Would Eddie ever even pass highschool?
Eddie sighed, “For the record, I do.” He mutters.
Steve tilts his head, like he was struggling to hear him a little. He’s been doing it all morning.
“What?”
Eddie tried to take control of his sweaty palms. “Like you. Especially after you beat Billy up.” Eddie detracted. “Not to speak ill of the dead- actually no, to speak ill of the dead,” luckily, Steve cackles around Eddie’s word vomiting. “He was annoying. Like… you might think you’re annoying, but I’ve dealt with you both, and he was definitely worse.” Eddie nodded, stiff with nerves, sipping some of his drink once more. He was so stupid.
A small smile danced fittingly over Steve’s too-pale features. Eddie thinks he would do almost anything to see that look again.
“Thanks, man. A big compliment.” Steve laughed sarcastically. “I guess… I was just scared, you know?” Steve finally answered, not looking Eddie in the eye. Like he was afraid of what he might find if he did look. “The world is big, and it’s terrifying, and I’m not doing anything at all. I’ll just… if I died, the world wouldn’t be affected.” Steve claimed. He made himself smaller, pulling the blanket sternly over his shoulders, hiding the fact that he was wearing one of Eddie’s sleeping shirts. He had thrown up a few times and Eddie had to lend him new clothes.
Steve had done an entire personality flip from when Eddie had briefly known him in high school. What happened, to make him look so afraid? Eddie wanted to know, but a big part of him, the part in the back of his head that smelled danger, acknowledged that he was better off not knowing.
“It would affect my world.” Eddie says bluntly. He imagines smacking his head against the counter.
Steve looked up at him with wide, confused eyes. Probably thinking we never talked until today. Why? Eddie asks himself the same question.
“How?” Steve asked, it sounded like a challenge.
“Well, for one, you’re in my trailer.” Eddie named off immediately, like humor could save the pitying flow of homosexual emotions pouring out of him. “I’m pretty sure the police might arrest me if they find a dead body in here.” Eddie muttered.
This gets another smile out of Steve, cracking over his face like ice. “You’d have to go on the run.” Steve states in a matter of fact tone.
“Yeah, and that would affect me a whole lot.” Eddie parted his hands in front of him, elongating his syllables to see the rise it got out of Steve. He didn’t say all the true ways Steve dying would affect him, though he should have. Especially now. If Steve killed himself tomorrow, Eddie thought he might die too. It’s an odd sort of connection to feel with someone you barely know. Eddie saved his life one time, so they must be tied together at some cosmic level. Unfortunately, Eddie was a coward, so he stayed quiet. “I know where I would run, though.” Eddie puffed out his chest with fake pride, his hands behind his back now.
Steve raised his eyebrows, following along.“Where?” He finishes his drink and set it down next to his thigh.
“Well, I can’t tell you that.” Eddie teased, walking across the kitchen and closer to where Steve still sat on the cold counter. “What if you tell the police?”
Steve glared at him. “In this situation, I’d be too dead to tell anyone.”
Eddie bit his lip, humming in dramatized thought. “True. Well,” Eddie taped his fingertips along Steve’s flannel-clad knees. “How about you stay alive, and if we ever find a dead body together, you’ll get to find out.”
Steve sighed, “But only if I’m alive?”
Eddie nodded, a hopeful grin on his face. “Yeah, that’s the deal.”
Steve smiled again, a little uncertain, but still genuine. “Okay.” He whispered.
Inside Eddie’s chest and hidden from view, he let out a shudder of relief.
It’s not like that situation would ever happen, after all.