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Eddie quickly gets used to having his sleep interrupted while in hospital: jolted awake by his blood pressure or temperature getting checked, or his meds being adjusted yet again. Even when he’s left alone, the nights are hardly peaceful—the relentless beep of machinery, the echoing voices of staff in the corridors.
But he doesn’t mind being woken by this.
“I’m just saying it’s gonna skew the results, Steve.”
“Skew the—you’re talking out your ass. Dude, it’s the exact same goddamn candy bar.”
“There’s vending machines on different floors! That could affect the taste.”
“In what world would that—”
“The altitude!”
“Oh, Jesus Christ.”
It amuses Eddie to no end how Steve and Dustin talk; they’re whispering, sure, but they somehow sound even louder than if they just spoke normally. It’s like they read a guidebook on hospital protocol which told them to talk in hushed tones, and they tried their best only to immediately fail.
Eddie drifts out of the light sleep he’d fallen into, blinks a few times.
The first thing he notices is the scrappy sheet of paper left on his bed; from the little he can make out of Dustin’s handwriting, it’s reviews of various types of candy from the hospital vending machines, complete with pairing notes like it’s a goddamn wine tasting.
“Please?”
“Dude. Not the eyes.”
“I can’t walk.”
“You’re the definition of milking it.”
“If you don’t get me the 3 Musketeers from the fifth floor, I’m not gonna have a thorough look at—”
“Okay, nope. Ding, ding, ding, you’ve reached your quota of complaints for the day.”
“Hey, I’m rightfully—”
A long theatrical sigh. “Oh, you’re still going. Only one thing for it.”
Eddie manages to focus his eyes just in time to see Steve scooping Dustin out of his seat, marching over to the window with him in his arms.
Dustin squawks. “Steve! Steve! You son of a bitch—”
But he’s laughing, and so is Steve as he makes a grand show of opening the window, pretending to throw Dustin out of it.
He’s playfully boisterous about it, but gentle enough so that Dustin isn’t hurt. Always gentle.
And maybe it’s because the fog of sleep is still obscuring the corners of his vision, but Eddie thinks that they look even younger, somehow—suddenly has no trouble at all picturing them like Dustin had once described, way back in the school cafeteria, when Eddie had listened with begrudging curiosity:
“He’s just… he’s cool. Really cool. He’s always kinda been there since, uh… stuff.”
“Kind of an unlikely double act, Henderson.”
And Dustin hadn’t even laughed at Eddie’s teasing, just frowned and said, “Why? I don’t think so.” Then he’d folded his arms and sniffed, “You wouldn’t get it, anyway,” which annoyingly piqued Eddie’s interest even more.
He watches them burst into giggles, just two boys having fun—thrown together by chance, to then become a family that’s chosen, over and over again, and he gets it now. He gets it.
The moment stretches out, like a long walk on the railroad tracks, and Eddie smiles; they still haven’t noticed that he’s awake.
And then Steve catches his eye, and Eddie wonders if he can see it, if the fondness he feels swelling in his chest is obvious.
“Hi,” Steve says, a little breathless from laughing, and Dustin wriggles comically in his hold to face Eddie.
“Eddie, a little help here?”
Eddie stretches out a hand, only to let it fall dramatically. “Sorry, man. You were so young, et cetera, et cetera.”
Steve snorts before lugging Dustin back to his seat. He fakes that he’s gonna drop him, only to slowly set him down with a level of such care that it almost makes Eddie tear up a bit—which he’ll blame on the meds, obviously.
“So can I get candy from the fifth floor, Harrington?”
Steve hums. “Well, since it’s you asking…”
Dustin squawks again. “Blatant favouritism.”
“Ah, Henderson, you know that’s not true,” Eddie says so affectionately; he can’t help it. “You’ve been Steve’s favourite for years.”
Steve wiggles his hand back and forth. “Depends on the day,” he says dryly.
He ducks out of the way to avoid Dustin punching him in the arm, eyes glittering with amusement.
Oh, he’s revelling in it, Eddie realises. He’s got the time now. The time to just have fun.
In the end, Steve gets them all candy. Of course he does.
“If you say I’m an easy touch, you’re both fucking dead,” he says, tossing the bars over.
God, I love you, Eddie thinks.
Maybe some would say that’s too big a declaration to have even in his own head for a mundane, sleep deprived afternoon in hospital. He doesn’t care.
And I love just how you show your love, Steve Harrington.