Work Text:
Eddie doesn’t remember hitting his head. Which is probably a consequence of, you know, hitting his head in the first place.
He does know that everything is way too fucking loud and bright and that opening his eyes hurts. But he forces them open anyway, considering the angel hovering over him. Which, huh, that’s not at all what he expected. Like, if he had to choose some religious place to end up, he would’ve put his bets on demons and hell and Satan. Not an actual angel looking at him with wide, hazel eyes.
“Oh good, you’re awake!” the angel exclaims, much too loudly, but the dazzling smile makes up for the nail driving itself through Eddie’s eye. Not a real nail, but fuck it hurts like one. “Can you tell me your name?”
“Aren’t angels all knowing or whatever?” Eddie mumbles out, closing one eye and squinting with the other like that will somehow help him see clearer.
The response has his angel fighting back a smirk, leaving the edges of his mouth curling upward while his eyes are still full of worry. Fun. “I’m not a— what do you think is happening right now?”
The one squinting eye squints more. “Obviously the lamppost took me out and you’re here to ferry me into the afterlife.”
Which now that he’s thinking about it, what a lame fucking way to go. Surely he could’ve done better than being a goddamn klutz? Too late now apparently. His thoughts are disrupted by fingers snapping in his face.
“Your imagination seems intact at least…” the angel mutters as Eddie focuses back on him again. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
Strange question for getting into the afterlife but whatever. Eddie squints the one working eye at the angel’s hand before closing that eye too. “Four, but that feels wrong,” he answers.
“Yeah, that’s wrong,” the angel confirms. “We should probably get you to the hospital.”
Oh, more weird things to be saying in the afterlife. Or maybe Eddie’s idea of what to expect is just tragically, vastly wrong. That’s also very possible. He hums, which the angel apparently takes as agreement since the next second he feels himself being lifted by his armpits.
“Whoa, holy shit,” he complains. “I feel like I’m gonna puke.”
The movement abruptly stops, with Eddie half-suspended in the air, and he can hear the angel muttering behind him, “Please don’t puke. I don’t wanna puke too.”
Eddie only groans but he does get his feet under himself again, so small victories. Even if the whole world is kind of spinning with his eyes shut. That’s probably bad. Standing up is probably also bad but the ground hadn't been very comfortable so whatever.
Focused mostly on not throwing up, Eddie barely realizes when he’s laying down again, this time on something much softer than the pavement. “Are you kidnapping me?” he asks without opening his eyes. “Because I’m really annoying when the world isn’t whirly twirly.”
“I’m taking you to the hospital.” The angel sounds further away this time. “Figured you’d appreciate not having to deal with an ambulance charge.”
And like, the angel isn’t wrong but it still feels kind of like kidnapping because Eddie isn’t in good enough shape to escape if he needs to. At least getting serial murdered sounds cooler than death by lamppost. He giggles to himself a little but the rest of the ride is otherwise quiet.
New voices rouse Eddie slightly, enough to coax him into opening one eye again, but it closes just as quickly. Then he’s being jostled around which does not help the head spinning nausea he still hasn’t kicked. Ultimately it’s too much, he thinks, because the next thing Eddie is aware of is waking up and feeling much better.
The walls around him are a ghastly faded white color and there’s an annoying beeping coming from somewhere. Blinking a few times, his mind catches up and fills in the blanks the best it can, given the apparent trauma it’s suffered.
“You’re awake! Again,” a voice Eddie vaguely recognizes announces from the chair next to the bed.
His gaze moves slowly, taking in the man, the stranger, sitting there looking at him with genuine concern. “Who the fuck are you?”
The man snorts softly, grinning as he answers. “I’m Steve. I brought you here?”
Flashes of the figure Eddie thought was an angel come back to him and he has the decency to look embarrassed at the memory. “Oh, right. Thanks.”
“Yeah, no problem, uh,” the man, Steve, frowns slightly. “Do you know your name now? So they can put it on your records?”
“Eddie. Munson. Eddie Munson.”
With the name comes flashes of memory of the incident that led him here in the first place, leaving Eddie’s head pounding anew. His face scrunches up from the pain and Steve is leaning over him a moment later. “Should I get the nurse?” he asks worriedly.
“No, no,” Eddie waves him back. “I just…” His eyes lock on Steve, trailing down the entirety of his body and up again. “You’re the reason I ran into the lamppost in the first place.”
Steve blinks at him once, twice, thrice. “I— I’m sorry, what?”
Eddie feels heat rush into his cheeks and he knows it has nothing to do with his head injury and everything to do with Steve. “I was staring at you instead of watching where I was going,” he admits. “From across the street. Like a weirdo. Because you’re like stupid hot.”
“Oh.” Steve looks stunned and Eddie feels the mortification creeping in. “Thank you?”
“Yeah, yep, you’re welcome. Any chance I could get you to kill me now? Because I don’t think I can live with this actually.” If he could bury his head in his hands he would, but moving still feels rather dicey and Eddie doesn’t want to tempt the head injury gods anymore than he already has.
“Uh, no, I don’t think I can do that,” Steve declines, but he’s smiling, teasing, not appearing remotely weirded out by Eddie staring at him so hard he knocked himself out. “But what I can do is take you to dinner once they let you out of here and we can see if you like the person under the appearance just as much?”
Though still thoroughly embarrassed, Eddie finds himself nodding enthusiastically, which he does immediately regret, but it’s fine. “I think that’s a great idea.”