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As if it wasn’t already bad enough that his body hated him, his mind was screaming even worse. It wasn’t uncommon, but Steve hoped this one would go over easier. Sure, he could deal with the pain and he’d been so desensitized to blood, what with the upside down and all, so cleanup wasn’t a problem. On most days anyways.
Right now he felt it, the wet iron smeared on his thighs, trickling out of him— god… the way he felt it pouring out made his face flush and his eyes water. He hated it, hated sneezing or coughing or clearing his throat at the off chance it would drag more of the viscous liquid out. He’s so goddamn aware of his body, the way he’s built, what he was born for…
He was used to ignoring his existence and numbing parts of himself ‘til he forgot what his body was actually made of. It just wasn’t fucking working today. He felt disgusting.
If only the mind-numbing pain in his head and guts actually had him forget the properties of his body, but alas, he could never be so lucky. In the beginning, he’d tried to look on the bright side of things, maybe the concussions and brain damage would just help him forget this bullshit altogether, maybe the headaches would be so bad he forgot how badly he craved carving his uterus out. So far, headaches only seemed to trap him in his body further.
His brain was beating at the sides and front of his skull, begging to claw out of this wretched body, longing for release. His guts just churned, eating away at his insides and twisting into knots in an act of self-flagellation. Sometimes Steve wondered if his body was responding to the dysphoric and spiteful thoughts that roamed his mind and chose to punish him for ever having loved parts of himself at all.
A wet groan lifted from his lips, more tears soaking his mattress. He loved pillows and adored sleeping with as many as possible to help dissipate the loneliness, but his neck was aching and it seemed like the pillows made it bend at an awkward angle, so thin blankets to support his head would suffice for now. He didn’t care enough to get up and think of something more comfortable.
God he wants to sleep, wants to rest and forget and just exist with no pain.
But he was not calling for help. Not that he could get up from bed and have the brain power to dial in a number, but he loathed the idea of anyone seeing him like this, seeing the ugly and gross parts that ripped themselves out from underneath his skin where they’d been buried.
Which is what made his shivering still entirely when he heard the knock. They’ll go away. Whoever it is will go away when they don’t see lights or hear anyone inside, they will leave.
And then the door opened, and with a click he heard a voice echo from downstairs.
“Steve? You there?”
It’s Eddie’s voice that makes him get up for the first time that day. He’s not seeing Steve like this. Not now, not when he can’t hide it. Not when his legs and the bed and probably the fucking mattress are covered in his fucking blood and his hair is sticking to his sweaty forehead and his shirt is so damp and he hasn’t showered and he threw up in his trash can and he’s yet to open a window and it smells—
Steve runs to the door laying against it. He doesn’t have a lock- why doesn’t he have a lock!? There are Russians and demogorgons and lab people so a lock to his door would seem like a crucial thing to have but he never bothered to get one and of course, it’s not imminent danger that makes him realize this, it’s god damned Eddie one of Steve’s best friends Munson walking up to witness Steve at his fucking worst.
“Stevie?” The door handle jiggles. “Steve, are you okay?”
He can’t talk. He can’t say a word. Eddie is on the other side waiting to know if he’s okay and safe and he can’t utter a word. Nothing. He just… he squeezes his eyes tight as tears slip from his grasp.
“Is there something blocking the door? I didn’t think you were asleep, coulda sworn I heard you walking or something for a sec.” His voice is clear, cutting through the blood rushing in Steve’s ears. No one can completely disregard all of his walls, fears and thoughts like Eddie. “Stevie?” A lighter, more concerned quip is offered out to the silence and it breaks him.
“Ngmm..” It was supposed to be “No”, it could have been “Not now”, it should have been “I’m fine you can go”, it would have been “I don’t need you here, please leave me alone, I want to be alone” butall that escaped his lips was a whine accompanied by a sad whimper at his failure of a response.
“Steve… are you hurt?” Concern is evident in his voice yet Steve, the martyr that he is, can only snap. “I’m fine.” It doesn’t come out right, it’s not mean, couldn’t drive away a puppy dog, much less Eddie. It’s a sad watery thing that makes him wonder if the other boy can hear water droplets hitting the skin of his hands.
“I’m coming in.”
“No.”
“Steve-”
“I don’t want yo- don’t want anyone to see me. Don’t want… I wanna be alone.”
There’s not much fight left in him, he wants to beg Eddie to leave, would tell him to fuck off if he wasn’t terrified of stooping back to who he used to be.
“I’m not leaving, you’re not okay and I’m staying right here til I know that you’re okay.” And what can he say to that? He can’t argue, he’s got no retort he’s not in the right head space for that at the moment so grasping at straws he uses the only thing in his arsenal. The silence treatment. God, as if he wasn’t already childish enough…
“Steve. Let me inside, please. If you’re hurt, I’ll help you clean up. If you’re fine… like physically, I’ll sit with you and we can talk or something but I need you to let me in.”
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck, he can’t-
The sob he’s been holding for what felt like hours wracks through his body loudly. It’s loud and it is not pretty. He’s not pretty, he wants to be pretty again. Wants Eddie to call him pretty boy again but he won’t, not like this.
“Stevie…” The door pushes against his back. God no no no.
“No. No don’t, you- fuck don’t- Eddie please.” His words are desperate, fighting Eddie on every action, every word. He can’t come in he can’t.
The door is open.
Steve is on the floor trapped between the doorway and the dresser to his right, sitting in his misery. He hears the boots make their way into the room and stop in front of him.
“Jesus H Christ Steve…” Shame runs through his entire being, he feels filthy.
His mother’s words echo in his mind,
“Jesus Christ have mercy, Steven this place is filthy, have you just been living like a disgusting degenerate in your garbage? Learn to take care of yourself you’re not a child. A Harrington- god, anyone with an ounce of self-respect is capable of basic hygiene. I don’t know what would be worse if this was laziness or some sort of… sort of mental instability.”
He can’t help but wonder if Eddie is thinking the same.
He can’t breathe. He’s drowning in sorrow and humiliation, half-naked dressed in his stained red boxers and- fuck. He’s wearing Eddie’s shirt. He’s wearing the shirt Eddie left behind last time they hung out and it’s light grey he can see- he sees the blood he got his blood on Eddie’s shirt.
Steve can not breathe.
“Okay, okay okay hey, you’re alright. It’s alright, you’ll be okay Stevie. Fuck. Okay, I’m gonna need you to breathe with me okay? We’re gonna do some breathing.” Eddie’s hand falls onto his shoulder and it burns.
“No-” He uses whatever air he’s got to croak out the protest. He can’t touch him. Not like this. Not when he’s covered in his own filth like a mutt, like a child who wet the bed.
Eddie stops and stares for only a second or two, of course he would. Steve always welcomes touch when he’s having a panic attack, craves it in fact. Usually, Steve would blindly search for Eddie until he found something to hold onto and draw his claws in. As if letting go pained him. But that’s not today, because today he’s flayed open at the seams and Eddie can see.
“Shit. Yeah, yea okay no touching. These hands are going away now.” He plants his butt onto the flat palms pressed against the floor. “Can you look at me, sweetheart? Need you to look at me. We’re gonna breathe some now yeah?” As their eyes find each other, Eddie begins.
A deep breath in.
Hold.
And out, slowly.
Repeat.
Steve fails, quite a few times actually, but Eddie never relents. Just keeps the focus on breathing for the both of them, sprinkling in little quips of encouragement here and there.
“You’re doing great”
“It’s okay, try again”
“Let’s try slower now”
“Perfect”
“One more time”
Steve’s tears don’t slow but his breathing is deeper. Not relaxed but he’s not hyperventilating. He tries to numb his brain, wishes himself somewhere else, that he could just disappear if he begged enough. He doesn’t have much time before Eddie starts speaking again.
“Steve. Show me where you’re hurt.”
Steve can’t drag his gaze away from his knees, pulled up to his chest.
“‘M not hurt.” He can see the other boy’s hands tightening on the ground next to his legs, now pulled out from underneath him.
“Steve. We’re not doing this right now. You are covered in blood and it smells like actual roadkill, where are you hurt and how badly?”
Roadkill. He knows it’s true, it does kinda smell like roadkill and he’s been fucking sitting in it. That doesn’t mean that it doesn’t suck though, hearing it from Eddie. This is exactly why he didn’t want Eddie to see. How can he stop himself from sobbing into his knees, he’s disgusting and now Eddie knows.
“‘M- ‘orry, m sorry..”
The other boy sits closer. Not much, but ever so slightly to try and give Steve some sort of comfort without touching him.
“It’s okay. You’ll be okay. Nothing to apologize for, but bud I need you to tell me where you’re hurt. You’re losing what looks like a lot of blood and I would like to keep my friends alive thanks. Show me the wound Steve please.”
“No wound. I’m not hurt. It hurts but I’m not hurt. Not gonna die, I’m not bleeding out.”
Eddie looks disconcerted.
“What do you mean? Is it not your blood?”
“No no, it’s mine.”
“But you’re not hurt?”
“No.”
Eddie gives him a blank stare.
“You sure it’s not internal bleeding?”
Steve thinks for a second.
“I.. suppose it could be considered that. But I’m okay. No need for a hospital. You uh… you can go now-”
“Not a chance.”
“Right.”
Steve inhales a shaky breath. His sobs have come to a stop, but he knows it’ll come back. He needs to get his shit together but he can’t not fully. He knows the actual saying-it part is the hardest. Eddie thought he was hurt. But he isn’t. He’s just gross right now. And he’ll be gross again next month, and the month after that, and the month after that. God dammit.
“Steve-”
“I’m on my period.”
“What?”
Eddie’s… he’s not rude, he’s just… it just sounds like he doesn’t think Steve is telling the truth. And he gets it, he does. He’s lived as a boy most of his life so this claim is a wild one to make. Plus, he’s known to joke and lie, pretty badly in Robin’s opinion, to weasel his way out of topics he doesn’t want to discuss.
“I’m having my period.”
“Steve I’m being serious right now.”
“Yeah so am I.”
He doesn’t have the energy. He doesn’t know what to do. He can’t look at Eddie, consciously avoiding his gaze as much as possible.
“God dammit Steve I wasn’t born yesterday-”
“Oh my god, you want fucking proof?!”
He doesn’t know what possesses him, he hates his body as is and hates, even more, the idea of someone seeing it as well. Yet, he does it anyway.
Steve pulls his legs apart, lets his knees down and in a moment of absolute separation and idiocy, pulls up his shirt.
He never got top surgery. His parents had money sure, but no amount was enough for the available doctors to do sex realignment surgery on a child. Now that he’s older, however, his parents don’t… like him much. They need him around enough to be willing to pay for hospital bills, and hormone therapy and let him live at home still but his failure to get into college and refusal to intern for his father has only expanded the rift between them. Not that the parties, fights and lacklustre grades weren’t already bad enough.
Point being, if Steve wanted surgery he could damn well get the money himself or ‘man up’ and get his life together.
Eddie stares mouth agape. What else is he to do? Steve well-known jock, ladies-man and once text-book definition of toxic masculinity Harrington is trans, has a full chest that somehow no one has noticed and is, currently, bleeding from between his legs.
“Huh.”
In a moment of clarity, Steve realizes he could have done this better. That flashing his friend is not the fucking way to go about coming out to him.
“Jesus fucking Christ what am I- do-ing.” Steve’s words break and his humiliation doubles. “Can you go now? I’m fine. Please leave me to choke on my shame in peace? Fuck what the hell is wrong with me, I’m so sorry…”
Eddie takes a few seconds to process before he snaps back to reality.
“Wha- oh. Oh no Stevie it’s… It’s fine, really. Uhm yeah, It’s cool. That’s cool.”
Steve finally, for the first time since he calmed down looks Eddie in the eyes.
“Yeah? That’s cool? It’s cool that I just- just flashed you without your… okay or whatever and- and that I ruined your shirt and yelled at you? It’s soooo cool how the room fucking stinks and I’m covered in bodily fluids and had a panic attack and you dragged your ass over here for nothing? Cool ye-a cool so- so fucking cool we’re cool.”
Steve’s voice breaks constantly with tears and gasps for air interrupting his panicked rambling. He’s losing it. He’s losing all of it. He’s losing Eddie.
“It’s cool, super cool. And now it’s never gonna be normal again. You’ll avoid me and I’ll only get to see you when you’re forced to be around me and you’ll never look at me the same again because now you know how- how fucking gross all of me is. It’s cool. It’s- ‘s fine… we’re c-cool.”
His sobs take over completely as he buries his head into his knees and arms again. Eddie is… dumbfounded. His best friend is trans.
His best friend, pretty sure the man who’s the love of his life, Steve, is trans.
He also thinks he’ll hate him for it. He may not have expected Steve to flash him but… he’s not, like, traumatized by it or anything. He isn’t gross. Eddie’s just… worried really. He’s been so worried and even now that he knows, that worry is yet to dissipate.
“Stevie… sweetheart, I’m not leaving. I’m not gonna avoid you over this. Fuck the shirt I don’t give a crap about the shirt your boxers certainly have it worse right now. And what the fuck do you mean gross, you’re one of the most gorgeous people I’ve ever met. Your blood doesn’t make you disgusting- shit Steve it’s okay.”
His rambling is interrupted by loud sobs, Eddie’s words slicing through the misery in the boy’s heart. He’s not disgusted. He said so at least. He isn’t… right?
“Uhm… crap I don’t know how to do this.”
His hand drags across his face and gets tangled in his hair.
“Can I do anything? What can I do to help?”
Steve’s cries don’t stop. He can’t stop. It’s mortifying and he can’t bring himself to believe Eddie.
“Steve.” Eddie takes a chance and brings his hands to rest on either side of Steve’s head, pulling him up from where he’s hidden in his arms and knees.
“Steve breathe yeah? It’s okay, it’s just a bit of blood. I’m not that squeamish. How can I help you feel better? What do you need?”
Red wet eyes stare into Eddie’s soul, seeing nothing but the kindness and sincerity that’s hidden in them.
“I… It- I feel gross. An- and it smells but I can’t get up ‘cuz- ‘cuz it hurts too much.” Eddie nods and squeezes his cheeks lightly before getting up and wandering to the en suite for painkillers.
“Ibuprofen good?” Steve nods.
“Alright, you usually take one or two?” Steve holds up two fingers. Eddie pops the pills out of the sheet and hands them over along with the water.
“Thanks…”
“Alright. What next?” Steve feels more like himself from the water. His body still hates him but the painkillers will hopefully take care of it. Eventually.
“Feel bad. Just… gross, and I never got a pad or tampon so the bed is probably unusable… I think I’d rather lay here than go back there.”
Eddie looks towards the bed and hums. “Okay, so howzabout we get you into the shower so you can clean up a bit and I’ll take care of the bed and clean stuff up here a bit.”
His words are met with wide eyes.
“Wha- no! Eddie did you not hear the bed covered in blood part? It’s my mess I’ll clean it. And I’m not having you clean my fucking throw up okay you don’t-”
“I’m not having you clean while hurt and sick okay? You relax and get yourself clean so you’ll feel better. I take care of your room so you can feel comfortable in here again. It’s not up for discussion.”
The look he levels Steve with is a determined one. He’s right, there’s no fighting this. He attempts to stand but doubles over after a single step.
“Hhh… fuck.” Steve hisses out a curse, he can not fucking do this.
Eddie tries to be of support, though the wall seems to be doing well enough already.
“You uhm… I could carry you there?”
Steve would laugh if he wasn’t in pain.
“Eddie, even if you didn’t have noodle arms, you’d be covered in blood. That’s not an option so don’t even try it.” Eddie’s frown returns.
“Well alright then.” He puts an arm around Steve from underneath his arms and supports him from the back.
“Lean on me then, c'mon. Let’s go.”
After Steve gets out from the shower he looks through the cabinets to find a tampon. Not a big fan of them but it’s a heavy flow day so he’d need to change it out every hour or so and he’d rather not feel the blood coming out today. Except that that’s not an option, because he’s run out and there’s only a couple small flow pads left.
Fuck him.
He creeps towards the door and through the crack calls out.
“Uhm… Eds?” Waiting for the affirmative hum he picks at the skin around his fingernails.
“I need some clothes. And uhh… so, could you maybe go to the store?”
Heavy steps walk over and a set of clothes is offered through the crack, Steve takes them.
“Yeah sure, what do ya need?”
He cringes. “Uhm. I’m almost out of pads and the ones I have will last like 10 maybe 15 minutes before I have to change it. Also, we’re out of tampons.”
His voice gets quieter and quieter the longer he talks. It’s an embarrassing ask, especially of someone who doesn’t have periods themself. He sounds like a girl and he hates it.
“Okay, I can do that no problem.” He can tell Eddie’s trying to be reassuring but the strain in his voice is evident.
“You don’t gotta. Seriously it’s fine-”
“I’m doing it shut up. It’s like… It’s like buying condoms for the first time. Totally natural, only embarrassing because society deems it shameful.”
“Yeah… yeah okay.”
Fully dressed and underwear somewhat protected, Steve hesitantly exits the bathroom. The window is open and the rancid smell has lessened, the sheets have been torn off and new ones are set aside, and the trash can has been emptied with a new trash bag inside.
“Was going to change the sheets but the mattress has been sadly hit and I wasn’t sure how to clean it so… I thought I’d wait for you?”
Steve stares at the red spot on his bed and, yeah, that’s not great.
“I’ll remove the cover and see if the foam needs a wash, if not I can just throw the cover in the washing machine. It should be fine.” He’s met with a nod.
“Alrighty then, I’ll hop by the store and get you your… stuff. You need anything else? Food? Snacks?”
Steve goes downstairs with Eddie checking the fridge and cupboards.
“Some bread and cheese? We’re out. Oh and soup? Solyanka if they’ve got it, or Borscht. Or just tomato soup is good if they don’t got either.”
And Eddie, sweet Eddie, who always knew exactly what to do to cheer up Steve did these silly little finger guns at him while winking and clicking his tongue. Then gave him a blinding grin and twirled himself towards the door with a “Gotcha big boy!” and gone he was.
Steve’s stomach fluttered with butterflies and the tips of his fingers tingled. They trailed upwards catching the blush on his cheeks. Goddammit. He’s just. So. Sweet.
Steve and Eddie chatted quietly at the stove while the Borscht bubbled in the pot.
“I think the next time I’ve got the money and a solid time I can afford to take it easy I’ll get something big. Like… half my back.” Steve would love that, to see and trail his hands on the enormous beautiful artwork on his back while laying in bed, in the quiet.
“More dead puppets on your back then?” Eddie blows a raspberry.
“Oh shut your face, I was thinking… okay yeah dead things. Skeletons rising from the graves, kinda like us y'know? Me and Max? And beside the rising dead would be these flora infested skulls, thirteen of them. One for each party member. Or should it be 14? 15? I’m not sure if I should count Murray or that Russian guy…”
Steve giggles stirring the soup, gets out a ladle while Eddie fetches two bowls and bread from the toaster. “Sounds… really sweet despite the gory imagery. I don’t think you need to include Murray or uhm… Dimitri, I think his name was. Not like we see ‘em much anyways.”
Eddie holds out a bowl, Steve fills it.
“I think yours would have sunflowers on it. That or marigolds.”
Steve signals for the next bowl.
“Huh?”
Eddie does as requested, setting the bowl down and grabbing a butter knife and the cooled down bread. “Like, the tattoo. Your skull found be covered in sunflowers or marigolds. Hell, might go for both. There’s just something about the yellow sweater that really stuck with me. A shame it’s gone.”
Steve sets down the second filled bowl and grabs a plate for the bread.
“I… how did you know?”
Their eyes connect. “Know what?”
“Sunflowers. They’re my favorite.”
“Oh. Intuition I guess.” A grin greets Steve.
Making a blanket fort and dragging a mattress from the guest room was Eddie’s idea. He was resourceful like that. It was cozy, using candles and the TV as the main light source and getting comfy in the blankets with warm soup and snacks, Steve really needed this. His headache had calmed down for the most part and the cramps were taken care of, with the help of painkillers and a warm water bottle.
“Whoo! Movie time movie time movie time!”
Steve didn’t have much energy but Eds had enough for the both of them. Serenity spread through his body as he fell into the soft blankets. At his sigh, Eddie started swaddling him like a babe.
“What are you doing.” Steve said with a straight face. Or a pathetic attempt at one anyways, the grin breaking through.
“Makin’ a blanket burrito. I can have my very own pig in a blanket!”
“Oh my god how hungry are you just eat already!” Steve’s struggles were strained, no fight left in his body.
“I can eat once you stop struggling!” The wide grin was only wiped off Eddies face when he leaned in to bury his face into the crook of Steve’s neck at the corner of the blanket.
Steve let out a squeal as his feet flailed. “St-oOop fuckin- heeEELLl!”
Eddie’s cartoonish munching noises were interrupted by his loud cackling, Steve’s following. It was nice, stupid and simple, but… nice.
They didn’t pay much attention to the movie, choosing instead to get lost in stories and food and each other, Eddie grounding Steve the best way he knew how— with warmth, laughter, nicknames and all his love and adoration. He’d give everything just to see the boy who saved him, brought him back from the dead and supports him still every day, smile.
“So.”
“So?”
Steve found a focal point in Eddie’s rings that he’d been fiddling with. “You’ve got no questions? About… all this.” He gestured to… generally himself and his frame.
“I mean, sure I do but that can wait.” Eddie was considerate, always trying to make him feel comfortable. Of course he was. Dickhead. A very pretty and sweet dickhead.
“Nah” He sighed. “Rather do it now than draw it out.”
“So…”
“So.”
“You’re a… transsexual?” Steve hummed, affirmative.
“So how long have you been Steve? Or how long have you known I guess?”
It was, admittedly, a strange story. He was born a healthy baby girl, ready to be raised in his mother’s image and spoiled as a daddy’s girl, except for two main factors:
One, he didn’t feel like a girl, couldn’t resonate with all that came with it. He knows now that not all the things about being a traditional girl are rules he must live by, Nancy and Robin showed him that. Not just that but he still likes parts of ‘being a girl’, just not the physical and other peoples’ perception parts of it. He’s not a girl, but makeup isn’t always bad, doing his hair is fun, taking care of his nails is basic hygiene (admittedly they look quite pretty painted) and cooking and baking are as useful as they are therapeutic.
Two, his parents wanted a boy. His mother acted almost as if his presence challenged her and her authority, however, as a boy it was as if he didn’t exist at all. Just a pretty little house decoration you’ve gotta feed every now and then. His father wanted an heir, simple as that. Someone to take on the family business and carry on the Harrington name.
“So they agreed to it ‘cuz it was, what just convenient for them?”
“Yup. Pretty much.” Eddie tightened his grip on Steve’s hand.
“Your parents sounds awful baby.”
“You always say that.”
“Always mean it.”
“How come no one ever found out?”
Eddie became more open and direct. His questions were respectful but he didn’t look as if one word would blow up the TV any longer.
“Went on blockers before puberty started and took testosterone. I think it was payed under false prescription and I’m pretty sure they spent like three or four times the actual price. Anything for perfection or something.”
He’d tried so hard to be that, to be perfect. Nothing ever seemed to satisfy his mother or father though.
“Then they got my name changed and I was officially considered a boy. Some of the teachers know and the principal, that was mostly to make sure I could use a private changing room.”
Steve was tired, didn’t expect telling this story to be so exhausting. It was the first time he could talk about it. It was freeing, but tiresome.
“It was bad today. It’s not always that bad.”
His head rested on the older boy’s shoulder, fingers tangled together.
“Is it unpredictable or is there some kinda pattern?”
“Not a pattern… just, when I already feel dysphoric it’s just going to make me hate my body more. Also if my cramps start early then they last longer and aren’t as bad but if they’re sudden then they’re really painful. Headaches and migraines already bother me constantly so they just show up when they feel like it.”
“Well, if it ever gets bad or you want a period buddy-”
“A what? I swear to god Eds-”“THEN I’m here for you. A phone call away, or a radio call. Seriously, anytime. I love you Stevie, I don’t want you going through this alone.”
A weight is lifted off of Steve’s chest, one he’d thought he’d already gotten rid of. Yet, along with it the tears returned and he did only what he could to hide them and curled into Eddie’s embrace.
Curled into Eddie is the way he falls asleep and, in the early hours of the morning, wakes up. Safe and sound. No pain in sight.
For the first time in a long while, Steve feels safe in his own body. Blood and all.