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Ever since Billy hit him with that plate, Steve’s had symptoms that he’s done his best to keep hidden from the Party. Horrible, brain-splitting migraines that he locks himself away for in his parents' empty house, with every light off, shade drawn, and appliance unplugged. He holds up on his own until it passes. Body aches that he plays off as nothing more than a little misstep, turning a groan into a yawn or a harmless cough. Minutes of completely spacing out, staring into nothingness. Aches that make him feel lifetimes older than the teen he is. Fatigue that makes him want to sleep for days on end.
And worst of all, and hardest to hide, are his blackouts. He doesn’t faint, but he does lose consciousness. He will blink and find himself in a different room, or even a different area of town, time having moved along with his body. He’s found himself outside at night when he was previously inside during the day. Scariest, beyond blinking into an unknown area and time, is when he once ‘woke up’ driving. He puts his car keys in his family safe when he gets home every day since then, but the issue is these episodes aren't always at night or when he’s home where his keys are out of his unconscious reach. He tried his best to make it so he can’t harm anyone when it eventually happens again.
This time, he had been home alone wearing sleep shorts and a t-shirt. The sky outside is turning from a smooth, fading blue into a grey that’s becoming darker by the minute as the sun sets. He blinked, and was suddenly surrounded by barely lit trees, the grey now onyx. There’s dirt below his bare feet, it's wet and cold, the rocks slippery but sharp against his soles. He looks around to see nothing but nature, shrouded by darkness and only visible through the Cheshire cat moon above and the stars accompanying it, with no idea which way the road is. He had flashes of visions, remembering demodogs and demogorgons in the forest from not too long ago. Doubts that the Gate truly closed start to creep in. He didn't even realize he started walking again, even if conscious this time, until he felt a sharp piece of bark pierce his foot. He gasps, more out of habit than pain, full sensory input not quite reaching its usual intensity since the blackout. He’s scared, but it’s all over. Been over for weeks, maybe months even; time has been hard to keep track of lately, but the Gate is closed. He knows El did it. He knows—
He heard a stick break, and it wasn't under his own foot, he’s sure, even with his muted senses. He holds his breath and freezes, but the sound continues. His ears sharpen just a bit, listening for a pattern, instincts kicking in like each time they had to hide and fight the Upside Down. His mind foggily realizes that the steps aren't the right pattern for a demodog on all fours or heavy enough to create a ‘thump’ with each stride, meaning it’s most likely not a demogorgon either.
“Hello?” Maybe they know a way out.
“Just packing up, I’ll have more office hours tomorrow; come back then?”
The voice is rough, semi-familiar, but… office hours? Isn’t he in the woods? Or is his mind really screwing with him?
He walks toward the voice. It may be telling him to go away, but to Steve, it’s his only tether in the dark. “Hello?” he says again, unsure what else to say, still confused and on edge, sensation slowly coming back into focus. The world is getting a bit more real by the second.
“Seriously?! I said—” The voice blinds his face with a flashlight, causing Steve to squint and his brain to suddenly imagine an icepick that it promptly drives into itself, causing a horrible, boring pain. “Harrington?”
Steve still doesn’t know what to say, unsure who it is behind the spotlight burning his retinas as he holds his slightly trembling hand over his eyes, “Hi?”
“Thought you only bought from me at your parties.”
Parties? Bought? “M-Munson?”
“Well duh, you came to my place of business.” Steve’s face must show his confusion even as he breathes through the head pain. “Where I sell?” The voice explains further.
“Oh.” There's a pause. Steve still can't see Eddie, but he can hear the leaves that rustle through the trees above with the same wind that makes goosebumps rise up on his skin. He’s suddenly very aware of his situation, barefoot in the woods in the very early hours of the morning. The weather is chilly, as it’s mid-October, and he's wearing nothing but sleep shorts and a t-shirt. “I don’t know where I am.”
“What?”
“Um, sorry, I just... I don’t know how I got here, or where I am.” There’s another pause. The light doesn’t move and Steve’s convinced if it doesn’t soon, his head is going to implode.
“Are you being serious or is the King fucking with the Freak?”
He’s even more self-conscious now, physical and emotional feelings fully back. He should have shut his mouth as usual and found his own way out. “No, I really don’t know how I got here. Did I drive?” He asks the question more to himself, but knows he won’t know the answer. He never remembers anything during his ‘blinks.’ But there's a sharp fear in his chest, a worry that he drove without knowing, that he hurt someone.
Yet another pause, the light keeping him from seeing what was happening behind it. “Unless your car can drive through trees or is invisible, don't think you drove here, man.” He breathes in relief and hears a step forward, dried leaves crunching underfoot; it would be satisfying if Steve wasn’t so on edge. “Take something before coming to buy, big boy?”
“No. I just, I don—” The light, finally, blissfully leaves his face, and he can’t help but sigh. He doesn’t notice the beam traveling down his body.
“It’s cold, man, why don’t you have a jack—are you barefoot?!”
He knows he is. He can feel his dirt-covered feet, wet and cold, one sharply stinging on the bottom when he shifts his weight, yet he still looks down to verify. “Yeah,” he says dumbly, looking at the other boy. He can’t quite see Eddie, but he can just make out the outline of his wild and long hair, his chains and rings just barely glinting against the skylight and the rebounded light from the flashlight pointed at Steve’s soil-covered feet.
“Steve, are you okay?” Eddie’s tone had turned serious, and Steve didn't like it. He has had a crush on the boy since the 6th grade when Eddie first moved to Hawkins, but Steve had buried it deep down beneath his father’s standpoint and opinions, away from society. One of the things that drew Steve to Eddie, after a period of adjustment into the new town and dynamic, was the metalhead’s carefree nature and the way he seemed fearless against intimidation and harassment. Now his tone was no-nonsense, nothing like Eddie. This. This is the exact reason he does things on his own; he doesn’t want to burden anyone.
“Yeah, man,” He says as he does his best to slide on his carefully curated mask of easygoing confidence that he always keeps close, even if the string holding it together frays a little more each time he puts it on. “I just need to know which direction is Loch Nora and I’ll be right as rain.”
Eddie doesn't say anything for a moment, the flashlight roaming over Steve. He feels like bacteria under a microscope with the way Eddie's light nonverbally scrutinizes him. He just hopes he can get out before he infects Eddie like everyone else in his life. “Gotta be honest, it doesn’t feel right leaving you alone like this, man.”
“I’ll be fine, just,” He looks around the forest, mostly hidden by darkness. He shifts and inhales quickly at the stab of pain from his left foot, letting the breath out to finish, acting like it didn’t happen and Eddie didn’t see, even knowing the other has the flashlight, “which way?”
“Yeah, no,” there are footsteps, and the light comes forward, pointed down. The rustle of leaves is now accompanied not only by the sound of twigs snapping and leaves crunching underfoot but also by Eddie’s chains jingling. He can’t totally make out Eddie until he’s right beside him and puts an arm under his, across his back, taking some of his weight. Steve involuntarily jumps and shifts, making the pain spike again, and leans into Eddie. The other boy helps and leads Steve, with ease, using the flashlight, to an old picnic table. It’s obvious Eddie knows the path by heart. He sits Steve down and kneels in front of him on one knee.
“Your pants are going to—” He doesn’t get to finish.
“Need to wash 'em anyhow.” He aims the flashlight on Steve's grime-covered foot, one hand holding the back of his ankle. Both wince at the large shard of wood embedded in Steve’s appendage. Maybe it was adrenaline crashing, maybe it’s actually seeing it, but suddenly his foot kills, and he shivers with pain. Or maybe it's just the cold. “Jesus, you were what? Gonna just walk home with this?” He aims the light up enough to catch Steve’s shrug. Eddie aims it back on his foot, getting a better look at the splinter, although with the size of it, he’s not sure it qualifies as one. “How long have you been walking on this? It’s really in there.”
“I don’t know.” It starts harsh and defensive, but halfway through he forgets why he’s mad, exhaustion winning—it always wins. He sighs, “I woke up to getting it. But I guess I didn’t realize the degree of…” He trails off as the flashlight comes up again, but not enough to blind him.
“Did you say when you woke up?” Steve shut his mouth. “Do you like, sleepwalk?”
“Not really.” Why didn’t he just say yes? Why did he have to be so stupid.
Eddie could see Steve's tense pose, from pain, yes, but also from defense. The light exposed a tremble that surpassed a chill and gave way to sheer exhaustion. He can see Steve wants to reach out, but doesn’t know how. Eddie was the same when he first got to Hawkins, when he first escaped his dad to live with Wayne in middle school. He didn’t trust anyone. Steve was one of the first kids to talk to him when he was new. That was before Tommy and Jason got their claws in Steve, before he was crowned King of Hawkins.
Still, “I know we don’t really talk. But if you want to…” he lets the offer float between them as he sets the flashlight against his lunchbox of ‘merchandise’ to steady the beam up at Steve's foot, leaving his other hand free to work on the wound.
Eddie gently lifted Steve's foot more toward the light, inspecting it further before actually grasping the embedded wood. Steve watched Eddie look closely at his physical pain, not with disgust or pity, but empathy, even after the rise and fall of his high school power. “It happens sometimes.” Eddie's finger grazes the wood, and Steve gasps but tries to play it off with a cough out of habit. Even with the darkness, Steve can see the boy’s unamused expression from the reflected light.
“Sorry. What happens sometimes?”
“I, um,” he looks down and can see Eddie's eyes lit by the moon, dulled by darkness around and concern within, and he tells the truth for the first time, unsure why, “I blink and I’m somewhere else.”
“You—you blink?”
Steve doesn’t know what to say to that. “Yeah, I know it doesn’t make sense.”
“You’re right, it doesn’t, but that’s okay. We can work with that.” Steve gives him a strange look of confusion, but Eddie just continues, “Let’s first focus on getting this out.”
Steve assumes he gestures to his foot, but his eyes stay on Eddie's dimly lit face and hair when Eddie looks down. “Why are you helping me?”
Eddie looks back up, “I’d be pretty shitty to leave you here like this.”
“I was pretty shitty.” He doesn’t realize he’s said it, but he resents his Reign.
“Apology accepted.”
Steve spoke down toward Eddie, “I didn’t exac—”
“Close enough, now will you let me help you?” Steve doesn’t say anything, but he nods. He knows Eddie saw as he looks down again. “Alright, I’m going to count to three and pull it out, okay?” Another nod. “Words, sweetheart.”
Steve’s eyes go wide before a warm feeling blooms through his chest and up his neck. He tries to convince himself it's embarrassment, but he knows better. “Y-yes.”
“Okay, 1,” he grasps the wood, Steve’s breath hitching, “2… and deep breath.” Steve breathed in, and Eddie dislodged the piece. Steve chokes for a second, trying to gasp, but needing to exhale. After a stutter in his chest, the air finds its route, and he exhales shakily before sucking in air once again. Eddie makes sure no small pieces are left before taking his black handkerchief out of his back pocket, folding it into a thick strip, and wrapping it around Steve's foot, tightening it around the wound. Steve yelps and Eddie apologizes as he knots the fabric securely on top of Steve's foot.
When Eddie's done, he plops down next to Steve, the flashlight still illuminating a bit below them, creating a gentle glow reflecting between them. Eddie turns to Steve, but he can only see Steve's profile lit with the dim light as his head is back, eyes squeezed closed. “Just breathe and take a minute.” He squeezes Steve’s shoulder, who only jumps minutely.
“Thanks,” Steve says, opening his eyes and turning his head toward Eddie.
“So, when did this ‘blinking and finding yourself somewhere else’ thing start, Stevo?”
“Stevo?” He asked, breathing through the residual heat and throb in his foot, his heart rate coming back down. Eddie shrugs. “You know what happened with Billy?”
“Honestly, there were so many rumors I didn’t trust any of them.”
Steve nods in understanding; the high school grapevine was never accurate, not fully. “Well, long story short, he broke a plate over my head.” He says with a shrug.
Eddie sits up, eyes wide with horror, “Billy Hargrove broke a plate over your head?!!”
“So, not one of the rumors?”
“Yeah, but I thought it was an obvious high school dramatization!"
“Oh, well, it isn’t.” Another shrug. “Ever since I woke up from that, things haven’t been the same.” He won’t meet Eddie’s eyes.
“You just black out?”
“I guess. And—” He stops himself. He’s already burdened Eddie enough.
“And?” He looks, and Eddie is watching him with undivided attention, eyebrows knitted tight with concern yet soft with empathy.
“And I get headaches and migraines and muscle aches,” once he starts, he couldn’t stop, frustrations pouring as if a valve had finally broken, “I space out randomly, and some days are foggy like I'm walking through a dream, though I know that sounds crazy. And sometimes I hear ringing that's not there, and reading and math has gotten so much harder all of a sudden—or maybe I’ve just gotten stupider—and I’m tired like all the time no matter how much I sleep. And my parents don’t give a shit other than my bad grades, only coming home like once a year to tell me how useless I am, as if I don’t already know and don’t need a fucking handprint to prove it. And I can’t even do basketball anymore because I’ve already had three concussions at seventeen, and—”
He was speaking through shivers of cold and sheer overwhelm before warm, leather-clad arms wrapped around him, and his breath hitches. Cold tears, which he’s only aware of now, smear against Eddie's jacket. He goes tense. Eddie just tightens his grasp, and Steve physically melts, releasing a pent-up sob of exhaustion and repressed emotion.
“Steve, this sounds serious.”
Steve desperately tries to slide his mask of cool indifference back on, but it’s like it no longer fits. “It’s fine, I just deal.” Eddie won’t let him go, but if Steve’s honest, he’s barely putting up a fight.
“It doesn’t have to be.” Eddie whispers into Steve's hair.
“What?”
“It doesn’t have to be fine. You don’t always have to be fine, Steve.”
He doesn’t understand how Eddie understands him so well so fast, but he’d be lying if it didn’t feel good to finally be seen, no matter how foreign the attention is. But Eddie hasn’t been through the things Steve and the others have (the Upside Down), so it’s not entirely the same. “I feel like I do.”
“I know,” and Steve believes him. “Listen, would you let me take you back to mine so we can disinfect that foot?”
“I can do that at home, but thank you, really.”
“Please, Steve.” Steve pauses, planning to push himself away from Eddie and up from the table. “My uncle Wayne will be back from his shift in just a few hours, and he was an Army Vet, he’s treated or at least diagnosed a lot of head wounds. Maybe he can recommend a plan of action.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to. I am honestly worried about you, Steve.” Steve pushes back enough to stare at him, dumbfounded. “Yeah, I’m just as surprised as you, but, please?”
Please. He knows this word. He knows it well. But he’s used to the word being used to get something from him or send a message to him. With the kids it's all: Can I have some money for the arcade, Steve? Please please please!! Can we please use your house?! Can you please give us a ride? With his parents it’s: Can you please not embarrass us tonight, Steven? Can you please at least try to play the part of our well-behaved son with a promising future? Please do better, Steven. Please, dear, do me a favor: lose some weight. Please, you will never amount to anything, especially not the Harrington name. With other adults it’s: Please look after the kids. Please keep them safe, Steve. With his former friends it was: Please can we throw a kegger at yours? Oh please, like you could get prissy perfect Nancy Wheeler.
Please has always been a way for others to ask for something, a way to cut him down, a way to put pressure on him, and a way to undermine him. Please has always been a way to remind him of his shortcomings and the fact that what he can provide for others will always be more significant than his own wellbeing and happiness.
But Eddie is looking at him, and he's using that word. He’s using please to ask if he can help Steve, not to hold it over him later, not to pity and make fun of him for being weak, but out of what seems to be genuine concern. Eddie is not asking for anything, yet Steve still has to be willing to give something. He has to accept Eddie's assistance, something that’s not only foreign, but also something he was specifically taught never to accept. Somehow, he has to give Eddie his trust that he locked away a long time ago.
“Okay.” His people-pleasing nature comes out, although he knows it’s not only that this time. Eddie nods and looks him over again before taking off his jacket and handing it to Steve.
Steve starts to shake his head, “Take it; I have a long-sleeve shirt, and you don’t.” It was gentle, but an order nonetheless.
Steve takes the jacket and puts it on. It smells like Eddie: amber, cigarettes, and weed. Spicy, sweet, rich, warm, and smoky, with that zing of bitter that makes it real. Before he can stand up, Eddie turns around in front of him and goes on one knee, leaning forward. “Hop on, Princess.”
“I can walk.”
Eddie cranes his neck, a deadpan look on his face. “First off, not sure that’s true; your foot is still bleeding, and two, you’ll get a million more splinters before we get there.”
“A million?”
Eddie rolled his eyes before turning his head back away from Steve. “Shut up and hop on.”
Steve hesitantly did as he was told, concerned about his weight, especially since his mother’s comments last visit, but Eddie was stronger than he looked. He almost effortlessly hoisted Steve onto his back, arms under his shorts-clad thighs, part of his hands touching bare skin where the shorts rode up a little from the position, and started the trek to his trailer.
Steve felt nauseous from the motion of Eddie's steps, yet another wonderful symptom of the head trauma. Steve knew how to breathe through it, though. Since Steve had laid his head on Eddie's shoulder, he heard the change in his breaths. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” Steve lied, “You?”
“All good, Stevie.”
Steve closed his eyes to stop the nausea and kept breathing as they continued on, only noticing they were at the trailer when Eddie was climbing the stairs and opening the door. He set Steve down on the couch before going in and out of what Steve presumes is his bedroom and the bathroom to grab supplies. He takes trips, laying the stuff on the coffee table before going into the tiny kitchen to grab frozen peas, a washcloth, and a bowl of warm water. He drops all the rest of the supplies on the coffee table: sweatpants and a long-sleeved pajama shirt, a first aid kit, a bottle of rubbing alcohol, and a bottle of pills Steve’s too tired to read the label of. Steve leans his head on the back of the couch. These episodes take a lot out of him, but his breakdown took everything that had been left behind. He only opens his eyes when he feels Eddie lift his foot onto the table.
“I got it, you don’t have to—”
“Are you like, against help or something?”
“Huh?”
“Every time I try to help you, with the splinter, the jacket, the piggyback, and now this; it just seems you are very against assistance.”
“I’m not—” but he is, isn’t he? Anytime anyone tries to help him, Joyce, Hopper, the kids, he says no and slips away alone before anyone can try. Even when his parents were home, before they started traveling all the time from the time he was seven and on, if he got scraped falling off his bike or fell off a trampoline, or suffered any other childhood injury, he was meant to deal with it on his own. He learned at a young age how to care for wounds using trial and error. Having someone not only pay attention to his pain, but also wanting to soothe it… it was new and… good? Odd? Comforting? Unnerving? All of the above. “I don’t mean to be.”
Eddie nods, a look of understanding crossing his expression. “I get it. Here, take these,” he says, handing Steve two painkillers and the glass of water, “I was the same way.”
“You were?” Steve asked after swallowing the meds. Surprised, he handed back the glass. Eddie nodded and started explaining. Steve doesn’t even notice Eddie wetting the washcloth and wiping the uninjured part of his foot clean before wiping the other, unmarred foot, save for some scratches. Part of him screamed at him to stop this, stop burdening others, but another part was too exhausted and secretly enjoying the attention.
“Yup,” Eddie said, not looking up, even as Steve stared at the other’s head as he spoke, “Was the most stubborn kid ever. Until I came home with a black eye and bloody nose from some bullies.” Steve takes in a sharp breath and Eddie looks up, seeing the concern for his younger self, and smiles at the currently injured boy. “I tried to lock myself in my room, but Wayne, he wouldn’t let me. Sat me down right here,” he gestures to Steve, “wiped my face and gave me an ice pack, lecturing me on the value and significance of trust in loved ones, but even more importantly, trust in myself, who I am, and what I stand for.” He looks back at Steve to see an exhausted, dopey smile on his face, and Eddie looks down at his now clean feet to hide his blush. “Sounds super cringey and cliché now, but it really made an impression on me. The next Monday I made my first cafeteria table speech; after that is when I met Gareth and Jeff and Freak.”
“I remember that,” Steve says as Eddie catches his eyes once more, “It was only like two months after you got here, and I was in awe of your confidence.”
“The King? In awe of a lowly Court Jester?!”
“Can you cut it out with that, man? I’m trying to distance myself from my former assholiness.”
“Assholiness?”
“Shut up, I'm tired.” He lets out a tired laugh that was just short of a huff.
“Fair enough. I’m going to untie the bandana; I think the bleeding has slowed.” Steve nods and lets his head rest on the back of the couch once more, closing his eyes with a sigh. Eddie carefully unknots the fabric. Steve hisses only mildly as he unwraps it, pulling a bit at the blood dried between it and the damaged skin. It starts to bleed once more and Eddie holds paper towels to the wounds, “Really hope this doesn’t need stitches, because I am not equipped for that.”
“It’ll be fine,” Steve says, not lifting his head, eyes scrunched with the pain of the pressure.
“I have to disinfect it, and it’s gonna suck.”
“I know, just get it over with.”
He loosens his hold on the towels to unscrew the cap on the rubbing alcohol. “Do you want me to count down or just—”
“Just do it,” he raises a hand in a weak motion to get on with it.
Eddie gives a tight nod before pouring some on the open skin. Even with the number of times he’s done this very thing to himself, Steve can’t help but sit up ramrod straight, letting out a short shout before breathing hard, hissing through his teeth. “All done!” Eddie assures as he dries and places gauze over the cut, keeping pressure.
Steve’s chest was heaving, his head back once more, trying to get through the pain and nausea, right as Wayne Munson walked in. “The hell?”
“Hey, Wayne!” Eddie calls, in his false bravado Wayne is so attuned to.
The moment Wayne sees the scene and looks into his nephew's eyes, he knows this can’t be good. “Want to tell me what I just walked in on, kid?”
“Still have any medic skills left in that old brain of yours?”
Wayne rolls his eyes for good measure, but comes closer, taking in the bloody paper towels, the bowl of dirty pink water, the gauze on the other boy’s foot, the few clothes he has on, and his boy looking at him for help. “I know a few things. What are we working with? What’s your name, kid?”
No response. Eddie panics for a second, turning back to Steve thinking maybe he did pass out from blood loss or something, but his eyes are open. He’s staring at the ceiling, eyes empty. “Steve?” Nothing.
“Shit, is he okay?” When he first got here, Wayne assumed the other had gotten in a fight or something. was mugged, got his clothes stolen, but nothing physically too serious other than the foot injury. Now, he’s not so sure. He comes over. Eddie is still keeping pressure on the wound Wayne has yet to see. “Son, can you hear me?” Nothing. He shakes his shoulder and the kid jumps.
“Wha?! Huh?” Steve looks around, realizes where he is, “Shit, did I space out?”
“Yes, son, scared the Hell outta me.”
Steve looks at the new person, eyes going wide, “Sorry, sir.” His spine straightens out of habit as he sits up, setting his face into an unreadable expression.
Eddie and Wayne both give each other a knowing look. Looking at Steve, the older man sees much of what Eddie was like when he first got here, before he became more comfortable and trusted Wayne more. “You’re alright, son. You hurt your foot?”
“I’m fine.” Automatic response, especially around male authority figures.
“Yeah, no, he’s not. He had a hunk of wood in his foot, and—”
“Eddie—”
He ignores Steve, “And he got knocked out by a plate weeks ago and hasn’t been the same since.”
Steve flops back down in defeat. If Wayne was as disappointed as his father and wanted to chew him out or kick him out, he'd just deal. He’s sure he can find his house from here, barring any other ‘blinking’ episodes. He hears a low whistle and a gruff voice, “Christ. Alright, let's deal with the cut first. Has it stopped bleeding?” Wayne asks Eddie as he kneels, groaning just a bit and knees popping.
Steve lifts his head from the couch, watching the two inspect his foot. Neither notices him watching. Steve can’t help but feel like he’s watching a TV show, because surely these things don't happen in real life. Surely a drug-dealing high schooler who was picked on by his former friends, and his uncle who just got off a long, tiring work shift, are not just willingly helping him with no kind of exchange. That’s what families look like on TV, in Hallmark movies and such, not real life… most certainly not his life.
His head is heavy, so he lets it lean back once more as he vaguely hears Wayne say that it should be safe enough to use the butterfly bandages in the first aid kit rather than stitches, as long as he stays off it. As they are putting them on to seal the wound, Wayne asks Eddie if he called Steve’s parents yet. Steve doesn’t even realize he laughed until the man asked what’s so funny, mid-putting on the other strips. He just shakes his head, causing the throb of his old headache to deepen a bit. Eddie finishes the strips and tapes gauze down over it as Wayne calls his empty house.
Wayne leaves a message. The kid misses the frown on the man’s face after hearing the ‘Harrington’ name, not so fondly remembering them from his high school days. Still, being a responsible adult and parent, he explains that Steve is injured and needs supervision.
Steve can’t help but let out another laugh, because the only one who listens to the voicemails is himself. He doesn’t know why he’s not hiding his feelings and reactions better, but he’s too tired to think about it much longer. His laugh petered out when the man came back, “Know when your parents will be home, son?”
“What month is it?” There’s a long pause, just the heater, the shifting of shoes, and breathing as he waits for the man to speak.
“October.”
“They said they would try to come back for my birthday.” His head is still back looking at the ceiling, exhausted by the pain, questions, attention, loneliness, stubbornness, and so many more feelings he’s too tired to list or even discern.
“And that is?”
“March 26th.”
“They’re not coming back for five months?” Wayne asks in shock.
“Maybe,” Steve shrugged from his spot. “They said that last year though, sir, so who knows. It’s fine, I can manage.” He missed the horror on the other two’s faces. His mask of confidence and secrecy was completely broken and shattered on the floor; he's not sure if he can ever piece it back together. Not sure if he wants to.
Eddie remembers that Steve mentioned something about this in his frustrated rant earlier, but he didn’t quite understand the degree of neglect. He, shamefully, had the same assumptions as the town. Golden rich boy, popular athletic playboy, untouchable King of Hawkins High, born with a silver spoon in his mouth and the world in his bowl. But Eddie was wrong, the town was wrong. The world had failed this kid.
It must be obvious Eddie doesn’t know what to do, and Wayne may not either, but he knows how to take the reins. “Alright, how about you lay down, son, and Eddie will fill me in on the rest. You can stay the night.”
“No, no, I’ll be okay. I can head home.”
“What did we talk about earlier?” Eddie asks, crossing his arms in front of him.
“I don’t know, you lectured me a lot.” He groaned.
Wayne can’t help but let out a huff of amusement along with his nephew. Eddie did his best to put his straight face back on. “It’s okay to accept help.”
“I’ll just take a little nap, and then I can get out of your hair,” Steve answers.
Eddie wanted to shake him, but he knew that would hurt the boy. Even if before tonight he never saw himself helping Steve 'The Hair' Harrington, he must admit he was wrong and that, despite what Steve says and thinks, Eddie actually does want him in his hair. That actually, the thought of Steve’s hands in his literal hair has been a guilty dream of his for years. Basically ever since it grew back from when his dad cut it off all those years ago, before Hawkins. He can’t think about it too hard though, especially not now with Steve literally in front of him.
“Sure, Stevie, you just take a nap,” he says, helping Steve turn his body so he can lie across the couch, propping both his head and foot up on separate pillows. Wayne hands Eddie a blanket he seemingly grabbed, which he used to cover Steve, the change of clothes forgotten for now.
“It won’t be long, promise,” Steve yawns mid-sentence, snuggling into the blanket unconsciously, “then I won’t bother you anymore.” The last word trailed off, and Steve was out.
“You’re not a bother, Stevie.”
“Get some rest, son.”
A physically exhausted Wayne and emotionally frayed Eddie went into the boy’s bedroom to discuss Steve’s condition, from the little Eddie knows, and next steps. After an hour, they had plans for Wayne to speak to Hopper after they both get a few hours of sleep, as well as call the neurologist number they found in the Yellow Pages, and a plan to speak to Steve when he wakes up about it all. Eddie offered Wayne his bed, as he wanted to stay in the living room with Steve.
Eddie headed for the chair, but seeing Steve’s pinched expression even in sleep made him switch directions. He came over, sitting on the floor right beside the couch cushions. He placed his head on his own folded arm, resting on the edge of the couch so he was facing Steve, watching him, worrying about him. He reached out to gently hold Steve's forearm where his hand hung limply off the side. The steady warmth of the contact seemed to smooth the tight crease in Steve's brow just a bit, just enough to make Eddie feel like he was being useful.
He stays there, listening to Steve and the sounds of the trailer, before he finally falls asleep. Steve seems to follow him into his dreams, and Eddie has no qualms about it whatsoever.