Chapter Text
Steve can’t see anything but a bright white light, and it gives him a wicked headache. He squints his eyes, trying to make out shapes, colors, anything , but there isn’t anything there.
Is that the white light he should go to? Is that how death feels like? If so, it’s much less comforting than he’d imagined.
Slowly, in what could have been moments, hours or days, Steve begins to see . He’s back in his house in Loch Nora, he can tell; the white walls, the professional family pictures hanging on them, the ones where his father had pinched his back, hard enough to leave a mark, to make sure he’s smiling wide. He walks around the house, barefoot for some reason. He’d never walked around the living room barefoot, his mom hated it. Said it felt dirty. Even during the long periods of time he was living here by himself, he wouldn’t dare take his shoes off before reaching his bedroom. When he wanders around, his fingers are grazing over the walls, over his face in the pictures, over the grand piano in the living room (haven’t his parents thrown it away when he talked back to them in ‘82?). Is this his chance to say goodbye?
Then, he hears someone talking.
“I got married today!” A child squeals happily. He turns towards the voice; it comes from the kitchen. He walks there, slowly, and sees himself sitting on one of the dining table chairs. He’s barely five years old. His mother is sitting by his side, eating a salad.
“To whom?” She asks that child version of him. Neither of them seem to notice him. “To your friend Tammy?”
The child laughs, so loud Steve can’t help but smile. He was so innocent, then. “No, silly,” he beams. “To my friend Derek. I think I’ll marry him when I grow up.”
His mother laughs. Child Steve thinks it’s because he’s being cute. Steve knows now she laughs out of nervousness. “Boys can’t marry other boys. It’s perverted. Do you know what that word means?” The child shakes his head. “That means wrong, so wrong it makes God angry. It makes God stop looking after you.”
A door opens behind him, then. His father enters, followed by a seventh-grader Steve.
“…and I won’t hear any more goddamn excuses, Stephen.” His father fumes. He’s furious- veins popping out of his temples and all. “You’re grounded.”
Steve remembers that day. It’s one he can’t forget. The Steve in front of him stands up straight, like the good little boy he is. He holds a crumpled piece of paper- his first ever F. He remembers that test; the letters danced in front of his eyes, making it hard for him to understand the words. He remembers how he tried, so hard, but his mind wouldn’t budge. He answered maybe three questions out of the twenty-eight the test had, all three he got wrong. He didn’t get anything better than a B- after that one.
“Does that include our trip to McCormick’s next week?” Steve asks in his brave boy voice.
His father laughs, and there isn’t an ounce of kindness or humor in it. “At this rate, you’re never seeing that creek again.”
It was true, Steve knows now. He really had never gone to the creek again. Such a beautiful place, so calming and nice, and now it was tainted forever by Steve being a failure.
“But, dad, please-“ Steve starts to beg. He knows what happened to him next, yet it doesn’t stop him from flinching when his father slaps him across the face.
“Do you have any idea how much shame you bring us, Stephen? I’m ashamed to call you my son.”
“I’m sorry.” Young Steve whispers.
Steve can’t see it anymore, so he gets out of the house, only to find himself in an alley. He can see himself, with Nicole, Tommy H. and Carol, spray painting Byers is a perv on a wall. They’re all laughing, as if it’s funny.
Nancy gets there first, her hair in a ponytail. She looks so young, so beautiful. Even though it’s been a while since he felt any kind of romantic feelings towards her, she’ll never stop being the prettiest girl he knows. He gets why he’d fallen so hard for her.
He stands too far, he can’t hear the hushed conversation, but he can see how he’s towering over her. How uncomfortable he makes her feel. How scary he looks. He wants to shake that past version of him, so hard until it screws his head on straight. Why was he ever so mean?
Then Jonathan walks in. He knows how that went, can’t forget that either, but he can’t help his masochistic nature. He walks closer.
“You know what, Byers? I’m actually kind of impressed, I always took you as a queer ,” he shoves him, “but I guess you’re just a screw up like your father.” Another shove. “Yeah yeah yeah, that house is full of screw ups. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, a bunch of screw ups in your family, I mean your mom,” another shove. He didn’t even remember speaking about Joyce like that, the same Joyce that held his hand and didn’t judge him when she figured out he’s in love with a boy. That’s fucked up of him, isn’t it? “I’m not even surprised at what happened with your brother…”
Steve can’t listen anymore. He closes his eyes and yells for that old Steve to stop, he’s being so loud, yet no one notices him. He can’t watch as Jonathan beats his ass. He deserves that.
When he opens his eyes again, he’s in sophomore History class with Mrs. Click. He sees himself sitting at a table at the front, one he remembers being moved to since he couldn’t stop talking to whoever sat by his side.
Behind him, one Robin Buckley. Her hair is longer, then, just a bit longer than it was when they worked together at Scoops. She sits directly behind him and privately rolls her eyes whenever he makes a poor, poor joke. He always knew what she meant when she told him, more than a year later, on the floor of some secret Russian base’s basement, when they both thought they were about to die- he was a real asshole. An awful one. The reminder, now sitting in front of his eyes, taking the shape of him making fart noises when Mrs. Click had her back turned to the class, makes him feel small. Ashamed. That was so rude, Steve, he wants to yell at the kid, but he knows he wouldn’t hear him. He also knows that even if he could hear his older self’s words, he wouldn’t care about it much. He was Steve “The Hair” Harrington, king of Hawkins High; being rude was part of the job description. He could definitely see why Robin didn’t like him all that much. He couldn’t, for the life of him, see how he could not remember her. It’s strange, seeing you and the person you care about most, who sees you more than anyone else, seeing you in the same room with them, one table separating you, and know you are complete strangers.
When he looks a bit longer, he sees Eddie, too, sitting two tables behind him and one to his right. Eddie stares at the back of his head, hiding his face behind his hair. How could I not see you?
Eddie is just as beautiful then as he would be two years later, when he’s shoving him against a wall in Reefer Rick’s boathouse and holding a broken bottle against his throat. Eddie stares at his head some more, then scribbles stuff down in his black notebook. Steve walks towards him. He’s dying, this is his life flashing before his eyes, he can indulge himself this one time, right?
He reads. Those are lyrics, he can tell, but it’s all too blurry for him to read the actual words. He wishes Eddie could read it for him, one day. Maybe even sing it for him. Perhaps Steve could accompany him on the piano or something- God, he hadn’t even touched a piano in so long, but Eddie makes him want to make music again. His heart is singing. The butterflies in his chest are singing, too. Steve loves him, he knows now. He wants to have him back. Don’t you, big boy?
When he blinks, he’s in the Upside Down again. This is the last time he’d seen Eddie alive. They are parting ways, heading towards the Creel house, when Eddie stops him.
“Hey, Steve?”
Steve turns.
“Make him pay.”
He nods.
Steve remembers how he thought then about it being a great moment to kiss him. As they walked to the house, he was busy suppressing that thought, burying it deep inside him. Why would he be thinking about kissing a boy, let alone Eddie Munson, of all people?
“Don’t go without him,” Steve tells that version of him. “Steve, wait, he’s about to die, you should keep him safe-“
That Steve doesn’t hear him. He goes anyways, not looking back. He’d give anything to go back to that moment in time, just to look back, once more. To see Eddie, living and breathing, just once more . That’s all he asks.
Steve doesn’t want to die yet, he realizes. This isn’t his time.
He’s back at that godawful white space, now. There’s nothing, no one there. Steve screams, so loud he feels his throat tearing apart. Then he screams again.
“Let me out!” He yells. “Please! Let me out!”
He falls down, useless and tired. He wants to live. He wants to live so fucking badly.
He wants to live. For Robin, for Dustin, for Nancy, for Wayne, for his parents, for the kids, for his future, for himself.
For Eddie.
He isn’t sure he can anymore.
He curls up on the white floor, with nothing else to do but wait.
So he waits.
November 26th, 1986
83 days since
Suddenly Steve can hear a voice, talking steadily. Everything is too blurry, now; he can’t tell who the voice belongs to, nor what he says, but the fact someone was talking to him was weirdly comforting. The words are a steady stream, a creek. The voice delivering them is beautiful, enunciating each word with passion, alternating between different pitches and tones. Steve wants to understand. He wants to memorize it, to fall asleep and wake up to it for the rest of his life. It must be an angel or something.
Slowly as he wakes, he can definitely tell who the voice belonged to. Oh, that voice.
“The companions sat on the ground at his feet, and Aragorn took up the tale.” Eddie reads to him. His voice is just as Steve remembers it being- soft and deep and steady. It’s Steve’s favorite sound. He wants to open his eyes, say something, but he doesn’t feel like he can yet, so he settles for listening. “For a long while Gandalf said nothing, and he asked no questions. His hands were spread upon his knees, and his eyes were closed-“
“Ed,” Steve tries. Eddie stops reading.
“Steve?” His voice trembles.
Steve tries to open his eyes. The light is too bright, so he closes them quickly again. Everything hurts. His mouth feels dry, each breath feels like sandpaper rubbing the inside of his throat.
“Holy shit, Harrington,” he can hear Eddie close the book he was reading from. He picks something else up, and as it moves, it sounds like metal hitting the floors. “I’ll go get someone. I’ll be right back. I promise.”
He can hear Eddie walking away, that thing- a cane?- hits the floor with his every step. He wants to call after him, tell him to stay, but he can’t talk much.
He doesn’t know how long it takes before Eddie comes back, accompanied by at least another two people, judging by the sound of their steps, quick and hard on the tiles beneath them.
“Mr. Munson, could you wait outside, please?” A man says. It’s someone whose voice Steve doesn’t recognize.
“No,” Steve rasps out. The man laughs fondly. He sounds relieved.
“No problem, Steve. He can stay. My name is Dr. Jameson. I’m glad you’re finally awake.” He sounds like he’s smiling. Steve decides that he likes him. Someone else, who Steve guesses is a nurse, is nudging something in his arm. “Can you open your eyes?”
“Bright.” He rasps out.
The nurse leaves his arm, then he can hear a light switch being flickered.
“Try again. It’s darker now.”
Steve opens his eyes.
The room is dark, yet there are enough little lights for him to make out details.
He’s lying in a hospital bed.
At the foot of his bed sits a man, an older one. His hair is almost white, and he’s kindly smiling at him, crow feet so deep that they are going up to his temples. Steve trusts him.
Near the wall and next to the light switch stands a nurse, a blonde-haired woman who can’t be any older than 30. She’s pretty, Steve notices, the kind of pretty Steve would have tried his luck with in the past.
And behind the doc…
Eddie sits on a chair right next to his bed, a black cane resting by the chair’s right side.
He doesn’t look the same, now. His hair is short, his curls running close to his scalp. His rings are still there, so is the chipped black on his nails, so very him . He’s staring at Steve, doe eyes full of worry and happiness and something else Steve can’t put a finger on, and his wide smile doesn’t falter for one moment. He’s still the most beautiful person Steve had ever met. Steve wants to smile back, but everything hurts too much.
They brought Eddie back home, hadn’t they?
“Better now?” Dr. Jameson asks and Steve nods, or maybe doing something close enough to a nod since he doesn’t seem to be able to move his head around so much. “Like I said, I’m Dr. Jameson, and this is nurse Eleanor,” the nurse waves at him. “We’re here to make sure your healing process will be the fastest and healthiest it can be. We’re turning the light back on, alright? It might take a few moments for your eyes to adjust to it, but let them.”
Steve doesn’t respond, he isn’t sure he can, but he hopes they understand he’s fine with it. Nurse Eleanor turns the lights back on, and it’s so bright it’s painful, but it’s a little easier for him to get his eyes used to it this time.
There are more details he can make out, now; the tubes and needles stuck everywhere in his body, the painting of the sea up on the wall to his right, the inscription in a language Steve doesn’t recognize on Eddie’s cane.
“Care to look at my finger, Stephen?” The doctor asks.
“Steve.” Steve corrects quietly.
Dr. Jameson smiles. “Okay, Steve. Now, follow my finger with your eyes only, not with your head.”
The doctor and the nurse run tests upon tests on him, most of which he feels like he’s failing, but ever so slowly Steve feels just a teeny tiny bit better. He can form sentences now, short but full ones, and to actively use the muscles of his face, also his fingers. He can’t move much more than that yet.
After a while they seem to be done physically checking him, at least for today. “Looks like you’re gonna live,” the doctor jokes. Steve didn’t really think he would. “You’ll stay here a while for observation and for the beginning of your physical therapy, and after that, you’re going back home. Where do you live, Steve?”
Steve doesn’t know how to answer that. He doesn’t know the date. “I don’t know,” he whispers dumbly.
“Don’t you remember your address?” The doctor asks, looking at the nurse as if there was a part of the tests they missed. Like it was the wrong answer.
“No, I do,” Steve starts weakly, “I lived in Loch Nora, but I was about to move somewhere else in October.”
“Where?” The doctor inquires.
“Dunno.”
“He’ll be staying with me and my uncle,” Eddie chimes in, speaking for the first time since Steve fully woke up. He states this as fact, undoubted and firmly rooted in its place. Steve wouldn’t argue even if he could.
“Alrighty then.” The doctor smiles at them both. “Agent Stinson is on her way, to help you fill in the factual gaps in your memory. We’ve also made contact with your parents, I assume they are also on their way. In the meantime, rest, try to move as much as you feel you can. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
And with that, both the doctor and the nurse are out.
He’s alone with Eddie again. They are silent, for a moment, simply looking at each other. Now, when Eddie moves the chair he sits on closer to his hospital bed, Steve can see him more clearly. His curls are short, but he has one that falls on his forehead, childish and adorable. When he had this long mane of his, bangs and all, he seemed like he had sharper edges and rougher corners. He looks rounder now, in a way. Softer. Steve loves him all the same. He did get skinnier, though; Steve can tell by the way his Corroded Coffin shirt (that Eddie had obviously made by himself) sits loose on his shoulders. He has bags under his eyes, dark ones, and Steve wants to hug him. Or something.
Eddie looks at him, too. His eyes seem to be skimming all over his face, but he seems a bit shameful about it. Steve hopes the fact he’s doing just the same signals him that he’s allowed to stare.
Steve wonders what Eddie sees, now. Is he scarred? Is his own hair okay?
Eddie smiles, just a little bit, his eyes doing most of the smiling for him.
“Hey, Harrington.”
Steve smiles weakly. “Hey, Munson.”
Eddie reaches his hand out, to touch Steve’s gently. For a moment, Steve wants to flinch back. He doesn’t want to feel that emptiness, that strange feeling of Eddie’s fingers moving through him, touching nothing. Then he remembers-
“You’re alive,” he whispers as their hands meet. Eddie’s hand holds his and it’s real, it’s so real. His fingers are warm where his rings are cold, his fingertips rough and calloused, and they are touching, they are really touching, and Steve feels complete.
“Told you so,” Eddie jokes, but Steve makes a face.
“I’m sorry, Eddie,” Steve mutters. He’s too tired and weak to cry. “I’m so sorry.”
“You have nothing to apologize for, sweetheart. You saved my life.” He squeezes his hand softly. “And besides, I thought you weren’t real either, so we’re cool.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, I thought I lost my mind or something, so I made up a Harrington shaped imaginary friend.”
“Why did you keep listening to me telling you you’re not real, then?”
“I don’t know,” Eddie shrugs. “I guess I love indulging you.”
Steve smiles, a tiny quirk of his lips. “What happened to your hair?”
“It got too tangled, so I shaved it,” he tells him.
“And…” Steve begins.
“I can’t tell you anything yet,” Eddie says, “agent Stinson told me so. Not before she addresses the situation, whatever.”
“Anybody died?” Steve asks desperately.
“No, Stevie. Everyone’s okay now.” Eddie squeezes his hand once more. Steve feels like he’s breathing again.
They all made it out alive.
Eddie draws tiny circles on the back of Steve’s hand with his thumb, and Steve doesn’t want to ever let him go again.
They don’t talk much after that. Not for lack of things to say, Steve has more than enough things he feel like he should tell Eddie, more than enough questions he wants to have answered (namely, how long has he been out? ), but for the fact that is beginning to dawn on them both- they’re both here, both alive, both real. They have time.
So for now, they’re content with sitting there in silence, holding hands and simply being, with the occasional is that painful? from Eddie and nah, that’s fine from Steve.
After a while the door opens again, and agent Stinson walks in. “Hello, Steve,” she greets him. She grabs another chair and sits by Eddie’s side. Eddie lets go of Steve’s hand when she’s close enough to see them touching. ״I’m assuming you have many questions. I’m here to give you some answers. Do you want Eddie to stick around?” She asks. He slowly nods. “Fine. I do have a question before I start- what’s the last thing you remember?”
Steve thinks. His mind feels hazy. What does he remember?
“Umm, we were going to get Eddie back,” he chokes out. His throat hurts, but he continues anyway. “I was at the Creel’s house. Then I went to sleep- that was how I could contact Eddie,” he coughs. “And then Vecna was talking to me, and I was running, and… that’s it, I think.”
“When was that?”
“Yesterday?” He tries.
“Do you remember what date it was yesterday?”
“September 4th.”
She sighs. “Steve, today is November 26th. You missed quite a bit.”
November 26th.
There are a few things he can gather from that date- he’s homeless now, he’s been gone for nearly three months, it’s Thanksgiving tomorrow.
“Robin and Nancy?” He asks. Agent Stinson turns to Eddie.
“Should be here tomorrow morning,” he assures him. Steve smiles a little at that.
“What did I miss, then?” He asks, bracing himself.
Agent Stinson clears her throat. “I’ll tell you the basic facts. Eddie, I assume, will fill you in on the rest.
“Eleven was successful in her mission to kill Henry Creel. That last fight resulted in no deaths, with the exception of Henry Creel, and four casualties, you included- Jim Hopper was slashed across his chest and was in moderate condition, Michael Wheeler bit by mutant bats and suffered minor injuries, Dustin Henderson suffering a sprained ankle, and you. You were found in the Creel house, suffering from severe head trauma and unresponsive.” Eddie flinches as she says so. “You were transported to Hawkins’ hospital, where you are now. You were unstable at first, so much so that the question whether or not to declare brain death arose, but soon you were showing steady signs of brain activity again, so you remained here. Eddie Munson was also retrieved from the thing you dub as the Upside Down, but about that he’ll tell you himself. Generally, the bottom line is this- there are no more gates to the Upside Down, and Hawkins is in no imminent danger.”
Steve lets all that sink in, for a long few moments.
They’re all okay, right?
They made it out.
“And the murder allegations?” He asks.
“Dropped,” Eddie supplies.
“Oh. Okay.”
“The story the public knows is this: Henry Creel, who was considered dead, broke into the Munson trailer and killed Chrissy Cunningham, abducting Eddie,” agent Stinson explains, “and fleeing with him to the abandoned Creel house. Then he murdered both Fred Benson and Patrick McKinney, all while using Eddie as a distraction to the authorities. With the helpful help of volunteers, you included, the police took hold of Henry, who died during a struggle with Hawkins P.D.
“I understand you were instructed by the medical team to stay here for a while?” She asks. He nods. “After that, since your house is already sold, we will contact you in regard to a place to stay.”
“Did my parents leave me here?” He sounds like a child. Agent Stinson’s eyes grow sad.
“They…” she has this look on her face, when you have something shitty to say but try to put it lightly, as if Steve was five and she had to be the one to tell him Santa isn’t real. “Weren’t very optimistic about your condition. They are, however, on a plane here as we speak.”
He nods. He wants her to tell them they shouldn’t bother, but he can’t bring himself to do it. His need for his parents to love him is, for some fucked up reason, depending on how shitty they are to him. The more fucked up things they do, the bigger his need for them to hug him and tell him he’s loved, no matter what. “Alright.”
“Do you have any more questions I can help you with?”
He pauses. He feels like he should have many more, right? He missed three months, they defeated Vecna, he’s gotta ask about something. His mind is too sleepy, though- he just woke up and he already feels ready to sleep again.
“No. I guess not.” he says eventually. “Thank you.”
“Good. Call me if you need anything, okay?” She gets up. “Take your time to rest. You’ve been through a lot.” She looks at him with a mixture of kindness and a tiny bit of pity, a look Steve doesn’t like much, but he also doesn’t hate her for it. He smiles at her as she leaves.
The moment she closes her door behind her, Eddie’s hand sneaks back into his.
“How are you feeling?”
“Like shit,” he sighs. That’s what Max told him when she woke up, back in July. He feels so very lucky all of a sudden. “I’m tired.”
“Go back to sleep, then.” The corners of Eddie’s mouth tug up to a soft smile. “I’ll tell you all about everything tomorrow.”
“Will you stay here with me?”
“Yeah,” Eddie says with a shrug, like it’s obvious. “Got nowhere better to be.”
Steve squeezes his hand softly. “Could you wake me up if my parents are here?” Eddie nods. “Thank you. Good night, Eddie.”
“Good night, Stevie.”
—
He falls asleep easily. He’s exhausted, in every possible way- his eyelids are heavy and his eyes burn from all the bright lights, and his mind, well… a lot is going on.
He dreams when he sleeps. The very beginning of a nightmare- he’s in the Russian base, tied to a chair.
“Who do you work for?” A Russian officer barks at him. His entire body is shaking, adrenaline and fear doing their thing. His breath hitches.
“Scoops Ahoy,” he tries weakly again, and just as he’s about to be hit again, there’s a soft hand on his arm.
“Stevie, wake up,” a voice says. Eddie. Oh, Eddie’s here to save him again. He feels so safe all of a sudden, sitting here when he knows he’s about to get the beating of his life, because he knows Eddie’s there. He’s with him and he’ll be okay. “Steve. Your parents are outside.”
“Oh,” he whispers as his eyes flutter. He’s back in the hospital bed. He can’t move much yet, his muscles weak and tired. His eyes flutter open lazily.
Eddie is there. He forgot about the lack of hair thing for a moment, and wow , Eddie is still so pretty. His brows furrow, a soft line forming right in between them. “You want me to stay? With your folks, I mean.”
Steve considers it for a moment. “Nah, ain’t gonna be pretty.”
Eddie nods thoughtfully. “Alright. I’ll go make some calls, then, not everyone knows you’re up yet.” He smiles, just a little bit. “I’ll be back when they’re gone.”
“Did you sleep at all?” Steve asks him, squeezing his hand.
Eddie laughs. “Fuck, man, why are you being worried about me ? You’re the one in a hospital gown. I’m okay, don’t you worry your pretty head.” Steve isn’t convinced, not at all, but he’s too tired to fight about it. “I’ll see you soon, then.” Eddie gets up, letting Steve’s hand go so he can lean on his cane.
Steve watches him go slowly. Eddie looks so tired, but he’s selfish like that. He doesn’t want him to leave yet. That’s fucked up of him, right? Seeing someone you care about fighting to keep their eyes open and not allowing them to do anything about that? He’d punch his own face if he could move his fist that high.
A few moments later his parents enter the room. They are dressed formally, as always- his father in a grey suit, his mother in a purple dress. Impersonal. His mother’s eyes are only slightly red and puffy, has she been crying? What the hell she got to cry about? His father has his arm on the small of her back, and Steve has a bitter thought, that it is probably the most physical affection he had ever seen them display towards one another. He can’t remember them ever holding hands, not a single kiss on any forehead. He wishes to never love like them.
“Stephen,” his mother mumbles. She sounds weak, and his father notices it too. His arm slightly moves and she stands up straighter. “How are you feeling?”
“Good,” he lies easily. “How’s California?”
“Good.”
They are quiet again.
He’s been in a coma for three months, in which they officially kicked him out of the house and moved to fucking California, which is four flight hours away, and also apparently were about to literally plug him off of his life support, and that’s it? A polite how are you feeling and nothing more?
Steve laughs, and it sounds strained. It hurts so he stops laughing as soon as he starts. “What, that’s it?” He challenges. “You flew four hours for this?”
“No, honey, we just wanted-“ his mother starts. He’s so fucking angry. Furious , but he knows better than trying to say anything about it any more. He knows they wouldn’t understand. He knows they don’t know how to be parents. He knows they’re miserable. God, he fucking hopes they are.
“That’s okay,” he whispers. He actually kind of pities them, when he thinks about it. They’re both stuck in a loveless marriage with a child they can’t stand. What a shit way to live. “About the house-“
“We deposited 3,000 dollars into your bank account,” his father says, “to help with the first few months of rent, since you couldn’t work for it.”
He wants to resist, to tell them to shove their pity money where the sun doesn’t shine, but he doesn’t know Wayne’s policy regarding rent (and he will obviously pay him something for living there), so those three grand sound like a good idea, even though each cent will stink of shame. He feels cheap. Hey, sorry we never gave a shit about you, here’s some money to make you feel better about it.
Instead, he opts for a simpler answer: “okay. Thank you.”
“Look at the bright side of things, son-“ his father continues, “if you’ll finally take my advice and apply for UCLA, this whole rescuing a stranger from a murderous psycho will look great on the application paper. You’ll easily get into business school.”
Steve feels like screaming.
“Are we seriously having this conversation right now?” He sounds weak. Tired, even though he slept more than enough. It’s not a physical tiredness, then.
“Just something you should take into consideration.”
“Okay.” He says. “I think I’ll go back to sleep. Thank you for visiting.”
His mother puts a soft hand on his shoulder. He almost flinches. “We’re always here for you, alright, dear? Always.”
Yeah, right.
“I know. Thank you. Have a good flight home.”
He closes his eyes, as if to signal to his parents that he’s done with this conversation. He hears his mother sigh.
“Nothing’s ever good enough for him,” his father mumbles on his way out of the room. “Always with that goddamn tone . This is from your side, not mine.”
Steve’s glad when they close the door behind them. It feels final, in a way. If he chooses so, he can never see them again. He can be free to do whatever, go wherever, be whoever. He doesn’t know if he wants to laugh or maybe to cry and call them back in there again. Instead, he just stares blankly at the white ceiling and waits for Eddie to come back.
It takes him a while, but he seems happy nonetheless. “How’d it go?” Eddie inquires as he limps to his bedside, back to the chair he occupied before.
“Better than I thought, worse than I hoped?”
“Makes sense.” He holds Steve’s hand again. It feels natural, and Steve craves that contact. “I told pretty much everyone you were awake.”
“Good,” he smiles softly. “Thank you. Hey, get some sleep, alright?”
“I’ve already told you I’m fine, mom . Cross my heart and hope to die.”
“Eddie, you’re Jewish. You don’t cross your heart.”
“Yeah, but it sounds more metal. Don’t you fucking judge me, asshole.” He grins, his shit-eating grin, the same one he had whenever Steve stifled a laugh at Eddie mocking one of his friends in Hawkins’ high cafeteria. God, he missed him so fucking much. He missed that smile, missed his shitty jokes, missed his stupid face. How happy he is to have him back.
“Tell me about these last few months, then.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything, I guess?”
Eddie nods thoughtfully, scratching his chin with his free hand. “Let’s see. I woke up, like, three doors down from here, so I have no fucking clue what happened those first two weeks.” He shrugs. “I was told, like, after… Remember when the bats bit me? So I became a part of the hive mind, or something like that. Vecna used that connection and gave me insight to other people’s dreams, so I helped him feed. You were a funky surprise.” He laughs humorlessly.
“I was nourished by the hive mind,” he continues, “so when you guys found me, I was dehydrated, underfed, all that jazz. It took the docs a while to stabilize me, but they did and now I’m healthy and happy and blah blah blah. That’s enough about me. The rest of the party… Hopper took the hardest hit, but he was fine. Only lost consciousness on the way to the hospital, I think. The rest of them were generally okay. Everyone took what happened to you hard, though. Dustin and Will took it the hardest, I think. Will said he saw it all happening to you, and I saw the same thing with Chrissy, so I know how it can fuck you up. He also said you had a heart to heart right before, so… yeah, I guess I understand why he…”
“Why he what?” Steve asks, his brows furrowing. Oh, god, did anything happen to Will because of him?
“He’s fine,” Eddie clarifies. “He just, like, wouldn’t leave his room for the first month and a half. Had Joyce worried sick. And you know Henderson. He has this brave face, right? But whenever I was here after him I could tell he’d been crying.”
“What, were you taking shifts?” Steve laughs. Eddie doesn’t. Oh.
“We figured someone had to be here when you woke,” Eddie shrugs. There’s something unspoken there. He doesn’t address it.
“Anyhoo,” he continues, dramatic as always, clapping his hands together. “Wayne is now in on everything, NDA and all that, so feel free around him. He’s been here a lot too. Told me you two grown close while I was gone.”
“Yeah, he said he hated me at first,” Steve smiles softly. “How is he?”
“He’s good, yeah. Didn’t take you being gone that hard, really. He kept saying you’re not dead so it’s a win, and that you’ll be back.”
“And your leg? What happened to it?”
Eddie shrugs. “I was tied up standing for six months. Both my legs got fucked for it, but it’s getting better. I’m walking, which is a medical miracle or something, they had already told me I wouldn’t be able to walk again.”
“So you flipped them off and skipped away?” Steve’s smile grows playful.
Eddie laughs. “Something like it, yeah.”
Steve laughs, then coughs. “Color me surprised.”
Eddie squeezes his hand. “Are you still tired?”
“Kinda,” Steve admits. “Don’t know if I can actually sleep, though. But, Eds, get some sleep. Please. I’ll be here when you wake.”
Eddie opens his mouth to resist, but Steve looks at him with pleading eyes so he sighs and nods. He looks so tired. “Fine. Okay. I’m sleeping here, though.”
Steve smiles at him, softly. “Good night, then,”
“Good night.”
Eddie slumps back in his chair, closing his eyes. Steve watches him until, real sooner than he thought, his breath evens out. He loosely holds Steve’s hand as he sleeps, and Steve also doesn’t feel like letting him go just yet.
A bird sings by his window. Steve feels like he blooms.