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What had been searing pain below Steve Harrington’s ribs—thanks a lot, fucking bat monsters—settled into a dull throb as he stumbled under a canopy of spindly, upside-down shit-covered trees. Particles like those fuzzy white weeds you blow on to make wishes littered the air. It was freezing here, and maybe it should be more worrying than it was, how Steve relished the icy air against his burning skin. A hand absently brushed the shirt wrapped taut around his middle. Billy’s shirt, damp from lake water and blood and christ knows what else.
Maybe he was dying. Maybe Robin was right, maybe those creepy batshit crawlies infected him with rabies, and he was just a minute or two away from throwing punches in some half-crazed hallucination, but it was kinda hard to care at this point. Exhaustion and that all-encompassing, persistent ache numbed the anxiety, and Steve’s mind wandered down other avenues instead.
Billy’s hands had been cold against his bare, flushed skin. Like the air. Steve almost shivered in remembrance.
“Harrington—shit.”
“I’m…shit, I’m fine.”
“No you’re fucking not. Sit down before you make it worse.”
Billy had stripped off his top, a knot of grim concentration between his eyebrows as he wrapped the material around Steve—pulled it tight. It stung like a bitch. Billy didn’t apologize when Steve hissed, muscles clenching, but then…did he imagine it? Rough fingertips grazed Steve’s side with such unexpected gentleness that Steve could only stare, pain forgotten while Billy growled something about how next time he gets to dive in first, cause they both know who’s better in a fight. And wasn't it just like Billy Hargrove to punctuate something soft with something vicious.
Billy's hands lingered longer than either of them would ever admit.
“Too tight?”
“Uh…yeah, maybe.”
“Good.”
Steve had laughed. After that, a heavy silence settled between them as if there was too much to say, but not enough time to get it all out. Billy's eyes were stupidly blue, his hands solid and safe, and Steve opened his mouth to speak when - well. Billy picked up his flashlight and moved away. He left Steve staring, tongue thick and useless, wondering what the hell just happened.
Crunching leaves tugged him back to present, and oh, yeah. Pain. Doom and gloom. The end of the world. Billy forged ahead, an ominous blue glow pooling between his bare shoulder blades despite Eddie’s former admonishing—for your modesty, dude. The jean vest Billy’d been given swung with every stride, clutched in one of his fists. Robin huddled close to the front. She was probably trying to pretend she wasn’t still freaked out about the possibility of rabies-Steve going all rabid psycho on her.
Whatever, man.
Steve and Eddie trailed behind several steps, Steve because simple things like breathing, keeping upright and forgetting what happened with Billy took a special kind of focus; Eddie because…well. Who knew? The notorious Hellfire leader walked with an awkward sort of jerkiness, wary of every shadow and nothing like Billy, who bared his teeth to the dark like it owed him respect. Huh. Eddie's eyes kept flitting this way and that, arms swinging back and forth, back and forth with a restlessness that made Steve’s head hurt. The guy’s paranoia might have been comical in any other circumstance - but, well, shit. He had a reason to be fucked up. Billy, too. They just all wore “fucked up” a little differently.
Still, pity welled in his stomach, which was different from the vague disgust and jealousy he used to feel when Henderson went on his stupid rants about how great Eddie was. Steve remembered when he was new to all this shit, too. He remembered what that flavor of terror tasted like the first time. So...he found himself clearing his throat.
“Hey—Eddie.” Brown curls whipped around as that jumpy gaze found Steve’s, and he almost laughed, because was he about to say this to Eddie ‘the freak’ Munson? What a world. Dustin would be grinning one of his stupid-ass grins if he could hear them right now. “Hey, man. Listen…I just wanna say thanks. For saving my ass back there.”
Shock replaced the panic in Eddie’s face, followed by a slow, tentative smile. His voice carried the pulse of his former bravado when he answered: “Shit. You saved your own ass, man. I mean…that was a real Ozzy move you pulled back there.”
“Ozzy?”
“When you took a bite out of that bat? Ozzy Osbourne?”
Steve shook his head.
“Black Sabbath? He bit a bat's head off onstage? You know?”
Steve ducked under a jagged branch ahead of them, wincing when the movement split his sides. Billy's shirt darkened. Yeah...no way the blood would ever wash out of it. “Uh..sorry, no.”
“Doesn't matter.” Eddie dipped after him. “It's very metal, what you did. That's all I'm saying.”
Steve grinned faintly, eyes on the ground. He thought he might vomit from the taste of blood stuck in his mouth, his torso was on fucking fire, his throat got cut up and sore and he still felt the places where Billy touched him; none of it seemed very ‘metal’, but whatever. Eddie was trying to pay him a compliment or...something. It was tempting, but he wouldn't be a dick about it. “…Thanks.”
“Henderson told me that you're a badass. Insisted on the matter, in fact.”
Hold up. Steve couldn’t help blinking in surprise, pace slowing. “Wait - Henderson said that?”
Eddie laughed like he already regretted whatever was about to come out of his mouth. “Oh yeah. Shit. Kid worships you, dude. You have no idea.” Warmth—the non-feverish kind—inflated something inside Steve. “It's kind of annoying? To be honest? I don't even know why I care what that little shrimp thinks...but uh, guess I got a little jealous, Steve. Guess I couldn't accept the fact that Steve Harrington was actually a good dude.”
That drew out a scoff, but the dismissal only seemed to encourage Eddie.
“See, for instance, Hargrove is an asshole, and that makes sense. A shit-ton of sense. But you? Rich parents, popular, chicks love him, not a douche? No way man, no way. That flies in the face of all the laws in the universe—and my own personal Munson doctrine.” A small pause. Eddie licked his lip, as if debating whether to share something before continuing. “Still super jealous as hell, by the way. Which is why I would never have jumped in that lake to save your ass. Not under any, ah…normal circumstances. Nope." Eddie's bitter tone didn't match his smile. "Outside of D&D, I am no hero. I see danger and I just turn heel and run. Or at least, that's what I've learned about myself this week.”
“Give yourself a break man,” Steve interjected, and not just because the string of compliments was starting to make him feel squirmy. If anything, Eddie was the one guy acting normally about this shit, and there was nothing wrong with that. Was the guy a freak? Abso-fucking-lutely, just. Not a coward.
Eddie kept on as if he didn’t hear Steve at all. “See - the only reason I came in here was 'cause those guys,” he jabbed a finger in the direction or Robin and Billy, “came in straight after you. I was too ashamed to be the one who stayed behind.” Steve was about to object again, tell Eddie to shove his self-deprecation up his ass and just breathe a second, but he didn’t get the chance. Eddie said something else that made him almost choke.
“But Hargrove, right there? Yeah, the dude who wins second prize for 'stupidest hair in Hawkins'?” Eddie leaned in close enough for Steve to feel his exhales; he smelled hazy like smoke and kind of sour, like bat-guts. It might’ve been weirder, but this was Eddie. A lack of personal space awareness tracked. Steve stared, nails digging into his palms, wondering where the hell this was gonna go. “He didn't waste a second. Not one second. He just…dove right in.”
Uh. Steve’s throat went dry, skin stinging everywhere. He wanted to stop Eddie from talking. Shut him up, pretend he didn’t hear any of this shit, but some obscene part of him didn’t want that at all.
“Now, I don't know what's going on between you two,” Eddie drawled slowly, as if he decided to adopt some self-awareness out of nowhere and recognized he might be teetering on the edge of a dangerous subject, “but if I were you, I would do something about it. Cause that? Was as unambiguous a sign of true love as these cynical eyes have ever seen."
He actually did choke then. Shit. Steve didn’t even register the pat on his shoulder before Eddie trudged off in the direction of Robin and Billy, leaving him behind to short-circuit alone. What the fuck was that? Something odd fluttered under his skin, and despite Robin’s fretting, he doubted it had anything to do with rabies.
Goddamn it. He wanted to march over and pull Billy aside, glare into the blue of his eyes with those stupidly long eyelashes and demand to know if what Eddie said was true. He wanted to never meet Billy’s gaze again, forget any of this shit ever happened—go back to doomed flirting with 'babes' who waltzed into Family Video, where even if every exchange sent him hurtling for disappointment, it was safe for that exact reason.
“We don’t have all fucking day, Harrington!” Billy’s rigid voice made Steve jump. Fuck.
“Yeah," he yelled back, trying to sound annoyed. Failing miserably. "Whatever, man.”
And then, because they could never have anything nice, screeching tore through the air and the shit-covered earth started quaking beneath their feet. Eddie cursed something about 'Christ' and 'goddamn it, not again' up ahead; Robin reached out to grab Billy’s forearm while Billy scanned the woods, sporting one of his fiercest scowls. Steve shoved what Eddie said out of his mind. Later, he decided. Later…if they made it out of this...he’d talk to Billy.