#gremilin | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe · 11 months

Text

i'm outta my head over you Pt. 5

prologue (Pt. 1) | Pt. 2 | Pt. 3 | Pt. 4 | AO3 | playlist

today's @steddie-week prompts: hurt/comfort and familiar

While he waits for Wayne to get home so he can confront him about the ‘Teddy’ thing, Eddie thinks back on everything Steve had added to this tape.

He remembers that first time he actually talked to Steve; he was well aware of his existence before the King had so graciously graced him and Gareth with his presence that day, but was that really the time Steve was talking about in his notes? It had to be, there weren’t any other times they talked until the spring break from Hell.

It was only ever burning jealousy for Nancy Wheeler before (and after) that first time. Bitter thoughts of ‘I’d be much better for you than her,’ when he’d spotted them kissing against Nancy’s locker.

“I was made for lovin’ you, baby..” Eddie mumble-sings to himself at the memory. That was weird.

Then Steve had gone and dropped his haughty King Steve persona, bullied out of it By Hargrove. He lost Wheeler to Byers, and somehow didn’t become more of an asshole?

Much like the KISS song from a second ago, Eddie sings “Disaster and disgrace, the King has lost his Crown..” without even thinking about it. The song yanked up from whatever recess of his mind holds onto ABBA songs.

Huh. Wait a minute…

Eddie hops up and starts shuffling through his and Wayne’s admittedly impressive record collection. KISS’s Dynasty album he needed was not too hard to find, but Voulez-Vous? That’s…gonna be harder. It’s gotta be around here somewhere though, ABBA is one of Wayne’s guilty pleasures.

Shit…he and Steve have much more in common than he thought…

Eddie moves onto thinking back over those couple weeks spent hiding out with Steve while he hunts. He’s got a few hours to kill.

-------

The days spent at Casa Harrington both felt like they’d crawled by at a snail's pace, and were over and behind him all too soon.

It was awkward in the beginning, but they quickly fell into a pattern.

Eddie was in the guest room on the main floor so he didn’t have to walk more than he needed to with the fresh graft wound on his leg, and Steve was on the couch in the living room (much to Eddie’s dismay).

“Steve, for the love of all that is unholy, PLEASE just sleep in your own bed? I’m perfectly fine down here, promise.”

“Not happenin’ Eds. My couch is super comfy anyway.”

Steve helps him to the bathroom whenever he needs it, and when he’s at work, Eddie uses those short trips to stretch his leg like his doctor said to.

Luckily for Eddie, the initial bandages on both his donor graft wound and his grafted wound (the biggest on one his left side) came off while he was still in the hospital, so he was able to shower and clean the areas with the mild soap Steve got for him.

Steve would help him over the lip of the tub after he got undressed (another time to slowly work on stretching the areas a bit), and take his towel from around the curtain once he was in.

Then he’d hover (every. time.), pretending that he had things to clean in the main floor bathroom until Eddie was done, and help him back out once a towel was around his waist.

The first couple days were the worst; Eddie had next to no energy at all for doing anything , but Steve is nothing if not a gracious host; so when he was led to the bathroom on the first day he needed a shower, Eddie found a small stool in the tub already, the usual bath mat outside the tub, plus some of those stick-on grippy things were stuck onto the floor of the tub and laid out in a path on the tile to where the sink was.

They were shaped like ducks.

“Ducks, huh?”

“Yep! ‘Rubber Duckie, you’re the one’ and all that. You like ‘em?” He sang (in a perfect imitation of Ernie), genuine as ever.

“Yeah Stevie, I love ‘em.” What else was he gonna say?

Steve had set him down on the closed lid of the toilet and started the water for him, aiming the shower head away from the curtain.

“Okay, let's get these bandages off, huh? Arms up!”

Eddie obliges, raising his arms up over his head as far as they could go for Steve to carefully pull his shirt over his head.

“Sit up straight for me.” He does, and Steve gently works the two large sections of gauze and tape across his torso off.

By time he’s done, Eddie’s shaking with the effort of holding himself up.

“Okay, okay, relax,” Steve coos, “I just have to get the one on your face now, then we’ll worry about your leg.”

Eddie nods, leaning his uninjured cheek into Steve’s large palm while he works the bandage off his other cheek and jaw.

Steve’s hands are so warm, he starts to fall asleep.

“Wake up, sunshine, gotta stand you up.” Steve says, the smile evident in his voice.

Eddie nods, keeping his eyes closed while Steve helps him up, and guides him to hold onto the towel bar.

“Okay, I’m going to take off your sweats, and then I’ll lift the leg of your shorts to take the bandage off. Is that okay, Eddie?”

Eddie nods, still tired.

“Eddie, please tell me what I’m going to do so I know you heard me.”

“Pants off, leg up.”

Wait.

“Wait, that sounded wrong.”

Steve just chuckles, “At least I know you were listening.”

He does exactly what he said he was going to do, and stands back up.

Oh no, now all that’s left is his boxers.

“OK, I’m going to put this over your shoulders and clip it in front,” of course he’s already got a plan for this. Eddie’s heart swells in his chest. “Then all you have to do is shimmy outta your shorts; you’ll still be covered up. Is that alright?”

“Yeah Stevie, sounds great.” Eddie chuckles, and Steve wraps a huge fluffy towel over him. “Where’d you get a giant towel?” he asks as it’s clipped around him with a just-as-giant claw clip.

Eddie feels Steve’s chuckle against his back and fights the urge to relax backward into his arms forever.

“It’s called a bath sheet. You can take some with you when you leave if you want.”

“Hm…A few will have my plasma all over ‘em.” Eddie rationalizes, getting another chuckle from the other man.

“Alright, smarty pants, you should be secure. When you’re ready, I’ll help you get over the edge of the tub so you can sit down on the stool.”

Eddie nods, and starts working his boxers down. Once off, he looks behind him for Steve.

If he wasn’t holding onto this rack for dear life, he’d probably keel over with how hard he laughs.

“What?” Steve feigns stupidity.

“Nice mask, Steve-o.” he’s wearing a leopard print eye mask, his hair sticking out goofily on the sides from where the elastic cinches above his ears.

“I can take it off if you wan–”

“No! Leave it!” Eddie laughs, grateful Steve can’t see how red his face is right now. “Can’t have ya getting a sneak peek of the goods.”

Steve shrugs, “I’ll just wait for the premiere, then. Now!” he brushes past that (and Eddie’s spluttering), “Let’s get you settled.”

He reaches forward for Eddie’s hand on the rack, dwarving it in his, and gently guides the two of them forward, his front to Eddie’s back as support. Damn, his legs are tired.

Steve reaches out ahead of them and blindly swipes for the shower curtain once, twice, catching it on the third swipe and sliding it open.

“Okay Eds, be very careful.”

Eddie steps slowly and carefully over the edge of the tub, realizing why Steve turned the showerhead earlier. The spot he’s stepping onto is still bone dry, much safer.

“Both feet are in, Cap’n. Hold this?” He swaps his hand in Steve’s for the corner of his towel. “Gonna take the clip off and you can take the towel.”

“Got it,” Steve says, and once he’s thrown the towel behind him: “Hand please?”

Eddie puts his hand back where it belongs, and lets himself be supported while he sinks down, slowly, onto the stool.

“I’m good Stevie, thank you.”

“‘Kay.”

He straightens, letting go of Eddie’s hand and snaps the curtain shut briefly, opening the other end to reach up for the showerhead.

“Ooh, fancy.” Eddie snarks when he catches the handheld head from Steve’s outstretched arm (it was almost too far to his left to grab).

“Shut up.” Steve chuckles and closes the curtain again, talking through it now. “The head should fit between the wall and the bar there, so you can put it down if you need to, the soap you should use is on the shelf on the left with a washcloth, and I snagged my mom’s curly-hair shampoo and conditioner,”

Eddie feels like he’s gonna cry.

“...Doc said not to let the water beat down on your wounds so make sure you keep the spray away, yell if you need me or when you’re done, okay? I’ll grab my blindfold and be here in two seconds flat.”

“Got it, thanks Steve.” Eddie manages through the lump in his throat.

“No problem Eddie."

Steve’s just as careful, gentle, respectful, on Eddie’s way out of the shower; blindfold on, he keeps his arms out for Eddie to lean on while he dries the majority of the water off himself, holding him steady while he pulls on a new pair of boxers.

“I’m taking the blindfold off now,” Steve says, then does, when he doesn’t hear any complaints from his friend. “You gotta stay standing for a little bit longer, okay? Gotta get your leg wrapped up first.”

Eddie nods, trying his best to hold back how heavy his breaths are coming with the constant exertion over the past half hour.

As soon as the last piece of tape is in place, Steve lowers him back onto the lid of the toilet.

“Here, drink this whole glass.” He says, handing Eddie a glass of water and the painkillers he needs.

By the time the water is gone, he’s air dried a bit more.

Steve carefully scrunches the water from Eddie’s hair, expertly twists it up into the claw clip, and drapes the towel over Eddie’s don’t slip and die bar.

He coaxes Eddie to sit up straight again with the promise of a Star Trek marathon in order to properly apply the prescribed cream and new bandages over the worst of his wounds (“Just a little bit longer sweetheart, you’re doing great!” he says proudly).

Steve ends with the one on his cheek, and once again, Eddie is drifting off; Steve lets him doze, leaned forward onto his stomach with his head turned slightly to get bandaged.

It’s like that every time. Even after Eddie gets stronger and can get in and out of the shower on his own, bitching at Steve in frustration for his damn hovering, he’s there, ready to help him when, by the end of his shower, he’s fully beat and sick to his stomach for being mean to his friend.

Every Tuesday and Thursday, they slowly load Eddie into the beemer, Eddie would suffer through physical therapy, and Steve was there to half-carry him back to the car (and there to order Eddie’s favorite flavor of ice cream for him when he inevitably zonks out in the front seat).

Steve’s always there.

-------

“You were made for lovin’ me..” Eddie sings, continuing his song-thought from before (though it’s marginally worse after recording the track to the B-side of Steve’s mixtape)

It’s the first song in response to Steve’s side.

“Buckley, you’re a genius.” he mutters to himself.

The front door squeaks open then, oh shit, is Wayne’s shift over already?

---

“…shut up..” he says, after agonizing through the memory of his and Steve’s first kiss. Knowing now that Steve had meant it, well, not actually, but actually wanted to have it be more of a deal… Yeah, Wayne and Robin are right. Doofus to Steve’s Dingus! Right here!

“You’ve at least got your shit together now, right? You got a plan?”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t worry about it,” he dismisses, “Speaking of, where’ve you hidden Voulez-Vous ?”

“S’that why all our albums’re out?” Wayne slumps down into his recliner with his mug (this time, it’s the Campbell’s Soup one).

“...I’ll put ‘em away, I promise.”

Wayne sighs, but reaches down the side of his chair nearest the wall with his free hand, and returns with the album in his hand.

“Aw what the hell, I never would’ve found that!”

“A man’s recliner pockets are a sacred place.”

“Ew..?”

“I’ll leave it here fer ya, you ain’t doin’ nothin’ with it now. You’re going to bed.” Wayne emphasizes the ‘you’re going to bed’ part.

“Fine, fine,” Eddie tosses his hands up, “I’ll worry about woo-ing my man in the morning.”

Wayne’s responding “Ew.” is both muffled and amplified by his mug.

He spends the early afternoon after waking up cleaning up his mess like he’d promised, packing away all the vinyl into their designated cabinets under their kitchen bar before pulling out Voulez-Vous .

As soon as he hits stop on recording The King Has Lost His Crown (seriously, the tape had just clicked to a stop), his front door bursts open.

“The hell??” Eddie shoots up from his spot on his bedroom floor to the front door.

Dustin and Will are on either side of Max, supporting her over the threshold..

“Is she okay? What are you all doing here? You shits are lucky I just stopped recording!” he fusses.

“We were bored at my place, so we came to visit. Now stop being a Steve and grab my chair from outside.” Max commands.

“Rude.” Eddie scoffs, but does as she demands. “Your throne, m’lady.”

The two boys lower her into the seat and wheel her back in line with the couch before collapsing down on it themselves.

“So what are you recording?” Dustin asks, pulling his feet up to sit cross-legged on the cushion.

“Uh…” Shit! “…It’s a party mixtape, a couple songs for each of ya.”

Will lights up “Can we hear?”

“What songs did you use for me?”

“Yeah, what about me? I’m assuming you got some Kate Bush.”

“Calm down! Calm down, it’s a surprise, okay?

“Whose did you just record?” Will asks, ever the calming presence.

“It was one of Steve’s obviously.”

Eddie blanches.

“How d’ya figure?” Dustin asks Max, incredulous. “You can’t just know these things.”

“He came out here with ABBA in his hand. Obviously that’s one of Steves”

He did? Eddie looks over at the kitchen counter; yep, there it is. Tossed haphazardly onto Wayne’s stack of old pay stubs.

“Ooh! Let us pick the other Steve song! Where’re your other records?” Will looks around, Max starts to move.

“Why should I let you? It was my idea!”

“Uh, we've known him longer. Duh”

“I think I’ve got things covered Dusty–”

“Damn you’ve got a lot of music” Max found their stash. “And it’s a lot of regular people music too, I thought you were a metalhead.”

“Careful, Snoopy, I most definitely am. But music is music, and music is good.”

Will and Dustin are already crowding around her chair to get to the vinyl. Well, there goes all the organizing he just did.

“What about this one?”, “No way, gotta use this!”, “He doesn’t even like them, though..”

Finally, Max stops the assault on his cabinets. “Wait, you guys, I've got it!”

Eddie sighs, giving up. “Whatcha got, Mayfield?”

Part 6 here!

EVERYONE SAY THANK YOU TO MY WONDERFUL HUSBAND WHO WILLINGLY PROVIDED HIS HANDWRITING FOR EDDIE!!! WE LOVE HIM FOR THAT!!!! ❤️

eddie calling max 'snoopy' may or may not come from my parents also calling me that when i was little and would snoop around the house looking for presents when it was close to my birthday

tag list cause y'all asked so nice to be tagged!: @hellomynameismoo, @messrs-weasley, and @manda-panda-monium

168 notes · View notes