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ghosttotheparty · 1 year

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something in the back of my mind

Eddie died.

They all know it. Robin and Nancy and Steve all checked for a pulse. Steve tried CPR while Dustin shouted and sobbed that he was going to hurt him, even as Nancy said in a voice that was much, much too soft that he was gone. Steve had Eddie’s blood on him for days, under his nails, in the creases of his palms, on his lips and chin and cheeks from trying to give Eddie the breath from his own lungs. When he finally washed it away, he fell into grief all over again, watching it run across the tile floor, down the drain.

It took him a while to give up on the CPR. It might have been hours. He doesn’t know. He only stopped when Robin physically grabbed his hands and jerked them away, and he could barely even see through his tears, but he could hear her well enough.

He’s dead, Steve. He’s gone.

He left Eddie’s bandana on his chest. He didn’t know why he did it, why he carefully, tenderly pulled it off Eddie’s head as Robin and Nancy and Dustin watched, and folded it around his hand before placing it just over where Eddie’s heart should have been beating. He’d stopped there for a few moments, just looking at Eddie’s face. It would have looked like he was sleeping if he hadn’t been torn apart. Steve fixed his hair for him, fluffed it out and smoothed it down, barely noticing when it became streaked red with blood. And then he carefully took the guitar pick hanging from Eddie’s neck, and the ring on his left hand. (He gave the guitar pick to Dustin the next day as they sat in the hospital outside Max’s room. Dustin was all out of tears by then, but he took it with a trembling hand and clutched it to his chest, his whole body shaking. Steve kept the ring for himself. He knows they all saw it on his left index finger, but no one said anything about it.)

They had to leave him there. There was no way to get him back up through the ceiling. Dustin was sobbing the whole time, crying that they had to go back, that they couldn’t just leave him there. That he needed a nice grave, or to be cremated, that they needed to love him. That it was cruel. Steve had steeled himself, grabbing Dustin by the shoulders and telling him It’s not possible, Dustin. We did what we could. And Dustin had just fallen against him, holding him so tightly it hurt, crying so hard Steve could hear his voice become rough. He held him. He got Eddie’s blood in his hair.

When Steve got home, he fell apart.

There was no one around. Everyone was at home or the hospital, safe and healing, and he was…

Covered in blood. On his kitchen floor, sobbing and screaming and clutching at his shirt because it was suffocating him. Until the white tile was covered with Upside Down dirt and grime, with dark blood and tears.

It wasn’t fair, he didn’t think. Eddie had only just gotten involved. He had only wanted to help Chrissy, and now he’s in hell, bloody and eaten and raw, all alone.

If Steve had been there, maybe he would have been fine. If Steve had been there, maybe he could have fought the bats off, and Eddie would have gotten off with the same injuries Steve has. If Steve had been there, maybe he could have convinced Eddie to run. If Steve had been there If Steve had been there If Steve had been there If Steve had been there If Steve had been there

It wasn’t until two weeks later that he realised why he was grieving Eddie the way he was. Why he slept at night with Eddie’s battle vest in his arms, why he found himself staring at the ring on his finger for hours on end, why he saw Eddie’s eyes late at night when he was sleeping. (Those are good nights. All the other nights come with demon dogs and bats and blood and flashing lights. Often with one of the kids lying, unmoving, eyes staring up at the red sky, blank. Gone.)

When he realised, he couldn’t even cry. He just held Eddie’s vest tighter and closed his eyes against the dim glow of the overhead light. And wished they could have had a little more time. Wished he had kissed Eddie before they parted. Wished he had made Eddie promise to come back to him. Wished and wished and wished.

The others began to heal.

Max can’t see. Her legs are still healing, but her arms are okay aside from the occasional burst of pain, and Lucas barely lets her out of his sight. The first time he leaves her hospital room to go home, he has a panic attack. Erica helps him through with Robin, who always seems to know just what to say, what to do.

Dustin began to recover with the help of a therapist that Owens sets him up with. Steve sees her too. She’s nice, and helpful, even if Steve doesn’t feel much different than he did that first night without Eddie. When she asked how long he knew Eddie, he said quietly Not long enough. She seemed to get it.

Eddie is dead.

Everyone knows it.

The fact settled in Steve’s chest like a brick of ice that refuses to melt. He got used to it. Just like he got used to wet pillowcases under his face and Eddie’s vest resting on his chest in the morning.

Which is why he falls heavily to the floor when, two months after Eddie’s death, he hears Owens’s voice say, crackly over the phone,

“We’ve recovered Eddie Munson. He’s alive.”

• ───────────────── •

They’d gone down to try to recover his body while checking that everything was in order in the Upside Down. For Wayne.

He was breathing.

Still unconscious, unmoved, covered in dry, matted blood and torn clothing and dirt streaked with tears, but the bandana on his chest was moving up and down, and one of the men in the yellow hazmat suits said in a voice too loud, Holy shit, he’s alive.

And he was.

He is.

In a secret room at Hawkins Memorial Hospital, sitting in waiting while Owens talks to everyone in another secret room. This room has coffee that no one is drinking, and comfortable-looking chairs that no one is sitting in. They’re all listening intently to Owens, almost leaning closer to him in concentration, some of their eyes tear-filled.

He tells them.

They can go see him, but he won’t be what they’re expecting. He’s not the same Eddie.

No memory past meeting Chrissy in the woods. No good memory of anyone involved in the whole Upside Down business, only the vaguest recollections of some kids in the Hellfire Club. He’s scarred and scared and trying his hardest to not be, to pretend everything is fine. Be gentle is what Owens tells them. Don’t scare him, or startle him, be slow and patient with him when he doesn’t remember anything.

The kids go in first.

Robin and Nancy go behind them, lingering in the doorway.

But Steve stays behind, in that room with the coffee and the chairs, eyeing Owens.

“You’re not telling us something,” he says when the others are out of earshot, and Owens turns back to him with this resigned look in his eye. He shuts the door quietly.

“Why don’t you take a seat, Steve?” he says lightly, his tone too casual, too friendly for this all. Steve sits anyway.

“What’s going on?” he asks tentatively, his heart still reeling with He’s alive He’s alive He’s alive He’s alive.

“You were actually the person I wanted to speak to about this,” Owens says, sitting heavily in a chair near Steve. He pauses, looking at Steve, analyzing him for a moment. “You remember… We spoke about your side effects?”

“Yeah,” Steve says suspiciously.

It was the bats. Nothing bad, he had to assure Robin after his third appointment with Owens. Just weird things that didn’t happen before the bites. Things he couldn’t do but can now. Hear things from seemingly miles away. (The kids can’t sneak up on him anymore, no matter how quiet they are. It’s like he can hear their hearts beating.) Move things he would never have been able to move before. (Which he discovered after slamming his car door shut while angry and shattering the window.) See in the dark. (This one frustrates the others the most. (Except when he breaks things.) The kids complain about how creepy it is to hear him skulking around in the dark during sleepovers, and Robin complains that she can’t see in the dark too. It’s unfair, quite frankly. He just tells her she should be glad she wasn’t maimed by demon bats.)

“We believe Eddie has something similar,” Owens says slowly, carefully. “Just… A heavier dose, in a way, of the bat venom.”

Steve blinks.

“Explain?”

“Well. You know about his blood loss.”

Steve’s stomach twists. Eddie’s bloodied limbs and chest and face flash in his mind, followed by the blood running down the drain.

“Yeah,” he says weakly, feeling sick.

“When we tried a blood transfusion it didn’t work,” Owens says. “But he woke up. And… Started drinking the blood.”

Steve blinks, confusion momentarily replacing his sickness.

“Like… Like a vampire?”

“Well.” Owens tilts his head, shrugging lightly. “Yes.”

“What… the fuck.”

“Yeah.”

Steve lowers his head to the table in front of him, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. Owens waits for him.

“He’s okay, though,” he says after a few moments, lifting his head and looking at him. “Right?”

Owens’s eyes lock with his intently, his face hardening with almost uncomfortable sincerity.

“He will be.”

Steve stays in there, scratching at the wood of the table as Owens talks to him. Tells him about what Eddie needs: blood, fresh or frozen, which they’d learned through carefully monitored experiments, and endless, gentle support. He’s so confused, Owens says, his brows furrowing the first exhibition of earnest emotion that Steve’s ever seen. He always seems so put together, so professional, that it makes Steve’s chest clench.

Owens brings him a cup of coffee. Black. The way Steve likes it. Steve takes the cup, and he watches the coffee ripple as his hands tremble. He sets it down after a moment.

They told Eddie about the Upside Down. He doesn’t remember any of it. The vines, the bats. Nothing. Steve covers his face as Owens talks, taking slow, measured breaths to try and stop his eyes from stinging.

“So what do I do?” he asks when Owens finishes.

“What do you mean?”

“You said…” He pauses to clear his throat, blinking his eyes and shifting in his seat. “You said you wanted to tell me about his… condition. Or whatever. Why me? What do I do?”

“You have some experience similar to his,” Owens says gently. Steve can practically feel the teeth of the bats in his skin for a moment. The serrated tails digging into his neck, into his palms and fingers.

“Yeah,” he says, pushing the memories away with a tiny shake of his head. He does that a lot.

“And you seem to instinctively take up the role of protector,” Owens adds lightly. It makes Steve laugh. Just a little.

“Yeah.”

“He’ll be staying here for observation,” Owens says. “And then he’ll need somewhere to stay.”

“He can stay with me,” Steve says a little too quickly. His face burns, but Owens smiles softly.

“Thought you’d say that.”

He runs into Robin in the hallway on his way to Eddie’s room. (Room 236. He can’t stop repeating it in his head.)

“How is he?” Steve asks weakly. She sways forward and pulls him into a tight hug. “Like that, huh?”

“He’s confused,” she mumbles into his shoulder. “About everything. But he’s, like, doing that thing where he pretends he’s fine even though we all know he’s not.”

Steve sighs. His hands are shaking. He presses them to her back.

“He doesn’t remember us.”

“Owens said he wouldn’t.”

“He, like…” She sighs. They sway. He tightens his arms around her. She likes to be hugged tightly. “Says he recognizes us. Like he knows he knows us. But he didn’t know any of our names, or how he knows us.”

He pulls away and presses his forehead to hers, running his hands down her arms firmly as she exhales slowly.

“Was… Kinda scary.”

“‘S okay,” he murmurs.

“I know.”

He can feel her trembling. He pulls away to press a kiss to her forehead, letting her fall against him as he presses his cheek to her forehead, feeling her breath on his neck.

“Kept seeing all that blood,” Robin says weakly. His throat tightens. He sees that blood almost every night.

“He’s gonna be okay,” Steve whispers.

“I know. I know.”

He sighs, closing his eyes and swaying with her, pulling her around gently in a way that makes her exhale sharply. Her arms wrap around his waist.

“I’m nervous,” he says after a moment. “I’m gonna cry when I see him, for sure.”

“Oh, we all did,” she says, and he knows without looking at her that she’s doing that thing she does, staring wide-eyed, blankly at nothing. “So many tears. He had no idea why. I mean, he kind of did, they told him that he… you know. But it was kinda weird. But he’s also weird, so.”

He scoffs against her head.

“Didn’t even question it when Dustin almost killed him again by tackling him in a hug,” she says. Steve smiles, closing his eyes.

“Funny.”

“If I don’t laugh, I’ll… break down in tears, so.” She lifts her head, looking into his eyes. “‘S gonna be fine.”

“I know,” he sighs.

She reaches up to hold his face, squishing his cheeks between her palms.

“I can tell you’re still freaking out. Stop it.”

“It’s not entirely within my control, Robbie.” His voice is muffled, his lips squished.

“Stop freaking out. Deep breath.”

He inhales, raising his eyebrows, and she does the same, squishing his cheeks harder and suppressing a smile.

“Fishy.”

He huffs, rolling his eyes.

“Hello?”

Steve looks over Robin’s shoulder at Nancy’s voice, and Robin looks back without removing her hands from Steve’s face. Nancy is raising an eyebrow at them. Her cheeks are rosy. She’s been crying.

They all have, Steve notices as they all appear behind her. Erica is sniffling, wiping her nose with the end of her sleeve, holding onto Dustin’s arm.

“I’m emotionally preparing him,” Robin says. Her cheeks flush pink, and Steve snorts, poking her side. She yelps and lets go, smacking his cheek lightly as he snickers.

“Get outta here,” he says, looking at Dustin and lifting his chin, silently asking how he is. Dustin gives him a watery smile. Steve’s heart aches.

“You staying behind?” Nancy asks as Robin approaches them, reaching to touch Max’s head gently, fondly.

“Yeah,” Steve says, pushing his hands into his pockets. “I was talking with Owens, I’m just…”

She nods, understanding.

Dustin hugs him. He’s crying again, his shoulders shaking as Steve presses his cheek to the top of his head. He feels little. Like he’s aged backwards, just a little boy again, crying into Steve’s chest.

Steve kisses the top of his head when they part.

He watches them go, lingering by a window and watching them all, watching them half-hug each other, hold each other close. Dustin is still crying. Mike pulls him into a hug outside the van.

Steve exhales slowly. His heart is beating too fast. His hands are shaking.

He wanders down the halls slowly, meandering, taking slow breaths, letting his lungs fill and empty as he counts in his head.

One, two, three, four.

His therapist calls it combat breathing. (He’s going to have to tell her about this. Seeing Eddie.) He hates that phrase, even if it’s accurate. He’s never been to combat. Not combat combat. Neither has Dustin, or Max, or Erica, or any of them. And yet.

They’ve all got it. The flashbacks. The dreams. The days they can barely get out of bed, or feed themselves. Sometimes Dustin can’t talk.

Steve stops in his tracks when he sees it.

Room 236.

He’s stuck. In the middle of the hallway. His breath catches in his throat, and he chokes a little bit, exhaling hard as he rubs his hand across his chest harshly. He only moves when a nurse looking down at her clipboard bumps into him, apologising breathily as she briskly passes by him, and he moves closer to the door. The numbers are metallic, gleaming in the too-bright fluorescent lights of the hallway.

He approaches tentatively, like he’s trying to hide, until he can see the window.

And Eddie.

He’s sitting on the bed, arms wrapped in bandages, wearing a hospital gown, looking down at a book in his lap. His curls are tied into a messy bun at the top of his head, a few escaping and brushing his neck. Steve hears him huff and watches as he tries to brush them away, but after a moment he just rips the hair tie out of his hair and reties it all, dragging his fingers through it so hard he catches tangles.

He looks away from the book, across the room at the wall, finishes his hair, and drops his arms heavily, sighing. Steve can hear it.

He’s pale. He’s almost glowing.

But the marks around his neck are dark, almost burgundy. And his cheek is mangled, part of it covered with a bandage, red and purple and pink. Steve aches.

He turns away, pressing his back to the wall next to the door, closing his eyes as his lungs constrict. He takes a slow breath, pressing his hands to his face as Eddie’s bloodied face flashes in his mind. He remembers how it smelled. His throat hurts.

It takes a while for him to breathe properly. When he gets it, he exhales sharply, huffing, pinching the bridge of his nose, and his skin tightens when he hears Eddie’s voice say, “Hello?”

He squeezes his eyes shut, scolding himself, remembering that Eddie has the same shit he does, the damn hearing and sight and fucking everything.

So he exhales again, turning around and taking the door handle, pushing the door handle before he can talk himself out of it.

“Hi,” he says quietly, stepping inside, watching as Eddie’s eyes widen. “Sorry, I was just…” He shakes his head, unsure of what he’s trying to say, stopping. The door closes behind him.

Eddie stares.

Steve hurts.

Eddie’s almost gaunt, too thin, haggard. His eyes are still shining.

“Woah,” Eddie says, staring, wide-eyed.

“Woah?” Steve questions, forcing himself to inhale. He feels like he’s on fire.

“You, uhm. Sorry.” Eddie coughs, clearing his throat. His book falls shut in his lap. “I don’t… remember.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, shaking his head, pushing his trembling hands into his pockets. “No, Owens said. It’s… It’s okay.”

“Are we friends?” Eddie asks in a small voice.

Steve blinks. His eyes burn.

“Not really,” he says weakly. “We could have been, I think. If we…” His throat tightens around his words and he pauses, swallowing, blinking. “Had more time.”

Eddie nods, unblinking.

For a while.

Steve stares back, holding tears back.

“What?” he asks after another moment, scoffing, laughing lightly, uncomfortably.

“Sorry,” Eddie says, finally blinking. “Just… Wondering how I could forget a face like that.”

Steve blinks. His cheeks burn.

“Oh.” He exhales, dropping his shoulders. “Okay.”

Eddie stares again. Steve lets himself stare back, watching as Eddie’s eyes narrow so slightly Steve almost doesn’t notice.

“What?” Steve asks again, whispering it.

“You look familiar,” Eddie says. “Like…” He pauses for a long stretched moment. “Like a song I’ve heard once. But don’t know the words to. You know?”

“Oh,” Steve says again. “Yeah. I mean, no, but–”

Eddie snorts, gesturing toward the chair next to his bed.

“C’mere.”

Steve takes a breath, looking at the chair like it’s about to come to life and eat him, hesitating. But he sits down heavily, staring at the floor for a moment before he looks back at Eddie.

Who’s still looking at him.

He looks almost awestruck, eyes wide and shining, almost curious.

“You don’t remember my name,” Steve says.

Eddie shakes his head before he stops, eyes narrowing again, brows furrowing. He turns a little bit toward him, setting the book aside, his fingers tangling in his lap.

“It starts with an S,” he says after a moment.

Steve’s chest clenches. He nods.

Eddie’s face lights up.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Eddie does it again, that thoughtful stare, thinking hard, like he’s trying to use telepathy.

“...Sam?”

Steve smiles, relaxing a little bit, shaking his head.

“Simon?’’

Another shake.

“Samuel– No, that’s just Sam again. Sean?”

“No,” Steve says, laughing lightly.

“Shawn? With a W. It’s different.”

Steve laughs a little harder, scrunching his nose and shaking his head. He can tell Eddie’s doing this on purpose, being silly just to make him laugh, but it works anyway.

“Fuck. Sawyer?”

“No.”

“Spencer?”

“Mm-mm.”

“Uhm.” He pauses, thinking, his eyes searching Steve’s face like he’s going to find his name written in his skin, spelled out in his moles. “S-S-Sebastian?”

Steve shakes his head, smiling.

“Jesus, how many S names are there?”

“You want me to just tell you?”

“No. Shane?”

A shake.

“Uhm.” He stares again, scrunching his nose and shrugging to himself. “Sunny.”

Steve laughs, giggles, shaking his head.

“Good God. Uhm. Smith.”

“That’s a last name.”

“Maybe your parents are weird, I don’t know.”

Steve drops his head, laughing. When he looks back up, Eddie is smiling at him, his expression soft. Too soft.

“You want a hint?” Steve asks, ignoring it.

“A little one.”

“Uh.” Steve exhales, relaxing into the chair. Eddie moves closer, his legs crossed, tugging the blanket with him. Steve tears his eyes away, looking at the ground as he thinks. “Five letters.”

“Oh, hangman?”

Steve nods.

Eddie is grinning. Steve loves his smile. There isn’t any blood in his teeth, and it makes his cheeks squish up, makes his eyes squint, makes those perfect lines form in his skin. Steve lets himself gaze as Eddie looks up at some random spot across the room blankly.

“Five letters,” Eddie repeats, his eyes jumping around, envisioning the lines. “Starts with S.”

“Mhmm.”

“...A.”

“No A.”

Eddie lifts a hand and draws a circle in the air. Steve smiles.

“E?”

“Two Es.”

Eddie’s eyebrows fly up and his eyes jump around again, the Es finding their places before he gasps, jumping and grabbing at Steve.

“Steve!”

“Yeah,” Steve says, laughing, his skin lighting up again at the feeling of Eddie’s hands on him.

“Steve,” Eddie says again excitedly, beaming brightly, shaking Steve’s shoulders. “Steve, Steve, Steve–”

Steve is giggling again. His hands find Eddie’s forearms, holding him back. His skin is cold.

“That bring anything back?” he asks when Eddie stops shaking him. Eddie’s smile falters, but it doesn’t fall. He’s still grinning at him, staring intently at him.

“No,” he says. “‘S just nice to have a name to put to a face. I think Sunny is nice, too, though.”

Steve snorts, shaking his head and letting his hands fall. Eddie is closer. Close enough that Steve can see the faint lines in his skin, that he could count his eyelashes. Eddie stares back, almost smiling, his expression light and almost careless, like he isn’t covered in bandages.

“Steve.”

“Eddie,” Steve says softly. Too softly. He didn’t mean to do that. But Eddie doesn’t seem to mind, just tilting his head like he’s analyzing Steve the way he is Eddie.

His eyes catch on Steve’s neck and he tilts his head the other way like a curious puppy, leaning closer and narrowing his eyes. He lifts a hand before Steve can say anything, reaching up and touching his neck lightly, tracing his scars.

“You too, huh?”

“Yeah,” Steve breathes. “Didn’t really get it as bad as you, though.”

Eddie smiles softly, still looking, tracing so lightly that Steve almost shivers. His fingers hover over his throat, tracing a line down it, and Steve swallows nervously.

“They told me,” Eddie says quietly. “About the Upside Down and everything. About the bats.”

Steve blinks hard, staring at him as he looks at Steve’s scar.

“Pretty wild, isn’t it?” he says. His voice is quiet. If he speaks louder, it might break.

“Unbelievable,” Eddie says. “But…” He shrugs, sighing, fingertips still touching Steve’s neck. They’re not on his scar anymore, instead tracing a line in a pattern that Steve recognizes at his moles. “The blood and everything. I don’t know if Owen’s told you about that.” His eyes meet Steve’s, and Steve blinks tears back, hoping Eddie doesn’t notice them. He nods.

“He did.”

“You too?”

“Not that. But the other stuff. The… hearing. And you can see in the dark, can’t you?”

Eddie nods, cracking a small smile.

“‘S nice to not be the only one.”

“Yeah.”

Eddie is quiet. Still looking at Steve. His fingers are twisting in his lap, fidgeting with his rings absentmindedly.

“So it’s all true.”

Steve nods.

And then his eyes are welling with tears, and Eddie’s eyes are widening, and Steve chokes out, “I left you there.”

Eddie shakes his head, shifting to face him, looking at him intently.

“No, Steve, you…”

“I left you down there,” Steve says weakly as tears finally fall down his cheeks. “I’m sorry, Eddie, I wanted– I wanted to bring you home, I– I–”

“No, it’s not your fault,” Eddie says gently, reaching out to touch Steve’s shoulder, holding him firmly. “You– Steve. C’mon.”

Steve gasps for breath, squeezing his eyes shut and letting his head fall forward to hide his face.

“You did everything you could, man,” Eddie tells him, pulling at his shoulder, and Steve falls forward, a sob ripping its way out of his chest, and then he’s actually dying, because Eddie is pulling him into a hug, whispering quietly to him. “‘S not your fault, Steve.”

“I wasn’t there,” Steve chokes. His face is pressing into Eddie’s neck, and he draws his hands up to clutch at his hospital gown. “I wasn’t there for you, and you– you weren’t breathing, and I–”

“It’s not your fault,” Eddie says again, more firmly this time, leaving no room for argument. He shifts to take Steve’s face between his hands.

Steve’s chest aches.

He melts.

He exhales, closing his eyes, and Eddie’s thumbs wipe away tears that fall, and Steve didn’t realise this is what he’s been missing. Eddie’s hands on his skin, his whispers just reaching Steve’s ears.

It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault.

A sob rips out of Steve’s chest, and Eddie pulls him closer, tugging him onto the bed and carefully pulling his head to rest on Eddie’s shoulder. His fingers are pressing into Steve’s hair, scratching at his scalp, swaying with him, like he’s doing everything he can to make Steve feel better.

“God, Steve,” Eddie breathes when Steve’s crying slows, smoothing his hand over the back of his head.

“I’m sorry,” Steve chokes, pulling away, avoiding his eyes. “Jesus, you don’t even know who I am, I’m—”

“You’re Steve,” Eddie says softly, grabbing at his arms and tugging, keeping him from getting up. Steve exhales shakily, his lip trembling. “You…”

Eddie pauses, his fingers tightening on Steve’s arms. Steve can hear his heart beating.

“I don’t… remember you,” Eddie says slowly, carefully, thinking. His eyes are trained on Steve’s neck like he’s looking at his scars. “But I… I remember how you made me feel.”

Steve swallows, looking down at Eddie’s hands. He’s not wearing his rings, but Steve can see the indents of where they belong. His nails are trimmed, and clean, and Steve wonders if a nurse washed the blood away before or after he woke up.

“How did I make you feel?” he asks quietly, almost whispering.

Eddie is quiet, his jaw working, and Steve shifts to hold his arms back. His skin is cold. Steve’s thumb brushes over the bats inked into his forearm, gazing at them, wondering if Eddie looks at them differently now.

“I don’t know if I can say it,” Eddie whispers.

Steve’s stomach twists.

“You can say it,” he whispers. “Please. Say it.”

Eddie closes his eyes, sliding his hands to meet Steve’s.

“Think I… might have. Maybe. Could have. Had a crush on you.”

Steve closes his eyes. His fingers tighten on Eddie’s arms, and he exhales.

“Really?” he whispers.

He opens his eyes when Eddie doesn’t answer, and Eddie looks like he might cry, eyes wide and shining. A jolt goes through Steve when he sees them. Real. In front of him.

“Yeah,” Eddie says softly. “I don’t…” He shakes his head, hesitating. “Remember, like… Why. I guess. But you…”

He smiles a little bit, softly, almost fondly, and he lifts a hand to touch Steve’s cheek, his thumb brushing over his skin. Steve’s chest squeezes, and he can’t breathe, but he doesn’t really mind, because Eddie’s gaze is soft, and warm.

“You’re even a pretty crier,” Eddie murmurs almost absently like he doesn’t even realise he’s saying it.

Steve’s face crumbles, and he falls forward against Eddie, who catches him and mumbles a soft, “C’mere,” and pulls him closer, until Steve shifts farther onto the bed, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s waist carefully.

“Does that hurt?” Steve asks, conscious of the stitches and bandages and tape under Eddie’s hospital gown, but Eddie shakes his head.

“I’m on so many painkillers right now, man,” he says quietly, making Steve laugh lightly, stretching his legs out slowly. “I’m totally numb.”

They fall into each other, arms wrapped around each other, and Steve’s cheek rests against Eddie’s chest, against his skin where the gown has fallen a little bit. Eddie’s fingers push into Steve’s hair again like that’s where they belong, like he does this every day.

Steve closes his eyes, focusing on the rise and fall of Eddie’s chest with every breath, on the quiet beating of his heart against Steve’s cheek.

“God, I missed you so much, Eddie,” he says weakly. Because he needs Eddie to know. Eddie’s hand slides up his arm, squeezing.

“‘M right here, Stevie.”

Steve exhales.

Eddie smells like the hospital. Sterile. But the smell of cigarettes and weed still lingers in his hair, and Steve kind of wants to sit up and bury his face in it.

He settles against Eddie’s chest, lulled to sleepiness from Eddie’s hand in his hair, his other hand tracing down his arm.

Until Eddie’s hand rests on his.

“My uncle gave me that ring,” he murmurs. Steve’s stomach drops and his eyes fly open, and he starts to sit up, reaching to take it off.

The ring he’d taken from Eddie’s lifeless hand and scrubbed clean days later, because he couldn’t stand the thought of losing any part of Eddie, even his dry blood.

“Jesus, sorry,” he mutters, face flaming, heart pounding, more embarrassed than he’s ever been in his life, because he was just sobbing into the chest of a boy that has no memory of him at all, and his cheeks still feel tacky from his tears, and Eddie fucking died and he’s the one comforting Steve, and Steve fucking stole his ring off his dead body—

“Don’t be,” Eddie says smoothly, his voice soft. His hand stops Steve’s, grabbing it and pulling him back down against him, twining their fingers. “‘S okay.”

“It’s…” Steve lets him pull him back, stiff, anxious. “I shouldn’t have taken it, I’m—”

“It’s okay, Steve,” Eddie says. “Keep it.”

“But… Your uncle…”

“He won’t mind,” Eddie says softly. “‘S okay.”

Steve hesitates for another moment before he turns and buries his face in Eddie’s chest, taking a shuddering breath.

Eddie says it one more time. Murmurs it. Breathes it.

It’s okay.

Steve believes him.

Eddie hugs him tightly, one hand sliding up to hold the back of his head.

“‘M really tired,” he mumbles. Steve opens his eyes. He must be. Waking up after dying just to find himself ravaged and wounded, learning all the shit he had to learn about the Upside Down, meeting the Party all over again.

“Do you want me to go?”

“No,” Eddie says firmly, his arms tightening. “I don’t want you to go.” He’s quiet for a moment, and Steve squeezes his eyes shut. “…Will you stay?”

Steve just presses closer, tucking his face into Eddie’s neck, groaning quietly when Eddie rolls slightly, one arm around Steve’s neck, the other sliding up his arm to his shoulder, pushing his hair back. Steve shivers.

He stays awake after Eddie falls asleep, listening to every breath, to every beat of Eddie’s heart. Feeling Eddie’s fingers twisted in his overgrown hair, feeling his legs pressed up against Steve’s, and Steve kind of wishes he’d worn shorts today so he can feel their skin press, which is probably a weird desire, but what even is weird anymore?

He wants to stay awake there until Eddie wakes up, to be conscious and aware of every second he gets to have with him, but Eddie’s pulse is steady, and his skin is cool against Steve’s, and Steve starts to drift off long before he wants to.

He lets himself, because he can’t move to wake himself up without moving Eddie.

He doesn’t have any bad dreams.

Or good dreams, for that matter. For hours, until a nurse comes in to check on Eddie, Steve’s mind is peacefully, blissfully blank. Empty.

It’s awkward when they both stir to find the nurse looking down at them with a smile. Steve’s face is hot, hotter than it’s ever been, and he knows he must be fucking red as he sits up and detaches from Eddie, but the nurse just asks if they slept okay.

• ───────────────── •

“Steve, how are you today?”

“I’m alright.”

“So… A lot to talk about today.”

“…Yeah.”

“Would you like to talk about that or start like we usually do?”

“Uhm. I guess like we— like we usually do.”

“So how was work this week?”

“Okay. I’m… working on being patient with customers. Even though they’re not patient with me.”

“How are you working on that?”

“Uhm. Deep breaths and everything. Reminding myself that I’m… Like. Not responsible for how they treat me. And that, like… They might be having a shitty day. I don’t know what’s going on with them. ‘S also easier with Robin there.”

“How does Robin help?”

“Makes faces at me behind customers’ backs. Which maybe isn’t very professional, but it’s funny.”

“How’s Robin doing?”

“She’s good. She’s trying to spend more time with her dad, I think it’s going well.”

“And the kids?”

“Good. Mike asked me to teach him to drive. Begrudgingly. I think he just doesn’t want Nancy to teach him.”

“Seems like that makes you happy.”

“I guess.”

“How’s your eating been?”

“Eh. Alright. It’s… easier to eat during the day if I’m… I don’t know. Eating with Robin or bringing the kids lunch and stuff. It’s easier at night.”

“How can you work on that? Getting your nutrition during the day? Just dinner isn’t enough to nourish you.”

“Uh. I guess I could… I don’t know. Bring food with me to work?”

“That sounds like a good idea. What about keeping some in your car, too?”

“I could do that. Like crackers or something. Stuff that won’t go back in the heat.”

“That sounds good. …And how’s your sleeping?”

“…”

“…Steve?”

“Not… great.”

“Nightmares?”

“Sometimes. A lot of the time. But it’s also… Just. I don’t know. ‘S hard to fall asleep.”

“What helps?”

“…Robin sometimes. When she sleeps over, she’ll stay in my bed. ‘S nice to listen to her… breathe.”

“Are your nightmares still the same?”

“…No.”

“When did they change?”

“After… I guess we can’t really avoid talking about it that long.”

“Guess not.”

“...After Eddie came back. That night.”

“Would you like to tell me what happened in it?”

“…I was… in my room. And the— the lights started flickering. It was, uhm. Morse code. I don’t even know Morse code, but I—I recognized it in my dream.”

“Right.”

“It was…”

“…What was it saying?”

“I don’t… remember. But it was Eddie. I just… knew. He was in the Upside Down, trying to– trying to talk to me. Tell me he was alive. And I’d just… left him there. And I– I know he was dead, and it wasn’t my fault, and I did– I did everything I could, but I just…”

“What did you do when you woke up? How did you cope with it?”

“Just… moved on. I think if I— if I lingered on it, or, like, thought about it I would have just… I don’t know.”

“Do you think… maybe burying your emotions might not be the best idea?”

“I know, I just… I don’t know what else to do.”

“You’re allowed to have feelings, Steve. I know you weren’t allowed when you were little, but you are now. And I know you know it’s unhealthy to suppress them.”

“I know.”

“…What was it like seeing Eddie again?”

“…Sorry.”

“It’s okay to cry, Steve.”

“I know. It was, uhm. I don’t know.”

“…”

“I think I was just, like. Confused. I guess.”

“What was confusing?”

“Just… I don’t know— I mean, I grieved for him. I mourned. And then he… Like, obviously I’m happy he’s back, and I’m— I’m so happy he’s okay, I’m really really happy, I just… Why does it feel like I’m grieving all over again?”

“...Do you think it may have something to do with that he doesn’t remember you?”

“Probably. It’s just… I don’t know. Frustrating. I shouldn’t be grieving him when he’s right there in front of me.”

“Steve, you’re allowed to feel whatever it is that you feel.”

“I know. ...It’s hard being around him. But I also don’t want to leave him.”

“What’s hard?”

“...Remembering. And just… God, the way he looks at me.”

“How does he look at you? Why is it upsetting?”

“He… He looks at me like he remembers me. But also like he’s trying to figure me out. He doesn’t remember me, he told me. But he said that he… remembers how he felt about me.”

“How did he feel about you?”

“...”

“When you told you, whatever it is, it’s okay if you don’t want to tell me, was it upsetting? Or did it bring you peace?”

“...Both? …I think I’m just tired.”

“Are you letting yourself rest?”

“...I’m trying.”

• ───────────────── •

read the rest on ao3 bc this ended up being over 30k oops lmao

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