Chapter Text
HAWKINS, INDIANA
MARCH 1986
Keeping his eyes open hurts like a son-of-a-bitch, but Steve knows he has to try. It’s not as though his eyes hurt more than any other part of his body, so why bother getting hung up on it, right? He’s got- He’s got the kids to think of, and Robin, and Eddie, and Nance, and Jonathon and- and just, everyone. He’s got everyone to think of, so he needs to keep his eyes open, despite the pain.
The blue-white glow of the overhead lights is awful, though. He can admit that much. Steve’s sure that there is probably a good reason that hospitals use this specific type of shitty lighting, but he doesn’t much care to wonder about it right now. It’s not just that the light seems to bounce doubly bright off of every metal or white surface in the room; it’s that the blue tint just keeps bringing him back to that night. It’s too reminiscent of the blue camping lamps that the Sinclair kid had grabbed at the Army Surplus store back when- just, back when. It’s all- it’s just all too much. It’s too much. He can hear the heart rate monitor he’s been attached to for the past week starting to announce how overwhelmed he’s getting to the room at large, and he hates it, he hates being stuck in here, hates himse-
“Steve.”
Robin’s tone is too soft - the same way it’s been ever since he woke up in this damned hospital bed. Steve hates that, too. Hates that she’s worried about him, and hates the pity he’s caught in her eyes even though he knows she’s been trying to hide it from him. She knows that pity is the last thing he wants, that sympathy is a nightmare for him to listen to when it’s being directed his way.
Rob knows all this because she’s the only one he’s ever cried in front of, and that was only once, and only a week ago, when his head had cleared enough to remember what had happened - when he’d thought- when he’d still thought Eddie had died- was dead. She had held him, then, whispering to him, tucking herself into the hospital bed with him, kissing his face all over. ‘ Everything is okay, everyone is okay, a little hurt maybe, but everyone lived, Steve. You did so well, you got us all out of there alive somehow, thank you, thank you, I love you, I love you so much. You’re okay. We’re okay. We’re all okay.’
“Steve.” Robin’s hand shifts on his, squeezing gently so as not to shift his IV needle.
The relief that had flooded through him as Robin had told him, still whispering, about what had happened- about what he couldn’t remember, was like a tidal wave. For a few minutes, he’d thought he might actually drown in his tears. Robin had just held him oh so tenderly, tucked his head into her shoulder, and after a while, she had started singing her way through Tears For Fears’ ‘83 record The Hurting. By the time she’d reached Pale Shelter, Steve’s tears had stopped flowing, and he’d choked a pitiful little laugh and apologised for getting her favourite ugly sweater all wet and snotty. “Not exactly best friend behavior,” he’d said, and Robin had rasped, “Ultimate best friend behavior, actually, Steve, because you’re alive,” and burst into tears of her own. Steve had picked up where she’d left off, halfway through Pale Shelter, voice all pitchy because of his wrecked throat. Neither of them had minded.
“Steven Harrington, stop spiraling right this very second or so help me god, I will- Oh, shiiii- sheep, sorry ma’am, I’m not bullying him, I swear-”
Steve cracks his eyes open and finds himself facing the top of his best friend’s head, who is staring down at her shoes, neck and ears flushed beet-red. Visible in the doorway behind her is the kinder of the two nurses on this floor, Doris, who looks as though she’s trying to hide a smile.
“Heya, Dot,” Steve grates out, throat dry, ignoring the way Robin shoots her head up to glare at him. “You look lovely as ever this evening.” The nurse waves him away with an amused laugh and a roll of her eyes as she leaves the room, and he pouts, letting his gaze slide back over to meet Robin’s. “Damn, guess I’m not a hit with the ladies ‘round here.”
Robin lets out an indelicate snort - the version of her laugh that Steve loves the most. “Steve, you haven’t been a hit with the ladies anywhere for years.” And, okay, that might be true, but it’s just so unnecessary to say to a man when he’s all laid up in a hospital bed. Steve tells her so, which makes her laugh harder, which makes him start laughing - then abruptly fall into a choked wince as the wounds across his torso pull and stretch.
“Sorry,” Robin murmurs, hands fluttering uselessly above his blanketed frame. “Sorry, sorry, no humour for Steve ‘The Healing’ Harrington, I forgot.”
When the lines in his forehead have smoothed out again - as much as they ever do these days, that is - Robin rises to her feet and begins stomping haphazardly on the breaks of the wheels of his bed. “Now let’s get it movin’ lazy bones! One very brave boy awaits our company.”
-
Eddie is only half-awake when they roll into his room, but then that’s about as awake as he ever is as of late. Robin sets her feet back on the ground - she has a tendency to give Steve’s bed a biiiiig push and then take a running leap onto it, same as she does with shopping carts - and Steve braces himself as best he can for the awful jolt that’s caused by her questionable method of breaking. He is always so worried she’s going to lose her grasp on his IV stand and rip the needle straight out of his arm, but it hasn’t happened yet. Yet.
“Evening, sweetheart.”
Eddie greets Robin in a whisper, the same way he always does, and she bounces over to his bedside to press a quick kiss to his forehead. This little routine always makes Munson’s pale face pull up into a half-smile, which is the most he can manage. Steve’s never before seen someone so tired, not even Will when he first came back from the Upside Down. Steve would never tell him, never tell anyone, but he misses Eddie’s theatrics, the way his face and body can barely contain all of his energy and emotions. It’s just so wrong to see him lying there so still and so, well, drained of life, really. He’s not, though. He’s not drained of life. Even if he’s not exactly filled with it, either. Eddie’s okay. ‘He’s alive, he’s okay, everyone’s okay, we’re okay, you’re okay, Steve.’
Steve waits until Robin has reshuffled his bed to be next to Eddie’s before greeting him. It’s their own rendition of the forehead-kiss routine; the fistbump routine. Steve curls his right hand into a fist and reaches it across to where Eddie’s left arm lies flat against the blankets. When Steve’s made it that far, Eddie curls his fingers as best he can, and smiles in that awful, tired way as Steve presses their knuckles together.
Today, same as ever, Steve lets his hand linger there a little longer than is necessary, reveling in both the feeling and the sight of the physical contact. It’s just comforting, you know, to see and feel for himself that despite the uncanny stillness, Eddie is still warm and breathing.
Eddie always watches closely, too. Whenever Steve looks up at him as he pulls back, he sees that the other boy’s eyes track the movement of his hand all the way back to the territory of Steve’s own bed. The thought that those brief moments of contact might be just as important to Eddie as they are to him always makes something warm settle in Steve’s stomach.
Neither of them really notices Robin moving around the room, setting up a movie on the T.V, pulling the curtains closed. They just lie there looking at each other with the sounds of the various machines buzzing between them, until Robin drops the barrier on one side of Steve’s bed and shuffles her way in next to him as best she can.
Tonight they are re-watching Fast Times at Ridgemont High, it seems. Steve guesses it might be because Robin is still a little bit worried about him after his earlier behavior because she tugs at his hair a little every time he misses one of his usual quips until he eventually joins in. At 53 minutes and 5 seconds they both whisper “Boobies,” and it sets them off giggling so much that Robin has to pause the movie so that they can collect themselves. Steve rolls his head to the right between bouts of pained laughter, gasping for breath. Eddie is staring at the pair of them with one brow raised in blatant humour, and the sight of it makes Steve downright cackle.
Robin leans over him to look at Eddie too. “I like boobies, Munson,” she says, very serious, very calm. Steve sucks in a shocked breath so sharply that it tugs again at his wounds, wrenching a pained moan from the back of his throat. Eddie’s hand rolls ever so slightly toward the edge of the bed and the boy huffs, as though he’s frustrated that he can’t do more.
“It’s okay, dude,” Robin says once Steve’s got himself back together a bit. “Eddie won’t judge me; will you, Munson?”
Steve rolls his head back once more just in time to see Eddie shake his head, then nod, then grimace at his own lack of clear communication. “Don’t mind at all,” he whispers, wide-eyed. His gaze flickers from Robin to Steve, and then back to Robin, where it stays.
“Better not,” Steve huffs, and Robin snickers. “Oh shush, Harrington,” she admonishes, but he can hear the smile in her voice as she presses a quick kiss to his cheek. “Thanks for looking out for me,” she stage-whispers. Steve fumbles for her hand and squeezes it, eyes still on Eddie, watching for anything that looks like judgment. He sees none. “S’ok, Rob.”
They continue on with the movie, but Steve can’t stop thinking about the easy way with which Robin just came out to the boy in the next bed. Robin oh-god-nobody-can-know Buckley, casually dropping that bombshell on someone she doesn’t know all too well? It’s- He’s happy she’s so comfortable, of course, but he’s confused, too. Does Eddie exude some sort of accepting energy that Steve doesn’t? Probably, he realises, sighing from deep within his chest. Eddie Munson never spent his first few years of high school bullying - or never doing anything about the bullying of - anyone and everyone that could be labeled as even remotely different, did he? Could these be the consequences of my actions? The question is rhetorical and brimming with self-loathing.
“Oi.”
It’s Robin again, squeezing Steve’s fingers where they’re still tangled with hers. He looks at her, raising a questioning eyebrow.
“Stop thinking so loud, doofus.”
He nods in apology, sighs, and turns back to the T.V, grimacing when she presses another goddamn kiss to his cheek. I don’t deserve you, he thinks. The thought is so sudden and so painful that it makes his eyes water, leaves him blinking so as not to start crying again, and sets his heart to hammering so much that his monitor starts beeping incessantly. Robin sits up and begins fussing over him but Steve cannot bring himself to look at her.
Dot bustles in to check him over and admonishes him for tiring himself out. “You’ve torn your stitches,” she chides, not unkindly, and orders him back to his room to get fixed back up.
Steve just shuts his eyes tight as he’s wheeled out, drenched in guilt and shame.
-
Those three weeks that Steve spends in the hospital are, by a landslide, the weeks of his life where he has felt most loved. He has at least two different visitors a day and everyone is always so nice.
Joyce and Hopper visit him at least once a week. They usually bring him a home-cooked meal, and also El, who looks tired but lighter, somehow, with the weight of the Upside Down off of her shoulders. Steve is so relieved to see her the first time she walks in that he lets out a soft, “Oh, ” and exhausts himself by trying to reach for her too quickly. She takes his hand, squeezes it, and tells him, “You are a very good friend,” in that honest and direct way that only El can. His eyes water, so he squeezes them shut tight, refusing to cry in front of any of the kids, even El, who he knows wouldn’t mind. She stays holding his hand until he falls asleep. The next time Joyce and Hopper come in they set a drawing Eleven has done of Steve - in his ridiculous Scoops Ahoy uniform - on the bedside table. He clutches it in his hand and sobs once they leave.
Joyce is quiet but motherly; smoothes his hair back from his forehead, cleans his face for him with a warm cloth, and makes him eat and drink something every time she’s there. It makes that empty chasm his own parents left in him ache, but he can’t stop yearning for it, either. He thinks she might suspect that because she tells him time and again that once he’s out of the hospital and all healed up he’ll have to come for dinner on Sundays, “Because that’s family dinner night, Steve. Family dinner.”
Hopper is all gruff jokes and awkward laughter, and there’s something a little haunted in his eyes whenever he glances over all of the various hospital machines. But each time he leaves, he rests his hand gently over Steve’s heart and nods, mouth working around words he never quite manages to say. Steve hears them anyway, hears the silent ‘ Thank you for looking out for my kids, ’ and nods back as best he can.
Jonathan and Nancy only come in twice during the length of his stay, but he doesn’t mind. He hears from Robin that things between the two lovers seemingly haven’t been quite so peachy keen as of late, so he understands. They’re polite, but they don’t stay long, and despite their best efforts it all feels a little awkward.
Nancy visits an extra time on her own, though, on his last week in the hospital, and they have a long chat about the heated look she had sent his way when they’d been on that shitty boat out on Lover’s Lake. She explains that she and Jonathon hadn’t been doing too well, then, and that she’d just been terrified of dying without feeling loved. “Nance,” he tries, but she cuts him off. “No, I owe you an apology.” Nancy goes on to say sorry for using him, even if it had been unintentional. Steve shakes his head and said as kindly as he can, “I appreciate you want to apologise, but you have nothing to worry about, Nance. I’m not- I wasn’t hurt. I don’t- I don’t see you that way anymore. I don’t mean that cruelly, you’re lovely, you are, but that- we- us - that’s the past, you know?” And she looks so relieved that he almost laughs. “You are a good person, Steve Harrington,” she says, and he scoffs, but tells her the same goes both ways. He;s glad, afterward, to realise the conversation hadn’t hurt; that he’d been telling the truth. He really is, finally, over Nancy Wheeler.
Henderson visits every other day for the first week and a half, and it takes Steve far too long to realise it’s because the kid is splitting his time evenly between Steve and Eddie. “We can all three of us hang out together if you want,” he says eventually, and Dustin jumps on the idea. He still spends time with them both individually now and then, especially with Steve when Eddie falls asleep, but it’s nice when they are all in the same room.
Dustin only cries once, and it’s on the first day he comes in, which seems to be a theme. It’s the first day Steve’s allowed visitors, and Henderson is first through the door. He can’t speak at all, just sobs into his own crossed arms. Steve hates it, so stressed out by his inability to provide proper comfort that he eventually falls unconscious, damn it, but he manages to get one hand on top of Dustin’s head before he does so. When he wakes up he finds that the kid hasn’t moved an inch, and has instead just fallen asleep as well, young hands tensed in the hospital blanket even in rest.
“You’re the best little brother ever,” Steve tells him the next time he comes in, and though his lower lip wobbles a lot, Dustin manages to hold it together. He brings in his copy of The Hobbit, and they start reading through it together. There’s a silent agreement not to tell Eddie about this endeavor, and Steve is very quietly excited by the idea of dropping some lore - he’s stupidly proud of himself even just for knowing that word, for fuck’s sake - on the punk nerd, when the time is right.
Slowly, as the days pass into weeks, that constant tension begins to leave Henderson’s frame, bit by bit. On Steve’s last day in the hospital, Henderson even manages to scorn him. Steve just grins and flips him off.
When Max walks in for the first time, arm still in a sling, Steve is pleasantly surprised. He hasn’t read the letter she wrote him yet, but he knows exactly where it is; tucked inside the lyric book of his copy of Kate Bush’s Hounds of Love. “Do you want me to read it?” He asks one day, and she freezes, takes a deep breath, and tries to brush it off by snarking that she ‘doesn’t care.’ Steve watches the redhead stare pointedly at the wall behind him for a long moment and then informs her of where he put the envelope, and where his spare house key is, ‘should she ever need it.’ Robin checks a few days later and, sure enough, the letter is gone.
The next time Max stops by she roasts his entire music collection, even though Steve knows for absolute certain that she listens to some of the same stuff. He’s more mobile by then, so he reaches out and tugs at one of her braids. For some reason it makes her eyes fill with tears, and later that same day when she gets up to leave, she wraps her good arm around him in an awkward hug.
Robin, of course, is his rock. She is there every day, for the good moments and the bad. When she knows Steve is getting tired she politely but sternly shuffles people from the room, herself included, and he cannot be more grateful. She kisses his cheeks and forehead more times in those three weeks than Steve has ever been kissed anywhere by everyone in his life combined, he’s pretty sure. He doesn’t tell her that, though. Doesn’t want to risk her overthinking the basic affection and stopping, or worse, risk her looking at him with big, sad eyes and not stopping, but the tone of it all being different thereafter.
He tells her at least twenty times a day how much he appreciates her, though - especially at the beginning when the pain relief is a lot stronger; when his speech is still a little slurry. She’s his best mate, through and through, and he loves her so much. It almost goes without saying, really, but neither of them ever let it.
When Will stops by it’s with Mike, and they spend most of their time trying to teach him about Dungeons and Dragons, of all things. Steve tries his best to follow along, but more often than not he finds himself just nodding blankly. Maybe if they write it down for me, he thinks, tired and a little frustrated with himself. It’s just so much information all at once.
Mike announces about an hour in that he thinks Steve is a great guy and apologizes for giving him so much shit when he was dating Nancy. Steve laughs out loud and gives him a thumbs up. “You were just being a good brother, dude. I commend you for it. But if you wanna put some of that guilt into paying gas money-” It makes Mike laugh, and then look nervous, and then laugh again when he sees Steve’s wicked grin.
Will doesn’t say much outside of when he’s got Mike’s chatter to bounce off of, but at one point the Wheeler kid darts off to the bathroom down the hall, and he seems to find some nerve. “I don’t think I ever said thank you,” he murmurs, shy, and Steve reaches to grasp his arm. “Thank you, ” Will continues, and Steve just nods once, twice, three times, and then tugs the boy into an awkward hug. “You are a brilliant kid, Will Byers,” Steve says, as fiercely as he can manage. By the time Mike comes back in they’re sitting back how they were when he left, and if he notices Will wiping under his eyes here and there, he’s kind enough not to mention it.
Sinclair comes to visit twice and both times they mostly talk about sports. Steve congratulates him on that buzzer-beater he scored back before everything really kicked off, and Lucas smiles, all watery-eyed, and thanks him for being there that day. “Of course,” Steve says, and silently vows to attend any extracurricular event that Lucas ever partakes - or competes - in for the rest of his life. They don’t talk about Jason. He tries, once, but Sinclair clams up so fast that Steve immediately changes the subject, and makes a mental note to try some other day when the boy has had a bit more time to process everything.
“Erica says she hopes you get your ass up and out of bed someday soon, by the way,” Lucas tells him on the second visit, and Steve has to really breathe deeply so as not to laugh himself into reinjury for the hundredth time. “Tell her thanks, I miss her too.”
Even Argyle comes to visit, stoned out of his mind. “I just need a break from my bro and his girl and their awkward tension, man,” he tells him, and Steve grimaces, but the Californian thankfully moves on quickly. “When you’re out we can chill and I can give you some stuff if you want, dude. For the pain.” It’s so very Argyle, and it’s kind, and Steve appreciates the offer immensely. He thanks him, says “Definitely, man, you seem like a hoot,” and then they sit and watch some stupid rom-com together. Steve falls asleep halfway through but Doris tells him later that Argyle stayed immersed through the whole thing. Steve thinks, fondly, that that tracks.
It’s all so warm and so sweet that Steve almost doesn’t have time to think about the fact that neither of his parents ever once show up to see him. In a moment of weakness during the first few days, he asks Doris whether she could check that they’ve been notified. She returns a few minutes later looking suspiciously teary-eyed to tell him that his mother has left a note with their best wishes.
Doris purses her lips then, as if holding something back, and after a bit of pushing Steve convinces her to tell him the rest of the message. ‘Is he dying?' Which really means, ‘Should we bother coming home for this? ’ And Steve tries to smile it off, but it stings, and Doris, “Call me Dot, Steven,” takes his hand and tells him it looks like he’s doing just fine for the likes of family, going by off of everyone who has come to visit him so far.
Steve waits until she’s finished her shift and gone home for the night and then cries silently, almost passing out with how much the hitching sobs hurt his injured body. Robin can tell something isn’t quite right the next day but he waves her off with a simple, “Just a rough night,” and she respects his need to not talk about it because she’s the best friend in the world.
-
When the time comes for Steve to be released, he almost doesn’t want to go. It’s such a fucked up thought that he has to actively push it from his mind before he dwells on it too much. Imagine being injured in hospital being preferable to being at home. How sad is that, “King Steve?”
He goes to visit Eddie before he leaves but the other boy is fast asleep, so Steve just stands there and watches his chest rise and fall for a few moments. He brushes a strand of curly hair out of Munson’s face, trails his knuckles across his brow, and stares at him some more, before finally heading for the door.
Steve doesn’t want to leave the safety of the hospital, but he goes home anyway, and it’s okay for the first night because Robin stays, being the mindreader that she is. Rob makes them both a very spinach-and-garlic-heavy soup and then helps Steve up the stairs and into his bathroom. She lies outside the door with her legs kicked up against the wall while he showers and pretends not to hear him cry. Or he thinks she pretends, at least, because she’s kind enough to do that for him. When he’s clean - the cleanest he’s felt in weeks, finally, thank god - she helps him put some fresh gauze on his healing wounds and then bundles him into bed. They end up listening to some weird instrumental record that she’s brought with her, and she’s also brought him a bedside lamp so he doesn’t have to sleep in the dark. Sleep finds them side-by-side with their heads leaning together.
-
Steve heads back to the hospital the very next day, as soon as Robin leaves for work - somehow she has managed to salvage their jobs at Family Video - because Eddie is still there, and Steve knows just how much having visitors can break up a dreary day. Doris isn’t in when he walks onto her usual floor, which is a shame because Steve had wanted to show off the fact that he was walking all on his own.
He can see Eddie through his open door as he’s somewhat stumbling along toward his room, and something pulls at Steve’s heart at the look on the other boy’s face. Munson looks absolutely miserable. His brow is furrowed, his face still so pale, and his lips are pressed into a thin, sad line. Steve wishes he could walk faster, so he can get there sooner and make some ridiculous joke to make Eddie smile, or groan.
Eddie double-takes when Steve enters and shuts the door behind himself. His first glance is dismissive but the second is completely alert. His eyes go almost comically wide, his mouth falls open in shock, and his eyebrows disappear beneath his bangs. Steve doesn't know how to react, just stands there and waves awkwardly, and then says, “Hey, stranger. Miss me?”
Eddie sucks in a breath, chokes, then tries again. He blinks up at Steve twice, something akin to wonder in his eyes, before finally speaking.
“Morning, sweetheart.”
Steve feels warmth travel up his body right from his toes, all the way to the top of his head. It’s a gift, to hear the greeting Munson usually spares for Robin being directed at himself. Beaming, he walks around the side of the bed and kisses Eddie on the forehead, as is the unwritten rule. Munson smiles wide and shuffles over a little, wincing and huffing, determined to make room for Steve, who takes the offered spot without a second thought.
Silence settles over them, but it’s comfortable, though Steve is hyperaware of Eddie’s eyes drilling holes into the side of his face. After a minute he turns to look at the other boy, eyebrow quirked in silent question. Eddie flushes and his hands fidget over the top of the blankets, picking at a loose thread.
“Didn’t think anyone would come now that- now that you’re out.”
It’s a quiet admission, one that Steve is pretty sure breaks his heart right in two. He takes one of Eddie’s hands, careful to mind the IV drip, in both of his, tracing Eddie’s knuckles with the tips of his fingers. “Weird to see these without all of your usual accouterment,” he hums, brushing over the spaces where those silver rings usually sit.
Eddie’s chuckle is small, but it’s there, and Steve is so glad to hear it. Until Munson opens his mouth, that is. “Accouterment, hey? That’s a big word for a big boy, Stevie. Well done you.”
If they were both healthy, he’d push Munson off the bed. But then, if they were both healthy, they wouldn’t be squashed together on a bed in the first place, would they? Steve mulls that thought over, frowning, staring down at Eddie’s pale hand. He decides not to think about it too much right now, because they aren’t healthy, and they are here, and that’s what’s real, what’s worth thinking about. So. So, yeah. They’re side-by-side on a hospital bed, and Eddie seems to think nobody wants to be around him while he recovers, and that’s just not okay. It’s not okay at all.
“We’re not going anywhere.” Steve’s voice is rougher than he intends it to be, but he doesn’t pause to clear his throat, just carries on talking in that same low tone. “You’re one of us now, Munson, you hear me? We’re gonna be here ‘til you’re so damn sick of us you’ll be begging us to leave you alone.”
Eddie lets out a strangled laugh and is blinking repeatedly when Steve tilts his head to look at him. His pupils look a little dilated and his eyes are filled with unshed tears, and Steve is overcome yet again with that intense, yearning feeling to make everything better. “Eddie,” he whispers. He waits until the other boy meets his gaze; smiles gently when he finally does.
“I’ll always come for you.”
Eddie’s pupils blow wide, his cheeks flush red, and he reaches up to tug a strand of his hair across his face. He’s staring at Steve as though he’s just hung the fucking moon in the sky. “Yeah?” He murmurs, all breathy, and Steve’s insides twist with longing. He wants to kiss Eddie so badly it hurts. He’s blushing furiously, trying his damndest - and failing - to ignore the double-entendre of his words. All he manages is a jerky nod. Robin had been right when she’d caught Steve’s gaze roaming over the Munson boy in the Upside Down; He’s so infatuated with the little punk.
Later, while they’re in the middle of watching Tron, Eddie turns and presses his face against Steve’s shoulder; whispers a tired ‘thank you’ against the soft material of his blue sweater. “Anytime, Eddie,” he hums, squeezing their still-joined hands.
-
Steve makes sure he visits every single day. Sometimes he brings one or two of the kids with him, and sometimes he goes on his own.
About two weeks after that first day, Steve and Eddie are five short minutes into watching the first episode of Knightrider when Robin comes bounding through the door. “Guess who got work off so that she can hang out with both her boys all at once?” She does a happy dance that involves a whole lot of jazz hands and very little leg movement - it’s her go-to when she’s excited. No leg movement means minimal chance of knocking something over.
“Oh hell yeah, get your ass over here, nerd,” Steve grins, patting the end of Eddie’s hospital bed. He pauses Knightrider and turns carefully to reach over Eddie for the pack of cards that the three of them have been making ample use of over the past few days. Steve reckons they’ve gotta have played at least a hundred games of Bridge by this point, but he’s not complaining. Time with Robin and Eddie is time well spent, no matter how repetitive the activity may be.
He’s careful not to look down at Eddie as he stretches over his lanky frame. Steve had made that mistake once before and had ended up almost pulling his stitches for the thousandth time. Ever since then he’s made sure to keep his eyes on the cards, though he’s fairly certain he can feel Eddie’s gaze burning a hole through him every time.
By the time he pulls back, Robin has settled herself down cross-legged at the end of the bed, and she’s patting one of Eddie’s legs over the blanket. “Hey, you,” she smiles, blowing him a kiss. Eddie pretends to catch it and eat it. He chews slowly, swallows, and forces a burp. “Hey, Robert.”
Steve can’t help but laugh at their antics, though he rolls his eyes and pretends he thinks they’re ridiculous. In reality, he’s ecstatic to see Eddie’s flair coming back. He does wonder though, “When did you get downgraded from Sweetheart to Robert, huh? You do something wrong, Buckley?”
He looks up from where he’s setting up the game when nothing but silence greets his words; catches the end of a very intense look being shared between the two. “Uh, n-no,” Robin stammers, evidently trying to think up a lie of some sort. Steve immediately feels bad and waves it away, though he makes a mental note to bring it up later. It’s clear that something has happened between the two and he’s determined that he will, in time, get to the bottom of it.
Conversation lulls for a few awkward seconds but in time they fall into their usual banter. Steve catches Eddie spacing out a few times, staring in Steve’s direction, and even has to snap his fingers in front of his face at one point. He smiles kindly each time, assuming it’s just one of those days where Eddie is more tired than usual. Healing is exhausting, you know? He understands, man.
Later, after they bid Eddie goodbye and are walking out into the parking lot, Robin smacks Steve over the head. He screeches, swinging around to glare at her as fast as his body will allow. One of his hands comes up to rub at his scalp where she hit him, and the other settles into its classic stern-mother placement on his hip. “The fuck was that for, Rob?”
She glares right back at him, bringing her hands up to Steve’s shoulders and pushing him back firmly but gently, step by step. She permeates each push with words. “You. Are. Such. An. Idiot.”
Steve can do nothing other than stare at her, mouth open. He flails his arms around a little bit, gesturing at nothing, eventually reaching up to remove her hands from his person. “Robin, what? You’re being weird. What have I done? Have I- Have I done something wrong? Have I upset someone?” His heart rate begins to climb, brows pinching together, and he searches Rob’s face desperately for some sort of clue.
She sighs then, one long breath, and shakes her head emphatically. “No, Steve, you haven’t hurt anyone. But- You’re just a real idiot sometimes, you know?” When he still looks dumbfounded, she rolls her eyes. “Earlier-” she starts, stops, chews her lip a bit, starts again.
“Eddie has never once called me ‘sweetheart,’ Steve.”
But that just makes no sense, Steve thinks, and he tells her so. “Every day when we went in there until recently, you guys would do your little thing !” He exclaims, running his hands through his hair in exasperation. Robin’s eyebrow quirks, confused, and now it’s his turn to roll his eyes. “Your adorable little routine, idiot- you know- He’d call you sweetheart and you’d kiss his forehead, and then we’d all settle in and do- do what- Robin, why are you looking at me like that? ”
Robin starts laughing then, really roaring with it, doubling over with the effort. Steve has no fucking clue what’s going on. “Oh my god,” she gasps, trying to straighten up a little. “Oh my god, Steve, you are- you are so blind.”
He’s starting to feel really stupid now, starting to feel like an absolute idiot even though he doesn’t know what the hell for, and he can feel his cheeks starting to turn blotchy with growing heat. He paces back a few steps, crossing his arms over his chest as much as his still-healing wounds will allow, letting out a long breath. “Look, Rob, I know I’m pretty stupid and that it’s super amusing or whatever, but you’re gonna have to spell this out for me.” His voice comes out all torn, frustration building in his tone. She softens, waving her hands apologetically.
“Sorry, sorry. I’m not- I’m not trying to make you feel stupid. It’s just-” Robin takes another gasping breath, wipes the tears from underneath her eyes, and then straightens up properly. Steve casts his gaze around the parking lot, jaw tense, mind running over the situation and coming up blank, as fucking always. Stupid Steve Harrington, barely scraped through school, and boy, isn’t it obvious right now, huh?
“C’mere, kiddo.” Robin forces her way into his personal space, throwing her arm around his shoulder and leading him to where his BMW is parked. She props him up against it; shifts to stand in front of him, and her eyes are soft now.
“Eddie was calling you sweetheart, Steve. Not me.”
Steve’s eyes snap to her face, staring in disbelief. “I’m sorry for laughing,” Robin continues, “I just really thought you knew. Eddie- he was pretty obvious about it. But I guess you weren’t looking for it, huh?” She tugs a little at his hair then, brushes a few strands back, eyeing his frozen form. “My ridiculous best friend, always giving everyone else the special treatment and never expecting it in return. You need to start being kinder to yourself, dude.”
Steve just stays standing there, mouth agape, mind whirling. Eddie has been calling him sweetheart all these weeks? That first time Steve had gone in on his own he’d just assumed Eddie was joking around, calling him by Robin’s nickname, but that- that was his? Eddie calls him- thinks of him as- as ‘sweetheart?’
“Oh."
“Yeah, Steve. Oh."
-
Eddie doesn’t call him sweetheart the next day, and Steve pouts. “Hey punk, where’s my greeting?” He grouches, pausing at the foot of the bed and adopting a put-upon stance. His heart feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest from nerves as Eddie stares up at him with those deep brown eyes and seems to lose his breath for a moment, but eventually,
“Hey, sweetheart.”
Things continue as they normally would. They don’t speak of the previous day.
-
One day he arrives earlier than usual and finds that Eddie already has a visitor. It’s Max. She’s curled up on the end of Munson’s hospital bed, by his feet, with her red braid hanging down off the edge. Both of them are fast asleep.
Steve sneaks close enough to see that Max has a cassette tape clutched in her hand, one that looks very much like it’s covered in Eddie’s scrawled handwriting. His heart melts in his chest, and he exits the room as quietly as he can.
Two hours - and far too many cups of shitty hospital coffee - later, Steve makes his way back up to Eddie’s floor. Max is gone. He pretends he’s just arrived.
-
Three weeks after Steve has been let out of the hospital, things start getting bad again. He hasn’t slept well in years, not since he was a kid, really, and that has only worsened in the weeks since Vecna’s reign of terror.
He wakes night after night after night, choking on his own tears - and sometimes on his own vomit - and more often than not lately he spends the early hours of the morning retching stomach acid and bile into the toilet bowl. Steve’s starting to feel as though he’s never going to stop shaking, not fully. It’s becoming such an issue that even Robin has started picking up on it, the way he drops the cards when he’s shuffling them, the way he sits with his hands jammed underneath his thighs when she comes to visit. He brushes away her concerns every time with some bullshit excuse, but it’s getting harder and harder to be convincing.
Eating is getting more difficult, too. Despite the fact that he’s near-ravenous with hunger, he can barely eat a few bites at a time before the nausea sets in, stealing away his appetite. He’s been surviving on horrid protein shakes that taste all gritty and leave him picking congealed powder out of his teeth. The waistbands of his pants are getting looser and looser, and he’s beginning to run out of notches on his belt.
It all comes to a head one night when his parents are home. Steve doesn’t even attempt to spend the evening with them, just stays up in his room and out of their way, bearing witness to how very loud their silence is. How is it that a house can feel emptier when there are more people in it?
When he wakes up this night, once he’s done throwing his guts up, Steve ends up shoving the headphones of his cassette player over his ears and slamming The Hurting in to play with shaking hands. It had made him feel better - much less hollow and scared - when Robin had sung it to him in the hospital, so maybe it’ll work now, too.
And it does, for a while. His breathing begins to even out as the record plays through, feet tapping to the beat, thumbs rubbing comforting circles into his own skin. You’re okay, Stevie. You’re safe. You’re just fine. Steve’s pretty good at the whole self-soothing stuff by this point. He’s been his only protector for a long, long time, and he’s very much got the hang of how to bring himself back down to earth from that horrid, detached place his mind tries to take him now and then. It doesn’t always work, but, most of the time- most of the time he can get himself back into his own body.
But then Suffer The Children starts playing, and it’s like Steve’s ears have tunnel vision on the lyrics. The lines print themselves on the backs of his eyelids, reverberating around his head and starting him shaking all over again.
“It’s a sad affair when there’s no one there; He calls out in the night and it’s so unfair; At least it seems that way when you gave him his life.”
The tears come quickly then, pouring down his cheeks and neck, and though he knows it’s only going to upset him more, he can’t stop listening, can’t stop mouthing the lyrics, can’t stop fucking crying.
“And all this time it’s been getting you down; You ought to pick him up when there’s no one around and convince him, oh, just talk to him; ‘Cause he knows in his heart you won’t be home soon; He’s an only child in an only room; And he’s dependent on you; And he’s dependent on you.”
Steve rips the headphones off of his ears, choking on his frustration when the wire gets tangled around his neck. He yanks at them desperately, ruining them, and sobbing, sobbing, sobbing, trying to be quiet but knowing he’s whimpering.
Eventually, he gives up the battle; just leaves the headphones hanging around his neck, and shoves the player into the pocket of the soft cotton shorts he’d fallen asleep in. He kicks his way out from beneath the sheets and starts pacing, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, and the tears just won’t stop- they won’t stop.
It kills him all the more to know his parents are only a few feet away, sleeping soundly and not giving a single damn about him. And it’s so unfair, and it’s so unfair, and it’s so unfair- He has to get out. He has to- he has to get out. Has to go somewhere, anywhere, else. Has to get away from them. He has to- He has to go.
So he does.
Steve comes back to himself a little bit when he pulls into the hospital parking lot. His navy shirt is drenched in tears, as is his face, and he’s barefoot, still in his sleep shorts. His hands won’t stop shaking, and the stupid cassette player is still hanging and tangled around his neck. He’s pretty sure it’s cracked beyond working from how hard he was wrenching it around in his desperation, but he can’t bring himself to care.
Come on, Harrington, let’s get it together. He coaxes himself through a few ragged breaths, shoulders heaving, torso aching. When his vision has cleared enough that he can make out the clock on his dashboard - half past three in the morning, Jesus Christ - he sets about making himself vaguely more presentable. All he has in arms reach is an old shirt that he’d thrown in the glovebox to use as a rag for the windscreen, so he uses that to clean his face as best he can.
It takes him another ten minutes to stop shaking enough that he can open the door but he gets there eventually, wincing when his bare feet hit the cold surface of the parking lot. He locks the car, bracing himself against the chill wind, and heads for the front doors.
Steve’s not even sure why he’s come here, really, except that somewhere in the back of his brain, the hospital has taken root as a safe space, a place of comfort. He almost starts crying again when he gets up to the check-in desk of the emergency department and sees Doris standing there chatting with another nurse.
She blinks at him in surprise when she catches sight of him, but her expression soon falls into worry. He can’t get words out when she asks him what’s wrong, just chokes a bit and shrugs helplessly, but she seems to understand. “I’m gonna break the rules for you just this once,” she says kindly, and when he pulls his gaze up to look at her, she rests a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Let’s sneak you up to see young Edward, shall we?”
Steve’s so out of sorts he doesn’t fully register that Edward must be Eddie’s full name, but he shrugs again and follows her lead anyway. They head up the elevator in near-silence; the only sounds that break it are Steve’s hiccuping breaths. He watches the red number of each floor flash by, blinking as they blur together through his dazed stare.
The blue-white glow of the overhead lights bears down on him once again, permeating that part of Steve’s brain that is just always so, so scared , and by the time they reach the door to Eddie’s room, the tears are flowing again. Dot knocks softly before nudging the door open. She sticks her head in first, exchanging a few muffled words with the boy inside, before ushering Steve into the room.
Eddie’s eyes grow wide when he spots Steve, and he immediately begins shuffling himself around on the bed to make room for him. Doris steps forward to help him raise the bed into something a little more upright before leaving them to it. Steve startles at the click of the door closing shut behind her.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Eddie murmurs, a soft, sympathetic sound escaping him when Steve begins to visibly tremble in response to the familiar greeting. “Come here, honey.”
Steve goes.
For a long time, he cannot speak. He just allows Eddie to hold him tucked up against his side, fingers running soothingly through Steve’s hair and occasionally wiping at the tears streaming down his cheeks. Steve feels a bit ridiculous underneath all of the misery, but Eddie is just so comforting. “You’re okay, sweet boy. I’ve got you. I’ve got you. You’re alright.” It makes Steve whimper; turn his face away in shame of the state he’s in; choke around the lump in his throat; cry, cry, cry.
“‘m sorry,” he grates out after a while, as the panic begins to subside. Eddie hums, tucks his fingers under Steve’s chin, and tugs his face up so their gazes meet. “I never wanna hear you apologising for something like this, Stevie,” he whispers. His brown eyes are wide and earnest, and Steve cannot look away. “Okay?” Eddie asks, once, twice, until Steve nods.
“Nothing’s- happened. Every- Everyone is okay,” he manages after another moment. Eddie hums again, a grateful sound this time, and motions for Steve to shut his eyes so that he can wipe his face with a tissue from the side table. “Thank you for letting me know.” Eddie’s voice is so quiet, so kind, and so soothing. Steve sighs at the warmth; sighs again at the care in the other boy’s hands as he cleans him up. “Not my finest moment,” Steve whispers, still keeping his eyes closed long after Eddie is done. “I didn’t- I don’t even know how I got here if I’m honest. Sorry for-” He’s cut off by Eddie’s hand resting over his mouth.
“No apologies, remember?”
Steve’s eyes open at the physical contact. He nods again, and the hand disappears.
“You don’t know how you got here?” Eddie prompts. Steve heaves a sigh. He’s so drained from all of the crying and he knows he must smell pretty fucking terrible from all of the sweating and vomiting. He feels disgusting and ashamed. “Drove. I just- needed to get out. Eddie, I don’t- The kids can’t know- I get- like this-”
As Steve cuts himself off again, Eddie begins to fill the silence, reassuring him that he won’t breathe a word about this to the kids. “I’m glad you came here,” he tells Steve, nudging his side. “Your dramatics are breaking up my boring night quite nicely.” The words are careful, tentative almost, which doesn’t happen often with Eddie. They do pull a small self-deprecating smile out of Steve, though. “Happy to be of service,” he mumbles, eyes slipping closed once more, against his will. He forces himself to blink them back open and stares at Eddie blearily. Munson still looks concerned. Steve wants to fix it, but he’s so tired.
“You can sleep soon, Stevie. I just need to know whether you’re physically hurt first.”
Steve ponders the question for a long moment, blinking heavily, before shaking his head. The movement hurts, so he stops. “I’m okay.” A pause. “Just gross. Vomited a bunch but that- that’s normal with the- the nightmares.” He hates this part of crying - the aftermath. The way his breaths stutter and hitch against his will reminds him of how silly he must seem, how silly he’s just been. Steve closes his eyes again with a groan, feeling his cheeks flush with shame.
“Okay,” Eddie whispers, sounding very much as though everything is not okay, but Steve can’t bring himself to drag his eyes open again. He feels those gentle, calloused fingers drift over his forehead, tucking loose strands of hair behind his ears, and smiles into the feeling. “Sleep, Stevie. I’ve got you. We can talk it all out in the morning.”
“Ok,” Steve mumbles, voice small. “Thank you.” And then, right as he drops off to sleep, “I like it when you call me sweetheart.”
-
Both boys wake late the next morning, and as Steve comes to he realises that Eddie must have removed the tape player from his neck sometime during the night. He burns with shame as memories of his breakdown flood through him. I gotta get out of here before Munson wakes up, Jesus Christ, what a mess.
The second he shifts, though, Eddie speaks. “Morning, Stevie.”
Steve wishes he could dissolve through the bed, all the way through the floor, all the way to the other side of the earth. Anything so that he doesn’t have to have this conversation; so that he doesn’t have to face whatever this is about to be.
“Your tape player still works,” Eddie tells him, hand coming to rest on Steve’s shoulder. “You don’t have to say if you don’t wanna, but did the song have something to do with last night?”
Could this get any worse? Steve’s certain Eddie already knows the answer to his quiet question. The boy would’ve heard what song had been paused as soon as he’d hit play to test out the stupid piece of technology. Steve shrugs, groans, then nods his head once. Munson makes a soft sound, soothing his palm across Steve’s shoulder and down his back. “I’m sorry, man,” he murmurs. Steve just shrugs again.
They don’t move or speak for another hour or so, not until his need to piss overtakes the need to not disturb the silence. Steve shifts awkwardly to stretch out as much as his body - and the bed - will allow, and sits up. Eddie lets him; silently watching him pad into the private cubicle and back again. He frowns when Steve doesn’t sit back down upon his return.
“You really don’t wanna talk about it, huh?” Eddie’s tone sounds almost challenging.
Steve flounders. He opens and closes his mouth multiple times, trying to find the right words. Eddie just watches, and Steve can tell he’s growing a little impatient. Or he thinks he is, at least.
“Ijustfeelsostupid.” He takes a breath and tries again. “I feel so stupid. It’s ridiculous that I cried like that, that I came here, that I disrupted you in the hospital to have a cry about my stupid feelings. Like, who does that, man? That’s so fucking childish. I made such a fool of myself. What kind of little bitch still cries at the age of nineteen, anyway? It’s so pitiful- so fucking shameful. I should be ashamed of myself. I am ashamed of myself-”
“Put Steve back on the phone, please.” Eddie’s voice pierces through his rant, cold and demanding. Steve doesn’t have a clue what the other boy means. He cocks his head, eyes flicking between Eddie and his own hands, feeling like he’s being scolded, somehow. “I- Huh?”
“I wanna talk to my Steve,” Eddie fumes, more passion in his voice than Steve has heard in weeks, “not this horrible version of him that’s parroting his deadbeat fucking parents.” His words cut Steve to the bone.
“Oh.”
“Yeah, oh.” Eddie’s on a roll now, shoulders heaving with the force of his breaths. “Crying isn’t fucking shameful. It’s human, damn it. You can’t just shove everything down and hope it’ll disappear if you ignore it for long enough. Shit doesn’t fucking work that way, man.” The fingers of his left-hand tug roughly at his curls. “Who taught you that crying is- what? Emasculating? Weak? Gay? Who taught you this shit, Harrington?”
Steve recoils a little at the use of his last name. It’s been a long time since Eddie’s called him that in any way other than jokingly, and he hates that it’s making a return. He’s shell-shocked by all of this, though, especially by Eddie’s derogatory use of the word gay. “You shouldn’t use gay like that, dude,” he chokes out through the lump in his throat, and Eddie’s whole face immediately softens. “There’s my Stevie,” he says. “I know gay shouldn’t be used in that way, I wasn’t- those weren’t my thoughts, man. I’m just assuming that that’s the kind of thing that whoever taught you all that shit would say. It’s nice to- It’s nice to know you won’t stand to hear it.”
Eddie’s assumption hits the nail on the head, really. Steve sits back down slowly, perching on the edge of Eddie’s hospital bed with his back to the other boy. “I guess that shit comes from my dad,” he admits, staring down at his hands, which are twisted together in his lap. He feels so defeated. “A lot of shit comes from my dad.”
Eddie hums in thought, shifting his leg to press up against Steve through the blanket. “Maybe it’s time to start figuring out what you think about stuff, sweetheart.”
Steve mulls that over for a long time, eventually moving back properly onto the bed. Eddie just leaves him to it; lets him think, picking up a book and paging through it to keep himself occupied in the meantime. They share Eddie’s hospital lunch, and then his dinner too, grimacing at how gritty the mashed potato is. “I’ll bring you some real food tomorrow,” Steve promises, and Eddie clasps his hands over his chest. “Save buying me dinner for when I’m outta here, honey,” he jokes, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. Steve thinks he might go into cardiac arrest.
When 8pm rolls around, Steve reluctantly accepts that he should probably go home and get cleaned up - that he’s still all gross from the events of the previous night. Despite his physical state, he feels much lighter than he has in a while, and he tells Eddie as much as he stands to leave. The admission makes the curly-haired boy’s whole face light up.
“Thank you, Edward.” His voice cracks a little with the weight of the emotion behind those few words, but that doesn’t stop Steve from grinning when Eddie flushes bright red at the use of his full name. I could look at you forever, he thinks, eyes running over Eddie’s red cheeks, following the blush as it spreads down his neck and beneath his hospital gown. I wanna look at you forever.
-
Steve’s parents aren’t there when he arrives home. He shuffles through the empty house and up to his room, too relieved to care about the state of his bed; the lingering signs of his recent distress. He puts on his Wham! record and dances gently as he tidies up the space, relishing in the newfound lightness that he’s been gifted. His wounds don’t even ache as much as they used to, having now had around six weeks to mend themselves back together. Sure his abdomen twinges a little as he strips and remakes his bed, but at least he can get it done.
When he reaches the B side of the album and Club Tropicana comes on, Steve’s properly singing along, and grinning. He knows all of his friends with their poor music taste would roast the living daylights out of him if they could see him, but he doesn’t care. Hell, he’d even let Eddie see his bad dance moves right now without a second thought. Steve Harrington’s starting to feel human again, baby.
He continues singing when he heads downstairs to put his sweat-soiled sheets on to wash. “Club Tropicana, drinks are free; Fun and sunshine, there’s enough for everyone.” As he dances his way through the kitchen, his stomach rumbles loudly, so he sets about fixing himself a proper homecooked meal for the first time in a very long time. Bilbo Baggins would be proud of me for having a second dinner, he thinks, wishing he could share the thought with Eddie or Dustin. They’d probably faint from the shock that he’s recalled such a detail.
-
Steve’s still thinking of Eddie when he goes to bed that night, feeling fresh and clean from the shower. He organizes his pillow so he can lie in a way very reminiscent of how he’d woken up tucked into Eddie’s chest earlier that day. He whispers, “Thank you,” into the quiet of his room, blushes furiously at his own cheesiness, and then mouths sweetheart, and honey, and sweet boy to himself until he falls asleep.