Cas

COVER (verb)

1: to guard from attack

2: to hide from sight or knowledge

3: to lay or spread something over

- - - - -

Eddie knows all about scars.

How they go deeper than your skin. How they remind you of things you wish you could forget, and how they can turn every look in the mirror into a test of courage. How to turn them into something beautiful - each tattoo an affirmation of power written in ink, pain and blood; a refusal to let things that can't be undone define you.

What Eddie doesn't know is how to stay out of things he shouldn't get involved in.

There's a million different reasons why he should turn Steve away. Because the size of the motif he wants is ambitious at best for a first tattoo, and borderline insane at worst. Because something about his story just doesn't add up. Because he is exactly the kind of man that brings Eddie dangerously close to the edge where professionalism ends and obsession begins.

But Steve has been living with those scars for over ten years, and his body is the most intriguing canvas Eddie has seen in a while. As they set out to reclaim Steve's story, Eddie finds his obsession growing deeper with every drop of ink. Especially when it turns out that their past, present and future are more closely entwined than either of them imagined.

- - - - -

A story about covering scars, uncovering secrets, and recovering what was lost.

“Did you know,” he says, carefully peeling the wrapping paper off his snack, “that if things had gone a little different, we might have been neighbors, you and I?”

Steve, who has just taken his first bite, makes a quizzical noise.

“As I learned today,” Eddie explains, “my uncle almost moved us to Hawkins when I was a kid. Crazy shit, isn't it? We would've gone to school together, maybe even shared some- Fuck, are you okay?”

Steve just broke into a round of big, violent coughs. Eddie is by his side in an instant, hand raised, but hesitates at the sight of the fresh outlines on his back. They're lightly raised, the surrounding skin irritated and angry, and slapping him between the shoulder blades would hurt like a bitch now. On the other hand, he can't very well let the guy choke, right?

He is just trying to remember how the Heimlich actually works when Steve straightens in his chair, balls his hand into a fist and delivers a very firm, very well-aimed hit to his own sternum. There’s an audible pop as something dislodges from his windpipe.

“I'm okay,” he claims, still more than a little breathlessly. “Sorry, that was- … I was just- … Are you for real?”

“I, um-” Eddie stammers. His legs feel like jelly, so he quickly falls back into his own chair. “Yeah. Sorry, I didn’t mean to- … I just thought it was funny. How life has brought us together, here and now, when we could've known each other that much sooner. I don't necessarily believe in fate and all that shit, but it seems like a crazy coincidence.”

“Not sure about fate,” Steve says, and takes another, more careful bite of his granola bar. A smattering of crumbs is sticking to his bottom lip. “But if it's real, you should thank it. You wouldn't have wanted that.”

“To know you any earlier?”

Steve scrunches his nose, slightly annoyed, and shakes his head.

“Shut up, that's not what I meant.” He pauses, running his tongue over his lips and leaving them pink and shiny. It doesn’t get the crumbs. “You may be right, though. Not sure if you would've liked teenage me. I was a bit of a jock.”

“What, you? Shocking,” Eddie deadpans. “You grew up to be a coach. I just inked a giant baseball bat all over your back. Let's just say I had a bit of a hunch.”

Steve smiles wryly, washing down the last of his snack with a long gulp of water.

“What I’m trying to say is that you should be glad you weren’t around for- … everything. Don’t get me wrong, I love it there. It's my home, and some of the best people I’ve ever known live there, it’s just … It wasn’t a great place to be, back then. You dodged a bullet, man. A big, fat, massive one, believe me.”

In the two or three seconds of silence that follow, Eddie almost asks. About the earthquake. About the tanks and the fences and the watch towers. About the meaning behind the fresh lines on Steve’s back, that he chose to carry with him for the rest of his life. About the scars underneath.

But then Steve claps his hands and gives a sharp jerk of his chin. Eddie flinches, wondering briefly if this is how he beckons his players onto the pitch before a game.

“Okay, that’s enough for a break. Time for the home stretch, c’mon.”

“See?” Eddie grins, wheeling himself closer. “There you go with the sports metaphors again.”

Steve drifts off again after a minute or two, the deep and deliberate breaths he’s taking to guide himself through the pain slowly evening out into something slower, more shallow. When Eddie checks in the mirror, his eyes have slipped shut. Not asleep, but definitely somewhere far away. It’s for the better, probably. The tailbone is a bitch to get inked, even for people more familiar with the sensation of the needle slipping in and out of their flesh, the rattle of the machine against bone, the echo of it in one’s ribcage. And no matter the odd fascination that Eddie is developing with both the town of Hawkins and this man, who chose to spend his life there after the horrible things it did to him, it’s not his story to uncover.

Still, as he works in silence, his eyes keep travelling back to the scars on Steve’s shoulder blades, now surrounded by the outlines of the roses, waiting to be covered in vibrant reds and greens in four weeks’ time. He has seen scars like that before. On bikers who got into accidents, skin peeled right off their bones as man and machine slid over the unforgiving asphalt. On a guy, once, who got his jacket caught in the door of the school bus as a kid, and was dragged over several yards of concrete before the driver heard his screams.

He wonders how exactly Steve ended up with injuries like that in an earthquake.

The ones on his hips, too. The deep, uneven ones that look like something long and sharp and jagged dug into the flesh and tore it right out.

He bites his tongue and keeps working.

It's not like it's any of his business.

The sun's going down and the floodlights have been turned on, turning the soft golden hour light into something harsh and stark. Despite his helmet and mouth guard, Eddie can still taste dirt and iron between his teeth from the constant clods of mud kicked up by the tires. The arena is filled with the stench of exhaust and oil and gas, burnt rubber and the ozone sharpness of metal grinding against metal.

Beneath Eddie, Corroded Coffin wheezes and gutters, the hearse on its last legs. She can't take many more hits. She struggles to turn right, and the brakes grind, and the body is dented in enough that his left elbow constantly rubs against the quilt strapped to the driver's side door as makeshift padding.

Across the arena, Harrington's Chrysler Imperial has lost all of it's polish and shine, paint ground off, scraped through, coated in mud, though the light still catches on the sheen of lingering glitter. Eddie can't see his face at this distance, cast in shadow, even staring straight down the barrel. But he can hear the engine roar.

A head-on collision is stupid. It's a good way to trash your car and knock yourself out of the running. But.

Eddie's heart pounds and his blood sings and every fiber of his body screams at him to drive his car directly into, against, through, Harrington's, until mangled metal twists together and you can't tell where one body starts and another ends.

They're the last men standing. And a head-on hit always makes for a good show.

Eddie runs out the front door of the convenience store, and when he gets to the car, he grabs the fuel nozzle, yanking it out the car, slamming it back down on the cradle. 

Tommy Fucking Hagan spins around to look at the noise Eddie's caused.

"What the fuck, man?" Hagan asks, like he can't see the diesel spill. Can't smell it.

Eddie waves his arms, motioning to the huge, dark mess Hagan’s just made by not paying any fucking attention to his surroundings. He must be dumber than Harrington. He's definitely meaner. Eddie knows that firsthand.

"Can you not read? Do. Not. Leave. Vehicle. Unattended," Eddie says slowly, pointing at the sign, like Hagan's an idiot. Because he is an idiot. Eddie knows that, without a doubt. 

"It wasn’t unattended, you freak, I’m right here," Hagan says, looking at Eddie like he’s the idiot here. No fucking way.

Eddie waves at the mess one more time, "Sure looks like it was unattended."

Steve Harrington comes out of the store, and is just standing there like a slack-jawed fool, watching it all play out. 

Eddie looks at the dispenser, "That’ll be $14.15."

Tommy scoffs, "This car doesn’t hold that much, so unless the price of diesel has suddenly risen to over a dollar, then you’ve lost your goddamn mind, Munson. I knew you were a burnout, but that’s basic math."

Eddie narrows his eyes, "Well, that price accounts for the two or so gallons you ran out all over the ground."

Two gallons of fuel is a pretty big mess. Especially diesel. It doesn't evaporate like gas. And he's gonna have to clean this up, so that's on Hagan for not paying attention to what the fuck he was doing.

"No way."

"You pumped it, you’ll pay for it," Eddie snaps. He's not taking this out of his paycheck. No fucking way. 

"C’mon, just pay him," King Steve says, and Hagan rolls his eyes, but throws two bills, a ten and a five, at Eddie. Of course, they blow in separate directions. Fucker.

Eddie picks them up, and stomps back towards the store.

"I want my change!" Hagan yells, and Eddie turns around, walking backwards towards the door.

"Then you’ll have to come get it, this isn’t a full service station, sorry," Eddie says, and isn’t sorry at all. 

Hagan comes in for his eighty-five cents, and as soon as he leaves with it, Eddie checks the supply closet for the absorbent. Of course, all they’ve left him with is an empty sack, so he heads over the household aisle and grabs the clay cat litter. Uncle Wayne uses it at home to soak up oil spills, so Eddie knows it’ll do in a pinch. 

Eddie carries it outside in time to see Hagan driving through the diesel mess as he leaves, spreading it further. Eddie groans, and barely resists the urge to flip-off the car as it pulls onto the highway.

Eddie instead sprinkles the cat litter over the spill, trying to prevent it from running any further. Mr. Fairmont is going to be pissy with the stain already, and Eddie doesn’t want to make it worse by letting cars track it all over the fucking drive. 

As much as he hates it, he needs this goddamn job.

Steve

Steve looks out the back glass as Eddie Munson shakes out cat litter all over the spill. Huh. Steve had wondered how Munson was going to clean that up. Steve doesn't think diesel evaporates, like gasoline. 

Tommy is bitching about the extra money, and Steve is pretty sure Munson was in the right. You don't get to not pay, just because you spilled it. Tommy pumped it, even if it was out onto the ground. But Steve's not about to open that can of worms, so he just nods along. Going with the flow. 

That's the easiest thing to do, Steve learned that a long, long time ago.

"He's a fucking freak. Rumor has it he's not going to graduate this year. Just what we need, him in our class," Tommy says, stomping down on the gas pedal.

Is it still a gas pedal if the car runs on diesel? Steve's not really sure. 

The school year is barely underway, how the fuck could Munson already be is such bad shape that that he might not graduate in May? 

And if that's true, how would Tommy know about it? They don't exactly run in the same circles.

It doesn't matter, Steve supposes. 

Eddie

They are ships passing in the night these days, Uncle Wayne and him. So, Eddie scribbles Wayne a note, doodling on it as he sits at the kitchen counter and eats a bowl of cereal. 

He's not sure the last time they've actually seen each other. All they have for showing proof of life are these notes they leave on the counter, back and forth, and the mess of dirty dishes in the sink that neither of them have found the gumption to wash quite yet.

Today, Wayne left him twenty dollars with his note and asked Eddie to buy groceries if he has time tomorrow. 

Eddie will make time, even if he has to go late.

And late it was. The place is practically deserted as Eddie walks through the Big Buy, and tries to stretch the money as far as he can. He stands in front of the peanut butter choices, and squats down to get a generic jar from the bottom shelf. It's just as good, he thinks. Or maybe he's just not used to the name brand stuff. 

Either way, with the difference in cost, it will definitely do just fine. Wayne won't care one way or the other.

Eddie hopes he's just about done growing. Neither him, nor Wayne, had been prepared for the amount of food he would consume throughout his teen years. It's like he's always hungry.

Wayne always says he has a hollow leg, without judgment.

But when Eddie asked Wayne why he didn't remember eating nonstop when he was a teenager, it didn't take much of his hedging for Eddie to understand that Wayne, and Eddie's dad, had likely just gone hungry a lot. Maybe that's why neither one of them turned out very tall. 

Eddie's already taller, and he's been hungry since he's been with Wayne. Eddie's still thin, and he could probably eat twice as much as he does, but he's not truly hungry. Wayne's never allowed it to get to that point.

Still, Eddie looks at the price and adds it to his running total on the calculator on his watch. And his dumbass teachers said he wouldn't have a calculator in his pocket while they were struggling to teach him math. Well, he might not have one in his pocket, but one on his wrist is just as helpful. 

He stands back up, and there's Steve Harrington pushing a cart in his direction. Just his luck. He figured Harrington had a maid to do his shopping, or at the very least, a mom. 

Steve has always looked like a mama's boy. Not a hair out of place. Pleated khakis and polo shirts.

Eddie watches him out of the corner of his eye. Harrington's not paying any attention to prices, and doesn't even appear to have a list. He's just adding stuff to his cart all willy-nilly, like an animal. 

Two different kinds of jelly at once. That's how the rich live, he guesses. 

Eddie looks back at his remaining list:

Pretzels, bread, milk, eggs, bacon. Rice and beans. Some kind of cheap lunch meat. Imitation cheese-like slices. 

He's not sure he's going to be able to stretch twenty dollars into all this, but he has some of his own money he can pitch in and just not tell Wayne. He knows Wayne doesn't want him helping with household expenses, but he can. He's old enough to help. 

Plus, he's the one eating like a horse. 

"Did you get it cleaned up?"

Eddie is working over his list in his head, like it's a puzzle when he realizes Steve must be talking to him. They are the only two people in this place.

Looking up, Eddie furrows his brow, "Are you talking to me?"

Steve is staring at him. "Well. Yeah. The diesel. Did you get it cleaned up?"

Oh. Yeah. He did.

"Yeah, I guess. Still stained the concrete."

Steve nods, "Sorry 'bout that."

Eddie nods, taking his apology. Whatever. It's just part of his shitty ass job. 

Steve pushes his cart away, and Eddie continues to carefully pick and choose around the store. When he checks out, Steve Harrington is in front of him. Of course he is. 

Two people in the store, and there's a line. 

Steve sees Eddie, and smiles, just a little, but Eddie doesn't return the gesture. He doesn't need to be pitied by Steve Harrington in the fucking Big Buy checkout line. When Eddie doesn't smile back, Steve turns and hands over an amount of money that Eddie wishes he had in his wallet. And the fact that it was basically all used for junk food, is astounding. 

Harrington had a lot of TV dinners, and that kind of surprises Eddie. Surely, Steve Harrington isn't in the kind of family that sits around eating out of foil tins in front of the television. That's way more of a thing that Wayne and him would do. If they could afford it.

Eddie waits his turn with his basket, and his pre-figures are pretty damn close, and he hands over the money without any embarrassing incidents. He can remember those from his childhood, his mom picking and choosing what to hand back to the cashier, who often looked at her with contempt for just daring to be poor.

It was bullshit.

So, Eddie avoids it as best he can. He's gotten good at figuring up the cost of things, so he doesn't have to hand back a jar of peanut butter or a carton of eggs.

He takes his change and shoves it into his pocket.

He's still got homework, so he's gotta get all this shit home and put away.

Steve

Steve sits on the trunk of his car in the Fair Mart parking lot. Eddie Munson walks out to refill the liquid for the windshield squeegee. They make eye contact as Munson walks back towards the front door, and Steve looks away. 

He's embarrassed that anyone is seeing him this way, especially Eddie Munson. 

Tommy comes back out with a cold can of Coke and a bottle of aspirin, demanding payment for them right away. Like Steve's not good for it. Like Tommy doesn't have the cash to spare, even if he wasn't.

Carol and him both start in on Nancy, and Steve's over it. Fuck this. Fuck them.

He's out.

When he drives through town, he sees two theater employees trying to clean the spray paint of the sign at The Hawk. Steve feels ashamed. He may not have been the one that actually did the deed, but he was a full participant. 

He pulls over alongside the curb, and heads over across the street.

Eddie

Nancy Wheeler and Jonathan Byers are filling up gas cans. Lots of gas cans, and Eddie is standing there watching from the front window.

Huh.

He thought she was dating Steve Harrington. He looked like shit earlier, like he'd had the tar beaten out of him.

Now, Eddie might be bad at math, but it damn well doesn't take much to put two and two together.

Steve

Later that night, way, way later, Steve walks into the Fair Mart, and the fluorescent lights hurt his eyes. He doesn't know what he's looking for. Nothing, really. He's just moving on autopilot. 

Monsters are real. 

What the fuck is he supposed to do with that information? 

"Do you need help finding something?" Munson asks, from behind the counter. Only a little bit snarky. 

Steve shakes his head, "No. I'm just looking, I guess." 

"Byers gave you a hell of a shiner," Munson says, and Steve nods. 

"Yeah, I had it coming," Steve answers, because he did.  

That seems to stop whatever Munson was going to say next right in its tracks. Good. Steve doesn't want to talk about it. He wants to talk about the monster he just fought off with a bat that's now in his trunk, covered in blood and gore, but knows Munson would think he's crazy if he did. 

Maybe he is. 

He can't possibly have just seen what he thinks he saw.

His hands are shaking. 

"Are you gonna buy something or not? It's closing time," Munson asks, and Steve looks at his watch. It's splattered with blood. He tries to swipe it away, but it's dried on now. 

He didn't realize it was this late. He's lost track of time. That's probably normal, once you've been thrown headfirst into hell. All he wanted to do was make amends. Apologize. 

But no. Monsters are real and he feels numb.

"Oh. Sorry, looks like I made it just in time," Harrington says, and Munson looks at him, face unreadable. 

Eddie

Does this asshole not know how time works? Hours of operation? Eddie is incredulous at this bullshit. What an asshole.

"That's not how this works," Eddie says, "It's after ten right now. That means you should be in your car, driving away," Eddie adds, moving his fingers in the walking away motion, "Not milling around, forcing me to keep my register open."

Harrington stops, and looks at Eddie with some really sad eyes. He looks like he might cry, and Eddie wasn't expecting that. Now he feels like the asshole in this situation. Fuck. He's gotta be having a bad day. He totally admitted that he got beat up by Jonathan Byers. That kid is soft. Eddie'd never admit to that under pain of death.

"It's fine, just hurry up, man. I've still got homework," Eddie says, trying to soften his tone, just a little. Harrington has clearly been through some shit today, and while that's not any of Eddie's goddamn business, he doesn't need to kick a man while he's down. He's an asshole, but he doesn't cheat to win.

Steve finally grabs a few things, seemingly at random, pays, and is gone.

Eddie 

Eddie's sweeping the floor of the Fair Mart, the store closed for the night, when he hears the door rattle. 

He takes off his headphones and looks towards the glass door. He can't see anyone in the dark, not with these bright-ass lights on inside the store.

Ride the Lightning is still blaring from the headphones as they hang around his neck. 

"We're closed!" he yells, and pushes the broom further across the floor. 

The door rattles some more, and Eddie huffs out a breath of annoyance, leaning the broom handle against the table of the booth.

When he gets to the door, it's Steve Harrington. 

And his whole face is fucked up. Again. It's a mess of epic proportions. Eddie feels like he's getting déjà vu. He swears they did this last year.

Eddie unlocks the door. 

"Harrington?" 

Steve slips in through the door, and Eddie locks it behind him, out of habit. 

Eddie notices the red bandana around his neck, "You know, if you're gonna rob me, you're supposed to wear that over your face." 

Harrington laughs, just a little, but it must hurt, because he reaches up to hold his cheek. 

"Do you have anything to help dull this? Weed. Or morphine, preferably," Harrington asks, dryly. 

"What the fuck happened to you?" Eddie asks, looking at him.

"Billy Hargrove," he says. 

Eddie is pretty sure he's witnessing the fall of Steve Harrington in real time. You don't come back from this, not in high school, he's gotta be done for.

"You really look like shit. Are you sure you don't have brain damage?" 

"No more than usual," he says self-deprecatingly, and Eddie laughs, caught off-guard. 

That was funny. Harrington is funny? Who knew? Not Eddie. That's for damn sure. 

Eddie digs around in the drawer behind the counter, searching through what amounts to a very poorly stocked first aid kit. He comes up with a bottle of aspirin, and puts it back. If Harrington's bleeding internally, they shouldn't make it worse. He finally finds the Motrin, and takes it over to Steve. 

Then, he gets and fills up one of the little paper triangle cups of water from the employee water dispenser. Because a real cup would be too luxurious for Eddie and the rest of the staff. 

"Thanks," Harrington says, and Eddie nods, picking back up his broom. He supposes there's no reason Harrington can't sit there while he finishes up. He looks fucking pitiful, and Eddie? Well. Eddie likes to take in strays. It's kind of his thing.

So, he can't help himself. He goes over to the ice cream freezer, and pulls out a Choco Taco, and gets a Slice from the walk-in cooler. They're both  new. He'll give Harrington something else to think about besides his busted up face. 

Eddie slides them both across the table to Harrington, and Harrington nods in thanks. 

Eddie goes back to the register and puts a dollar in it from his wallet to pay for both items. He's a lot of things, but he's not a thief, and he'd like to keep this job. Even if he hates it, and all the people that come in here, day after day.

When he's done sweeping, Harrington is sitting in the booth, eyes closed. Ice cream wrapper and pop can, both empty.

"I'm done here for the night, you ready to go?" Eddie asks.

Harrington nods, but he doesn't look ready. Not at all. He looks a little shaky and pale. Traumatized. He looks traumatized. Which is a little dramatic from a fight. Eddie knows he's been in those before.

"I have a joint in my van, if you want?" Eddie offers, and he's not sure why. They definitely aren't friends. 

Harrington nods, "Thanks." 

Eddie locks the door of the store behind them, and Harrington follows him to the van and climbs in the passenger side. It's fucking weird.

But Eddie digs out the joint, and passes it to him with the lighter. 

Harrington takes a deep hit, and holds it in his lungs. Eddie's impressed. He figured this was gonna end with a bunch of coughing and carrying on. 

It doesn't. 

Then, he's offended. If Harrington's smoking weed, where's he buying it, if not from Eddie?

When Steve finally releases it, it's smooth, and he leans back against the headrest. 

Eddie takes it back, and takes a hit himself. 

"Are you sure you're okay? Why are you so dirty?" He smells terrible.

"I was down in a hole," Harrington says. 

"Literally, or metaphorically?" 

"Literally, unfortunately," Steve says, and takes another hit. Eyes closed. 

Eddie looks at him, as much as he can here in the dark. Harrington really has been fucked up tonight. 

"You look like hammered dogshit." 

"Thanks," Harrington laughs. 

Eddie smiles. 

"My ear is ringing," he admits, "Hargrove hit me with a plate. Knocked me out."

Eddie doesn't know what to say to that. Sorry? Not that long ago, he'd have been actively rooting for King Steve to be knocked the fuck off his pedestal. Unfortunately, he likes Billy less than he likes Steve. 

"You have to have a concussion," Eddie finally says, stating the obvious.

"Yeah," Harrington says, like he already knows that. 

"Maybe you shouldn't sleep then," Eddie offers, and that's about the extent of his concussion expertise. 

"Not a problem, I can't go home like this. My parents are actually home for once." 

Eddie is not dragging Steve Harrington home with him like an injured stray cat. He's not. No way. No how. Not a chance in fucking hell. 

That's never, ever happening.

"You can come home with me, if you want. It's just me. My uncle works nights." 

Fuck. 

Harrington turns his head, not pulling it up off the headrest, and looks at him. 

"Okay. Yeah. Thanks. That'd be great." 

"I live in the trailer park, so temper your expectations." 

Harrington laughs, and smiles at him as he closes his eyes again. 

"No sleeping," Eddie reminds him. 

"Just resting my eyes. My very, very sore eyes." 

"Are you okay with driving? Or are you leaving your car here all night?" 

"I'll follow you," Steve answers, moving to get out. 

Eddie watches him go. 

What the fuck was he thinking? Inviting Steve Harrington to his house. Steve Harrington doesn't want to come home with home, except he does, apparently. 

Steve

Steve's whole head throbs, but he concentrates hard, pulling out into the highway behind Eddie Munson. 

What the fuck is he thinking? Following Eddie Munson home. 

But he does, because it's not like he has anywhere else to go. He doesn't really have friends anymore. So, here he is, pulling up beside Eddie's van in front of the old, rundown trailer. 

Eddie ushers him inside, flipping on the lights. Steve looks around. Mugs and hats line the walls, and every surface in the place has stuff sitting on it. It's cluttered, and lived-in, in a way his house has never, ever been. 

People live here. 

Eddie leads him back to his bedroom, and it's more of the same. It's filled to the brim with stuff, Eddie's stuff. 

Steve's own bedroom is sanitized. Put together by his mother's interior designer, with no real thought given to his taste or interests. No clutter allowed. He's got a car poster that he didn't pick out, and that's about it. Set dressing. 

Steve feels like he is set dressing at home. 

But this room is like looking into the deepest recesses of Eddie Munson's brain. He likes it.

Steve thinks he must be stoned. He sits down on Eddie's mattress. 

Eddie digs around in his dresser, finally throwing him a t-shirt and pair of sweatpants. Steve stands back up and starts getting undressed, and Eddie turns his whole body away. 

That's weird. 

But Steve guesses he just hasn't spent the same amount of time in locker rooms that Steve has. 

He gets a whiff of himself, and he smells like decay. The demodogs, he's sure of it. 

"Can I take a shower first? I stink."

"Sure," Eddie says, and leads him into the bathroom. More clutter, and a little lime scaly. There are no women living in this house, Steve is sure of it. 

Eddie helps him with the trick to adjusting the water in the kinda gross shower, without scalding or freezing himself. Apparently, there's a very, very small margin of error. 

And then Eddie leaves him. 

Steve washes his hair, and his scalp is fucking sore. His whole face hurts. 

School is gonna suck tomorrow. 

Eddie

Eddie is trying to fall asleep on Wayne's fold-up in the living room, while Steve Harrington is in his bed. 

What the fuck is happening here? Did he fall into another dimension? 

Eddie isn't sure if Steve should sleep yet or not, but Steve said he was tired and going to risk it. 

If Steve Harrington dies in his bed, the town will have his head on a pike by nightfall. 

Steve

The next morning, Steve walks down the corridor at school with his head up. Fuck all these assholes. Monsters are real, and Billy Hargrove beat the shit out of him. So fucking what? Who cares?

He catches Eddie's eye, and nods, but Eddie looks away. Like Steve didn't sleep in his bed last night. Like they've never spoken, outside of schoolyard taunts. Like they didn't eat breakfast, standing, shoulder to shoulder, at the cluttered kitchen counter in the trailer just a couple hours ago. 

Maybe he deserves that. 

Steve looks away, too, and keeps walking. 

Eddie

Eddie sits in the lone orange, Formica booth in the Fair Mart, trying to do his homework while it's quiet. The end of the night is usually deader than shit, so he can often try to squeeze in some homework so he doesn't have to stay up so late once he gets home. 

He's gonna flunk Ms. O'Donnell's class. There's no way around it. He's not going to graduate. Again. He doesn't know why he's even bothering with this anymore.

If he does fail, he's not going back for a third time. He'll get his GED, if he can manage that, because he can't fathom another year in that hellhole. 

He does fail. Again. And Wayne is hounding him, promising that the third time's the charm, which Eddie knows is bullshit. But he appreciates the vote of confidence, anyway.

He's stuck in summer school, just to get himself into a position to maybe graduate next year. It's embarrassing. He's not this stupid, he's pretty sure. The teachers all just hate him, and will do anything to keep stepping on his neck.

Eddie thinks they'd rather just get rid of him, but no, he's gonna be stuck in their classes again come fall.

At least he has Hellfire, and he hopes the new class of Freshman will have some good recruits. Their numbers are dwindling, and he can't do it alone with just Gareth, Jeff and Goodie. That's not enough people for the kinds of campaigns Eddie wants to create and run.

There's been whispers that they aren't gonna let him keep it, anyway. That he's too old, and that his focus should be on finishing school, not having fun.

Wayne said he'd take care of it, and Eddie knows he will.

Summer school sucks, and it makes for some long-ass days, especially when he works at night. Mr. Fairmont decided they needed to stay open later than ever this summer, and Eddie doesn't understand why. It's deader than dead. But at least he's being paid to do his homework.

It's the Fourth of July and he can hear fireworks in the distance in all directions, and then a siren. And another.

Until it's a whole fleet of them rushing by on the highway, and Eddie stands out on the drive, watching as they speed past, wondering where they're headed. That's a lot of vehicles to respond to something, so it must be big. 

Eddie hopes it's not the plant. Hopes that Wayne is fine, and working, just like Eddie is doing.

Steve Harrington limps in, body stiff, with a horrible black eye and a missing fingernail, wearing a blanket over his stupid sailor outfit that has definitely seen better days. He looks rough, and sad. 

Worn out. 

And he reeks of smoke.

"Are you still open?" Steve asks, and well, that's an improvement, Eddie supposes. Usually, he just barges in and makes himself at home.

"Yes. What happened?" Eddie asks.

"Mall fire," Steve says, slumping into the booth. 

Yeah, Eddie had heard from several customers that the mall was on fire. News spreads fast in small towns with nothing better to talk about, but Eddie hadn't assumed there'd been anyone in the mall. Surely it was closed, it was well after dark, on a federal holiday, no less. 

But still, Eddie brings him a New Coke, and Steve cracks it open, nodding his thanks. Then, Eddie finds a clean-ish looking towel, and fills it with ice from the fountain machine, holding it out for Steve to take. "For your face."

Steve takes it, nodding in thanks as he presses it to his eye.

Eddie doesn't know how they've gotten to this place where sometimes Steve just turns up like a bad penny, bloodied and hurt, like he's looking to Eddie to fix it. 

Eddie can't fix anything. He can't even fix himself. 

He can't even graduate high school. He definitely can't fix Steve Harrington's internal or external wounds.

But he sits with him, looking at his purple eye, and blown pupils. Major head trauma? Or is he fucked up? He looks fucked up.

"Are you on drugs?" Eddie asks. And if he is, will he share?

Steve nods, adamantly.

"I got drugged by Russians. They pulled off my fingernail," Steve says, holding up his hand.

Okay. What's Eddie supposed to do with that information? Is it even true? Why would Steve have encountered Russians in the mall fire?

Steve

He shouldn't be here. He's gonna tell everything he knows. About the Russians. About monsters. About Hawkins.

"What do you know about linear equations?" Eddie asks.

And Steve is thankful for something else to think about. He's not the best at math. But he's not terrible either. He reaches over and takes the worksheet, and tries to focus his eyes on the problem Eddie's trying to work out.

Together, they figure it out, and for a few minutes of this godforsaken day, Steve feels normal.

Eddie

"She wanted to meet you in the woods and you said no?" Gareth asks, sitting behind his kit.

"Swear to god," Eddie says. Chrissy Cunningham wanted him to sell her some weed, but it felt like a trap, and Eddie wasn't into getting the shit beat out of him by Carver and his asshole friends. So he bailed. A last minute decision.

And then they found her dead outside Reefer Rick's. Brutally attacked and murdered. Eddie feels guilty, and he can't explain why. He didn't kill her. Rick didn't either, he's still serving time. But Eddie didn't help her when she asked. Maybe if he had, she'd still be alive.

He doesn't even understand how she knew about Rick in the first place.

Nobody else is as concerned about this as he is, clearly, and they start playing again. Eddie is turned towards Gareth, watching him drumming, when Gareth stands up suddenly, and the music cuts to a stop. Eddie turns to look to see what has caught all their attention. 

It's just Steve Harrington pulling into the driveway. 

"What the fuck is he doing here?" Gareth asks, rounding his drum set. Fire lit under his ass, defensive and hopping mad. 

Eddie catches his arm. 

"He's fine," Eddie says, and Gareth looks at him like he's lost his fucking mind. Maybe he has. 

"Since when is Steve Harrington fine?" 

Eddie shrugs. For a while now, though Eddie's been denying that.

Steve gets out of his car, looking so fucking tired and run-down.

There's a lawn chair right near the open garage door, and Steve sits down in it. Then he props his feet up on the upside down red milk crate that's sitting there, making himself at home. 

Gareth makes a sound of annoyed disbelief at the audacity of this action. 

Eddie cuts him a look, telling him silently to simmer down. Steve's not hurting anything or anyone by sitting there, even if it's weird to show up unannounced and uninvited. But their whole thing has been based on that. Steve shows up without warning, and Eddie is forced to deal with it. 

It's a thing they do, and by now. A habit.

So, Eddie walks over and digs into the cooler beside Steve, and hands Steve a can of beer, sliding it down into a foam koozie first, to hide it a little from the prying eyes of the rest of the nosy neighborhood. They are already unpopular in these parts for the music alone. 

No reason to add underage drinking to the list of complaints.

Steve nods in thanks, and cracks it open. 

Eddie doesn't ask why he's here, and Steve doesn't offer, doesn't say anything at all, so Eddie goes back in the garage, giving Gareth a little shove back towards his drums. Then Eddie looks at Jeff, at Goodie. 

Counting them back in. 

And they pick back up where they left off, like nothing has changed.

By the time they've finished, Steve Harrington is asleep in the lawn chair, warm beer perched on his knee, right there in Gareth's driveway. 

This is fucking weird. He's never sought Eddie out, at least not outside of the Fair Mart, before. He must think they're friends. They definitely aren't friends. That's ridiculous.

He takes the beer from Steve's hand, and pulls him up from the chair. 

Steve climbs in the passenger seat of his own car, and Eddie guesses that means he's leaving the van here. He puts Sweetheart in the backseat of Steve's car, and then gets behind the wheel. 

Gareth, Jeff and Goodie are just standing in a row in the doorway of the garage, looking at him like he's been possessed by the preppy devil. 

He gives them a pointed look, and they stop staring. 

If Steve Harrington knew how bad of a driver he was, this wouldn't be happening. 

But he backs out of the drive, very carefully. And takes them back to the trailer, not sure where else to go. 

Steve

Steve doesn't know what possessed him to just pull into Gareth Jones' driveway and make himself at home. He saw them, heard them, and was just so tired. Everything has been exhausting lately. 

It's happening again, and Steve's tired of it.

If he's gonna be backed into a corner of fighting monsters again, he at least needs a nap first. And when he saw Eddie's van, he knew that'd be a safe place to do it.

Eddie

Eddie is driving Steve Harrington in his own car while Steve dozes. 

"Your house?" Eddie asks, because he knows where Steve lives. They all know where Steve lives. 

There have been numerous house parties Eddie has crashed, and before that, it was the best neighborhood for trick or treating when they were kids. 

"Yours?" Steve mumbles, a question. 

Eddie sighs. He guesses. Though, Wayne might be home to ask questions that Eddie would really rather avoid. 

Steve is asleep on the couch, Eddie sitting on the floor in front of him, when Wayne opens the front door. Wayne looks at Eddie, then at Steve, and raises one eyebrow. 

Eddie shakes his head, begging for Wayne to just let this go. Wayne does, putting his lunch pail on the counter before he heads for the bathroom.

When he comes out, showered, he sits in his chair, quietly.

"New friend?" Wayne asks, in a low rumble. 

"No," Eddie says quickly, then feels guilty, "Yeah, maybe. I don't know."

"Fancy car he's got," Wayne teases, and Eddie smiles.

"Yeah, and I've gotten to drive it," Eddie teases.

"Lord, he's more trusting than I am, then," Wayne says.

Eddie laughs, and looks back at Steve, who's still sound asleep. Mouth slightly open, breathing in a soft snore.

"Where's the van?" Wayne asks. Eddie can read between those lines.

"It's fine. At Gareth's."

Wayne nods.

"He's…he's Steve Harrington," Eddie says, looking at Wayne, "and he keeps showing up for some reason, and I don't know why. This is the first time that he showed up looking for me outside of the Fair Mart, though. He came to Gareth's garage, and just…took a nap while we played."

"He slept through that racket?" Wayne teases, and Eddie grins.

"Shockingly, yes."

"Then you best let that boy sleep," Wayne states, and Eddie nods. That's exactly what he's been doing. He doesn't understand why Steve thinks this is a safe place, but it is, Eddie understands that, too. And has never taken it for granted.

Wayne's has always been safe, and he supposes there's no reason he can't share a little bit of that safety with someone else, even if that person is Steve Harrington.

Steve's laying on the couch, staring at the ceiling. 

"It's starting again," Steve finally says, and Eddie doesn't know what it is, but Steve seems resigned. Chrissy Cunningham died last night. Fred Benson died today. Eddie knows that Hawkins is fucked up.

Eddie still doesn't know what to say to any of this. He feels guilty. If he'd just let Chrissy come over, maybe whatever happened to her could have been avoided. It's eating him up inside.

But he says nothing, and Steve doesn't seem like he was looking for anything from Eddie anyway.

When Steve leaves, he stands in the yard a little too long staring off in the distance towards the Crawford's, like he's in a daze.

Then, he's gone.

Eddie looks up as a RV pulls up to the pump, way too fast, nearly out of control. It looks just like the Crawford's Winnebago, the one that usually sits a few lots down in the trailer park. But he's never seen it move that fast, that's for damn sure.

Nancy Wheeler and Robin Buckley bail out, both wearing camouflage fatigues. Robin in a beret, and Nancy starts pumping gas. Robin has a box of red kerosene cans in her arms, and puts them down so she can start filling them from the dispenser out front. 

Before he has time to really ponder what the fuck they're doing dressed like that, and in a probably stolen RV no less, Steve Harrington comes barreling down the steps. 

Eddie should have known he was involved in whatever the fuck this is. 

Steve's also in fatigues, and Eddie doesn't feel any way about that. He doesn't. Honest.

Steve runs across the pavement, up to the door, and Eddie looks down, wiping the already clean counter. Ignoring him. Ignoring this nonsense that he never understands. He doesn't want to understand, so that's okay.

Because Steve never explains, never has a reason or an answer. Everything he's ever done only gives Eddie more questions to ponder.

And this time is no different, apparently.

But today, Steve rounds the counter and grabs Eddie's arm, pulling him back into the employees only office. Where Steve's definitely not supposed to be. 

Eddie squawks at being dragged around. If he gets caught with Steve Harrington back here, he's definitely gonna get fired.

But then Steve Harrington pushes him up against the wall and kisses him. Hands in Eddie's hair, and Eddie can't do anything besides kiss back.

He fists his hands in Steve's jacket, and arches into him. 

Steve Harrington is kissing him, really kissing him, like it's the last thing he'll ever do. 

Then, the moment is broken by Robin Buckley screaming for Steve out in the front of the store, and Steve pulls away. 

"Steve," Eddie says, and he feels like he sounds stupid. Like he didn't see that this is where this thing between them was always headed. Maybe he didn't. He has taken his senior year three times.

"I just. We're. I don't know. I wanted to do that," Steve stumbles over his words, then looks right at Eddie. Strokes his thumb over Eddie's cheek. "I just wanted to do that."

Eddie nods, dumbly. 

He wanted Steve to do that, too. 

Staring at him, up close, he can see a bruise around Steve's neck that looks like he's been strangled. Eddie's fingers graze it, and Steve's eyes slip shut. "What happ—"

"STEVE!!" Robin yells again, more urgent, and Steve jerks back further. 

"Bye, Eddie. Thanks for everything." 

And then he runs off. 

When Eddie follows, Steve is already banging out the front door, following Robin, and they've left the money for the fuel on the counter. 

Eddie watches them all climb into the RV, sees Steve getting into the driver's seat, and then they pull away.

Eddie swallows. He thinks maybe this was the last time he'll ever see Steve Harrington, for some reason.

When Steve turns up in the middle of the night, he's filthy and the bruise around his neck has darked. He smells like kerosene and death.

Eddie grabs onto him, and pulls him close. 

Steve starts to cry and Eddie doesn't know what happened to him, to the town, tonight. The town is split wide open. Gareth's house fell into it. He's fine, his mom is too, nobody was home. But his house, the garage, Gareth's drums. It's all just gone.

Steve is clearly split wide, too. He's ragged and raw, and Eddie doesn't know what to do for him. If there is anything he can do for him.

"It's okay," Eddie says, and hopes that is true. 

"It's not," Steve says, and Eddie holds him tighter.

Eddie gets him out of his tattered clothing, and ushers him towards the shower. Steve lets him, like his brain has shut down. 

"Your back," Eddie says, fingers hovering, careful not to touch. He was dragged by something, that much is clear. A rope, maybe. 

Steve's standing there naked, covered in all these unexplainable marks.

There are puncture wounds all over him. His sides. His chest. They look deep, and on the edge of infection, maybe. 

Like he's been bitten by something. Gnawed on.

There's a deep, angry one on his thigh. Eddie tries to focus on it, and not anything else that's currently right in his face. For example, Steve's heavy dick, hanging soft.

Not the time, not the place.

"We'll have to clean those up," Eddie says softly, "Wash them real good."

Steve nods, and closes the curtain behind him.

Steve

Steve rests his forehead on the shower wall, letting the warm water beat against his destroyed back. It fucking hurts, everything hurts, but he's too tired to care. It needs to be cleaned anyway. He didn't think he was gonna make it after the bats had a hold of him.

Still didn't, even as Robin and Nancy showed up to help fight them off. Everything after was just tinged with unbearable pain.

They didn't win. Vecna disappeared. This isn't over. It'll never be over.

And he's so goddamn tired.

Of fighting.

Of monsters.

Of feeling so alone.

Eddie

Steve lays his face against Eddie's chest. His wet hair is damp and cold, soaking through Eddie's t-shirt. He's seen Steve in all manner of disheveled, but this is new. He looks younger, and older, both at the same time somehow.

Eddie had picked debris out of Steve's wounds, doctoring them as carefully as he could. Steve never flinched. Like he was checked out, somewhere else far away.

Now, he breathes heavily as Eddie holds him as tight as he dares.

"Monsters are real. This town is rotting from the ground up." 

Eddie doesn't know what the fuck that means. But he's not terribly surprised. 

He's seen how Steve comes to him, beaten, bloody and broken. He has been fighting something for a long time. Something worse than Jonathan Byers and Billy Hargrove.

The same Billy who died in the mall fire, and Eddie suddenly has a lot of questions about what really happened that night.

"I don't…"

"Monsters. Demogorgons. And the dog version. The Mind Flayer. Vecna."

"Those are from D&D," Eddie says, and maybe Steve has cracked. Maybe he's lost his mind.

"Dustin Henderson named them," Steve says, pressing his fingertips into Eddie's ribs. 

Eddie nods. That tracks. Henderson is his favorite little lost sheep.

"We tried, tonight. We weren't enough." 

"I'm sure you did your best." 

"Look at this place? We failed. I always fail." 

Eddie just holds him tighter, and doesn't say a word when it's clear he's crying.

Eddie had dozed off when Uncle Wayne bangs into Eddie's room, startling them both, causing Steve to tense up next to Eddie. 

"You're here," Wayne says, looking just a touch frantic. Eddie nods. He's here. "Half the plant fell into a hole. Earthquake, they say. Never seen no damn earthquake look like that. You're okay?" 

"We're okay. You're okay?" Eddie asks back, even if Wayne looks fine.

Wayne nods, and pulls the door closed. 

Steve is still tense. 

"Hey. It's okay. He's like me. He knows. He doesn't care." 

Steve relaxes, little by little. 

"What can I do for you?" 

"Nothing. This. Just this," Steve says, so Eddie does just that. 

In the morning, Steve gets up. He looks exhausted and dejected.

"I told Robin I'd take her to the Red Cross volunteer thing," Steve says. 

Eddie nods. 

"Do you want to come?" 

Eddie nods again. 

He doesn't, not really, but he'll go help if that's what Steve wants him to do.

They stop by Steve's house, which is still standing, and Steve changes clothes while Eddie sits perched on the edge of Steve's couch like he's in a museum. 

When Steve comes bounding down the staircase, he's dressed, looking like Steve Harrington. Not a hair out of place. Looking totally normal. 

A mask, Eddie realizes. 

Eddie's seen behind it now, and it hurts his heart to know that Steve is so adept at schooling his face into normal that nobody probably even realizes he's doing it.

They pick up Henderson and Robin Buckley, and bring in boxes of stuff to donate to those that need it. 

Once inside, Eddie sorts clothes alongside Steve, and folds them better than he's ever folded any of his own. Ever.

He stands next to Steve Harrington, and works. Quietly, comfortably. 

Later, Steve pulls Eddie on top of him, arms wrapped around him, squeezing tight. Eddie's sure he must be hurting Steve, with all those bat bites, but Steve seems to want this. Need it. So, Eddie kisses his cheeks. His bruised neck. And brushes soft kisses against his lips. He still can't believe he's kissing Steve Harrington.

"I'll take care of you," Eddie whispers. Someone needs to, that much is obvious.

Steve nods. His nose grazing Eddie's cheek. "You always have."

Eddie

Vecna returns. 

Steve was right when he knew that he would. This was just a lull in the action. A pause for them to try and catch their breath.

"Stay here," Steve says, holding Eddie by the shoulders. He has the trashcan lid shield and a spear that Eddie and Henderson had built in preparation slung over his shoulder. They made what they couldn't get smuggled in, and Eddie helped. Not really knowing what they might need, if. When. 

Eddie shakes his head. He can't just stay here. 

"I can help you, surely I can do something to help you guys?"

Steve is shaking his head adamantly. He's never waivered on his assertion that Eddie was not getting involved. He'd involved him enough by going to him, by telling him anything at all.

"Just be here when I get back." 

Eddie can't just sit here and do nothing now that he knows. 

He wants to kiss Steve goodbye, but there are too many people around. Too many prying eyes. 

Steve takes a step away.

Eddie follows, "Hey, Steve?"

Steve turns, waiting.

"Make him pay."

Steve nods, and then he's gone.

Steve

The radio tower jerks, lurching dramatically, and Steve is knocked off balance. Fuck. Shit. He knows he's going over. 

And then, he's gone. Tumbling over the ledge. He catches the edge, and tries to hold on. Fingers digging into metal. He thought his life would flash before his eyes. But it's not everything, it's just—

Eddie.

But the movement, Steve's momentum, his weight, it's all too much. He loses his grip, and falls.

Somehow, Jonathan grabs his hand and pulls him up.

Steve's breathing hard, adrenaline pumping, and Eddie can never know how close he was to falling to his death. He'll get too wound up. 

He's almost died lots of times. What's one more?

Eddie

When Steve comes home, he's wearing a backwards baseball cap, his hair curled around the edges, and is covered in some sort of dried gloop that smells like straight ass. 

"Jesus Christ," Eddie says, disgusted, despite being so happy to see him.

As is tradition, Eddie ushers Steve towards the shower, only this time, Eddie gets pulled inside with him. Crowding near him, running his hands over Steve's body. Checking for any visible injuries.

He doesn't find any.

"Is it over?" Eddie asks as Steve lathers his hair for the third time.

Steve looks lighter. Happier. Like the weight of the world has finally been lifted off his shoulders.

Steve cracks open one eye, swiping away the shampoo that's running down his forehead, and smiles.

"It's over."

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and follow along with the fun! 🦇

Notes:

I'm so excited that this one is finally finished. I started it in, checks notes, June 2023. Just days after I finished posting Tuesday's, haha. Of course other things moved to the front burner, but when I was digging through my files, I realized this would be perfect for Bingo. It was always called Here You Come Again, based off the Dolly Parton song. So, I dug it out, dusted if off, and finished it.

Choco Tacos and Slice were both introduced in 1984.

The red milk crate, lawn chair and cooler are present on screen in the Corroded Coffin garage practice scene. Just waiting on Steve, apparently.

I didn't want to get into the weeds too much with what would have all changed without Eddie being involved in the Upside Down in S4. That way madness and 20k words lies, haha. This fic was always meant to only cover the very small pockets of time when the UD reared it's ugly head, and Steve was forced to go toe-to-toe. But I did assume that Steve was still (somehow) attacked by the bats, and that they would have worked him over even worse, because they were down a person, with Eddie not there to help bat them away.

A demobat is flapping towards them.

They can hear them coming now. With the world this quiet, this still, they are very hard to sneak up on, which is kind of awesome. But Eddie knows that goes both ways. They are also making a lot of noise, just walking along. 

Eddie shrugs the bags off, both of them falling with thuds. Steve's bat in hand. He can do this. Has. But Steve generally takes the lead. 

The bat swoops low, and Eddie drops his shoulder.

Swinging, he makes contact with the bat, and it squalls. Shrieking at the audacity of Eddie striking it, as if it hadn't intended to rip his flesh from his body again at first opportunity. 

He hits it once. Twice, getting it to the ground. And then, he does the maneuver he's seen Steve do so many times, stepping on it, before ripping it in half.

Eddie looks over towards Steve. Wanting approval? Maybe. Wanting to make sure he's still okay? Definitely.

Steve is fine. Breathing a little heavy, but still upright as he coughs.

How they can still catch illnesses with no other humans around is beyond Eddie's comprehension. But Steve is sick. Pneumonia, maybe, with the way his lungs sound.

"Got him," Eddie says, smiling, and Steve nods, holding his thumb up. 

They've gotta find somewhere for him to rest. Two miles have come and gone.

Eddie isn't exactly sure where they are, but everything is covered in lush foliage. Kudzu, Wayne's voice in his head provides.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Eddie picks up the backpacks. He doesn't have time to wallow in his feelings. They gotta keep moving. Keep searching. For what, he's not sure. But Steve says walk, and Eddie will walk.

There's a set of abandoned train cars up ahead, and Eddie figures that might be as good of a place as any to sleep for a while.

"Train?" Eddie asks, and Steve nods. Train.

Eddie pries open one of the doors, checking it out, and it's empty. Except for some huge sacks of rice. Excellent. He hoists their backpacks up into the train car, and then squats down, making a booster step for Steve with his hands.

Steve steps into it, and Eddie pushes him up into the car. Then, he pulls himself up afterwards. Shoving the door closed behind them, only leaving a crack for fresh air and a sliver of light.

The pallets of rice seem like a pretty good bed to Eddie, and he motions for Steve to climb up. He does.

Steve sighs, like the relief of being off his feet is overwhelming. Eddie knows how that feels.

"Want me to take off your boots?" Eddie asks. Taking off shoes is a luxury these days, and Steve looks around, like he's weighing the risks. Finally, he nods.

And Eddie heads over, unlacing Steve's boots carefully, and then gently sitting them down, right within reach in case they need to bail quickly.

"Ah," Steve says, smiling, stretching his toes. "Thanks."

Eddie stands at the end of the pallet, and cups one of Steve's feet between both of his hands, kneading his thumbs gently into the sole of his foot.

"You feeling any better?" Eddie asks. He has to feel better. Eddie can't do this without Steve. 

"Now I am," Steve says, and Eddie isn't sure if he's just humoring Eddie or if he is actually turning a corner. Eddie hopes for the latter.

"That's good," Eddie says, and rubs Steve's tired, aching feet until Steve pats the bag of rice next to him. Eddie doesn't need to be told twice.

There's plenty of options, other pallets, but being anywhere other than side-by-side is unappealing. Eddie lays down, shoulder touching Steve's.

Steve coughs, but it sounds marginally better than it did yesterday or the day before that. Eddie'll take it. Baby steps. Moving forward is all they can do. When you're the only people in the world, as far as they can tell anyway, that's the only option.

Hell, maybe they'll even find someone else out there in the next million steps.