Steddie Angsty August

It might not be that obvious to anyone else, but Steve notices how deliberately Eddie avoids touching him. He steps out of Steve’s reach when he brushes the small of his back, he dodges when Steve tries to hold his hand, he’ll stand up and switch to another seat if Steve dares to sit directly across from him at the diner.

Steve isn’t dumb; he understands the need to be cautious. They’re two queer boys in small-town Indiana, and he’s not trying to get his ass kicked by some asshole who thinks men shouldn’t be able to touch without bursting into flames. But he sees Eddie horsing around with Dustin in the aisles of Melvald’s and giving Gareth a piggyback ride down Main Street and he has to wonder… Is it me?

Would it be different if Eddie was dating someone else? Would he be comfortable with a subtle back rub or a brush of pinkies if it didn’t come from Steve? Maybe he’d feel more secure with a tougher looking guy, someone more metal, a jock with a more imposing physique, someone who’s not so fastidious about their hair or keeping their sneakers clean.

Maybe Eddie is just ashamed to be seen with Steve.

The thought is totally unreasonable, but it lingers. It’s there when he and Eddie stand in line for the ice cream truck, so far apart that they get separated by a family of five. It’s there when he watches Eddie drape himself over Jeff‘s back after a long rehearsal, their cheeks practically touching where Eddie’s chin hooks over his shoulder. It’s there when he watches Eddie drag Dustin around the comic book store with a hand wrapped around his forearm, pulling him through the shelves until Steve loses track of them.

It’s that evening that Steve finally has to say something. He’s driving Eddie home after dropping off Dustin, half-listening to Eddie thinking aloud through new campaign plots and song ideas, but all Steve can think about is how he hasn’t touched his boyfriend all day, even though they’ve spent the last seven hours together.

The next time they stop at a red light, Steve reaches for Eddie’s hand where he’s drumming his fingers over his faded black jeans.

Eddie pulls away so fast it’s like an honest-to-god flinch.

“Okay, we need to talk about this,” Steve declares as he turns the corner and maneuvers the Beemer into one of the parking spaces off the main drag. “Why won’t you let me touch you?”

Uncharacteristically quiet, Eddie fiddles with the distressed knee of his pants. He doesn’t look up when he says, “We’re in public.”

“We’re in my car after midnight on a Wednesday, there’s nobody around,” Steve points out, gesturing at the empty streets surrounding them.

Eddie sighs, “Steve—”

“It’s like you’re a totally different person when you’re out with me. At home, I practically have to pry you off me to get anything done. With the Corroded Coffin guys and the kids, you goof around with them like your usual handsy self,” Steve explains, staring straight out the windshield at the old brick facade of the building before them. “So maybe you can see the conclusion I’m drawing here, when it’s just me, in public, that you seem to have a problem with.”

“It’s not like that.” Eddie’s voice is flat. It sounds nothing like him, which makes something ache in Steve’s chest.

“Then what’s it like?”

Eddie erupts, “I’m not brave like you, okay? I’m fucking scared. I’m always worried about somebody trying to start shit because I dared to look at another man in front of them.”

“But with the other guys, you—”

“It’s different. Because I don’t want to touch them like I want to touch you.” He sniffles, gaze still trained on the rings he’s twisting around his fingers. “With you, I… sometimes it feels like I can’t stop, you know?”

Steve does know. He thinks of Eddie kissing him hello in the doorway when Steve gets home from work, how one kiss becomes several and they end up stumbling up the stairs to Steve’s bedroom, never taking their hands off each other. He thinks of lacing his fingers between Eddie’s while they watch a movie, how it turns into massaging the sore spots in Eddie’s wrist and kissing the back of his hand in a chivalric gesture.

“So it feels safer not to touch you at all,” Eddie concludes. “Then I can’t get carried away.”

Steve is quiet for a long time, letting the weight of Eddie’s confession settle, before he says, “I’m sorry.”

Eddie glances at him out of the corner of his eye but hides the motion by wiping his face with his sleeve. “You didn’t do anything wrong, you just wanted to know what was going on.”

“I could’ve been less of an asshole about it.” It only feels fair for Steve to share a vulnerable feeling of his own. “It’s just, I’ve been with people who were embarrassed to be with me, or who were ashamed of their feelings or whatever. And it sucked, trying to convince them that I was worth their attention.” Steve lets out a long breath through his nose. “I’ve done it before, but I’m not going to beg you to love me, too. I’m glad I didn’t have to.”

Eddie’s smile, when he finally raises his head and turns to look at Steve, is small but genuine. “You’d have to beg me to stop.” When he holds out his hand with a wiggle of his fingers, Steve takes it.

“Can I kiss you?” Steve looks around the empty streets exaggeratedly. “It’s just you and me, and we can be back at my place in less than five minutes if you can’t contain yourself,” he teases.

Hopper seems to agree, since he asks the department to assign a patrol to Steve’s block. “Make sure you’re locking your doors and windows,” he reminds Steve as they walk the perimeter of the house. “People who kill animals for fun don’t always stop there.”

Steve keeps everything locked up, even when he’s staying at someone else’s place more nights than not. Robin’s parents insist it’s safer for him to stay with them than in that big empty house, and Dustin invites him over when his mom has to work the night shift. It would be kind of nice, being fussed over like this, if the circumstances weren’t so alarming.

Being around other people doesn’t stop the dreams, though. Every night it’s the same— someone whispering Steve’s name right behind him, cold fingers tracing over his shoulders and up his neck. Let me in, they encourage, until it feels like the idea was Steve’s to begin with, until teeth (fangs?) sink into his flesh with a sting that radiates red-hot through his body and he’s gripping at the cool limbs holding him in place like they’re the only thing keeping him from floating away…

When Steve wakes up, he’s drenched in sweat and hard in his boxers and shaking with fear.

He’s sick of this game, where he’s not even a player but a pawn to be toyed with. He’s sick of being afraid of every little sound in the dark and sick of wondering how far this is going to go. He’s not waiting around until things get worse or this psycho goes after his friends. This ends tonight.

The sun is just sinking below the horizon when Steve pulls into the driveway. The front yard is clear, from what he can tell, and the house stands dark and silent in the twilight. He grabs his bat from the trunk of his car and heads around to the backyard.

The pool lights are on and steam is rising from the surface into the cool autumn air, though he’s pretty sure he shut everything off before he left. Steve’s sweaty grip tightens, raising the bat so he’s ready to swing at the first sign of trouble.

As he inches past the diving board toward the back door, a dark shape in the water catches his eye.

“Hey,” he calls with a confidence he doesn’t feel, “I’m gonna give you one minute to leave before I call the cops.”

There’s no response, just the gentle splash of the water as the shadow floats around.

Steve takes a step closer. “You hear me?” It’s so hard to see in the fading light and steam coming off the water. He scoots as close as he dares to the edge of the pool and squints for a better look.

It’s a body.

A woman’s body, with long brown hair and suntanned skin and freckles, wearing a yellow sweater and blue jeans and white sneakers. She’s clearly dead, floating with her pale face on display and her vacant stare aimed at the sky.

“Pretty, huh?”

Steve startles at the voice echoing across the water. “Who’s there?” he calls back in the direction of the tall dark figure at the other end of the pool.

“She reminded me of you,” they continue, ambling along the deck toward Steve with a purpose that feels predatory. “Gorgeous hair, all those little beauty marks.” They tilt their head thoughtfully. “You won’t beg like she did at the end, you’re braver than that. I just wish you could’ve been a little braver when it counted. Probably would’ve saved my life.”

The back of Steve’s neck prickles. That’s the voice from his dream, but it sounds familiar now in a way it hadn’t upon waking. His voice shakes when he asks, “Eddie?”

“Steve?” he mimics, pitching it to match Steve’s fear, before he relaxes into his natural voice. “Yeah, did you miss me?”

“You were dead,” Steve insists, trying to hold the bat steady in front of his body as Eddie continues to stalk around the pool, closer and closer. He can make out his shape now, the riot of curls and his lanky frame and the big, piercing eyes peering out of the darkness.

He shrugs. “That’s the first step. Imagine my surprise, waking up alone in the Upside Down, knowing I had died but feeling better than ever. Stronger, faster.” His grin shows a glint of fang. “Deadlier.”

Steve shakes his head uselessly. “The animals, the dreams— that was all you.” It’s not a question but a painful statement of fact.

“I’ve been thinking about you. Even before I died, you know? Popular, gorgeous, noble Steve Harrington, who wouldn’t fall for you? I just wanted to make sure you were thinking of me, too.”

“Yeah, mission accomplished,” Steve spits. “You’ve been tormenting me for months.”

“You think you know torment?” Eddie closes his eyes and tips his head back as he takes in an exaggerated breath through his nose. “Every night, I stand out here and smell you. All spicy and warm. It’s so good, it’s like torture, especially when I know you’re gonna taste even better.” When they open again, his eyes are such a deep red they seem to glow.

“You need to leave,” Steve tells him.

Eddie laughs out loud, that same wicked cackle that was so contagious. Now it just makes Steve’s blood run cold. “Who’s gonna make me?”

Steve doesn’t even think before he’s sprinting for the back door, following some primal corner of his brain that’s telling him to run for his life. He makes it about halfway there before he’s tackled to the deck.

“Oh, Stevie,” Eddie croons from above him, “you didn’t have to go to all this trouble just for me.” He mouths at Steve’s jaw, buries his nose just under his ear and sniffs.

Eddie hadn’t been kidding about the enhanced strength; he doesn’t even flinch when Steve pounds his fists against his chest or tries to push his face away.

“I can make it so good for you,” Eddie promises. He licks a thick stripe up Steve’s neck that makes him shiver despite himself. “Just a little taste. Then you’ll be begging me for more.”

“No, Eddie, please,” Steve protests, no longer fighting down the terrified tears springing to his eyes. “Please, don’t do this.”

The scrape of fangs against his skin makes him feel sick. Desperately, he gropes along the deck with one hand, trying to get away from the piercing violation as Eddie bites down—

Steve’s fingers close around the handle of the bat where it had fallen beside him. Without a second thought, he raises it and slams it down into Eddie’s skull.

With a yowl, Eddie pulls away from him, distracted enough by the nails tearing through flesh and bone that Steve can shove him off and stumble to his feet, barely keeping hold of the bat. He darts forward, yanks at the handle on the sliding glass door, and…

It doesn’t budge. Through the glass, Steve can see the mechanism on the inside handle, firmly set to the locked position.

Thank god it’s glass, Steve thinks, and he winds up and swings the bat hard into the door. It shatters immediately and he jumps through the falling shards just as Eddie’s clawed fingers swipe at his jacket collar. From the pile of broken glass on the floor of the sunroom, Steve looks up and sees Eddie slamming his hands into an invisible barrier in the doorway.

So, it’s true that vampires can’t enter a private residence without permission. Steve makes a mental note to tell Dustin.

“C’mon, Stevie.” Eddie’s head is drenched in his own blood and his eyes are flashing in the moonlight, but his manic grin hasn’t changed. “This is no way to treat a guest. Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

Steve claps a hand over the bite on his neck, putting pressure on the still-oozing wound. “Go to hell,” he says.

Any warmth that might have lingered in Eddie’s gaze disappears like a switch has been flipped. “I think you’re the one who’s going to be in hell,” he says calmly. “I’ll see you soon. Just let me know when you get tired of letting innocent people die in your place.”

With a little wave of his fingers, Eddie is gone.

—

“I’m trying to have a conversation with you.” Steve sighs. “This is why this is so hard.”

“I’m sorry I’m so difficult.” Eddie snipes back, making Steve want to throw his hands up and walk away.

“Will you please stop being so defensive? God, I’m only trying to talk to you.”

“Fine,” Eddie sighs, and then falls loosely onto the bench beside Steve. “Talk to me.”

“It feels like you’re fighting me at every turn. Like there’s this wall you won’t let me through. I don’t know what to do. Tell me. I’ll do it. I just need to know what it is.”

Their knees are mere centimeters from touching, but it feels like they’re miles apart. Steve can feel his fingers shaking trying to hold himself back from grabbing Eddie’s hand.

“I don’t know,” Eddie mumbles. “Maybe it’s just not for me.”

Steve sighs and feels his heart pinch in his chest. “Is it me?”

Eddie reacts to that, turning his head to stare at Steve. “Why would it be you?” Steve shrugs weakly. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I’m just fucked up.”

“Do you want to be with me?” Steve asks quietly. He’s afraid to hear Eddie’s answer.

“Yeah,” Eddie nods, then rubs his hands across his mouth. “I just don’t know how to give you what you want.”

“Eds,” Steve twists in his seat, trying to look at the man he loves. “I just want you. I don’t need anything but you. I just want you to open up, talk to me, be with me.”

Steve catches Eddie wiping a knuckle under his eye. “I don’t know how to do this. I’ve never done this before. I feel like I’m failing you. You deserve more than me.”

“Don’t I get to decide that?” Steve knows he sounds frustrated and that’s probably not helping the tension building between them, but he can’t help it. “Eddie, I don’t know what I’m doing either. I’m not this relationship expert that everyone claims I am. I had one, count it, one long-term relationship that was a lie the entire time. Not only that, but I’ve been on a dumb amount of failed dates because I’m hopeless. I just keep trying. That’s it.” He runs a hand through his hair. “When I was a kid, my parents were crazy about each other. My dad would come home on a random Tuesday with a bouquet of flowers for my mom, and a new toy for me. She’d smile at him and pull him in for a kiss by the lapels of his jacket. He’d wrap his arms around her and dip her right there in the opening of the front door. She’d make this noise of surprise but smile the entire time. I’d catch him looking at her sometimes. Just watching her in the kitchen or folding laundry, like he was awed by her. Like she was incredible and he was so happy. I miss that. I want that.” And maybe that’s his problem. Because even now, his parents don’t look at each other like they used to. His dad only brings flowers home when he needs to apologize for something. Steve never catches him watching his mom anymore. They’re barely in the same room at the same time. Maybe Steve’s just as doomed as they are. “That’s what I want. Someone to be happy to see me.”

“I can do that,” Eddie whispers shakily.

“Yeah?” Steve’s voice cracks.

“That’s easy. I already am. Did your mom know when your dad was watching her?”

Steve shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”

“Steve,” Eddie brings a shaky hand to Steve’s cheek. “I can’t keep my eyes off you. Do you know you stick the tip of your tongue out when you’re concentrating on something? Or that you frown when you’re scrubbing something sticky off the dishes?” Eddie strokes his thumb gently across Steve’s cheek. “You talk to yourself when you cook. You rub your thumb across this spot on the wall when you’re on the phone with Robin. When I’m at home, it feels like I’m sitting around waiting until I can see you again. Like everything else is some preamble to being with you.”

“I didn’t know that.” Steve says breathlessly.

“Is that how you knew your dad loved your mom?” Steve nods. “Hmm, then maybe I’m not so far off.” And then Steve watches a tiny, hesitant smile creep onto Eddie’s face. “Maybe I’m not so bad at this.”

Steve grabs Eddie’s hands, pulling them into his lap, and squeezes them tightly. “I don’t need much. I just want you to talk to me. The word ‘friend’ is in boyfriend. I’m not your enemy. You don’t need to protect me from the bad stuff.”

“Ok.”

“I love you.” Eddie gives Steve’s hands a squeeze. “And you don’t have to say it back. I’m not going anywhere.”

“How do you know?”

“That I love you?” Eddie nods. “I don’t know.” Steve shrugs and pauses to think about it. “Because when I look at you, my mouth wants to blurt the words out. Like I can’t help myself.”

Eddie’s eyes widen, eyebrows shooting up his forehead. “Like they just want to tumble out?”

“Yeah, kinda.” Steve chuckles.

“Oh. I love you.”

Steve cocks his head. “What?”

“I was always stopping them.” Eddie shrugs like it’s that simple.

“You-?”

“Yep. I guess I love you.” He shrugs and chuckles sheepishly. “I’m so stupid.”

Steve leans forward, knocking their foreheads together. “No you’re not. This is why we need to talk.” He can feel Eddie’s breath brush against his face.

“I love you, Steve Harrington.”

Steve brings his hands up to cradle Eddie’s face. “I love you, Eddie Munson.”

"You hungry?" Steve finally asks Eddie, looking at him in the eye for the first time during the night, but Eddie turns toward him, confused.

"I thought it was you!" He replies, frowning.

They keep quiet for a moment, wondering if someone is in the storehouse with them, but when they don’t hear any other sound they get back to their work until they hear another gurgle followed by a soft whimper.

“Did you hear that?” Steve asks, looking around, hitching for the bat he always has in his trunk.

“I did.” Eddie replies, the same scared look on his face while he looks around the pile of boxes.

“Maybe it’s a dog.” Steve suggests, looking for something to defend himself.

“It didn’t sound like a dog.” Eddie replies, looking warily around them.

“A thief?”

“Robbing paper towels and detergent?” Eddie whispers, but he doesn’t move.

Steve holds the folder tight and steps closely toward the direction where the sound came from, when another little gurgle makes them both jump out of their skin. Gathering all his courage, Steve steps out from behind a pile of boxes, holding his folder high on his head, ready to crash it on the stranger’s head, but when he finally sees what’s making those sounds he freezes.

“Eddie?” He calls, lowering his arms, “Do you see what I see?”

On the ground, close to the shutter, there’s a sleepy little boy in a car seat, brushing his eyes and whimpering softly.

“A baby? What does a fucking kid do here?!” Eddie yells and the child startles, starting to cry out loud.

“No, no. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.” Steve coos him, picking him up and rocking him softly, while the kid brushes his face against Steve leaving snot and tears on his uniform, “I know… I know. He didn’t meant to scare you, little boy. Tell him you didn’t mean it.” Steve says to Eddie, still rocking the baby.

“What? No! There’s a child in the storehouse and the problem is that I screamed?”

The baby starts to wails while Steve glares at Eddie who begrudgingly finally whispers his excuses to the child.

“Sorry, kid. Didn’t mean to scare you. But you scared me first. What the hell are you doing here, little buddy?” Eddie asks, looking at the baby seat and finding a crumpled letter under a worned out blanket.

‘His name his Dustin. Please take care of him because I can’t.”

“Holy fucking shit, Steve. Someone abandoned him.”

“No shit, Sherlock! Kids don’t appear in storehouses on their own! Are you a hungry little man? Yeah, you’re. We’re going to find you something to eat soon, don’t worry.”

“What? How? What do babies even eat?”

“Formula. Let’s go to the pharmacy and pick up some formula and a bottle for this hungry baby. A pacifier and some diapers too.”

“Steve, you can’t just take a random kid home!”

“We can’t leave him here!”

“Of course no! Let’s call 911 and give him to them.”

“It’s three am in the morning! He needs to be in a safe place, not tossed around from one car to another.”

“Steve…” Eddie tries to help him be more reasonable, but Steve isn’t listening.

“Are you going to help or not?” He asks, still holding the baby tight to his chest.

“I… I… ok. I’ll help.”

“Good. There’s a pharmacy that should be open next to our place. I’ll wait for you at home.” Steve replies, grabbing the babyseat and the kid and throwing the storehouse keys to Eddie, “And close everything before leaving!”

***

When Eddie arrives at home, the baby is still crying but it’s clear that Steve bathed him, even if he’s still fussy and he calms down only when Steve finally gives him a bottle of warm milk. He lets out a huge burpe that makes both Eddie and Steve giggle, and then he falls asleep in Steve’s arms.

“You look good with a kid in your arms.” Eddie admits, caressing the baby’s puffy cheek.

“I always loved kids. Wanted to become a preschooler teacher, but things didn’t worked out.”

“Your parents?”

“Yeah.”

“You should try again. You would be a great teacher. And a great dad.”

“Eddie, I’m gay, who’s going to give me a kid to raise?” Steve asks in mocking tone.

“I would. And someone else did.”

“That’s just a coincidence.”

Eddie shakes his head in denial, “I don’t think so, Stevie. It’s no coincidence if the kid was there tonight.”

Steve chuckles and the baby complains at being jostle, “Sorry, sorry. Keep sleeping, Dustin.”

“Now what?”

“Now we wait for the morning and we go to the hospital to check him out and find him a family.”

“We could be his family,” Eddie declares, looking at the little boy while Steve raises an eyebrow, unimpressed, "I'm not going to beg you to love me. I know that train left the station long ago, but we could still raise the kid together."

“What about your dreams of becoming a great musician?”

“You’re right. They were just dreams. This,” Eddie says, pointing at the baby, “this is real.”

He thought that, by now, he’d have some part of his life figured out. Now that he’s entered his thirties. That he’s got some sort of college degree. A reasonable resume. The social connections needed to climb certain ladders. Yet, he’s not satisfied. Not pleased the way Eddie is.

The house they have is…too much. Lavish and big and bright. Hard earned, but hardly comfortable. It’s not cluttered like the Munson’s trailer was, it’s not warm and welcoming and the definition of pure and utter comfort. That was home, to Steve at least. It was a change of pace from the house he grew up in—alone and scared and desperate for attention he couldn’t find, instead sprawling between empty rooms that had too many windows and cleaning a pool too big for one person. This new house he now resides in is just that. A house.

By now, he thought that he’d be happy. That he’d be waking up refreshed and ready to greet each morning. That he’d be fine talking to Eddie over the phone, waiting around for those late night rings, trying to catch all the messy postcards in the mail. The postcards that come in random intervals and never actually reflect where Eddie is. It makes Steve anxious that he can’t pinpoint where Eddie is most of the time—left to bite his fingernails until he hears Eddie’s voice, and even then…sometimes he’ll call and won’t get an answer. And it’s no use to leave a message, it’ll be a hotel staff member or a person that’s now paying for the room.

All he does is wait and sleep and eat expensive food. He twiddles his thumbs. He’ll take a car to work, met with the smiling faces of herds of kids he teaches, and then he takes the silent drive home. Where he sits on an uncomfortable leather couch, satin pajamas that replaced old sweatpants a few years ago, staring off into nothingness that’s as ice cold as his chest feels.

He hates the waiting around, though.

Sometimes, he just wants to get up and leave. Search for something else.

But he loves Eddie too much, he knows. He’s not going to do that.

——— The front door opens and the thud of suitcases is heard. Steve leaves their bedroom, red eyed and face puffy. Wipes his nose on the sleeve of his pajama shirt, hands shaking with relief. Relief and anxiety and desperation and…terrible longing.

“Stevie!” Eddie crows, greeting. Arms open wide. Whip-wild smile on his face, eyes big, unshaven jaw. His hair is thrown up into a ponytail, bouncing with his boisterous immediate attitude. “Baby, baby…I have so many stories to tell you. It’s been such a good tour! I can’t”—he stops himself abruptly, arms falling back down at his sides. His voice that was previously so loud, echoing to their high ceilings, now softens. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Did…did something happen?”

Steve shakes his head. No, he thinks, it’s not Vecna. It’s not the Upside Down. It’s just me.

He takes a step forward, then several, and the last couple until he’s five feet in front of Eddie. Oddly, he feels small. Like the kid that greeted his parents when they came home from long business trips, already angry, already disappointed. He wants to curl up into a ball and keep crying, never admitting out loud what’s wrong. Feels that innate, incredibly deep urge to climb out one of the many windows and just run away. Like he tried to do so much when he was younger, heavy lopsided backpack on his little body, discarding letters of anger under his parents’ door so they’ll know he’s gone, and his mind set on a friend’s house—typically Tommy. Sometimes Carol.

But his friend that he’d go to now, Robin, she’s several state lines over. He can’t just up and leave now. He can’t just pack up his car and go. Eddie’s money is Eddie’s money. And even though they made an agreement that the cash is shared, it still would feel wrong to take some of it just to…abandon all that he has now. Which would probably include Eddie. And he doesn’t want to think of that.

His chest is concave and heavy, yet empty—hollow. Like it’s been for months. For years at this point. He takes a deep breath, ignoring how it shutters through him, makes him half-form a hiccup in the back of his throat. “I’m not…happy, Eds,” he admits in a whisper.

Eddie’s eyebrows raise slightly. Eyes growing bigger and concerned. The corners of his mouth pulling down. “How so, sweetheart?”

Steve can’t look him in the eyes. Looking at the floor below his bare feet. The cold hardwood that resembles too much of his parents’ house. He takes another steady-ish breath, almost gasping with it. Rubs his hands together below his stomach, like a nervous kid about to be caught.

“I hate it here,” he chooses to start. “I hate this house. I hate the way it echoes when I talk into it sometimes. I hate having to…” Steve looks up to Eddie. Merely avoiding his eyes, focused on the tip of his nose instead. “…I hate trying to figure out where you are because sometimes you won’t answer the phone, or maybe the postcard you sent doesn’t come in time. I hate that I even have to call you to figure out how you’re doing. 

“I can’t just turn over in bed and ask you how your day was. I can’t look you in the eyes when I talk to you because you just aren’t there. I’m so lonely, Eddie. I’m so…I feel just so…Empty.”

What follows that is a tense silence that even the sharpest of knives wouldn’t be able to cut. He doesn’t think flames would melt the tension. Nothing could get through it.

“You’re not happy…because of my work?”

He didn’t say that exactly, but it feels like the truth. Steve nods. “I’m happy for you,” he says, “I am. But your dream isn’t my dream. I honestly don’t even know what I want out of life, but I know this isn’t it.

“I’m just so tired of waiting around. Makes me feel like I’m waiting up for my parents to come home. And you know how that was. You know how I felt being there. Like I had to earn their attention, their love…whatever.” He shifts from side to side, still nervous and stomach turning. His eyes ache from drying out after all the crying earlier. He never thought that being honest would hurt so much. Steve swallows hard. Softly, he confesses, “I’m not going to beg you to love me. I don’t want to do that. But I don’t want to live like this either.” He looks back into Eddie’s eyes, finally. Met with the same miserableness that’s twisting inside of him. It makes his heart drop to his stomach. “So, if me being…if my current feelings get in the way of your dreams, I think we better…y’know.”

Steve doesn’t know, not really. Isn’t sure where he’d go right now. If all of this just falls through. He’d probably have to relocate his job, and he doesn’t want to say goodbye to his class of kids. Maybe he should’ve just waited for all of this to go down.

Instead, he’s met with a soft touch to the small of his back. Eddie leads them into their too spacious living room, on that uncomfortable leather couch, huddling in close to one another.

“Stevie,” Eddie whispers, “look at me, please.”

Hesitantly, he does.

“There you are,” Eddie coos. Soft hands envelop Steve’s right. Thumbs working into the hard points of his knuckles, nails gently tracing over old scars. “Baby,” he speaks softly, “I want to first of all say, thank you for telling me how you’re feeling. Okay? I like knowing things like this, sweetheart. Where you’re at in your head. Where you’re at with our everything. And I need you to know that none of what you said affects our relationship. None of it. If anything, it makes me understand you more. Makes me realize what isn’t working for us.

“But you are my first priority, always. Always, Steve,” he speaks firmly. “And I have to be honest here, too. I’m starting to hate the work that I do. I love creating music, I love working with smaller artists, I like getting out and seeing the world. But I hate doing it all the time. I hate that our days out sometimes gets interrupted by people on the street, or paparazzi cameras in our face. I hate that when we call, you sound so fucking tired from your day at work, waiting for me to answer the phone. I hate that I can’t get mail back from you, already gone before it’d come in the mail.

“I hate this house, I do. Even if we’ve had our fun with it”—he wiggles his eyebrows at that, eliciting a tiny snort from Steve—“it’s too big, you’re right. It’s uncomfortable to me, I gotta be honest. This couch we’re sitting on is fucking ugly and really trashy, even if it cost a pretty fucking penny. None of this us, I see that especially now.”

Steve sucks in a slow breath through his nose. Murmurs, “What are you getting at, Eds?”

Eddie brings up his left hand to Steve’s right cheek, gently cradling it in his palm. Thumb swiping reverently on the dried tear tracks there, the sticky hot skin. “I spoke with the band. With my agent. Told ‘em that this was my final tour. That I quit,” he confesses quietly, “that I’m going to sell this stupid fucking house. Move somewhere more remote, smaller, homelier. Somewhere we can be close to our real family, our friends. Maybe even somewhere we can get married one day. I told ‘em, loud and clear, that I’ve got love waiting for me back home that I know for certain I’m not going to find anywhere else.

“Being in love with you, Steve, has been more of an accomplishment, a brighter dream, and a fucking blessing compared to my first dream. You are why I keep going most days. And I don’t want to lose you over something we’ve both come to hate.”

He blinks at Eddie. Blinks and blinks and blinks. “You want to leave it all behind? Just to be here with me? Babe, that’s…that’s kind of insane, you know that?”

“Uh-huh,” Eddie hums. Eyes giddy and warm. “Guess you could say I’m crazy in love with you, sweetheart. I’d rather be with you. I’d rather stay in a home we put together with our hands rather than picking from some stupid catalogue. I’d rather water our plants while you make a classroom of kids smile. I’d rather greet you at the door, kiss on the cheek, taking your briefcase, ready to make us some warm dinner so that we can watch trashy television shows in our underwear, kiss until we’re fucking gasping, and then be able to wrap myself around you in our bed. Every fucking night. That sounds like more of a dream come true than anything.”

“You’d really leave it all behind, though? Just to be with me?”

Eddie rolls his eyes playfully. “Yes,” he swears. “Yes, sweetheart. A million times—yes! If I have to tell you every day that you’re worth staying for, then so be it. But you’re worth everything, you’re worth more than any riches I make from this crummy career.”

Steve squeezes Eddie’s other hand still wrapped around his. “Okay,” he whispers. 

He lets Eddie dote on him, soft and sweet and languid.

And later that night, wrapped around each other in bed, Eddie stroking the bridge of Steve’s nose, Steve’s fingers working circles into Eddie’s hip—they’re content.

“Can we get a dog in our new home?” Steve asks.

Jokingly, Eddie murmurs, “Now you’re asking too much.” He boops the tip of Steve’s nose. But there’s a big, foolish grin on his face. Eyes too soft to mean anything malicious. “I’m kidding, sweetheart. Maybe we’ll go to the humane society in the morning?”

Steve, for the first time in a long while, smiles. “Sounds like a plan, Eds. I love you.”

“Sweetheart, I love you until the universe fucking explodes. And then some.”

It'll be a longer stretch at home this time, nearly a month, and Eddie is pushing open the door to the apartment he keeps for Steve already thinking about all the ways they can spend the time.

All to trip over a bag in the floor. Dropping his behind him with a thump, the old army surplus duffle that's been as faithful to him as his boyfriend hitting the ground with a smack that brings the man of the hour out from the bedroom. He's got another bag over his shoulder, something expensive looking and stylish that Eddie wonders if he bought.

“Did I forget to tell you I was coming home?”

“Well it wouldn't be the first time,” Steve's voice is sharp and clipped. Face pinched in a way that conjures memories of his mother, the one time Eddie met her.

“If you've got a trip with Robin planned change it, I'll only-”

“Be in town for a few days?” Steve asks. “So I should keep putting my life on hold for the few minutes that you can pencil me in? Change my plans because you've blown into town and just like always Eddie Munson's plans are more important than anyone else's.”

“I thought you'd be happy to see me?”

The question brings a quiet like the eye of the storm, he can already feel the whipping wind starting to push back in around him, smell the ozone in the air; but those words halt everything for a second.

Then Steve breaks.

“I am happy, Eddie,” there's a wet shine in his eye and he knows better than to think Steve is going to give him the satisfaction of letting a single one fall. “That's the worst part. I'm happy every time you walk through the door but I can't fucking survive only being happy one week out of every nine.”

A DM at heart, he can't stand a problem that no one will bring a solution to. Spits the way he would when Gareth would bitch about combat balance, “Then fu-”

“Call a hotel you haven't left the number to?” Steve is vicious, stealing the satisfaction of the curse from between his still pursed lips. “I spent my whole fucking childhood doing that, and I'm not doing it anymore. I-”

He looks down at his feet, at Eddie's, the sprawl of the pristine leather suitcase he moved in with years ago, his grandfather's Eddie remembers. Rather, he remembers the fond way Steve had talked about it.

“I'm done,” he says more to the kicked over luggage than he does to the man he is leaving. “I'm gonna stay at Robin's, she's waiting.”

Desperation claws at the back of Eddie's throat, but what makes it out is his father. “You can't leave.”

Fury lurks at the bottom of the water in Steve's red rimmed eyes. An anger Eddie can feel as they snap to his. “Why not? There's no prenup, no lawyers to get involved. I can walk right out the door you're standing in the way of and you can keep on being Eddie Munson, mysterious bachelor of Corroded Coffin.”

“There is no me without you,” he tries, but even saying it he can hear how it rings hollow off the barren hallway walls.

Steve likes to yell, likes to get loud, has told Eddie it's the only way he could make sure that there was life in the big empty house he grew up in was to make sure he could hear his bouncing off the walls. So he's ready to be yelled at. Ready for whatever Steve wants to scream in his face before they move back into the kitchen or to the bedroom where they'll find normal again.

So he almost doesn't hear the whispered way his relationship slips away. “I'm not going to beg you to love me. I can't do that again.”

“Steve, no, Stevie I do. I do love you. Of course I love you, all of this is for you. All of everything is for you, we can work this out. Just stay.” He begs, babbles, pleads as Steve moves with a silent assuredness close enough to pick up his bag.

“Goodbye, Eddie, I really am so proud of you.” Sincerity rings through in every word, just like he can feel that bittersweet love in Steve's last kiss to the corner of his mouth.

"Why are you being such an idiot about this?!”

“I’m being realistic, Steve.” Every breath sounds like it’s going through a cheese grater.

“Realis– Eddie. You. Are. Going. To. Die.”

“Yep.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

That finally seems to set him off, “Of course I’m not! I’m fucking pissed that this is my lot in life. I survived the bats, the infections, the goddamn people of this town, and now it’s my stupid, lovesick heart that does me in?? I’m livid!”

Eddie hacks another cough, folding up on the bed with the force of them. A pile of ten blood-spattered petals sit on his lap by the end of his fit.

“So why not try?” Steve asks when Eddie’s breathing levels back out to its new normal level of wheezing. “If you’re already resigned yourself to dying, what’s the harm in telling them?”

Eddie studies him, his dark eyes are bloodshot, watering still from the coughs, then closes his eyes and shakes his head yet again.

“Damn it, Eddie.” Steve drops his head into his palms, “Do you think this is fun for us? Watching you wither away like this?” He picks his head back up, “Do you think Wayne is enjoying knowing that he got you back from the dead once only for you to turn around and walk back towards it?”

“I’m not going to do it, Steve, so stop.”

“No, this is asinine and you know it, Munson!”

Eddie’s face twists up in anger, “I’m not going to beg you to love me!”

Every fiber of Steve’s being freezes in place. His heart stops, his feet are made of ice.

Then, his head, blissfully quiet for only a moment, swirls back into a frenzy.

What?! Me?! I’m the one causing thi—

“I want you to leave.” Eddie’s whisper cuts his thoughts short.

“Huh?”

“Leave.”

“Eddie, no, wait, just let me–”

“Go, Steve!”

Steve’s legs pick him up in an instant. “Eddie, I—”

“I said leave, Harrington! Get the fuck out of my hou—” a fit of coughs breaks into his speech, and this time, Eddie reaches for the bucket, spewing his meager breakfast and bile into the bottom along with at least ten more petals. A final heave, and a whole rose makes an appearance.

Once done, he spits a couple times, then without looking up, says, “Go. Now.”

So he does. 

He walks down the hall and to the front door in a daze, his thoughts swirling.

Eddie’s in love with him?

He– Him?? Steve Harrington? He’s like, the complete opposite of what Eddie should be into. 

He’s driving now, not sure where he’s going.

But why? Why him? How is Steve supposed to help him??

That’s why he didn’t want to tell you, dipshit.

Of course.

The car pulls into Robin’s driveway.

What is he supposed to do now? He’s got to save Eddie’s life somehow, right?

“Dingus, what are you doing here?”

“I’m why Eddie’s dying.”

Robin’s expression shifts, she pulls him into the house and up the stairs to her room.

Steve sinks down onto the edge of her mattress. “Robin, Eddie’s in love with me. I’m his Hanahaki.”

“I know, I know,” She says, patting his back, “He told me.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

“There’s nothing you can do, Steve. Not unless you suddenly have a whole new preference in partners.”

Steve sits with that a moment. Did he? Eddie’s a good-looking guy, sure, that’s just objective. But…. he thinks about kissing Eddie, how his lips would feel against his, about the times he’d seen him naked while helping him recover, about how he’d feel against him..

Nothing.

Steve doesn’t want to kiss Eddie. Doesn’t want to do anything more with the imagined naked man in his head other than find him some clothes after helping get him clean and changing his bandages. 

He loves the guy, sure, but it’s only maybe more than how much he loves Jonathan. Meaning he’s on the Steve Scale of Caring just under all the shitheads.

“No. I don’t.”

Robin heaves a sigh, “Yeah, figured as much. What’d Eddie say when you told him?”

“..Told him what?”

“That you don’t feel that way about him.”

“I didn’t.”

“You didn’t?”

Steve shrugs.

“You didn’t tell him you don’t have feelings for him?”

“I didn’t tell him anything. He didn’t let me.” He tells Robin what Eddie said, about throwing up and demanding he leave right after.

“What? What’s with the face?” “We have to get back to Eddie’s.” Robin shoots up, grabbing her back and pulling on some socks.

Steve follows, “What? What do you mean?”

“How many did he throw up? How many petals?”

“Uh, I dunno, ten maybe? A whole flower came out at the end.”

Robin’s eyes go wide, “Oh no.”

A rock sinks heavily into Steve’s stomach, “What’s “Oh no.”?”

“Let’s go!!”

She pulls him down the steps and back out the door, barely managing to pull her shoes on.

“Gotta hurry! We've got to get back to Forest Hills!”

So he steps on it, not quite sure what the huge rush is, but Robin’s expression tells him it’s serious.

“What is happening, Rob, why am I hurrying?” He asks desperately, screeching around the last corner.

“You rejected him, It’s going to take hold even faster now!”

Steve feels like throwing up, he presses his foot down even harder.

“I didn’t though. I didn’t say anything!”

“I don’t think it matters,” Robin says, flinging open the passenger door.

Steve follows, hopping up the porch steps and through the back door just behind her.

Her gasp doesn’t bode well. “Oh no.”

He pushes past her, into Eddie’s room. 

“Holy shit… Eddie!”

Eddie’s curled up on his side facing them in the door, paler than even an hour ago, chest barely moving.

There’s thick thorny vines snaking out of his face. two out his mouth, one out his right nostril, all three covered in beautiful, bloody white roses. 

The blooms do their best to cover his face, but his scrunched brow can still be seen.

“Eddie..” Steve whispers, reaching for his cheek.

He doesn’t touch him however, Robin’s voice startling him from down the hall, “Hello? Yes, Hi, I need an ambulance please, it’s thorns!”

Steve doesn’t know what to do.

He wants to yank the stems out, he wants to pick Eddie up and run him to the hospital himself.. But he’s frozen. 

All he can do is stare down at the slowly decreasing rate of movement of Eddie’s chest, and listen as the sirens get closer.

—

He’s in a coma. 

The beeping has been sounding in Steve’s head for weeks now, sat at Eddie’s bedside.

The vines are gone, held back by medication, but it’s only prolonging the inevitable.

“I hate you.” Steve lies.

The scratching in his throat is getting stronger.

🙃🙃🙃🙃

this is it!! the last day of Angsty August!! i can't believe i've posted something for every single day this month, holy shit

i'd say i'm not going to do this ever again, but i want to write something for every day in @steddie-spooktober so i'll see y'all then 😅

“What the hell?!” Eddie protests. “You’ve been teaching there longer than anyone else who applied. You’re practically already the acting department head!”

“I know.” Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. They’ve been saying that all week, convincing themselves that Steve was the best candidate and he was sure to get the promotion. He had even believed it, after his last interview had gone so well. “I, um. They wanted someone with more leadership experience.”

Eddie’s growl of frustration isn’t directed at him, the logical side of Steve’s brain knows, but it still feels like it is. Probably because Steve is so frustrated with himself. His principal had personally encouraged him to throw his hat in the ring, telling him how proud he was of Steve for taking on extra responsibilities for the department and staying on top of everything despite the chaos of testing season. Apparently, that hadn’t been enough.

“You’re the best teacher in that whole damn school, they’re idiots if they think Linda Smith is going to do a better job than you,” Eddie is ranting indignantly.

Steve barely hears him. He can’t stop replaying the phone call in his mind, how Principal Lane had wanted to tell Steve about his rejection personally, before he could hear it through the grapevine. How he had promised Steve that he would find another way to help him advance, send him to training or some other bullshit professional development to put on his resume. How impressed the whole interview committee had been with his answers and his performance.

Just not impressed enough.

The disappointment sits like a rock in Steve’s gut. He‘ll have to go back to work on Monday, where every other second grade teacher will know that he applied and wasn’t good enough, and he’ll smile and shake Linda’s hand and congratulate her on getting the job he wanted. Hell, he’ll probably even have to help train her.

“Stevie?”

Eddie is blurry when Steve looks up at him, but he can make out enough to see his outstretched arms, waiting to pull Steve into his embrace. When Steve’s face crumples, Eddie is already hugging him close, kissing his temple.

“I know it’s just a job but I really wanted it,” Steve tells Eddie’s collarbone. His shirt smells so good, and he doesn’t want to move away to talk or breathe or let Eddie see him cry.

“I know, baby,” Eddie agrees. He does know; he’s been there for all the excited planning, helping Steve brainstorm ideas for how to spend his impending pay raise, looking at houses for sale and thinking about home improvement projects and creating an itinerary for a trip to visit Robin.

Steve shouldn’t have gotten so invested, no matter how optimistic he’d been about his chances. He had seen their future, with a big house full of kids and a job he was really good at and Eddie, loving him and believing in him, and he’d been ready for it. Now that door has closed and it hurts all the more since he’d gotten his hopes up.

“There will be other jobs,” Eddie murmurs to him. “We’ll get there eventually.”

“Yeah,” Steve sniffs against Eddie’s chest.

“In the meantime, we can have ice cream for dinner and talk shit about Linda.”

He has no time to dwell on it though. Definitely shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. 

He could head to Reefer Rick’s again. Thinks he could do it mostly unseen. Maybe lay low for a few days until things calm down. He’s pretty sure he still saw some cans of mushroom soup deep within the kitchen cabinets. A roof over his head and a stomach full of food would certainly help him sort his thoughts.

He moves carefully through the remains of the trailer park. Every now and then, people stare, but no one says anything. No one cries ‘bloody murder’ or crosses their hearts. After a while, Eddie realizes stealth seems hardly necessary. 

The people just don’t care.

Fair enough. Hawkins looks like the apocalypse rolled in and went to town. There’s probably bigger fish to fry than some suspected satanist-turned-murderer. 

He isn’t sure when he goes from sneaking to walking, but he does eventually. And maybe he died after all. Maybe he’s nothing but a ghost wandering the mortal realm. A wraith maybe, that’d be pretty cool. 

Except, people are looking. They stare at him, open their mouths, only to close them again, thoughts seemingly slipping away.

No one stops him the whole way out to Reefer Rick’s.

—

He tries eating the soup, but the moment it hits his tongue he gags. He can’t keep it down—can’t even swallow it. After his so manyth attempt, he decides to throw it out. It’s no use.

He’s so hungry.

He’s starving, gut aching with sharp pain.

He wanders around Rick’s house, unsure what to do with himself. His legs are restless and his stomach won’t stop its incessant aching. 

That is until he enters the boathouse. He hears the padding on nails on wood before he sees them.

Rats.

There is nothing he can do to stop himself from chasing them. He’s much faster, more agile than he remembers—much more than any rat.

He captures the pest with ease, holding the little rodent by the scuff of its neck. It struggles against his fingers and squeaks with fury. Eddie stares at its brown fur, cocks his head as he studies it with newfound interest. He feels its heat under his fingers and hears its heartbeat inside his head like a song.

The next thing he knows, he feels fur on his tongue and tastes blood on his lips.

—

He visits the hospital the next day. 

He walked all the way from Reefer Rick’s with no one to stop him. He enters the hospital without a problem and asked after all the names of his friends. The receptionist gives him the same strange look: a second of recognition before her eyes turn glassy and it’s business as usual.

He gets two hits: Maxine Mayfield and Steve Harrington.

He visits Max first and finds Lucas by her side. He feels a little bad about how they left things—he hasn’t really spoken to him since the campaign. 

That seems so long ago. 

There is no use in addressing it now though. Lucas has other things on his mind. Max lies bent and broken in bed. The gentle beeping of the heart monitor assures him she’s alive, even though she doesn’t seem like it. He gives Lucas’ shoulder a reassuring squeeze and tells Max to hang in there before moving to his second target.

Steve Harrington is in much better shape than Max. 

He lies in bed, his torso bare except for where it’s wrapped in bandages. An IV hanging off his arm, clear fluid in the bag by his side. Steve stares at the little TV, unaware of Eddie’s presence.

A strange feeling swirls in his gut as he stares at Steve. He takes in the soft pink of his skin, a little more pale than normal, but full of life nonetheless. His eyes move to the gentle curve of Steve’s neck where tendons draw tight lines as he leans his head to one side. 

Eddie can’t stop staring, saliva pooling in his mouth. Did Steve always look this good? He wants to sink his teeth in, crawl under his skin and consume him. Taste his mouth and drink his sounds—

What the hell is wrong with him? 

He swallows thickly, hands clenching and unclenching as he tries to compose himself.

Steve turns his head.

His eyes widen and Eddie sees it again—should be used to it by now—the dying of realization, words slipping from the tip of the tongue. Whatever got Hawkins in its grip, it’s doing a damn good job of keeping Eddie out of trouble.

There must be something wrong with him. Steve’s frown confirms it.

Eddie clears his throat, willing his unease away. “Hey, man. How’re you holding up?”

“Been better.” Steve raises his arm with the IV. “Preventative antibiotics. Something about sep…sepsis?”

Eddie nods, eyes finding their way back to Steve’s neck. He can hear his heartbeat from here, doesn’t even need to look at the little screen to know it’s elevated. Is Steve nervous or is it the drugs?

“I—” Eddie pauses for a moment. He doesn’t know what to say. “Did you get him?” he whispers that last part, afraid of who might be listening in. 

Steve nods. “Torched the fucker. Nance shot him to pieces too.”

Eddie feels some tension leaving his body. “Good. That’s good,” he sighs.

“You and Dustin did well.” Steve’s eyes are on him, gaze intense. “We couldn’t have done it without you guys.”

Steve doesn’t mention the fact Eddie woke up, alone, in the Upside Down. 

Abandoned.

It’s strange. Somehow it feels too significant to omit, yet he doesn’t say it either. He lets it hang unspoken between the two of them. 

“You need anything? I can get you something,” Eddie says eventually. He points a thumb over his shoulder towards the door. 

“Actually,” Steve starts, a small smile playing on his lips, “I’m dying for a soda.”

Eddie gets two sodas from the vending machine in the hallway, and they drink them together while making small talk. Eddie doesn’t have much to say—can’t form too many coherent thoughts really—with Steve’s presence next to him. It’s calling out to him like a siren’s song, the sound of Steve’s voice like a melody.

He forces his eyes down. Makes sure not to look at the way Steve’s throat bobs as he drinks. 

Once they finish their drinks, Eddie excuses himself. His hands are itching for skin, and he tastes the ghost of metallic blood on his tongue. 

The rat thing. 

It had been fucking weird, yet something within him calls for it—screams for it. The moment he hears the rapid beat of their tiny hearts in a back alley a few streets away from the hospital, he starts running.

—

Steve stirs awake and the living room is dark and quiet. He sits himself up on the couch, back hurting from the strange position he fell asleep in. The table is clear of D&D attributes and all chairs are back in their rightful place. Did he dream it all—his living room filled with kids, joyously shrieking in victory under the careful narration of Eddie’s voice?

“Jonathan and Nancy came to pick them up.” Eddie sits across from him in a chair, legs crossed, his form illuminated only by the gentle blue light bouncing inside from the pool. He speaks like he reads Steve’s mind and his eyes shine bright, reflecting light like a cat’s would. 

Steve shudders. The scratches on his knee ache, the phantom of Eddie’s nails still present.  “You’re still here.”

Eddie uncrosses his legs and leans forward, lower arms resting on his knees. “Didn’t want you to wake up alone.”

His tone sounds sincere, normal even. 

“I’m always alone.” Steve runs a hand through his hair, tries to tame it a little after it got messed up by lying down. His heart is still thundering in his chest, nervous anticipation running through his veins like a drug. 

Eddie is silent for a moment, two glowing orbs staring at him unblinkingly. “You don’t have to be.”

Steve licks his lips. He can feel it now. A choice. It feels like he’s balancing on the edge of a cliff, staring down the deep void and considering whether he should jump. “You’re asking to stay?”

“If you’ll have me?” 

Eddie’s words are deceptively simple, but there’s more to them. An unspoken question. Steve considers it, imagines the warm embrace of what’s down at the bottom of that cliff. 

Wonders if Eddie will be there to catch him. 

It would feel so good to give in. Run away from suffering and pain and the knowledge of what horrors are out there. 

“I would,” Steve says finally. His voice is surprisingly steady. He feels confident in his words.

---

To be continued.

In the last week Steve has had the impression of being followed around and today, when he has looked down his window, he has seen Eddie standing on the other side of the street. It was just for a moment and then a bus crossed the road and the man disappeared. But Steve is sure that it was Eddie.

“Steve. Are you taking your meds?” Robin asks softly.

Turning toward the kitchen he looks at his counter where way too many bottles of medicines are standing. One pill in the morning, two after lunch, one in the afternoon, and a few drops to help him sleep every night and not be awake from nightmares.

Yes. He’s taking the stupid pills, but he’s still sure of what he saw, if his best friend doesn’t believe him, none else will, so there’s no point in arguing.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m taking the stupid meds and I was probably wrong. I’m looking out of the window but I can’t see him anymore.”

“Maybe he was someone who looked like him,” she suggests and Steve quickly agrees that it must have been so.

But there’s a thing he didn’t tell Robin.

The mysterious man who looked exactly like Eddie was holding a big dark umbrella, even if it wasn’t raining. That’s what attracted Steve’s attention. The huge umbrella covered the man’s body while nobody else was holding one.

It means nothing, Steve knows it, but he can’t stop thinking about it.

When he closes the call he promises Robin he will call his therapist and ask for an appointment soon, then he turns toward the kitchen where the tranquilizers are waiting for him.

Four drops under the tongue.

Steve grabs the bottle and slowly unscrews the cap, staring at the dark liquid, before closing the bottle and putting it back on the counter.

Not tonight.

Tonight he wants to be alert.

He goes into the bathroom, brushes his teeth, puts on worn-out pajamas, and goes to bed, waiting for whatever might come.

***

Steve’s dreaming. He knows he’s with the certainty typical of dreams. Still, he can’t wake up.

In the dream, he’s running toward the trailer park after they almost killed Vecna. He knows exactly what he will find, bike tracks and footsteps left by someone limping. He’ll follow them and he will find a crying Dustin holding a dead Eddie. Steve keeps reminding himself that it’s just a dream, that this is a mix of his memories and his fears, but nevertheless, when he sees the limp body on the ground he yells Eddie’s name. He runs toward him, trying to shake him awake even if he knows that there’s nothing he can do to bring him back.

“It’s too late, Stevie” Eddie whispers, opening his eyes and staring back at him, “Why did you leave me alone with Dustin? You knew it was dangerous, but you left me. And with no fucking weapons apart from a stupid trash lid and a makeshift spear. What did you expect? It was two of us against hundreds, thousands of those fucking monsters. Where were you when I was screaming in agony? Where were you when Dustin was holding me? Where were you when we needed you?”

Finally, Steve opens his eyes, springing up in his bed, fist clenching at the sheets and heart beating so loudly he fears it will jump out from his chest at any moment.

“Nightmares? I wish I could get those. I don’t dream. Like, at all. It’s so boring.”

Steve turns abruptly toward the window and sees a dark silhouette sitting on the edge of the window.

“Eddie?” He asks, while his right hand slowly reaches out for the bedside lamp, but instead of turning it on his hand bumps into it and it crashes on the ground, shattering into hundreds of tiny pieces.

“I knew you wouldn't forget me.” Eddie chuckles.

“That’s not possible. You’re dead!” Steve complains, wondering if this is just another nightmare and cursing himself for not taking his fucking sleeping meds.

“Everything is possible, Steve, you should know it by now. Alternate dimensions, monsters, superpowers. There’s no limit, right?”

“How… How did you find me?”

“It wasn’t easy. First I got to your old place, but you weren’t there, obviously. I checked Robin’s home, and Dustin’s, but Hawkins is abandoned, you knew that, right? All that’s left are crumbling buildings and useless trash. So I started to move around, but it wasn't easy to find a ride and I had no idea where to go. And then I got here in Massachusetts, and for the first time, I felt your presence. So here I am.” Eddie says like it was perfectly normal that he was resting in Steve’s home, with one leg dangling and one to his chest.

“You’re dead.”

“Yes. And no.”

“What… what does it mean?”

“It means that those stupid bats took my life, but they gave me another one.” Eddie finally turns toward Steve and his eyes are shining in the dark.”

“What… what do you mean?”

“Come on, don’t be so naive. I know you feel it too. Not as strongly as me, obviously, but still. You got infected too.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about!”

“The bites. Do they still hurt? Do you have strange cravings, especially at night? Like a big raw steak? Not just raw, but bloody?”

Steve trembles, he did. Before the sleeping meds he did, but now he’s getting better.

“That’s the effect of the venom.” Eddie explains, “I think it took longer in your case because you were bitten just a few times, but hey, at least you’re going to have a mentor. I can teach you all I learned on my skin.”

“What? No, I’m not like that!” Steve protests, but Eddie gives him a sad smile.

“Steve… you just broke a lamp.”

“I hit it.”

“With your inhuman strength.”

“No that’s not true I…” but when he looks at his blanket they are shreds, and his fingers have long claws he’s sure he didn’t have before.

“Let’s go, babe. The world is big and beautiful, but we must flee before sunrise.”

“What about Robin? And the kids?”

“You know what, Steve? This is a very bad part of the town to live in.” Eddie grins.

***