#flagging

His wrist is red beneath all the dirt and grime, a series of marks from his own pinching fingers to double check reality. This is insanity, a nightmare, a horror movie waiting to roll the credits. He's going out of his mind down here, keeps thinking he should have ditched Hawkins when he had the chance. Should have got in his van and hightailed it far, far away.

He's not proud of it, but he's a coward. A total chicken shit of a person. And right now he's more terrified than he's ever been in his life— and his life has had a lot of really fucked up and scary moments.

“You're staying put,” Nancy says, voice sharp even when she's trying to be quiet. 

Eddie startles, head snapping toward the group and sees that Nancy is on her feet, Robin standing anxiously beside her. 

“Nance,” Steve starts to argue. 

“She’s right,” Robin cuts in. “You already bled through your wraps, we need something better or you're going to pass out and in case you haven't noticed, Steve, none of us are athletic.” 

“What does that have to do with anything?” 

“Everything,” Robin tells him, “look at these arms, Steve. There’s no way they can carry you.” 

Robin does a weird little body wiggle, arms flapping dangerously close to Nancy’s face as if to prove just how incapable they are. Nancy grimaces, pausing robins flailing with a sure hand to the shoulder. 

“Even with three of us, it would be hard to move quickly and quietly, and if the bats see us…” Nancy’s nostrils flare, her mouth going impossibly thin. 

Eddie swallows hard, fear and acid clinging to his throat. He thought bats were so cool before this, now he never wants to see another bat in his life. He’s going to have to trash the poster in his room with the bat wings and the shirt with the bat skeleton emblazoned on the front— he loved that shirt. 

Fuck, this whole world sucks ass, being a hero on a harrowing quest is over rated. He never wants to be a protagonist again.

"But," Steve starts, frustration sits plainly on his face.

Steve's hands are pressed to the ground like he's thinking about pushing himself back up to his feet. Which is insane because Eddie's pretty sure the guy has lost way too much blood to be doing that.

“She's right," Eddie croaks catching all of their attention. "I’ve also got noodle arms, man, the most they can hold is a guitar, there’s no way I can haul your ass anywhere. We’d be bat food."

Eddie really, really does not want to be bat food.

Steve’s dark eyes flick to his arms. They’re hidden beneath the leather of his jacket, but Eddie feels like Steve understands the gravity of the situation when they slide down to where his wrists sit atop his knees, both of them thin and pale. Eddie isn't weak by any means, but Steve's a bulky guy, and Eddie's exhausted — they all are. It would be a struggle for everyone.

“Fine, but be quick,” Steve says looking away from Eddie and back to Nancy. “Don’t split up.” 

“We won’t.” Nancy nods and the hand she still has on Robin's shoulder tightens, tugging her a step closer before falling away. “Twenty minutes, no more.” 

“Twenty minutes,” Steve repeats and leans his head back against the brick wall behind them, eyes closing briefly. "Any longer and we'll come find you."

"Deal."

Robin hesitates, her body mostly angled toward Nancy but her attention still on Steve.

“Try to stay awake,” Robin murmurs, her face crinkling with worry. “And alive, I… don’t die while I'm gone, okay?”

“I’m not going to die, Rob.” 

“Promise, Dingus.” She points at him, and Eddie notices the way her hand shakes.

He realizes that he might not be the only one that's terrified down here. That Robin is just as freaked out as him, that maybe Nancy's thin, angry mouth is less frustration and more fear she's trying to hide.

“Promise.” Steve’s eyes open, a smile pulling at his mouth, smoothing away the expression of discomfort. “I’ll wait until you get back at least.” 

Eddie wonders if Steve is scared too.

“Not funny.” Robin sighs, looks at Eddie and says, “watch him— don't let him doing anything stupid."

“I don’t need a babysitter Robin,” interjects Steve, “I am the babysitter.” 

With the way Steve is slumped against the wall, Eddie highly doubts the guy is going to do anything other than just sit there. Still, Eddie gives her a little salute, and wishes desperately for a cigarette to calm his thrumming nerves. 

Robin grumbles but seems satisfied enough to turn back to Nancy, stepping just a little closer and nodding. "Let’s go.” 

Eddie watches them pick their way across the yard, stepping around vines and stray bricks until they reach the dusty road and head for the houses not decimated by the unknown. 

Silence lapses between him and Steve, weirdly heavy and awkward now that they’re left alone.

When Eddie glances back over at him he finds that Steve's eyes are closed again but his chest is steadily rising and falling so it’s not like he died the moment Eddie was left in charge of him.

He wonders who would kill him first, Robin or Nancy, if Eddie did let Steve die on his watch. He could probably outrun Robin, could probably outrun Nancy too but she would just find him later and kill him. It would be painful, she looks the type to draw it out. 

“So,” Eddie says with a cough, fingers digging harshly into his knees, “how much does it actually hurt?” 

Steve’s eyes flutter open, flicking towards Eddie first and the around them before settling on the open sky. “Scale of one to ten?” 

“Sure as long as you don't lie."

Steve sighs, shifting around to stretch his legs out in front of him. A low hiss of pain crawling out of his throat as his skin stretches with the movement. 

"Thirty," he says at last.

Eddie grimaces sympathetically. 

The bat bites alone have to suck, but the guy also has a case of road rash all over his back. Plus the line around his throat from being strangled has only gotten darker and darker, Steve's voice huskier and cracking every time he speaks. He probably should stop talking in case something is messed up in there. Vocal cords or whatever, nodules— like metal singers who scream a little too hard into the mic for a little too long over and over.

Eyes caught on that blooming bruise around Steve's neck, Eddie says, "You really do this every year?” 

“Sort of— just since '83."

“Jesus,” Eddie hisses and scrubs his face, digging fingers harshly into his eyes until he sees spots. 

He smells like lake water and something earthy— rot, maybe, the wet dirt beneath a dying tree. His clothes are still damp too, clinging uncomfortably to his thighs. Everything smells and tastes and feels awful. He hates this place so damn much.

“Don’t think about it too hard, you’ll just freak yourself out.” 

“I’m already freaked out, Steve, I’ve been freaked out since Chrissy Cunningham died in front of me. And I can’t even distract myself because—“ he throws his hands out towards the landscape around them, “everything is terrifying, there's not a single god damn place to look that doesn't make me want to pull my own eyes out."

"Dramatic." Steve snorts, but he's nodding. He looks around again at the perpetually dim world. Makes a vague gesture with one hand, a sort of see-saw motion. "Yeah, this place totally sucks.” 

“Understatement of the year, man— the century even.” 

Theres a little hum of agreement before Steve says quietly, “hey, can I ask you something?” 

"Why, trying to distract me?"

"A little, but really I'm just curious about something— have been all day.”

“Fine." Eddie drops his hands to his lap, fingers curling into the tears in his jeans. “But, uh, if you’re going to ask if I pissed my pants earlier, the answer is yes man, absolutely.” 

Steve's nose wrinkles even as an amused huff of air leaves him. “No— but you and Robin can form a club about that later.” 

“She peed her pants earlier too?” 

“Not that I know of but, uh, last time, with the Russians, she did.” Steve nods. “Can’t blame her, the bone saw was pretty scary.” 

“Bone saw,” Eddie repeats faintly, picturing the tool. "Right, yeah, of course there was a bone saw, why wouldn’t there be a bone saw— Russians, wily bunch, fan of torture.” 

“Yeah,” Steves lips pull thin across his teeth in a wincing smile. "They’re good at it too, my jaw still clicks when I open my mouth too wide.”

Eddie has no idea what this conversation is anymore, but if he thinks about it too hard that fear and acid in his throat is going to grow and he might actually puke or hyperventilate.

Weakly, he says, "You had a question."

“Oh, yeah.” 

Steve leans even closer, hand reaching out behind Eddie. There’s a tug, something being pulled out from under him and then he’s presented with his own handkerchief dangling right in front of his nose. 

“What does this one mean?” 

Eddie's brows furrow in confusion. “What?” 

“The black— I know what the left pocket means, and some colors, like blue and red,” Steve is saying, voice still low, conversational and curious. “What’s the black one mean?” 

"What,” Eddie chokes out again. 

The shift in topic was urged by Eddie, but he thinks maybe he wants to go back to talking about bone saws and Russian torture now. That sounds like an easier conversation to have with Steve Harrington. 

The handkerchief lowers and Eddie can see the slight furrow to Steve’s brows now without the obstruction. “You’re— this is flagging, right?” 

Where are the bats, Eddie thinks deliriously.

He takes back what he said earlier. He would love to see another bat. Bats, even, plural, a whole flock or horde or whatever you call a massive amount of them.

He wouldn’t even mind his bones being picked clean. 

“Shit,” Steve says suddenly, crumbling the handkerchief in a fist. “Is this a metal thing?” 

It could be, in some cases it even is a metal thing, but for Eddie it’s not. 

The white lines of the design are darker, dirty from lake water and the grime of the upside down. Even the black fabric looks a little gross and worse for wear. It’s still clearly a black hanky— his favorite despite the lack of action it’s gotten him. It very much is him flagging in a town with a queer population of what is probably one in a thousand.

“Sorry,” Steve continues and pushes the handkerchief into Eddie's chest, urging him to take it back. “I thought it was for something else— it’s for like that Ozzy guy, right, or uh, one of the bands on this?” 

He gestures towards the vest he’s still wearing, the blood dotted patches and stitching. 

Absently, Eddie pats at his own chest, fingers tangling in the handkerchief before it can fall to his lap or the dirt. He’s trying to process what Steve is saying, the way Steve is shifting gears, running away from the flagging thing and towards a safer alternative except… 

“Hold up, just— wait,” Eddie says quickly, “stop, stop.” 

Steve’s jaw does click loudly when he closes it suddenly. His eyes are wide as he looks at Eddie. Even with the sick coloring to his face, there’s a flush to his cheeks, and a nervous energy in the tense way he holds himself. 

They stare at each other. 

Steve Harrington knows what flagging is. That’s the thought running haywire in Eddie’s head now. Not bats or bone saws. 

He shakes his fist, the black material fluttering with the force of it. “How do you know about flagging?” 

Steve's eyes dip to Eddie’s hand. “So I was right?” 

“So not the point, Steve.” 

“How is that not the point."

“Just answer my question, man,” Eddie feels like he could scream or gnaw off his own arm. 

Steve looks away, scanning the sky and then the yard in quick succession before he shrugs. “Just do.” 

“That’s— Steve, people don’t just know about flagging— it would defeat the whole purpose.” 

“Not the whole purpose,” Steve says with a light snort. He glances at Eddie and then away again. “Isn’t that to get laid.”

A frustrated sound crawls up Eddie’s throat, battling its way past the receding fear. He looks back towards where Robin and Nancy had disappeared before fixing Steve with a serious look.  “How do you know that?” 

“Tell me what the color means and I’ll tell you how I know.” 

There’s not enough time for a pros and cons list, Nancy and Robin will be back soon. He could bite the bullet, sink his teeth into it and hope to come out at least partially unscathed on the other side or he could sit here and pretend this conversation never happened. 

“It’s for bdsm,” Eddie says quickly. “Bondage and stuff like that.” 

Steve's head tilts thoughtfully, “like whips and chains and shit?” 

“Sure," Eddie nods, "that’s part of it.” 

“What’s the rest of it?” 

“No, you're answering my question now, Harrington,” Eddie says and snaps his fingers to speed along the process.  “Spit it out, how’d you know about flagging?” 

“I asked some people who had them,” he nods at the swath of fabric, “they told me about the pockets and the colors meaning different things.” 

“You asked some people,” Eddie repeats, incredulously, "Queer people? And they told you?” 

"Obviously. Who else would know?” He glances over Eddie's shoulder towards the road, head tilting and eyes squinting. “I think Nancy and Robin are coming back.

Eddie could not give two fucks about that right now. Instead, he just leans a little closer, voice lowering at he emphatically gestures at Steve.

"You," he says, "you know."

"What," Steve glances back at him, eyes flicking between Eddie and the girls.

"You know about flagging," he hisses. He can hear Nancy and Robin now, their shoes padding lightly against pavement, the rustle of their clothes in a near silent world. He should drop this conversation, table is for later, but he can't— not just yet.

“Yeah,” Steve whispers back with all the attitude of someone who thinks they’re right about everything. He huffs, mouth tilting condescendingly. “No shit."

Eddie stares at him as the dots begin to connect in his addled brain. The fear that has been living in the very pit of his stomach has eased, made way for something else— something hot and confused, surprised in a significantly more pleasant way that he has been in the last fourty eight hours.

"No fucking way."

Steve Harrington is some flavor of queer. He opens his mouth to ask, maybe even demand more answers but it's too late, they're out of time.

“We got it,” Nancy interrupts, startling Eddie hard, he panics, stuffing the handkerchief into his jacket pocket and turning wide eyes on her. 

She holds up a battered looking first aid kit, hands even grimier looking than before. 

“You still alive,” Robin asks Steve. 

“And kicking.” Steve demonstrates by stretching out a leg and nudging at her shin with a gross looking toe. 

She wrinkles her nose but doesn’t move away. “Ew,” she says, words laced with a relieved sort of fondness. 

Nancy rolls her eyes as she steps in between him and Steve, dropping down to her knees without even a flinch of pain. She pops open the box and gets to business. 

Over her thin shoulder, Eddie makes eye contact with Steve. He’s got a million questions and no way to ask them until they beat the shit out of some evil wizard and save the day. 

Steve's gotta see them though, the mountain load of curiosity in Eddie's eyes because he tilts his head back against the brick and gives a little grin. 

When he’s sufficiently patched up, Nancy rounds them all up, lays out the plan for a third time and then they're mounting their bikes again. 

“You know,” Steve says conversationally, voice quiet enough to not catch Robin or Nancy’s attention. “I think I’d wear that one too.” 

The bats and the scary wizard suddenly seem much less detrimental to Eddie's health. If anything kills Eddie this week it’s going to be Steve Harrington. 

Eddie swallows hard, fingers tightening around the handlebars of his bike. “That’s cool.” 

Steve hums, kicks up the bike stand and starts to lightly peddle away, calling out casually over his shoulder, “opposite pocket though.” 

Robin, who had been standing beside them both kicking at her own bike stand, looks up. She must see whatever startled expression Eddie is wearing, because her brows lift a second before her head snaps towards Steve’s retreating back. 

Eddie doesn’t get to see whatever face she makes at Steve. Just hears her cursing under her breath as she kicks harder at the stand until it gives in and lets her peddle after Steve. 

Watching them both go, Eddie pinches his already tender wrist again. It stings like it has every time he’s pinched it the last several days. 

“Okay,” Eddie says to himself, head bobbing as he rapidly nods to himself. “Okay, okay, okay.” 

Mutant bats exist, other worlds are real, and Steve Harrington just casually implied he’d like to be dominated by a guy. If he learns one more world altering truth, his brain is going to quit working and they’ll have to leave him on the side of the road in the middle of Hell. 

“Come on,” Nancy tells him, snapping her finger a little to usher him onto his bike. 

Eddie’s bike doesn’t have a kickstand, so he just pushes off, peddling lightly until he gets the hang of it again. 

He should be watching the sky or the road or even looking behind them for sneaking monsters. Instead he’s watching Robin lean towards Steve, her bike wobbling like it might tip over before Steve says something back. 

He hears Robin’s horrified squawk of, “Steve!” 

Followed by Steve’s loud and immediate shushing and the way Steve glances over his shoulder back at Eddie, their eyes meeting for just a second. 

Holy shit, Eddie thinks again with a laugh that verges into hysterical and entirely too loud for their predicament.

Nancy shushes him with a sharp look and Eddie bites back a grin, waving his apology.

He can’t help but think about earlier, when he’d been pushing Steve to go after Nancy again— Thinks about going after Steve himself. And then he does, peddling faster to catch up so he can ride beside him, share an amused and knowing look over Robin's head.