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The first breath Eddie takes since the Upside Down is surprising, to say the least.
He still so clearly remembers the bats—clawing at his back, ripping into his stomach, his chest, his limbs. Dustin holding him and screaming, screaming, screaming for someone to help, and Eddie holding his face and telling him so softly that he didn’t run away this time. After years of pretending, he was finally a hero . He could die happy, knowing that he saved the people that had become most important to him.
Blackness had hit him full force only moments later before he could see a familiar figure rushing towards him.
Eddie forces his eyes open with an effort that should not have had him struggle so much. Bright lights, so unlike the place he was sure he died in, attack his vision next. He squints against them, suppressing a groan when pain jolts through his spine all the way to his forehead. Then comes the gentle pulsing fire of his sides and gut, and Eddie could never be more grateful than to be high off of pain medication in his life .
It still didn’t take away the jabs of needles in his hands when nails press against already-worn skin. A squeeze. Then, whispering, and for some reason Eddie just… freezes. As if pretending to sleep could save him from whatever the hell is going to happen next.
“I told you,” comes the voice again, louder, and Eddie swears his heart fucking skips a beat, “I told you not to be a hero, Munson.” A choked sob. Fuck. He shouldn’t be crying; Steve Harrington should not be crying over him . “I told you not to be a fucking hero, and you did it anyway, and we almost lost you. I almost lost you. And I’m sorry I wasn’t there, I’m so fucking sorry, Eds—”
Another squeeze to his hand with a shuddered breath, and Eddie can feel the gentle pricks of tears splashing against his knuckles. He almost responds. Almost peels his eyes open again to say I’m here. I’m right here, Stevie. But then Steve says something so incredibly stupid that Eddie can almost feel his heart stop again. “I never fell back in love with Nancy,” he murmurs. “I was never—everything that happened between us died, and that’s okay. Because I found someone better for me, even if—even if he doesn’t know it yet.”
“So wake up,” Steve continues hoarsely. “Wake up so I can tell you, okay? Let me get the chance to tell you that I like your stupid face, your stupid clothes, your stupid personality. The way you’re good with kids, the way you play the guitar, the way you’re so freely yourself . Let me tell you that. Jesus. Come on, Eddie, God, sweetheart, please .”
His name is uttered like a goddamned prayer, and what else can Eddie do but take a deep breath and roll his head over with a tired smile. Steve doesn’t even notice yet, eyes clenched closed, forehead pressed to the hand he holds. He feels—loved. It’s incredibly stupid, it’s almost hysterical of him, but Eddie feels so wondrously loved. Every thought that races through his head slows. Every hair that stands on edge lays down.
“Harrington,” he whispers, and it’s almost comical how fast Steve’s head whips up. He rubs a thumb over the other’s, swallowing when Steve looks near tears again. “Hey, beautiful. You look like shit.”
And he laughs. He laughs , bright and hopeful and still so choked with tears and disbelief. “I think—” Steve says through a sniffle, “that those two things contradict each other, Munson. But thank you.” He runs a hand through his hair: mussed, unkempt, so un-Harrington-like. “Been here for three days straight with your uncle. Dustin was here too, but… I had to have Robin drag him home after he fell asleep on the floor.”
“Why,” Eddie asks exasperatedly, unable to really ask the questions he wants and needs to, “did he fall asleep on the floor?” Why are you here, Steve? He knows why. Why haven’t you gotten yourself checked out instead? He’s too scared to believe it.
Steve doesn’t answer him. Instead, he’s giving him a Look. A look that’s silently calling him an idiot, saying Why do you think? “We care about you,” he says, just as quietly, just as gently. “You’re—you’re our friend, Eddie. You’re one of us. Since the moment you met Dustin, and I picked him up from one of your DnD sessions, you were one of us. Of course we’re going to stick around.” Steve brings his hand up to his mouth, and Eddie almost squeaks when he feels a kiss being pressed feather-light to his palm. “You almost died.”
“I know,” he croaks. “Trust me.”
But, Steve shakes his head. “No,” he whispers, voice cracking, “I don’t think you do know, Eddie.” Hearing his name, hearing it like that , all broken and pained, makes tears flood to the corners of his eyes. “You tried to play the hero, and you almost died in the process without a care for your own life. Don’t argue with me, it’s true. You know it’s true.” A swallow. A deep breath. “Do you really not see how many people would be lost without you?”
“Harrington—”
“Dustin. You said Dustin looks up to me, and as wonderful as that was to hear it from you, he idolizes you too. Sees you as a brother, or maybe something else, I’m not sure. And, shit, Lucas and Max do the same, okay? Robin and you have become bound at the fuckin’ hip, and you saved Nancy’s life, who’s also been here every few days fighting the nurses when they try to kick any of us out. I—” He cuts himself off abruptly before inhaling shakily. “I got along with you far better than I wanted to admit, Eddie,” he whispers.
“You made me laugh harder and longer than I have in ages; you keep me up and moving even when I feel like falling face first in the dirt. I found a friend in you, Munson, and if it hasn’t already been glaringly obvious: I like you.” Something Eddie knows, something he understands far too well, because once upon a time it had been him sounding like that, echoes at the end of Steve’s sentence. “You have a family here.”
Eddie laughs, or, well, tries to. It comes out more or less as a pained wheeze. “Fuck, Steve,” he chokes out. “You’re gonna make me cry here? Right now?”
Then there’s a smile blessing Eddie’s very fucking eyes, blight and blinding and ever so beautiful . “You’re already crying, Eds,” Steve murmurs, and Jesus Christ, he is, isn’t he? Reduced to tears by Steve Harrington, for all the wrong reasons. But then his smile is slipping, and no, that’s the opposite of what Eddie wants, fuck . “It’s okay, seriously. Hopper is taking care of the whole murder charge, you’re in the clear. Wayne’s just out getting pizza, too, okay? Eddie, it’s alright: you’re safe.”
“God,” he says after a moment of collecting himself. Steve has the barest of smiles reappearing on his face: hesitant but sweet. Waiting. “You’re something else, Harrington, you know that? Shit. I like you too.” Eddie goes to scrub at his eyes, but the pain that shoots across his chest is almost instantaneous. He almost hisses before he feels the soft pad of a thumb swiping underneath his eyelids. Steve. His breath catches in his throat with the realization: brown eyes staring at him like he might disappear, gentle touches so unlike what Eddie's used to. Steve Harrington. It was always going to be him, wasn't it?
The thought makes him grin right back.
“I like you too, for fuck’s sake,” and even though it hurts, he’s laughing. He’s laughing and clutching Steve’s hands and pressing a kiss to the palm of one of them like he did to Eddie minutes prior. “You could not have chosen a worse time to confess though, man, what the hell."
Steve honest to God giggles at that. "Who's to say I was confessing anything," he whispers. "I thought you knew we were friends."
"Ah, yes, sweetheart," Eddie says, relishing in the way Steve turns bright red. It makes him feel confident. Brave. A good type of brave—one without underlying fear or anxiety. His whole self, battered or not, hums with it. "Friends. Of course. That's what you were whispering to me. Right, right, I see."
"I—I," Steve splutters. Eddie holds back a laugh, failing miserably when the other's head simply collapses onto the mattress in defeat. His ribs ache with joy. "Fuck. I wasn't expecting you to actually… hear that. But I don't regret saying it. Was just planning on it to be a bit more—" He waves his hand in the air, still clasped to Eddie's. His heart does a little leap. " Romantic . Less 'I'm going to spill all of my deepest secrets in hope you'll wake up to make fun of me'."
Eddie snorts. "Well, I'm here now," he huffs. "So go ahead and tell me everything, pretty boy."
There's a small shift from next to him, and Steve is leaning forward, resting his head right above Eddie's heart. He wonders if he can hear the way his heart is ricocheting in his chest. The way he's touched with the fact Steve is avoiding every possible wound, avoiding hurting him in any way. "Let me start with this, then," he mumbles against his chest, "I love you, Eddie Munson. I want to learn everything about you: your favorite songs, your favorite movies, your everything. So, if you'll have me, I'm, ah, yours."
His heart seizes in his chest, and he can feel himself start to cry again. Steve moves forward a bit until they're eye-to-eye. "I love you, Eddie," he says again, and what else can Eddie do but pull him forward to press their lips together?
Steve's lips are soft. Not chapped, not broken, and there's a small scar on his upper lip that makes Eddie shiver. He's everything and nothing that he's dreamt of before.
The kiss remains chaste and small, both of them pulling away with gentle breaths and small smiles. He laughs, "I love you too, Stevie. So goddamned much, sweetheart." There's a pleased hum, and Eddie feels as if he's going to explode when Steve snuggles closer to him. "C'mere," he tells him, as if his arms arent already wrapped around his shoulders, as if Steve hasn't kicked off his shoes and slid in next to him, wary of his injuries. "I'm not gonna let you sleep on the chair again. Not after that."
His responding smile is like the fucking sun.
—
When Wayne comes back, pizza box in hand, he sure as hell isn't expecting his nephew to be cuddled up with the Harrington boy. Although, he feels like he should, with the way he and the other boy refused to leave Eddie's side. Dustin, he thinks. Dustin and Steve.
Dustin, at least, had been convinced to go home after the second afternoon. This one, though, Wayne wasn't even sure his parents had called or asked around. And he knew the Harringtons. Knew how much they expected of him for years, only to never speak his name again when he refused to go to college.
At first, he'd just felt bad for the boy. He never really knew the Harrington kid and had his own hands wrapped up with Eddie and the boy's own issues. But now, seeing his nephew curled up around an equally beaten man, but smiling , both of them smiling, he only feels an indescribable protectiveness for them both and an anger righteously directed at Steve's parents.
Wayne sets the box down next to a clock that reads 2:18 a.m., and leans over to tuck the hospital's comforter a bit tighter over their shoulders.
You're family now, kid.
—
Eddie wakes up warm, alive, and a little bit confused as to why there's a body next to him. It takes him a moment, for last night's memories to catch up to him, and when they do, he ends up grinning and holding Steve tighter.
Wayne's asleep next to him, head resting and tilting on his fist. Sunlight is just barely peeking through the windows, right before sunrise makes its way to Hawkins. It brushes against Eddie's cheek gently.
The dawn of a new day. It'll hurt the next couple of days: fighting allegations, trying to heal Hawkins, but it'll be worth it in the end. Eddie has his friends by his side, his uncle, the police chief (which still manages to surprise him), Steve . He has them. And he's invincible with them by his side.
"Good morning, Hawkins," Eddie says with a laugh. Steve mumbles something unintelligible, cuddling closer. God, he's never felt so happy to see another sunrise. "Good fuckin' morning."