#Steve takes care of Eddie | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

flowercrowngods · 2 months

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based on an idea i had about steve getting a bad migraine from the sudden bloodloss after kas feeds from him

post-canon, steddie don't like each other, hermit kas, depressed brain injury steve, kinda gloomy, anxiety & compulsions

Steve cuts the engine with a sigh, feeling heavy and alien, like a lone survivor in a ghost town. He’s not a lone survivor, and Hawkins isn’t technically a ghost town because there’s still enough of them here to build it back up or to watch it crumble and cave in on itself, front row seats to the fourth wave of destruction.

Maybe the real ghost is Steve, actually, floating through his days just waiting for his brain to decide it’s had enough. Just waiting for the perpetual ringing in his ears to rise in pitch and frequency and for his skull to fucking crack open from the never ending waves of the never ending buzz.

Robin asks him about it a lot, notices how he will stop and listen to his body on every inhale that feels slightly wrong, or every movement that’s just a little too fast or just a little too sudden, the blood rushing into his head or out of it, the doctor’s words ringing in tune with the tinnitus: You watch that head of yours, young man, and do not hesitate to call emergency services when the headache won’t stop after a few hours, or when anything feels off, you hear me?

The truth is, he barely heard him then. Blood was roaring in his ears, the tinnitus still quiet, but his hearing still dull from impact and screams and shock wave after shock wave of the world sewing itself back together.

He sighs again, drumming his fingers along the steering wheel and trying to catch his breath. Taking stock of his head, the heartbeat he can only feel in his hands right now and nowhere near his temples, and the quiet little tap tap tap of his finger nails hitting the leather, wanting to make sure he can hear it. Wanting to make sure he doesn’t imagine the sound.

Always fucking needing to make sure.

Soon, he breathes a little steadier, convincing himself that getting out of the car won’t be the last thing he’ll ever do. It’s so stupid, too, that fear, all that anxiety living inside him just waiting to boil and spill over until he does something stupid just to spite it.

The cool breeze hits his face, working in tandem with his calming breaths to alleviate his obsessive thought spirals, and he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jacket as he does nothing but breathe for a minute there.

He’s up. He’s standing. He can walk through the forest to the vamp’s hiding place, it’s fine. It’s fine. Although standing so suddenly makes him aware that he hasn’t eaten much today, too busy hating everything about this town and helping to rebuild it anyway.

Forgetting to eat and drink is another thing that’s new to him. There’s quite a few things he forgets a lot, but those are the worst. Robin is always on his ass about that, but at some point he stopped telling her. It feels like he’s stopped telling her a lot of things. Maybe that’s something else that comes with severe brain injury, young man.

He feels plenty guilty about it at least — but not enough to tell her about all the horrible things that are happening to him, or the horrible things he thinks are happening to him. The Upside Down is gone, Vecna is dead. These bad thoughts, they’re all him. But knowing that doesn’t fucking help.

Pushing away from the car and turning around to lock it, Steve decides to wallow in self pity no longer and to just get on with it. As much as he hates it. As much as part of him wants to just go home and claim that he forgot about that, too.

It’s no secret that Steve never liked Eddie. The boy’s a hypocrite, he’s loud, he’s annoying, and he just likes to shame people as publicly as possible, spitting proclamations of conformity and sticking it to the Man while at the same time turning anarchy into despotism under the guise of rebellion — and he’s the dictator.

Or, he was. And Steve never cared about him or his larger than life attitude that was worse than any of the smiles Steve ever wore to fit in in high school. Steve mostly ever just wanted Munson to shut up and eat his lunch, stop pretending he’s better than any of them just because he liked different things.

Although it wasn’t even about liking other things, it was only ever about disliking. And shaming and denouncing. Steve always wondered what kind of a miserable life that dude must have lived, shaping himself not from what he liked but from what he hated. Creating an identity that left a bad taste in everyone’s mouth because it was so fragile and contradictory and, frankly, so fucking annoying.

Still, he’d never wished for Munson to get involved in all of this. He’d never wished for the man to die. And then to come back only to be turned into some kind of vampire, doomed to live an even worse existence than he did as a human, hidden away in some shabby cabin.

Steve feels a little bad for him now. For Eddie. Or Kas, as the kids like to call him because he never reacts to his name anymore, more monster than human these days, although Dustin is sure they can domesticate him into becoming his old self again.

“Like Dart, remember?”

“Dude, don’t compare our friend to your sick little creature.” That was Lucas, affronted and annoyed. Steve could relate, although…

“You gotta admit, he’s kind of a sick little creature himself now.”

“Steve!” they’d both yelled, and Steve just playfully shoved their heads back before going to grab a coke from the fridge.

And Kas, because vampires are apparently a thing even after the end of the world, needs blood to survive. The forests are void of animals most of the time, like nature has decided to give Hawkins an ultimatum before returning and the day hasn’t come yet. Maybe it’s something to do with electromagnetic fields, or maybe it was something else entirely leading them all to safety while Hawkins was turned into a war zone. Either way, there is nothing for him to feed here.

Kas can’t just stalk around the woods at night and drink up a deer or two. Nor can he go rob the blood bank at the hospital, they’re running low as it is anyway. That left them all with only one option that Mike so disgustedly pointed out back then: Kas needs their blood. And Steve feels just bad enough for him to play along.

So now he is out here playing blood bank for the monstrous version of a guy he never even liked, and his hometown is in shambles, and his head might actually sign the fuck off at any moment now, apparently.

Things are going great.

Saving the world is just… really fucking isolating.

Still he has no choice but to announce his presence with a firm knock on the door, the pattern easy but memorable.

“This is Steve,” he adds as his hand falls to his side, waiting.

Kas always takes a while to come out and open the door, hiding away from any noise like a feral cat. Steve can kind of relate — he and Kas don’t have the best relationship either. He has no idea how sudden vampirism works, but just like feral cats will be able to tell when someone wants to hurt them and when instincts should be kicking in, Kas seems to realise how little Steve wants to be here and help him. How little he wants to have his blood sucked out of his body leaving his limbs to feel numb and uncomfortably tingly.

Eventually, though, the door opens with a creek, just enough for a pair of eyes — too large, too wide, too wild — blink back at him. Steve just lifts his eyebrows, really kind of not in the mood to deal with this barely human vampire and his absolute lack of learning curve about this situation.

When he’s sure Kas has blinked at him for long enough now, he pushes open the door and shoves inside rather roughly, immediately feeling bad when he hears the slight whimper.

“Sorry,” he mutters, stuffing his hands into his pockets again and trying not to grimace at the stale, disgusting air in the cabin. “Jeez, you really gotta open a window every once in a while. Thought vamps were supposed to have heightened senses or some shit.”

Kas growls at him, mirroring Steve’s move and shoving past him this time, his shoulder slamming into Steve’s with painful strength. Glowering at the stupid vampire, he rubs at his shoulder before crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“Listen, buddy, I can just leave and have you deal with your hunger, okay? No big deal for me, I even get to keep my blood.”

Kas snaps at him, showing his fangs and crossing his arms, too; a laughable copy of Steve’s own stance.

“Or you could just cut the crap and get on with it so I actually can leave again without taking shit from the peanut gallery. Your choice.”

The huff that follows is so indignant, Steve wonders if that could be what gets Kas out of Munson’s body and let the human win over the monster. Maybe indignation and annoyance is what will break the spell eventually, lift the curse just enough for Munson to get back into his old habit of monologising and spouting nonsense out of that big mouth of his.

Steve is half tempted to try, but he really does want to just go home and lie on his large couch with no sensory input whatsoever, tuning out the world and his anxieties that might be about to turn into compulsions just for him to gain a little control over everything again. So he squares his shoulders and takes off his jacket before tilting his head to the side, allowing Kas full access to his neck.

It’s always a little scary but still oddly fascinating, filling him with that same rush that came with witnessing all the supernatural shit over the past few years. Kas is the last remnant of all that, and somehow, buried beneath piles of rubble and trauma and the teenager he had to give up on being, Steve feels weirdly protective of that.

Not of Eddie. Of Kas. Of the monster that lies dormant. Of the last bit of danger in his life, because he doesn’t know how to live without it anymore — so much so that he has to make it up.

Maybe it’s a symptom of his self destructive tendencies, as Robin would call it. But Steve might be as fascinated with the vampire as Robin is with fire; so she doesn’t get to have a say in this.

There is always a strange intimacy in the way Kas approaches him. Slowly, carefully. Like a hunter his prey. Steve doesn’t feel like prey, not really, but a part of him wants to. A part of him needs to be prey again, if only for those instincts that manifest with a perpetual tremor and a restless feeling in his chest to be of use again. If only so he can have a point again. Something to fight that’s outside oh his own head.

Now, his point is standing still entirely and feeling those chapped but warm lips trail up and down his throat a little before Kas finds the right spot that won’t really hurt Steve, the right spot that will make it all go by quickly and without any hiccups.

Still he shivers, like always, and Kas holds him close when he finally bites down. Like always.

He stands motionless as he feels his blood flow alternating, rushing in his ears and his head, his heart thump-thump-thumping, putting up a fight against the strange intrusion. He hardly even breathes at all, focusing instead on his body and burying his finger nails in his palm for five seconds before releasing his hands and repeating the process three times before he gets it right.

But then his head is pulsing, his heartbeat slowing down as his vision briefly blacks out in the same way it does when he gets up too quickly, and his heart falls. It’s too much. Too sudden.

“Kas,” he says, but the vampire doesn’t hear him, drinking more and more of the blood that must be so thick with how little he’s had to drink today — something he only just remembered. “Kas,” he says again, more urgently this time; but still the vampire drinks.

And where before Steve had a clear vision of the door in the dark room — the light of day streaming in through the cracks and framing it almost mystically —, it’s spotty now. Just slightly off. Like something is missing but his brain is working overtime to complete the picture anyway, reducing the blind spot to merely an illusion. But Steve knows what’s happening. He knows what the sudden pulsating of his head means, especially when it’s followed by his vision just going AWOL on him.

No, he thinks as the situation really settles in, and he begins to push Kas away. Not like it matters anyway now; the damage is done. No, no, no, no, fuck!

He frantically shoves at the vampire now, blinking against the blind spot even though he’s painfully aware it won’t help. Kas breaks away from him, wiping his mouth and smearing his face and the back of his hand with Steve’s blood. If he looks just right, he can’t even fucking see it.

Heart falling further, Steve buries his hands in his hair and pulls, hoping that by some kind of miracle he can just pull the migraine out of his head before it can really settle. It’s his only chance. He can’t drive like this, he shouldn’t walk like this, and soon he won’t be able to do anything at all.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” be hisses, hearing the edge of desperation in his own voice and caring very little about that right now.

Kas is on him again in a second, and Steve waves him off, tries to shove him away but the vampire is stronger and persistent.

A high keening sound builds in Kas’s chest, and Steve knows he doesn’t really speak, doesn’t really use his words, ever — maybe he doesn’t know how. But the keening sounds more like a whine, and the way he pulls at Steve to look at him is as much an indicator of worry as he’s going to get.

But Steve doesn’t want Kas’s hands on him, wants to just get out and away before the pain comes. So he takes another step back and holds up his hands, hoping that the vampire will just fucking take a hint.

A little too quickly and a little too frantic, Steve shakes his head, his eyes flitting about the room to see if there’s still pieces of it missing or if phase two is about to start. He has about twenty minutes left before his body will be composed of nothing but skull-splitting pain that is only equal to someone ramming actual nails into his head — and even that would be preferable right noe, because at least that pain he wouldn’t need to explain. Or justify.

Another keening sound interrupts Steve's burgeoning spiral, and his eyes land on Kas, who really looks like a kicked puppy right now.

"I gotta go," he says, voice a little unsteady with apprehension and panic, but just as he's about to rush out of the cabin, Kas crosses his path and won't let him move.

A strong hand lands on his chest, and Steve really, really doesn't want to deal with that right now. He tries again, tries with more force to sidestep and push past him, but Kas won't let him budge.

"Let me go." But Kas doesn't let up. "Kas. Please. You gotta let me go, I gotta get home, I—“

The first flash of white in his peripheral vision catches him off guard, moving his focus away from the clawed hand on his chest and toward the flickering line that cuts through the left side of his vision right now.

Curious or worried or maybe just really fucking stupefied at having Steve act so weirdly, Kas inclines his head and ducks to catch Steve's eyes.

"Move," Steve says again, as assertive as he can manage with his brain and body scattered between following the flickering lights that are invisible to everyone else and the pain that is about to consume him, leaving him incapacitated for several hours at least.

Instead of moving out of Steve's space and allowing him to leave, Kas shoves him backwards with that superhuman strength he has now, forcing Steve to stumble back helplessly. Fear rises in him again, and it's a different flavour this time that mixes horribly well with the anxiety and apprehension and all the waves and waves of blinding panic he feels out of nowhere almost all the time now.

His knees buckle when they hit something rather violently, and then he's falling, landing on the worn couch with a breathless gasp, his instincts running wild. He needs to fight, he needs to run, he needs to get home and be safe and get the fuck away from this monster who won't let him go now. Steve doesn't know Kas as someone who will just take what he wants, but, well, he is Munson, in a way. So that tracks.

But instead of attacking him, instead of going for his neck again and sucking the rest of his blood, instead of beating Steve to a pulp to keep him pliant and unmoving and turn him into some sort of personal livestock, Kas just... sits down next to him. Hands in his lap. Worried look trained on Steve, who needs to catch his breath and calm down.

"Hurt."

It startles Steve. Kas has never spoken to him. But what’s more, Steve shouldn't be that obvious. He doesn't want to be that obvious, especially about hurting and being hurt.

So he shakes his head, his hands coming up to press into his eyes, hoping to get rid of the flickering lights even though he knows that once they stop, the pain will come; and it will come badly.

"'M not hurt," he says, lying through his teeth and the heel of his hand. "I just gotta go home."

"Hurt," Kas says again, and it's more assertive this time, less of a question. Like he's telling Steve rather than asking. Like he's making him understand.

He reminds Steve a little of Robin in that regard, and he almost has to smile. He would, too, if he wasn't so aware that it would become a horrible grimace, wavering and pale even by vampire hermit standards.

So he sighs instead, letting his hands fall into his lap and wringing his fingers. There are about ten, maybe fifteen minutes left. Not enough to get anywhere safe on foot, and he sure as hell ain't driving when his vision is halfway through its rendition of a TV without signal, zig-zagging in white and red and green, flickering and flaring and leaving him a little disoriented even when all he's doing is sitting on that dusty old couch.

"Hurt," Kas repeats for the third time, and Steve tenses, ready to snap at him to shut up, that he's not hurt yet but will be any minute now and that Kas should really just shut the fuck up and leave himself if he won't let Steve go anywhere.

But looking at those wide eyes, he doesn't snap. He deflates. His shoulders fall and his eyes close, which only makes the flickers worse, he feels.

“I’m… I’m gonna have a migraine," he sighs, letting that hang in the air between them, letting the words take up the whole room and suffocate him while he knows that they won't touch Kas. That he won't understand. Nobody does.

It's just a headache, Steve, get over it.

They leave a bitter taste in his mouth, and he's just waiting for the huff to come.

But it doesn't come. Instead, Kas just keeps looking at him; same worried expression, same unobtrusive posture, same everything. Right. He probably doesn't know jackshit about what that's supposed to mean.

So Steve explains. “I, well. I kinda can't really see right now, but that'll pass. That's when the pain comes. I won't want to move. No light. No noise. No nothing. And all I can do about it is wait it out, which is why I need you to let me leave..."

It's one of those moments where he hates that he's the only one of their group with a license; that he can't just radio with a code red and have someone come get him no questions asked.

"I just wanna go home, man," he sighs, hating his voice for the weak whine around the edges.

A beat passes between them, and Steve pretends like he's not counting the seconds. Like he doesn't notice that the flickering zigzag line is getting smaller and dimmer, and that agony is imminent.

"Here," Kas says then, and somehow it's both an offer and a command. "You. Here."

Steve blinks, the words not really translating through the tired fog of his brain.

"Huh? Sorry, uh, what?"

"You," Kas says, shuffling closer to him, like that sort of helps him translate what it is he wants to say.

"Me."

Kas nods, then motions around the room and pats the couch cushion, releasing a cloud of dust from it. "Here."

“You—“ Steve frowns. "You want me to stay here?"

The nod is decisive and in another world Steve would have called it eager, with the way Kas is shuffling on the spot.

"Kas," Steve sighs, rubbing his face, not quite sure how to make the vampire explain that it's gonna be bad. Really, really bad. The flickering shimmer is already waning, and phantom pains are already setting in, settling along his skull like little pinpricks of warning.

A clawed hand reaches for his wrist, making Steve flinch away, but Kas doesn't hurt him. He pulls Steve’s hand away from his face almost gently, slowly, and makes sure Steve looks at him.

"Safe." And he looks so genuine about it. He looks like he knows what that word means. "Safe."

With a sigh, Steve accepts his fate. Kas isn't gonna let him go anytime soon, and at this point Steve really doesn't want to face the gloomy weather outside, stuck as it is somewhere between drizzle and downpour and so endlessly grey for days.

Still he feels pathetic about it. Vulnerable. Exposed. Like a last bastion falling, the castle walls crumbling, the fragile house of cards finally falling, because suddenly this agony isn't something he keeps only to himself.

Even if it's only Kas who witnesses it. Kas, who’s endured worse than that, Steve knows. Brainwashing, manipulation, the agony of shaping human into vampire so excruciating his mind has gone into hiding still.

"Okay," Steve breathes at last, pretending that his voice didn't break on that single word. "Okay."

Kas hums, the sound resembling more a gurgle than anything else, and before Steve knows what's happening, cold hands are pulling him up and off the couch.

"Jesus," he mumbles, barely catching his footing and pulling away from Kas's grasp, but following nonetheless, not even thinking about fleeing now. "I'm coming, I'm coming, man, don't touch me."

Miraculously, Kas does stay away, walking just one step ahead of Steve, turning towards him every two steps to make sure he's still following. It reminds Steve of a mama duck herding her ducklings across the street and making sure they're all still there. It's weirdly endearing.

"Why do you even care?"

He doesn't get an answer, but that's no surprise, and he doesn't really mind either. It was more about wondering, about putting that question out there and letting it take up space for future contemplation.

Kas leads him to an adjoining room, the north-facing windows all barred shut, ripped and moth-eaten curtains drawn to block out the last of the light. Right. Fitting, for a vampire's lair.

The bed in the middle of the far wall is surprisingly large, though, and looks surprisingly soft. It's unmade, but that's just as well. There are no belongings in the room otherwis that Steve can make out, the framed pictures on the wall look as dusty as the rest of the cabin, so they can't belong to Kas. Or maybe he likes them enough to keep them, to claim them as his own now.

It’s a heartbreaking thought.

Stupidly and out of nowhere, Steve wonders if he could take care of this cabin. Dust it and clean it and only fill it with things Kas likes. Maybe things Munson used to like — surely the kids would know how to go about that. Or Wayne.

He's about to ask; about the pictures, about the stuff, about Wayne — if he's been around lately, if he's still telling stories to bring back the dormant Eddie parts of his modified and manipulated mind.

But just as he's about to turn to the vampire and ask, the blinding flickers disappear from his field of vision in the dark room, and within seconds something inside his skull bursts, leaving his body awash with pain that nearly has his knees buckling. A whimper escapes him that he tries to steer into a groan, but then his hands are flying to his head and he stops caring about how he expresses this immediate agony to the world.

Kas is on him again with a whimper, suddenly just as fucking tactile as his once-human form.

“Don’t touch me,” Steve rasps, wrenching himself free from the gasp once more. He really wishes Kas would stop touching him. "You want me to lie down here, yeah? Take your bed?"

Kas nods again, looking at Steve with those wide eyes that seem to glow in the dark — or maybe that's his migraine-addled mind seeing things where they aren't, making up for the blind spot and the flickering.

Steve looks away, the motion hurting his entire face, and he closes his eyes as pins and needles are moving along the inside of his face, pricking up against the skin but never breaking through.

"Right then," he whispers, his voice barely audible and still too loud, making his ears click and pressure collect around them, making him wonder if they're going to burst. "'M gonna lie down."

Struggling with the heavy blanket, Steve is close to giving up and just lying on top of it, but Kas is quick to help him once he realises that Steve needs it. He pulls back the blanket, still looking so damn stricken about everything, like he's genuinely worried about Steve. It doesn't make sense.

He doesn't have the strength for a Thanks or even a smile, but he nods just once, just barely, before sluggishly falling onto the bed and fumbling with the blanket once more. Every movement hurts. Every twitch of a muscle is too much, and just moving his pinkie is enough to douse his body in never-ending pain that travels from his skull all the way down.

Something Steve has always wondered is why migraines make his body shut down like that, leaving him in a state where all he can do is lie down and fall into a near-catatonic limbo until the pain has lifted enough to face the rest of the world again. Fighting inter-dimensional monsters and posing as a feast to demonic, modified monster bats was also agony. It also made him lose his footing and almost pass out from blood loss and pain, his back scratched open completely where the bats dragged him across rough stone.

Migraine pains don't really compare to those, though, and it scares him. Because he knows that's all up in his brain. His fucked up, mangled, thrice-concussed fucking brain he never got cared for because the government goons never took them seriously. Never took him seriously.

And now here he is, lying in a stranger's bed in a pitch-black room that's still somehow too bright, unmoving, too weak to even pull up the blanket, and hoping to pass out from it all. Hoping he won't hallucinate again this time. Hoping that he won't throw up this time, his body convulsing because it knows it shouldn't be feeling like this.

Throwing up from pain. There's really nothing more fucked up than that. Or, there is. Throwing up from pain and begging an invisible man to make it stop, only to realise hours later that the most painful migraines can also make you hallucinate.

He doesn't want that. He doesn't want any of that ever again, and certainly not in a strange, dark cabin with a vampire forged from a human he never even liked.

Tears spring to his eyes, but they're not the kind that'll fall and bring relief. They just stay in the corners of his eyes, his only way to express the waves and flares of pain washing over him, wishing he could just pass out now.

Kas tucks him in. Steve didn’t know he could do that. It strikes him as extremely non-vampiric even in this state he’s in. Steve doesn’t react, doesn’t so much as blink his eyes open as the pain travels up to his hairline and settles there, flaring over his forehead to his eyes and down to his cheekbones and then up again, a never-ending motion that he never stands a chance to get used to.

“Safe,” Kas says again, and it zings through Steve’s body with violent force that doesn’t match at all with the gentle tone he’s using.

Scrunching his forehead to stave off more words, Steve hopes that Kas will take the hint and know to shut up.

But he has no such luck.

“Here.”

“Shhh.” He shakes his head minutely, shushing the vampire with a barely there noise, keeping the damage to a minimal amount. “You can go,” he slurs, trying not to speak at all. “Please.”

A beat of blessed, blissful silence, before there’s shuffling again. Kas does walk to the door, but then stops in the doorway. Steve doesn’t want to look.

“No.” Kas sounds surprised about it. Mystified. Like he wants to leave but can’t.

What?

“Stay. Here.”

Whatever you do, just please be quiet about it, Steve thinks desperately. Instead of saying any of that, he shushes him again, hoping that the thump he hears means that Kas is sitting on the floor now. Though he doesn’t understand why.

Why do you even care?

“Safe,” Kas says again, whispering the word into the room, and it doesn’t zing through Steve this time.

With Kas refusing to leave and his pathetic state of existence so blatantly on display, and with waves and waves as his nerves fire signals to his overworked and tired brain, more tears sprint to his eyes. And this time they fall. Silently, and without a sob, without even a sniffle of acknowledgment. But they fall.

And Steve just wants to go home.

part 2 here

#steddie fic #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #kas eddie munson #dio words #kas takes care of steve fic #still not sure if this is tumblrable but it shall no longer stay between me and the discord thread girlies

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space-invading-pigeon · 11 months

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Eddie uses Steve's competitive nature against him. Steve doesn't like being told he can't or won't do something, and usually that results in him finding a way to do whatever it is he's not able/supposed to do. It's the entire reason he's got the reputation of such a hardcore party boy.

The kids haven't picked up on Steve's need to prove himself yet, thankfully, but when Robin explains it quietly to Eddie that Steve is not allowed to take dares or make bets about himself. Eddie doesn't believe her at first, but then he witnessed Steve make a four course dinner for Hellfire because Jeff had said something about "a guy like Steve" not being able to feed "gremlins like Hellfire." It had been delicious, even if they'd found Steve in the kitchen later, nursing a burn he'd gotten when he grabbed a tray out of the oven without a mitt by accident.

After that, Eddie decides that Steve can't be trusted with his own well-being. He starts small ("Steve, you can't stay home from work because I'm sad," he says mournfully when Steve starts displaying symptoms of a migraine. Steve calls out immediately and they spend the day in bed, avoiding the unfortunately common fainting episode) but eventually graduates to tricking Steve into taking actual care of himself.

Eddie also throws the biggest fit Steve has ever seen when Wayne manages to convince Steve to move into the house next door to the Munson's new home (a small, two-bedroom house near the edge of town that came as part of Eddie's hush money), just by asking. He doesn't even have to trick him; he just says something like, "I just want to see you more, make sure you're okay," and Steve immediately puts in an offer on the house. No fuss, no complaints, just does it.

#steve harrington #steddie #stranger things headcanons #eddie munson #eddie and steve #stranger things #wayne munson #steve needs to learn to take care of himself #wayne wants the best for his son #and you know what #that doesnt go for just eddie

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steddieas-shegoes · 1 year

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Read Platonic Shower Stobin first

Is it normal to be thinking about non-platonic showering while working?

Probably not.

But it’s all Eddie could think about at the shop. His boss kept giving him weird looks all day, noticing his clumsiness and stupid mistakes with customers getting a standard oil change.

He kept picturing Steve. Naked. Touching him.

He was doing it again. Oil spilled down his jumpsuit. He closed his eyes and sighed.

This was his last car for the day. He could leave when he was done. That’s what he had to remind himself every time his brain started to drift to thoughts of fucking Steve against the shower wall.

He’d never had shower sex. Sounded difficult. Sounded worth it.

Especially with Steve.

Steve Harrington.

Jesus, what had he gotten himself into?

— — — — — — —

When he got home, the apartment was quiet. He knew Robin would still be at work, but Steve was always home first. He usually was making dinner, playing music, cleaning, taking up space in a way that he never could as a child or teenager.

Eddie loved it.

Eddie loved Steve.

Maybe he wasn’t like, in love with him. Yet. But he did love him. He loved Robin, too.

But he definitely knew he could love Steve.

Steve who should be home but isn’t. Or at least isn’t making any noise.

“Steve?”

No movement. No response.

Maybe he was stuck at work.

Maybe he ran for the hills at the thought of having to be in the shower with Eddie.

Maybe he changed his name and went into the Witness Protection Program to avoid ever having to look at Eddie again.

He walked towards his room, which was the closest to the front door and shared areas because Steve and Robin hated being close to the door. When he opened the door, he felt himself freeze like he had that morning in the bathroom.

Steve was in his bed, cuddled up with his pillow, no shirt on, mouth wide open and drooling.

Eddie was in love with Steve.

He was in love with him and he wanted to come home to this every day; Steve asleep in his bed, drooling on his pillow, possibly completely naked under the blanket.

Eddie remained as quiet as possible while he got out of his work jumpsuit, stripping it off and leaving him in his undershirt and boxers. He had oil stains on his hands and neck that needed to come off before he got in bed.

Just when he grabbed his towel from where it was hung up on his desk chair, he heard Steve groan. In his bed.

But it only took a second for Eddie to recognize it was a groan in pain, not pleasure.

He wasted no time in rushing to where Steve was curling up against the pillow, eyebrows scrunching together.

Migraine.

Eddie sat on the floor next to the bed, putting his hand up to gently brush hair out of his face and try to relieve some of the pain.

Steve’s eyes fluttered open, though he looked like he wished they hadn’t.

“Hey, sweetheart. Need anything? Water maybe?”

“Mm-mm.”

Eddie was certain he did need water, but he wasn’t going to argue with him when he had a migraine. Especially not if he tried to make it all day at work with one.

He’d leave some water by the bed while he showered so it was there if Steve managed to sit up.

He stood up, but before he could turn around, Steve’s hand was around his wrist.

“Don’t go.”

“I need a shower. Got a lot of oil on me.”

“‘Sposed to go in the car.”

Eddie snorted. “No shit. I was too busy thinking about you and spilled. Three times.”

“Oh.”

Steve let go of his wrist, and it felt like he was no longer tethered to the earth.

“Shower?”

Eddie was still getting used to Steve during his migraines. He’d only lived here for six months, and it was usually Robin’s job to handle it or Steve would already be sleeping it off by the time he got home. In his own bed.

He didn’t know if Steve was clarifying what he had already said or if he was asking to take one.

He didn’t look like he could stand up, so it must’ve been the former.

“Um I’m gonna take one. I’ll be quick.”

Steve started to shuffle around, moving the blanket off of him slowly.

Eddie tried to stop him from moving, not sure what he was trying to accomplish, but not wanting him to make his headache worse by moving.

“Steve, stop.”

“No.”

God, he was stubborn. He loved him so much.

“What are you doing?”

“Shower.”

“Is that a good idea?”

“Promised.”

Eddie melted. He was a puddle on the floor. Might have even gone through the floor.

“Sweetheart, you can stay in bed. We can shower tomorrow night when you’re feeling better.”

“Want to. Neck hurts.”

Eddie helped him out of bed. Arguing wasn’t worth it and getting to shower with Steve was welcome any time.

They took it slow, stumbling to the bathroom across the hall as Eddie tried his best to support Steve. Just when he was about to offer carrying him bridal style, Steve stopped and rested his head against Eddie’s shoulder.

He let out a shaky breath.

“Sorry. Nauseous.”

“Want me to carry you?”

They were almost the same size. Eddie had some muscle, but not nearly what Steve probably had. The bathroom wasn’t far though, he could probably make it.

Steve shook his head against him, but didn’t start moving again. Eddie let him rest his head against him for a moment before he moved his hand up to start rubbing the back of his neck.

Steve groaned and fully relaxed against Eddie, and if he hadn’t been head over heels before, he was now.

He didn’t know how long they stood there, but he knew if it helped Steve even a tiny bit, he would stand here all night.

But they didn’t stand there much longer, even though it seemed like Steve didn’t actually want to move. He pulled his head away with a sigh, and Eddie made an executive decision to just carry him.

He lifted him quickly so he couldn’t argue, because if Steve will do anything, it’s argue over someone helping him.

But his migraine must have been terrible because he didn’t argue. He just rested his head against Eddie’s chest and closed his eyes.

“You sure you don’t wanna go back to bed?”

“Shower will help.”

Eddie couldn’t resist it anymore; he placed a kiss on the top of Steve’s head and walked to the bathroom.

He sat him down on the toilet lid so he could start the water and get the right temperature. As he stripped his shirt off, he noticed Steve’s head was resting on the sink counter and his eyes were open.

That had to be some type of progress, right?

“Doing okay, Stevie?”

“Better when you’re naked.”

God, the migraine couldn’t even stop his charm. Incredible.

“Alright, take it easy. No riling me up. Not now.”

“Why not?”

“Because you have a migraine.”

Steve just sighed and closed his eyes. Eddie took off his boxers and then kneeled in front of Steve, placing his hands on his thighs.

“Wanna leave these on?”

Eddie played with the waistband of Steve’s boxers, looking up at his face to see if he gave any outward signs of discomfort.

Steve shook his head and sat up so Eddie could help him stand and get them off.

They were about to shower. Naked.

Maybe it would be more platonic than not because of Steve’s migraine, but he’d get to take care of Steve with intent. Intent Robin didn’t have.

Was he jealous of Robin? Only in the way that she’d been showering with Steve for a long time and didn’t even appreciate it.

He helped Steve into the shower and turned him so the back of his neck was getting hit by the water, his forehead resting against his shoulder.

He let out another groan.

“Perfect.”

Eddie smiled to himself as he wrapped his arms around Steve’s waist. They stood there for a couple minutes, and it did seem to help the tension leave Steve’s body a bit.

“Can we switch for a minute so I can scrub the oil off?”

“Mhm.”

But Steve didn’t move and Eddie honestly didn’t want to move him. He’d never been this content or comfortable just existing with someone else naked.

Most experiences he had naked were quick or not in his own home, so he couldn’t quite relax like he was now.

Plus, it was Steve. Steve had seen him at his worst already. This was far from that.

He reached out his hand for the soap, deciding to just do what he could without moving Steve first. But Steve let out a hum and lifted his head so he could move away.

He rested his head against the shower wall instead while Eddie rushed through washing his body. He could wash his hair in the morning; Steve wasn’t long for this world and he wanted to have him cozy in his bed as soon as possible.

“Hair?”

Eddie looked over to Steve, who had one eye open, staring at him.

“Nah, I’ll do it tomorrow.”

“Mine?”

“You want me to wash your hair?”

“Please?”

How could Eddie refuse that?

This was one of Eddie’s biggest dreams come true.

He wasn’t gonna say no.

So he guided Steve back under the water, tilting his head back and slowly pushing his hair back so it was wet.

He slowly massaged the shampoo into Steve’s scalp, smiling when Steve let out a few low moans. He knew it wasn’t necessarily pleasure, more relief than anything else, but he was happy to make things better for him.

He took his time. It was for Steve, but he definitely got his own enjoyment out of it too.

Steve looked so calm, relaxed, almost blissful, which is something he never sees regardless of if he has a migraine or not.

When he’d spent more than enough time with his hands in Steve’s hair, he leaned his head back and covered his eyes to rinse the shampoo out. Steve looked like he was about two minutes from falling asleep, and Eddie needed him to be out of the shower before that happened.

“Sweetheart, let’s get you dried off and back in bed,” Eddie said softly, not wanting the echo of his voice to make Steve’s head hurt worse.

“Mm.”

Eddie shut off the water and managed to get Steve out of the shower rather quickly, reaching for his towel to wrap around Steve before he could get cold.

He found an extra towel under the sink for himself, wrapping it around his waist before focusing on Steve again. He started to pat him dry the best he could, but Steve was struggling to stand upright.

He once told Eddie that during his worst migraines, his legs would feel like jelly, and sometimes his back would ache from the extra effort it took to stand up.

This must be one of those.

He managed to guide Steve back to his bedroom, slowly, afraid that one wrong move could send Steve to the ground in terrible pain.

“Sorry.”

He looked up as he helped Steve into some of his boxers.

“What could you possibly be sorry for, sweetheart?”

“Not fun.”

“Any time with you is fun. And I got to see you naked. I’d say that’s fun.”

Steve didn’t have enough energy to smile, but the way the corner of his mouth ticked up for just a second showed Eddie he wanted to.

“Thanks.”

“Nothing to thank me for. Always gonna take care of you.”

Well, nothing like throwing all his cards on the table. Full house or royal flush or whatever the hell the best hand in poker was.

“Mkay. Want you to.”

If Eddie was capable of it, he would probably melt through the floor. Again.

Because Steve never let anyone take care of him, except Robin, and she was only allowed because she would kill him if he didn’t let her. He was the epitome of “suffer in silence,” and everyone just watched as he tried to work his way through his own pain, both emotional and physical.

So if Steve wanted him to take care of him, that meant he was really doing this. He really wanted Eddie.

Holy shit.

“I got you.”

He got Steve to lay down in his bed while he threw on some boxers, rushing as quickly as he could to dry his hair a bit with the towel.

It always got so frizzy if he fell asleep with it still wet, but he didn't care. He had Steve in his bed.

Steve curled up to his side as soon as he was under the blanket, placing his head on his naked chest.

Eddie didn’t think it could be comfortable, but it must have been because Steve was letting out little snores within moments.

Eddie’s hands covered his back and the back of his head, fingers moving slowly to ease any possible aches or pains he might feel in his sleep.

He kissed the top of Steve’s head, letting his lips linger for longer than was probably necessary. He breathed in the scent of his freshly washed hair, smiling to himself when he felt Steve sink further into him.

He would take a not-so-platonic shower with Steve in the morning. This was almost better than anything his dreams could’ve come up with anyway.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #tumblr drabbles #headcanon #part 2 #started as platonic stobin #now we’re at Eddie getting to take care of Steve #STEVE HAS A MIGRAINE AGAIN OKAY #I DONT KNOW WHY I DO THIS TO HIM #also this wasn’t as good as I’d hoped but I just kept getting distracted

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beep-beep-robin · 2 years

Text

steve doesn’t let anyone see when he‘s in pain. his parents never picked up on him being ill unless it was pretty severe, and even then they used to make him feel like a burden because of it. so he just doesn‘t show it nowadays.

when he starts to hang out with eddie more, it‘s not him that picks up on it when steve‘s not feeling good, but wayne. raising a boy all by yourself makes you pick up on those kind of things.

he sees how steve will sometimes squint when it‘s too bright in the room, sees how he flinches when there‘s a sudden loud noise. how he slightly relaxes when eddie absentmindedly runs his fingers through steve‘s hair (wayne doesn‘t like poking around in eddie‘s love life. but the fact that that thought crosses his mind when he‘s watching them says something. if he asked eddie about it he‘d probably say they‘re just very touchy friends).

so he talks to eddie about it when steve‘s not around. tells him that he thinks there’s something going on with steve. what eddie can look out for, and that he should talk to steve about it.

steve‘s first instinct when eddie brings it up to him is to laugh and play it off. he doesn‘t want to burden eddie with his own bullshit that he can deal with himself.

but eddie keeps pushing until steve admits that yeah, he gets headaches really often. that normal painkillers only help a bit, that light hurts his eyes, that they make the ringing in his ear even worse (eddie makes a mental note to bring that one up again later) and that he can barely concentrate whenever they come on. that he finds it hard to concentrate anyways, most of the time.

it‘s probably because of all the times he got hit in the head, he tells eddie.

he says that he doesn't want to be alone when he has the headaches, because that just makes him feel even worse. that's another reason why he never told anyone. (he also tells him about the russians, finally. eddie gives steve a hug afterwards, and steve almost cries into his shoulder. but he holds it back. eddie can hear his breath hitch.)

from that day on they have an agreement that steve has to tell him whenever he doesn‘t feel good. or that he at least won’t hide it. eddie goes over to steve's place when he knows it's one of those days, or he invites steve to his trailer. he turns off the lights when steve needs it to be dark, keeps explaining things to him when he doesn‘t understand them the first time, tries to be as quiet as possible.

he also keeps running his fingers through his hair, but it's more intentional now. he can tell that it helps steve relax, turns it into more of a massage. when steve slips off into sleep, after a while of him protesting that eddie really didn't need to do this, he lets his fingers roam a bit more. over his eyebrows, down the sides of his nose, over his cheekbones. unknowingly taking care of him in a way that no one ever really had before. steve sighs in his sleep.

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sidekick-hero · 3 months

Text

Carry you

When Eddie opens his eyes, he has no idea where he is.

That should probably scare him, but the only thing he can think in that moment between blissful nothingness and cold, hard reality is "the bathroom at the party looked different." Because he is in a bathroom, that much he can say. There are white tiles everywhere and a roll of toilet paper in front of him and... is that a plastic handrail?

Lifting his head is a Herculean effort, but somehow he manages to do it, even though it makes his stomach turn.

In front of him is a freestanding shower and a bathtub with stairs to get into. The bathroom is huge and sterile, smelling of disinfectant.

As more and more of his senses come back online, Eddie notices several things at once:

#1 He's wearing what can barely be called a gown, cold air hitting his exposed skin everywhere. His back, his legs, hell, even his junk gets more of a breeze than he likes.

#2 He's nauseous, his stomach rolls uncomfortably, and his head is killing him, a sharp pain that's increasing in intensity by the second.

#3 He knows that something is definitely very, very wrong and he can feel the anxiety rising like bile in his throat.

It's that last realization that triggers his fight or flight response and in seconds he's off the toilet he's sitting on, the sudden movement sending him stumbling, his legs wobbling and his head spinning. Everything hurts and he feels so weak. He catches himself on the railing next to the toilet and figures that's what it's there for. Although he has no idea what kind of person would have such a strange bathroom. The last one he was in, at Tim's or Tom's or Terry's party, something with a T, for sure, the tiles had been black and there had been a lot of bamboo furniture and gold accents. It had smelled nice too, vanilla and cinnamon.

He staggers to a door that hopefully leads out of this fucking nightmare. Maybe Gareth or Freak are behind this, to teach Eddie a lesson for ditching them again to go partying when they had to pack up their shit after the show. But not Jeff, he's too nice to do something like that. The next morning, when Eddie arrives with a hangover the size of his ego, to quote Gareth, Jeff will only look at him with disappointment.

Or maybe they just don't care enough about him anymore to pull a prank on him. Eddie can't remember the last time they even talked to him, beyond discussing the bare minimum for their shows.

Leaving the bathroom, he carefully walks down a long hallway with the ugliest yellow linoleum Eddie has ever seen. It hurts his eyes and his stomach gives another unpleasant churning. On his right, he sees a glass door with "Intermediate Care Unit" written in big white letters.

What the fuck?

He turns right and continues down the hall, hoping to find someone who can tell him where he is and why his body feels like it's been hit with a sledgehammer. Repeatedly.

"Mr. Munson, you shouldn't be out of bed," a stern voice calls from behind him, and when he turns around he sees a middle-aged woman in white scrubs looking at him with a stern expression on her face.

Feeling more and more like he has landed in an episode of The Twilight Zone, Eddie looks at her with an incredulous look on his face. "Who are you? And where is everyone?"

She scoffs at his answer, clearly not pleased.

"I am the nurse responsible for getting you well enough to leave this ward as soon as possible, and you would make my job a lot easier if you would go back to your bed." Before he can process the meaning of her words, she continues. "As for everyone else, well, no one else overdosed, so I would assume they're all home by now."

Eddie can only stare at her open-mouthed, disbelief and horror probably written all over his face, because her own face is softening slightly.

"Now come on, let's get you back to bed, you really shouldn't be wandering around."

She gently takes his elbow and leads him to a door with the number 719 on it. As she opens it for him, Eddie sees three beds inside. To the left and right, he sees two old men, both looking directly at him. The one on the right says, "We tried to stop him, Nurse Elli, we really did," in a high, nasal voice that is already getting on Eddie's nerves. "The kid wouldn't listen to us, would he, Harry?"

"Exactly," Harry answered, at least in a deeper, more bearable tone.

Ignoring the geriatric Ernie and Bert, Nurse Elli leads him to the bed in the middle and helps him to lie down again. Only then does Eddie remember that all he's wearing is a thin hospital gown with an open back. Well, he thinks, Nurse Elli has seen worse in her profession than his pale, scrawny ass. Besides, it's not like much of his modesty has survived the last two years of sex, drugs and rock'n'roll that have been his life.

By the time he's back under the covers, his nurse has turned around and is walking back over to the door. A bone-deep exhaustion has begun to seep into his body, slowly dragging him back under, but seeing her walk out of the room gives him a burst of energy.

"Wait! Someone needs to tell me what happened. What am I doing here?"

Embarrassment burns hot under his skin as he hears the tears in his voice, but the sound of it breaking at his question makes Nurse Elli stop. She turns back to him and her eyes are much kinder than before.

"The doctor will be with you shortly. He'll explain everything to you, Mr. Munson. I'll let him know you're awake now."

And then she leaves, and Eddie sinks back into his bed in the hope that the next time he opens his eyes, it will all have been just a bad dream.

It was not all just a bad dream.

The next time Eddie comes to, he's alone in his room, except for a middle-aged man who seems to be the doctor Nurse Elli told him would be stopping by.

Doctor Owens explains that he overdosed on alcohol and coke at a party at some music producer's house and had been in a coma for two full days. They quickly stabilized him, pumped his stomach and gave him fluids through an IV. Eddie is lucky he's still young and his system recovered from the shock quite well. When he showed signs of waking up, they brought him down here from the ICU to free up his bed for someone who needed it more.

"If Mr. Harrington hadn't called 911 and told them to come get you, you'd be dead right now, Mr. Munson. I'm sorry to say this, but from what I've heard, no one at the party even cared, just insisted that you brought your own drugs and they had nothing to do with it. Mr. Harrington has also been your only visitor so far."

His words should make him angry or sad, something, but he can't process them. Not when his brain is still struggling to make sense of the first part of his statement, Eddie’s heart racing in his chest.

"Mr. Harrington? As in..."

"Steve Harrington, he says he's a close friend. He's the one who called the ambulance, gave the operator your cell phone number so they could track your phone and get you to the hospital. He's been visiting you every day since. He also called your uncle, because we are not allowed to give out any medical information to anyone outside of the family. Your uncle should be here soon, I called him yesterday to give him an update on your condition."

His mind is reeling, too many thoughts fighting for dominance and one word screaming louder than any of them in his head.

Steve, Steve, Steve.

How... it couldn't be. Not after their last fight. Not after the things he said to Steve. To his horror, he feels tears burning hot in his eyes at the memory. A memory he had pushed as far back in his mind as he could because every time he thought about that night he wanted to curl up into a fetal position and cry.

"You are a lucky man, Mr. Munson. This man seems to care a lot about you, as does your uncle. You should let them help you. And if you will allow me to be very clear with you: You need all the help you can get. You're young, so your body can take a lot. But it's not in good shape. You have an old man's liver, and your spleen and kidneys are showing signs of the abuse you put them through. The echo also showed some irregularities in your heartbeat. If you continue down the path you're on, your organs will fail and you will die, Mr. Munson. Painfully. So my advice to you is to get clean as soon as possible. We have some facilities we work with, a nurse will bring you some brochures."

Eddie could only nod numbly, tears now falling freely from his eyes, his throat tight and his head aching. Everything hurt. Especially his heart.

"Okay, we'll keep you here for two more days until we're sure you're stable enough to be on your own." Doctor Owens tells him, turning to leave and get on with his day, as if he hadn't just dropped a damn bomb on his head. He pauses at the door and turns back to him.

"And a word of advice from someone twice your age who's seen a lot in his time here: stick with people who really care about you, like Mr. Harrington, instead of spending your time with people who leave you lying in a bathroom in your own vomit."

With that, he steps out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him and leaving Eddie alone with his thoughts.

Eddie doesn't know how long it's been since Dr. Owens left. It could have been hours, days, weeks, for all he knows, too deep inside his own head to spare any thought for the passing of time. Lying in a hospital bed, the nausea and pain raging through his battered body, Eddie finally breaks down and lets the thoughts come.

He's lost in his memories, thinking about everything that led him here, alone and in pain in a hospital bed, after nearly killing himself with things he swore he'd never use. Weed was fine, though he didn't indulge much anyway, preferring to sell it and make some much-needed money than to smoke it himself. But coke? Nah, he knew how epically stupid it would be to even try that shit.

And yet he did.

A party to celebrate the release of their first single. One lapse in judgment while flying so fucking high that nothing could touch him. One bad decision was all it took for him to succumb to the effects of the white powder.

The high he felt after snorting his first line had been magical and he's been chasing that feeling ever since, blind to all he's sacrificed in the process.

It changed him, he knows. Every euphoric high that made him talk a mile a minute, overly affectionate, loud and brash and in love with the whole world would inevitably end in a crash. He became irritable and hostile toward the people he loved, thinking they were out to get him. Whenever his friends or Wayne or Steve so much as looked at him the wrong way about his new habit, he would lash out at them.

He became increasingly angry and accused them of trying to control him, of envying him his success and happiness.

That's when he started drinking, too. He drank himself stupid so that he wouldn't have to think about the way Steve was starting to look at him as if he didn't even know him anymore. To forget the sad look in Wayne's eyes or the way his friends had started to avoid him. When he was drunk out of his mind, he could forget the way the Coffin boys had started talking about him behind his back, could ignore the murderous looks Robin kept sending his way.

Thinking back, Eddie felt like everything had spun out of his control so fast.

It's like one day he comes home to Steve, ecstatic about signing their first record deal and celebrating the start of a new chapter with the love of his life by dancing around their living room barefoot, laughing and kissing each other, promising happiness and forever.

Only to throw that love right back in Steve's face the next day by calling him needy, clingy, and full of bullshit.

He claimed that Steve was holding him back and that Steve didn't love him, that he just didn't want to be alone. He also said that Steve still thought he was better than Eddie, better than the town freak, the fuck-up, the trailer trash.

You don't want me to succeed and finally step out of your perfect shadow, because then what would stop me from leaving you, right?

Eddie regretted his words as soon as they left his mouth. Secretly, he had always feared that his success would cause a rift in his relationship with Steve. Eddie had no desire to leave Steve, because Steve was still the best goddamn thing that ever happened to him, but he couldn't help but feel that he was losing him anyway. Even more so when he had seen Steve's face crumble, when he had seen the exact moment when his heart had broken into a million pieces.

He had wanted to take Steve in his arms and apologize for saying cruel things he didn't even believe. It had been his own insecurities that had caused him to lash out, and he had hurt Steve before he had a chance to be hurt himself.

Instead, in true Munson fashion, he had run away and hasn't seen or heard from Steve in six long months that have felt like years.

Steve looks almost exactly the same as he did the last time Eddie saw him.

That's not a good thing, though. Because Steve had been driving himself crazy with worry about Eddie for months before Eddie had taken Steve's heart and torn it apart right in front of him.

Back then he had the same dark circles under his eyes that he has now. The usually golden skin is still too pale and Steve's trademark hair looks even more disheveled from how often he's run his hands through it. His well-fitting jeans, which once hugged his ass just right, now sit baggy on his too-slim frame and Eddie hates it.

He hates that Eddie could still hurt Steve even after he left. That even from a distance he managed to ruin the only person who ever really loved him besides Wayne. There should be some kind of warning sign on him: Beware, do not get attached, will hurt you.

"You're awake," are the first words out of Steve's mouth, and despite everything, Eddie can't stop his heart from responding to the sound of his sweet voice. Steve sounds tired, weary, but to Eddie's ears his voice is better than any Metallica song could ever be.

He tries to smile at him, but he feels as tired as Steve sounds, so it lacks the usual spark.

"Sure am. From what I heard, I have you to thank for that," Eddie adds, unable to help himself. He still doesn't know why and especially how Steve knew he needed help. If this were a Nicholas Sparks novel, their love would have created an invisible bond that made Steve feel when Eddie needed help.

But this is real life, and no matter how much he loves Steve, there is no invisible bond holding them together. Just an unbridgeable chasm.

Steve is still hovering at the door and Eddie thinks he is fighting the urge to wring his hands. Eddie knows his tells by now and he figures Steve isn't sure he's welcome here. Which is ridiculous, because even at his worst, Eddie will always want Steve around, no matter what crap Eddie tells him.

It takes a lot of effort, but Eddie manages to sit up and lean out of bed to pat the chair next to his bed, his eyes never leaving Steve.

Eddie sees Steve's shoulders slump, some of the tension visibly draining from his body at the gesture, and Steve walks over to him and sits down tentatively.

"So..." Eddie begins, dragging out the 'o'. "What happened?"

Steve looks up from his hands in his lap, obviously surprised by the question. "You don't remember?"

"No. The last thing I remember is sitting on a leather couch with a bunch of people I don't know and don't care about, fooling myself into thinking I was having fun." Eddie has had plenty of time to think about his life and where he went wrong, so he decides to stick with honesty. Steve deserves as much and more. "Someone handed me a bottle of whiskey and I opened it and started drinking straight from the bottle. That's the last thing I remember. The next thing I know, I wake up in an ugly bathroom that smells like disinfectant, my whole body hurts like I've been hit by a train, and I have no idea where I am."

Before he can bring himself to say the next part, it's Eddie who has to look away, his eyes focused on his hands playing with the edge of the blanket.

"They told me it was you who called 911 and helped them find me. They said without you I would have died lying in my own vomit." He swallows audibly, tears burning in his eyes, wondering how he could have cried more in the last ten hours than in the last ten years. "They also said you were the only one who came to see me."

Eddie forces himself to look up and into Steve's eyes as he says, "Thank you, Steve. You didn't... I don't deserve you doing this. Not after..." The words die in his throat and he feels like he's choking on them.

He can't do this. He's a fucking coward, not worth saving. Not even worth looking at someone as good and beautiful as Steve.

There's a crease between Steve's eyebrows that Eddie used to smooth with his thumb and lips every time he saw it, and his fingers itch to do it again.

"You called me," Steve tells him, his own hands playing with the edge of Eddie's blanket. "At the party. You called me from the bathroom. I thought it was a butt call or maybe drunk dialing, I hadn't heard from you in months, Eddie."

Eddie winces at his words, but Steve chooses to ignore it.

"But then you sounded so small on the phone. You called me 'Stevie' and 'sweetheart' and then you started to cry." Steve looks like he's about to cry, too. His eyes are glassy and Eddie gets lost in the way the light breaks in them, gold and brown and green all mixed together.

"You told me you weren't feeling so good, that your stomach hurt and the room was spinning so you had to lie down. Your voice -" And here Steve's own voice breaks, after it had already started to shake badly, and without thinking Eddie grabs Steve's hand and holds it tight.

"I'm here, Stevie. You saved me. I'm okay."

"But you almost weren't!" Steve insists, his voice rising, and Eddie finally understands the depth of Steve's feelings. After all these months, after everything Eddie had said and done, Steve still cared deeply for him.

"You talked like you were dying, Eddie. You weren't drunk dialing, you were calling to say goodbye, asshole. You were telling me all these things that I needed to hear you say for months. But I wanted to hear them with you in the room so I could punch you in the face and then kiss it better. Not like this. Not as your last words over a fucking phone call."

That's when Steve breaks down, the tears finally overflowing and he buries his face on the bed at Eddie's hip, their joined hands pressed against his wet cheek.

"Baby," Eddie whispers, shocked, his own heart aching worse than ever as he begins to run his fingers through Steve's messy hair. "Shhh, it's okay. I'm so, so sorry, Stevie. I never meant to hurt you, but it seems like that's all I did."

Taking a deep breath, Eddie continues. "I don't know what I told you on the phone, but since I woke up I've had time to think about it all. I don't know if I can ever make it up to you. Or to Wayne and the kids, Gareth and Jeff and Grant. If I will ever deserve your forgiveness, but I want to try. I want to deserve it one day. I know I have no right to ask anything of you, but... I will go to rehab. I will quit drugs and alcohol, I will clean up my act. And then, if you let me, I will try to make it up to you every single day for the rest of our lives."

Steve slowly lifts his head from the bed and looks at him, searching Eddie's eyes for something.

"Why?" Steve asks, his hand gripping Eddie's even tighter.

There are so many reasons, so many things Eddie wants to say, but in the end there is only one simple answer.

"Because I love you."

The smile on Steve's face tells him it's the right answer, even more so when Steve presses a kiss into his palm. But then he turns serious once more.

"I haven't forgiven you yet, Eddie. You hurt me too much and I need time. But I need you to stop trying to run away from me. I don't want you to go to rehab and clean yourself up before you come back to me. I want to be with you every step of the way. Do it together. Because if you love me, you have to let me take care of you. You have to let me in, Eddie. Let me carry you for once, like Sam carried Frodo when he couldn't go on. Trust me not to let you fall. Please."

"Did you really just make a reference to Lord of the Rings?" Eddie demands and Steve rolls his eyes.

"Is that what you get from everything I just said?"

Eddie sobers up immediately. "No, it just made me fall a little bit more in love with you, and I didn't think that was possible."

"So what do you say?" Steve asks, chewing his lip between his teeth, and Eddie suspects he's not even breathing.

"It's going to suck, Stevie," Eddie says in a quiet voice, stroking Steve's knuckles with his thumb."Are you sure?"

"Yes." No hesitation, no wavering in his voice. It's the same tone, the same determined look on his face as when he told Eddie "Fuck'em," when Eddie told him people in their small-minded town would talk if Steve held his hand in public.

"There's a bunch of brochures of places to check out. Wanna help me pick the least horrible one?" Eddie says, pointing to the table in the corner of the room.

Without another word, Steve gets up to grab them, and for the first time in a long time, Eddie allows himself to hope.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddie fic #rockstar eddie munson #cw drugs #steddielovemonth #day 1 #love is letting someone take care of you #my writing

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delta-piscium · 1 year

Text

Wayne doesn’t believe Eddie at first when he says he’s a Vampire. It’s just because when he was twelve he spent several months insisting he was a Vampire. He’d literally make edible fake blood and have it together with Wayne and his morning coffee. Whenever it was sunny outside he’d use an umbrella to shield himself etc.

So, when Eddie sits him down and is like “I gotta tell you something.” Wayne is just like “okay, whatever you say. Whatever you need to do to deal.”

He does eventually manage to convince Wayne, who, when he’s finally onboard, never stops making small comments like, “I liked that syrup mixture you had more, you make your own choices but the vegetarian stuff was a whole lot simpler than this whole song and dance biting people.”

Whenever it’s sunny outside Wayne will wordlessly hand Eddie an umbrella, ignoring the glares he gets for it.

Steve notices and asks him about it since he’s actually fine in the sun and Eddie just grumbles out some excuse about Wayne just worrying

That is until one morning when Wayne asks how they slept and when Eddie yawns out a “good” He gets this glint in his eyes immediately responding “I thought a coffin was crucial for a good nights sleep?”

Steve looks so confused and also a little concerned because that’s a little insensitive and Eddie finally has to explain. Blushing furiously he as quickly as he can tells Steve that no Wayne wasn’t being insensitive, Eddie just told him when he was twelve that he was a vampire and for a month he tried to convince Wayne to get him a coffin to sleep in, claiming it was the only way he’d be able to get actual rest. Meanwhile Wayne is chuckling to himself in the background occasionally cutting in to add details, and like always, ignoring the murderous looks sent his way by his nephew.

After that Steve starts too. He hands Eddie umbrellas, when Eddie bites him he waits until he can feel him drinking before he’s like “be honest, is my blood better than the fabricated stuff you had? I won’t be mad if you don’t say yes.” Eddie bites down a little harder in retaliation.

He once asks him if he’ll be fine sleeping in a bed, but only that one time because he catches Eddie in a particularly petty mood where he just starts walking away saying “yeah, wow, ur right. Guess I’ll find a fucking coffin. Too bad they only fit one.” He only comes back because Steve half tackles him and drags him into bed refusing to let go.

For their anniversary he gets Eddie a full on cape (Eddie is only a little bit annoyed because the cape is actually cool as fuck and he had wanted one since he was a kid.)

#I’m on the Wayne and Steve team up to take care of and relentlessly make fun of Eddie together agenda #directly inspired by me at twelve having umbrellas in the sun bc I have always been in my vampire phase #I wore red contacts to school too 👍#never claimed I was a vampire just lived that life ig #me: I relate more to Steve #also me: makes several posts about Eddie directly inspired by myself #I should be asleep but instead this had to be written apparently???#my post #dels steddie thoughts #stranger things #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #kas!eddie #wayne munson #steddie ficlet #vampire eddie munson #vampire!eddie

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hitlikehammers · 3 months

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intimately entwined

rating: e (but not how you think) ♥️ cw: the deepest intimacies in the most unexpected places knocking someone on their ass ♥️ tags: established relationship, care-taking, casual intimacy, fluff, relationship development, slice of life, idiots in love

for @steddielovemonth day three: Love is wanting to do everything with someone, even if its nothing special

and yes, again: these boys probably grow up to star in the rockstar-husbands-with-the-sex-toys fic je ne regrette rien which will have a sequel flavoured revival via @subeddieweek in April whaaaaaatttt

“Another.”

And the way it’s said: it’s almost fucking expectant too, Jesus Christ, this man.

“You’re sure this is okay?”

Because, like, Eddie needs to know it is. He needs to check, then double check, then triple check because…because this feels like a wholly different step, y’know? This feels like crossing a kind of line they haven’t even dared to tiptoe near just yet, wholly different from all the other lines they’ve navigated, both reckless and careless but together, always, and that helps, in theory. It helps to know that no matter how they’ve fumbled or triumphed in this, between them: it’s been hand in hand. Before, and during, and after.

Still, though. This is…this just feels very fucking different. The kind of boundary with implications that feel heavy and expansive under Eddie’s ribs. Maybe it should seem less monumental compared to other shit they’ve done, and most of that with far less deliberation and hesitation for them, at that. But this does, it…Eddie genuinely believes this pumps weird and novel through his veins, because it is different; and incredible for it, no question. Terrifying. Wholly beggars belief, honestly, and Eddie never really understood that phrase meant but.

He thinks this thing fits it, to a T.

“I said it was, didn’t I?”

Eddie blinks, recenters: was it okay?

And this, this…brilliant perfect little shit: Eddie can hear the smirk in his voice without even looking. He can hear the amusement as much as the loose-ends of frustration. Like Eddie is being absurd here.

Which: what the actual fuck; seriously.

Like, like: goddamn seriously.

“Yeah,” Eddie answers, a little hesitant, a lot fucking dazed; “yeah you did,” because…he did. From the beginning, from even before they settled int to start this: Steve had been…vocally enthusiastic. Not that Eddie hadn’t been! He’d mostly just, he’d just been—

“You think I’m fucking with you?”

Again: without having to see Eddie clocks the eye roll, the not-even-subtle challenge in it.

Alongside the nugget of genuine hurt held for if it turns out true and that: no.

No, Eddie will not fucking have that, so.

Okay, he won’t have that, but also first:

“I mean, yeah—“ because umm…their sex life is a little undeniable.

Steve snorts; how. How

“Here and now, jackass,” he snipes back and Eddie…Eddie really and truly doesn’t fucking know what to do with this. How cal, Steve is. How focused and dedicated to the task. How monumentally and profoundly, just…

How this is sitting in his chest as so much more than the rest of it somehow in a way Eddie cannot wrap his mind around to understand and it’s frightening. Not understanding something so clearly and intimately important; so clearly fucking intimate.

“Not exactly,” Eddie ultimately settles on speaking rather than continuing to gape, continuing to stew in his terror as his heartbeat picks up but speed, it comes out more choked than he’d been hoping; less convincing by a mile as a result. “I don’t think you’re fucking with me like, like it’s something intentional,” and Eddie seeks out Steve’s gaze directly then because that’s it, that’s the hurt part he needs to root out and not crush to bits because he doesn’t crush any part of the man he loves, ever; no.

No, Eddie needs to root that out so he can draw it into the pounding in his chest warm and safe to be cradled and adored until it snuffs itself out in contented fucking joy, for being loved right. Like it deserves.

Which might be part of the problem in the present case just: this time it’s a problem for Eddie.

“Like not mean or anything,” he reiterates, to make absolute sure of this part too; “I just…”

Steve watches him as he struggles to put any part of it into words, can’t even move, or fidget like this: caught, and kinda giddily so underneath everything else, and maybe he needs to lean into that base sensation, see if he can chart his way out from the center versus stumbling around the sides:

“It can’t be, like, enjoyable,” is what he ultimately settles on saying as clear as he came because honestly, that sums up the bulk of it.

Plus he’s learned by now to trust Steve to reach around his rougher edges and find the heart of his meaning, or else, and probably more often: hold his hand as the send out a search party between them for the right words.

Because that’s still it, isn’t it: together.

And of everything else, Eddie doesn’t have to even pysch himself up to trust in that; it just it. It comes natural like breathing.

“Umm,” Steve draws out, a little incredulous; “why not?”

Why not? Why isn’t this exchange clearly one-sided?

“Because,” Eddie tries to find his words, or at least some of them: “I guess, what do you get out of it?”

Steve’s the one glancing to lock their gazes and Eddie…Eddie doesn’t feel ashamed where he might have early on. But he recognises the similar dive where it still lives in his stomach for the gentle warmth that Steve stares into him. Like he sees Eddie’s question, and loves Eddie enough that he won’t dismiss it.

“One more,” Steve instructs confidently, just-shy-of-demands.

“Steve—“

“If you hate it we never have to do it again,” Steve counters; a compromise; “promise.”

“That’s not—“ because fucking hell, as if Eddie could ever hate it.

“One more,” Steve reminds him with the patience of a saint and…Eddie’s moving almost without any thought for it at all, like his body runs the way of his heart and moves for Steve be rote, which.

Kinda, yeah.

“Blow,” Steve’s instructing and Eddie’s doing the moving-by-instinct-because-Steve-says thing again; knows he’s blinking owlishly as he purses his lips and does as he’s asked.

Blows. Ever-so-gentle.

“Okay,” Steve assesses and then grins: “okay, that’s it. Perfect.”

Eddie won’t fucking argue. Not least because it’s true.

Though he’s more invested in the perfection looking up at him like this.

“Verdict?”

And okay, Eddie thinks maybe he has words now, at least inside his head: intimacy wasn’t something he’d ever had before Steve, and frankly was never something he was hanging hopes on ever getting, again—before Steve.

But it wasn’t just because he didn’t have other options that Eddie banked on intimacy equalling sex, either. Because once he did have Steve, it just shifted to the idea of sex as a way of showing love. The more of himself he could give to Steve, the more intimate they’d become: the more of him that was Steve’s for the taking, the more of Steve he look reverent into himself, body to body: that was intimate. That was a relationship, how it looked as it grew. First time Steve came inside him. First time Eddie licked him open. First time he fucked Steve’s gorgeous goddamn thighs.

That kind of thing.

But Eddie’s not sure even the heaviest, headiest sex has ever left his heart as much of a thumping, fluttery mess as just this, which doesn’t feel like just anything: Steve. Sitting in front of him. With a bottle he drove out to Indy to get just for Eddie. Because Eddie wanted it. Because Eddie would like it. Because it might make Eddie happy and it did, it really really did, and—

Steve’s just painted his fucking nails the most gorgeous shiny black, only the slightest bit straying off on the skin, too, and it’s somehow hitting Eddie deeper than the first time they fucked, the first time they stretched each other open, the first time they 69’d in the sheets.

This is apparently what knocks Eddie on his ass for just how deep the love goddamn goes.

“That.”

“Hmm,” Eddie hums, blinking back to the moment where he was busy getting caught up in the new revelation of what intimacy looked like, not to mention caught up in admiring his nails: “what’s ‘that’?”

And Steve’s smiling beatific, incandescent, as he pokes Eddie’s cheek, no, more specifically: as he pokes Eddie’s dimple.

“What I get out of it.”

And Eddie flushes hot under Steve’s touch, then, as it all adds up and seeps in strong enough to shake his core before reshaping him from the inside out as Steve taps the little divot in his skin playfully:

“That.”

Which is how Eddie realizes full on and forever, probably something he already knew, just somewhere under the surface: the intimacy was the sharing of the joy. And in love, especially a love like this one: joy itself is the payoff.

Joy, like everything, is shared by default.

Eddie lifts his eyes, meets Steve’s smile so wide, and relishes the color on his nails as a sign of it for seeing; relishes the dizzy cadence pumping in his chest as proof for the rest of him, to feed and nurture this depth of loving for all the simple things, undimmed and forever until his heart stops doing anything at all. Because there is no pay off, even if there is always something to get out of it. Out of all of it.

Because love is them; together.

Intimately entwined to the goddamn cells.

tag list (comment to be added): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland

♥️

divider credit here

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italiansteebie · 1 year

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im ill, here's this;

steve is a huge brat when he's sick.

he doesn't mean to be it's just that his already heightened sensory issues get worse and it's hard to not be insufferable when you can't get to comfortable temperature and nothing feels right, and not to mention the fact that his hair keeps touching his fucking neck and his throat itches to high heaven and he can't do anything to fucking scratch it.

so yeah.

he's a bit of a handful.

but eddie takes it in stride.

the other days of the year steve is basically chasing after him like he's a toddler playing near a cliff, and it's the one time steve will let eddie take care of him with out a huge ass hassle.

so he makes the toast, and he makes it again when he didn't get it right the first time. and he turns the ceiling fan on, and turns it off, and turns the tv off, and rubs his head because he's got a headache 24/7 and lord knows it's only worse now.

in summary, eddie's a damn good babysitter when it comes to sick steve. especially since pretty much everyone else, save for robin, has sworn off taking to him when he's sick.

eddie can handle it all.

every last thing.

except...

steve sneezes so fucking loud.

it's like a grandpa sneeze and a nuclear bomb if they were combined, and it scares eddie because jesus. steve sneezes with such force, i mean that's got to hurt, right?

he tries to be sympathetic because he's pretty sure steve pulled a muscle from how hard he sneezes but he even scares the cat for gods sake.

and eddie has noise sensitivity.

and well. it's hard to take care of someone when their sneezes scare the shit out of you and cause a visceral reaction. so they come up with a system.

eddie takes care of steve when he's sick and being an absolute brat, and steve warns eddie every time he's about to sneeze. even if it is just a false alarm.

and it makes since that they're together.

because only people in love would do that for each other.

#steve harrington #eddie munson #sick steve harrington #eddie takes care of steve #robin buckley #sneeze #best friend robin #autistic steve harrington #steddie ficlet #steddie #autistic eddie munson #autistic steddie #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things ficlet #steve harrington ficlet #eddie munson ficlet #steve has the sniffles

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shares-a-vest · 2 months

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@flufftober Spring Edition Day 4: "Let me take care of you..."

wc: 454 | Rated: T | cw: Descriptions of migarine symptoms

Tags: Steve Has a Migraine, Steddie Dads (Eddie isn't present in this ficlet)

'Joanie Munson, M.d'

Steve only just manages to set down Joanie’s crustless peanut butter and jelly sandwich before his speckly vision fails him completely.

“Shit,” he mutters, removing his glasses.

He presses the pads of his fingers between his brows, but the move does nothing to alleviate the growing throbbing pain in his head.

“What’s wrong?” Joanie asks with great curiosity as she noisily picks the plate up – creating a sound like shattering glass.

“Nothing, munchkin,” he lies, sucking in a breath as he thinks about his next steps so he can make a beeline for the couch, “You just eat your sandwich.”

“What about yours?” Joanie queries, a frown evident in her distant voice as Steve reaches the safe haven of the couch.

“... I’ll eat later,” he snips, palming for the armrest to help lower himself to a seated position.

It provides a momentary relief. That is until Steve realises he should probably close the curtains and turn the television off, making for a dark and dreary afternoon for his four-year-old.

He closes his eyes, willing away the (relatively mild, for him) migraine when the other end of the couch sinks a little. There is a punching of pillows and some squirming, accompanied by a series of disgruntled little “eh’s”, as Joanie likely attempts to join Steve on the couch while precariously balancing her sandwich on its designated pink and starry plate.

“Joanie…” he huffs, reaching deep into his gut for an ounce of patience, “We just need to be quiet for a bit.”

He hates bargaining with the kid but… well, his brain feels like it might explode out of his – now buzzing – ears.

“Is your head hurting?” his daughter asks, her voice thoughtful and soft.

The couch dips again and Steve hears a pitter-patter before a silence falls over the living room. A silence that lasts for a moment too long and Steve panics, forcing one eye open.

He catches a glimpse of Joanie through his now blurry rather-than-dotted vision. She stands in the hall, fumbling with her unmistakable screaming-red doctor’s kit, appearing careful not to make a noise.

Steve’s heart swells as his daughter returns to the couch, seemingly finding what she was looking for.

“Let me take care of you,” she nods with a level of seriousness that matches Eddie’s in this kind of situation.

She holds up her toy stethoscope and loops it around her neck.

Steve holds out his arms, withstanding the momentary discomfort it takes to get his sweet daughter into his arms.

“I’ll be okay in a minute, Joans,” he assures, closing his eyes again.

“Dad will be home soon,” Joanie whispers, snuggling in so close Steve can feel the calm of her heartbeat.

#idk how to tag tropes for this one - i DONT mean for this to read as a child taking care of a parent #fluffspring2024 #day 4 #stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie dads #steddie as girl-dads

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audhd-nightwing · 1 year

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steve: yeah i’m a government employee

eddie: i fucking hate cops

steve: good thing i’m an EMT then

eddie: …

eddie: *starts twirling his hair* so… are you free tonight?

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #nothing hotter than a man who takes care of people #while i enjoy law enforcement steve au’s #i prefer this #aka EMT steve #or like #paramedic steve #idk what the difference is

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flowercrowngods · 2 months

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something so monstrous pt.2

(in which kas feeds from steve and triggers a bad migraine pt.2)

🤍🌷 read part 1 here this part gets really intense on the migraine. descriptions of immense pain, fever dreams, and vomiting, some body horror imagery bc pain can be fun like that

Time and space lose all meaning as Steve remains on the precipice of something that is too violent to be called sleep, but not harsh enough yet to be unconsciousness. Real sensations evade him as everything turns into pain immediately. Even the twitch of his finger becomes a thundering blaze of blinding pain shooting through his body and settling behind his eye until he is sure he will wake up blind.

The fear of that is everpresent, the blind spots too real to ignore every time it goes like this, and he imagines how they will grow. He imagines how they get worse every time until one day the pain inside his skull will be so immense it will take his eyesight in exchange for alleviation.

And even though it is unbearable, he opens his eyes whenever he can, just to make sure he can see still. It’s an added veil of terror that covers him whole and consumes him slowly but continually.

At some point he notices something cold and wet being placed over his eyes, adding another layer of darkness that is welcome, even if it leaves an imprint of pressure and sensation on his forehead that makes his skin tear around it, his skull cracking and caving in beneath the touch.

And still it helps a little, pulling him further toward consciousness but not further toward the pain itself. But Steve can only whimper weakly in response, six feet under a thick cloud of cotton-filled smog that even turns breathing into a chore, polluting his lungs with fear and horror and agony without compare.

He does fall into a fitful sleep at some point, grateful for the short reprieve, but it does nothing to alleviate his exhaustion.

It feels like his eyeballs are being pushed into his skull for what must be hours upon hours, and the pain is so unbearable, so horrible, that he's not at all surprised when nausea rises in his chest, his body responding to its current state with confusion and a hard-reset.

Steve keens, trying to roll onto his side, groaning at the flares of pain shooting up into his skull and down into his limbs. They only worsen the nausea and it's pure instinct that gives him the strength to sit up.

"Kas?” he whispers, swallowing thickly against another wave. "Bathroom?”

Instead of giving him directions or pulling him up to drag him there, Kas wastes no time. He gets up off the floor, approaching him with shuffling steps once more, and gently but quickly lifts Steve off the bed in a hold — firm, yet gentle — that brings another sting of tears to Steve's eyes. Pain and vulnerability and the need for everything to be over. That’s what makes him cry.

Still he manages to hold on, his head rolling onto Kas's shoulder, the skin of his neck blissfully cool against Steve’s overheated forehead pressing into him.

Make it stop, he thinks. Longs. Aches. It’s supposed to be over. It’s all supposed to be over now.

He whimpers again, and imagines that Kas is the one to softly shush him this time.

The coolness of Kas's neck is gone all too soon as the vampire sets Steve on the hard, uncomfortable bathroom floor. He doesn't go far, though, crouching down beside him and holding him up over the toilet. Steve can't see anything, but still he’s grateful that Kas left the lights off, the bathroom tinged in the same darkness as his bedroom.

Pathetically, Steve rests his forehead on the toilet seat, chasing the coldness of it as pain and nausea reach their peak. It’s disgusting, but be’s not strong enough to care. A whine breaks from him, and he wishes Kas would leave. Even though the cold hand on his neck feels good, and even though he knows he wouldn't be able to hold himself up right now.

I'm not weak, he wants to say. And maybe he does. But he can't recognise his own voice right now.

"Not weak, maybe, but pathetic."

No.

"You know you are."

Shut up. Go away.

It doesn't make sense for Mr Munson to suddenly be here with them, to stand in the doorway and watch his nephew, who is more monster than human these days, holding up the pathetic form of Steve, who is more pain than human. More smoke than human. More vulnerable weakness than remotely human.

Go away. Eddie? I want him to go away. Tell— Go ‘way.

The hand wanders, pulling Steve against cool skin again so his forehead rests against the toilet no longer, basking in the cold touch and the warmth of a body to hold him.

"Safe," Kas says, and Steve wants to badly to believe him. Wants Wayne to leave, wants everyone to leave and just let him suffer in silence and solitude like always.

Wayne starts talking again, but Steve can't hear him this time as he suddenly heaves and retches, throwing up what little he had to eat today. Over and over and over.

It goes like this for a long time. He has no idea how long. Has no idea where he even is anymore.

The world tilts a few times when he loses his grip, his arms buckling, his hands spasming and giving out, and still he never falls. Only ever feels the cold, damp skin of Kas’s neck.

Kas has to carry him to bed when he's done and on the brink of passing out again, and Steve doesn’t mind this time. Kas also hands him a glass of water or two before pushing him back to lie down again. That’s nice.

The wet cloth returns, and Steve isn't aware of his surroundings for much more after that.

——

The next time Steve comes to, he feels like he was freshly dragged through Lover’s Lake until his lungs gave out. His head is pulsing violently, his senses are sluggish and everything feels foggy. He has no idea where he is, the room pitch black around him as he lifts a lukewarm damp cloth from his eyes.

A soft groan falls from his lips as he stretches his aching, cramped limbs, rubbing his hands over his face and regaining the feeling in his body. Little pinpricks of phantom pain shoot through him, his mouth tastes like ash and his head protests rather violently against his pathetic attempt at sitting up.

He is disoriented and something about his vision is still messed up, something in the depths of the room not quite right and leaving him with a dizziness he can’t quite shake, followed by a wave of anxiety that something’s wrong with his eyes.

He blinks. Blinks again, finding more things in the strange room as he does, his sluggish brain slowly catching up and filling in the blanks.

It all comes back to him like a tidal wave when he suddenly finds himself blinking at a pair of red eyes, softly glowing and wide open.

“Kas,” he croaks, his throat absolutely parched.

One second he’s wincing at that, the next he finds a cool glass of water pressed into his hands before the eyes and the shadowy form they belong to retreat to the foot of the bed again.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, stalling as he takes a sip. Embarrassment rises in him, but he doesn’t want to apologise. The thought of that somehow makes the vulnerability that much worse, so he tries to ignore it. It’ll all be fine if they simply not acknowledge it.

He wants to ask for the time instead, wants to know how much the migraine took from him this time, but he knows Kas doesn’t really understand the concept of it all, let alone know the numbers.

A silence settles between them and it’s somewhere between welcome and uncomfortable. Just like everything that happens in Hawkins. It makes Steve feel like a ghost again, but this time he’s a ghost in the room, not just in his own head. He’s the one who’s out of place.

With a little sigh, he places the glass on the makeshift nightstand again and falls over onto his side. His head is mad at him for it, still feeling too fragile for sudden movements, but lying down feels better than sitting.

There’s a huff from Kas that sounds more amused than derisive, so Steve looks at him. Looks at the shimmer in those eyes before closing his own again, not wanting to be looked at right now. Not wanting to face it.

“You,” Kas says then, his voice quiet and without the edge of that animalistic growl. The sound of someone who’s not meant to speak at all. The souvenir of someone who was human once before Evil grabbed him and modified him to His liking.

“Me,” Steve says, an automatic response, just as quiet. He’s listening.

“How… How are…” Kas struggles, huffing in frustration at the words that refuse to come, but still it’s the most coherent Steve has ever heard him. It makes him sit up half way again; leaning his weight on one arm to focus all his foggy and cloudy attention on the vampire trying to ask him how he is feeling.

No more words come, though, the question half finished in the air between them. But somehow it makes Steve smile. Just a little bit. This feels important. And huge.

“My head hurts,” he answers truthfully, amused when Kas’s eyes snap back to his. To search them. To communicate something.

“Hurts?”

“Yeah. It will, for a while. Always does. Nothing to do about it, really.” He wishes he felt as indifferent to it as he sounds, but that’s just the tiredness clouding his tone. It’s fast approaching now that he knows he’s relatively safe. Now that he knows he can rest. His arm gives out and he slides, slowly this time, back to lie on the pillow. “But it’s not as bad. And the other pain is gone, so…”

So. He could go home now. He should, probably. Ignoring the weakness in his bones and the exhaustion in his every fiber. If he closed his eyes again right now, he could fall asleep. Still, maybe he should—

“Stay,” Kas says again, and Steve really should have figured. He’s not quite well enough to really fight him on that, though, so he shrugs.

“Fine,” he mumbles into the pillow, halfway back to slumberland already.

There’s movement on the foot of the bed, and before he knows it Kas has tucked him in again, draped across the pillows as he is. It’s still unreal, that, but Steve won’t complain. What’s even more unreal, though, is the image Steve gets of Kas curling up by the foot of the bed in a similar position. As if he still means to keep watch.

It’s ridiculous. A little weird. And sort of endearing.

——

The next time Steve wakes, everything around him is a little brighter, daylight fighting weakly to fill the room, but it stands no chance against the large wooden planks and thick curtains meant to block it out permanently.

He blinks away the heaviness, taking stock of his body. There is a crick in his neck and burgeoning cramps in his side and hip from the position he’s still in, and this head still is a pulsing, aching mess — but no more than usual.

He taps the pads of his fingers to his thumb before flexing his hands. Only then does he stretch the rest of his body and announce his wakefulness.

Opposite him, at the foot of the bed, Kas is already awake and still in the same position that Steve saw him last. Did he even sleep? Does he need that? Or has he just been staring at Steve, watching him, ready to carry him to the bathroom again for round two.

The thought of that makes his skin crawl.

“Hi,” he says to fill the silence that is all too inviting for his spiralling mind.

Kas grunts, but it sounds more like a hum. Sort of gentle around the edges. He doesn’t move, doesn’t seem at all fazed that they’re just kind of staring at each other. Steve swallows, not really sure how to go from here.

He fists the blanket and rubs the linen bedding between his fingers, feels the rough fabric catching on the callouses along his hands as uncomfortable seconds tick by. Still Kas doesn’t move.

“Listen, man,” Steve says at last, thinking back to yesterday’s events and the vampire’s sudden care. “Thanks, alright? What you did, that was, uh. That was nice. You didn’t have to do any of that.”

Another hum, and it occurs to Steve that Kas is back in his normal state, retreated back into his mind, hiding from the world himself now that it no longer needs him. It’s a strange thought, that Steve being hurt would be what brings him back. If at all. Maybe he’s reading it all wrong. Maybe it as just a coincidence, or maybe Kas tasted something in his blood that made him want to improve Steve’s physical state for selfish purposes. That’s probably more likely.

But it makes him feel even more wrong-footed than before, and it leaves him hyper-aware of the situation. Of their dynamic. Indifference and annoyance and… He doesn’t want it to change, doesn’t want some kind of debt between himself and Kas — especially not when Kas has no means to really settle it. But he also can’t feign some kind of gratitude when what he feels the most is mortification and embarrassment; and he sure as hell doesn’t want Kas to know that either.

So he throws back the blanket and gets out of the bed, a little dizzy at first, but he doesn’t care as he slips into his shoes and hurries out of the room.

He just wants to leave. Get out of here and go home, go back to bed and get over the mortification of having been seen like this. Of having been taken care of. By someone who doesn’t even like him. By someone who hissed and snapped at him one moment and then carried him to the bathroom the next.

“It looks like there’s nothing human left in him, but we do have data that suggest otherwise.” Owens’s words echo through his mind as he crosses the living room. “It seems to be in hiding, the Munson part of him; that’s our hope at least. That you can get him back out one day, make him win over the vampire part. It could be like a self defence mechanism, I guess. We hope he can still be coaxed back into the land of the living. How, though, we don’t know.”

Was this what happened? Has Steve’s weakness triggered the human part of Kas’s tortured brain to take over? No, that can’t be.

It seems unreal. Unlikely. Wayne telling him stories or Dustin talking about their campaign, that should have helped. Even Mike playing the guitar, or Robin rambling about something or other; all of that was much more close to who Munson was. Or used to be. Eddie Munson never struck Steve as someone who took care of people naturally. Someone who stepped in. He stepped up, sure, but only ever for the wrong reasons.

It makes no sense. So it must be wrong; just Steve’s exhausted brain grasping at straws. It usually does that, anyway. Nobody knows if Eddie is even still in there. Part of Steve hopes he’s not.

Just as he reaches for the front door, ready to just get out of here and pretend like nothing happened, he feels a presence behind him. Kas followed him out of the bedroom, standing in the doorway now with an unreadable expression. It's the blank one he usually takes on, but where before it was normal, it throws Steve off now. Maybe because he saw how Kas can look at him. How expressive his eyes can get.

He holds them, the red shimmer a little dimmer out here in the brighter living room.

And maybe it's the blankness in those eyes, or the lack of judgment in Kas's every action, but whatever it is, it makes Steve let go of the door and turn to face Kas properly.

"Why'd you do it?"

The vampire inclines his head. Listening. Always listening. Steve doesn't know how he never noticed that. It seemed so primitive before. Like how a dog will react to its owner speaking, but never process the words. Kas processes, though. So Steve keeps going.

"Why'd you... You kept saying that word. Safe. Do you, uh. Do you know what it means?"

Slowly, his eyes growing a little less blank, Kas nods.

Steve looks around the cabin, swallowing thickly, still feeling so out of place in here, still feeling the need to run and leave it far behind. But something makes him stay. Makes him want to understand.

"You wanted me to feel safe?" Again, Kas nods. "Why?"

There is hesitation there, and Steve wonders if it's because he doesn't want to tell him, if he doesn't know the answer, or if he doesn't know how to answer. It's a loaded question, maybe.

"Pain," he says at last, his voice barely discernible from a growl, but somehow Steve seems attuned to it now. Maybe because he listens now. Because he wants to know. To understand.

He waits, watching as Kas struggles for more words once more. Just like last night.

"Know... Know... pain. Know.” He taps his temple with a clawed hand, and Steve's heart falls, his chest aching with realisation.

Right. He would. He would know pain like that. If what the doc says is right, if what Vecna taunted them with is right, if every working theory the kids have is right, then… yeah. Kas would know. He’s know something about pain. More than any of them. Pain so intense it splits you apart from yourself.

"Shit," Steve whispers more to himself than to the room, crossing his arms in front of his chest to hug himself and keep from digging deeper, keep his heart from falling further, and keep the horror at bay.

He doesn't want to imagine the kind of torture Kas went through. Is still going through, if what the doctors say has even more truth to it. If Munson is still in there, still suffering because human minds have a way of holding on to pain — Steve knows soemthing about that, too.

"I'm sorry," he offers. It's all he can offer. In the end, it’s all that��s left.

And still it's so lame. It's not enough.

But Kas just nods again, a pained shadow of a smile appearing on his face. Something transpires between them in that moment, Steve can feel it, but he can't really define it. Maybe some kind of understanding. Some kind of safety.

"I gotta..." he starts, motioning to the door behind him. "I gotta go. Will you be fine? Did you have enough, y'know, to drink?"

Another nod, and the smile widens a little. Looks a little less pained this time.

"Good," Steve says, stuffing his hands into his pockets, lifting his shoulders to his ears, trying and failing to seem casual in the face of those glowing eyes. "I’ll– I'll see you around, yeah?"

And then he's out the door, his head spinning and aching, his steps heavy with the weight of whatever has changed between him and Kas in the past twenty-four hours.

... sooo. part 3 anyone?

🤍 permanent tag list gang: @skiddit @inklessletter @aringofsalt @hellion-child @stobin-cryptid @hotluncheddie @gutterflower77 @auroraplume @steddieonbigboy @n0-1-important @stevesjockstrap @brainvines @puppy-steve @izzy2210 @itsall-taken @mangoinacan13 @madigoround @pukner @i-amthepizzaman @swimmingbirdrunningrock @hammity-hammer @stevesbipanic @bitchysunflower @estrellami-1 @finntheehumaneater @goodolefashionedloverboi (lmk if you want on or off, for this story or permanently) 🤍 tagging for this work only: @forestnymph-666 @little-trash-ghost @jupitersgonemissing

#steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #kas eddie munson #kas takes care of steve fic #this part is downright short for me lmao #dio words #something so monstrous #i have a lot of things to say about pain and monstrosity but instead i just juxtapose them with an actual monster #and then bend the understanding of humanity around that instead #if the tag list doesn't work pls lmk some of these tags be looking wonky on mobile #the end of this is super rushed but 1) steve is still disoriented n weak 2) the mortifying ordeal of having been taken care of must be fled #3) too many thoughts too many realisations and things rearranging overwritten by the need to leave #so pls know it’s intentional and real life is abrasive like that sometimes hdhdh

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