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ghosttotheparty · 1 year

Text

some kind of creature

part 3/3 of fate part 1 // part 2

cw: some gore & blood; nsfw

Hell is cold.

When Eddie wakes up, he wakes up shivering.

He can’t breathe. It’s dark, his whole body hurts like he’s on fire even though he can see his breath in front of him. His skin feels like there are chemicals spilled on it, and his muscles ache like he hasn’t moved in ages, like they’re stiff and his blood cells are growing in size inside of him. Each breath wheezes, his throat tight as his eyes burn, and he’s crying before he even notices the clouds in the sky. They’re dark, almost like smoke, and as he gasps for breath, drops of water fall from the sky and land on his face.

It hurts. It burns.

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut, his body convulsing in pain, letting out a scream that rips out of his throat, and his voice is rough and raw, and it’s not his own. It seems to echo around him, a violent roar, and it cuts off when he forces his body to roll over, hiding his face in his arms. His hands are exposed to the rain, and he can hear it hitting the ground around him, pattering in a way that used to be soothing, but his screaming drowns it out as his hands burn.

And then it’s not just burning, but it’s inside him, in his bones and his muscles, in his veins and arteries. Every cell in his body is twisting, on fire, and he’s screaming in a way he’s never screamed before. Not when his Ma died, not the first time his dad beat him. Not the day he accidentally sliced his skin open with a broken bottle that was left on the floor in the living room. (He hadn’t seen it in the dark. After that, he started cleaning up after his father.) Not when Chrissy broke. Not as the bats ate his skin.

He can’t even cry. It hurts too much.

His whole body aches like he has growing pains in every joint, like his bones are breaking, like his blood is boiling, and he tastes blood, but he can’t tell if it’s from the pain in his gums or if it’s from his screaming, if he’s screamed his throat raw.

He grips the earth under him, his fingertips pressing into the wet ground and holding on like he’s going to float away, and it’s only then that he realizes his nails are practically claws, long and black and glistening as they dig into the dirt, his hand clenching as he screams again. He closes his eyes again.

When the pain subsides, it’s still raining, and he cries. It hurts to do that too. He scratches his skin when he tries to wipe his tears away, and he hisses in pain as he slowly sits up, wincing. His muscles still ache, sore and stiff. He wipes the scratch with the back of his hand, which looks almost white against his dark nails. His blood looks black. He can’t tell if it’s because the sky is dark or not.

He spits onto the ground, groaning in pain as he moves to kneel, and there’s a jacket next to him. His vision is blurry as he inhales shakily, and he reaches for it, pulling it closer as he trembles. His nails dig into the fabric, ripping it in one spot, and he fumbles with it, dropping it as he looks at his hands. Turning them over. His skin is pale, deathly white, but his fingers extend farther than they should, the ends dark and sharp and scary. He parts his lips to say something, something like what the fuck, but he stops short.

There’s something in his mouth, and he tries to spit, but it doesn’t move. He gasps when it hits his tongue, sharp and cutting, and he tentatively opens his mouth, feeling for it while trying not to stab himself.

It’s a tooth. Two teeth. Long and sharp.

He whimpers. Tries to pull them out, like they’re hoaky plastic, like this is all a stupid fucking joke. But they don’t budge, and he gives up, his eyes squeezing shut as tears burn them. He’s shaking, and he’s cold, and there’s a pit in his chest, empty and aching and starving. But as he looks back at his hands, at the claws and his black blood smeared across his skin, he throws up.

It hurts. It burns. His body heaves when there’s nothing left, and he retches, tears falling and stinging the cut under his eye. He gasps for breath when he sits up again, coughing and gagging, wiping his face as he lets out a sob. He’s never been this confused. This lost.

He reaches for the jacket again, shivering, but he pauses before he can pull it on.

It’s familiar. He knows he knows it.

He holds it close as he catches his breath, watching raindrops stain the fabric darker, watching his hands shake. There are patches on the sleeves, one of an American flag, one of something with wings. It’s a military jacket, greenish-brown and rough, and as he pulls it closer, it shifts the air around him, and he smells it. It smells dirty, like the ground he’s kneeling on, like it’s been outside for too long, but it also smells…

Like Steve.

And Eddie gasps, fresh tears stinging his eyes, his sides aching. He reaches down to pull up the hem of his shirt, and the wounds are covered in dry blood. Dark. They don’t hurt. He looks around desperately, falling to the side, but there isn’t anyone around. Except the dead, unmoving bodies of bats, scattered like gruesome confetti. Eddie’s hands tighten on the jacket, pulling it to his chest as he sobs, remembering.

Remembering the way Steve’s hands cradled his head, tender and soft in a way Eddie doesn’t think he’ll ever know again. The way Steve’s eyes shined as he looked down at him, as he tried to breathe.

He remembers it all.

He remembers I like you too, and he remembers their promise of next time.

He remembers the Tennessee Waltz.

He remembers

You think God’ll let me in?

and

If he doesn’t, you better come right the fuck back, you understand me?

Eddie holds the jacket to his chest, balled up, and he looks up, blinking tears out of his eyes.

The sky is red. It’s not a sunset. He wishes it was a sunset.

It’s beautiful in a way, as he stares at it. Beautiful like the deep sea is, mesmerizing but unknown. Beautiful like a poisonous plant.

The rain hits Eddie’s face, and it doesn’t burn anymore.

He doesn’t think God can see him here.

—————————

He hides from the rain in the trailer. The gate is closed, and he doesn’t know how he would get through it anyway. The sheets they’d tied as a rope are still on the ground under it, next to a blood stain from when Chrissy died.

He pulls Steve’s jacket on before he finds another in Wayne’s closet. It’s too big, one of his old work jackets, heavy and thick, and Eddie pulls them both tight around himself as he curls up on his bed, looking across the room. It’s dark, and thunder rumbles outside, and his eyes trace the vines that crawl up his walls and across his ceiling. He stepped over them when he came inside, but it occurs to him that he doesn’t know anything. If Max is okay. If Vecna is dead. If it’s all over. If the kids are fine. What day it is.

He shivers, wiping his cheek with his wrist, avoiding cutting his face again.

—————————

The sun doesn’t set in the Upside Down. Or rise. There doesn’t seem to be a sun at all, really. Eddie barely notices the time pass until he realizes that part of the empty feeling in his chest is hunger.

He searches the kitchen in the trailer for something, and he finds cans of beans and ravioli, but the microwave doesn’t work, so he eats them cold. He sits on the roof, on the speakers and looking at the sky as he eats quietly. He feels like he’s waiting for something, but he doesn’t know what. He’s watching the clouds shift, grey and black and blood red, swirling like smoke, looking for any sign of anything alive. But it’s silent.

Except the scraping of his spoon in the cans, the scraping of his teeth, his fangs on the spoon.

Except his own breathing, ragged and loud and labored. Painful. He sips from a bottle of water he found in the kitchen, suddenly grateful that Wayne always insisted on having packages of the stuff.

He falls asleep in his bed.

When he closes his eyes he can pretend he’s back home. Even just for a little while. He holds the hem of Steve’s jacket to his face.

In what he assumes to be the morning, he goes outside. Tries to find someone, anyone. But all he finds are dead creatures. Bats and dogs with faces that are closed up and unmoving. He nudges them after watching for a while, kicking them, and they just roll to the side, limp and pliant and dead. The dogs’ faces look kind of like tulips.

His mouth hurts as he looks at them. His gums sting and his teeth ache, and his fingers twitch as he watches blood seep from one of the dog’s bodies. His vision darkens, like the sun is going down, but he can’t move to look at the sky, to check. He can’t take his eyes off the blood. It looks dark, thick, dripping slowly, slowly, slowly, and Eddie’s mouth waters.

And then he’s lowering, his body taking over even his stomach churns, as his throat tightens, falling to his knees next to the dog’s body and pulling it close. He kind of wishes it would wake up. Fight back.

It doesn’t.

The blood tastes like shit. Like burned meat, charred black and chalky, like smoke. It's worse than cigarettes. But he can’t stop, licking and sucking the blood into his mouth, his teeth ripping and tearing the skin of the demodog with a sickening sound, and he’s disgusting. He’s some kind of animal, acting on pure instinct, on pure hunger that’s more than an ache in his stomach. His body hurts, like every inch of his skin is bruised purple and blue, and he’s groaning and sobbing and whimpering as he drinks.

He drains the demodog dry. And then he tosses the body away, throwing it like it’s a pillow, so easily he would find it odd if he weren’t already reaching for another.

When he finishes, he falls to sit on the ground with a heavy breath. There’s blood on his face, on his hands, on his chest and his legs. On the ground around him, staining the dark dirt even darker. His claws are dripping. He’s out of breath, panting like he’s been running, and he inhales shakily, looking up, away from his hands. The sky is red. Redder than the blood. He’s starting to hate the color red.

His mouth tastes like metal, and dirt, and smoke.

He looks at the demodogs’ bodies. He’d just thrown them all in the same direction when he couldn’t get any more blood out of them, and this is how they ended up: in a messy pile, a hill of limbs and claws and unbloomed tulip faces. It looks like a massacre, like an execution, and he looks at his hands again. The blood on his palms, in the creases of his skin, coating his nails.

They’re monsters. He knows. But they’re no more monster than he is.

He throws up again.

—————————

He tries not to think about it. He doesn’t really need the blood now. He’d been overwhelmed by it, by the raw need, the hunger, in the moment, but he feels… better, now. More alive. He can climb up onto the roof easier now.

He explores after a day or so. He figures he’ll run out of canned beans eventually, and water, so he goes across the street. Rummages through his neighbors’ pantries, finds more of the same. Old man Cooper down the road must have been preparing for the apocalypse given the state of his trailer, boxes of cans and bottles stacked dangerously high. Eddie appreciates it.

He wanders. Hoping to find someone. But there’s no one around. It’s eerily silent, no matter where he goes. And dark.

It’s so fucking dark.

There’s no sun, no stars, and no lights are working. He tries every light switch until he gives up. Accepting it. He can still see fine, even though he feels like he shouldn’t be able to.

He goes to the road where Fred died. The pavement of the street is cracked, open like a wound in the earth, but it’s just that. A weird pothole. There’s no glowing light, no entrance to the real world. He sits next to it for a while, staring. Waiting. But nothing happens.

When he goes to the lake, he hesitates for a long while before sticking his head under the water, looking. But it’s just dark.

He goes to the Wheelers’ house. He listens closely, aching to hear anyone’s voice. Nancy or Mike or even little Holly, who Eddie never met but heard lots about. But there’s nothing. Even when he sits on the floor, head tilted, listening and straining for hours.

He reaches for the fancy lights above the dining table, hesitating for a moment before he brushes his fingers over the grimy brass, flutters them in the air above it, hoping, praying to see the glitter, the sparkles, the fucking light trail after his fingertips, but there’s nothing.

Nothing.

His eyes well with tears as he drops his hand, staring. The gates are closed. The connection is lost. It’s all over. And he’s all alone.

He falls to the floor, his knees hitting it with a heavy thud that sends jolts of pain through his legs, but he doesn’t care that it hurts. He closes his eyes, leaning over until his forehead is almost touching the ground as his lungs empty with a heavy exhale, and his fingers dig into the wood of the floor, cracking and splintering it as he sobs, as he wails, screaming even though he knows no one can hear him.

Thunder rumbles outside. It’s raining again. He hates the rain here.

He eats a can of corn from their pantry as he sits in Nancy’s room. There are stuffed animals on her bed, lined up across her frilly pillows. He holds one, a rabbit, to his chest when he tries to sleep, curled up into a ball with the lapel of Steve’s jacket over his face. And he closes his eyes, hoping to wake up to the sun shining through the window, warm on his face.

—————————

He finds the Harrington house. It’s in the woods, and Eddie isn’t scared as he looks for it. He still avoids the vines, even though he’s fairly certain nothing would happen if he stepped on them. He’d been to the Harrington house before, a few years ago. Steve had had a party while his parents were away, and Eddie hadn’t been invited, but he’d gotten the address through some other kids, and he’d shown up with his tun lunch box. He made a lot of money that night. He also found that he isn’t a party person.

It was noisy, and not in a good way like his music. But in a bad way, with loud music and singing and laughing and talking. Eddie had ended up in a corner, nursing a bottle of beer while he waited for people to approach him. He’s observed.

He remembers it all as he explores Steve’s house slowly. That was the corner where two girls had been fighting, arguing loudly and indistinctly about something that Eddie couldn’t hear, their hands flying in the air as they talked, their nails and jewellery flashing in the lights. A couple had made out at the kitchen counter, the girl sitting up on it with her legs wrapped around her boyfriend as he combed his fingers through her hair tenderly. Eddie had watched jealously. (He’s still jealous now. He didn’t even get to kiss Steve before he died. What bullshit. Unfair.) He’d sold a boy some coke by the sliding glass door. He’d thanked Eddie politely. It was unexpected.

Steve’s room is sad. The walls are plaid, the floor bare, and there aren’t any decorations except a framed photo of a car above his desk. Eddie sits on his bed, looking around, trying to see if he can get even the slightest suggestion that Steve is here too. To see if he can smell him, if the air shifts a certain way. But it’s just quiet, still and achingly empty.

He falls asleep holding Steve’s pillow to his chest. He’s laying on top of some vines that have grown over the bed, but he doesn’t care. Nothing happens.

He wakes up to a creaking downstairs. A door opening.

He sits up abruptly, the pillow falling off the bed, gasping and then holding his breath as he listens closely, trying to tell if it’s really happening, if it’s downstairs in the dark or on the other side. If Steve is home. If Steve can hear him too.

But he feels the ground shake a little bit, just the slightest tremor as someone, as multiple someones, crosses the house, comes up the stairs. Their shoes are heavy, and Eddie’s stomach twists as he stands there, staring at the back of Steve’s door, at the towel hanging off the hook, somewhere between fight and flight.

He doesn’t get to make the decision before the door is flying open, and his knees collapse under him. His eyes catch as people flood into the room, all wearing hazmat suits that seem to glow in the dimness of the room, all carrying heavy guns.

Eddie ducks his head, hands raised as he cowers, as he tries to hide.

“Don’t shoot!” he bursts, his voice rough and breaking with disuse, cracking as his eyes flood with tears, because there are people here. “Please, I’m not— Don’t— Don’t shoot—”

He vaguely hears a man’s voice say, “What the fuck?” and he hears them lower their guns, as Eddie takes sharp, hiccuping, gasping breaths, hyperventilating, his hands shaking violently. His whole body is trembling, and his eyes are squeezed shut so tightly it hurts. He hears the crackle of a walkie-talkie, and a rough voice.

“It’s the Munson kid.”

A voice responds, stacky and indistinct.

“...What?”

“The Munson kid,” the first voice says, gruff and adamant. “He’s the disturbance we picked up, he’s alive.”

It’s quiet, and a sob escapes Eddie, and he feels small again. Like the night he hid in his closet from his father, eyes shut tight, body trembling as he waited for something to happen. Time stretches, and he can’t move, can’t open his eyes, tears streaming down his face, his knees aching from the hard floor, until,

“Hey, Eddie?”

The voice is gentler now, softer, and Eddie’s eyes fly open. The man, wearing the hazmat suit, face covered by what looks like some kind of gas mask, is kneeling in front of him, head tilted to look at his face. Eddie cowers, moving back on the floor until he’s against the wall, hands in front of himself.

“Hey, what are you doing down here?” the man asks, setting his gun aside on the ground. Eddie watches, eyes wide, vision blurry as the man pushes the gun away and holds his hands up similarly to how Eddie is holding his. Surrendering.

“I died,” Eddie chokes, gasping, hyperventilating. “The bats, they— they got me, and I— I didn’t—” The others are all watching, guns lowered, faces hidden. “Please,” Eddie sobs. His teeth cut into his lip. His blood tastes like smoke too. “Please, I don’t— I don’t know what’s happening to me, I…”

He closes his eyes as he sobs again, head falling, hair falling in his face.

“Hey,” the man says gently, and Eddie looks up at him blearily. He’s holding a gloved hand out, and Eddie looks at it. The glove is rubber, duct taped around his wrist, and it occurs to Eddie that he’s been exposed to everything these men are protecting themselves from. Eddie reaches a trembling hand out, and the man takes it carefully, gently. The rubber is warm from his hand, and Eddie’s hand tightens, careful not to rip the glove with his nails. “You’re gonna be okay.”

Eddie wants to believe him. He wants desperately to believe him.

“Really?” he chokes. The man’s head nods, and he squeezes Eddie’s hand.

“Really.”

—————————

It’s September.

He was gone for months. He doesn’t know how many of those months were spent dead, and how many were spent wandering and wondering. He supposes it doesn’t really matter.

When they lead him through a gate, they appear in a lab. Surrounded by more people in hazmat suits, and others in scrubs, others in white coats, in suits, and Eddie feels horrifically underdressed, and he feels filthy and disgusting, covered in blood and dirt and whatever else covers every surface in the Upside Down. They strip him of his jackets and his shoes, and he lets them, desperately telling them he needs them back as he watches them carry Steve’s jacket away. And then he’s put in a room and doused in water.

It’s pouring from the ceiling, soaking him from head to foot. He blinks it out of his eyes and he looks down, watching the water run across the ground, dark with everything he’s covered in. He feels his hair stick to his skin, watches the water until it runs clear, and he knows he’s being watched, but he can’t bring himself to care. He’d missed water that doesn’t burn him.

He lifts a hand as the water rushes over him, watches the dirt and blood and gore run across his skin until he’s pale white again. His veins are blue and purple under his skin. His fingertips are still black and sharp. That doesn’t go away, even under the water. He drops his hand, looking up across the room and blinking water out of his eyes again as he finds them. Scientists, doctors, he doesn’t know. Watching him. Staring. Wide-eyed with wonder and confusion and worry and…

And fear.

He closes his eyes, tipping his head back, letting the water run across his face. He opens his mouth, lets the water in, and he spits it out without lowering his chin. He never thought he’d miss showers so much.

They give him new clothes. He asks if they washed the jackets. He’s told that they’re being cleaned right now. He kind of wishes they didn’t wash Steve’s, scared the smell will disappear from it, the smell that kept him alive.

The clothes they give him are standard hospital clothes, the fabric papery and thin and cold, pale blue and clean. They run tests on him in a desolate room, talking the whole while, checking his oxygen, making him spit in a vial, sticking his arm with a needle and taking his blood. It is black, even in the fluorescent, buzzing hospital (laboratory?) lights. His hair dries frizzy, too big and in the way as they work, and after a while, a woman offers to tie it out of the way for him. He nods wordlessly. He can’t talk at all. He feels empty, exhausted and drained and fatigued, his limbs heavy and dense like they’re made of stone.

The woman steps behind him, pulling a hair tie from her wrist. Her white coat crinkles as she moves to pull his hair out of his face gently, and he closes his eyes, wanting to fall back against her the way he used to when his mother played with his hair. He doesn’t.

Her fingers comb through the hair at his temples, her wrists close, and he can smell her blood. It smells so much sweeter than the demodogs. His mouth waters, and he squeezes his eyes shut.

“I need blood,” he mumbles, his voice slurring, and her hands pause in his hair. The man in front of him looks up from his clipboard, eyebrows raised.

“I’m sorry?” the woman says gently, continuing. She tugs it a little bit as she twists the tie around his curls.

“I need blood,” he says again, trying to speak clearly. He opens his eyes blearily, looking at the man in front of him, meeting his eyes. “To drink,” he clarifies. “I need… just blood. Please.”

The man blinks behind his wire-framed glasses.

“Please,” Eddie says weakly, closing his eyes again. “I don’t wanna hurt you,” he breathes, closing his hands in his lap as best he can without stabbing his own palms. The man’s eyes follow the movement.

“Did you… need blood before we found you?”

Eddie nods, exhaling.

“Ms Hammond, could you…”

“Of course.”

Eddie squeezes his hands in his lap as the door opens and shuts. His hair is out of his face, almost completely dry now. The ponytail she tied it in isn’t too tight. It’s nice.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says softly. The room is too quiet, the air in the vent blowing and the man’s pen scratching on the paper.

“What for?”

Eddie pauses, swaying. He feels like he’s about to fall over.

“I don't know.” “You don’t have anything to apologize for,” the man says, leaning over to look at Eddie. He’d forgotten how human other people look. It’s like he’s glowing. “You’re a survivor, Eddie.”

“I’m not, though,” Eddie argues weakly. “I died.”

The man blinks at him, speechless, and at another time Eddie would laugh. He doesn’t laugh now.

“And then you came back,” the man says calmly. “And you tripped up our equipment so we knew something was alive down there.”

“You had equipment there?” Eddie asks, his voice quiet. The man smiles a little bit. It’s an odd smile, sympathetic and a little sad.

“You did everything right,” he says after a moment, kindly. “And now you’re here. And you’re going to be fine.”

Eddie looks at the ground. They gave him new socks. He kicks his feet while he waits.

“Is Max Mayfield okay?” he asks after a few quiet moments.

The man is quiet for a moment, and Eddie knows he’s looking at him, but he doesn’t look up, watching his feet swing in the air.

“Paraplegic,” he says finally. “And blind. But okay. She started her sophomore year last month.”

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut for a moment before he looks at his lap, nodding.

“And the Sinclairs? And— And Dustin Henderson and the Wheelers—”

“Everyone is okay,” the man says kindly. “All your friends are safe and alive and healthy.”

Eddie nods, wiping his cheek quickly. A tissue box appears under his face, and he takes one, muttering a quiet, “Thank you.”

“The world thinks I’m dead.”

He doesn’t ask it. He knows. He doesn’t really know why he needs confirmation, but he does.

“It does,” the man confirms gently.

“My uncle…”

“Is grieving,” he says softly. “But you’ll see him. As soon as we know you’re healthy.”

“I can see him?” Eddie chokes, looking up desperately, and the man nods, smiling that smile again.

“You can see him, and your friends.”

“Steve Harrington?” Eddie whispers. It’s too obvious, he knows it is. He knows the man sees the way Eddie’s tears fill his eyes, knows he can see the raw desperation and hope on his face, but the man just nods.

“You can see Steve.”

Eddie covers his face with the tissue, nodding and suppressing a sob. There’s a bandage on his face, on the cut from his nails, and it’s getting wet from his tears. They’ll give him a new one.

Ms Hammond comes back with a pouch of blood in her hands. It’s red instead of black. Eddie still doesn’t like the color red, but he reaches for it, turning to face her. He punctures the plastic bag with one of his teeth before he drinks from it, trying not to spill it, to make a mess as they both watch him.

“Dr Owens,” Hammond says lightly. “A word?”

They go outside while Eddie drinks.

He waits, wiping his chin when he finally lowers the pouch. The red of the blood is stark against his skin. He licks it off.

He sets the empty pouch down next to himself, and a drop of blood stains the paper he’s sitting on. He kicks his feet again, looking around the room. There aren’t any windows. He startles when the door opens again, turning to find Owens coming back in, followed by Hammond, who’s holding Steve’s jacket, neatly folded in her hands. Eddie stifles a gasp, reaching for it, and she smiles, giving it to him easily and watching as he holds it to his face. It doesn’t smell like Steve anymore.

He cries again, hiding in the jacket.

They run more tests. He lets them. He isn’t as tired anymore, not after the blood, but he’s still… tired. He doesn’t want to fight anymore. They bring him food, actual food, food that’s been cooked in a kitchen, food that steaming and warm, and he has to force himself to not eat it so fast he gets sick. Then they run more tests.

He doesn’t know what he’s looking for, but he doesn’t ask anyone.

“Eddie?” Owens says after a while, a hand on Eddie’s back. “How would you like to go outside?”

“Outside?”

“We want to see how you do with exposure to sunlight,” Owens explains, and Eddie blinks before he nods.

He follows him down the hall, still clutching Steve’s jacket to himself. No one tries to take it from him.

The sun is bright outside. Eddie squints his eyes shut to follow Owens away from the building, his feet crunching some dead leaves under him. He doesn’t have shoes, but he doesn’t mind. He likes how it feels. Owens watches him as Eddie stops walking, eyes opening enough to trace the tops of the trees around the lab. They’re green. Alive. The sky is blue and scattered with clouds that look fluffy. Eddie wants to eat them.

Wind blows his bangs out of his face, and he takes a deep breath, smelling the pine trees, the faint smell of dirt. Good dirt. Clean dirt. He closes his eyes as the sun shines on him, warm on his skin, and a tear slips down his cheek.

“Eddie?” Owens says softly. “How do you feel?”

“...I missed the sun,” he whispers.

He can hear Owens’ smile in his voice when he speaks again.

“The sun missed you, too.”

—————————

The sun shines through the window in his room. It’s like a hospital room, but he knows he isn’t in an actual hospital, which oddly helps him dispel some of his anxiety. He’s never liked hospitals.

He sits with his legs crossed, hands holding a mug of decaf coffee. It’s milky brown, pale enough that he knows Wayne would make fun of him for it, sweet and yummy, and he sips it slowly. Steve’s jacket is on his shoulders even though his room is warm.

His nails tap the cup when he shifts it in his hands. He’s starting to get used to them. He still hates them. He asked Owens if it would be possible to do something about them, but Owens just smiled sadly and shook his head.

Eddie started wondering if the universe has it out for him when he was a little kid, but now he knows for sure that it does. So he appreciates whatever he gets, like overly sweet coffee and sunlight shining through his window.

He wonders where the others are. The clock across the room says it’s almost one. The kids would be at school. Nancy must be at college. Eddie’s pretty sure she was going to Boston or something. He wonders if she’s gone already. He wonders if Steve is going to college, too. Or if he’s at Family Video right now.

Eddie sways back and forth, watching the second hand of the clock tick, sipping the coffee slowly, and he’s startled out of his thoughts when there’s a soft knock on his door.

He looks up, blinking back into his body as the door opens and Owens steps in, smiling.

“How are you feeling, Eddie?”

He always calls Eddie by his name. It’s nice to be called that after everything, instead of Mr Munson like Eddie used to sometimes be called by the teachers at his school. That always felt condescending in the worst way. But Owens is nice.

“Alright,” Eddie says quietly. “Thank you for the coffee.”

“Of course,” Owens says, lingering in the doorway. “Everyone deserves a good cup of joe.”

Eddie smiles a little, looking at him.

“...Have my test results come in, or whatever?”

“Uh, yes, but we can talk about that later,” Owens says, still smiling. “Someone’s here to see you.”

Eddie falters with his mug, setting it on the bedside table as Owens opens the door wider.

“Wayne?” Eddie says, and he’s already crying, shifting up onto his knees and reaching his arms up like a child as his eyes burn and tears fall down his cheeks, and Wayne is smiling, coming closer and wrapping his arms around Eddie. And he smells like cigarette smoke and leather, and his arms are strong around Eddie as Eddie sobs. He can feel Wayne shaking, can feel his chest rise and fall as he cries too.

“I thought you were gone, boy,” Wayne says softly, his voice right by Eddie’s ear, and Eddie pulls him closer, climbing on top of him and burying his face in Wayne’s neck, wailing. “Jesus, scared the shit out of me.”

Eddie sobs, and he’s small again. Wayne rocks him back and forth, shushing him softly and running his hand over his head, brushing through his hair.

“You’re alright now,” Wayne says quietly. Eddie grips his shirt, holding on tight like he’s going to float away. “I got you, son, you’re okay.”

When Eddie stops crying, he suddenly wants to hide. Because Wayne can see his teeth, and his claws, and because Wayne knows what Eddie is now. But Wayne just touches his face, wiping his tears with his callused fingers, his eyes misty and shining, his lips smiling a little bit as he murmurs, “There’s my boy.”

Eddie closes his eyes and lets him, sniffling as Wayne pulls him close and kisses his forehead in a way he hasn’t since Eddie was little.

Owens leaves them alone. He’d told Wayne everything before bringing him to Eddie.

“Everything?” Eddie questions as he settles back, still holding Wayne’s hand because he can’t stand to let go yet. Wayne nods, eyes wide.

“There’s a lot goin’ on in this town, isn’t there? ‘Course you managed to get all wrapped up in it all.”

Eddie nods, looking down at their hands. Wayne’s hand is tanner than his, rough and spotted with age and wrinkles and tobacco stains. Wayne doesn’t say anything about Eddie’s claws, running his thumb over his knuckles gently.

“Owens told me everything about you,” he says after a moment. “‘Bout the blood and everything.”

Eddie nods again, quiet before he scoffs.

“‘S ridiculous,” he says. “Like I’m a fuckin’ vampire.”

Wayne hums quietly.

“Good thing I can hunt.”

Eddie’s lips quirk into a small smile, and Wayne squeezes his hand.

“Pretty metal,” he quips, knowing it’ll get a reaction out of Eddie. Eddie snorts, rolling his eyes.

“I guess.”

He’s quiet for a moment, playing with Wayne’s fingers.

“How’d… How’d you find out that I died?”

“That Harrington boy.”

Eddie looks up at him, his lip between his teeth.

“Steve?” he says, as though there’s another Harrington boy in Hawkins.

“That’s the one.” Wayne looks at him knowingly. “Nice kid.”

Eddie nods, cheeks flushing with warmth, and this isn’t how he wanted to find out that he can still blush. Wayne pokes his face teasingly, and Eddie swats his hand away.

“Gave me this,” Wayne says, reaching to his neck, and he pulls Eddie’s guitar pick necklace out of his shirt. Eddie hadn’t even realised it was missing. Eddie reaches out and touches it. There’s blood on the chain. “Told me real gentle. That you’re a hero, you saved that Dustin kid. That you didn’t hurt anyone the way everyone thinks you did.”

Eddie nods, reaching back to Wayne’s hand and holding it tightly. He hates that everyone thinks he killed Chrissy and Fred and Patrick. That they think he was even capable of doing something like that to them. He just wanted to help Chrissy. Eddie swallows as his throat tightens.

“How is he?” he asks, his voice a little rough. “Steve?”

Wayne is quiet, looking at him, rubbing the guitar pick absentmindedly.

“He’s grieving, Eds,” he says finally. “He misses you.”

Eddie looks at him, swallowing, his eyes stinging.

“I haven’t talked to him,” Wayne says. “Not since… he told me. But I ran into his friend, what’s her name… The bird.”

“Robin?” Eddie whispers.

“Her. Ran into her a while back at the grocery store. Asked how she and Steve are.”

“And?”

Wayne sighs, holding Eddie’s hand between his. He’s so warm.

“They moved in together,” he says softly. “Steve’s been having a hard time. She wanted to make sure he’s okay, not just… managing by himself.”

Eddie’s chest aches, and he nods.

“Hard time… how?”

“He’s depressed, Eddie,” Wayne says gently. Like he knows it sends shards of glass through Eddie’s skin. “He doesn’t take care of himself.”

Eddie looks down, his lip quivering. Wayne squeezes his hand and reaches to touch his face.

“Robin said he’s working on it,” he says quietly. “Getting out of bed, takin’ the kids to school. Eating.”

Eddie nods again, taking a breath that stutters in his throat.

“When can I see him?”

“You have to ask Owens,” Wayne says. “I don’t know anything.”

“Shocker.”

“Hey.”

Eddie smiles.

And then Wayne pulls at his hands, tugging him into another hug. Eddie sighs, crawling into his lap and curling into a ball, tugging Steve’s jacket tighter around himself. Wayne doesn’t say anything about the jacket, letting him adjust it until it’s comfortable, and then Eddie closes his eyes, drifting off to the sound of Wayne’s heartbeat.

—————————

Eddie is okay.

It was the bats that did it to him. He wasn’t affected at all by everything in the Upside Down like the doctors and scientists were worried, and they think the bats did something that caused his body to adapt naturally, like he’s supposed to be down there, like it’s his natural habitat. They can’t take the teeth out, or take away his claws, or cure the whole blood thing. He can’t go out in public, given that the whole world thinks he’s dead from the earthquakes, and even if they didn’t, they still think he’s a bloodthirsty (Ha.) serial killer.

He can’t live with Wayne. Wayne lives in the center of town, in an apartment above a cafe. He says it’s a nice apartment, nice and small, but with the perfect amount of space for all his stuff. That the wall in the living room is the perfect size to display all his mugs and trucker hats, and it makes Eddie laugh. He tells Eddie that he has his guitar, his sweetheart on display in the living room too, carefully mounted to the wall. Eddie’s eyes tear up again.

He isn’t sure if he wants to play the guitar again. The idea of it makes him feel sick to his stomach, and that makes him want to cry. Music has always been his thing, has always been the escape he needed, the solace and comfort and safety, but now it feels like that’s been taken away from him. It’s not fair.

Wayne brings him his Walkman one day, and a few tapes. It sits on the bedside table for two days before, during a particularly restless night, Eddie finally puts the headphones on and presses play. Burn in Hell by Twisted Sister. Eddie almost laughs out loud.

He falls onto his back, looking up at the ceiling and tapping his stomach in time with the song. The feeling of his hands is muffled over his scars, like they’re covered in duct tape. The scar tissue is thick, darker than the rest of his skin but still pale, a little reddish and metallic. They cover his sides, his chest, his legs. They cover the zombie that used to be on his chest. He’s upset about that. He saved a lot for that tattoo.

There’s also a scar on his face, the same color as the ones on his sides. It stretches when he smiles.

There are also scars around his neck from the serrated tails of the demobats, almost like a dotted line across his skin. Cut here.

Wayne looked at it after Eddie woke up the first day they reunited. Thoughtfully said that Steve has the same scars. And Eddie remembers the way Steve choked a weak they can be like fucked up friendship bracelets, and Eddie laughs.

He finds himself touching his scars when he’s anxious, while talking to the doctors, while they run more tests to make sure the results are consistent. While he waits for the results. When he’s laying in bed at night, wondering is Steve had a good day.

He thinks about Steve a lot. He can still see his eyes in his head, pretty and wide and framed by princess eyelashes. He can still see the pattern of his moles, and he imagines them like they’re stars above his head, constellations that only he knows.

He asks Owens every day when he’ll be able to see his friends again. He wants to hug Dustin. And Mike and Lucas and Erica. He wants to see Robin and Nancy and he wants to meet Will and El because the others would never shut up about them. (Especially Mike during D&D. Always going on and on about Will the Wise, and he’d know exactly what to do in every situation. It got old, but Eddie would love to mee the legendary Zombie Boy.) And he wants to finally kiss Steve. Maybe take him up on that date even if they can’t actually go out.

He stares at the ceiling while he thinks about Steve. He wishes he could dream about him, but his dreams are haunted by the Upside Down. By red skies and thunderclouds and burning rain, by the taste of metal and smoke. When he wakes up, he rolls onto his side and pulls Steve’s jacket against himself, closing his eyes as he rubs his cheek against the fabric.

He closes his eyes, sighing, turning to bury his face in the jacket, and he thinks about Steve again. About his face, his eyes, his hands. The way he caressed Eddie’s cheek as he lay dying. Eddie wants him to do that again. To touch his face, to hold him so tenderly Eddie felt safe even as his heart stopped beating. He wants Steve’s fingers in his hair, in his mouth, on his mangled and scarred skin.

As he drifts off, he bites absentmindedly at the sleeve of the jacket, nibbling on the fabric.

—————————

“You nervous?” Wayne asks.

Eddie blinks, turning to look at him across the car. He almost asks why he asks, but he knows why. He’s rocking back and forth, fiddling with the rings on his fingers, lip between his teeth as he watches the world go by outside the tinted window.

“‘Course not,” he says, looking back at the window and hearing Wayne snort. “…How do you…” He hesitates, twisting one of his rings. “How do you think they’ll react?”

“I don’t know, Eds,” Wayne says. “It’s been a while. They’re still mourning.”

Eddie nods. The car is warm. He still pulls the sleeves of his sweatshirt down over his hands. Wayne brought him some clothes from home, clothes he’d collected after Eddie died just to keep them.

He takes a deep breath, his stomach flopping, and he feels kind of sick. He runs his tongue over one of his fangs.

“I’m nervous,” he says finally.

“I know,” Wayne says lightly. “It’s gonna be alright.”

Eddie recognizes the drive to Steve’s. (And Robin’s now.) He walked all the way up here in the Upside Down, in the dark. It’s bright now, and the trees are alive, the leaves just barely beginning to pale and turn yellow.

His breath catches in his throat when Steve comes out of the house as the cats are pulling into the driveway. Wayne reaches over and squeezes his knee. Eddie bites his lip.

Robin appears behind Steve as Owens gets out of the car, greeting them with an awkward smile, and Eddie is frozen watching as Steve’s eyes widen when Wayne gets out next. Eddie can’t tell if they’re all silent or if he just can’t hear.

Steve is wearing a red sweater. And grey sweatpants. He’s wearing glasses, gold wire-rimmed, and his hair is longer, falling over his shoulders, and he’s so beautiful it makes Eddie move, opening the car door and standing.

Steve is still staring at Wayne, wondering and curious and confused, and Eddie’s whole body hurts. His body moves closer without him telling it to, moving toward where Steve is standing on the front steps. Robin gasps, but Eddie can’t take his eyes off Steve.

He’s glowing in the sunlight. Golden.

He looks different. Paler. Thinner. Tired. But his eyes are the same, brown and shining when they finally find Eddie. They widen, and Steve’s lips part, and by the time Eddie’s in front of him, Steve’s eyes are glistening, and a tear falls down his cheek.

Eddie reaches up and brushes it away. He doesn’t scratch him.

He’d tried to decide what to say. He’d gone through choices and choices, trying to figure out how in the hell he’s supposed to greet Steve after all this time, after all of this. But his mind is blank except for

SteveSteveSteveSteveSteveSteve—

Steve’s lip quivers. The sunlight glares in his glasses, and his eyes sparkle with tears, and Eddie’s chest is tight.

“He didn’t let me in.”

Steve keeps staring, and he exhales sharply, his lip quivering. And then he inhales, and exhales, and he’s breathing too fast, too hard, almost hyperventilating within seconds.

“Hey,” Eddie says softly, pressing a hand to his chest firmly, just over his heart, and he’s so fucking warm, fuck. “Stevie, breathe. ‘S okay.”

Tears fall down Steve’s face, and he’s looking back and forth between Eddie’s eyes, frantic and desperate as he breathes quickly. His knees buckle, and Eddie catches him, a hand on his hip, before he pulls, murmuring a soft, “C’mere.”

He lowers them both to the ground, glancing up as Wayne passes by Steve to Robin, taking her in his arms as she cries into her hands.

Eddie reaches for Steve’s face, cradling it in his hands, wiping his tears carefully.

Steve’s voice breaks when he finally speaks.

“Eddie?”

“I’m right here,” Eddie whispers, leaning close, eyes stinging as Steve’s hands find his arms, holding him tightly. He’s shaking. His whole body is shaking. “I’m right here, sweetheart.”

A sob escapes Steve, and he’s gasping for breath, and he’s clutching at Eddie, stammering and hiccuping and weakly choking out, “But— But you— You—“

“We’ll explain everything,” Eddie whispers. “Okay? But I’m right here, Stevie, I’m okay.”

Steve reaches to hold Eddie’s face, trembling almost violently.

“You stopped singing,” he chokes. “I heard you— I heard you stop breathing, Eddie, you— you were gone.”

“I know, baby,” Eddie whimpers. “I’m sorry, I’m right here, I’m okay.”

Steve’s eyes squeeze shut, and his glasses slip down his nose, and he lets out a sob that tears through Eddie’s skin like teeth, rough and tired and weak. He falls against Eddie, gripping his sweatshirt in tight fists, and Eddie pulls him close, lets him put his head against his chest as he sobs. Eddie closes his eyes, hugging Steve’s head, pushing his fingers through his hair, carefully avoiding scratching him.

“‘S okay, honey,” he murmurs weakly, listening to Steve sob. “I got you.”

Steve wails, his voice rough, body trembling.

Eddie vaguely hears cars pull out of the driveway, but he doesn’t care, listening to Steve cry, rocking him back and forth. His chest aches as he holds him, as they cry together.

Wayne holds Robin as they watch, and Eddie looks up over Steve’s head at her. She’s crying, holding onto Wayne’s arm as he runs a hand over her head, and Eddie smiles weakly.

“Hey, Robin.”

“Hi, Eddie,” she chokes, giggling weakly.

Steve’s arms wrap around Eddie’s waist tightly. He’s still shaking. He groans, whining loudly as he pulls Eddie closer, and Eddie holds him tighter.

Steve doesn’t let go. Even when he stops crying.

He just climbs onto Eddie, and Eddie falls backwards, the gravel painful on his ass but he doesn’t care, because Steve is burying his face in Eddie’s neck, breathing hard as his legs wrap around him.

“I got you, honey,” Eddie murmurs. “It’s all okay.”

He holds Steve’s head, touches his long hair. It’s so soft.

Slowly, he pulls at Steve’s head, tilting his own head down to look at him as Steve looks at him, his eyes shining, lashes clumped with tears, skin wet. His glasses are spotted with tears, and even though his skin is flushed red and his nose is running and his hair is messy, Eddie thinks he’s the loveliest thing he’s ever seen.

He pushes his sleeve out over his hand, and he wipes his face tenderly, under his cheeks and his nose as Steve stares back at him, lips parted as if in awe.

“You’re alive,” Steve breathes.

“Yeah,” Eddie whispers. “I’m alive, sweetheart.”

Steve reaches toward Eddie's face again, his hands warm on his skin, and Eddie closes his eyes, revelling in it like Steve’s touch is sunlight.

“Where’ve you been?” Steve asks brokenly.

Eddie smiled weakly, looking at him. His eyelashes are fluttering.

“Well, I was dead for a while,” Eddie says softly, loud enough for Robin to hear. “Then I… wandered the Upside Down,” he says, remembering the darkness, the loneliness, and his hands tighten on Steve. “Looked for a way to get back, but…”

“The gates are closed,” Steve says, whines, and Eddie nods.

“Yeah,” he says lightly. “‘S good, Stevie.”

“But you…” Steve takes a gasping breath, and Eddie leans close, pressing their foreheads together.

“‘S okay, baby,” he says gently. “I tripped up some equipment they left down there, and they… they knew I was alive.”

Steve breathes heavily, clutching at Eddie, and Eddie doesn’t even care that Wayne and Robin are watching anymore. He leans in and kisses Steve carefully, pressing his lips firmly to Steve’s, lingering as Steve sighs, fingers pressing into Eddie’s hair. Steve gasps when they part, and he sobs quietly as he pulls Eddie closer.

Eddie hugs him tightly, burying his face in his neck. He closes his eyes, running his hands over Steve’s hair as he cries, he kisses Steve's neck gently before he sighs. He can smell Steve's blood. It smells sweet. Sugary sweet. Like iced tea, or orange creamsicles.

Eddie pulls his face away when his gums itch, and he squeezes his eyes shut.

“I’m okay, baby,” he murmurs.

“How—” Robin hiccups, and Eddie opens his eyes to look up at her. Wayne is standing behind her, his arms around her, and she’s holding onto him, tears streaming down her cheeks. “How did you…”

“The, uhm….” Eddie clears his throat, stroking over Steve’s head as Steve hiccups, face buried in Eddie’s neck. He’s so warm, but his glasses are cold. Eddie doesn’t mind. “The bats… They think they had, like, a venom. That made my body, uhm, like. Adapt.”

She stares. Nods. Wayne rubs her arm.

Eddie smiles at her, and he runs his hand over Steve’s head again. Steve lifts his head after a few quiet moments, touching Eddie’s face. Running his fingers over his cheeks, over his eyebrows and nose and his lips. Over his jaw and his scar. Steve is still crying.

“You’re okay,” he breathes.

“Yeah,” Eddie whispers, smiling at him. “I’m okay. We got some… some stuff to talk about later. But I’m okay.”

There’s stuff to talk about. The fangs. The claws. The blood.

They’ve learned that Eddie can get sick, that it’s possible, but that they aren’t sure if he’ll age. He came back from the dead after adapting or whatever, but they aren’t sure if he’s… stuck like this. It’s scary to Eddie. But he’s trying not to think about it. Especially right now. With Steve in front of him.

Steve’s eyes drift to Eddie’s mouth, and part of Eddie thinkswisheshopes that he’s going to kiss him, but he just touches his lips with his thumb, brushing over his lips lightly before he pushes his upper lip up, tilting his head. Eddie lets him.

His chest is aching. Steve is touching him. Holding him. His hands are soft and warm and gentle, and Eddie never wants him to let go.

“You have fangs,” Steve says, his voice hushed, slurring a little. A light laugh escapes Eddie, who nods.

“That’s part of what we’re gonna talk about,” he says. “But we don’t have to right now, we can talk about it later, okay?”

“Okay,” Steve breathes. His thumb brushes Eddie's bottom lip. Eddie kisses it.

Steve stares. And stares. And stares.

Eddie waits.

Robin and Wayne go inside after a minute, after Wayne murmurs something about privacy.

Steve keeps staring.

They’re sitting on the ground, on the step, their legs around each other, and Eddie can feel his body heat radiating from him. He’s so warm. Eddie’s got the sun sitting in front of him.

“The kids,” Steve says after a little while as Eddie is caressing his cheek carefully. “They don’t— They don’t know you’re back, they—”

“‘S okay,” Eddie says calmly, holding his face. “We’ll tell them. They get out of school at three, right?”

Steve nods, frantic again, breathing hard, and Eddie pets his cheek.

“You can bring ‘em here,” he says softly. “We’ll give ‘em the surprise of their lives.”

Steve nods weakly, his hands tight on Eddie’s sweatshirt.

Eddie tilts his head at him, fond. He traces a line between two of his moles, connecting them like stars.

“Missed you so much,” Eddie murmurs.

“I dream about you,” Steve says, a little abrupt, still quiet. “When I— When I sleep.”

Eddie swallows, his throat tight.

“Yeah?”

Steve nods, breathless.

“I…” His eyes are full of tears again, and Eddie’s wipes one away when it falls. “It’s just… Every day, I— I dream about it, about— about what I could have done, about…”

He gasps for breath, and Eddie holds his face, pulling him closer.

“Steve, listen to me.”

Steve blinks tears out of his eyes.

Eddie looks into his eyes, looking at the way the sunlight makes shards of his irises glow gold, and he takes a breath, trying to speak in an even voice.

“You did everything right,” he says slowly, intentionally. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You understand me?”

Steve blinks at him, his lip quivering.

“You understand me?” Eddie asks again, voice gentle, hands firm. Steve nods.

Eddie kisses his forehead softly, and he whispers against his skin.

“Thank you, Stevie.”

“For what?” Steve mumbles, tugging at Eddie’s sweatshirt.

Eddie pauses, kissing his forehead again, thinking about how to say it.

“Making it so easy,” he settles on, voice soft. “Felt so safe with you, Stevie. ‘Nd you… you left your jacket with me. Kept me warm.”

Steve pulls back, looking at him with wide eyes.

“You used it?”

“Mhmm.” Eddie caresses his cheeks. “Wore it the whole time. Fuckin’ cuddled it when I was in the hospital.”

Steve exhales sharply, and he finally smiles. It’s a tiny, weak smile, almost absentminded, but it’s there.

“I have your vest,” he says. “In— In my room. I sleep with it.”

Eddie's stomach flutters. His heart aches.

“Really?” he asks weakly. Steve nods. Eddie laughs, almost delirious, and Steve reaches for his face, tracing the lines around his smile.

“God, you’re so…”

Eddie’s smile softens, and his chest fucking hurts.

“You too,” he whispers. Steve smiles at him.

He traces his smile lines again, watching his own fingertips trail over Eddie’s skin.

“Can you kiss me again?” he asks softly, whispering. “Please. I— I need…”

Eddie leans in and brushes their lips together, rebelling in the way Steve’s breath stutters and he slips his hands down to Eddie’s neck. He’s so warm. God, he’s so warm.

Eddie kisses him softly. Chastely. He feels Steve’s lips part.

“Careful,” Eddie breathes without pulling away, a gentle warning of his teeth. Steve nods, pulling at his neck, and Eddie kisses him.

It’s still so soft. Steve tugs at Eddie’s lower lip, and Eddie exhales, combing through Steve’s hair.

When they part, Steve is crying again.

His glasses are filthy, smeared with tears and cloudy from being pressed to Eddie’s skin, and Eddie smiles fondly, taking them carefully from Steve’s face. Steve watches silently as Eddie cleans them with the hem of his sweatshirt, holding them up to the sky to check before he puts them back, tilting his head to check that they’re over his ears properly. He pauses when he spots a hearing aid on Steve’s left ear, tan and white.

“I like your glasses,” Eddie says quietly. Steve blinks at him, seeing clearly now that they’re clean.

“Also got this,” he says, turning and tucking his hair to show Eddie the hearing aid.

“I like it,” Eddie murmurs. “Didn’t know you couldn’t hear good.”

“Concussions,” Steve whispers softly.

Their faces are still close. Eddie’s ass hurts from the gravel, but he doesn’t care.

Steve cries again.

Eddie wipes his tears.

—————————

Robin gives good hugs. Eddie didn’t know before, because she doesn’t seem like a very huggy person, but her arms are tight around Eddie’s neck, and she’s warm, and they sway together as Wayne and Steve watch.

“Missed you, Buckley,” Eddie murmurs.

She groans into his neck quietly. He holds her a little tighter.

She wipes her tears when they part, and he swats her hands out of the way, reaching for her cheeks. He sees her eye the claws, and he just murmurs softly, “I won’t scratch you.”

She trusts him, staring as he cleans her face tenderly, and then he tugs her closer and kisses her forehead.

Eddie explains everything. Tells them about waking up, about the acid rain, about how it stopped hurting after he adapted. About wandering through Upside Down Hawkins, finding food and water that, now that he thinks about it, would probably not be safe for anyone other than him to eat, about the demodogs and their blood. They listen intently, their brows furrowed like they’re taking mental notes, and Eddie kind of wants to hide. The same way he did when he first saw Wayne again, like he’s some kind of creature, like he’s some kind of monster. But they don’t flinch at anything, don’t wince or grimace or make any faces. They just listen.

So he keeps telling them. About looking at each gate, trying to find a way home, about going to the Wheelers’ and touching the lights, trying to tap SOS, about the darkness.

“They found me at– at Steve’s.”

“At mine?”

“Your house. I was… I don’t know. Lonely.”

Steve pulls Eddie close again.

He smells good. His clothes smell like laundry detergent, like they’re freshly washed, and his hair smells like some shampoo, clean and masculine and a little spicy, and his blood smells sweet, and Eddie closes his eyes as his arms tighten around him. He might even melt a little against his chest. He doesn’t mind Wayne and Robin seeing.

He waits with Robin while Wayne and Steve go to get the kids. They sit on the sofa, sipping coffee, holding hands.

He’s nervous. She can tell that he is. She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t question him or try to make him feel better, and he appreciates it.

Steve will probably tell them Eddie’s back before they get back to the house. Just to prepare them, so they don’t walk into the house to find… this. Almost-Eddie sitting on the sofa with a blue ceramic mug in his claws, focusing on breathing and not hurting Robin’s hand.

He takes a deep breath when he hears their cars pull into the driveway, and Robin squeezes as he takes a deep breath, setting his mug on the coffee table before the front door bursts open just seconds later.

And then Dustin is standing in the doorway of the living room, breathless and panting and crying, a red cane in his hand, Eddie’s black bandana tied to the handle of it. Eddie’s chest tightens.

“Hey, Dusty.”

He stands up as Dustin stares at him, as Mike and Lucas and Erica appear behind him, each of their eyes filled with tears. He smiles, his own eyes burning.

He can’t say anything else before Dustin is practically catapulting himself into him, throwing the cane aside as he tackles Eddie, and Eddie catches him, wrapping his arms around him tightly. Dustin is mumbling something and it takes a moment for Eddie to understand him, but he laughs when he does.

“Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, holy—”

“‘S alright, dude,” Eddie says lightly.

Dustin cries. Eddie cries too.

Then Erica is joining them, jumping up onto Eddie and trusting him to catch her, which he does, her arms around Eddie’s neck tightly. And then he’s really crying, because how the fuck did she grow this much in just a few months? And maybe she didn’t actually grow much, but she just seems so much older now, and Eddie can’t help but think that it might be a little his fault.

“Christ,” he mutters into her neck, one arm around her as her legs wrap around him, the other around Dustin, who wraps an arm around Erica, too. “You miss me this much?”

“Shut the hell up,” they mumble simultaneously, and he laughs wetly, holding them tighter. When he finally lowers Erica to the ground, she’s sniffling and wiping her face, and Robin reaches for her, pulling her into a hug, and she looks like a little girl again. Lucas takes her place, arms firm around Eddie as Dustin steps back, still staring. And then Mike is there, and his hair is almost long as Eddie’s.

“I like the new look,” Eddie says, and Mike scoffs.

“‘Course you do,” he says sassily before he joins Lucas in the hug.

Eddie had missed touching people. He hadn’t known how great it is until he didn’t have it anymore, until the closest thing he had was pulling Steve’s and Wayne’s jackets tighter around himself. He never wants to let go of them now, arms lingering around Lucas and Mike even as their arms loosen, and they just hug him all over again.

As Dustin is hugging him again, so tightly it’s a little hard to breathe, Eddie squeezes his eyes shut.

He only opens them when he hears Max’s voice, and he almost gasps as his eyes fly open to find her entering the room, sitting in a wheelchair that she’s pushing herself. Her eyes are wide but pale, clouded over and unseeing as she tilts her head, saying his name again.

“I’m here, Red,” he says, patting Dustin’s back, and Dustin lets go of him begrudgingly, sniffling. Mike pulls him close as Max beams, turning her head in his direction.

“If you don’t hug me, I’ll kill you,” she says, and he laughs loudly.

“I believe you,” he says as he comes close, kneeling in front of her and touching her leg to let her know he’s there. She reaches for his hand quickly, but she pulls her hand back with a hiss when one of his claws scratches her. “Fuck, sorry. Can’t get rid of those.”

“Don’t care,” she says, holding her arms out. “Come here.”

He hugs her. His eyes burn. She’s shaking as they embrace, her face buried in his neck, and he runs his hands over her head gently.

“God,” she says into his neck. “Missed you and your stupid hair.”

He laughs again.

“Thanks.” He pulls away, looking at her. “I like yours, by the way.” It’s shorter now, trimmed under her chin, light and feathery and a little wavier. He touches it, tucking it behind her ears. “Looks nice.”

“You think?” she says, her cheeks pink. “El said it’s cute.”

“El,” Eddie repeats.

“That’s me,” a girl’s voice says from the hall behind Max, and Eddie startles with a sharp, “Jesus—”

There’s a chorus of teary laughter around the room, and Eddie looks at the girl. She has short, curly hair and wide, almost expressionless eyes even as she gives him an awkward smile. A boy appears behind her, a little taller, his eyes also wide, but apprehensive.

“She does that a lot,” he says.

Eddie blinks at him as Max holds his hand, squeezing.

“Will the Wise,” he guesses aloud, and the boy’s cheeks flush pink as he nods, smiling nervously.

“Hi.”

“Mike would not shut up about you during campaigns,” Eddie says, and Will’s cheeks flush darker as Mike’s wavering voice says, “Shut up, Eddie.”

Wayne and Steve join a moment later. Steve’s eyes are a little red.

Eddie recounts everything he told Steve and Robin after they all find their places in the living room. Erica climbs onto Eddie’s lap as they’re all settling, hiding her face in his neck, and he holds her, his chest aching. He runs his hands over her back as he speaks, as he looks at the ground because there are too many eyes on him.

Max moves onto an armchair, reaching for Lucas, who sits on the armrest, holding her hand with one hand and playing with her hair with the other. Eddie will need to know if they’ve finally gotten (back) together. He thinks they have, at least based on the way Max relaxes when Lucas’s fingers run through her hair.

Erica falls asleep on his lap, heavy on his chest, breaths soft and warm on his neck. He just holds her protectively.

Robin leaves after a while to call Nancy. She’s gone for a while, explaining everything over the phone, and when she comes back, she’s smiling. Nancy shows up a little while after, coming inside without knocking, running to the living room, where everyone looks up at her, but she just looks at Eddie, wide eyes full of tears, hands shaking so hard she drops her keys.

“Hey, Nance,” Eddie says softly, and he would get up to hug her if Erica wasn’t asleep on his lap. Nancy exhales, blinking tears out of her eyes, and she silently goes to the sofa, sitting next to him, and he lifts an arm up, wrapping it around her as she lays against him. Erica sleepily shifts to lay her face in the other side of his neck, and Nancy moves to hug him tighter, gasping for breath.

“Hey,” Eddie murmurs. “It’s okay.”

“Jesus, Eddie,” she mumbles into his neck, her shoulders shaking. He runs a hand over her head, his claws getting caught in her curls, and he murmurs to her.

“I’m alright, Nancy, it’s okay.”

“I know,” she chokes. “You’re okay, I know, I just…”

He holds her.

—————————

They stay past their bedtimes. Steve has to call the parents, let them all know that they’ll be coming home soon, and please, they’re not in trouble, it’s my fault. They all hug Eddie before they go, tight and tearful again with promises of returning tomorrow to see him. To catch him up on everything he’s missed. He can’t wait.

Robin pulls Steve aside and mutters something to him, something that confuses him, and Eddie watches as Steve whispers back to her, eyebrows furrowed, before she speaks again, raising an eyebrow at him and grinning as his face flushes a lovely shade of pink. She hugs Eddie tightly, kisses his cheek, ruffles his hair, and then she follows Nancy out.

Wayne takes the Sinclairs and Dustin home. Steve takes El, Will, and Max. Eddie waits in the living room.

It’s weirdly quiet when they’re all gone. Almost echoing, like their voices and their laughter and their sobs are still lingering in the air. Eddie sits on the sofa, legs crossed, cushion in his lap, looking around. It looks different than it did in the Upside Down, not just because of the lack of vines and dust and darkness that was almost corporeal, but because there are photos on the walls, mostly just pinned, some framed nicely. There’s also artwork, paintings that are put up carefully, lovingly. There’s one above the mantle that Eddie gets stuck gazing at, his head tilted. It’s sort of abstract, a patchy swirl of colors, redblueorangegreenpurpleyellowpink, and it almost looks like a landscape, like some kind of fantasy land that Eddie wants to visit. At the center of the painting, floating above the ground, are two figures, long-limbed and genderless, holding hands. It looks like they’re spinning, like they’re flying and holding onto each other so they don’t get lost, and Eddie knows it’s Robin and Steve. He wonders who painted it.

He remembers that the Upside Down is behind. Was it three years that Nancy said? He can’t remember.

It doesn’t really matter. But he knows that all of this, all the photos and all the art, is fairly new in this house.

He lifts the pillow and buries his face in it. It smells like Robin and Steve. He closes his eyes. And he cries.

He’s still sitting there when Steve comes home.

“Where’s Robin?” Eddie asks, watching Steve take his jacket off and leave it on the armchair Max had been sitting on.

“Uh, Nancy’s,” he says. His cheeks flush pink again. “She’s spending the night there.”

Eddie nods, smiling up at him, and Steve pauses, staring at him. He looks like he’s in pain, and Eddie reaches a hand up, beckoning. Steve comes close, taking his hand and collapsing onto the sofa next to him. He looks at Eddie’s hand, gazes at his claws, traces his blue veins.

“Are you cold?” he asks, whispering.

“I’m always kind of cold now,” Eddie says quietly. “I’m used to it.”

Steve looks at his hand some more. He holds it between his own, cradles it, and his skin is so warm it almost feels hot on Eddie’s. He likes it.

“Pretty,” Steve murmurs, tracing one of Eddie’s claws.

“I’m scared I’m gonna hurt you,” Eddie confesses, and Steve looks up into his eyes.

“With these?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, even though it’s a general fear. That he’ll scrape Steve’s lip with his teeth, that he’ll scratch his skin with his claws. That Steve will bleed and Eddie will lose control the way he did the first time he fed on the bodies of the demodogs. (He hasn’t lost control since then. When he fed in the hospital, on donated blood and animal blood, he managed to stay calm, to drink steadily. He’s still scared.)

Steve looks back down, and then he’s lifting Eddie’s hand up to his lips and he’s kissing his claws slowly, one by one, so tender that it makes Eddie’s chest ache and his eyes burn.

“I trust you,” Steve breathes when he finishes, running his thumb over Eddie’s knuckles.

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut.

“God, I missed you so much,” he chokes, throat tight.

“I missed you, too,” Steve whispers, moving closer, taking the cushion from Eddie’s lap and setting it aside as he pulls at Eddie’s legs. Eddie opens his eyes to see, shifting so he’s straddling Steve, their legs around each other, and he moves closer, closer, closer, until their chests press and Eddie can press his face into Steve’s neck. Steve wraps his arms around him tightly, running a hand over his spine. “I found— I found that song.”

Eddie pauses, tucking his arms between them so Steve is wrapped around him, warm.

“Tennessee Waltz?” he says, his voice muffled by Steve’s skin.

“Yeah. Went to a music store in Indy and asked about it.”

Eddie lifts his head. Looks at him.

“Really?”

Steve nods, suddenly bashful, looking away.

“Got some, uhm. Ozzy and… Megadeth.”

A slow grin crawls across Eddie’s face, and his eyes light up, and he leans closer.

“Really?” he whispers, like it’s scandalous, and Steve nods. “What’s your favorite?”

Steve shrugs weakly, hands petting Eddie’s back before they slide down to his waist.

“I like Judas Priest,” he says quietly. Eddie exhales.

“You’re making me feel things, Stevie.”

Steve’s lips twitch into a smile.

“That’s why Robin left.”

A loud laugh bursts out of Eddie, and he throws his head back as Steve stares at him, grinning now. His fingers are warm when he tucks them under Eddie’s sweatshirt, touching his skin, his scars, pressing into the softness above the waistband of his pants.

Eddie giggles when he looks at Steve again, because Steve looks fucking lovesick, and how in the hell did Eddie wind up here? In Steve Harrington’s arm, with him looking at him like that? All shiny eyes and smiling lips and gentle touches. Eddie never thought he’d like that, the gentle touches. He’s always wanted it all rougher, meaner, harder. But as Steve’s fingertips dance over his sides under his sweatshirt, as he touches him carefully like he doesn’t want to hurt him, as he gazes at him, Eddie feels kind of beautiful. It’s a nice feeling.

He doesn’t feel monstrous here, with Steve touching him. With Steve smiling at him.

“You’re so warm,” Eddie says softly. His hands are against Steve’s stomach, and he tugs at the hem of his sweater. Steve nods, and Eddie slips his hands under it, pressing to his skin. He’s so warm, and soft. There’s hair on his belly, and Eddie loves it. He presses his hands against him more firmly, careful not to scratch him, but Steve doesn’t straighten up or stiffen or flinch.

“I run hot,” he says softly. “Always have.”

“Yeah, you do,” Eddie quips, and Steve snorts, leaning to press their foreheads together.

They’re quiet for a moment before Steve pulls his hands from under Eddie’s sweatshirt and reaches up to hold his face.

“Fuck,” Eddie says heavily, closing his eyes, letting Steve’s hands envelop his face.

“What?”

“Just…” His chest feels tight, and a chill runs down his spine, and he feels suddenly claustrophobic, but he can’t get away. He runs his hands over Steve’s waist, holding him tightly. “Don’t let go. Please.”

“I won’t let go,” Steve murmurs.

“Your hands…” Eddie mumbles, squeezing his eyes shut, taking a breath.

“You okay?”

“Feels so good, Stevie,” Eddie says weakly, exhaling sharply. Steve kisses his forehead, brushing his thumb over Eddie’s cheek. He stays there for him, waiting patiently as Eddie catches his breath.

Until Eddie lifts his head, blinking his eyes open and reaching to touch Steve’s hands, holding them to himself. His skin is warm and soft, and Eddie turns his head to kiss his palm. He feels almost overwhelmed, closing his eyes.

“You okay?” Steve asks again after another while, whispering. Eddie nods, but he doesn’t let go.

“You…” He hesitates, unsure of how to say it, how to articulate the storm that’s swirling in his chest, but Steve just looks at him, eyes soft and gentle and wondering, and Eddie wants to cry. “You make me feel so good.”

“Yeah?” Steve whispers, smiling, brushing his thumbs over his cheeks. Eddie nods.

“Missed your hands,” he mumbles, smiling when Steve scoffs lightly.

“Just my hands?”

Eddie’s smile widens, his cheek squishing against Steve’s palm, and he sighs, turning his head to press his face into it, taking a deep breath. He can feel Steve watching him, gazing again.

Eddie groans softly, hands tightening on Steve’s wrists.

“‘S okay,” Steve whispers. “What do you need?”

Eddie doesn’t know what he needs. He needs more, but he doesn’t know what more means. More touch, more contact, but they’ve got their legs wrapped around each other and Steve’s hands are pressed to his face, warm and firm.

“You,” Eddie chokes.

“You have me,” Steve breathes. “Take me.”

Eddie exhales shakily, nuzzling into his palm, and his lips part.

“‘S okay,” Steve murmurs again.

Eddie opens his mouth wider, and then he’s slipping his tongue over Steve’s palm, and Steve is letting him, still brushing his thumbs over his skin lightly, softly, letting Eddie take what he needs. Eddie licks his palm again, pulling at his wrist so he can trail his tongue up Steve’s fingers. Over the band of Eddie’s ring around Steve’s finger. (Wayne had told Eddie that Steve was wearing it when they spoke, that he took it. Eddie had wondered where it was, and then he was glad Steve took it.) Their eyes are locked, and Eddie’s stomach is flipping and flutterings, and a small, mean part of his mind expects Steve to make a face, to pull away and call him a freak. But Steve’s eyes are gentle on him, and he must see the fear in Eddie’s eyes, because he nods, smiling.

Steve hushes him softly when he whimpers, and Eddie is crying, tears falling down his cheeks as Steve tenderly pushes two fingers into his mouth, careful to keep them away from Eddie’s fangs. Eddie melts, his shoulders slumping, and his eyes close, and he reaches for Steve’s belly again, pressing under his shirt and moving closer.

He sucks, whining weakly as he cries, and Steve wipes his tears away, moving his fingers farther into Eddie’s mouth, pressing down on his tongue, sliding over it. Eddie hums, his head tilting when Steve leans in close, his other hands slipping over Eddie’s waist as he presses into his neck, sighing.

“Missed you so fucking much,” he murmurs, kissing Eddie’s skin before he sits back up, and Eddie looks at him blearily. He doesn’t take his hand from Eddie’s mouth as he takes off his glasses, haphazardly tossing them to the coffee table, and Eddie closes his eyes again. Steve leans toward his neck again, pressing his face into it, kissing him softly, carefully. “So fucking much, Jesus. Can’t fucking believe you’re here.”

Eddie whines around his fingers, sucking again, pulling a hand out of Steve’s shirt to hold the back of his head, his hair tangling in his claws, as Steve kisses his neck again. He’s so… tender. In a way Eddie never thought he’d ever get, a way he never imagined himself being treated. Tender in a way he never thought he’d deserve, but Steve just does it, kisses his skin softly, chastely, peppering the side of his neck in kisses like it’s the way it should be, like there’s no other way Steve could possibly treat him.

It feels so good. Eddie can’t open his eyes, and his head feels like it’s full of clouds and cotton and dust, and all he can do is hum softly, sucking on Steve’s fingers and breathing heavily. When Steve’s tongue runs across his skin, just a soft kitten lick, a quiet, strangled noise escapes Eddie’s throat, and his mouth falls open, and Steve’s fingers slip out. Eddie forgets to close his mouth, whimpering as Steve licks his neck again, reaching to hold Eddie’s neck, warm on his skin. He feels kind of high, unstable and woozy as Steve kisses his neck, as he presses a thumb under Eddie’s chin to tilt his head back, kissing across his throat.

“Stevie,” Eddie whimpers, a tear slipping down his cheek. Steve sucks on his skin softly, fingertips stroking his jaw.

“You okay?” Steve whispers, lifting his head, leaning close enough that their lips brush. Eddie shivers, exhaling.

“You feel so good,” he says weakly, shaking. “It was so cold down there, Stevie, I was… everything hurt so fucking bad, I—”

Steve kisses him. His hand holds Eddie’s throat, and Eddie keens, deflating. Steve’s fingers span across his whole neck, holding him in place, and Eddie feels so vulnerable, vulnerable in a way he gets to be, in a way he’s allowed to be, because it’s Steve. He groans softly when Steve squeezes and kisses him again, tilting his head so their noses aren’t smushed together.

“Fuck, Eddie,” Steve breathes when they part, breathing hard. Their lips are still brushing. “You can feel good now.”

“Okay,” Eddie breathes, exhaling as if in relief, like Steve’s granted him permission. “Thank you.”

Steve kisses him again, so hard that he rocks backwards, clutching at his back. His nails press into Steve’s back, and he hears him let out a hiss.

“Fuck,” Eddie gasps, pulling his hands away. “I’m sorry, baby, I’m— I’m still getting used to them, I’m sorry—”

“‘S okay,” Steve breathes, kissing him again, sucking on his lip. “It’s okay, I don’t mind.”

He kisses him again before he can respond, hand sliding to hold his face, his chin, squishing his cheeks. Eddie slides his hands over his back, soothing the spots that he’d stabbed him like a startled cat. Steve hums, sucking on his lip again, and Eddie reaches a hand to his wrist, holding it tightly, pushing his sleeve up to hold his skin, to feel his pulse, and then he pulls back as a thought occurs to him.

“Off,” he gasps. “Can you— Can you take this off?”

“You too?” Steve breathes. Eddie nods, and they part, leaning away to avoid hitting each other as they pull their sweaters over their heads, tossing them aside.

Their scars match. They’re different colors, Steve’s soft pink and metallic, healed, and Eddie’s darker, redder, rougher. Their eyes trail over each other’s bodies, and Eddie kind of wants to hide, to be self-conscious, to hide his scars and stretchmarks and hair and the soft rolls of his belly, but Steve leans in, sliding a hand over his waist and pressing a kiss to his shoulder. Eddie closes his eyes. Slides his hands over Steve’s back, over his chest. Steve kisses his neck again, slowly and softly, and Eddie squeezes, careful with his nails even though his head is cloudy again. He shivers as Steve kisses him, tilting his head back as he kisses across his throat to the other side. He’s so gentle, so slow and soft, and the room is silent except for the sounds of it, wet and sweet and overlapping with their heavy breaths and the weak noises Eddie is making.

“Love you, Stevie,” Eddie breathes, feeling Steve’s lips curve into a smile against his throat.

Steve kisses him again, pushing a hand into Eddie’s hair, his fingers twisting with the curls, and Eddie whines.

“I love you too,” Steve whispers into his ear, and Eddie wants to smack him, because he knows Steve can tell exactly how it’s affecting him, that the quiet sounds are making him shiver, making chills spread over his skull and down his spine. Eddie whimpers. Steve kisses just under his ear, at the hinge of his jaw, and then he’s kissing his earlobe, his tongue teasing his skin, and Eddie could die. (And what a better way to die this would be, with Steve’s lips and hands on him. Peaceful.)

“Eddie,” Steve exhales, his breath hitting Eddie’s ear. Eddie shivers again, biting his lip. He hums. “Can I bite you?”

“Jesus,” Eddie says, his voice too loud, and Steve giggles, kissing his neck. “Fucking yes, baby, please, fuck.”

“Like it when you call me that,” Steve murmurs, lips brushing Eddie’s neck, and Eddie tilts his head to the side to give him room, groaning softly. “Tell me if I do it too hard.”

He kisses his neck, softly and lovingly, and then he bites down, tugging at Eddie’s skin with his teeth, and it hurts, but Eddie just moans softly, reaching to hold Steve’s head.

“Is that okay?” Steve asks softly when he releases it, pulling away enough for Eddie to hear. Eddie groans, pushing his head back down.

“More,” he whines. “Mark me up, baby, please.”

Steve lets out a soft noise, and he does it again, and again, and again, until Eddie knows his neck is littered with bite marks, until Eddie feels like he’s going to fall over, holding onto Steve’s head and leaning against his chest, his skin warm against Eddie’s.

Steve pulls back after a while, eyeing Eddie’s neck, breathing hard, his lips red, and Eddie looks at him, his vision almost blurry, but he can’t tell if its just SteveSteveSteve or if he’s crying. Steve smiles, tracing one of the marks.

“You’re all red,” he breathes. Eddie makes a noise. “Beautiful.”

Maybe Eddie doesn’t mind the color red anymore.

“Kiss me,” he whispers. Steve kisses him.

It’s still so soft, so tender, and a little awkward as they avoid Eddie’s fangs, but Eddie can only think about how they’ll get better at this, how it will get easier with practice, how he gets to look forward to it. He could cry as Steve’s fingertips run over his face, over the scar on his cheek, over his jaw and neck. His back arches when their tongues slide together, and he whines. Steve pushes a hand into his hair again, fingers gripping Eddie’s curls tightly as Eddie tilts his head to lick into his mouth deeper, hands clutching at Steve’s waist.

His legs tighten around Steve’s waist, and he wraps his arms around his neck as Steve pulls him closer, a hand on the small of his back. Eddie sucks on his lip, scraping the inside of his with his teeth, and Steve hums softly, letting Eddie push him back to lean on the armrest of the sofa as Eddie climbs onto his lap. They part to gasp for breath before Eddie leans down, kissing across his cheek and his jaw and down his neck, moaning softly as Steve tugs on the arch in his back.

“Fuck,” Eddie says after taking a deep breath, letting his forehead rest on the side of Steve’s neck for a moment.

“What is it?” Steve asks.

“Nothing, sorry.” He kisses his neck, holding Steve’s shoulder lightly.

“Eddie, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, I just…” He sighs, resigning, hiding his face again. “Your… Your blood. Smells good.”

“Oh.” Steve exhales shakily, pressing a hand into Eddie’s hair as Eddie kisses him again. “What… What does it smell like?”

Eddie licks a line up his neck.

“Sweet.”

Steve smiles at the ceiling, eyes closed.

“Will you…” He pauses, his cheeks flushing red, and Eddie looks at him curiously, kissing next to his mouth before he speaks again. “Will you drink some?”

His eyes open as Eddie looks at him, and Eddie stares for a moment before he kisses him hard, crushing their mouths together because he can’t articulate how fucking badly he wants that, how fucking badly he wants to sink his teeth into Steve’s neck, his chest, his arms, his fucking thighs, to drink his blood until he feels warm with it, until Steve’s blood heats him up from the inside out. He can’t put into words how badly he wants Steve inside him, in his veins, how badly he wants Steve to be part of him, so they never have to be apart again.

“Fuck,” Eddi gasps when they part, his lungs burning. “I want that, I do, but…”

Steve tugs him into another kiss, tilting his head as he licks into his mouth.

“But not tonight,” Eddie says when they part again. “I don’t… I don’t know if it’s safe to, I’ve only— I’ve only fed from— from dead demodogs and from bloodbags, I don’t know if it’ll hurt you or not.”

“Okay,” Steve says, breathing hard. Their foreheads press. “‘S okay.”

“I can… talk to Owens.” They both smile at the same time and Steve giggles, closing his eyes. “It’ll be awkward, but… if we can.” He pulls back to look into his eyes, to gaze down his neck. “Worth it.”

Steve giggles again, pulling him into another kiss.

Eddie holds his face, hands cradling his jaw, and he furrows his brows, nibbling Steve’s lip.

“Careful,” he says weakly when he pulls away for a breath. Steve nods, pulling him down again. Eddie settles on his lap, letting his weight rest against him, and Steve hums, nodding when Eddie pulls away to check, and he groans softly into Steve’s mouth when Steve’s hands find his legs, sliding over his hips to hold his thighs tightly, squeezing and releasing and squeezing again.

“Stevie,” Eddie says softly after a while, when his lips are sore and wet with Steve’s spit. “Baby.”

“Yeah,” Steve whispers, squeezing his legs again.

“...Want your fingers again.”

Steve kisses his cheek, lifting a hand to trace his lips lightly, and Eddie sits up straight, taking his hand and looking at it. At the ring around his fingers.

Steve watches, combing Eddie’s hair back with his free hand, as Eddie brings his fingers to his lips, opening his mouth and holding out his tongue to lick across his fingertips, brushing them back and forth, before he shifts Steve’s hand, moving it so kiss across his knuckles, his nails, the freckles dotting the back of it. He closes his eyes when he finally takes one into his mouth, sucking on the tip for a moment before Steve presses it farther in, sliding over his tongue. Eddie whimpers.

Steve hushes him gently, scratching his nails over his scalp.

“That feel good?” he whispers. Eddie nods, opening his mouth wider and taking his finger deeper, holding his wrist. He opens his eyes just enough to move one hand to Steve’s chest, pressing his palm over where his heart is, sliding his fingers into his chest hair.

Steve slides his finger out, but Eddie whines, catching his wrist, and Steve smiles at him, sliding his finger back over his tongue.

“‘M not going anywhere, baby,” he whispers.

Eddie relaxes, hand sliding down to Steve’s forearm, holding him lightly, sucking on his finger, and Steve tugs his hair, hand gripping his curls right at the roots, and it aches, the feeling spreading over his scalp like water soaking through his hair. Eddie hums.

He shivers, but he isn’t cold. Steve is so warm under him, radiating heat like he’s the fucking sun, and Eddie groans, reaching for Steve’s hand that’s in his hair, pulling it out and toward his face before he presses the inside of Steve’s wrist to his nose, inhaling the scent of his blood as Steve smiles at him. Eddie winds their fingers together, sucking again as he smells his blood, and Steve squeezes.

“Love you so much.”

Eddie moans softly, finally letting Steve’s finger fall from his mouth before he licks the inside of his wrist like he’s trying to get a taste of his blood through his skin. Steve squeezes his hand again.

“Fuck, Eddie,” he gasps, his other hand falling to grip his hips. “Baby. Baby. Don’t stop.”

Eddie whimpers, and he realizes he’s grinding his hips down on Steve’s. It feels good. So, so fucking good. He lets out a strangled noise, grinning as he slides his tongue over Steve’s wrist again.

“So fucking hard,” Eddie groans, falling forward. Steve exhales sharply, pressing a hand into Eddie’s back again, pulling. “Stevie, baby, fuck, please.”

“God, I missed you,” Steve chokes, holding Eddie’s face. “Missed you so much, I thought you were— I thought you were gone forever, baby, fuck—”

“I’m right here,” Eddie says breathlessly, rolling his hips harder, faster, leaning to wrap his arms around Steve’s neck, pressing their foreheads together. “I’m here, sweetheart, I’m— I’m right here.”

“I know,” Steve pants, and his hips press up to Eddie’s, his back arching, and they both moan, breathing hard. “I know, you’re here, you’re alive, I…”

“You get to keep me,” Eddie breathes. “‘M not going anywhere.”

Steve lets out a sob, and Eddie wants to wipe his tears away, but he can’t stop moving, and he doesn’t want to scratch his face, so he leans closer, kissing across his cheeks, Steve’s tears salty on his lips, on his tongue.

“Mine,” Steve chokes. “You’re mine, baby, please—”

“I am,” Eddie whispers, kissing his mouth, whining when one of Steve’s hands reaches to squeeze his thigh and then his ass. “Fuck, yeah, I’m all yours, honey, you got me.”

Steve whines, shifting to sit up a little more, pulling Eddie against himself.

“Fuck me,” he chokes. “Fuck, come on, Eddie, I’m—”

Eddie moves faster, burying his face in Steve’s neck and breathing deeply, groaning when Steve’s hand pulls his hair, and he lets out a noise he’s never made before, a noise that’s quite frankly kind of embarrassing, high-pitched and squeaky as heat floods through his body. He doesn’t stop moving until Steve’s hands tighten, and Steve gasps loudly, his hips lifting to press to Eddie’s.

Eddie pants into his neck, tongue darting out to lick him, tasting the salt of his sweat, and Steve falls limp, breathing hard, still holding Eddie to himself.

“Baby,” he says weakly after a moment.

“Mm.”

“Kiss.”

Eddie lifts his head, eyes half-shut, limbs heavy, and he kisses him, but he isn’t really kissing him as much as he is letting their faces press together, lips parted lazily. Steve smiles, biting at his lip.

“Holy shit,” he breathes.

“Mhm?”

“Thought I was never gonna come again.”

Eddie laughs against his mouth, grinning, pulling back after Steve kisses him again.

“Yeah?” he says sleepily. “You never whipped it out while I was gone?”

Steve snorts, reaching up to touch Eddie’s face, stroking his cheek.

“Could only think of you,” he says softly, still smiling. “Then I’d just start crying.”

Eddie frowns, poking his lower lip out, and Steve’s smile widens as he brushes his thumb over it, and he’s looking at Eddie in that way again, like he’s stargazing instead of looking at Eddie Munson, who, no doubt, looks like a mess, messy haired and red-faced, neck covered in hickeys.

“What?” he asks, lifting a curl to pull across his face, suddenly shy even though there’s a wet spot on Steve’s sweatpants and it’s Eddie’s fault. Steve’s smile falls.

“You’re really back,” he says quietly. “Right? I’m not gonna… wake up in a second?”

Eddie smiles and drops his hair to reach down and pinch Steve’s upper arm hard, grinning when he recoils and gasps, swatting his hand away.

“Ow.”

“You’re awake right now.”

Steve snorts, shaking his head before he reaches up to pull at Eddie’s neck, lifting his chin to kiss him. And then he hugs him tightly, arms wrapped around his waist, face pressed into his chest, over his scars.

Eddie closes his eyes, running a hand over the top of his head.

—————————

Steve’s room looks different than it did in the Upside Down.

It’s messier, clothes discarded on the floor, which their sweaters join, the bed unmade. There’s a painting on the wall, a colorful one of the sky, a pale sunset above the treeline, and Eddie gazes at it while Steve gets him a toothbrush and toothpaste.

He spots the vest on the bed when he comes back from the bathroom down the hall. It’s folded neatly despite the rest of the room being a mess, set carefully on the pillows. Steve is changing when Eddie comes back, and he doesn’t see Eddie’s eyes linger on it as he pulls a shirt over his head, tousling his hair. Eddie comes up behind him, wrapping his arms around his midsection and resting his forehead on the back of his neck.

“Love you,” he whispers after moving to set his chin on Steve's shoulder. Steve sighs, letting his head rest on Eddie’s, lifting his hands to hold his forearms.

“I’m scared to go to sleep,” he says quietly after a moment. Eddie tightens his arms. “Scared I’m gonna wake up and you’re not gonna be here.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Eddie murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to his neck. “I promise.”

Steve takes a deep breath. He turns around slowly, lifting his hands to touch Eddie’s face before he kisses him slowly. It tastes like mint mouthwash. Eddie smiles.

Steve moves the vest aside carefully when they go to lie down, setting it on the bedside table that’s bare except for a sheet of paper covered in handwriting that Eddie doesn’t read. Steve climbs in first, sorting the duvet so it’s straight, and Eddie follows, laying next to him. Steve reaches to shut off the lamp, and it’s dark except for the soft moonlight coming through the window.

Eddie exhales shakily, his eyes finding Steve in the dark. Steve is looking back at him, unblinking like he’s scared Eddie is going to disappear.

“I have a heartbeat,” Eddie says quietly, whispering even though there’s no one else in the house. “You wanna feel it?”

“Yes, please.”

Eddie takes his hand, shifting onto his back and pulling Steve’s hand closer with one hand as he pulls the hem of the sweatshirt he borrowed up with the other. He slides Steve’s hand under it, pushing it up to his chest, and Steve sighs, moving closer, pressing his hand more firmly. It takes a moment, and then his lips curve into a small smile.

“Got it?” Eddie whispers. Steve nods. “You can go to sleep, Stevie. I’ll be here when I wake up.”

“Promise?”

“Promise. Unless I get up to piss or something, but I’ll still be in the house.”

Steve snorts, closing his eyes and moving closer, pulling his hand away from Eddie’s chest in favor of laying his head on it, his hair tickling Eddie’s face. Eddie combs it down, smiling at the ceiling as he hugs Steve closer, arms around him the way he hugged the jacket to his chest last night.

“Gotta take Max to school tomorrow,” Steve says quietly, mumbling a little bit, sleepy. “I’ll be back ‘round eight.”

“Okay.”

“‘Nd the kids are gonna wanna come over after school,” he says. “Gonna give us hell.”

“Why?”

“You seen your neck recently?”

“Oh. Oh no.”

Steve giggles childishly into Eddie’s chest, arms tightening around him, face smushing against him.

“‘M gonna take you on a date,” he says after a second, voice muffled. “Just like I said.”

“A stay-in date, I assume,” Eddie says, eyes closed.

“Mm. Make you dinner. Treat you good.”

“You gonna make love to me, Stevie?”

“Mm. Fuck yeah.”

Eddie laughs, beaming at the ceiling, running his hands over Steve’s back, and his throat tightens, because he remembers everything Steve told him while he was dying, bleeding and coughing, but now Steve can keep his promises.

“Go t’ sleep,” Steve mumbles, turning his face to press a kiss to his chest. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, sweetheart,” Eddie whispers.

He can feel each of Steve’s breaths, can feel his back rise and fall steadily, and he can smell him on his pillowcase, on the duvet, in the air. And he falls asleep, safe, and warm.

here's the spotify playlist for this series if you like my work maybe consider supporting me on ko-fi or looking into my commissions <;3

#managed to finish this before i leave for the weekend <333 #steddie #steddie fanfic #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #wayne munson #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #dustin henderson #erica sinclair #lucas sinclair #max mayfield #mike wheeler #eleven hopper #will byers

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