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hbyrde36 · 25 days

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Caught in the Undertow

Chapter Four

Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch3 <-

WC: 5778 | R: Explicit | TW: Suicidal ideation, depression | Ch 4/10 | AO3

~Eddie~

Eddie laid on the bed, motionless, staring at the wall, listening to the sound of Steve’s footsteps retreating back down the stairs, and felt hollow.

Wrung out.

Like a spectator in his own body, everything was just a little…unreal.

It had all seemed at the time like it was happening to someone else, as if he were watching the night unfold from a distance. Like witnessing a trainwreck. No control of the outcome, and yet he could not look away.

The whiskey had been a mistake, that much was obvious.

But he’d been struggling to keep his happy face on, and Dustin had been watching him a little too closely, and that kid was too goddamn smart for his own good. He was going to catch on eventually unless Eddie did something about it. And then there was Steve—

Steve, who he’d managed to avoid in the chaos of his arrival, who’d posted himself up in the corner and kept his eyes on Eddie like a hawk. Like he knew. Like he could see right through the careful facade Eddie had painstakingly built just for the occasion.

And then again, in the kitchen. Steve couldn’t just let him be, no. Couldn't let Eddie indulge in the one thing that made his continued existence on this planet bearable. He had to poke and prod and worry and fuss—and act like he cared.

Steve… who threatened to break his own bathroom door down to get to him. All because Eddie had been clumsy with a switchblade.

Because he’d been shaking with the force of his own sobs, drunk enough to see double, and when he finally worked up the courage to press that blade into his skin—missed and fumbled, and dropped it to the tile floor.

And Steve—

Steve had known. Whether the sound had been that obvious or he’d put the pieces together because of what Eddie had shouted in the kitchen, it didn’t matter.

And Eddie had let him in.

He still wasn’t sure why he’d done it, or frankly how, his vision so blurred with tears he’d had to find the lock by feel with his fingertips to flip it.

He’d never let anyone see him like that—like this. Hiding the worst of himself even from Wayne, but he wouldn't be able to hide anymore. Too many people had seen his mask slip, had heard what he said, the poisonous truth that lived in his bones, concealed beneath the clothes and the hair, the wide grins, loud mouth, and lunchtime diatribes.

There was a tentative knock on the doorframe behind him.

“Ed?”

Wayne.

Eddie's stomach dropped.

He heard the old man breathe deep, and take a few shuffling steps over the carpeted floor before the bed dipped under his weight. Eddie turned over, eyes sliding up to look at his uncle sitting above him, taking in the familiar sight of his face, the wisps of gray and white hair along his jaw—growing whiter by the year—and the less familiar sight of that strong jaw trembling as he looked down at Eddie in turn.

“I…” Wayne hesitated, as if thinking over his words. “Steve called me.”

Eddie didn’t know Steve even had their phone number, but somehow he wasn’t surprised. Would the other boy ever stop trying to save him?

“Son, I gotta be honest, ‘m scared out of my mind right now. I knew you were struggling with what happened t’ you, but I had no idea…”

Eddie wanted so badly to be able to say something, anything. To fake it, to make an excuse, a joke, to take it all back and tell Wayne he was okay—that he was sorry. But he was stuck so far inside his own head that all he could do was let the waves of guilt wash over him, and the tears start flowing again.

Wayne reached out to smooth the hair back from his face, his cool hand soothing against Eddie’s warm and sweaty forehead. He melted into the touch, letting his eyes slip shut.

It was a while before Wayne spoke again.

“I’m starting back at work tomorrow night, and there’s no way around it. Steve’s offered to have you stay here with him for a while so you won’t have to be alone so much.”

At that, Eddie’s eyes snapped back open and he finally found his voice, though it was weak. “I don’t need a babysitter, I'm not a child.”

Wayne sighed. “No, legally you’re an adult and you can do whatever you want. Even if you weren't, I know you well enough to be sure I can’t force you to do anything, but I am asking—Ed, I’m begging you to stay here and let Steve look after you. I told you back in the hospital, you need people around you that get it. People who know what you’ve been through, and—”

Wayne paused to glance back over his shoulder at the empty hall for a second, lowering his voice to a whisper. “I think that boy might need you every bit as much as you need him.”

Eddie scoffed.

Right. As if Mr. Golden Boy, Savior Of The Universe needed anyone’s help, let alone Eddie’s.

“Just give him a chance. Talk to him, or pick someone else if you want, but you have to start talking to someone.” Wayne rose from the bed, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of Eddie’s head, something Eddie couldn’t remember the man doing since he was little, before moving away. He stopped in the doorway to look back, an overstuffed duffle bag sitting against the bedroom wall near his feet.

“I just got you back. Please don’t… don’t make me bury you, son. It ain't right for a parent to bury their child.”

Eddie was still staring out the open door, long after Wayne had left, when Steve stepped past his line of sight and into the room, set a glass of water down on the nightstand and quickly backed away wringing his hands. He looked exhausted, hair messy and a little flat as though he’d been running his hands through it a lot, and dressed in a pair of old basketball shorts and a faded t-shirt.

“I’m gonna go to bed, but I'm right across from you if you need anything,” Steve said, swiveling to point behind him. “And there’s a… a bathroom up here at the end of the hall.”

Eddie kicked his shoes off and sat up, pushing himself up against the headboard, letting his head rest against it. He stared up at the ceiling, tracking the slow movement of the fan blades as they spun lazily, anything to avoid looking into the other boy’s earnest face. “I’ll stay here for now if that’s what my uncle wants, but that doesn't mean I have to like it, and it doesn’t mean we’re friends now either—got it?”

“Yeah,” Steve breathed, and cleared his throat roughly. “Yeah, Eddie, I got it.”

“What do you get out of all this, anyway?” Eddie asked, his attention still carefully aimed anywhere else. “Need another merit badge to fill out your sash?”

Steve didn’t reply, only reached over to switch the room’s light off, murmuring a quiet, “good night,” as he left, and pulled the door closed behind him.

For three days Eddie holed up in that room.

Steve left him alone for the most part. Never knocked, never tried to bother or talk to him, simply left food and water outside his door at regular intervals like he was an inmate—though Eddie was well aware he was the one who locked himself up, and not the other way around.

They only crossed paths once, when he snuck to the bathroom just as Steve was coming out of it. Steve looked like he’d seen a ghost.

Eddie had actually felt a little bad about that.

He spent the first day in a daze, not doing much of anything but stare at the four beige walls that surrounded him, unable to think of much of anything except the pain in his chest that had nothing to do with his rib.

The following days were better and worse at the same time.

It’d been over a month since the bats, since he’d been dragged back from the brink of death. Over a month of darkness, feeling as low as he’d ever felt, and little by little the fog was starting to lift. He could feel a change happening within himself, and he didn’t know if he was ready to welcome it or not.

He ate and drank whatever Steve left for him.

He took a shower.

Sorely needed after sweating out all the booze, and marinating in it for twenty four hours in his jeans. He’d never seen so many fluffy white towels in his life, and the water pressure truly was something else.

He listened to music again.

Something he hadn’t wanted to do, hadn’t been able to do since he woke up in the hospital. In the bag Wayne brought had been, not only his comfiest clothes, but his walkman, several of his favorite tapes, and the pièce de résistance: his well worn copy of The Hobbit.

He curled up in bed with the familiar comfort of it all and felt… better.

Not good, not great, but better—clearer—more solidly in his own mind and body.

For three nights Eddie listened from across the hall while Steve cried out in his sleep.

Two am, each night, without fail.

Nightmares.

The first night it was easy enough to ignore. Eddie was still stuck in his own head, still stewing. He was startled, yes, but the shouts were short lived, stopping when Steve must have woken himself up. He assumed this was normal for the other boy, no big deal, par for the course after so many years of fighting monsters.

At least that’s what he told himself.

But as the nights wore on it was harder to ignore. The screams would start and Eddie would leap out of bed, stomach in knots, pulse racing as he paced the floor of his room, chewing his fingernails down to stubs until it stopped.

Something changed on the fourth night.

Eddie still wasn’t sleeping much, so he was wide awake when Steve’s nightmare began, but this time, mixed in with the wordless shouts he was used to hearing, was the sound of Steve calling out his name.

Eddie was out of bed and in the hall before realizing he’d even moved, standing right outside Steve's door with his fist raised to knock. He froze mid-motion as the screaming suddenly stopped, and pressed his ear to the wood.

There was a muffled gasp, quiet weeping, more soft utterances of his name.

All at once, any residual anger Eddie had been holding on to, all the blame he’d been placing on Steve’s shoulders, vanished. His heart ached for the guy. Steve clearly had enough of his own problems, slept like shit, and yet still tried to help him, no matter how horrible Eddie treated him in return.

The loud creak of bed springs made Eddie backpedal suddenly, scrambling back into his own room as silently as he could before he got caught lurking in the hall like a creep.

He held his breath, resting his head against the moulding as he listened closely.

Light footsteps crossed the hall, and approached his own door, pausing for a long moment just outside of it. He heard Steve sigh, could almost feel the other boy’s warm breath ghosting over his face even though they were separated by several inches of hollow wood. After another beat Steve walked away without knocking, just as Eddie had done.

Eddie’s shoulder’s sagged as he finally let his breath out, stumbling over to the bed where he sat, resting his head in his hands. The further he managed to crawl out of the black hole he’d been stuck in, the more he could see that he was the only asshole here. Steve was a good guy, who’d done nothing wrong.

And now he had to fix it.

Fuck.

*Steve*

“He hasn’t left that room, Robin. It’s been days, how long am I supposed to wait for him to come around before I start freaking out?” Steve sat cross-legged on the kitchen floor, whisper-shouting into the receiver.

“You’re telling me you're not freaking out now?”

Steve groaned. “Not helping.”

“Sorry,” she said, actually sounding it for once. “He still taking the food and stuff you leave out?”

“Yeah… and we sort-of passed each other in the hall as I was coming out of the upstairs bathroom. He looked… better, I think.”

“Did he say anything?”

Steve pulled the cord as long as it would go, and laid down on the floor, starfishing. “No.”

“He’s probably just embarrassed about getting so drunk the other night. That was a pretty ugly scene.”

“Yeah.”

Robin didn’t know the half of how ugly it had gotten.

He’d called her that night after Wayne left, fully intent on spilling his guts about the state he’d found Eddie in, but when she picked up he couldn’t do it. It felt wrong to share something so… sensitive without Eddie’s permission, to broadcast his worst moment—god Steve hoped that was the worst it got—when he already felt bad enough about intruding himself, though he was glad he did.

He only told her that Eddie would be staying with him for a while. That Wayne was going back to work and worried about leaving Eddie alone all the time. Plus, so many people knew they lived in the trailer park, people who still thought Eddie was guilty, and he worried what folks might do without anyone else around as a witness.

“You know, we never really talked about it,” Robin said, hesitantly.

“About what?”

“Why you couldn’t let him go. Why you fought so hard to save him that night even when it seemed hopeless.”

“He’s one of us, I would have done the same for anyone.” Steve kicked his leg out, tapping his toe nervously along the baseboard. “He got thrown into this thing in the worst way, with no warning, and he was so brave. Dustin is alive because of him.”

“I know, babe. I get that, and believe me, I’m glad you were able to save him. But what about after? You spent as much time in that hospital as Wayne did, even after he refused to see any of us. And now this?”

“I just want to help him. That’s all.”

“You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

“I know, but… not right now, okay?”

Steve knew what she wanted him to say, but it wasn’t something he’d even allowed himself to look too closely at yet, let alone speak aloud.

He wasn’t sure he was ready to think about why during the week from hell, no matter what else was going on around them, his eyes always searched Eddie out. Why whenever Eddie spoke Steve found his gaze drawn to his mouth, the perfect pout of his lips.

Now wasn’t the time to examine the fact that every day Eddie was in that hospital, Steve had felt like he couldn't breathe until he spoke to Wayne and got confirmation that he was still alive. Or what it meant that no matter how hard he tried not to, his every thought was consumed with the boy upstairs.

It was rare for Steve to get a full night’s sleep.

Since ‘83 he’d been plagued by nightmares of flower petal mouths with far too many teeth, Russian soldiers in lab coats, and giant flesh monsters.

He was mostly inured to it by now, but coupled with worrying over Eddie and his fear that he’d fail in his promise to Wayne to keep his nephew safe, he was even more exhausted than usual.

Steve was running.

Legs pumping, arms swinging, running-for-your-life, running.

But it wasn't his own life he was in a race against the clock for.

He didn’t know why he was so sure something had gone wrong, but his gut was telling him he had to get back to the trailer, his pounding heart screaming at him that he had to make it in time.

He had to.

In the distance, he finally saw it. A giant swarm of those fucking bats, swirling above a lone figure on the ground like a dark, gruesome tornado.

The figure screamed—Eddie screamed, a blood curdling sound that shot through Steve's heart like a lance, splitting it in two.

Steve doubled his efforts, forcing his body beyond its limit, but no matter how hard he pushed it was like he was moving in slow motion.

By the time he was close enough to do anything to help, the bats had long since taken Eddie to the ground—his arms and legs wrapped up in a few of their tails, pinned down to the dirt as the rest of them ravaged his body.

Steve screamed the other boy’s name, still a few steps away but hoping to draw the attention of the bats away from Eddie and onto himself, but it was no use.

Somewhere in the back of Steve’s mind he knew this was wrong.

He hadn’t witnessed the attack. The bats had been dead, their limp bodies littering the area when he’d arrived at Dustin’s side where he was crying over Eddie.

This was a dream. A nightmare. His least favorite one, and realizing that it was in fact a dream did nothing to lessen the horror of what he was witnessing. The very real pain he was feeling as he watched someone he cared about die.

Because in this version of events, the only one worse than the reality they’d lived through, there was no amount of CPR that could bring Eddie back to him.

“Eddie, oh god. Eddie, no. Eddie!”

Steve fell to his knees, took in the body below that was covered in more blood than could possibly be contained in a single human being, looked down into Eddie Munson’s lifeless eyes pointed skyward, and knew that he was gone.

Steve woke with a gasp, tears still wet on his cheeks as he rolled over, pressing his face into his pillow to stifle the cries of Eddie’s name that still fell from his lips.

His head ached, and his body shivered. He was freezing, coated in a layer of cold sweat.

He threw the covers off and practically jumped out of bed, knowing full well he wouldn’t be getting any more sleep tonight, never did after he dreamed of Eddie.

He changed his clothes, quickly peeling the wet ones off and replacing them with warm flannel pajama pants and his favorite sweatshirt. It had a comforting weight, and was overly soft from too many washings.

Venturing out into the hall he kept his steps light, stopping for a minute just outside the guest room door. He wondered if Eddie was awake in there. If Eddie heard him carrying on. If he cared.

What he wouldn’t give right now to see Eddie’s face. Just for a second. To watch the rise and fall of his chest and know he was breathing. He raised his hand to knock but quickly thought better of it. Eddie already hated him. If he was asleep, surely a middle of the night wake up call wouldn’t improve things on that front.

The sun was up.

Birds chirped cheerfully as they flew past the windows.

And Steve had been sitting on the couch staring at the TV screen with the sound turned all the way down for fucking hours, and he was starting to get a little pissed off.

It didn’t help that there was a throbbing behind his eyes that all but promised a migraine.

As usual, and worse because of the nightmare, he couldn't stop thinking about Eddie. Dissecting, over and over, every moment he’d spent in the other boy’s presence since the boathouse, and honestly it was all so confusing and frustrating.

Steve shut the tv off and threw the remote down on the coffee table, hard.

And was Eddie really going to hide out in that room forever?

Or did he just need more time?

Fuck it.

Steve pushed himself to his feet and stormed up the stairs.

Eddie’d had plenty of time, and all he’d done with it was push everyone further and further away. Maybe it was time to try something else.

Breathing heavily, as though he’d run a mile, and with the throbbing in his head still pounding along to the beat of his heart, Steve rapped his knuckles against the guest room door, tapping his foot impatiently on the carpet as he waited to see if the other boy would respond.

Surprisingly, the door swung open only a few seconds later, revealing a sleep rumpled Eddie, wild hair a tangled mess, piled on top of his head, rubbing his eyes as he attempted to stifle a yawn.

“Steve?”

It threw Steve off balance. He’d sort-of expected it to be a fight to even get Eddie to open the door, but maybe in his half-asleep state he’d had a lapse in judgment?

Whatever the case, he took advantage of it and barged right in, pushing past Eddie to pace the floor near the bed. The room wasn’t a mess, but it certainly looked more lived in than Steve had ever seen it, and the sight of Eddie’s things strewn around made his stomach flip and something warm want to settle in his chest.

Focus.

Eddie stood nervously off to the side, watching Steve’s progress back and forth with wide eyes.

“I know you’re going through something awful right now,” Steve began, finally coming to a stop in front of the other boy and squaring his shoulders. “But it’s not okay for you to close yourself off from everyone who cares about you.”

Eddie held a hand up. “Steve, wait. I need to—”

“No. I'm not done,” Steve cut him off. “Do you think you’re the only person in the world who gets depressed? The only one who’s thought about ending it? Sometimes the only reason I can find to get myself out of bed in the morning is that the shit might hit the fan again. But that’s not—”

The dim light of the room suddenly felt blindingly bright. Steve sucked in a breath, wincing in pain as a high pitched ringing sound began in his ears. He raised a hand to his head like he could hold it off, and tried to speak again. “You can’t—”

A new spike of pain brought on a wave of nausea. Steve’s vision swam, and he lurched forward, losing his balance. He braced for a fall but found strong arms wrapping themselves around his waist, a warm chest pressed against his own for a moment as Eddie held him upright, before guiding him down onto the bed.

“Woah there, big boy. Let's sit you down before you hurt yourself.”

No matter that they had more important things going on right now, or how much pain he was in, it was still an effort to ignore the flutter he felt at hearing Eddie call him that again.

Steve took a deep breath, digging his feet into the carpet to try and ground himself. All he wanted was to curl up into a ball until this stupid headache went away, but he needed Eddie to hear him.

He opened his mouth, but lost whatever he was about to say as Eddie took a seat next to him, eyes full of concern, and began rubbing circles into his back.

“Just relax for a minute,” Eddie murmured.

“But—” he started to argue but Eddie gently shushed him.

“I get it, okay? I’ve been a real dick, and you wanted to come in here and tell me off. As you should. But… listen, man. I owe you an apology. More than an apology, and I know it doesn’t exactly make sense but I've been so fucking mad at you this whole time. I know it wasn’t right. You didn’t deserve that, and I'm—I'm sorry.”

“Why?.”

“Why am I sorry?” Eddie asked.

“Why were you mad?”

“You know why,” Eddie sighed. “You heard… and saw.”

Steve bit his lip. “I just want to understand.”

Eddie looked away, taking his arm back from Steve to hug himself. “Please don’t make me say it again,” he whispered.

Another flash of pain like lightning inside his skull had Steve doubling over, hissing, and Eddie's hands were back on him in an instant.

“S–s–sorry,” Steve forced out. “I get these really bad…”

“Migraines?” Eddie guessed.

“Yeah,” Steve breathed.

“Shouldn’t you be lying down then?”

“But, no,” Steve groaned. “You’re finally talking to me.”

“Steve—” Eddie sighed.

He sounded so sad. Steve wished it didn’t feel like his head was splitting apart so he could tell him how much he hated it. How he would do anything to help Eddie feel better if he’d only let him.

“—If you let me help you to your room right now, I promise I’ll still be talking to you later when you feel better. Deal?”

Steve tried to nod, and immediately regretted it, wincing. “Deal.”

In no time Eddie had him tucked into bed with all the lights off, and went downstairs to hunt for painkillers and a glass of water.

Steve was lying on his side, eyes scrunched up tight, just trying to breathe through it all when he heard Eddie tiptoe back into the room. There was a soft pop, and the rattle of pills being shaken out of a bottle.

“Can you sit up?”

Steve let out a whine before he could stop it, and he was so embarrassed, but it hurt. His body felt like it weighed a million pounds and he was beyond tired.

Eddie didn’t say a word, just climbed up onto the bed, gently maneuvering Steve around until he was sort-of half sitting up in the other boy’s lap. A position Steve never thought he’d be in, and he was a little pissed that he couldn't even enjoy it.

Was that something he wanted? To be in Eddie’s lap and enjoy it?

Somehow Eddie managed to both hold him up and reach for the pills he’d apparently laid out on the nightstand, handing them to Steve who was, mercifully, capable of popping them into his own mouth. Followed up with a glass of water which Eddie helped him hold onto, both of their hands wrapped together around the cup as Steve took small, grateful sips.

He expected Eddie to go now that there was nothing more to do but wait for the pills to ease his pain enough to let him sleep it off, but he seemed content to sit there with Steve’s head resting on his hip.

Fingers, tentative at first, found their way into Steve’s hair and began kneading lightly at the base of his neck. He moaned softly, the gentle touch bringing a hint of relief, and again he was fucking mortified at the display he was making, but Eddie let out a breathy chuckle, and his touch became a little more confident, and Steve thought maybe it was okay.

Sometime later Steve woke to an empty bed.

He didn’t even remember falling asleep but judging by the late afternoon sun trying its best to shine in through his window shade, he’d been out for hours, and the searing pain from before had dulled into an annoying but manageable headache.

He rolled out of bed, eager to find Eddie and continue their conversation from earlier, assuming everything he remembered had actually happened and wasn’t some kind of fucked up fever dream, but stopped short of the door, spotting a few more of the pills he’d taken earlier sitting out next to a refilled glass of water. A note scrawled sideways on a loose piece of notebook paper was laid beside it.

For when you wake up.

I’ll be downstairs.

– E

There was something painfully adorable about the fact that Eddie signed the little note when they were the only two people in the house. Steve downed the pills and the entire glass of water, and made his way down the steps.

It wasn’t hard to find Eddie. He just had to follow the music.

There he was, hair like a bird’s nest, dressed in ratty old sweats and a t-shirt with more holes than not, singing along under his breath and headbanging in the middle of the kitchen to whatever song was blaring so loudly from his headphones that Steve could actually make out the individual notes of the guitar riff.

He continued to watch from the doorway with barely contained laughter as Eddie bounced around the room like a madman, moving from one cabinet to another until he seemed to find what he was looking for, pulling a plate out and turning to set it down next to the toaster.

Their eyes met over the appliance.

“Jesus H. Christ!” Eddie shrieked, jumping back with a hand held to his chest. He ripped the headphones from his head, putting them and the walkman down on the counter too. “Stomp your feet or something, would ya? Could give a guy a heart attack sneaking up on him like that!”

Steve grinned, stepping into the room. He had this horrible urge to walk right up to the other boy and wrap his arms around his waist.

Eddie narrowed his eyes. “How long you been standing there, Harrington?”

“I saw nothing, I swear.” Steve threw his hands up.

Eddie huffed, his attention back on his task as he loaded bread into both sides of the toaster.

“So, how’s the head?”

Steve’s face instantly grew hot, and he saw the moment Eddie’s own words hit him, a hint of pink spreading across his cheeks.

“It’s, uh.” Steve swallowed hard, and had to pause to clear his throat. “Much better, thanks.”

Eddie held his gaze, absently running his tongue over his bottom lip.“Good, that’s… that’s good.”

The toaster popped, startling them both, and Eddie rushed to pull the slices out and slid the plate in Steve’s direction. “I hope you don’t mind, I took the liberty of making you my signature dry toast. For the record, I can actually cook, but I wasn’t sure what you’d be able to stomach.”

Steve stared down at the plate and thought he might cry, which was ridiculous but this was... exactly what he needed. “It's perfect. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me, man.” Eddie ducked his head. “You’ve been taking care of me for days. I’m just trying to return the favor.”

They went into the living room together, at Eddie’s insistence, so Steve could sit down while he nibbled his toast.

“Alright,” Eddie blew out a long breath, keeping his eyes forward, looking out the room’s wide windows and picking at the edge of a throw pillow as he spoke. “I said I'd talk, and I feel like you deserve some kinda explanation so—”

“Wait, Eddie. First… you don’t owe anyone anything, okay? But if you want to talk, I’d really like to listen.”

Eddie nodded, still not looking at him. “I’ve always been a little… messed up, I guess? All this—this isn’t new for me. One time, when I was little, before I came to live with Wayne, my Dad got picked up on a drug charge. My mom was nowhere to be found, so CPS put me in a group home for a while. I can vividly remember laying on that bed at night, staring up at the ceiling, hoping I'd fall asleep and not wake up again. It was scary. It wasn’t even that bad of a place or anything. I just… I don’t know. I get stuck in this place where everything feels wrong, like I'm bad, and I'm so alone but I deserve it, and my chest hurts—my skin feels like it’s crawling. I just want it all to stop."

Eddie’s breath caught, and a single tear rolled down his face. He wiped at it aggressively, sniffling. "I’m sorry, I’m sure I sound crazy right now.”

“Not crazy.” Steve slid over on the couch. He wanted so badly to reach out and take the other boy’s hand, but wasn’t sure if it would be too much. He settled for letting their knees brush.

“I’m not always like that, though. Obviously.” Eddie went on. “I enjoy my life a lot of the time, it’s just hard to remember that when I’m in the middle of the shit. I love my friends, and Hellfire, and the band. But then I'll… sink. And sometimes there’s a reason, right? Something shitty happens and I’ll be bummed about it for a while, but other times it just comes out of nowhere.”

“Have you ever thought about talking to someone about it?” Steve asked.

“Like a shrink?” Eddie scoffed, finally swinging his gaze around to meet Steve’s. “I live in a trailer park, Harrington. Besides, I’m not sure I’d feel safe sharing my secrets with a stranger like that anyway.”

Steve chucked. “Ok, I get that. Not a doctor then, but like, Wayne?”

“I couldn’t dump this on him, he does enough for me already. I never wanted him to have to worry, though I guess that ship has sailed.”

“What about me? You could talk about Upside Down stuff if you wanted to, and I don’t know what other deep dark secrets you might have, but after everything I’ve seen, and done, I don’t think there’s anything you could say that would bother me or freak me out.”

Eddie hummed, shifting his body, moving to look Steve full in the face for a long while as he studied it, the length of his leg now pressed up against Steve’s thigh. “And if I said that I was gay?”

Steve felt like he should be more surprised, but mostly he just felt strangely… relieved. And he wasn’t exactly sure what to do with that.

Still, in the months since he’d gotten to know Robin he’d been practicing for this moment. Ready in case anyone he cared about ever came out to him again.

“Then, I would say,” Steve began slowly, and finally let himself grab Eddie’s hand. “Thank you for telling me, and trusting me.”

“Oh,” Eddie breathed, more air than the actual vowel sound.

Steve squeezed his hand. “And it doesn’t change anything.”

Which was true, but also a lie, because it might just change everything.

Eddie squeezed back. “Thanks, Steve.”

Chapter 5

Thanks and love to @penny00dreadful and @pearynice for all your help and encouragement with this.

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#Sad/Angst with a HAPPY ending #steddie fanfic #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington/eddie munson #steddie fic #tw sui ideation #cw sui ideation #tw depression #cw depression

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