Steve’s best relationship wasn’t even a relationship. He could barely call it a fling, a flirt. They never even went on a date. They never kissed.
Steve still thinks of it as the best whatever-it-is he has ever had with someone.
At the beginning it was mostly infuriating, how quickly Eddie managed to win the kids over, compared to Steve’s months of work as babysitter/nailbat swinger/monster fighter. Steve had to literally bleed multiple times to get an ounce of respect, Eddie only had to run a nerdy club about fictional bleeding and monster-fighting.
Then somehow, and Steve still has trouble pinpointing when and how it happened, everything changed.
Taking the kids back home from hellfire became something he impatiently waited for.
He and Eddie would barely talk for a few minutes and he would find himself replaying the conversation in his head for days. Anything he could say to get a reaction out of Eddie became fundamental, and if he started by picking subjects to piss him off, he ended learning about Eddie’s favorites, because few minutes after hellfire were never enough and Steve needed Eddie to talk as much as possible, until the kids were begging to drop it and go home.
Steve never questioned the change, most likely out of fear. He doesn’t think he ever was clueless, just really scared about what would potentially mean to be staring at another dude’s eyelashes as he goes on a rant about why Ozzy Osbourne is the best artist of his generation. Or blush whenever said dude would call him “baby”, or “sweetheart”.
Steve convinced himself that the thing he and Eddie were having was as good as it was going to get, nothing more.
Then Chrissy Cunningham died, Eddie ran, and Steve realized that the thing will never be enough for him.
He couldn’t not have Eddie. Not watch him as he entertains a bunch of freshmen, as he stomps with his worn out sneakers on top of forniture, as he puts his terrible music on to push away anyone who doesn’t care enough about him to stay.
Steve needed to see Eddie being alive, doing what his heart desires, and he needed to be next to him when he does.
Obviously, this realization came at the worst possible time.
Steve tried to tell him so many times: when they found him at the boathouse, when he was hiding at refer Rick’s house, when they were taking a stroll in the upside down, and even when they were driving a stolen trailer to a gunshop.
But, it seemed, Eddie had come to a realization just as important and he tried his best to avoid Steve at every given chance.
Steve tried to initiate the conversation as Eddie did his best to run away from it. And he ran until Steve had no chances left to tell him how he actually felt.
———
Steve doesn’t know if he’s allowed to say he lost something he never had. To mourn a relationship he never began. A partner that, technically, never became a partner.
After Eddie dies, Steve has no one to be next to but he can’t say he ever did.
Steve just exists waiting. He can’t tell if he’s waiting for the pain to go away or for Eddie to jump out of a bush and yell “ah! I got you sucker!! By the way, I’m in love with you too.”
For obvious reasons, that never happens.
What does happen, is a call.
It’s a normal Tuesday, as normal as you could define it after Hawkins almost collapsed into the upside down. Steve got into a routine, between checking on the ones at the hospital, helping out at the shelter, allowing Robin to check on him to see if he’s still alive.
The call happens while Robin is doing her kitchen check up - aka making sure he has food and that he’s eating it-, so she picks the phone like she did a million times before.
“Harrington residence, this is Robin” she says, cheerfully.
Steve doesn’t pay much attention to it as he’s folding his dad’s old clothes that intends to donate to the shelter, until he hears Robin’s loud gasp.
“What is it? Is it the hospital? Is it Max?” He rushes to the other room where Robin is.
She doesn’t answer but she gives him a look as she passes him the receiver.
Steve goes quiet, a million thoughts going through his head as he takes the phone from Robin.
He’s still unprepared when he hears that unmistakable voice “Baby”.
Steve gasps for breath “Eddie?”
Is that really you? What happened? Are you hurt? Isn’t this impossible? Is what goes on in Steve’s head, but he ends up just asking “are you okay?”
He can hear a chuckle, Eddie’s wicked chuckle, a further confirmation that it is him, “I’m- hanging in there… are you okay?”
Steve finds the question absurd. He isn’t the one who got left in the upside down, the one that got eaten by demonic bats, the one who died before Steve had the chance to tell him how he felt.
He answers truthfully nonetheless, “I’m… I’m not okay.”
“I’ll be there soon, I promise.”
“Please Eddie, come quick.”
“I’ll break the sound barrier for you.”
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bring him home
rating: t ♥️ cw: Eddie in the Upside Down,; Steve on what he thinks is a retrieval mission for his body (it's not); Eddie Munson Lives; Kas!Eddie (ish) ♥️ tags: established relationship, secret pre-S4 relationship, post-S4, presumed dead (Eddie), mourning and heartbreak (Steve), happy ending (because Eddie is alive, ofc), soul-deep love
for @steddielovemonth day twenty-four: Love is the only thing we can take with us (@thefreakandthehair)
oh hey look, another day I didn't intend to write at all ♥️ but then @pearynice was intrigued by a stray half-baked idea and I struggle to not at least try to provide content in such instances ♥️
He’s only thought it since, since, but he’s actually kind of grateful no one knew. That no one could even have guessed. They’re on eggshells around him enough as it is, thinking it’s the loss, finally, that he couldn’t walk them back from, couldn’t recover them allfrom safe if not wholly sound. They think he’s dealing with survivor’s guilt or just the general blow of a failure so immense, maybe long overdue: and that’s probably part of it.
But only because it’s part of the bigger thing. The real loss.
They would have been together nearly ten fucking months, y’know; the better part of a whole goddamn year since that day at the mall, eyes catching and something just…clicking. Like the barest whisper breathing this could be something into the universe for them to catch if they wanted, and for all that’s still good in the world they both wanted, beyond any kind of logic they both fucking reached.
And Steve knows he’s worrying everyone, knows Joyce cooks for him because she’s sacred for him, knows Claudia bakes for the very same reason; he knows Robin’s gone back to biting her nails over him, and he hates that, he hates it but, like: Steve feels like he left his soul in that hellscape with the man he’d wrapped up in it; knows he left his heart there, because he gave it to that same man ages ago and never ever considered taking it back—and he’s kind of just a, a shell, now, and it’s good that they all think Steve’s just fucked up over the lost, over-inflated savior complex, Rob had muttered more than once and sure, fine—let them think that’s all it is.
It means he can plan without interference.
It means he can drive to the last oozing rift in the world with axes he found in the garage, a crowbar he grabbed at The War Zone—which he knows because he found a receipt, not because he can remember going, driving, paying; he fucking can’t—a fucking tire lift that he things is better suited to trucks than his Beemer but that’s why he needs it: he need to rip open the earth beneath his feet because maybe his heart died down there with the boy he loves in ways he didn’t know he could, not until he found those reserves of feeling inside him well up for the fact of him and maybe it’s too later for his heart, and maybe his soul’s locked in as a funeral shroud but godadmn it all—
Steve needs to bring Eddie’s body home.
Dropping through he fissure in the ground is second nature, like something calling him through the break and that feel right, because the Upside Down for what it is alone is somewhere Steve never wants to be, never wants to touch: but what it holds now what it stole from him and claimed and kept: Steve wants that back beside him, it doesn’t matter how. Cold, torn, broken, gone—Steve’s already those things himself. Now he’s just a raw nerve, but if that nerve could go numb, could freeze for so much pain, so much abuse and hurt. He feels more for the knowledge of how much things should destroy him; he thinks his body is more of an echo chamber, a void that moves but isn’t…there anymore.
Is here, because he left the best of him, the whole of him here, and he—it creaks in his knees when he hits the ground on the other side, shoots up his spine from the bones of him on contact; it should hurt, it should hurt but he can’t feel so much, and he needs to get his bearings, needs to orient, needs to figure where he is and the quickest way to Forest Hills, to where Eddie—
He can’t feel shit when he’s got a purpose, here: the first he’s had in weeks.
He moves to stand, gets to his feet at—
It’s unexpected, how much he feels the impact that knocks him back down, the weight that pushes him to the ground again and covers him, snarls at him, breathes hot and violent against his jaw, against his neck, and Steve—
Steve’ll die here, that’s clear from the hiss above him, the way he’s pinned like prey, like a meal, and the only thought he really has, in all honesty, is he’ll die here.
But he already died here, so it just feels kinda anticlimactic.
The panting against him keeps up, but it…it doesn’t go anywhere, it doesn’t become other, or more—there’s no teeth, no clawing or biting or ripping him apart, draining him dry. He doesn’t think he was afraid for any of it, exactly; his heart’s pounding but it feels distant, other and something far from him, disconnected: not a part of his shell-self, so he thinks that’s just ingrained, just an automatic response to a demo-something, probably, sizing up its meal but like, it’s not doing anything and Steve, Steve doesn’t…he’s not invested, exactly, he doesn’t even think he cares, but—
He squints his eyes open the barest crack where he’d instinctively squeezed them shut and he looks, expects the toothy petals, or even a veiny body; he looks and—
“Eddie?”
Oh, good. Heart, soul: may as well add losing his fucking mind to this place, too, third time’s a goddamn charm.
Because it’s not Eddie, it can’t be…it can’t be Eddie, and—
Not-Eddie leans into him, presses onto him full-bodied, hips to chest, thighs spread to hold him down like he’s going anywhere because, because…
Steve feels that. He feels the pressure, he feels pain where this body drags against scrapes in Steve’s skin, he feels his heart pounding, Jesus fucking Christ, that fucking hurts, but he looks at the face that’s looming over him, tipped to the side like it’s asking a question, like it’s considering Steve below, and it: the bones are sharper, the skin more pale, more drawn up tight and pulled—the eyes are red, bright like when the lighting cuts the sky, here, but everything else…
“Eddie, oh god,” Steve doesn’t want to question it, Steve doesn’t want to keep his mind if the alternative is moments with some version of Eddie whose breath he can feel again, it’s, he’s;
“Eds,” he chokes, and Eddie’s got him wholly pinned down, he can’t reach for Eddie’s face to cup it, to cradle it, so he lets his breath catch, his lungs hitch, lets the tears burn on their way from his eyes in streams as he twitches his fingers, stretches the tips to brush Eddie’s palm where he holds Steve down and—
Eddie stills, and his eyes narrow, and…
And if Steve has to die here, again: let it be at Eddie’s hands. Let it be maybe for Eddie’s…benefit, he’s wellbeing, however he survives here. Let it be for Eddie.
Always for Eddie.
But then Eddie: Eddie doesn’t let him up, still lean into Steve from the middle, but—he buries his head at Steve’s neck, and breathes in so deep, Steve gets to close his eyes and soak in the feeling of his chest rising into Steve’s own: strong.
Real.
“Known,” Eddie murmurs, shakes his head like he’s trying to shoo a fly, but then a shiver trembles through the whole of him, Steve can trace its trajectory where Eddie’s held against him, and then Eddie growls—it’s not a wholly new sound but it’s deeper, more animal in it than Steve’s ever heard and then he bites out through bared teeth:
“Known.”
Then he draws back from Steve’s neck, studies him shrewdly, a little hesitant, like he’s unsure of whatever’s happening to him, in him: then he nods, chews at his lower lip in a painfully familiar move before his hands leave Steve’s wrists and he’s—
“Known.”
He’s tracing Steve’s cheekbones, the line of his jaw; he’s running his nose against the slope of Steve’s, he’s…it’s like he’s tracing him, and he does it so gentle, he almost like he anticipates it, he’s—
“Known,” and Eddie’s fucking…it’s not a growl this time but somehow whatever it is, is deeper, stronger, and he mouths at Steve’s neck again but instead of breathing him in, he’s sucking at the lines of his arteries down the sides, up and down, and then he follows the blood to the sounds, groans at a pitch Steve’s never heard before but it’s still, it’s sill Eddie, and—
“Hurt?” Eddie mouths at his chest through the layers of his clothes, sounds mournful, stills as he considers something, intent with it before his head pops up, those red eyes so wide and aching as his hands tap against Steve’s arms, frantic and—
Oh.
Oh; they’re tapping out Steve’s heartbeats to every racing clench-give echoing through his ribs and Eddie moans, almost wails, then—
“Hurt,” and he looks frantic, his eyes wild, and his mouth dropped open, bereft and seeking and oh, oh: Eddie thinks his heart’s pounding because he’s hurt, because he’s in pain and kinda, a little bit but not like that and—
“No,” Steve’s quick to try and soothe, even if his voice is barely a rasp; “no, no,” and his wrists are free to he reaches, covers Eddie’s hands and links their fingers together, feels something in him reanimate, come straight back into being just for that touch, and that it’s warm:
“Happy,” Steve gasps, and squeezes Eddie’s hands with force, with feeling; “happy, to see you,” and he closes his eyes in something like relief when Eddie’s mouth stills against his chest again; sighs when Eddie nuzzles there, like he always did, like he belongs because he always belongs.
“So fucking happy,” Steve breathes, and he feels weightless; wonders if he died. If he hit the ground and snapped his neck. If the impact was a monster and not the love of his life, somehow saved from ruin just to save Steve back in kind.
“Mine,” Eddie whispers, a little bit of a hiss for the feeling in it, the intensity sewn in as he mouths around the beat of Steve’s blood: that’s what he means. That’s his, that and everything it powers, everything it lends life.
His.
He pulls back, and Steve bites back a whimper for the loss before Eddie’s eyes find his and he looks…he looks lost, then, grasping, in need as he almost begs, like the answer is the end of all things:
“Mine?”
He lifts one of their joined hands—he doesn’t disentangle them, and fuck if Steve’s ever letting go—but he lifts them to Steve’s chest and holds there, presses down and looks pointedly at the way his palm covers Steve’s heart, looks up in askance, up and down, there and back over and again, more desperate every time and Steve tightens his fingers around Eddie’s and nods, just nods because his voice is gone, his throat’s too tight, he’s—
But Eddie sees it. Eddie understands because Eddie…
Eddie always understands what Steve can’t say.
“Mine,” he exhales like it’s the answer to the universe, like it’s proof of god and the devil, like it’s more than air to breathe and Steve’s…
Steve doesn’t even know what he is. Except: he’s alive.
He died before he left here last time, and now somehow he’s alive.
“Known, s’known,” Eddie mutters, shakes his head slow and pins his gaze on different parts go Steve’s body, touches and looks up to Steve like it serves as confirmation just to meet his gaze, to watch him blink; “know, know,” and Eddie bends again, mouths at his chest and inhales sharp as he rips out, almost feral: “mine,” and then something in him gives, and he falls to Steve’s chest and Steve’s heart skips, the terror in him tangible, but he throws out his hands, lets Eddie’s grasp go to hold Eddie up and Eddie panting, gasping, something has to be wrong—
“St,” Eddie’s voice is sandpaper rough, but…but full somehow and Steve can’t name what it is, save that it makes him feel warm, from the inside, in a way he’d thought was gone forever. It prickles at his eyes and he doesn’t fight the tears:
“Ste,” Eddie coughs a little, and then he looks up, brow furrowed and muscles tight as he locks his eyes on Steve’s and grits out:
“Steve?”
And those eyes: those eyes meet Steve’s now—color in them, that depthless nightshade, drenched in that deep warm chocolate shade: Steve’s breath catches. His heartbeat skips again, but wholly different, and it looks, it feels like a weight’s been lifted; a spell’s been broken. And somehow, somehow even before anything shifted, somehow Eddie, his Eddie, he—
Whatever’s happened, whatever’s been done to him: somehow, deeper than any of it, he kept the love.
“Steve.”
Eddie’s voice shakes and he drops his weight again but this time when he presses against Steve it’s to wrap him close, to hold him a little clumsy, a whole lot desperate, and it…it feels like maybe Steve’s soul where it’s wrapped around Eddie? Like maybe he gets a little bit of it back; like maybe he can inhale and it could mean something again.
Eddie only draws back to tuck his head under Steve’s chin, to dip lower and put his lips to the center of Steve’s chest, to breathe there, like life into the heart of him again and fuck, but he feels it.
He kinda doesn’t need to know anything more, doesn’t need to have any more answers to know whatever this is, whatever Eddie needs: they’ll figure it out. Eddie’s lips are on his chest. His heart’s a mallet against Eddie’s mouth, beats up into the warm rush of his breath: there. Real.
Steve feels it.
also on ao3 🖤
tag list (comment to be added): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson
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