#Eddie Munson is a mess

[hitlikehammers]

Steddie Post S4: If All That's Left of Steve in the Final Battle is Ashes—

...are they REALLY JUST ashes? 🔥 

The final battle—like the last part of the very final battle—ends with shattering, and with dust.

It starts, the first bad dream and the first bloody nose and the first Code Red on the radios: well, that’s three months into something, for the first time in Eddie’s sorry-ass-but-honestly-actually-since-almost-not-having-any-life-at-all-any-more-and-miraculously-making-it-through-a-night-then-a-week-then-a-month-then-rehab-then-chronic-pain-then-more-friends-than-he’d-ever-had-before-and-frankly-in-the-beginning-more-than-he-could-count-plus-three-new-mother-figures-and-two-maybe-three-extra-maybe-father-figures-plus-one-friend-of-Dorothy-who’s-the-platonic-soulmate-of-maybe-the-love-of-Eddie’s-not-actually-still-sorry-ass-life: he’s about three months into something wild and reeling in his chest, brushing hands and lingering looks and flushed cheeks and little secret smiles ducked in toward shoulders or behind stray curls, or falling asleep pressed arm-to-arm only to wake up in one lap or another, and the whole of it’s shameless and intentional and giddy somewhere low in Eddie’s belly because it’s not uncertain, it’s honestly just fucking bashful, it’s shy and it’s the both of them wordlessly leaning into it, careful but sure, and almost all the more buoyant for it.

It’s three months in, and when they step up to that last battle—that final turn, do-or-die—maybe Steve pulls him behind a truck Eddie doesn’t even know the owner of, where it came from or why it’s there; but maybe Steve pulls him behind and draws him close without a word and kisses him relentless, drags his teeth and draws a little blood for the force and leaves them both raw, and panting, and desperate: it couldn’t really go any other way, like this—here.

Now.

“Live through this,” Steve had breathed against his angry red lips, hard enough that it stung; “so we can pick up where we left off.”

“I will if you will,” Eddie had shot back, defiant; still begging.

And Steve had kissed him again, and Eddie’d watched as Steve walked away with the lightest smear of Eddie’s blood on his lower lip as he’d spoken:

“I’ll hold you to it.”

And they’d parted, to do their fucking jobs, to play their fucking roles. They’re come back together, ready to take the final boss down as a unit, and Eddie remembers that he’d felt hopeful, he’d felt so fucking relieved because this was it. They were gonna nail it, all for one, and—

So it might be near the end, actually—they may have almost done it, finished the job and killed every last bit of this hellscape, every beast big and small, crushed what’s left of the husk of Vecna orchestrating it all: it might happen near the end. Or maybe just shy of the beginning. Somewhere in the middle.

All Eddie knows is that it happens. There’s light, and people floating in the air and then more light, dragged back down by the same lightning-spark power, and it’s back and it’s forth and when it hits anyone, Supergirl pulls them back to the ground and fights back harder, her face blood red dripping to her neck, her teeth bared all wrath and fury, and then—

Then there’s something that shoots different, hits Steve and he doesn’t float. It looks different, so it probably is different, and he doesn’t float when it hits him.

And so: Eddie holds to the bargain.

But Steve.

Steve…Steve Harrington, with the bitchiest glare and the brightest smile and the goofiest laugh and the biggest fucking heart, the bravest of all of them and the best part of Eddie’s whole soul—

Steve gets hit, and disappears from the world in nothing but a cloud of dust.

No one tries to shush Eddie, when he screams, when he wails and sobs; drops to his knees and fucking howls.

No one tries to stop him when he crawls to the space that held his whole heart, and now lies empty, save a dusting of something almost shiny, coarse to the touch but fine to the naked eye, hard to distinguish from the dirt on sight alone—is that him? Is that his Sweetheart, all that’s left of him—

Eddie thinks maybe they try to stop him halfway through the way he starts frantically sweeping, scooping up the ash and filling every pocket he has with as much as he can. He vaguely feels a hand on his shoulder, maybe the sound of his name, but it’s all white noise because Eddie’s picking up the pieces of his heart, here, Eddie’s trying like hell to hold on to something of the man he loves and anyone who doesn’t like it, or thinks he’s crazy, or wants to rush him, ask him to leave any little pouch in any layer of his clothes unfilled, less than overflowing with all that remains?

Fuck them. Fuck them all. Because Eddie kept his side of the deal.

Live through this.

I will if you will.

And now he has to live with the way his Stevie…didn’t.

——

The rest of the Party sticks together after it’s done. Dustin is inconsolable, Erica and Max scowl in each other’s direction but not really…at each other. Mike’s having a weird…frenzy response, denying Steve’s dead at all and demanding Lucas help him get El to look for him, he has to be somewhere, he has be saveable like Max, like Eddie. Robin’s fucking catatonic—the real adults take most of the burden, trying to figure out who to call, because Steve’s their only casualty, the beating heart at the center of all this and it’s gone, no wonder they’re breaking—

The Party stays together. Eddie falls back on what he knows.

He runs.

Specifically: he runs home, carefully though, he can’t jostle his pockets, and he knows exactly where he’s looking when he gets to his room, crawls to the farthest corner of his closet in this still-weird-to-be-so-big bedroom after the trailer: and he finds it.

His mom’s old little hope chest.

There are a million little fake velvet pouches inside, a couple pieces of actual jewelry kept in an empty film canister, and then a smaller jewelry box type thing meant for a dresser or something: Eddie doesn’t think he can fill the hope chest.

But the rest…

He starts with the jewelry box, since it’s already empty, carefully cups his palms to fill it with the precious dust until the lid doesn’t close.

Then he sorts the pouches, puts aside the ones that don’t pull tight enough shut for his liking. The rest…those will be temporary. He’ll find a better home for the ashes soon, but for now they’re safe, and all that’s left is…

The film canister is special.

It’s stupid and plastic and like every other fucking black-and grey tube thingy that smells like vinegar on the inside of you hold it up too close. But this one—

He’s always gotten a little teary-eyed to think that this was the one his mother kept.

Because he’d poked a hole through the rough little peak in the top of the lid with a fork, took a piece of thread from the junk drawer and made himself a necklace to match the one she had and she’d smiled at him so bright, poked another hole next to his, and threaded his string-chain through the back of the lid so it’d close up tight, to keep all your most secret prized possessions, my sugarbean and he had. For years.

Now it held what was left of her jewels, mostly cheap stuff with sentimental worth he couldn’t calculate—but now he has to take the faulty pouches and give the jewelry a new home.

Now he’s never had something more prized and precious to keep.

He finds fishing line in Wayne’s stuff, stronger than the thread worn and aged over a decade and a half, swaps it out with the string. Covers the inside with electrical tape to make sure nothing can sneak out of the holes, even so.

And then he fills it. Last of the ashes, and it all only just fits but the lid pops on perfect.

Then he pulls it over his head, and lies down on his bed.

And fucking sobs when the canister falls to settle right over his heart.

——

Some of the kids try to coax him out, argue grief is better shared or whatever, but Eddie’s deaf to the knocking, the way they try to yell at his window—not even cracked open, he won’t risk a rogue bird or a stray breeze disturbing all he has left of his, his—

The kids go away, eventually.

Wayne finds out through the grapevine what’s happened—he comes into Eddie’s room and holds him even if Eddie doesn’t want it, doesn’t ask. He’s grateful, though, even if he doesn’t say it, and Wayne sheds more than one tear; he’d been warming quick to Steve, called him son.

That wasn’t something Wayne did lightly. Not that anything Wayne did was done lightly.

However many days pass, Eddie doesn’t keep track. He wakes and runs to the little box on his dresser, just to make sure it’s safe, clutching the film tube around his neck while he does, weighing it desperately until he can be sure the bulk of the ashes are undisturbed. The rest of his time is spent lying in his bed and rolling the little canister across his fingers, taking off all his rings so he can just…touch it. Be close to whatever lifeless pieces of Steve—and likewise, then: pieces of Eddie—remain anywhere at all. He passes the hours like that, largely. Sometimes he thinks he’s hungry, like his stomach aches in that pang kind of way, but thinking of eating in a world where Steve doesn’t breathe makes him sick every time, so he doesn’t follow through. Wayne pesters him to at least drink something, so he sometimes shuffles to the bathroom, or the kitchen, drinks from the sink because glasses are for people who make plans for the future, who intend to drink things over the course of a lifetime, a life maybe with a purpose, a purpose that—

Eddie throws himself back into bed again, every time. Presses his film-canister-talisman tight to his sternum until the hurt of the pressure blurs with bigger hurts, and ultimately blurs into black.

Until one day, he opens his eyes. And after he’s done with the subtle disappointment that he had to, that morning came at all; when he gets up and checks the box?

The lid’s flipped off.

And there’s a tiny pile of dusty ash, glittering next to it, when there’s no light in the room to even catch it.

Eddie’s heart drops, then seizes in his chest.

What the fuck. What the fuck.

No one comes in but Wayne, and he just pokes his head in. Nothing can get in, either, unless…but they closed all the gates, there is no Upside Down anymore—

Eddie’s hands are shaking as he tries to brush the little pile into his hands, pulse tripping when the thinks of what it is, inside his hands, and he carefully lets it sift back into the jewelry box, tries to judge if any’s been lost, closes the top when he starts breathing too heavy, when his anxiety threatens to make the situation worse as he tries to bend down and see the furniture at surface level, find any precious speck of—

Not a speck. Not a…mote.

The escaped ashes were on top of something, though. Something Eddie’s never seen before. About the size of a notecard but, kinda like…ancient, weathered; that yellowed look you can never fake just right, traced alone with…some kind of calligraphy out of fucking Camelot or some shit, metallic gold in script:

I cannot let you burn me up, nor can I resist you. No mere human can stand in a fire and not be consumed.  

The…fuck?

Eddie tries to squint, because the text is weirdly positioned; it does look like something’s worn off, and some of what’s actually there is brighter, bolder than the rest, and then there’s a whole other style, almost backward, like a mirror-image of handwriting, and Eddie lifts the card up to the mirror instinctively, only to see…

There’s writing on the other side.

Eddie’s breath catches when he recognizes the handwriting. Small, and more words than should be able to fit but…it fits. It’s dried blood in color, and Eddie’s not convinced it’s just a color for how it’s a little raised and flaky, but it doesn’t come off when Eddie touches it, traces it because the cramped little letters, tall and short all mixed and mismatched, so familiar, so tight in Eddie’s chest—

It’s…Eddie…

Eddie’s eyes skim the first few lines in Steve’s handwriting, and he cannot fucking breathe—

Hey, wow, that’s some crazy shit there on the other side of this piece of paper, my gran says it’s a warning even if I don’t personally get it, but I’m pretty sure it’s enchanted? The paper, I mean. The warning’s probably about being too close to…this, without being prepared. But that’s, whatever. Point is, I don’t think I can make new enchanted paper, so here’s the deal: First, thanks for grabbing the ashes? I didn’t actually expect anyone to do that. I hope it was intentional, like that you weren’t sweeping or the ash got stuck in your shoes or something, because intentional will make the rest of this way easier (hopefully, or like, maybe), and if you’re a part of the bigger Hawkins fuckery it’ll be way easier to believe at the least so, fingers crossed I guess but: I’m kind of a phoenix? Firebird? Thing? It’s a bloodline “curse” but especially since the, umm, incidents with the Lab I’ve been thinking maybe it’s actually kinda cool? Like insurance. But the extra fucked up thing is that someone has to grab the ashes without being, like, told to. Free will or some bullshit. And apparently we’re not a very spontaneously likable bunch of dungeons-and-dipshit-type creatures, because not many of us even get to re-birth ourselves. Because of the ash…thing. But you! You did that! And now I can do the rebirth thing! Which I hope is okay. There are a lot of, like, bond-type things that go along with the person who ‘cares selflessly to gather ash unbidden’—I think that’s what makes someone more than a ‘mere human’ consumed by the Fire and they won’t get burned, they’ll be…well, if they wanted. Bond-stuff. Not important. I’m not gonna hold you to any of that shit, like, nothing you don’t want to happen will happen because of this, I 100% promise. Except maybe I’ll do some over the top gestures of gratitude—and on the off chance you already know me, at all? Over-the-top is kinda how I do most feelings, so. Should not be a surprise. Only thing I will ask, and if it’s too much no worries, the whole resurrection shebang was a gamble from the get-go but, if you can just keep this pile of ashes safe for a little bit? It takes longer to heal based on how old you are when you, y’know. Kick it. So…yeah. I never learned how to come back as a baby because that sounded weird. Quicker, but weird. I only learned the slower way so I can just…come back how I left, like no time passed. But if you can keep the ashes safe until then that’d be totally cool. Anyway, thanks, whoever you are. Kinda owe you my life, here. I’ll show you the appreciation you deserve when I’m, you know. Not-ashes. Once I have opposable thumbs again and stuff. But really. Thank you. See you soon, hopefully (if that’s cool, I mean, I can get out of your hair ASAP too if you’d rather, just say so soon as I pop up)— ~SH

Eddie…falls to the floor at some point, nearly ripping the note, no: no, actually, he should have decimated it, macerated it the with the way his hands clench and his tears have fallen and made not a single mark: enchanted paper.

Ashes that…maybe are Steve?

That maybe mean Steve could come…will come back?

Eddie really can’t breathe, now, and when the black swallows everything, he’s still on the fucking floor.

——

When next he comes-to, Eddie splashes water on his face after he checks on the jewelry box, reads the letter again, clutches the ash-filled pendant in his hand as he drinks, considers eating—no.

No, not yet. His stomach’s still unsteady. His chest is swollen, pressed with something like hope for the impossible because what the fuck, first and foremost, but then, then…

There was a horrorscape under his feet for years before it came for him personally, before he almost died at its hands once, and then again by proxy when, when it took his…

His maybe-love-of-his-life-and-also-possibly-something-like-a-phoenix-who-might-be-coming-back-to-Eddie-which-would-mean-Eddie-could-keep-breathing-and-his-heart-would-be-returned-to-his-chest-by-the-hands-of-the-man-he-loves-because-he-thinks-it-died-with-Steve-but-if-Steve-isn’t-dead—

He basically almost died again when…maybe his Steve—who Eddie fully acknowledges at this point he’s absolutely fucking gone on with his whole heart and soul, because there’s no other real explanation for his total and complete shutdown as a human for the sake of Steve’s loss—when his Stevie died, but maybe didn’t.

But then now, now maybe…

Maybe the impossible could be something that saved them, saved him, instead of something that only sought to ruin.

Eddie doesn’t think he can believe he’s that lucky.

But it’s easier to entertain the possibility, than to continue just…knowing Steve died before Eddie could acknowledge with his everything that he—certified cynic and self-deceiving dumbass Edward Elliot Munson—was ass-over-ankles in love; and more than that: before he could tell Steve as much, because of anyone Eddie’s ever met, Steve Harrington deserves to know how impossible it is not to; how ineffably much he is loved.

“Hey,” Eddie ultimately finds himself curled up back in his bed again, clutching his film canister to his chest, tight enough to leave an impression on his skin.

He wants it to. Right over the way his heart slams against his ribs. He wants a bruise. He wants a scar. He wants inviolable proof.

“Umm, so I don’t know if this is real,” Eddie’s eyes flicker to the jewelry box of ashes, the strange potentially-enchanted note on his dresser; “or if it is, how this works?”

This apparently being talking to the cobbled together film-pendant around his neck, he…he’s so fucked, isn’t he, this is insane—

But it’s not like that’s ever stopped him before.

And before never had love in the mix. So.

“If you can hear me,” Eddie runs his thumb around the circumference of the cap, over and over; “I pretty fucking sure I’m in love with you,” and it’s maybe fucked up, how it feels as nervewracking to say it to a plastic canister of ashes as he imagines it’d feel looking into those stupidly-wide amber eyes, but yep: said plastic ash-pendant’d be fucking bouncing with his heartbeat if he wasn’t holding it so tight to the furious drumming of his pulse.

“I know it’s fast? But,” and Eddie swallows, shakes his head for reasons that are maybe about dispelling the idea that anything’s too fast or too much in the life they’ve led, one where more might be possible, where a future might still exist beyond all possibilities, all hope except for the fragile frail thing in Eddie’s chest written in blood red, in Steve’s hand on Eddie’s fucking bones:

“I don’t think losing someone hurts like this if your heart’s not in it all the way,” and that’s, that is…

That’s the crux of it, isn’t it. His heart is the heart of it.

“Sorry, about that, if you,” Eddie swallows, sour around the idea that maybe, even if the impossible’s possible, this part, where he feels like this, is just…maybe not too far but in the wrong direction.

But he wants to believe. He wants to think Steve saw something pointing in this direction when he told him to survive, so they could have, so they could finish, so they—them, together—could…

“Yeah.”

Eddie’s voice is hoarse enough to hurt, now, so he lifts his little film canister to his lips and presses them hard, sure: it’s weirdly warm against his mouth, held too close to his chest for too long.

Not long enough. Not close enough.

“Be careful about taking care of yourself, about, coming back and,” Eddie grips his pendant of ashes back tight to the center of his sternum;

“I’ll watch over it, watch over you,” he promises; “long as you need.”

And he breathes, holding the canister close before he brings it back to his mouth again and whispers to it like it matters, or…just in case it matters:

“Come back to me,” his words come out in a shudder, all trembling; “I’m just a mere human, maybe less than,” and that’s true, that is so fucking true but:

“But you already consume me,” Eddie speaks it honest, and kisses the rim of the cap— if there’s any chance of getting in, it’s there:

“So burn me up, as much as you need to,” and Eddie means it, he fucking means it with everything he is; “just,” and his voice cracks, and he shoves the canister back tight to his shaking heart when the first tear falls on it, covers it with both hands and cups it safe and damn-near painful as he whispers to whatever might listen:

“If any of this is real,” he barely fucking breathes: “please come back.”

He loses the battle for consciousness to his tears, but awake or asleep: he doesn’t once let go of the pendant pressed to his heart.

——

Eddie’s warm. Like, fell asleep in the sunlight, swaddled in a blanket, embraced and held and wrapped up in pure comfort warm.

“You’re more than a mere human,” a voice exhales right behind his ear: also warm, also comfort, also fucking impossible and he turns, frantic and even more so when he feels the lack of his film canister against his chest, and he tries to scramble for it but he’s…he’s held the whole time in strong arms that he knows, same as he knew that voice, same as it’s clear that he’s warm because he’s wrapped up in a body, tangled from the legs up with, with—

“How,” Eddie barely speaks, more mouths as that chest lifts, those lungs fill, that mouth curls warm and sweet and his Steve is watching him, those eyes so alive and then those strong hands are reaching for him, cupping Eddie’s cheeks and marveling like Eddie’s the wonder, here, like Steve isn’t lying in his arms like a full-on fucking miracle.

“You offered burning, and pledged your heart unasked,” Steve says it in this…this way that is exactly that simple, and exponentially more profound.

“That is some lore shit,” Eddie breathes out almost on instinct because…that’s some lore shit.

And Steve—Steve, his Stevie, wrapped around him and moving and breathing and being and definitely one-hundred-percent naked but that is totally irrelevant right this moment because Steve—

Steve laughs at him, soft and fond and god, god but Eddie thought he’d lost it. He was so sure, and his heart was so broken but now Steve’s heart is strong against his skin and Eddie can, he can…

Eddie can fucking breathe.

“I don’t think anyone expects our kind to be…cared about, like that,” Steve shrugs a little, and Eddie wants to protest because Steve Harrington isn’t only cared about, he is adored, and fuck anyone who says different, who so much as thinks otherwise—he wants to push the point, but Steve’s eyes are so intent, so saturated with feeling.

And fuck, but Eddie missed those eyes.

“Speeds the whole re-personing thing up, apparently,” Steve’s smile is a little wider before he shakes his head with a cute little toss of that hair.

“Old magic things,” he dismisses; “for later,” and then he draws Eddie back down close to his chest and snuggles him in so, so close.

“Tired,” Steve sighs a little into Eddie’s mess of curls; “and you need taking care of.”

And it’s…out of everything, the protective certainty in those last words are maybe the most unshakable proof that settles in Eddie’s chest and reminds the still-reluctant, still-too-scared parts of Eddie’s heart to commit and start back to beating because: only Steve Harrington is protective…quite like this.

“You’re really here?” Eddie whispers, wondering and hesitant all at the same time.

“Thanks to you,” Steve kisses Eddie soft, sure: taste strangely of smoke and cinnamon but underneath—all Steve.

His Steve.

He folds into Steve’s chest and just, fucking, clings.

“So fast,” Eddie mouths against Steve’s skin, because the heartbeat under his lips is almost indecipherable, one beat to the next. “And you’re so warm, are you,” Eddie props his chin up and looks up at Steve, anxious and flooding with worry before he sees Steve’s smile, still sweet and steady.

“Bird,” Steve drums his fingers against Eddie’s forearm, lightning quick; “fire bird, so,” and the heat makes sense then, too, as Steve wraps him up again tighter and sighs, satisfied as he envelopes Eddie’s frame.

“Also extra energy, I think,” Eddie listens to Steve’s words around his heartbeat through his chest; “like, I couldn’t make it past your kitchen but, I don’t know how I know it, but I know I can give some of it to you while it’s settling.”

Magic. Steve. Can share his phoenix magic. To take care of Eddie. Immediately after coming back from the fucking grave.

On brand, Eddie guesses. Jesus fuck.

“I am pretty damn positive I’m in love you with you, too, by the way,” Steve shakes Eddie back to his body, to the moment, to the soft sure way he breathes those words and kisses Eddie’s temple like Eddie’s pulse doesn’t trip around the sentence, the sentiment.

“Also thank you, for,” Steve adds, and drops another kiss while Eddie reels, floats in the moment of hearing the words, of knowing for sure, of feeling it: “for loving me, somehow, enough to,” and Eddie can imagine where that’s headed, the way Steve says somehow like an unthinkable thing.

And there will be none of that, so he stops it and kisses hard, wet, open-mouthed at the center of Steve’s chest, over his bird-flutter heartbeat.

“It broke me,” Eddie breathes there, cracked open and still raw; “I already mostly figured but,” and his voice breaks, and Steve pulls him closer, so warm, and the bird-heart-flutter feels more like full broad wings, majestic, almost embracing and ensuring Eddie of all things is safe, and kept.

And warm.

Fuck if Eddie doesn’t fall into the feeling, full body; whole heart and soul.

“If there was any question whether I already loved you with everything, the way I fell apart,” and Eddie just moans a little because there aren’t…he doesn’t have words for it at all, he—

“Let me put you back together?” Steve murmurs low in a way that’s so soft and gentle but trembles the marrow inside Eddie’s bones.

Timeless. Endless.

Eddie kisses Steve’s chest again and hopes Steve knows that means yes, and please, and forever.

Unequivocally.

“Could we maybe talk about that, um, bond stuff, that the letter…” Eddie eventually speaks muffled into the hair on Steve’s pecs, after soaking in the heat and pulse and realness of him.

“I meant it,” Steve murmurs straight into Eddie’s skin; “I’m not holding you to—”

“I want you to.”

Eddie did not for a second think or feel otherwise, from the moment he saw the words, before he even started to believe at all: his mind was filled with possibilities by those words. His chest was…

“You…” Steve nudges Eddie’s head up from his chest and studies his face, reads something in his eyes before his breath catches, this time; before his bird-pulse skips, something light and giddy against Eddie’s weight and Steve huffs, disbelieving but…maybe happy for it.

Maybe…maybe overjoyed, even.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes, and leans to kiss Eddie full on the lips again, consuming: familiar for it.

“Yeah we can talk about that. But later.”

And then he settles Eddie back against him and wraps him in his bare skin, the still-radiant warmth.

“Now you sleep, and when you wake up, I feed you, you shower, you put on new clothes,” Eddie wrinkles his nose, doesn’t even know how many days it’s been since he cared for those things; abandons any shame for it when Steve feels him recoil and presses him closer, chuckles once and nuzzles his hair;

“Then I feed you again, and then,” Steve kisses his head once, and then twice, and then three times and Eddie feels it tingle through his goddamn veins like a vow, filled up with promise when Steve whispers, so alive:

“Then, we can talk.”

For @klausinamarink, who requested '"I cannot let you burn me up, nor can I resist you. No mere human can stand in a fire and not be consumed.”' at my HOBBIT-STYLE BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST and also for @steddie-week for the Day Seven prompt 'Free Space'

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 @nerdyglassescheeseychick @swimmingbirdrunningrock @goodolefashionedloverboi @sanctumdemunson @theheadlessphilosopher @lawrencebshoggoth @mensch-anthropos-human @micheledawn1975 @lumoschildextra @dotdot-wierdlife @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @grtwdsmwhr @eddie-munson-addict

divider credits here

ao3 link here ✨

[sidekick-hero]

Blinded by you

(steddie | 2.1k | rated T | silly fluff | AO3 Link)

There are a few simple truths in Eddie Munson’s life.

Jeff Hanneman is the best guitarist in the world. Mac’n’Cheese counts as a balanced meal. He’s the least organized person he knows.

It’s the last one that gets him into trouble the most. He knows it. He tries to be better. But he can’t help it that his brain is usually all over the place. There are too many thoughts in his head to keep track of them. If he doesn’t write it down, it won’t be happening.

He should have written it down. Uncle Wayne, 10am, breakfast. It’s the first time his uncle visits him at his new apartment. Which is great and all, he’s proud that he found his this place and manages on his own.

Only problem is: he may have forgotten to clean the place.

Now it’s 2 in the morning and he just remembered that in about 8 hours, his uncle will arrive and be faced with what only could be described as a mess.

So, Eddie does the most logical thing that comes to his mind: he cleans the shower.

The showerhead is covered in limescale and Eddie wonders how he even managed to shower this morning. Did he shower this morning? He sniffs under his armpit and decides that no, he definitely didn't shower this morning.

He takes off his clothes and gets the bleach from under the sink. Why not combine both tasks and be done with it? He can be efficient when he wants to be. His uncle would be proud.

The showerhead is over his head and he puts some of the bleach on the scrubber and starts scrubbing the limescale.

One minute he's looking up at his hand scrubbing away, the next there's a burning pain in his eyes. He lets out a yelp and drops the scrub brush into the shower.

"Shit! Fuckfuckfuck."

He squeezes his eyes shut, but the pain doesn't go away. It only gets worse.

There's a distant memory in his mind that when something like this happens, you're supposed to flush your eyes with clear, running water, so he turns on the shower, waits a few seconds for the bleach to wash away, and steps under the spray.

He forces himself to open his eyes and let the water wash away the burning liquid. But there's still too much limescale, so he stumbles out of the shower and over to the sink. He bends over it and opens the faucet.

For the next five minutes, he lets the water run in and out of his eyes, praying to the gods that he does not lose his sight. Even by his standards, that would be the stupidest accident that ever happened to him. And that’s counting the time when he succeeded in breaking both hands at the same time.

The pain eases a bit, but his eyes still burn like hell. He thinks about just going to bed and hoping it'll go away in the morning. But then he imagines waking up to a world of darkness and reaches for the phone instead.

Swallowing his pride, he dials 9-1-1.

Later, he will remember this as one of the most embarrassing and surreal moments of his life. Him, standing in the doorway of his kitchen next to the phone, naked as the day he was born, water dripping all over the floor, his eyes squeezed shut. The receiver in his hand and a nice young man on the other line asking him what his emergency is.

I'm a fucking idiot, seems to be the best answer to this question.

"I accidentally got bleach in my eyes and they're burning like hell. I'm afraid I'm going to lose my sight."

"Okay, sir. Have you rinsed your eyes with clear water?"

Eddie pats himself on the back for his excellent survival skills, happily ignoring what got him here in the first place.

"Yes, I did. For at least five minutes. But it still burns really bad and when I try to open my eyes, everything is blurry and it hurts even more."

The operator on the other side was humming and Eddie could hear him tapping away at his computer. "Very good, Mr. -" The operator pauses and Eddie remembers that he hadn't even said his name, just blurted out the first thing that came to mind. Figures. "Munson. Edward Munson."

"Very good, Mr. Munson. May I ask what exactly happened?"

Shit. How embarrassing.

"I was cleaning my shower."

"At 2 in the morning?" Eddie winces.

"Yes?"

"Okay, Mr. Munson. We're going to send an ambulance to you. Explain to the paramedics what you told me and show them the chemicals you used. And please keep your eyes closed for now so you don't irritate them any more. Do you understand?"

Eddie nods, then remembers that the guy couldn't see him. "Yeah, I got it. Wait for the ambulance. Don't open my eyes. Show them the bleach."

"Very good. Oh, and Mr. Munson. A word of advice? Next time, clean the shower during the day and wear goggles and gloves." Eddie promises to do that and hangs up.

And so Eddie waits. Still naked and wet, his eyes closed.

The doorbell rings and he walks over to the door, stubbing his toe more than once on the way.

"Hello?" he asks through the door, not wanting to expose himself to a stranger and get arrested for public indecency.

"Hello, sir. We're here for an emergency. Something with bleach and possible eye damage?" A deep voice answers from the other side.

Eddie opens the door, eyes still closed, and says, "That would be me." The man gasps softly and Eddie is a little surprised. Doesn't he see a lot of naked people at his job?

He turns and walks to the bathroom, stubbing his toes again on the way, expecting the paramedics to follow him into the apartment.

"Sir, please wait. Where are you going?" The same voice, now closer.

"To my bathroom. The operator told me to show you the bleach. I left it there." A warm hand wraps around his arm and Eddie realizes for the first time how fucking cold he is.

"Sir, we need to examine you first. My partner can get the bleach in the meantime." His next words are not addressed to Eddie, but to the person behind him. "Robin, could you look for the bleach in the bathroom? Make sure you bring back anything you find that might be important."

Eddie feels someone walk past him and he wants to open his eyes so badly. He feels naked, exposed. Vulnerable.

The man in front of him speaks again, his tone soft. Soothing. "I need to look into your eyes and examine the damage. I will shine a light into them. It will probably hurt, but you must keep your eyes open. I promise to be as quick as I can, okay?"

All Eddie hears is 'keep your eyes open', so he does. His eyes are still burning like a son-of-a-bitch, but his vision is finally clearing up. Kneeling in front of him, rummaging through a large leather bag, is the most beautiful man Eddie has ever seen.

The literal angel at his feet chooses this moment to look up at Eddie through strands of golden hair. His beautiful, beautiful face is inches from his dick and Eddie has to do everything in his power to keep it from greeting the man in front of him like an excited puppy. Down boy, he thinks.

He has maybe ten seconds to be embarrassed by his nakedness before he notices a pair of pretty hazel eyes that are examining everything but his eyes. They linger on Eddie's dick and suddenly he's not ashamed anymore.

"You know, I hurt my eyes. Not my dick."

The guy starts and covers it with a cough. *"Sorry, sir. Wandering mind. Let's get to it."

"You can call me Eddie. And I wouldn't mind something else wandering while you do your examination." The most adorable blush adorns the man's cheeks, and Eddie is more than grateful that his eyes may still burn, but they work just fine. What a shame it would have been to miss such a sight.

The paramedic recovers quickly. He stands up again and takes a step closer to Eddie, radiating heat. Eddie wants to rub his cold skin all over it. Did the fumes go to his head?

"Well, Eddie. I think we'll focus on your eyes for now, okay?" Eddie starts to pout exaggeratedly, but hisses in pain as the blinding light hits his eyes. He instinctively closes his eyes and pulls away from the source of his discomfort.

A very warm, very large hand cupped his face and stopped him from retreating any further. "Hey, man. I'm sorry I startled you. But you gotta show me those big brown doe eyes of yours, okay?"

How could he ever say no to this? Eddie opens his eyes again and the hand on his cheek never leaves while the paramedic shines the light into both of his eyes. It hurts, but not as much as before.

"Your eyes are pretty." The guy says softly, and Eddie gets the impression that those words were not meant to come out of the paramedic's mouth.

“If all you wanted was to stare into my eyes, we could’ve just gone to dinner.” Eddie quips and the hand on his face drops, leaving him feeling cold and bereft.

"I mean, your eyes are pretty irritated." After what feels like minutes, but is probably no more than a couple of seconds, the guy turns off the light and puts it away. "But I don't see any encrustations or scar tissue on your cornea. Did you clean them with water?"

Eddie nods. "Yeah. At least five minutes, I think."

The guy hums. "No wonder they're irritated. Ah, Robin. You got the bleach?"

The other paramedic, a young woman also about his age, steps forward. Eddie wonders how long she's been standing there and how he missed it. The fumes have really done something to his head, he thinks.

Mr. Most Beautiful Face in the World takes the container from his colleague and examines it.

"Okay, I got to ask, Eddie. How did you get bleach in your eyes?"

And so Eddie tells them the whole story. It's no less embarrassing the second time he tells it, and the incredulous faces they make don't help.

"So, just to be clear. You accidentally got bleach in your eyes while trying to take a shower and clean said shower at the same time? At 2 in the morning?"

That sounded awfully judgmental, so Eddie does what he does best - deflect.

"You know what else I'd like to accidentally get in my eyes, big boy?"

"Please don't do that. What does that even mean?"

Admittedly not his best line, but he should get some credit for pulling any lines after the night he just had.

"It's the shock! You should be nicer to me, I almost died!"

"Jesus, are you always this dramatic?" Eddie thinks the guy is trying to sound annoyed, but the fond smile on his face ruins that impression.

"No? I mean...does it work? I mean. No, 'course not."

Before Eddie can put his foot in his mouth any further, the other paramedic chimes in. "It's kind of entertaining to watch...whatever this is. Like a very bad romcom or one of those cheesy soft porn things. But we really have to go, Steve. You know, to work?"

And there is that adorable blush again. Eddie has only seen it twice, but he's already hooked. Wants to cause it every day, wants to find out how deep it goes under the very loose, very revealing scrubs the guy - Steve - is wearing.

"You're right, sorry, Robs. Okay, Eddie, it looks like your eyes are fine, just irritated. You should go to bed and rest them for a while. They should be fine in the morning."

With that, they both turn and head for the door. Now or never, Munson.

"Steve, wait!"

Steve turns back to him, an expectant look on his face.

Eddie smiles his most disarming smile and says, "You better write down your number for me in case this happens again."

Steve laughs in surprise, the sound so beautiful that Eddie wants to record it. "You don't remember 9-1-1?"

"What if I just want a certain paramedic to check me out?"

There are some simple truths in Eddie Munson's life. One of them is that while his chaotic mind might get him into trouble now and then, it also got him a date with the most gorgeous guy he ever met.

___________________

As usual, my unending love and gratitude for the worst enablers I ever met, @legitcookie and @yournowheregirl 💜💜💜

Any and all resemblance to persons living or dead should be plainly apparent to them and those who know them, especially if the author has been kind enough to have provided their real names and, in some cases, their phone numbers. 

[runninriot]

He’s holding a single flower in his hands – a yellow rose, because yellow was her favourite colour and roses always remind him of her. The lovely smell of her perfume, like roses and sunshine. She was like a rose herself. Delicate, soft, beautiful with the ability to make you hurt and bleed if you weren’t careful not to prick yourself at her thorns. She was feisty and strong. A true force of nature. The sweetest girl he had ever known. A warrior. A fighter til the end and so much stronger than him, through all of it. She would always hold his hand and squeeze it with every little strength left in her frail body, while he sat by her side, crying, weak, broken.

He should’ve been the one holding her hand, telling her everything would be fine. Giving her courage and strength to keep going, no matter how much of a lie it would have been. They both knew the truth, knew their remaining days together were numbered. He should have pretended anyway, given her the illusion of better days. Instead, he made it worse. Made her worry for him. He could see it in her eyes whenever she looked at him.

“Don’t be sad, Eddie. It’s not the end of the world.”

[morganbritton132]

Eddie, still on this live-stream: Stevie, your phone is blowing up!

Steve: Yeah, that’s Dustin. He got my message. He’s freaking out.

Eddie: …You gonna answer it?

Steve: Yeah.

Steve: Tomorrow.

Eddie:

Eddie, genuinely concerned: What did he say to you?? Please tell me so I can make sure I never say it.

[oatmilk-vampire]

Steve, who accidentally overslept his alarm, who was supposed to meet his friends for weekly brunch 30 minutes ago: sorry, guys. I'm late.

Robin: this is how you tell me you might be pregnant? I expect much more fanfare next time.

Dustin: can I be the uncle? How about the godfather?

Eddie: don't worry, I'll be with you and our unborn child every step of the way. We'll be amazing parents!

Steve: ...

Steve: Fuck you guys

Robin: ew no

Dustin: I'm literally a minor

Eddie: you already have

[livwritesstuff]

for @steddie-week day 6 | drunken confessions

tags: alcohol, drunk steve, sober eddie, post-canon, vague references to period-typical homophobia

By all calculations, Steve shouldn’t be this drunk.

Eddie knows Steve only had three beers – one during Corroded Coffin’s set, and he was halfway through a second when Eddie finally caught up with him after the show, and he started on his third while they were hanging out at the bar.

(Exactly why Eddie knows this is entirely irrelevant, and it has nothing to do with how he'd had one eye on Steve throughout the entire performance trying to gauge how much he might be into it. Definitely not).

Eddie had seen Steve “Keg King” Harrington in the flesh enough times to feel pretty confident that he holds his alcohol better than this but…fuck, if Steve isn’t absolutely sloshed, eyes glassy, cheeks flushed red, and he doesn't seem to have any idea how precariously he's swaying in his bar-stool.

It's fine. Steve's a pretty quiet drunk on the whole, and Eddie gets sorta wired after shows – extra adrenaline or something – so Steve is mostly just listening to him ramble about whatever happens to cross his brain, which isn't a bad way to spend an evening, all things considered.

Midway through an entirely one-sided debate over the merits of starting guitar lessons on electric versus acoustic, Steve reaches over and pushes a curl of hair falling into his eye-line off his forehead with just the tips of his fingers.

Eddie trails off, losing track of his sentence entirely as his eyes dart back and forth between Steve’s face and the hand still hovering by his forehead. He blinks a few times, his parted lips just as forgotten as the end of his sentence.

Eddie knows there’s a kind of question in his eyes when they finally hold firm on Steve’s.

Eventually, after a few beats of silence, Steve supplies, “I like your hair.”

“Uh-huh.” Eddie lifts his chin, still looking at Steve like he doesn’t know what to make of him.

“I like you,” Steve continues, and Eddie feels himself freeze for a moment, a nervous kind of shock running down his spine because, fuck, he's big enough to admit he's fantasized about hearing those words come out of Steve's mouth more than once (way more than once), but his voice was also abnormally loud, and while it’s definitely an interesting little tidbit on Steve’s part, he really doesn’t need the rest of the goddamn Hideout knowing it too. 

“I mean,” Steve continued, “Seriously, I’m, like, super into–”

“Alright,” Eddie cuts him off as he grabs the back of Steve’s jacket, yanking him off the stool and dragging him down the hall, past the bathrooms, and out the back door into the gloomy alleyway. 

“Jesus Christ, Steve!" Eddie exclaims once the door firmly closes behind them, "You can’t just – fuck, man, you’re gonna get us killed!”

“No,” Steve argues, and Eddie’s eyebrows fly up.

“Oh, okay, never mind I guess,” he shot back, “Sure, let’s go back in there, maybe make out on the bar for a while. What could possibly go wrong?”

"Okay," Steve replies simply, reaching forward to clumsily hook fingers around Eddie's belt loops, "You wanna?"

“Uh, no,” Eddie replied, and he regretted it immediately when he saw the look on Steve’s face. He shook his head, desperately trying to course-correct, “I dunno what kind of boys you’ve been kissing, but I certainly don’t take advantage of guys when they’re too drunk to remember anything the next morning.”

"Not kissing any other boys," Steve slurs, "Just waiting for you." He blinks at him for a moment, then says, "Do you...I sorta thought you might..."

Eddie swallowed nervously, because despite his earlier comment, he doesn't actually think Steve is so drunk that he won't remember any of this tomorrow, which means he's gonna remember this: "Yeah, I like you, Steve. Jesus Christ, I like you loads."

And Steve's mouth split into the biggest, dopiest grin Eddie's ever seen, and, fuck, yeah, he wants to kiss him. He really wants to kiss him.

"Tomorrow morning too?" Steve asks hopefully.

Eddie can't help a little laugh as he nods, "Definitely tomorrow morning too. Probably time to head out, though, for now."

"Okay," Steve nods, and so Eddie untangles Steve's hand from his belt loop, clasping it firmly in his own when he's done (because he can do that, he thinks). As they head for Eddie's van, Steve adds, "Y'know, I bet if you rolled all the windows down I'd sober up on the way back."

"Sure you will, sweetheart."

[trashcanniballecter]

Wayne, talking to Steve: Eddie was raised by racoons

Eddie: oh no not again

Wayne: I found him digging around in my garbage can and decided to take him in as my own

Eddie: Waaayne

Wayne: he still yearns for the trash

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

Eddie was sitting at the picnic table at Forest Hills, staring at a stain in the wood as he tried to make a decision. It required proper, serious thinking, he knew, but no matter how hard he thought about it or how serious, he couldn't seem to make a decision.

"Ha-ha!" Eddie said and pulled out a coin. "This always works."

He closed his eyes, holding the coin tightly in his hand as he thought about his choices. Steve or Chrissy. Chrissy or Steve. Steve or Chrissy. Heads for Steve because of his hair and tails for Chrissy because of her ponytail. Eddie opened his eyes and let out a breath. He flipped the coin and watched it sail through the air before falling onto the table.

"WHAT - HOW?!"

The coin was standing up on its edge, neither on heads or tails. Eddie stared at it in amazement for a moment before picking it up again. He closed his eyes, let out a breath, and opened his eyes. Steve or Chrissy. Heads or Tails. He flipped the coin. It landed on the edge again.

"What the FUCK is happening?!"

Eddie sighed in annoyance. He stood up, pacing back and forth. He grabbed the coin. Surely, it couldn't happen a third time. He flipped the coin, and it landed on the table. . .ON THE FUCKING EDGE AGAIN!

"Oh, come ON!"

Eddie slapped his face, trying to wake himself up. This can't be happening. No, there were definitely forces at work here. Maybe this place was haunted by what happened with Chrissy here and the fact that she almost died. Okay, one more time. Eddie huffed and flipped the coin.

"JESUS H CHRIST!"

"At what point does this stop being funny?" Max grinned.

"Never," Erica replied. "It never stops being funny."

El giggled, wiping her bloody nose. The three girls were staring out the window in Max's trailer, watching Eddie getting frustrated.

"This is what he gets for eating the last cookie that Uncle Wayne made," Max said, laughing. "That was supposed to be for me and he fucking knew it."

"What decision do you think he's making?" Erica said.

"I have no fucking clue."

Meanwhile. . .Eddie slammed the coin on the table. Fuck it. The universe was telling him it was okay to choose both so both it fucking is. He smoothed down his vest and ran his fingers through his hair. He scurried over to Wayne's garden and grabbed some flowers. He fisted them both in his hands and ran off towards the van.

"Boy!" Wayne yelled as he popped his head out of the trailer, and Eddie skidded to a stop, turning around.

"Hey, can I borrow these?" Eddie asked.

"Well, you already pulled them out of the ground, so, yeah," Wayne said.

"Hey, by the way, purely hypothetical question. . .how do you ask two people out at the same time?" Eddie asked.

"Well, I suppose it's not much different than asking one person out," he said. "Just gotta be honest and direct. Steve and Chrissy?"

Eddie scoffed and stuttered incoherently before sighing.

"Yeah."

"Good luck."

"Thanks!"

He silently thanked the mysterious force that led him to the decision and drove off.

[nerdnameddinkey]

apparently I'm a comic artist now :0

[sparkle-fiend]

Eddie is six years old, the first time he hears the voice. 

It wakes him with a jolt – sends him tearing through the house, searching under every bed and behind every door for the boy he hears calling his name.

Mama finally stops him. “Sweetheart, what did you lose this time?” (Eddie is always losing things.) She looks impatient, standing with a laundry basket balanced on one cocked hip, curly hair spilling out of the messy bun on top of her head.

“I heard somebody saying my name! I gotta find him, I think he’s hiding.”

Mama’s whole attitude changes, all at once. She sets the laundry aside and drops to her knees in front of him, squeezing his little hands between her own. “Oh baby. That voice means you’ve got a soulmate!”

She smiles bright as the suncatcher hanging in the window, and presses sloppy kisses all over his face until he screams with laughter, squirming to get away. 

“My lucky, special boy!”

Eddie’s never been lucky before. It’s exciting.

———

In school, they learn all about soulmates. About how rare they are. Uncle Wayne is the only other person Eddie knows that has one. 

When he found out about Uncle Wayne’s soulmate, Eddie was so excited – bubbling full of questions, like a bottle of fizzy pop. But whenever he tried to talk about it, his dad got real mad.

“You keep your mouth shut about soulmates,” he said. “Don’t talk about that shit in front of your uncle.”

It’s hard. Eddie starts staying over at Uncle Wayne’s trailer more and more when Mama gets sick. And Eddie’s never been good at following rules; especially when he’s curious about something.

“Uncle Wayne?” Eddie finally asks one day. “Where’s your soulmate? How come I’ve never seen her?” You have met her right? is what Eddie’s really asking. He can’t imagine waiting until he’s as old as Uncle Wayne to find his soulmate.

His uncle goes sort of brittle, tensing up like every joint is made of glass. His lips press together behind his beard, and his denim blue eyes go shiny and wet – like he’s trying not to cry.

If Eddie could take the question back, he would. Suck it right back into his mouth, like the smoke from his uncle’s cigarettes. This is why you gotta listen better baby – that’s what his Mama would probably say.

“My Lorretta died a few years ago. Before you were born.”

Eddie never considered that. In all the movies, soulmates die together. The thought of it leaves a queasy feeling squirming through his stomach.

“I still hear her though,” Uncle Wayne says, with a terribly soft look in his eyes. “Still hear her singing our song.”

“Like a memory?” Eddie whispers.

His uncle shakes his head. “Time don’t matter for soulmates – no more than distance. I can hear her still, across the years.”

Like a ghost, his uncle doesn’t say. A ghost that will haunt him forever. None of the dry textbooks in school ever mentioned that part.

It starts to worry Eddie. As he gets older, his soulmate’s voice starts to get clearer. He always hears the same thing – a desperate, grown-up voice screaming at him to “Run Eddie! RUN!!!” 

It must be from the future. But his soulmate sounds so scared. What could possibly happen, to make his soulmate sound like that?

Eddie starts to listen to music more. Loud, heavy stuff to drown out the frightened voice. 

Late at night, he curls up under the covers and softly sings his Mama’s favorite song – hoping that somewhere, somewhen, his soulmate will hear him.

That it might help, the way it helps Eddie when Mama sings him to sleep.

———

Eddie is twelve years old, the first time he really listens to the voice.

Mama's been dead two years, and his dad keeps pulling riskier and riskier jobs. Tonight, he's decided to try and break into the pawn shop on Fifth street. 

Eddie is the lookout, stationed on the opposite corner with a pistol weighing heavy in the pocket of his coat (just in case, Ed). 

He doesn't want to be here. He tried to argue with his dad. Said, "I've got a test tomorrow. I've got homework and..." and I hate this life. (He doesn't say that part.) I don't want to steal cars or break into buildings or mug people. I don't want to be like you.

His dad just gripped him by the arm hard enough to bruise, and said, "You like to eat, dont'cha? Well, lookouts get to eat. Lazy little shits don't." 

So Eddie is standing on a street corner in the middle of the night, watching his dad furtively attempt to pick the lock on the front door of the pawn shop, when a cop car slows down at the end of the street.

Fear floods his bloodstream so fast it leaves him dizzy. The cop has clearly noticed something. Eddie can see the shadowed figure inside the car reach for his radio. 

Eddie has two choices.

He could pull the pistol out of his pocket and fire a few shots down the street, forcing the cop to take cover long enough for his dad to get away (which is what his dad would expect him to do). Or he could... 

"Run!"

The sudden loud voice, echoing between his ears and behind his eyes and inside his heart, startles him into flinching. 

"Run Eddie, RUN!!!" His body obeys before his brain has a chance to process the words. He's halfway down the street when the siren shrieks to life. 

Later, as he sits in the backseat of the social worker's car on the way to his Uncle Wayne, he can't quite believe he did it. He bailed on his dad - left him to get arrested and go to prison. This is Frank Munson's third strike; he'll go away for life this time. 

I'm such a coward, Eddie thinks numbly. Such a chicken piece of shit. He digs his ragged nails into the soft flesh of his palms, squeezing hard enough to draw blood. 

As if he'd spoken aloud, a soft voice responds, "You're not a coward. You're one of the bravest people I've ever known. Running isn't always a bad thing, okay? Sometimes it's just the smart thing to do."

His soulmate sounds so fierce, so certain. Eddie blinks hard against the hot burn of tears. The smart thing to do.

———

Eddie holds onto those words, like magic talismans. They provide comfort, not just in the immediate days after his dad's arrest, but other times too. Every time he runs away from a bully or a cop or a deal gone bad, Eddie thinks to himself - I'm not a coward. I'm just smart.

It works... until the night he stumbles out of his uncle's trailer, leaving Chrissy Cunningham's broken body on the living room floor. He's so terrified he doesn't have time to think, not until after he's ditched his van and taken shelter in Rick's boathouse. As he leans against the splintered wall and catches his breath, it hits him.

I left her there. What if she was still alive? (She wasn't. She couldn't have been. Not after... not after that.) He grabs fistfuls of hair and tugs until his scalp aches. Wracks his brain trying to figure out what happened, what he could have done to stop it.

He's never felt so ashamed before, not even when his dad was cursing and screaming and calling him a coward through the thick glass of the visitation window. 

His soulmate's words whisper in his ears, "...sometimes it's just the smart thing to do," and Eddie pounds on his skull with his fists to drown the voice out. "Not this time," he snarls. I should have done something. I should have tried to save her. 

He doesn’t feel smart this time. He feels like a cowardly piece of shit.

His soulmate’s voice falls silent. 

Through all the craziness to follow – finding out that monsters are real, running for his life from an angry mob, fighting alongside Steve Harrington in an evil Upside Down version of Hawkins – Eddie doesn’t hear his soulmate again.

Not until he’s staring up at Dustin Henderson, realizing that he can’t run away again. As he hesitates at the bottom of the rope, Dustin calls out nervously, “Eddie, what are you doing?”  

“I’m buying more time,” he says. He ignores Dustin’s screams as he cuts the rope and slides the mattress out of the way – making sure the kid can’t follow him. 

And then he hears his soulmate say, “Wait, wait a second. Eddie?! Is that you?” 

Eddie is twenty years old, the first time he recognizes his soulmates voice.

He pauses at the door of the trailer and squeezes his eyes shut tight. “Hey Stevie.”

“Holy shit, it’s you,” Steve whispers in awe.

It’s the first time they’ve been able to speak to each other like this, responding in real-time. Eddie wishes it could have happened in different circumstances.

“I’m so sorry Steve.” 

“Eddie? What are you doing?” Steve sounds alarmed.

Eddie doesn’t answer. He slams his way out of the barricaded trailer and grabs one of the discarded bikes, hoping to lead the swarm of bats away as far as possible. 

He makes it halfway across the trailer park before one of the bats knocks him off the bike. He grunts and rolls, gaining his feet quickly. Chest heaving, charged with adrenalin – Eddie hesitates. He could keep running… or he could stand his ground and fight. 

Maybe Steve can hear the hitch in his breath in that moment, because the other boy seems to have worked out what’s going on, even from miles away. Steve screams, “No!!! Run Eddie, RUN!!!!”

It’s like the night his dad got arrested. Eddie doesn’t even have time to think - his body reacts to that voice and he runs, worn Reeboks slapping the pavement.

(In another world, Eddie would have turned to face the swarm. In another world, Eddie would have died.)

He’s fast. He’s always been fast. He buys himself a few precious moments, before the bats drag him to the ground. They start to rip through his clothes, through his flesh, and he tries to hold back his screams – he doesn’t want Steve to hear this…

Those extra seconds save his life. It’s bad - but not as bad as it could have been. The bats start to drop from the sky, writhing and shrieking; they’re dying, although Eddie has no idea why. Hopefully, it means Steve and the girls were successful. 

He struggles to sit up just as Dustin reaches him, crying and frantic. “Eddie!! Oh my god, are you okay? Jesus, there’s so much blood…” the kid moans. 

“Yeah, yep. I’m good,” Eddie pants through gritted teeth. “Help me up okay?”

Dustin insists on binding the worst of his wounds first, using strips of fabric torn from the ghillie suit. The pain makes Eddie want to scream all over again, but he allows it. It is an awful lot of blood.

They lean against each other and limp back to the trailer, where Dustin knots t-shirts and jeans and flannel shirts into the remnants of their rope until it’s long enough to reach the other side again. 

Eddie manages to haul himself up the rope and through the gate – and that’s where his strength runs out. The pain of landing on the thin mattress knocks him right out.

———

When Eddie wakes up, he’s in a hospital bed. 

Holy shit I’m alive, he thinks. He honestly wasn’t sure he would make it.

He moves gingerly, testing each limb, turning his head against the stinging pull of a bandage along the edge of his jaw.

The room isn’t empty; Eddie apparently has a roommate. He clears his throat and the person in the other bed stirs, turning to look at him. 

It’s Steve.

His soulmate.

Eddie feels a funny little swoop of exhilaration in his stomach. “Hey Stevie.”

Steve’s face goes soft at first, like he’s experiencing the same fizzy warmth that Eddie is feeling. Then he blinks, and his brows draw down into a scowl. “What the hell was that, huh? What happened to ‘I’m no hero’?”

Oops. 

Eddie tries to make light of the situation. “Maybe I wanted to try it out,” he says flippantly. “Not too sure it suits me though. Think I might stick to being a coward from now on – it’s a lot less painful.” 

Steve doesn’t smile. He fixes Eddie with a serious look, hazel eyes blazing in the sallow light of the hospital room. “You listen to me Eddie Munson. You're not a coward. You're one of the bravest people I've ever known. Running isn't always a bad thing, okay? Sometimes it's just the smart thing to do."

Eddie’s breath catches in his throat. Those words – once a gift from the future, now an echo of the past. He never should have ignored them. “Maybe you’re right.”

Steve’s mouth is already open to continue the argument. “I…” he stops, clearly caught off-guard, face scrunched in adorable confusion. “Yeah. Yeah, I am right.”

Steve runs a faintly trembling hand through his hair. The angry expression melts into something gentler, almost unbearably soft. “I’m glad you listened to me in the end, at least.”

Eddie shifts his weight, pressing his cheek into the scratchy hospital pillow so he can keep his eyes on Steve. 

He’s so beautiful. Even bloody and bruised, with dirt still smudged along his hairline and dark circles under his eyes – he’s the most beautiful boy Eddie has ever seen. And Eddie almost gave this up – if he’d died in the Upside Down, he would have left Steve alone, with only the echo of Eddie’s voice left to haunt him.

“Yeah,” Eddie says hoarsely, “me too.”

He still feels guilty over Chrissy’s death - he probably always will. But he’s coming to realize that proving himself a hero wouldn’t have been worth the pain his death would have caused.

Eddie’s got a second chance… and he plans to make the most of it.

[delta-piscium]

Murray, after watching Steve and Eddie for all of five seconds, confidently walks up to them and starts his whole spiel about pining blah blah etc etc, and like, Steve will absolutely not have that, there is no way.

So he snorts, looks at Murray down his nose, and with zero hesitation lies, tells him “We’ve been dating for a month, congrats on seeing the obvious... Or not since you couldn’t tell”

He just hopes Eddie will play along. Steve is sending him the strongest signals with his mind right now, and, just, he knows Eddie can be petty like this too (that’s why he likes him so much, and yeah Murray is a little right but fuck him so much more for it)

Eddie ‘lives for the bit and to fuck with people’ Munson does not disappoint. He slings an arm around Steve and is like “Yeaaahhh wow, real clever observation there buddy.” In the driest tone imaginable

And Murray, well he was sure he was right, still kind of is sure he’s right so he just squints at them for a bit and then breaks out in a wide grin, and only sounds a little sarcastic when he says “Congrats on figuring your shit out yourselves.” 

Except he absolutely does not mean it because he wanted to do that, he likes doing that. And now he's sulking and will watch them so closely because something seems off 

Eddie and Steve, so committed to the bit and to not let Murray win, start fake dating. All while Murray tries to catch them in their lie, and they’re all too stubborn to give up

Murray starts to slowly think he maybe was wrong though because they really seem like a couple. And even though there’s still something there he can’t ignore the proof.

When they straight up make out in front of him, and he can tell that they’re so lost in each other they probably don’t know he’s there he's about to concede

But then after that, they act so weird around each other again? It’s like before but worse and how did the pining get worse when they’re actually openly together? Regularly have their tongues down each other's throats and all?

Meanwhile, Steve and Eddie are going through it because they thought they’d be okay but that kiss was so much, and oh god they don’t think they can do this? But they can’t let Murray win?

A week and a half later at their monthly 'we survived the apocalypse, again' get-together at Hoppers and Joyce’s, Murray just gets enough of how twitchy they are. He grabs them both and locks them in a closet and is like “I don’t wanna know anymore, whatever fight you had or didn’t figure it out”

They sort of stand there shuffling from foot to foot not marking eye contact until Eddie is just like “Oh for fucks sake, I like you for real okay? The bastard was right so can we actually just date? Please?” And all Steve's can do is say "Thank god," while he smiles the most blinding smile and grabs Eddie by his collar pulling him in for a kiss

Fifteen minutes later they come out of the closet (the irony and symbolism is not lost on them) all disheveled and a little too satisfied looking and are met with very loud screaming from all the younger teens, ranging from a simple “Ew!” (Mike) to “Dude we are right here what if we'd heard? Or walked in there and seen?” (Dustin)

They’re lucky they’re too distracted by this to see Murray's self-satisfied smirk because if they did they would have pretend broken up and there would have been another month of sneaking around but this time actually dating and pretending they weren’t

[stevesbipanic]

@steddielovemonth Day 15: Love is letting yourself be loved @quinns-shadowy-arts

Steve was in love with Eddie. He'd long come to terms with that. Four months after the spring break from hell, crying on the bathroom floor of Family video to Robin asking if there was something wrong with him. Now he knows liking both is ok, that he's as valid as anyone else. He's allowed to feel butterflies looking at Eddie and it doesn't make his past relationships with girls invalid.

So he knows he's in love with Eddie. He even knows Eddie is gay. But he can't tell him, because it would make Eddie sad. He'd rather keep Eddie by his side on movie nights than risk ruining their friendship. He doesn't want to give up sharing a bed after a night of smoking just because he can't keep his heart in check. He doesn't want his memory of Eddie's face ruined with one of pity rather than his favourite smile.

So he's not going to tell Eddie.

But right now Eddie is telling him.

"-since I opened my eyes in that hospital and the first face I saw was you. I'm in love with you, Steve." Eddie's eyes are big and scared, Steve doesn't want him to have that look on his face but he has to set him straight.

"Eddie..."

Eddie looks like he was going to cry, "No, Steve don't, don't reject me please, I'll just go, I'm sorry."

Steve just wants Eddie to be smiling again, he has to fix this, "No, Eddie, I'm not rejecting you I'm in love with you too, but."

Eddie's face looks caught between emotions, "But?"

"But you shouldn't be in love with me."

Now Eddie looks confused, which is better than crying, "Shouldn't? Why not?"

Steve felt a wet laugh bubble out of him, "Why not? Because I was an asshole in school, I picked on kids exactly like you, I'm selfish and mean, I'm definitely not going to be a good boyfriend, I don't even know if I can love right. I'm bullshit, Eddie."

The sad look was back on Eddie's face but Steve felt it directed at him now, Robin got the same face too sometimes, "Stevie..." The weight behind something as simple as his name breaks him. "You should love someone who can go to your shows and not get migraines, or someone that can follow your games, or someone who has a future, Eds."

Eddie doesn't answer that, he just sighs and it sounds like the weight of the world is contained in that one breath, and wraps his arms around Steve, pulling him in.

"Sweetheart, Stevie, baby, how could I not be in love with you. You who cares for everyone in his little family he's found and protected. You who asks Jeff to record our sets so you can listen to them at home, yes I know you've been doing that. You who has rebuilt himself into someone good and kind when the other path would've been easier. You, Steve Harrington, are anything but bullshit, you are impossible not to love. Any future with you is one worth having."

Steve let's his tense body slowly melt into Eddie's chest. "Even if I can't believe any of that yet?"

Eddie presses a kiss to the top of his head, "Even if it takes my whole life to convince you."

And a whole life with Eddie sounds like something he can let himself have.

[yours-etc]

Something that is so important to me is Eddie and Nancy’s relationship. And I don’t know why.

But there’s something in the tension filled awkwardness they would have. This rivalry that is not actually a rivalry, but both having some level of respect for each other. And this is in any dynamic, whether Nancy and Steve got back together or Eddie and Steve are dating. There’s this like… bubble that separates the two of them. Especially if Eddie knows about the cheating, or the Halloween bathroom argument. This is not to demonize Nance at allll, she is a flawed character and I love her because of her flaws. And this is not to say Eddie isn’t flawed either, of course, he is no saint. But I think if Eddie knew about those things, not only would Eddie feel awkward and jealous, but also angry. “How could she do that to Steve?” “How could Steve go back to her” would be constantly swirling in his mind. And vice versa I think Nancy would have a bit of a shock to see Steve with a man or someone else long term. Like to her, she’s always known the ladies man Mr. Popular Steve Harrington. Straightest man on earth™. Also if they got together I have such a feeling that she would feel so guilty of past actions, “I don’t deserve him.” “I’ve hurt him so much in that past how could he ever forgive me?”

I think this jealousy on both sides would stem from them both seeing each other as “comiption,” but also neither feel like they truly deserve Steve, so they are happy he’s with someone “better” than them.

I don’t know this is just such an interesting dynamic to me and I feel like it is not nearly explored enough.

[morganbritton132]

Gareth posts to the official Corroded Coffins’ Tiktok account a video of him slowly zooming in on Eddie sitting cross-legged on his bed in their hotel room. He’s got his hair pulled up and a hydrating face mask on, eating nachos while he’s FaceTiming Steve.

The whole time Gareth’s zooming in, he’s saying, “We used to be cool. We used to play gigs and then go out to bars and drink until morning, and now…”

Gareth flips the camera around to reveal that he’s also wearing a face mask, “Now we do this.”

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[navnae]

I like to think that when it comes to Eddie calling Steve “big boy” means that he thinks very highly of him and it was obvious that there was a form of attraction there that would make him even come up with a nickname for him in the first place. I’m just rambling at this point but I really love the idea that Eddie only come up with nicknames for people he cares about and that he feels comfortable with meaning that even when the amount of time Steve and Eddie spent together was short he still managed to feel some form of comfort around him, plus respecting the way Steve carry himself and his protective nature for everyone around him.

[livwritesstuff]

This with Steve calling Eddie’s phone and Eddie responding exactly this way 👀

HA oh this is too good

Yeah, Hazel definitely sees this trend and has to rope Steve into trying it with her.

The reason why it works so well is because Eddie consistently and without fail has no clue where his phone is, and because he still needs to be reachable despite this, he almost always has his ringer turned up just about as loud as it can possibly be.

So Hazel and Steve establish a plan and then, later, when all three of them are sitting on the couch watching The Bachelor, Hazel starts recording and signals for Steve to make the call.

A second later, Eddie’s ringtone starts blaring from where Hazel had planted it in the kitchen not too long earlier.

Steve: Love, your phone is ringing.

Eddie, getting up: Yeah, yeah. This shit better not come back from commercial while I’m gone.

(Eddie claims to only be “hate-watching” The Bachelor, but they all know he loves it just as much as Steve and Hazel do).

Eddie, from the kitchen: Hey, this is Ed.

Steve: Can you bring me another glass of wine when you come back.

Eddie: *in silent disbelief*

Eddie: You called my phone in the kitchen so I’d get up and already be in the kitchen to get you a glass of wine?

Eddie, starting to laugh: Steve Harrington, light of my life, you are fucking brilliant.

Eddie: I’ll get you your fuckin’ wine.

Eddie: You got me. I accept defeat.

Eddie: You want anything else?

Eddie: I’ll go out and pick up dinner, even.

Eddie: We already ate.

Eddie: I’ll pick up tomorrow’s dinner.

Eddie: Anything you want.

Eddie: Dear god, I love you.