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acidicbarkbeast · 1 year ago

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prompt; rehab wordcount; 1 730 wordcount rule; any cw; car accident mention

There was a point in his life, where he didn’t put much thought into fate. He’d believed pretty steadfastly, that things happened, and that people simply had a tendency to insert meaning into those happenings, for comfort, karma, responsibility, the like.

Then his Uncle ended up in the hospital after a work accident, waiting on surgery and sporting a few broken bones. Eddie was by his bedside for the most of it, talking with him, reading to him, playing him music, much softer than his usual stuff.

Wayne didn’t like him sitting there all hours of the day though, and would regularly bully him out of the room to go on walks and stretch his legs, talk to people, drink in the sunlight before winter hit. That’s where he met him; Steve.

They’d ran into each other a few times since first meeting, sharing this and that. Steve was attending physical therapy twice a week because of a pretty serious car wreck, making the rounds on crutches and saying hello to staff and other patients as he rebuilt the muscle in his legs. Eddie couldn’t help but admire him… For one or more different reasons.

Today was a Tuesday, meaning Steve should’ve been somewhere around the hospital. Eddie wasn’t exactly looking for him, at least, not actively, but he was keeping an eye out for that gorgeous head of hair.

Eventually, he found him at the vending machine, struggling to retrieve an armful of snacks from the drawer compartment.

It was, frankly, perfect timing.

Again, he wasn’t very big on fate, destiny, miracles… But Steve threw a wrench in that, a beautiful, mole-ridden, big, brown-eyed wrench.

Shakily and stubbornly, Steve tried to balance his crutches at an angle so he could reach the machine’s opening. Under his weight, suddenly, one crutch skid on the linoleum floor, and from one second to the next, Steve was going down.

Jumping into action, Eddie caught him, but just barely.

“I’ve got you, Big Boy,” Eddie airily chuckled into his ear, having the air knocked out of him. Steve wriggled in his arms, laughing in disbelief.

“Eddie!” He beamed, peeking up at him through his bangs, “I thought I’d see you today.”

“Did you, sweetheart?” He smiled, Steve’s attitude, infectious. Shuffling them over to some waiting chairs outside of some office, Eddie settled him down, and went to pick up the fallen crutch, setting it with the other against the wall. Playfully poking Steve’s shoulder, he offered, “Need any help with those?”

The younger man tilted his head, puppy-like, “Please?”

One by one, Eddie pulled out candy bar after candy bar, two water bottles, and a packet of cashews, until there was a little pile of it all in Steve’s lap.

“And what occasion might warrant such a feast as this?” Eddie asked theatrically.

“Oh,” He sounded, perking up, “Some of the kids are here with me. They wanted goodies.” Eddie drew his eyebrows together, “So they sent the guy on crutches? No offense.”

“I volunteered, actually, get my rounds in…” He coughed into his fist, “And maybe ‘cause I was hoping I’d bump into you.”

He could feel his face warm, knowing the feeling was mutual, that they were always looking for one another, like two halves of a soul. Well, maybe not of a soul, as far as Eddie knew, that place was already platonically taken by one Robin Buckley.

“In that case, may I aid you in your long and tortuous journey, Sir Stephen.” Eddie half-bowed, one arm waved behind his back, the other extended in front of him, “You know, I have more pockets than a man should need.”

Steve silently accepted by lifting his arms out of the way, commenting, “Was that supposed to be some sort of innuendo? Because I didn’t get it.”

He shrugged as he stuffed his vest with chocolate and peanuts, “I just say whatever comes to mind, baby. They’ve yet to find an off-switch, I’m afraid.”

Swinging his crutches out, Steve pushed himself onto his feet, the momentum causing him to veer a little much into Eddie’s space. They were practically nose to nose as he muttered, glancing down at Eddie’s lips, “Why afraid? What if I don’t mind it?”

“Uhhhh…” No mirror needed, Eddie knew his face was burning red, his wide, blinking eyes filled with something like shock and desire. If it were possible, there’d be smoke puffing out of his ears; brain malfunction.

Steve giggled, honest to god, before beginning the slow hobble toward some unknown destination.

Eddie was quick to catch up, frantically speaking, “What I meant to say was, that you would definitely be the first.” He breathed, “Not to mind it, I mean.”

Humming as he read over the signage on the wall, they rounded a corner, and then another. Steve stayed quiet, but it was the pleasant kind, his mouth pulled into a soft smile.

Eventually, after a few turn-arounds, they found the wing where they held the therapy equipment, most notably the assisted treadmill that Steve refused to use. There, they found Max, in her wheelchair, with a girl standing at her side, and a boy standing behind her. With one of Max’s arms in a sling, the boy seemed to be the one assigned to moving her around.

They’d never met before now, but Eddie knew from Steve that Max had been in the same crash he was, only in the passenger seat. Steve didn’t mention it a lot, but Eddie got the idea that he felt some guilt about it, even if he wasn’t the one to have caused the accident.

“There you are,” The redhead said, unimpressed, and she gave Eddie a judgemental onceover that honestly rivaled the mean looks he used to get in high school, “Wow, did you pick up a stray?”

“Be nice,” Steve chirped, handing everyone their assorted snacks, and keeping a water bottle and the cashews for himself, “This is Eddie.”

“Oh,” The other girl giggled into her Hershey’s bar, Eddie thought her name was something like Elle or Em, “That Eddie.”

He could only begin to guess what that tone of voice could imply, and all answers set a fire in his belly. Had Steve been talking about him? He didn’t have to ask, Steve’s poppy-red face told him enough.

Scratching the back of his neck, Steve mumbled, “Do you know any other Eddie?”

“So it’s serious?” Max remarked rhetorically, then gestured with her bad arm toward Eddie, “Forward.”

The boy, Lucas, who had been nibbling on a Mars bar suddenly tuned back into the conversation, grabbing the handles of the wheelchair and rolling Max closer to Eddie, so she was only a few feet away from him. Steve looked a bit mortified, but also proud, obviously expecting this, but still dreading the inevitability.

“I’ll only say this once,” She leveled at him, surprisingly intimidating for a teenager who he towered over, “Steve is our babysitter first, and your boyfriend second. If you hurt him, we will resort to violence, gladly.”

The twinkle in her eye told him that she was telling the truth.

He chanced a glance at Steve, who was angled away from the beat-down with a hand over his face. Distracted, he realized he’d missed whatever else Max had said.

“Do you understand?” She repeated, like she was the principal, and he was a misbehaving student who’d just been sentenced to a day of community service.

He stammered, “Uh, yes. Yes, I do.”

She narrowed her eyes, and then suddenly, using her good arm, wheeled herself forward and an angle and out of the boy’s grip, where she ran over Eddie’s toes, punctuating, “You better.”

He yelped, plain and simple.

“Max!” The boy reprimanded, forcibly wheeling her out of kicking distance, though she seemed to have been satisfied with just running him over. Lucas looked at him pleadingly, as if something similar had happened before, “I’m sorry. She’s, um, protective.”

Max stared at him like a cat might its prey.

“Are you okay?” Steve appeared at his side, big, flat hands hovering around him, unsure of how to help. The pain had mostly gone by then, dulled by his thick boots.

“Alive, I assure you,” He said instead of something more serious, she was just a kid after all. What was he going to do, yell at the girl? If anything, he should applaud her and her unpredictable attack patterns.

“Let’s go over to the window,” Lucas suggested, already wheeling Max away, Elle-or-Em trodding after.

When Steve still looked a bit guilty, Eddie assured, “Really, I’m fine. My Uncle’s in here with a broken foot, who am I to complain about a little bruise?”

“Still…” He shrugged, “How is Wayne, anyway?”

“Going into surgery today,” Eddie grinned excitedly, the joy completely washing over any hurt feelings he previously had, “We’re counting down the days he’ll be locked away in here.”

“That’s amazing. I’m really glad everything’s on track.”

He wasn’t stupid, he noticed easily how Steve tried to match his enthusiasm, but fell a bit short, watching the way he bit his lip till it was cherry. He leaned into Steve’s space, until his inquisitive eyes met Steve’s downturned ones, “Hey, what’s wrong, Stevie?”

“It’s gonna sound fucked,” He cringed.

“No, no. Tell me, sweetheart.” Eddie eased, and he could pinpoint the moment Steve’s resolution broke.

“Just…” He started, stopped, bit his lip again. It was only mildly distracting, “When your Uncle’s out of here, you won’t have a reason to visit anymore.”

And that… Oh. He hadn’t thought about that.

He took the opportunity to do something daring, something he might have once called particularly risky if hadn’t been reading all these goddamn signals.

Gently, he took Steve’s face in his hands, where he could spot some faint scarring over his brow, over his mouth, on his cheek, and wondered if those were from the crash, “I’m not just gonna up and leave you, Stevie. We could maybe… exchange numbers…?”

Prettily, Steve’s eyes lit up, “You mean that in the way I think you do, right?”

“Wanna test that?”

…

“You kissed him, didn’t you?” Wayne asked, one eyebrow raised expectantly.

Chewing on a shaggy lock of hair, Eddie nodded with his whole body.

His uncle sighed, relaxing back into his pillow, “Finally. Christ.”

It took a second for his offense to register, “Hey!”

#stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #max mayfield #lucas sinclair #jane el hopper #drabble #fanfiction #barkbeastwriting

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