Chapter Text
It’s all black.
He opens his eyes, but it’s still all black. Nothing changes, darkness surrounds him, and for a brief moment, he doesn’t understand.
He doesn’t remember.
Where he is, what happened, why can’t he see. And then, he realizes he can’t breathe, that he’s buried underneath something soft, something that covers his whole body.
He sits up with a gasp, chest aching, and even if he can breathe, it hurts. His whole body hurts. There’s a taste of iron on his tongue—blood, and his ears slightly ring.
He’s disoriented, he looks around himself and finds he’s alone. But then, when he looks down at himself, when he lifts his hands from under the ashes, he finds them dark, dirtied by matted blood, his own blood, and something, maybe a memory starts scratching at the back of his head.
His clothes are torn apart, and his skin underneath is dirty too, there are fresh scars—scars? And it’s in that exact moment, once his eyes are on those scars that he remembers everything.
Eddie died.
:
When the white door in front of him opens and Eddie finally sees a familiar face, he isn’t surprised to notice that the first emotion crossing it is shock, raw shock, as if the other can’t believe what he’s seeing with his own eyes.
Eddie understands. If their positions were switched, he probably wouldn’t believe it either. He doesn’t know how much has passed, it could be days, or weeks, he has no idea for how long everyone believed he was dead, or for how long he stayed dead.
“E–Eddie?” Steve whispers. His voice is broken, but also wary, and Eddie starts thinking it was a mistake. He should’ve gone somewhere else. After all, they barely know each other, and the end of the world can bring people closer only until a certain length.
But then, Steve takes a step forward, hand slowly falling away from the doorknob, and another, and another, until there isn’t much space that separates them. It seems like he wants to make sure Eddie is there for real, or that the person in front of him isn’t someone who only resembles him.
Eddie nods, “Yeah, it’s me,” he says, voice low, scratching the back of his throat, and no matter how many times he clears it, his voice still remains hoarse. “I didn’t know where else to go.”
It’s stupid. He could’ve stayed at his uncle’s trailer, wait for him to come back, but once he changed his clothes, hiding the shredded and bloodied ones he was wearing, it all started to feel distressing. Being alone, not knowing what exactly happened, the gate getting even bigger, tearing the trailer’s roof in two.
He had to find someone, and even if he doesn’t exactly know why, Steve was the first one who came to his mind. It isn’t like he could’ve gone to a hospital.
Steve doesn’t say anything, he just looks at him, scans him head to toe, again and again. For a second, before the other speaks, Eddie wonders if he was the one who pried Dustin away from his cold body.
“This doesn’t make sense,” he says under his breath, fingers running through his hair, “how the fuck—”
“Harrington,” Eddie cuts him off, then looks around himself, he waited for the sun to go down before leaving the trailer, but it isn’t completely safe and if nothing has changed, he’s still accused of murder.
Steve must realize that too, since he nods and moves to the side, “Get in,” he tells him, the before someone sees you remains unspoken, but it’s there. It hangs on both of their heads.
He has never seen Steve’s house from the inside, of course he hasn’t, but he isn’t surprised to see that it looks exactly like all rich people’s houses look. Fancy and with an aura of untouchability, as if everything is on display and can’t really be moved or touched. It also seems even more silent than the streets outside, as if no one actually lives there. Eddie doubts his parents are there, they can’t be that silent, especially when someone rang their doorbell late in the evening.
Steve guides him upstairs, he doesn’t say anything, but Eddie knows he’s racking his brain trying to understand how it’s possible that Eddie’s still alive. He isn’t the only one, Eddie has been trying to find an explanation, one that makes sense, since the moment he woke up under the ashes.
Steve’s bedroom is different from the rest of the house. It’s lived in. It isn’t messy, but not immaculate either.
The covers on the bed aren’t perfectly stretched, as if he was lying on them before Eddie showed up at his door. There are knick-knacks scattered on a desk, something that looks handmade—Dustin’s, Eddie has some too, a few books that he doubts Steve actually read, and a radio.
On the chair, there is a yellow sweater, Eddie remembers Steve wearing it, and he also remembers thinking how good he looked in it, and then—Eddie’s vest. His vest is there too. It’s clean, rid of all the blood and grime. It’s just there, on the back of the chair, as if that has always been its place.
His eyes are fixed on it when Steve speaks again. He doesn’t know why he’s surprised to see it, after all, he was the one who gave it to him, and yet, maybe he didn’t think Steve would’ve kept it. A vest isn’t something that would belong in Steve’s wardrobe, is it?
“So, what the fuck,” Steve says, sat down on the bed, eyes on him, still looking kind of shocked.
Eddie shakes his head. “Don’t ask, man,” he tells him with a sigh. “I woke up under ashes and got the hell out of that place. I didn’t really have the time to think about the whys or hows.”
Steve runs his fingers through his hair again, head lowered, and then, when he looks up at him, his eyes look more watery than a few seconds before.
“You were dead,” he whispers, as if that’s the truth, as if Eddie is still dead and what’s happening isn’t real. As if Steve believes he’s dreaming. “I—I checked, you were—fuck, you were dead.”
Eddie knows. He remembers dying. The cold, the blood pooled in his mouth, Dustin’s sobs. He remembers everything.
He shrugs his shoulders. He doesn’t have an answer, he doesn’t know how he came back from the dead, and even if he’s glad, really fucking glad, deep down, he’s scared shitless. Everyone who has watched at least a movie or read a book knows that no one ever comes back from the dead without a price to pay. Eddie doesn’t want to find out what his will be.
“How long has it been?” he asks. When he woke up, it felt like only a few minutes had passed, but it must be longer than that.
“Three days,” Steve says, and then he grimaces, avoiding his eyes, fixing them somewhere behind Eddie’s shoulder. “I—we wanted to come back for your body, give you a proper burial, but… Hawkins is a mess. The gates connected and—”
“It’s fine,” Eddie stops him. He isn’t angry. He was dead, there wasn’t anything they could’ve done, it doesn’t matter where his body was. He wouldn’t have known. Besides, if they had given him a proper burial and a tombstone, he doubts it would’ve remained intact, that people wouldn’t have tainted his name and grave even as dead. At least in the Upside Down no one would’ve bothered him. And also, getting out from an actual casket buried underneath feet of dirt would’ve been much harder.
“The others?” Eddie asks then, and until Steve doesn’t answer, Eddie hopes with everything he has in his body that he was the only one killed.
Steve takes a while to answer, which makes Eddie anxious, but he doesn’t say anything to make him speak, he just keeps fiddling with his rings.
“Max, she’s alive… she’s in a coma, though. Vecna got her, but El was able to bring her back.” Steve’s voice is low, only loud enough for Eddie to hear, and it sounds so tired. He looks tired too, as if he’d pass out at any moment. Eddie knows the guilt he’s feeling too well.
“Honestly, I don’t know how El did it, the doctors said it was a miracle and that there isn’t much to do besides waiting.”
Eddie nods. It isn’t exactly what he wanted to hear, and he can’t say it’s better than all the other outcomes they all secretly thought about, not when Max could never wake up, but Eddie knows Max’s strong, that she will fight tooth and nail to come back.
Steve sighs, and if possible, he looks more tired than he was seconds before.
“Dustin was here until a few hours ago, he’s always here,” he tells him, even if Eddie hasn’t asked. Steve knows though, because they both care about him, and surely Steve would want to know too if he were in his place.
“He’s obsessing over that night, what we should’ve done differently to prevent, you know, your… death,” he says, slowly, “it’s starting to worry me, he’s—I don’t want the guilt to consume him. He’s just a kid, Eddie, he’s just a kid.”
“I know,” Eddie whispers, chest aching, “I know, Steve, but I’m here now.”
It’s oddly comforting. The moment he decided to get down from the rope and cut it, he knew he was going to die. He didn’t think he could’ve survived, he didn’t fool himself. There was no hope. And yet, even if he accepted it, even if it was his choice, he’s relieved he didn’t stay dead. Even if it all feels too good to be real. He can deal with the outcome if it means no one will feel a kind of guilt Eddie has gotten to know too quickly, especially Dustin.
Steve exhales, looks up at the ceiling, and, “Man,” he says, “it’s been only three days, but it feels like months.”
Eddie saw what happened with his own eyes. He saw what Steve meant with “the gates connected”, he saw the destruction.
“Is he dead?” he asks, even if he kind of already knows the reply he will get.
“No,” Steve sighs, crossing his arms against his chest, fingers wrapped around his elbows. “We burned him, he fell outside from the second floor, but his body was gone once we got down.”
“Fuck,” Eddie whispers, and then, without even thinking about what he’s doing, he goes to sit beside Steve. Their knees almost brush against each other, Steve’s bare one, not covered by the shorts he’s wearing against Eddie’s barely covered by his ripped jeans. He fixes his eyes on the small empty space between them, wishing he could feel the other’s warmth against him.
There’s a coldness deep in his bones that hasn’t left him yet, that has been there from the moment he woke up, and Eddie’s certain it’s a price—one of the many he has to pay for being brought back.
“Yeah, fuck,” Steve agrees. “Will can feel him, Eleven too. He’s who knows where licking his wounds.”
But he will be back, Steve doesn’t say that, but somehow, Eddie knows it will happen. The same way he knows Vecna’s hurt and angry, that he wants to destroy not only Hawkins, but the whole world. He already knew that before, but now, it’s almost as if he’s the one feeling like that, as if somewhere in the back of his head, somewhere remote he can’t actually reach, all those feelings are packed there, pulsing, waiting to be released.
Eddie doesn’t want to find out what it all means, and yet, he can’t help himself but wonder. If Will and Eleven can feel him, maybe Eddie can too. He died and came back to life in the Upside Down, so somehow, he must be connected to it. He doesn’t say anything though, Steve already seems like he has the whole weight of the world on his shoulders.
All of a sudden, Steve jumps up and walks towards the desk, “I need to tell Dustin,” he says, frantic, taking the radio before Eddie can stop him. “He needs to know, he—”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Eddie tells him, getting up too and holding his arm back by the elbow, so Steve can’t bring the radio close to his mouth.
“Wait,” he says again, once Steve stops and focuses on him, “you can’t just radio him and tell him I’m alive, he will think you’ve gone crazy.”
“Right,” Steve easily agrees, “you radio him, then.”
Eddie scoffs, “Yeah, and give him a heart attack,” he comments, taking the radio away from Steve’s fingers and putting it back on the desk.
“Let’s just wait until tomorrow morning. He’ll see with his own eyes. If we radio him now, he’ll want to see me, come here and check.”
Steve doesn’t protest, he only nods, which shows how tired he is, Eddie was expecting Steve to fight him at least a little.
“Sorry, man,” he whispers, “I’ve just been all over the place since—haven’t slept well, and there’s a lot to do, to help people with.”
“Yeah, no worries. I understand.” He actually doesn’t, not entirely, but he doesn’t want Steve to explain everything, not when between the two, he thinks Steve’s the one who looks like a step away from death.
“It’s late,” Eddie says then, “you should go to sleep.”
“What about you?” Steve asks immediately after his words, looking at him, and even if Eddie doesn’t know him that well, doesn’t really know how to read him, he still can see that there’s something Steve isn’t telling him.
“I’m gonna go back to the trailer,” he answers, even if he isn’t certain he will do that. It could be too risky and right then, Eddie doesn’t want to deal with the outcome that someone seeing him would bring. He’d prefer sleeping in a ditch in the middle of nowhere.
Steve fiddles with a loose thread of Eddie’s vest, and once again, his eyes fix on it. On the way Steve placed it on top of his yellow sweater. It doesn’t make sense, it’s just a ratty old piece of cloth, and yet, somewhere in his chest, something small he doesn’t want to examine too closely wishes he could see Steve wearing it again, properly this time.
Then, his eyes slowly travel from the vest to Steve’s hand, his fingers are long, slimmer than his, and maybe it’s the was-dead-now-alive-again ordeal that messed his head even more than it already was, because suddenly, he pictures himself reaching forward and holding those fingers, interlacing them together and bringing both their hands to his lips only to kiss Steve’s skin.
He’s delirious, perhaps it’s the lack of sleep or the sleeping through three whole days in an interdimensional world, or more like being dead for three days? It depends on how someone decides to see all that. It doesn’t change the fact he shouldn’t be thinking about this. Steve’s fucking straight. He loves Nancy, or whatever, it doesn’t really matter, he’s still straight.
“Your uncle left.”
What? Eddie isn’t sure he heard that right, too busy having a crisis caused by a vest and fingers.
“He… left?” He takes a second to process the words, but once he does, he pauses. The trailer wasn’t emptied out, everything was in its place—besides the even bigger gate. His uncle wouldn’t have left just like that.
“I’m sorry, I thought—Dustin told him that you… he kept putting missing flyers up, so… many people left, half of the city was destroyed.”
Eddie immediately forgets about everything he was thinking about related to Steve and goes back to sit on the bed, elbows rested on his knees, hands holding his head.
“Fuck,” he says under his breath. He doesn’t have anyone left now. Fuck. And he’s certainly still a wanted criminal.
“You can stay here,” Steve says, an urgency in his voice that wasn’t there seconds before. “My parents are away, they will be for a while, you can stay in the spare bedroom until we figure something out.”
“I can’t just stay here, Harrington. What if your neighbors see me?”
“They left, everyone on this street left. You can stay here. No one will see you.”
Eddie turns towards the window, the curtains are open, and the houses he can see from there all have the lights turned off, as if no one’s home.
“And leech off you? No, thanks,” Eddie scoffs, getting up again. He will find somewhere to stay. It isn’t the first time he doesn’t have a roof on his head.
“It doesn’t matter, Eddie,” Steve argues back, “I’m asking you to, not the other way round, so stay here.”
Eddie glances at him, and maybe it’s because Steve looks kind of desperate, or maybe it’s the “Please,” he adds after, or maybe it’s because Eddie’s tired too and doesn’t truly want to find another solution, so he nods.
Steve nods back, and even if Eddie doesn’t want to fool himself into believing in something that isn’t there, because it isn’t there—it will never be there, he still catches what he thinks is relief in Steve’s eyes.
It doesn’t bring the coldness he feels away, but somehow, that relief makes it a little more bearable.
:
It goes without saying that even if the mattress in Steve’s spare bedroom is the best he has ever laid on, Eddie doesn’t fall asleep. It doesn’t matter how many times he turns around on his side, tries to change the position of the pillow, slides the cover off, then covers himself again after a few minutes, he still can’t sleep.
In the end, he just stares up at the ceiling. Eddie’s used to it. To the insomnia and the loud thoughts. This, at least, hasn’t changed, even if he wished it had.
Besides, his whole body hurts—everything, even his teeth and his fucking fingers. It’s why he sits up on the bed after a while, tired of lying down, and decides to raid through the bathroom’s cabinet to find some painkillers he can take. Too bad that when he opens it, he finds it empty. Eddie sighs, runs a hand through his curls and ponders his options.
Steve’s bedroom has a bathroom, Eddie saw it, and he bets his parents’ bedroom has one too. He doesn’t want to enter Steve’s room while he’s sleeping, but he doesn’t want to go to his parents’ either.
He sighs again, and for a second, he debates going back to bed without taking anything, but then, his teeth start to ache even more—fuck, why is teeth among everything, and his left side, where a bat bit a chunk out of his flesh, pulses, and Eddie decides Steve’s room is the best option. At least, he can explain himself if the other wakes up. He could even if Steve caught him sneaking into his parents’ room, but it probably would be a lot more awkward.
Trying to be as silent as possible, he gets out of the bedroom and he’s kind of glad to see that Steve’s door isn’t completely shut, that he left it open a few inches. The door doesn’t creak—rich people’s privilege, when he slowly opens it. The room is coated in darkness, Eddie can’t fucking see anything—
“Eddie?”
Fuck.
The lamp on Steve’s nightstand gets turned on and Eddie’s faced with Steve’s worried face.
Right, he forgot Steve said he doesn’t sleep much.
“Shit, sorry,” he whispers, even if they’re both awake and no one else is in the house. “I just—do you have Tylenol? I checked in the guest’s bathroom, but it’s empty.”
Steve nods. “Yeah, sure,” he says, and then he throws the cover off and gets up.
Eddie pauses. He literally stops. Steve is only wearing a thin t-shirt and tight gray boxers. He tries not to stare at his ass when Steve gives him his back, but it’s kind of hard.
Then, Steve disappears in the bathroom and, “Fucking idiot,” Eddie tells himself under his breath. What a way to make it obvious. Steve could’ve turned around and caught him staring at his ass. Eddie would’ve laughed at himself big time if that had happened.
When Steve comes back with the bottle of Tylenol in one hand and a glass of water in the other, Eddie makes sure not to look further down than his chin. As long as he keeps his eyes on Steve’s face, he’s safe.
“Thanks,” he says, taking two pills and swallowing them dry. Steve offers the glass, but Eddie shakes his head.
“Where does it hurt?” he asks him then, putting the glass down on the desk, which makes Steve get even closer to Eddie, and Eddie wishes he could take a step back, but that would look weird, wouldn’t it? Why would he want to step back.
“I don’t know, everywhere?” he laughs, even if he’d prefer crying. His teeth fucking hurt, probably ripping them away would hurt less.
Steve stares at him without saying anything, and even if the light isn’t bright enough, he can still see the worry twisting his face.
“Sorry if I woke you up,” he says under his breath only to fill the silence.
“Oh, no, I wasn’t really sleeping,” Steve tells him, a corner of his lips slightly lifted up, and finally, fucking finally, he steps towards the bed, putting more spaces between them.
Eddie wonders if Steve couldn’t fall asleep because he was too busy thinking—worrying? about what happened to him.
He clears his throat, looks around the room—nothing has changed, the vest and the yellow sweater are still there on the chair, and then, gestures back to the door with his thumb. “I better get going.” Not like he will fall asleep, but he doesn’t want to disturb Steve even more than he already has.
Steve nods, looks at Eddie with an intensity he prefers ignoring, and after, sits down on the bed. Eddie forgets he’s supposed to keep his eyes on Steve’s face, so like an idiot he lets them glance down at his thighs, his bare and pale thighs that are asking, begging Eddie to leave finger-shaped bruises on them, to trail kisses—
“Okay, yeah, goodnight,” Eddie quickly says, turning around as fast as he can and bolting out of the room. Too bad that in the process he forgets Steve’s door wasn’t completely shut, so he closes it with a loud bang and a following curse.
It’s when he’s back in the guest bedroom that he remembers about it, only because he hears the twist of the doorknob—it wasn’t even that loud when he closed it, why is he hearing it now? He doesn’t hear Steve getting out, but he hears him sighing, it’s a low sound, and for a moment, Eddie wonders when his hearing got that heightened, but then, he’s distracted once again by his inner turmoil that includes thighs and bruises, and kisses.
Well, at least now he can say that each part of his body actually still works, even if he was dead for a hot minute.
:
Loud banging on the door startles him awake. He doesn’t know when he fell asleep, probably once the sun started to rise, but it could’ve gone worse, like not sleeping at all.
The banging doesn’t stop, and only when he sits up on the bed Eddie realizes that it sounds a tad too loud, as if the door isn’t all the way downstairs, but close to the bedroom. He shakes his head, curls falling on his face, and then, massages his forehead with his fingers, which still fucking hurt. Eddie hopes he won’t have all these aches and pains for a long time, because if he will, he probably will start wishing he had stayed dead instead.
“Fucking hell,” he whispers when the banging keeps making his ears ring. He leaves the room, sends a quick glance towards Steve’s—door open and no one inside, and climbs down the stairs.
The front door opens when Eddie is a few steps away, and he’s glad, because if he was closer it would’ve hit him straight in the face, and then, without even realizing, he finds himself squeezed by short arms.
“Eddie!”
Eddie looks down and he’s met with a head of curls.
“In flesh and bones,” he laughs quietly, wrapping his own arms around Dustin, not complaining about the way Dustin is squeezing the life out of him. It hurts, but Dustin deserves to hug him as long as he wants.
Dustin sobs something incoherent, and with a soft smile, Eddie looks up. Steve is standing by the closed door, fully dressed, keys in his fingers and a smile on his lips too. Eddie isn’t certain, but he thinks his eyes are shinier than they should be.
“You were dead,” Dustin whispers, glancing up, “you died!” His eyes are red and full of tears, and Eddie smiles at him, only because he refuses to cry. If he starts crying it probably will take him an entire day to stop.
“Well, I’m here now, ain’t I?”
Dustin sobs some more, wraps his arms around him even tighter, and Eddie just strokes his head with one hand and his back with the other.
“How’s—I—you were—I saw—”
“Hey, hey,” Eddie stops him, cupping his hands around his face and making him look up. “It’s too early to think about that, we’ll think about it later, yeah?”
Dustin nods, tears falling down his face. “I missed you, Eddie. I fucking missed you.”
“Language,” Steve says from the door, which makes Eddie snort.
“Me too,” he says back, even if he was dead for the whole time and couldn’t really feel anything.
“Breakfast?” Steve suggests then, which makes him realize that he hasn’t eaten anything yet, so, “Hell yeah,” he agrees.
Dustin doesn’t really let him go, his arms stay wrapped around his torso, but Eddie doesn’t try to push him away, he knows how traumatic seeing him die was for Dustin without the other having to tell him.
Of course, in the kitchen, he sits on the high stool by his side, even sliding it closer than how they were positioned, which makes Steve shake his head and a speck of warmth spread in Eddie’s chest.
Eddie’s surprised to see Steve taking ingredients out from the fridge and positioning himself in front of the stove, he didn’t know Steve Harrington could cook, but Eddie guesses there are a lot of things he doesn’t know about the other, so he shouldn’t even be that surprised about him cooking.
Then, he turns to look towards Dustin, who’s already looking at him, and, “Please, keep your voice down?” he asks, before the other can speak loudly and drill him with questions Eddie doesn’t have answers to. “My head’s already killing me.”
Eddie doesn’t think the painkillers did much, he can still feel the same pain he felt last night, his teeth and fingers still ache, and his side didn’t stop pulsing. Besides, now, it feels like a vice is around his head, tightening more and more with each second passing. If he thinks about it, he actually feels worse than how he did when he went to bed.
“Do you need more Tylenol?” Steve asks, turning around, voice low, but Eddie can’t focus on his words because the fork Steve’s using to beat the eggs is scraping against the plate too fucking loudly.
He presses his fingers against his temples, as if it would help, and, “Shit,” he whispers, “this fucking sucks.”
“Eddie?” Dustin says under his breath, “what’s wrong?”
Eddie doesn’t fucking know. He wishes he knew, so he would be able to stop it, but he doesn’t. He was dead, for fuck’s sake, how is he supposed to know what’s wrong.
He doesn’t say that because it isn’t Dustin’s fault, and it isn’t fair to dump his anger on him, so, “I don’t know,” he answers, “I guess being brought back to life has its perks.”
“Don’t joke about that,” Dustin murmurs, and Eddie can’t see his face, since he’s keeping his eyes closed because keeping them open makes his headache even worse, but he can still imagine the face Dustin’s doing.
“Maybe you should lay down,” Steve suggests, voice uncertain, as if he doesn’t know what to do either, which is true, they’re all clueless. There isn’t a manual on how to deal with someone who was dead and now miraculously alive again.
Eddie doesn’t protest when Dustin wraps his hand around his bicep and gently nudges him to get up, and then once Eddie slowly does, eyes still closed, he kind of drags him towards what Eddie supposes is the closest couch. Dustin helps him lay down, fluffles the pillow—which would make Eddie laugh and tease him if his head wasn’t threatening to explode with each small sound, and after, he asks him if he wants the Tylenol Steve talked about.
“Maybe later,” he says, words a whisper. He can’t really think about anything else besides being certain that his head will crack in the middle and tear itself into two neat parts.
Dustin leaves him be, but the silence doesn’t last long, because as soon as he’s back in the kitchen, Eddie can hear him and Steve aggressively whispering to each other.
“What the fuck, Steve, what the fuck is happening? How can all this have happened?”
“How can I know? I’m not the expert here in crazy stuff.”
Eddie doesn’t know what’s happening either, but what he knows is that he shouldn’t be able to hear them. He shouldn’t hear the fucking sizzle of the eggs on the pan and yet, he can clearly hear it as if his ear was a few inches away from it.
“This doesn’t make sense,” Dustin says, sounding freaked out even more than seconds before, “it can’t be.”
“A little explanation would help, you know,” Steve says, and then adds, “smartass.”
Eddie hears Dustin pacing around, and at this point, he doesn’t know if it’s his imagination, because he knows the way Dustin moves, or if he can actually hear his arms moving around, gesturing with his hands.
“Okay, okay, I know this will sound totally crazy to you, but just—just listen to me first,” Dustin speaks, voice still a whisper. “So, you know Vecna, in DnD I mean, he’s an evil god, but for a while he had a lieutenant by his side, Kas—and Kas, well, he’s a vampire—”
“Dustin,” Steve cuts the other off, voice too serious, “this isn’t some DnD shit, you know Vecna isn’t actually Vecna and—”
“I said just listen to me first!” Dustin raises his voice and Eddie groans. He knows where Dustin is going, but it can’t be true, for once Steve is right about DnD, it isn’t real. It’s only a game.
“Fine, fine, just don’t shout,” Steve relents, words murmured.
“As I was saying, Vecna trusts Kas, he’s his most trusted lieutenant, and right now, our Vecna is hurt and alone, he doesn’t have anyone, so he needs—”
“A Kas,” Steve finishes for him, but the second after, “I can’t believe I’m letting you brainwash me into this stupid shit,” he whispers.
Eddie sees the pointed look Dustin gives Steve behind his eyelids, which puts a thin smile on his lips. It all feels so unreal. He can’t believe Steve is listening to Dustin right now, that he’s being serious about it.
“Yeah, he needs a Kas, someone who can protect him, and Eddie—Eddie could be him, right? He was killed by the bats, but Vecna brought him back to life because he needs him.”
“I kinda don’t like where this is going,” Steve whispers, “and you said this… Kas is a vampire? Like fangs and all?”
Dustin must only nod, since, “C’mon, he can’t be turning into a vampire, Dustin, this isn’t a movie,” Steve kind of laughs.
“But the bats.”
“What the fuck, I was bitten too, and as you can see, I haven’t suddenly grown fangs or have a thirst for human blood.”
“But Eddie was dead, Steve. He was dead.”
Steve sighs. Eddie imagines him running his hand through his hair. “I’m not buying this shit, not at all,” he says, “Eddie isn’t turning into a fucking vampire.”
“Okay, fine, I’m not saying he will grow wings or transform into a bat, but this isn’t normal, he should be dead!”
Eddie groans again. The pain is just everywhere, he doesn’t know anymore where it hurts the most because all of his body feels on fire, as if his skin is too tight and can’t contain him anymore. His teeth keep fucking hurting and Eddie’s tempted to rip them away for real, too bad that his fingers also hurt and he has lost the sensibility in his pads.
“Do you think I don’t know that?” Steve asks, and now he sounds angry, but at least for Eddie’s sake he’s keeping his voice down. “I spent the whole night thinking about this and I still can’t wrap my head around it.”
Eddie isn’t really certain about when it happens, but at some point, in between a “Maybe we should bring him to a hospital,” and a “And tell them what? Oh, look, this guy died, but surprise! He’s alive again, huh?” Eddie starts to feel really bad, really really bad. Death-like bad. He panics, so he tries to get up, but his legs are too weak and his arms are paralyzed, and it’s why he ends up on the floor, crashing against the glass coffee table and breaking it.
He groans, tries to get up, but fails again. He can feel some shards of glass pierced into his skin, but the pain is everywhere, so it doesn’t really make a difference.
“Guys,” he tries to call for the others, not aware of how loud his voice is because his ears are ringing. “Guys?”
Eddie’s glad to see feet in his vision, and then, even if it hurts and it makes him want to scream, hands wrap around his arms and make him lean his back against the couch.
“Eddie?” someone says, maybe Steve, or is it Dustin, Eddie can’t understand. “What happened?”
“He obviously fell, dumbass,” Steve says, and yes, Eddie’s sure this is Steve. But when he looks up, everything’s blurred and he can only see shapes.
A hand on his forehead. “Fuck, he’s burning.” A shake of his shoulder. “I told you we should bring him to the hospital!”
Eddie wants to say something, he opens his mouth, but when he tries to speak, his whole mouth hurts, and he thinks there is blood coming from somewhere. He can feel it on his tongue. And yet, he metaphorically grits his teeth—because of course he can’t really do it or he’d start screaming his lungs out, and, “My teeth,” he says, voice distorted, and for a moment he isn’t even sure he was the one who spoke, “they hurt fucking bad.”
“What?”
“A hospital, Steve, we need a hospital.”
“Shut the fuck up, Dustin, you’re not helping, like at all,” Steve shushes him, “and if you forgot, the moment we bring him somewhere public, the second after there will be handcuffs around his wrists, and probably around ours too.”
“What should we do, what should we do, what—”
“I said. Shut. Up. You’re not helping.”
Eddie feels hands on his chin, his cheeks, and then, “Eddie?” Steve says, and when Eddie opens his eyes, the other’s suddenly so close that he can actually see him. Not really well, but he still recognizes that the face a few inches away from his is Steve’s.
“I’m gonna—fuck, this is too crazy. I’m gonna check your teeth, okay?” he tells him, and then, as an afterthought, “don’t bite my fingers off, please.”
Eddie wouldn’t be able to do that. His teeth aren’t that sharp, are they?
Steve’s fingers gently pry his mouth open, they’re cool on his skin, which must mean that Eddie’s burning with a really high fever. Two fingers softly lift his upper lip up to show his teeth, and even if Eddie keeps his eyes open, he can’t read Steve’s face, it’s still too blurry.
But the “Fuck,” whispered is enough. Maybe after all, Dustin is right.
“What i-is it?” he mumbles with Steve’s fingers still on his face. He tries to push himself straighter against the couch, but he can’t feel his hands and there is no strength in his arms.
Dustin’s being too silent and Eddie definitely doesn’t like it.
“What is it?” he repeats, louder, and now, he’s certain there is blood in his mouth, he can feel it drip from the corners of his lips towards his chin. “What the fuck is happening to me?”
Eddie’s a step away from losing it. He needs to know what’s happening.
“I told you!” Dustin suddenly screams, “I told you, he’s Kas!”
“Dustin, he’s fucking not, okay? This isn’t a fucking game!”
“But his teeth, Steve! His teeth are becoming fangs!”
Eddie almost laughs. This can’t be happening to him. This can’t be happening to him. He seriously wants to go back to being dead.
“We have to do something about his fever,” Steve says then, completely ignoring what Dustin is rambling about. “He’s too hot, if it gets too high he could have a seizure.”
Steve’s hands move from his face to his shoulders, and, “Eddie,” Steve whispers, voice oddly soft, “you need to give me a hand, man. I can’t bring you upstairs as a dead weight.”
Eddie nods, or he thinks he does, but when Steve tries to lift him up from under his shoulders, he doesn’t really do much besides being a dead weight.
“Fuck, you’re too heavy,” Steve mumbles, “why are you so heavy.”
There are other hands on his ankles then, and after, he’s being moved like an actual dead body, but he probably misses a few minutes in between the moment he was on the floor, lying on glass, and the moment he’s suddenly too cold.
Eddie gasps, tries to grip his fingers around something to push himself up, but hands keep him down.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Steve chants, voice clearer to his ears, “this is for your sake.”
He opens his eyes, and this is being completely submerged into water and ice. “What the fuck—what the fuck!”
“Your fever was too high, it had to go down!” Steve screams at him, probably panicking as much as Eddie is, “I know it’s painful, but please, please, don’t fight!”
Eddie stills, arms rested on the rim of the bathtub and looks down. There isn’t really much ice in the water, but since his skin is burning, the water must feel even colder than it actually is. Then, he looks around himself. He can see, there is a blurriness in his peripheral vision, but it’s better than a few minutes—hours? ago. His head doesn’t hurt as much as it did when he was lying down on the couch and his ears have stopped ringing.
Dustin’s hovering behind Steve, looking worried, twisting his own hands. Eddie tries to smile at him, he wants to reassure him, but he isn’t sure his smile actually looks like a smile, maybe more like a grimace.
Steve, instead, has his hands still pressed down on his shoulders, as if he’s scared Eddie will try to get out of the bathtub once again. He’s half wet, and for a second, Eddie wonders for how long he kept fighting him without realizing.
“Sorry,” he murmurs, “I’m okay, now, I’m—I won’t get out.”
With a brief glance, Eddie makes sure that they at least left him with a semblance of decency in the form of his boxers. It really isn’t the time to think about that, but before dying, Eddie had a whole different scenario in his head for when Steve would’ve seen him naked. And Eddie him. Naked, both, that is.
“Steve,” Dustin mumbles, taking a step closer to the bathtub.
“Yeah?” Steve snaps, turning around to look at Dustin. Eddie turns his head too, but they’re exchanging looks Eddie can’t decipher, probably having a whole conversation with only their eyes.
And then, Eddie remembers. His teeth. His fucking teeth. Was he dreaming about his teeth becoming fangs?
He slowly lifts a hand towards his mouth, but Steve’s fingers wrap around his wrist before he can push his own against his teeth to check. Then, he remembers he actually has a tongue, so he uses that to check.
Fuck. His canines are longer and definitely sharper. He has grown actual fucking fangs.
“I can’t believe it,” Eddie laughs, a bit too hysterically, “this isn’t happening.”
“Eddie,” Steve tries, but Eddie rips his wrist away from his fingers, and, “Don’t Eddie me, Harrigton. I’m this close,” he whispers, angry, lifting his thumb and index finger into Steve’s face and making them almost touch, “I’m this fucking close to losing it, so don’t fucking Eddie me.”
Steve doesn’t say anything, he only stares at him, and Eddie closes his hand into a fist and hits the rim of the bathtub, water sloshing around his torso.
“Fuck,” he murmurs, and then, louder, “Fuck!”
Once, just fucking once, he decides to play hero and see what happens to him. He’s becoming a fucking vampire. Dustin was right about his whole Kas shit. It’s the only explanation that makes a bit of sense.
Eddie tries to breathe, inhales and exhales slowly, and now that his head is clearer and not clouded by all the pain, he realizes that he can hear everything. He can hear Steve and Dustin breathe too, can hear the birds chirping outside as if they were in the bathtub with him, and all the small sounds the house makes.
It isn’t only his canines, it’s his senses too that have changed.
“So, Henderson,” he says, calmer, looking up at the other, “walk me through your Kas shit once again, please?” he asks, stroking his forehead and rubbing his eyes.
Dustin does, and the more Eddie thinks about it, the more he convinces himself that it doesn’t all sound like bullshit. It makes sense. It fucking makes sense. Too bad it had to be him.
He’s becoming—what? A vampire? Eddie almost laughs out loud—because a few bats bit him and killed him?
It’s fucking crazy, that’s what it is, and probably Eddie will become too by the end of it. Or maybe he already is.
:
At some point, still in the bathtub, water much less cold, Eddie sort of falls asleep.
It doesn’t feel like actual sleeping though, Eddie’s aware of everything. He knows that Steve and Dustin aren’t in the bathroom with him—it took a lot of convincing on his part for them to leave him alone for a while, and he knows what happened. He can feel the sharpness of his teeth against his tongue. It almost feels like a trance, not like he has ever experienced one, but he isn’t sleeping, and yet, even if he tells himself to wake up, to open his eyes, he can’t.
Eddie hopes it isn’t something related to him becoming a—he can’t really call himself that, it’s ridiculous. He’s almost tempted to call himself Kas, at least it’s only a stupid fictional name. He truly hopes it isn’t related to that, but who is he kidding, he knows it is. So, he just waits for something to happen. Or to wake up, which would be much better, but he hasn’t a say in this. So. He waits.
He doesn’t know how long has passed when he starts feeling like someone’s calling him. It isn’t his name, no one’s actually saying his name out loud, but he still feels called, as if someone’s looking for him and Eddie can just feel it. It’s weird, and if he were awake, he’d probably feel a lot more scared than he is.
But wherever he is, it’s all black, Eddie can feel the water against his body, even if there isn’t water wherever he is. No one’s there, but the feeling doesn’t go away.
Vecna must be looking for him, right? He didn’t want to think about it, but not thinking about it wouldn’t change anything, so it’s better if he does, if he prepares himself for whatever could happen.
If Dustin is right, and Eddie hates to admit it, but most of the time, he is right, the whole Vecna needing him for protection must be why Eddie didn’t stay dead. From what Nancy told them, Vecna—Henry is basically like Eleven, they have the same powers, and if somehow, Eleven was able to bring Max back, then Vecna would be able to too. Which he did, Eddie wishes he could’ve avoided the fangs and who knows what else changes, but beggars can’t be choosers, right? As long as Vecna can’t control him as a puppet, he can try accepting everything else.
But if he could control him, he wouldn’t be looking for him, he’d just force him to come back to the Upside Down, or make him do all the sick things he has planned for Eddie to do.
It’s a flash. Like a picture shown on a screen for only a brief moment, then it’s dark again. And it’s what makes him wake up. He’s underwater. He can’t breathe, he can’t—Eddie startles up with a gasp, water spilling out of the bathtub.
There’s a bang on the door, and then, it’s hitting the wall, opened with too much strength.
Dustin and Steve are both standing there, eyes wide, looking at him.
“You were waiting behind the door,” Eddie points out with a sigh, shaking his head, and then, he helps himself with his hands on the rim of the bathtub to stand up.
“Can I have a towel?” he asks when both Dustin and Steve keep looking at him without doing or saying anything, as if he has grown a second head too. Eddie knows what they’re waiting for, but first, he wants to at least dry himself, and maybe get dressed.
Steve opens the cabinet by the side of the bathtub, takes the towel and, “Here,” says, passing it to him.
“Thanks, Harrington.”
Eddie would expect to feel cold, he has been in a bathtub with cold water and ice for he doesn’t know how long, but it’s like he can’t feel it. He could feel how hot he was due to the fever, but now, the coldness doesn’t make him shiver. It doesn’t make goosebumps rise on his skin. Maybe because the coldness he feels deep inside his bones is much worse.
“Vecna’s looking for me,” he tells them then, since Dustin is still looking at him and Eddie knows him too well, he can see how much he’s quivering, wanting to know what happened.
“What!” Dustin almost screeches, eyes still wide, “how do you know that?”
Eddie raises his eyebrow up, “Weren’t you the one who said Vecna needs someone to protect him? How do you think I know?”
“Yeah, yeah, okay, but it was an assumption!”
“Well, Henderson, you were right,” Eddie grimaces, getting out of the tub, towel wrapped around his shoulders. “Can I have my clothes back?” he says then, towards Steve, who gestures to them with his chin. Eddie didn’t notice they were on the closed lid of the toilet. On the neatly folded clothes—Steve? Who would’ve thought, there’s also a pair of dry boxers and for a second, Eddie stares at them. He sighs. “Can I have some privacy? Or is that too much to ask?”
Dustin’s starting to protest, Eddie can see it even before it happens, but Steve’s quicker, he grabs him by the shoulders and pushes him outside, closing the door behind his back.
Eddie sighs again, runs a hand through his wet hair to try combing them, not like he cares much, and after, he changes.
The clothes aren’t actually his, besides taking Steve’s guest bedroom, he’s kind of hoarding his wardrobe too, since Steve has already provided him with a t-shirt and shorts to sleep in, and now, another set of fresh clothes. They fit alright at least, even if the colorful t-shirts aren’t really his thing, and Steve had to go through all of his shorts to find one that reached at least above his knees. Eddie can’t still believe Steve wears shorts that short in his house. Good for Eddie, though, because he has something to look at. Only for his own imagination, of course.
Eddie isn’t surprised to find Dustin waiting behind the door when he gets out, or having him heard whispering “c’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” for the whole time he was dressing himself. They still don’t know he can hear everything they say now, and honestly, Eddie hasn’t decided yet if he should tell them or not, it could come in handy if he doesn’t, like knowing if they’re talking about him when they think he can’t hear.
“So?” Dustin asks him as soon as his foot is out of the bathroom, “what else do you know?”
A “Dustin!” comes from somewhere downstairs, “let Eddie breathe, for God’s sake!” Steve doesn’t have super hearing, but he still knows Dustin too well. Eddie hears the sound of pans and plates, so he guesses he’s back to preparing the breakfast they were supposed to eat, even if now it must have become lunch.
He chuckles, ruffles Dustin’s hair, and, “Yeah, let me breathe,” he tells him, “I was dead for three days.”
Dustin rolls his eyes, “You should’ve radio-ed me last night,” he says, following him down the stairs. “We could’ve already gone over all this if I had known sooner.”
Eddie waves his hand on his shoulder, “It’s alright, and besides last night I didn’t have the fangs.” He almost shakes his head. Unbelievable. Fangs? Eddie hopes he doesn’t grow wings next.
“Okay, but still—”
“Dustin, stop being a pestering child,” Steve cuts him off, a spatula in one hand, which makes Eddie snort a low laugh.
Dustin huffs, rolls his eyes at Steve this time, and, “Whatever,” he says under his breath, as if Eddie doesn’t know he will start speaking again about the matter in not even two minutes.
Eddie sits on the high stool, this time closer to where Steve is standing, and watches him cook. He can’t understand what he’s exactly cooking, maybe pasta, Steve’s kind of blocking the stove with his body. He changed his clothes, Eddie notices, and when his eyes glance down—fuck, he’s wearing the short shorts. They barely reach the middle of his thighs, and his ass is just right there, if Eddie didn’t know better, he’d think Steve does it on purpose.
He tells himself not to stare, Steve could turn around at any moment, but it’s kind of hard not to, not when his thighs look thick enough for his fingers to sink into them. If Steve keeps wearing those shorts around the house, and Eddie will have to force himself from not staring, he will go crazy even faster than he thought.
It’s Dustin who gets his attention away, he clears his throat, and when Eddie turns to look at him, he pretends like Dustin couldn’t see what he was doing. Besides, it isn’t like it’s the first time Dustin catches him staring at some dude’s ass or flirting with a guy. Dustin’s smart, he surely has understood.
“What?”
“Are you sure you can eat?” he asks back, serious, “you know, with you being a…” he gestures towards him, fumbling with his hand. He’s avoiding saying the word vampire, but it’s still the word all the three of them are thinking about.
“So what? You think I’m gonna attack you and drink your blood?” Eddie laughs, but when Dustin remains serious at his words, “Dustin, fucking hell, do you really believe that?” he asks, bewildered.
“Ignore him,” Steve comments, placing the plates on the kitchen island and sitting in front of Eddie. “He watches too many movies.”
“Fine, then try, and if you end up throwing up I’m not holding your hair back,” Dustin tells him, taking a plate and assaulting the pasta with the fork. Eddie sends a glance at Steve, amused, and Steve shakes his head, starting to eat too.
He stares down at his own plate, Dustin can’t be right, and besides, if he were an actual vampire, he shouldn’t need breathing, and his heart shouldn’t beat anymore. He should be a walking corpse, but Eddie can feel his heart beating, he needs to breathe or he will die. Again. Why shouldn’t he be able to eat? Organs are organs, if his heart and lungs work just fine, why should his stomach and intestines not work instead?
Tentatively, he brings the pasta to his mouth—which smells and looks good, actually fucking good, and then chews and swallows. Nothing happens. There aren’t any cramps. The pasta definitely doesn’t get pushed back up, so he takes another bite, and then another, because it tastes good too, feeling both Dustin’s and Steve’s watchful eye on him.
Once his plate is cleared, and he’s almost certain nothing will happen, “See?” he speaks up, mostly to Dustin rather than Steve, “I can eat just fine. No need to worry about me needing human blood to survive.”
“Thank God,” Steve murmurs, looking actually thankful.
Eddie stares at him, “Did you think that too?” he asks, accusing. He can’t believe it.
Steve seems offended for a second, as if Eddie’s the one who lost his mind, and, “Well, not my fault Dustin can be pretty convincing sometimes,” he explains.
He shakes his head.
“Yeah, sure, what next? Wings? I don’t know, talons?”
“Shut up, man,” Dustin says. “You want to hear you were right? Okay, fine, you were right.”
“You shut up, Hender—”
Did he speak too soon? Fuck, he spoke too soon, didn’t he?
Eddie presses a hand to his mouth and bolts up. He needs a bathroom. He fucking needs a bathroom right now. He glances at Steve, hoping he sees the urgency in his eyes.
“There, there, there!” Steve screams, getting up too, gesturing towards a closed door in the hallway outside of the kitchen.
Eddie runs, probably breaks the doorknob in the process to open the door, and the second after, he’s on his knees, throwing up everything he just ate, and maybe even more than that.
Fingers are in his hair soon after, taking the curls away from his face. Dustin said he wouldn’t have done it, so it must be Steve. Eddie hates himself, he’s sleeping in his house, stealing his clothes and now, he’s forcing Steve to take care of him.
Steve keeps his hair away for the whole time, at some point, he even strokes his back, whispering chants of “it’s alright,” and “you’re fine,” which isn’t entirely true, but at least they’re kind of comforting. And he doesn’t sound angry.
Once he thinks he’s done, Eddie flushes and rests his forehead on the cool ceramic. He can still feel Steve behind him, and Dustin must be close too since he can hear him breathe.
“Fuck,” he murmurs, pushing himself up to rinse his mouth at the faucet, and then, sits down back on the floor, back leaned against the wall, a hand in his hair, eyes closed.
The other two are there too, Eddie hears them shuffle around, but he doesn’t look up to see what they’re doing. They’re silent, though, and for a moment, Eddie wishes they would speak, that they would say something, even bicker and make him laugh. But they don’t.
He doesn’t want to think about it, because how can he think about that when he’s this lucky? He died, but he’s back now, and probably not many can say they shared the same fate as him, but if this is what he has to go through, if he can’t even eat anymore in order to be alive, he doesn’t know if it’s worth it. If it’s better than staying dead. Is it luck, or is it just another kind of curse. Because from his own point of view, it feels like everything but a miracle, or luck.
Vecna literally resurrected him to be what? His servant? Eddie really can’t choose what’s worse between that and death.
“Why no one ever listens to me,” Dustin says after what feels like days have passed, almost complaining and breaking the silence. Eddie finally looks up and notices that Dustin and Steve are sitting down on the bathroom floor too, shoulder to shoulder in front of him.
“You’re a vampire, man.”
Shit. He really is, isn’t he?