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Eddie Munson dies. When he opens his eyes again, he feels very small.
Not metaphorically, or anything, he — quite literally — feels microscopic. His skin sits too tight around his flesh, his bones feel elastic, and his heart is beating at a hundred miles an hour.
Blinking up at the red clouds above him, Eddie raises a shaky hand to the sky, praying to anyone, anything out there. And then his stomach drops.
His arm is—
His arm isn’t an arm. It’s—
He realizes a few things in rapid succession. One: his not-arm is attached to– a wing? Two: he actually is tiny, swaddled in an ocean of fabric, which, upon closer inspection, is his Hellfire shirt. Three: he’s still in the Upside Down.
Shit.
Shit.
His first instinct is to deny it. Deny that he's here at all. These things just don't happen! Simply!
But it would track, wouldn't it, for something like this to happen to Eddie, of all people. For him to turn into, he's realizing, a bat.
Eddie is used to feeling like he doesn’t quite belong in his body. Growing up, he had spent a precious couple of years trying to figure out where he belonged – if he could be a boy despite what his father told him. Before Wayne came along, letting him know he could be whatever he damn well wanted to be.
But this, waking up in an entirely new body? A new species? Someone is laughing at him, and it sounds suspiciously like his father.
Shut the fuck up, he mutters to himself– or tries to, but the words don’t come. Instead, a chitter so high in frequency Eddie can barely hear it leaves his lips.
Jesus, as if he wasn’t in enough shit as it is. Now he’s speaking radio. He doesn’t need his evil, evil brain to conjure an image of his sneering father’s face on top of the whole being-unable-to-speak thing. (He’s always pictured his dear old Pops like that: smarmy and false, because the alternative, the reality – the way he wears a charming smile so well – reminds him so much of himself it turns his stomach.)
Anyway. As the young Sinclair would say: just the facts. Eddie’s in deep shit, and he’d like to crawl his way out if it as soon as possible. He’s going to get out of here.
You are well, a voice says suddenly, and Eddie jolts to get away from it, only to realize it’s coming from inside his own head.
I’m a bat! he wails. A warmth rushes through him, like an inward hug.
You are well, the voice says again.
What do you mean? What is this? he asks. He’s trembling with it, the fear, the not knowing.
A second chance.
The words settle over him like a balm. It feels like a promise. Like an opportunity carved into the universe specifically for him.
And like hell is he throwing it away.
The thing about Eddie is, he doesn't want to be unknown. To end up unknown. His nature won't allow it– he is loud and disruptive and passionate, and to go out with a whimper – a whimper nobody even hears – is completely unacceptable to him.
No, if Eddie Munson’s going to die, he’s going to go out in a ball of flames and glory. He’ll go out like a hero.
Eddie’s grim resolve is what’s kept him alive all these years, and it’ll keep him alive now, too. He’s not bitter— or, well. He’s been bitter, but he let his cynicism die with Chrissy Cunningham. What’s the point of hating a world that’s entirely indifferent? Sure, he’s probably earned hating the world a little— who the hell gets saddled with accusations of occult murders, deadbeat parents, and a predilection for beautiful, unattainable men? Eddie, that’s who.
But who’s Eddie to yell about the cards he’s been dealt? He’s already yelled. He’s hollered, screamed, cursed, and on a couple of occasions, cried about it. It’s done him no good.
He’s not saying he’s gotta be grateful, or some shit — nah, the only thing he’s grateful for is Wayne and Dio — but it’s easier to breathe when you’re not convinced you’re God’s number one enemy. Better to accept that life is absurd, and leave it at that.
Which is why he doesn’t have a meltdown, once it really hits him he’s a bat. Sure, he's freaking out — because, uh, hello? He’s a bat? — but he lets the panic roll through him like thunder, lets it sink in that in this impossible new reality, he is a small creature. And then he stands up.
Correction: he tries to stand up. It’s more like a wobble, a tumble, and finally, a shaky launch off the ground.
What a fuckin’ week.
Christ, Eddie kind of wants to live just to tell someone about the past couple of days of his life. It could get him a goddamn book deal, if he could focus long enough to write anything about it. At the very least, he’d like to regale Gareth with the tale that was his almost-death. He wouldn’t even need to ham it up— the real deal is as unbelievable as it gets. Why, yes, Gare-bear— I did spontaneously turn into a bat after reanimating. Yeah— reanimating. I was dead. But now I’m not!
He’s not going to think about Henderson, or anyone else who might’ve seen his body. Acknowledging the heavy guilt weighing on his shoulders won’t do him any good.
No. What he’s going to do, is get out of here. And then he's going to find the others, and help them fight Vecna. If he's not already dead.
He wishes Steve was here. He would know what to do. Eddie can picture it, can see him sighing wearily before steeling himself, saying some shit like, we’ll head toward the nearest portal, Munson. I’ll carry you, if you need me to.
Okay, he’s got an overactive imagination. But it’s a nice thought.
Harrington, Harrington, Harrington, though. Who’d’ve thought Eddie would end up saving the world (Hawkins) with a jock? A reformed man, no less— someone unfailingly brave and surprisingly kind, even to someone like Eddie, who he had no way of knowing wasn’t an actual murder?
And if Eddie’s exceptional queer-dar isn’t betraying him, Harrington’s best buds with a fellow friend of Dorothy.
He wonders what Steve’s up to right now. If he made it out of here with Dustin, Nancy and Robin in tow. If he—
The world falls from beneath his feet.
Eddie yells — or tries to, it sounds more like a squeak — before he’s bodily yanked downwards. It’s as if gravity itself bends around him, rendering him entirely weightless.
And then—
pop!
Eddie falls unceremoniously onto the floor in a tangle of limbs. Hardwood floor. Panting, he pushes himself up with his pathetic wing-arms.
Where the hell is he?
“Hello?” calls a voice from down the hall. “Anyone there?”
Yes! Help!
Eddie's mouth won’t work— everything coming out in chitters and squeaks.
Oh, this is just emasculating.
“I have a— a knife, if someone’s breaking in,” the voice says, and oh. That’s Harrington’s voice.
Banging his little fists on the floor, Eddie yells. This time, the noise leaves him like a sharp whistle.
And then Steve’s head pops around the corner, knife in hand. He’s a man of his word, certainly.
Steve looks good. Eddie can’t quite believe his eyes, but the man is wearing a tanktop, the fabric pulled taught around his wide shoulders. The long pyjama pants he’s wearing appear to be more for comfort’s sake, if the way they’re slipping down his hips is anything to go by.
Panic rising in his chest for a variety of reasons, now, Eddie whistle-yells again. Eyes widening comically, Steve promptly ducks back into the kitchen, a loud clatter following. Eddie startles into silence, peering at the doorway like it might offer salvation, which, hey, it very well might.
Reappearing (knifeless, thank God), Steve sucks in a breath, hands clenched at his sides. He approaches Eddie slowly.
“Oh my God,” Steve breathes as he crouches in front of Eddie, hands fluttering in the space between them. “What do I do?”
Eddie chitters at him, unable to find the words.
“Okay. Shit,” Steve says, and then he turns and jogs back into the kitchen. Again.
Chittering indignantly, Eddie flaps his stupid wings. This is just— great. Being abandoned by the first friendly face he finds is fantastic.
Before Eddie can curse his entire existence, though, Steve rounds the corner again. He’s holding a blue towel, shaking it out as he goes.
“Heya, little guy,” Steve says, much calmer this time. Softly, almost. He crouches in front of Eddie, holding the towel out for Eddie to— sniff?
Haltingly, Eddie obliges. He keeps his eyes on Steve as he leans in, nostrils flaring. It smells like a towel.
“Yeah,” Steve says quietly. “That’s it. I’m gonna pick you up, is that— is that okay?”
Curse his cold, dead heart— Eddie melts. Shuffling closer to Steve, Eddie nods.
Steve looks almost surprised at Eddie’s willingness, which— fair, as far as he knows, he’s communicating with a totally normal bat, but—
It’s cute. Steve Harrington is cute.
Scooping Eddie up, Steve murmurs a soft, “There we go.”
Eddie sways unsteadily before Steve’s fingers wrap around him completely, like a hug.
“Okay. We’re in this together, little guy,” Steve tells him. He looks nervous, more than he had back in the goddamn Upside Down. Eddie barks a laugh, but it comes out as a soundless half-wheeze.
Steve shushes him kindly, like Eddie’s a spooked animal, which— he is. Jesus.
For a moment, they just stand in the hallway, regarding each other with equal levels of incredulity. And then, because Eddie’s incapable, Steve exhales shakily.
“I should call Robin,” he says, before making a face. “Nevermind, she’d— man, she’d freak out if I told her you were here.”
Why?
Unable to ask it, Eddie tilts his head at him.
Steve scrunches his nose. “She hates rodents. I, sorry, I don’t know if you are a rodent, but, like… You know. Close enough.”
Eddie chuffs, offended. He is most certainly not a rodent. Even if he feels kind of like a rat with wings.
“Sorry,” Steve says again, sheepishly. Slowly, his face morphs into consideration. “How’d you get all the way out to Indy, little guy?”
Indy? As in, Indianapolis?
Holy shit.
Eddie stays silent, because he can’t speak. If he could, he’d be saying: what the fuck do you mean, Indy? Am I in an alternate universe in which you, Steve Harrington, have always lived in Indy?
…Have I always been a bat?
Am I hallucinating?
Am I still dead?
“Man,” Steve murmurs. “I guess I should, like, feed you. What do you eat?”
Ducking closer to look at him, Steve frowns. “Scratch that, we’re gonna clean you up, little guy. You’re all dusty.”
Steve Harrington’s bathroom is entirely green. Pastel green, to be precise. The sink, the shower, the walls. Eddie can’t believe it. It’s so different from the one in the Harrington mansion he used to frequent back when he sold out of his box. Back when he snuck upstairs to snoop around Steve’s room.
“Okay,” Steve’s saying under his breath. Carefully, he places Eddie in the sink. He claps his hands together before opening a cabinet, retrieving a toothbrush.
Looking at Eddie, he holds the toothbrush up. “This is new. Just wanna let you know, in case you, like, speak English. I am not cleaning you with a used toothbrush.”
Eddie snorts, and Steve quirks a smile.
Steve spends a long time brushing Eddie after that. Every now and then he washes the toothbrush, using a towel to wipe the dirt off of Eddie. He does it all with a steady hand, the bristles barely grazing Eddie. It’s so gentle, Eddie’s throat closes up.
“There,” Steve breathes finally. “All done.” Putting the toothbrush down, he says, “There was some blood on you, but I can’t find any wounds. Who did you fight, buddy?”
A swarm of bats, Eddie thinks. Back before I was one myself. Which, you know, is a thing.
“Okay. I’ve gotta find a sweatshirt, I’m freezing my ass off,” Steve says, almost to himself, before wrapping Eddie back up in the towel.
He takes him down the hall, which— yeah, this is definitely not Steve’s house. This is an apartment. A pretty compact one, at that. Homey, the way Eddie’s friends used to call his home, when they didn’t want to call it small.
Wordlessly, Steve pushes a door open with his shoulder, bringing them both into a sparsely decorated room. Looking at the nailbat shoved haphazardly underneath Steve’s bed, Eddie deduces this to be Steve’s room.
The wall over a bureau looks almost like a canvas, with how many pictures are glued to it. Pictures of the kids, of Robin and Steve goofing off, of two people Eddie figures must be Steve’s parents. There’s even a picture of Hellfire, bar Eddie, and Eddie swallows hard before looking away from that one.
On the floor is a colourful rug, which feels like Robin’s doing. It’s a patchwork job of a rug, something he can picture her picking up at a flea market. Or, hey, maybe Steve bought it himself. It’s high time Eddie acknowledges that he doesn’t really know the guy, despite wanting to.
Steve puts Eddie down on the bed to rifle through his closet. Idly, Eddie wonders if Steve has a girlfriend. If Eddie caught him at an unusual time. Maybe she’s at work. Maybe she has her own place.
…Maybe Eddie’s ability to be normal has shrunk with the rest of him.
He watches Steve shuffle a handful of hangers around before his heart stops, because– there. That’s Eddie’s vest. Why does Steve have Eddie’s vest?
Heart pounding wildly in his chest, Eddie hones in on the Megadeth patch. And then, he leaps for his life.
Somehow, he sticks the landing, squeaking as he digs his claws into the thick material.
“What are you— dude!”
Suddenly, warm hands are enveloping him and tugging him away. Eddie’s ear ends up pressed to Steve’s chest, where his heart is beating just a little too quickly.
Steve sucks in a breath.
Eddie shuffles so he can peer up at him, trying not to use his claws. He's staring at the vest.
“That’s my buddy’s vest,” Steve says quietly, eyes far away. He swallows. “Or, um, it was. He— he died. Back in March.”
Back in March?
How long has Eddie been gone?
Grateful, suddenly, that he can’t speak, Eddie looks away. Steve’s heart beats steadily beneath his shirt, a soft drum accompanying the silence in the room.
Tittering softly, he presses himself to Steve’s thumb. He can’t do much else, can’t tell him he’s sorry for not listening — don’t be a hero — or fuck off elsewhere. He’s a bat, and for the foreseeable future, he’s entirely dependent on Steve.
“I think he’d like you, you know?” Steve says quietly, turning away from the vest to walk over to the bed, still cradling Eddie. He sits gingerly, as if worried he’d jostle him. “I didn’t know him for long, but he was close to the kids. Dustin— he’s, y’know, like a brother to me, he told me a lot about him.”
What did he tell you? Eddie wants to ask. He aches, at the mention of Dustin. Can barely make himself remember everything. He wonders if his uncle still thinks about him.
“He told me Eddie, like, adopted a feral cat this one time? One of those scruffy, mangy ones.”
Gollum, Eddie thinks, surprised. The cat had been called Gollum.
“Anyway, um. I feel like he’d probably adopt you, too. Would’ve adopted you, sorry.” Steve laughs again, voice wobbly.
Did Steve mourn him? Did— did Steve miss him, when he died?
Eddie tilts his head up to stare at Steve, who’s closed his eyes. He seems to be gathering himself, swallowing convulsively. Inhaling, he shakes his head and cracks his eyes back open.
“In— in a weird way, it’s why we moved to the city, you know?” Steve says softly, like he’s telling a secret. “I just… I needed to get out. And Robin, my best friend, she— she said we could do it. We could just go. Hawkins was just… I don’t know, just, wherever I went, there was always something to fix, something to, like, help with.” Steve sighs. “Jesus, I sound like a total douchebag, but I was just… exhausted. I couldn’t do it anymore. And Eddie…”
For a moment, it’s as if Steve’s speaking to him, calling him Eddie. But he doesn’t know, doesn’t realize he’s holding the very person he’s talking about in his hands.
“I guess I wanted to get to know him, before… before it happened.” Steve huffs a laugh. “Stupid, right? I knew him for, like, a week.”
Eddie stares at him, heart thundering in a ribcage too small for him. Steve had wanted to get to know him. Oh, Eddie’s going to die again. How can one be so lucky and unlucky at the same time?
He wants to tell Steve he’s right here, he’s literally in the palm of his hand, but— all that comes out is a short chitter.
Almost absentmindedly, Steve touches his back with his thumb.
“Anyway,” Steve says, voice steadier. “He’s— you know. He’s gone. What do bats eat?”
And so commences a ten-minute long raid of Steve and Robin’s fridge.
A long while later, the three bites of fish Steve had fed him sitting heavy in his belly, they go to bed. At first, Steve finds him a little box to sleep in, complete with a soft towel and a bowl of water. When Eddie wails miserably at him from the floor, though, Steve cracks immediately, leaning down to scoop him up.
Currently, Eddie’s tucked up against Steve’s pillow, curled up into a ball in his towel. When he figures out how to turn back into a human – which he will – he thinks he’ll miss the manoeuvrability of his limbs.
Before Steve switches off the lights, he surprises Eddie by grabbing a walkie off the floor.
“Mama Bear checking in, over,” he says, and Eddie sits up to blink at him. As if to soothe him, Steve pets him with his thumb, smiling softly at him.
“Brainiac responding. Hi, Steve,” says Dustin. “Before you ask, Will’s at Mike’s, and the rest of us are at Lucas’. Over.”
“Thought you guys were too old for sleepovers,” Steve smiles. “Over.”
“Fuck off. Over,” Dustin says, but it’s jovial. In the background, there’s the vague sound of voices– the kids' playful bickering. Man, Eddie misses hearing it. Misses Hellfire and DnD and arguing about Metallica vs. Megadeth.
“Listen, I won’t keep you. Tell Erica to call Robin soon. She misses her. Over.”
Dustin makes a noise. “Erica’s right here, just tell Robin to talk to her now. Over.”
“Robin’s at Danny’s,” Steve tells him patiently. “Over.”
“Oh, she’s with her boyfriend. Who is still not you. Gotcha. Over.”
Steve sighs. He mutters, “Girlfriend,” under his breath — Eddie was right! — before speaking into the walkie again, “Yeah, whatever, knucklehead. Have a good night. Over and out.”
It’s not lost on Eddie that Steve avoided mentioning him, but he gets it. Saying some shit like, by the way, I found a bat in the hallway, might not go down too well. Especially if most of the kids are gathered in one place. Jeez, Eddie can practically see Dustin going into problem-solving mode.
“You too, Steve. Over and out.”
So, Steve checks in with the kids before going to bed. Presumably every night. Eddie’s going to go into cardiac arrest– why must Steve be the way he is? He’s sweet enough to rot Eddie’s teeth.
For a while, it’s quiet. Steve carefully leans over Eddie to turn the light off, and Eddie holds his breath so as to avoid breathing in Steve’s, like, chest. Steve doesn’t know it’s Eddie he’s cuddling up to. He must have some decorum.
Once they’ve settled, Steve with a leg half-way hanging off the bed like a total weirdo, Eddie with his wing pressed to Steve’s shoulder, Steve sighs.
“I kinda miss the kids,” he says into the dark. Eddie listens to him swallow. “I know they’re, like, their own people, you know? But— I don’t know. Sometimes I think I need them more than they need me.”
Eddie stays quiet. Lets the words settle in him.
Steve chuckles weakly. “Kinda pathetic, huh?”
Clicking at him morosely, Eddie scoots closer to him, leaving his towel-cocoon in favour of pressing his face to Steve’s bicep. It’s a nice bicep.
“Woah, hey,” Steve whispers. He hesitates, before reaching out with his other hand to brush a finger over Eddie’s head, petting him gently.
A rumble starts somewhere, and it takes Eddie a second to realize it’s coming from himself. He’s purring. Like a cat.
“You’re so cute,” Steve whispers, stroking his thumb over Eddie’s tiny bat-head.
Preening, Eddie shuts his eyes. He’s probably supposed to be nocturnal now, with his new and shiny bat-biology, but he’s exhausted. Exhausted and content, forgetting for a moment he should be panicking about his situation. Steve Harrington is petting him, after all. The rest can wait.
“You don’t have rabies, right?” Steve asks suddenly, shooting him a suspicious look, like it would be Eddie’s fault if he had rabies.
Eddie squawks at him, flapping his wings angrily.
“Sorry,” Steve says, holding a hand up. “Just checking. Robin would kill me if I got rabies and, like, died.”
Jesus. This guy.
Sleep, says a voice– the same voice from the Upside Down, coming from within him. It sounds almost amused.
Okay, he agrees. He has a feeling the voice doesn’t belong to anyone, but to something. The very essence of it emanates the same rush of adrenaline the Upside Down inspired in Eddie, like maybe the voice belongs to something down there. Like maybe it was as relieved as the rest of them to be rid of Vecna, and that… that maybe this is its way of thanking him, for his part.
He doesn’t know, but he doesn’t need to. He just needs to figure out how to turn back into a human.
Eddie wakes up feeling toasty and warm, like a marshmallow. He soon discovers it’s because he’s lying in the crook of Steve’s neck, his little nose pressed to his sleep-warm skin.
Right. He’s a bat.
Determinedly not thinking about it, Eddie hoists himself up on shaky limbs and crawls onto Steve’s chest. He’s so small it doesn’t disturb Steve’s breathing.
Just to be a dick, he digs his claws in a little. He’s like Steve’s personal, semi-evil alarm clock.
Stirring, Steve groans. He fights a yawn, rubbing sleepily at his eyes before his gaze settles on Eddie.
“Hey there, little guy,” he says, and Jesus Christ, his morning voice. It’s gravelly and low, the rasp of it rolling over Eddie like a wave. “Sleep okay?”
“Steve,” Eddie tries to say, and for a moment, he thinks he succeeds.
Steve freezes, eyes wide and unblinking as he stares at Eddie. But then he shakes his head, running a hand through his hair.
“‘M going crazy. Jesus.” Clearing his throat, he picks Eddie up gently, sitting up. “How about some breakfast?”
Steve feeds him fish again, propping him up in the fruit bowl (don’t tell Robin). Afterwards, Steve scarfs down a piece of toast and half a banana he’d left in the fridge. It’s such a plain breakfast Eddie can’t help but snort. Again, Steve looks at him like he knows he’s missing something, like the cogs are turning.
And then they’re back in Steve’s bedroom. He’s muttering under his breath about finding a number for a vet, which makes Eddie’s skin crawl, because his time here is limited, isn’t it? A vet would want to release him into the wild, where they’d think he belongs. And then what? He wouldn’t survive for longer than a day, and he’s not sure his wings are strong enough to carry him all the way back to Indianapolis.
He has to figure this thing out. Fast.
For some reason, Eddie’s eyes find Steve’s closet again. It’s open, and he can make out his vest hanging there, as unassuming as any other article of clothing.
He can’t explain it, the inexplicable pull he feels toward it. But– it’s like it’s calling out to him. Calling him home.
Heaving a great sigh, he readies himself for flight. He’s gonna have to launch himself at it again.
“Woah, okay, no,” Steve says quickly, stepping in front of him. “No flying indoors. Please.”
Then by all means, take me to my goddamn battle vest, Harrington.
“What do you even want in there?” Steve asks, turning to glance at the closet. He squints at it, before realization hits. Turning back to Eddie, he arches an eyebrow, exasperated.
“What is with you and the vest, dude?” Steve asks, hands on his hips. “You’re a bat. Fashion shouldn’t be, like, a thing for you.”
Eddie shoots him a betrayed look, walking in a frustrated circle.
“Okay, okay— fine. Jesus.” Steve sighs. “You can look at the damn vest.”
Eddie trills happily.
Good, that disembodied, otherworldly voice says, the words echoing in the cavern of his mind.
Thanks? he replies.
Laying the vest down on the bed, Steve steps back. “Which one’s your favourite?” he asks. He’s gesturing at the patches.
Hesitantly, Eddie crawls closer to the vest, nudging it with his nose. Dio is his favourite – at least for the moment – and he can’t see the familiar, bold letters from this angle.
Frowning, Steve reaches for it. “You want me to turn it over?”
Eddie chitters.
Steve flips it around.
Pleased, Eddie crawls back onto it, settling smack in the middle of it.
“Dio’s your favourite?” Steve asks, something nervous in his voice now. “How’d you— how’d you know how to do that?”
Eddie just looks at him, pleading with his eyes for him to understand.
Come ooon, Harrington. You’re smart. Figure it out.
Steve pauses, downturned cow-like eyes focused entirely on him.
Hesitantly, like he’s scared of looking stupid, he says, “Eddie?”
Fuckin’ finally! Eddie yells. It comes out as, “Cree-cri-cree!”
Steve’s eyes widen, hands jerking like he wants to reach for him. Eddie wishes he could tell him that he can.
“Holy shit,” he breathes.
And then, down the hallway, the door bangs open.
“Honey, I’m home!”
Eddie’s heart stops. Has Steve’s secret girlfriend come home? Not that she would be secret– Eddie’s just been – well – too dead to know about her. But it would make sense; why wouldn’t Steve have a girlfriend, if he moved away from Hawkins to keep from stagnating? Why wouldn’t he move on to bigger, better things?
Above him, Steve freezes. “Robin’s home.”
Oh.
Eddie chooses not to examine the relief pulsing through him too closely.
“Just– stay quiet, alright?” Steve says, and then he’s gone, closing the door behind him.
Straining his ears, Eddie can hear the two friends talking, Robin's voice loud and exuberant, Steve's quiet and nervous.
Huffing, Eddie decides the vest might be right. It’s never done him wrong before, except for that one time it failed to keep him alive. But, hey, maybe that’s the point. Maybe it feels bad, or something.
Jesus, Eddie’s sick of being a bat.
Sucking in a breath, Eddie army-crawls his way underneath the vest. And then he closes his eyes.
Please. Please let this be the answer. Give me back my body.
A familiar warmth rushes through him, and he gasps. It feels as if his blood is singing with it, his teeth shifting in his mouth, his eyes swelling. He can feel his bones shifting.
It’s a hard pain to describe. It’s not excruciating, but it’s not good either. It’s caught somewhere in the middle, a bearable, moving sort of pain. When his joints pop, Eddie moans, squeezing his eyes shut, before they fly open, because that was him making that noise, which means–
Holy shit. It worked.
Panting, Eddie pushes himself up dazedly. He stares down at his hands. His human hands. He pats himself down quickly, a disbelieving laugh slipping past his lips. The places the demobats bit him ache, like they’re still tender, despite there being only the barest hints of scars. The two choppy lines on his chest are barely visible, looking better than he ever thought they would (he'd been made peace with it, always carrying with him the proof he chopped his tits off two years ago, but. Well. It looks like whatever omnipresent being brought him back to life is an ally).
Holding up his arms, he realizes with a jolt of glee that his tattoos are all in place. Fuck yeah.
Down the hall, conversation suddenly ceases.
Scrambling to his feet, Eddie falls into the bureau. He flings a drawer open and roots through it, pulling a pair of sweats – oh, he could weep with relief – out of it. He tugs them on in record speed, like that time he threw his duvet over himself when Wayne almost walked in on him trying to tattoo his thigh. It’s just in time, too, because the next second, the door flies open.
Whirling, Eddie freezes. Staring at him, is Steve and Robin. They’re wearing matching faces of pure, unbridled disbelief.
“You’re not a bat,” Robin says, verging on hysterical.
“What the fuck,” Steve chokes out.
“Hey,” Eddie manages.
That’s all he has time for, before a tornado of limbs fly at him, wrapping him up in a tight embrace.
“Oof–” Eddie nearly falls on his ass, but Steve hauls him in, safe and sound. The poor guy’s trembling against Eddie, while Robin curses under her breath worse than Eddie’s uncle when the heater craps out on them.
“Holy fucking shit, Munson,” Robin squeaks next to his ear, arms squeezing around him.
Eddie lets himself relax, after a moment. Lets himself feel the relief coursing through him. Lets himself hug his friends back.
Farewell, the voice says.
Eddie squeezes his eyes shut, burying his nose in Steve’s shoulder.
Thank you, he thinks, hoping whoever the voice belongs to feels the gratitude swelling in his chest.
The warmth returns, airy and bright, making his heart race. And then, just like that, the presence disappears.
When Steve and Robin finally disentangle themselves from Eddie, Eddie smiles at them shakily.
“So, uh,” he says. “What did I miss?” He’s not sure why he asks it. To divert all attention from the fact that he, Eddie Munson, presumed dead, is standing right in front of them. He just– he feels naked, not only because he’s dressed in a pair of Steve’s sweats and nothing else. He’s not delusional enough to think Steve’s looking at him, or anything, but he still feels vulnerable.
Steve’s eyes seem to rove all over him, flickering back to Eddie’s face every other moment, like he can’t quite believe he’s here.
“You’re alive,” Steve finally says, all breathy and– relieved. Like he’s truly happy to see him.
I guess I wanted to get to know him.
…Well. Steve had wanted to get to know him. He had kept his goddamn vest. That’s– that’s got to mean something, right?
The realization settles with weight in his gut.
“It– yeah. I think so,” he agrees, voice cracking. He can’t tear his eyes away from Steve’s. Can’t stop cataloguing the green flecks amongst the sea of mocha there, the way they capture light so brilliantly.
“We, um,” Steve says, pulling a hand through his hair. "We should radio the kids. The– Hopper, and, shit, Wayne, of course–”
"We'll catch you up on everything later, swear," Robin says, grabbing Eddie's arm.
In a flurry of movement, the next ten minutes go by in a blur.
The three of them, sitting side by side on Steve’s unmade bed, radio everyone all at once. The chaos it causes makes Eddie cackle. Steve and Robin are kind enough not to bring the tears brimming in his eyes to attention.
It’s so surreal, is the thing. It’s been months, for everyone else. Months of thinking Eddie was stone-cold dead. Meanwhile, for Eddie, it’s only been a day and a half. He’s missed so much, but he gets to live now, to see the rest. It just– it doesn’t feel real. It doesn’t feel like something he gets to have.
“There was… something,” he’s telling them, hunkered down on the ratty couch in the living room. “A presence. It didn’t feel... you know. Evil.”
Robin regards him with focused eyes, mouth pressed into a thin line. And then, she cracks a toothy grin.
“You know what?” she says. “We deserve something good, after everything. I’ll take it.”
At whatever Eddie’s face is doing, Steve nudges him with his arm. “Everyone’s on their way here, man. And El’s already radio’d us, remember? She said–”
“That I’m normal,” Eddie finishes for him. Staring down at his cup of coffee, he huffs a weak laugh. “Dunno if I agree with that assessment, if she meant, like, generally.”
All at once, it’s too much. The comfort, the coffee, the kindness. He needs to– well, not get out, but he needs to get away. Needs to clear his head.
“Hey, uh, could I grab a shower?” he asks, still not quite meeting either of their eyes.
It’s silent for a moment, and Eddie knows without having to look that Steve and Robin are doing that telepathic thing they do sometimes, where they talk exclusively through their eyebrows.
“Yeah, man,” Steve says softly. “‘Course. I’ll show you where the towels are.”
Steve shoots Robin one last indecipherable look, before he heads down the hall.
“I– thanks,” Eddie tells Robin quickly. “For not freaking out.”
For letting me stay, he doesn’t say.
Robin seems to hear it anyway. Reaching out to take his hand, she says, “You’re our friend, Eddie. This is– God, I mean, you came back to life. Like, don’t get me wrong, I’m so totally freaked out right now, but– you’re here. That’s what matters.”
Eddie ducks his head, swallowing around the lump in his throat.
“Thanks, Buckley,” he says again. “I’ll, uh– I’ll be quick.”
Giving her hand a light squeeze, he gets to his feet and heads down the hall.
The shower does, in fact, help. Eddie pretends he’s washing away the memories of everything – of Chrissy, the look on Dustin’s face when he found him – make him pay – along with the sweat and dirt. It kind of works. He avoids the mirror the entire time, even though he’s burning with curiosity. Does he still look the same? Do the horizontal scars on his chest look the same in the bathroom light?
He runs into a problem, though, when he’s already stood butt-ass naked with shampoo in his hands. He can’t reach his damn hair without pulling at a cluster of muscles in his sides that still aches something fierce.
He could just leave it, Eddie thinks. But– well. He feels dirty. Deeply unclean, right down to his bones. He wants to wash it all away, one shower at a time.
Swallowing, Eddie rinses his hands, turns the water off, and clambers out of the tub. He pulls the underwear Steve loaned him on carefully, bracing himself against the counter, all while trying not to think about what he’s about to do.
“Steve?” he calls out, squeezing his eyes shut.
Immediately, like Steve was just, like, hovering outside, Steve replies, “Yeah? What’s up?”
“Uh.” Eddie bites his lip. “I can’t reach my hair. My sides are still– kind of fucked up.”
Eddie doesn’t even have time to brace himself before Steve’s saying, “I’ll help you.”
And then he opens the door.
Again, Eddie feels extremely, very naked. He needs to stop landing himself in situations in which he is severely underdressed around helpful, beautiful men.
For a moment, Steve only stares at Eddie.
“Steve?”
Steve shakes his head. “Sorry. Sorry, it’s just, like… I still can’t believe you’re here.”
“It’s okay,” Eddie says softly. “I’m– yeah. Me too. It’s kind of freaky, right?”
Steve purses his lips around another smile. “Pretty on brand for you, then.”
Delighted, Eddie barks a surprised laugh. He folds his arms over his chest, absolutely not flexing his muscles. “Guess so.”
Eddie watches Steve finally seem to realize the state of Eddie’s undress, eyes flickering up and down. They linger, momentarily, on his crotch, and Eddie holds his breath.
Right. He has to actually– well. He doesn’t have to tell Steve, but maybe… maybe he could.
“Steve,” he says quietly.
Seeming to sense the change in Eddie’s demeanour, Steve looks up at him, a worried furrow between his brows. “Yeah?”
“I–” Eddie swallows convulsively, unfolding and refolding his arms. “I’m not, uh– you know. My body isn’t– I don’t have– I wasn’t born a boy. So I look, I look different.” He stumbles over his words, face flushing.
“Oh,” Steve says, eyes flickering down. He looks confused for all of a moment before his eyes widen. “Oh.”
“Yeah,” Eddie says, weary. Dropping his arms, he wrings his hands together, opening his mouth to apologize, or something, when Steve suddenly yanks him forward, wrapping him up in his arms.
“Wh– what?” Eddie manages.
“Thank you,” Steve says, turning his face into Eddie’s shoulder. He feels so solid against Eddie, solid and alive, warming Eddie to the core.
Eddie laughs, heart still beating wildly in his chest. Tentatively, he hugs him back. “For what?”
“For trusting me, man,” Steve says.
It's a lot. It's so much, and Eddie can't find suitable enough words for it, so he settles for saying nothing.
They don’t talk as Steve helps him back into the shower, nor when Steve lathers his hands up. He’s so gentle with it, massaging Eddie’s scalp like it matters to him how Eddie feels. And it does, doesn’t it? Steve’s all but told him.
“Thanks,” Eddie says quietly, as Steve rinses the conditioner out.
Steve holds the nozzle closer to his scalp, warming Eddie up with the warm water. “‘Course, man.”
When he’s done, Steve holds the shower head out for Eddie to take, keeping his eyes on his face. Eddie wonders what Steve thinks of his body. If he too thinks his deep voice makes little sense with the rest of him. If he wants to change it.
But Steve’s not looking at him like he’s wrong, somehow. He’s looking at him like… like he sees something there. Like he wants to keep looking.
“All done,” Steve says, stepping carefully out of the shower.
Holding the shower head to his chest, Eddie realizes he just… Doesn’t feel that bone-deep insecurity he normally would. He doesn’t mind Steve looking at him.
When Eddie makes no move to leave the shower, Steve clears his throat. “I’ll be, um. Right outside. Take however long you need.”
And with that, he whisks himself away, and Eddie watches the door like he’ll come right back for a long moment before shaking himself.
He stays standing in the shower for a long while, with the nozzle pressed to his chest.
It’s only later, when he’s clambering out of the shower and towelling off his hair, that he allows himself to look. His own face stares back at him. He really does look… entirely the same. The scars are still there, albeit faded, along with his tattoos. It’s hardly noticeable, but Eddie notices because he’s lived in this body for, well, his entire life.
Couldn’t have given me a dick? he thinks, hoping whoever the voice belongs to can take a joke.
Predictably, the voice doesn’t respond. A gentle rush of homeliness sweeps through him, though, and it feels almost like amusement. Eddie’s lips quirk. Not entirely gone, then. Eddie finds that he doesn't mind.
There’s a knock at the door.
“Just a sec!” he says, grabbing the clothes Steve had leant him. He slips into them quickly, glancing in the mirror. He wears the slightly-bedraggled-but-harmless-beagle look well.
When he cracks the door open, Steve smiles at him almost nervously.
“Hey,” he says.
Feeling settled now, compared to before, Eddie smiles back at him. “Hey.”
“I, um,” Steve starts, shaking his head. His hands twitch at his sides. “Sorry, can I just–”
“Oh.” Eddie’s chest loosens. “Yeah.”
Steve envelops him in his arms again.
“Thanks,” Steve says, an echo from before. “For surviving.”
Voice thick, Eddie says, “No problem, man.”
Steve squeezes him a little tighter.
Eyes burning, Eddie exhales. He’s so relieved. The kids are on their way. Wayne is on his way.
It takes a moment for Eddie to realize Steve’s breathing hasn’t settled. A moment more for him to notice the way Steve’s trembling, fingers digging into Eddie’s back.
“Steve?” Eddie says quietly.
Steve doesn’t say anything, face tucked into Eddie’s neck. And then he goes lax, pulling away with a wet exhale. His eyes flicker between Eddie’s, eyes brimming with an emotion Eddie can’t understand.
Heart pounding, Eddie says again, “Steve?”
“Stop me,” Steve says, so quiet it’s almost a whisper. Slowly, giving Eddie time to move away, he leans in.
Steve must not understand how gravitational he is. How the last thing in the world Eddie would ever want to do is fall out of his orbit.
Curling his fingers into Steve's sweatshirt, Eddie kisses him.
Finally.
Steve's lips against his are soft and warm. Lax, for a moment, before he shuffles closer to Eddie, kissing him back like his life depends on it. It's a soft rush of affection, after the rollercoaster of the last couple of days.
Inhaling through his nose, Eddie slips his hand up to cradle the back of Steve's neck, pulling away just to kiss him again. Steve makes a soft noise, hand settling on Eddie's waist. Standing like that, in Steve's tiny bathroom, Eddie thinks he finally did it. He found his way home.
"Thanks," Steve says, again, as he pulls away. He's smiling, face flushed.
Eddie likes him so much.
"Any time, man," Eddie murmurs, darting forward to kiss his cheek. "Seriously. Any time."
Steve laughs, soft but real. Eyes twinkling, he says, "I'll take you up on that."
They stare at each other for a long moment - like lovesick teenagers, or something, Eddie's brain helpfully provides - before they clear their throats at the same time.
"More coffee?" Steve asks.
"More coffee," Eddie agrees. He lets Steve pull him back into the living room, where they'll wait for everyone to show up. Where they'll have the reunion to beat all other reunions.
For once, he thinks, everything's going to work out just fine.