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Steve inhaled deeply, letting the smoke from the cigarette fill his mouth before he puffed it out, his breath creating more smoke from the cold. Hawkins was always cold during the winter and for some reason with everyone locked up in the town, it seemed colder.
Ice cold fingers took the cigarette from his fingers gently.
“These things will kill you, you know,” The being said from the shadows of his porch
Steve shrugged, because it didn’t matter not really. Every day he was inching towards death. Every Crawl he stepped towards death by a bullet to the back of his head as he was dragged to the edge of the town. Every time they fought Vecna he was a step closer to dying with broken bones and bleeding black. So what was one cigarette?
Smoke exhaled from the shadows as clawed fingers extended the cigarette back towards him. Steve took it, fingers brushing against the not quite fingers that looked like they were dipped in black ink.
Steve inhaled deeply, leaning forward, resting his arms on the practically frozen metal railing, peering down at the closed pool down below.
“You gonna tell Henderson yet?” Steve asked, like he always did
He was like a broken record sometimes. Same questions. Same concerns. Same choked angry screams when he woke up from a nightmare.
Steve inhaled deeply, exhaling the smoke, his tongue rolling over his teeth.
“No,” The not dead not alive person said, leaning his back against the railing, bat wings spreading out behind him, the ink black membrane blotting out the stars in the sky
“Not unless you want me to stop hunting Vecna down and protecting Hopper during the Crawls,” He amended
Steve nodded, he understood. He did. He more than understood. Half of it was his plan. But it didn’t mean the guilt didn’t choke him every time they met up.
“Find anything new?” Steve asks, just like a broken record, same questions
And just like a broken record, the being of the other dimension, shook his head, “Not yet.”
They stood in the silence, the cold winter winds whipping between them as they passed the slowly dying cigarette back and forth.
Eddie Munson’s once brown eyes, now red, bore into his.
Steve met his gaze.
“You‘re not okay,“ Eddie said
Just like a broken record. Same questions. Same statements.
Steve smiled, just like he always did, like he was expected to. Well, not with Eddie. Never with Eddie. Eddie understood. The secrets crushed him too. The guilt wrapping around the throat like noose waiting to be pulled.
Eddie had died. Died in Henderson’s arms, body was buried in the cemetery, vandalized every other week. And then Eddie had woken up, woken up something different, something else. He clawed his way from his grave, starving and throat burning as he clawed open a gate to the Upside Down, running from what he was, running from what he had become. Or at least. That’s what Eddie told Steve.
Eddie had shown up three weeks deep in Hawkin’s containment, two Crawls already completed, rain pouring down as Steve stared gobsmacked at the man who was dead. They fought, claws and wings against a bat full of nails. They talked. They screamed.
They made a plan.
In between every Crawl, Eddie would scout out the other Sectors starting from the opposite side and double back to the sectors they had checked before to make sure Vecna wasn’t on the move. And during every Crawl, Eddie would follow Hopper, taking out any of the fucking bats that turned him and any demagorgon that was stupid enough to go after them. And when Eddie wasn’t flying around the Upside Down hunting down Vecna, or chasing after Hopper, he would visit Steve. Eddie said it was because of the charming company. Steve knew it was because he was the only one who knew he was alive. Knew he was him. Beyond the wings, the claws, and constant thirst for blood, knew that it was still Eddie Munson.
“Says you Munson,” Steve said weakly
Eddie rolled his eyes, the red reflecting in the weak light that floated off of his bedroom. Steve held out the cigarette, exhaling the smoke, watching it dissolve into the cold air.
Eddie took it easily, head leaning back as he inhaled, Steve’s eyes lingered on his throat and how his adams apple bobbed with the muscles he used to inhale.
“It’s freezing out here Harrington,” He said
Steve wanted to scoff, to roll his eyes, knowing that things like the cold didn’t bother the vampire.
But like a broken record, Steve nodded and stayed silent and watched Eddie drop the cigarette and stop it with his boot, and brush it off the side of the awning into the bushes down below.
Eddie, ever the gentleman, opened the door to his bedroom and Steve walked in. The house was warm, warmer than it had ever been growing up in during the winter time, courtesy to the army shitheads who tried to look like nice guys by paying for the towns air and heating.
Like clockwork, Steve began to walk towards his bathroom to wash the smell of the cigarettes out of his mouth, but Eddie reached out and grabbed his wrist.
Steve turned to face him, the wings were gone now, and his fingers back to normal shape with the black ink just looking like another weird tattoo.
Eddie’s eyes were brown again, just a ring of the shade of blood around them.
Steve didn’t know when he got to used to seeing the all red eyes.
“Thank you,” Eddie whispered
That was new.
“For keeping this a secret, for not telling Henderson, for...for everything,” Eddie whispered
When he whispered it he whispered it like a sin, like a secret whispered before god in a confessional box.
Steve stared into his eyes, his brown eyes that have a ring or red around them.
“You never have to thank me Munson,” Steve said
“Eddie,” The vampire said
Steve looked at him. That was new.
“You never have to thank me, Eddie, not for this, not ever,” Steve whispered
His voice was just as quiet as his, hushed and broken. Full of a thousand words and unheard begs.
“I do though,” Eddie said, hand pulling Steve closer by the wrist he still held
Steve was standing nose to nose with him. He could see the faint stay of freckles on his pale skin, and the tiny scars that etch across him. He smelled like smoke, and the damn cologne Eddie kept stealing from him. A smell that was irrevocably his.
Steve wondered when that smell became his and not Steve’s .
“This,” Eddie whispered, “This has kept me alive more than you know.”
Steve, ever the comedian, tries to lighten the mood, tries to ignore the way his heart is hammering in his chest.
“My blood more special than those birds?” He teased
Eddies cheeks flushed.
That too was new.
“No-well-yes,” Eddie said before shaking his head, “What I mean Harrington”
“Steve,” He cut in, echoing Eddie’s prior statement
Eddie tilted his head, poofy curls falling to the side as the frizz glows in the golden light of his bedroom.
“Steve,” Eddie said
Steve felt his face flush at the sound of his name from the vampires lips as if he hadn’t his teeth in his neck a million times over.
“This, having someone to come back too…” Eddie whispered as he stepped even closer, “It’s kept me alive. It’s kept me fighting.”
Steve’s eyes flicked down to the scars that wrapped around Eddie’s arm like a band of claw marks.
If anyone asks, Vecna controlled him as he lifted his other hand that wasn’t being held by the vampire, to trace the scars. Steve peeked up at Eddie who was staring at him with a look Steve didn’t know how to describe.
“Fighting?” Steve questioned
Eddie visibly swallowed.
“Those bats from hell, those things that changed me,” Eddie’s chest stuttered, “They know when I open a gate. They know when I’m back there. They want me with him.”
Steve felt his throat close up. The ever present noose of guilt tightening.
“Don’t worry baby boy,” Eddie said, fingers squeezing his hand he still held, “Those shits don’t have nothing on this dungeon master.”
Steve smiled.
And Eddie grinned.
It was a blinding thing, Eddie’s smile. Bright and shining, practically lighting up the entire dimly lit bedroom. It was a blinding and familiar thing, his grin.
“You’ll tell them soon right?” Steve questioned as Eddie took his other had in his, the metal rings cold against his skin
Eddie nodded, “Soon.”
Like a broken record they say the same things. Same broken promises that never have an expiration date. Same quiet words hushed in the room.
“I’m glad you’re alive,” Steve said, voice choking at the memory of the funeral that no one but the Party and Wayne Munson showed up too
Eddie squeezed his hands, nose brushing against his. There were flecks of gold in the brown irises, flecks of gold and red, like sin.
“I’m glad you’re the one who knows.”
Eddie leaned forwards, lips brushing against his.
Like a broken record.
Same words. Same empty promises. Same chaste kisses falling to desperate gasps. Same hands ripping off clothes. And same lips grinning against skin and kissing against scars.
Like a broken record.
“I missed you,” Steve said