April 7th, 1986
Steve wasn't sure how far he walked.
The trees all looked the same. The sky above was cloudy blue and increasingly bright, but it gave no clues to his direction other than the position of the sun. He thought he was walking south, but Steve wasn't great at navigation. He could surely use Dustin and his stupid compass right now.
After what felt like an hour, Steve stopped. His chest heaved and sweat trickled down his face in spite of the cool morning temperature. Eddie wasn't a big guy. He was maybe an inch shorter than Steve and he wasn't bulky, but he also wasn't built like Mike Wheeler. The adrenaline was wearing off and Steve's arms protested under the dead weight of an unconscious adult.
Very carefully, he lowered himself and Eddie to the ground.
Eddie had shown no signs of awareness since he collapsed. Steve checked again for a pulse. Relieved to find the same weak sign of life as before, he closed his eyes and breathed hard and deep.
I have no idea where to go.
Steve realized that, even if he made his way out of the fucking woods, he had no idea where to take a severely injured, supposedly dead fugitive without tipping off all of Hawkins. The hospital would probably call the police immediately. But Eddie needed medical attention. Quickly.
He managed to survive for the last twelve days.
The thought was reassuring and then immediately not. Collapsing was clearly a sign that Eddie was at the end of his ability to keep going with whatever wounds he had. As Steve struggled with what to do, the sound of crunching leaves made him suddenly freeze.
Fuck.
Pulling close to a fallen tree near him, Steve tried to stay still. With Eddie laying across his lap, he tried to sink into the leaves and brush. He tried to be invisible. After another moment, it became evident that the sound he heard was definitely footsteps.
Shit. Shit. Shit!
"Harrington?"
The sound of his name made Steve's heart jump into his throat. But he still didn't move.
"Jesus christ. You found him."
Steve finally dared to look up. Hopper was staring down at him, his expression a mix of surprise and anger. Steve sunk into relief again.
"What was your plan, Harrington? Carry his body to Henderson's house? We might as well let the guys call the coroner."
Steve met Hopper's eyes and shook his head. "He's alive," was all he could say.
Jim Hopper's face registered shock. "What?"
Steve nodded, still holding Eddie against his chest. Hopper knelt down and pressed two fingers to his neck.
"Son of a bitch," he exclaimed as he pulled a battered radio from his belt. "You're sure it's him?"
Steve nodded.
Pressing the side button on the radio, Hopper said, "Joyce. Meet me at mile marker 53. It's time to head home."
His voice was calm, and Steve was sure the channel wasn't secure. He must've worked out some sort of code with Joyce.
"Come on kid. Let's get outta here."
Hopper knelt down and carefully lifted Eddie from where he lay. Steve struggled to his feet, his aching body glad to give the older man a turn carrying their patient.
"Fuck. This isn't good," Hopper added as he surveyed all the blood.
They were both silent as they made their way out of the woods. Hopper clearly knew his way, and he moved with confidence. Steve glanced around nervously, certain they'd be discovered at any moment.
But they weren't. They made it back to the winding road where Joyce waited with the car. Steve jumped in the back and Hopper carefully laid Eddie across the seats. His head and shoulders rested in Steve's lap, where he was already covered in dirt and muck and blood.
For a moment, Steve wondered if they'd have to cut Eddie's hair. If it was impossibly ruined or those thick curls could be salvaged. Then he shook it off, realizing it was a stupid thing to think about when his friend was so near death. And since when did he care about some other dude's hair?
Hopper turned on the car and Steve asked, "Where are we going?"
"The hospital."
"We can't!" Steve argued. "They'll turn him in. Call the FBI or something. They think he's a murderer!"
"He's gonna be dead soon without a doctor," Hopper stated bluntly.
"Then we need one. But not at the hospital!"
"I can get the guys to back off," Hopper argued. "They're not gonna go after him now that I'm here."
Joyce chimed in, "I'm sure you can. But you can't stop the media from having a frenzy. Someone at that hospital will tip them off. And then the whole town will be after him again."
Jim looked like he would argue, but Joyce laid her hand on his arm. Her touch communicated in a way Steve couldn't.
"Fine," Hopper conceded. "We'll go to the cabin. I have an old friend who might be able to help."
The cabin was in decent shape.
Hopper and El had moved back in, although they were spending most of their time at the Wheeler house with Joyce and the boys. Mostly, the cabin was their unofficial safe house, the place they all knew to seek out if anything started to go bad. Steve couldn't say that this latest development was bad, but Eddie certainly needed a safe house.
He was currently laid out on the couch, still unresponsive. Hopper was on the phone, speaking quietly while Joyce rummaged around for medical supplies. She eventually came up with band aids and disinfectant, and then stood over Eddie, holding the supplies like she knew they were woefully inadequate. Steve paced the small living room, his emotions flip-flopping from excited to terrified so quickly he was starting to shake.
Hopper hung up the phone. "Ok. Tom's on his way. He's an ex-military medic. We served together in the war."
"Can you trust him?" Joyce asked, her hands full of useless band-aids.
"Yeah. He hasn't been fond of the government since they lied to us about chemical warfare in Nam. I told him Eddie's mixed up with some bad agents. Which is kinda true."
Steve nodded in agreement.
Hopper looked him in the eye. "He has access to…stuff. Just…don't ask questions."
Steve nodded again.
Thirty minutes later, there was a soft knock at the door. Hopper looked out the window before opening it. Tom entered with a duffle bag over his shoulder. He was about Jim's age, with shaggy, graying blonde hair and tattoos peeking out from both his shirt sleeves. He wore a black leather vest with the logo of a local motorcycle gang embroidered on the back.
He dropped the bag next to the couch and surveyed Eddie. "Fucking hell."
"Yeah…" Hopper agreed. "Can you help?"
Tom knelt down and more carefully scrutinized Eddie's body. "What the hell happened to this kid?"
"Bats," Steve stated flatly. "Big…vampire bats?"
Tom looked him over, one eyebrow raised in disbelief and possible disapproval. "Aren't you Chip Harrington's kid?"
Steve flushed. Ever since his father made it known how much of a fuckup he felt his son was, Steve resented any association with his old man. He was also still reeling a bit from their sudden and seemingly easy departure from his life.
"Yeah. That's my dad," Steve answered with an undisguised sneer.
Tom held his gaze for a moment before stating, "Get me some scissors. Sharp ones. And clean towels, water, disinfectant. Got any liquor?"
Joyce handed over the rubbing alcohol and wound disinfectant she'd found in the bathroom. Looking at it, Steve was thinking they should probably stock their safe house with better supplies moving forward. Hopper rummaged around and came back with scissors and towels and a bottle of cheap whisky. He took a swig before handing it to Tom.
Tom took the scissors and, without a second thought, started cutting Eddie's clothes off. Steve instinctively turned away, and Joyce cleared her throat and headed for the bedroom. Hopper crossed his arms over his chest.
"I'm an Army medic. This is how we handle shit. If it bothers you, fuck off." Tom kept cutting.
Steve glanced over. All he could think was how upset Eddie would be that this guy cut up his Hellfire shirt. Then it hit him how little it would matter if his friend died on this couch under the hands of Hopper's foul-mouthed friend. Steve's stomach churned. He was so tired of this roller coaster. The constant state of someone's life hanging by a thread. If Eddie didn't make it, there was no way he was telling Dustin about this. He couldn't put that kid through any more anguish.
Steve watched as Tom ran his hands up behind Eddie's neck and head, then down his back and all the way down his legs to his feet. He seemed to be looking for obvious injury and a source of the bleeding. With Eddie laid bare, although mercifully still in boxer shorts, Steve could see how pale he was. He was shock-white, with only the dried and drying blood adding any color to his skin. Tom carefully looked over the bite wounds. Once he seemed satisfied that Eddie wasn't actively bleeding out, he started to clean the wounds.
Steve took a deep breath, mumbled an excuse, and went outside. Standing in the trees just beyond the cabin's porch, he took several deep breaths. He couldn't decide what to hope for–a peaceful end to his new friend's suffering, or life. But he was old enough to know that life didn't necessarily mean living.
He could be brain dead. Or crippled. Or…
Steve wasn't sure what the other options might be, but he imagined a lot of them couldn't be good.
After another few minutes with nothing but the sound of birds and rustling leaves around him, Hopper called from the porch, "Get in here, kid. I doubt Tom wants to explain all this twice."
Steve sighed and headed back into the cabin. Eddie was covered with a blanket and his face, at least, was cleaner.
"So," Tom started, perching on the arm of the chair next to the sofa. "This kid's been eaten up by some kinda animal I've never seen. Since all you can tell me is they were…bats, this is the best evaluation I've got. When vampire bats bite, their saliva acts like an anticoagulant. There are other species that do that, too. Like some snakes and spiders. It allows them to keep the blood flowing after they bite, so they can get the most out of their prey. Based on the size of these puncture wounds, they must've been some never-heard-of, prehistoric fucking bats." He looked around the room to see if anyone would offer an explanation. "Okay, then. Whatever they were, the actual wounds are fairly small. But they've nearly drained this kid dry. He's critically dehydrated and looks like he hasn't eaten in days, either. Without enough blood, those wounds aren't healing and they're getting infected. Looks like he's been roaming around in the woods for a while. Probably passing out in the dirt. I cleaned everything up. Bandaged the wounds. But he needs fluids and antibiotics. Now."
Steve instinctively touched his stomach over the places where his own bat bites were nearly healed. "Can you get that stuff? And bring it here?" He asked.
Tom ran a hand through his hair. "I…yeah. But there's no guarantee this kid's gonna make it. He barely has a blood pressure. Dehydration this bad can easily cause permanent brain damage. He may already be in a coma. And if the coroner comes sniffing around, I know nothing about any of this shit."
"Don't worry," Hopper chimed in. "No one will know you were here."
Tom stared down his fellow soldier, both of them no doubt remembering all kinds of horrors of war. Then, without a word, he nodded and headed for the door. "I'll be back in a couple hours."
When the door shut behind him, Steve dropped his shoulders in either relief or defeat. He wasn't sure which feeling was stronger right now. Hopper dropped into the chair and Joyce set about cleaning up. She cleared away all the used medical supplies and filled a bag with trash. She capped the disinfectant and cleaned the scissors. Everything was covered in blood, and it made Steve's stomach turn. He was so tired of blood. Blood and pain and death. The metallic scent of it triggered unwanted memories.
Come on, Dustin! We have to go!
I can't leave him here!
We could all end up trapped in here!
Steve understood Tom and Hopper's connection better than they realized. The kids understood it, too. Bonds forged in battle.
Before Joyce could put the whisky away, Hopper seized it and took another swig. She gave him a look and asked, "What did your friend want that for anyway?"
Hopper raised an eyebrow. "In case the kid woke up. We don't exactly have any decent painkillers or anesthesia."
Joyce sobered and kept cleaning. When she finished the room, she considered Eddie's clothes. After a minute, she folded them and put them in one of the trash bags.
Steve saw the black bandana Eddie had tied around his head when they headed into battle days ago. On impulse he said, "Can I hold onto that?"
Joyce gave him a curious look, but handed it to him instead of putting it in the bag.
"Just seems like…something he might want to have back," he offered as explanation.
If he doesn't die. Again.
No one said much over the next hour. Steve called Dustin's house and made an excuse about helping Hopper out. Very vague and he was sure there would be questions later. Hopper stood on the porch and smoked or stared into the trees. Joyce paced and rambled in the most illogical way, talking half to Steve and half to herself as she haphazardly continued cleaning. Steve couldn't help thinking that Nancy would've had this place spotless already.
I would get her back.
He still wasn't sure if he wanted to.
"Do you think we could wash his hair?" Joyce asked out of nowhere.
"What?" Steve had only been half listening.
Joyce had her nose wrinkled up in thought, her dark eyes sincere. Her feelings were always all over her face, no hiding. "Eddie. His hair. It's…filthy. Hop's crazy friend doesn't think he has a head injury. It's either cut it or–"
"No!" Steve was surprised at the strength of his reaction. "Wash it. If you can."
Joyce held him in her very parent-like gaze for a moment before she conceded. "Allright."
He watched her hunt down a plastic bowl and a cup, then some shampoo from the bathroom. She filled the bowl with water and got to work. It was such a mom thing to do, but Steve was glad Joyce volunteered to do it. Eddie deserved some dignity, and Steve understood more than most how hair can define a person. He spent hours in front of the mirror preening, making sure his signature locks were just right. He instinctively knew how to tame Dustin's curls, what advice to give him. Eddie's wild curls defined him just as much as the coiffed mane did for Steve. It was vain, but Steve knew his friend would be devastated to find them gone.
As he sat at the tiny kitchen table, watching Joyce carefully remove all the blood and muck from his friend's hair, Steve tried to remember if his mother ever did something like that for him. He supposed she must've, when he was a toddler. But Diana Harrington had always been all about independence.
It's good to do things on your own, Steven. It's not good to be helpless.
The memory of her words stung. Was it helpless for a child to wish for a mother's touch? For someone to be waiting for him after school? When he was eight years old and had to let himself into their big house every day because she was out shopping or playing tennis? Was it so bad to want someone to eat dinner with? For someone other than the housekeeper to greet him once in a while? Steve had always looked down on Joyce Byers and her scruffy kids. They showed up to school in hand-me-downs and old sneakers every year, and she was perpetually late and frazzled. But he was sure she held Will and Jonathan close when they were little whenever she could. Probably read to them before going to her second job. She was such a disaster sometimes, but it was obvious right now how much she cared about the people close to her. If his mother was here, Steve was certain she'd never touch Eddie Munson's hair. But Joyce dove right in.
Steve twisted Eddie's bandana around his hands and then stuffed it in his pocket. Maybe he would wash it later and stash it away. Hide it from Dustin if this went bad again. He wasn't even sure why he wanted it. Didn't even know Eddie that well.
The kid worships you, dude. Like, you have no idea.
Maybe it was all about Dustin. This pull towards Eddie was all about that curly-haired teenager who came crashing into Steve's life via Nancy Wheeler.
As unambiguous a sign of true love as these cynical eyes have ever seen.
Of course he loved Nancy. He loved all of them. Even Eddie. Would've died for any of them. That's what happens when you go through the kind of shit they saw. They couldn't help but love each other. Steve sighed heavily. Surviving several apocalypses sure made life complicated.
It took Joyce several trips to the sink to refill the bowl before she could call Eddie's hair clean. Every time she emptied the used water, it ran reddish brown. When Hopper came inside, he gave her a look that said her efforts were probably futile. But Joyce silenced any potential arguments with a look.
She'd just placed a clean towel under Eddie's head when Tom clamored through the cabin door again. His duffel bag was full, and he set it on the floor by the sofa. Steve watched as he pulled out bags of IV fluid, tubing, syringes, and a host of other supplies. He thought better of asking where they came from. They all watched as Tom pulled the blanket back and searched for a viable IV site. After much swearing, Steve stared as he went for the femoral vein in Eddie's right thigh. He didn't even know that was something that could be done until this moment. After getting the IV set up and hanging the bag on an ancient coat rack, Tom gave Eddie a couple shots of what must be antibiotics.
Then he spoke, "This kid's blood pressure is about seventy over forty. It's so hard to find that it may not even be accurate. He needs a blood transfusion, but if the hospital's not an option, this will have to do. It's gonna take several of these over the next twelve hours. He probably needs IV antibiotics but this is the best I've got. If we had blood, we'd know pretty quickly if he's gonna come around. With just fluids, it could take a while."
Steve swallowed hard. "Can we…?" He held out his arm as an offering.
Tom should his head. "Not how it works. It might kill him. Faster." He looked around the room. "Like I said, this might be a losing battle. Kid might already be close to brain dead. May never be more than minimally conscious again. No way to know without scans what the damage is. But we should know within 24 hours if his kidneys still work."
"How?" Joyce spoke up.
Tom smirked. "You're going to need a bedpan."
Steve was sure his face looked as horrified as Joyce's.
"Still sure the hospital isn't an option?"
"No," Hopper said firmly.
Tom conceded with a nod. "Then we wait."
Steve wanted to stay in the cabin until Eddie either woke up or didn't. But he knew if he didn't go back to Dustin's by dinner, they would worry. Dustin might panic, and Steve didn't want to cause the kid any more stress. So he choked out his thanks to Joyce and Tom and rode in silence back to the Henderson house in Hopper's latest second-hand truck. They promised to call if there was any change.
After heading straight to the shower and dumping his clothes immediately in the wash, Steve struggled through dinner. Claudia made chicken pot pie, which was hearty and wonderful but tasted like straw in Steve's mouth. Stress made his appetite vanish. He was glad to see Dustin finally eating more than a few nibbles, though.
That night, Steve laid in bed and stared at the ceiling. He had the phone next to him, ready to snatch it off the cradle if it so much as started to ring. Early the next morning, before the sun crested the horizon, Dustin found him sitting on the edge of the bed, still awake.
"I know something's wrong," the kid stated.
Damn, he's too intuitive for his own good.
"Where were you yesterday?"
Friends don't lie.
El's words hit Steve hard. He wanted to tell the truth. But he just couldn't take the chance that he might devastate Dustin all over again. This time, he would protect him from having to watch Eddie die. Again.
"Hopper wants some help fixing up the cabin. Making it a better safe house."
"I can help. We all can."
Steve shook his head. "The old man says no. The more people in and out of there, the greater chance it stops being a secret."
It wasn't totally a lie.
"We're just going to fix it up a little more and stock some supplies. Better for the rest of you to lay low. Rest your ankle. Spend some time with your mom."
Dustin looked like he wanted to argue, but he glanced toward his mother's room and his expression softened. "I guess I did scare the shit out of her."
"Yeah you did. You heroic dumbass." Steve tried to smile.
Dustin nodded, his expression less pained.
"Now go back to bed. If I'm not here later, call Hopper. I won't go anywhere else without telling you."
Dustin nodded again, and for once obeyed without argument.
Once the kid was back in his room, Steve threw on some clothes and took his car back to the cabin. Jogging up the wooden steps, he noticed Tom's car was parked outside again. In the cabin, he found the aging medic giving Eddie some sort of exam. Joyce and Hopper stood a few paces away looking as tired as Steve felt.
After a minute, Tom said, "Kid responds to pain. Pupils react. Maybe he's in there after all."
"So he's going to live?" The words were out of Steve's mouth before he could stop himself.
Tom gave him a hard look. "Living isn't always better than dying. One of the guys in our unit lived through an air raid. Laid in a bed for ten years before he died. His wife took care of him every day. Never did more than open his eyes and move his hands. Does that sound like life?"
Steve felt sick.
Hopper spoke up, "If he's unresponsive once you've done all you can do, we'll call an ambulance. No reason to fear the locals rising up with pitchforks if the kid's a vegetable."
No one argued, and Steve dropped into one of the kitchen chairs. He stared blankly while Tom changed the IV bag once again and administered another shot. When the older man pulled back the blanket to do an exam, Steve looked away when he realized Eddie was now totally naked beneath the patchwork quilt. Nearly dying was a messy, undignified business, and Steve wasn't used to such raw reality. Not this close. Not with someone he knew.
And it wasn't just the mess and the nudity that made him ache.
It was the stillness. Before Chrissy died, Steve barely knew Eddie Munson. He'd heard rumors. Watched him rant in the cafeteria. But someone like Eddie wasn't on Steve's radar when he was King of Hawkins High, and he'd forgotten about him after graduation. Eddie clearly had his opinions about Steve, as he'd candidly shared during their trek in the Upside Down. It was clear they were both very wrong about each other. But it wasn't just that Eddie seemed to be a decent guy.
He was larger than life. Eddie said what he thought without hesitation. Without a filter. And he never muted his emotions. Steve would never forget Eddie's wide, dark eyes in the boathouse. How haunted he looked as he recounted Chrissy's death. They'd all seen some shit, but Eddie was alone with Chrissy and her death must've been horrific to watch. But he bounced back. Accepted the story of the Upside Down with very little hesitation and was cracking jokes within hours. Even after being left alone for days, chased and threatened, and watching another person's bones snap and their eyes bleed, he could still throw out quips about Mordor, whatever that was. Even while being actively hunted down for murder, Eddie Munson kept going. Kept smiling that contagious grin. It never occurred to Steve that Eddie might die, because he seemed invincible, even while insisting he wasn't a hero.
And Eddie was so tactile. Even more than the girls. Steve remembered how he leaned in when he talked, got close enough so you could see his dark eyelashes and notice that his eyes seemed lighter or darker, depending on his mood. He put his arm around Steve, pulled him in. Tackled and wrestled Dustin, held him close. Cocked his head and said things to Steve no one ever dared.
Harrington's got her. Don'tcha big boy?
Steve had no idea why he kept replaying all those moments in his head. Why he held onto each one as if it was precious. As if he had to preserve all those moments because he might never get another one. He'd never done that with anyone else, not even Nancy. But he told himself it was because Nancy wasn't on her deathbed. He'd never been this close to losing her with time to dwell on it.
Steve fell asleep in the chair with his head on the kitchen table. Sometime later, he woke with a start, shaking off fuzzy dreams of monsters and bats and blood. Tom was gone, probably to return later and, based on the snoring, Joyce and Hopper had laid down in the bedroom. Steve stretched his aching back and wondered if this ramshackle place had a coffee pot. Just as he rose from the chair to look, he heard a noise. Startled, he glanced around. After a moment, he realized the noise came from Eddie.
Crossing the space, Steve dropped to his knees by the sofa and asked, "Eddie?"
His friend made the slightest moan, and his eyes fluttered.
"Joyce!" Steve called out. "Hopper get in here!"
He was sure Eddie flinched at the loud noise. After another minute, Eddie's eyes fluttered again and opened just enough to focus on Steve. Hopper and Joyce came stumbling into the room and froze behind Steve. They all held their breath.
Eddie blinked slowly. In a raspy, tired voice, he asked, "Harrington? Steve Harrington?"
He seemed to struggle to keep his eyes open.
"What the fuck did you do with Chrissy?"