Chapter Text
Steve’s left bloody smears on the tiles, but the bleeding does seem to have turned a little more sluggish; he’s too frightened now to pull his sock away, he’s pretty sure it’s stuck to the wounds where the blood has started to crust over.
From the floor, Steve manages to reach up for the phone, it rings nearly a dozen times, but Steve persists. He knows Hopper will assume it’s an emergency.
Steve hates doing this, but he definitely can’t drive. Just the thought of making it to the car on his own makes him cringe, and the dull, thudding pain is radiating out to the rest of his foot.
“Hopper.”
“Hop. Sorry. I think I need some help.”
“On my way.”
The doctor frowns at Steve spectacularly, “a raccoon?”
“I know, wild right?”
“So that means he definitely needs a tetanus,” Hopper says unhelpfully from where he’s perched on the other side of the treatment room. He’s got a coffee in a Styrofoam cup and an unlit cigarette hanging from his mouth.
Steve hisses as the doctor uses some saline to loosen the sock, peeling it away from the wound, “I’ll give you something to numb the area, and then it will need some stitches. An x-ray might-”
“Nah,” Steve interjects, “stitch me up, I need to get home.”
The doctor has that look on her face again. From the other side of the room, Hopper sighs, “I’ll be back in a bit.”
Steve can hear El and Eddie from where he’s standing in the kitchen. El’s been teaching him stuff again; today she’s taught him the ABC song. They rush through when they get to the ‘LMNOP’ part, making Steve smile.
“Okay Steve, we’re ready!” El shouts for him from the next room, and Steve goes in.
The furniture's been moved out of the way, Eddie lying on his back in the middle of the room. He’s laying on a white sheet, the long point of his tale stark black against the material. Next to his hip, there’s a pair of legs. They stand perfectly fine on their own, disembodied, rounds of flat pale skin on top, where they end at the thighs.
Eddie looks over smiling, “oh good, you’ve brought it.”
Steve looks down. In his hand he’s holding a saw.
Steve wakes, flailing. He’s gasping for air, trying to orientate himself. Panicking.
He’s sitting. It takes him a few confused seconds, but it all comes flooding back. Fuck, his neck hurts, and his back.
Just a dream he thinks on repeat to himself. Just a dream just a dream just a dream.
His foot. His foot is still up on the coffee table, “Steve, come on, it’s okay. You’re okay.”
“What,” he manages to croak out.
“Here, drink this,” Robin hands him a half glass of tepid water, Steve downs it, “you had a nightmare.”
There’s a towel and a bag of peas draped over Steve’s ankle; trying to cool the area. Keep the swelling down, or whatever. The peas are melted now, the bag sagging in either direction with the weight of the mush inside.
The sight of it makes a sob catch in Steve’s chest, it comes out in a huge shudder, and Steve’s only vaguely worried he’ll never be able to walk the frozen aisle in the store again. That he will cry spontaneously every time someone offers him a pear.
“When did you get here?”
“Mom dropped me off, Hopper wanted someone to watch you. He’s going to go check on El.”
Steve’s head feels muzzy. Too much has happened. They didn’t get home until the early hours, and Steve’s blinking in the full light of day that’s streaming into the lounge. “Where is he now?”
“Back yard.”
That takes a second to process, “no.”
Steve pulls his foot down, wobbling as he stands, leaving the towel and peas abandoned, “Steve, hang on.”
The dressing and stitches feel like they’re pulling as Steve takes a few tentative steps, the whole end of his foot feels like it’s burning, Steve moves until he can see Hopper; he can see him from the back, he’s smoking and looking down into the pool.
“Robs, get him away from there, please. Please.”
“Okay, okay,” she says, holding her hands out like she’s dealing with a skittish animal, she goes to the door, opening it and calling, “Hopper, he’s up!”
Hopper comes back in, dropping the end of his cigarette and stamping it out with his boot on his way in, “kid, are you sure he went into the pool?”
The implication of Hopper's question has Steve moving before he can really think about it, Robin calling after him that he’s got nothing on his feet, that it’s cold out. Steve ignores her. He has to walk funny, keeping all his weight on his heel on the left foot, but he makes it work. He sees why Hopper's asking; the water of the pool is opaque white.
It looks like the whole thing is filled with milk.
Hopper leaves to go and check on El. Steve’s glad, he did cause Hopper to have to leave her in the middle of the night, and that’s not fair on El, she might be worried.
Steve’s had maybe a couple of hours sleep on the couch, passing out when they got back from hospital. “You don’t have to do that,” he tells Robin; she’s scrubbing at the bloody smears Steve’s left on the kitchen tile.
“It’s fine, and it’s not like you’re in any condition to do it. What the fuck Steve, Hopper said he bit off two toes??”
Steve looks down at where the dressing’s covering his foot, “yeah.” Robin sits back on her haunches, bloody rag in hand, glaring. “He said that...if he eats Demogorgon, then that’s what he becomes. And if he eats Demodog, he becomes one of those so…”
“So you let him eat some of you instead? Because that’s the sane response-”
“I love him, Robs.”
She sighs, “I figured.”
Robin spends most of the day. She talks him into eating some toast; he balks at the thought of soup. Steve takes his pain killers and his antibiotics under Robins close supervision. They have the TV on, and Steve sleeps more.
She tells him to come away when he spends too much time staring out of the window.
Robin has to go that evening; she only does because Steve swears on everything she can think of that he will be fine. He will eat some eggs. He will take his pills. He’s not a complete invalid.
Robin leaves him after what is probably a ten minute hug, and a promise that she will sell Keith on Steve’s 'family emergency.'
The eggs are sitting heavy in Steve’s stomach when he hobbles outside. He managed to get a sock on over his dressing, but couldn’t bare the thought of anything else pressing on his wound, so he goes out like that. Just in socks.
He has a coat on at least, and takes the blanket, knocking snow off a pool lounger and moving it to the edge of the pool so he can sit with his feet up, wrapped in the blanket. The water still hasn’t frozen; but it is darker than it was. It’s turned a sort of pale mucky brown, like someone's mixed some dirt in.
Or chocolate milk.
Steve sits, and he waits, and he cries quietly.
Eventually the cold gets too much, and he heads back inside to try and sleep on the couch.
Steve stares blankly at the unlit Christmas tree, and considers dragging the thing outside and setting fucking fire to it.
He hasn’t cried since he woke up, which is a new current record, and he doesn’t understand where the anger has come from...but he thinks he might prefer it. It’s not fair. Nothing about this is fair, and it fills Steve with a rage he doesn’t think he’s ever experienced before.
Hopper sits opposite Steve, leaning forward, his hands dangling loose between his knees, and Steve knows that this is Hoppers ‘I’m trying to be kind, or sympathetic, or understanding face,’ Steve also knows he’s not going to like whatever is about to come out of Hopper's mouth and he’s already angry about it.
“Kid, I really think we should drain the pool.”
“No.”
Hopper takes a deep breath, “son,” and that one word fills Steve with a rage so complete he feels utterly still. Utterly calm. He’s completely empty, in that moment, except for the rage, “if we don’t, his body will rot into the water, and if you want to be able to bury him? Then-”
“Out.”
“-what?”
“Out,” Steve stands, and he speaks calmly and levelly, “get out of my house. Right now.”
Hopper doesn’t stand, he spreads his hands in a non threatening gesture, “El says she’s can’t feel him, kid, he’s gone-”
“Get the fuck out of my house!” Steve screams at him, suddenly full to brimming, to overflowing, his heart is pounding, breaths sharp, “I said get out!”
Hopper sighs. He looks at Steve with...pity on his face, but he gets up, and he leaves.
The water is so dark now it looks nearly black. Murky and shitty. There are black, choking vines growing up the inside of the tiles; clinging to the sides of the pool. Some of them are long enough to creep up over the edge, like The Upside Down is bleeding into Hawkins again. Steve is reminded viscerally of Barb Holland, and he hates it.
The phone is ringing. Steve ignores it until it stops.
It makes him itchy, ignoring the phone. It’s too ingrained in him that something could be wrong. It’s an emergency. The kids might need him.
It starts ringing again; Steve answers it this time, but only as a preventative measure. If he doesn’t answer it, whoever it is might show up, and Steve would really rather not right now.
“Hey, Steve.” Robs is uncharacteristically quiet. Reserved. “So...it’s Christmas tomorrow and, I know you said you didn’t want to come for the day but...what about in the evening? Just for a little bit?” She asks, hopefully. “Mom says we can save you some leftovers, you know.”
“Yeah...yeah, that’s really kind and everything Rob...” Steve trails off scrubbing at his face. He’s got a fair bit of stubble going on, and he only showered this morning because even he could pick up on the fact that he stank.
She sighs quietly, “have you been eating? Taking your meds?”
“I...yeah. Some. And finished the antibiotics.”
“Good. That’s good. You want me to come over then?”
“Uhm. No. No that’s fine you, you should have a nice Christmas with your family, okay? We can talk after.”
“Steve…”
“I know, Robs, I know, but I’ll be fine,” Steve tells her with a confidence he doesn’t feel.
“Okay, well, I’ll call tomorrow. Love you, Dingus.”
“Love you too Birdie.”
There are thick black vines growing up the legs of Steve’s pool chair; he ignores them. He climbs into position, wrapping himself in his blanket. He has a beer, his pills are finished now, so he can’t see the harm.
“I had a shower Eds, sure you’re pleased to hear that. Took the dressing off my foot, and it looks fine, you didn’t hurt me, not really.” Steve tacks on, “not ow,” out of habit.
Steve sips his beer, pulling the blanket tighter around his legs, and tries not to think about Eddie's tail doing the same, “I’m supposed to have an appointment to get the stitches out, but it’s not until like the twenty seventh, or something, you know, everything being shut for Christmas. Which is tomorrow, by the way.”
Steve sighs, “anyway, I probably won’t go, it really doesn’t look so bad now, I think I could get them out with nail scissors and some tweezers, so I might just do that.”
Steve sips his beer, watching the laden pale clouds scud along overhead, “I think it might snow again, that’d be nice, right? White Christmas and all that stuff.”
Steve sighs again, and quietly admits, “I think you would have really liked Christmas. You get like, gifts and stuff-”
There’s a frantic splash in the pool, Steve’s up as quick as he can, fighting with his blanket, his beer bottle falling, forgotten, and rolling away on the tiles, getting caught on a vine.
Steve’s flooded with adrenaline, heart beating so fast, he doesn't register the chill as he scrambles up, stepping to the edge of the pool.
Eddie’s on the steps, he’s covered in so much slime and shit from the pool it's hard to see him, but Steve doesn’t care how dirty it is, he’s knee deep and helping to haul Eddie out the rest of the way.
He has no hair; but he does have legs, and he takes a stumbled step with Steve before collapsing to the ground. He can’t breathe, he’s bent over, on his hands and knees, choking. Steve’s lifeguard first aid training kicks in before he can really think about it; fueled by adrenaline, he braces Eddie with an arm about his middle, then using the palm of his hand he delivers one hard upward blow between Eddie’s shoulder blades.
Eddie splutters, but there’s nothing, so Steve does it again. Suddenly, like a seal has been broken, Eddie coughs up what might be nearly a pint of fluid, yellow and green and streaked with pink blood, it splatters loudly on the ground.
Eddie drags in a huge breath; it might be the most beautiful sound Steve’s ever heard.
They collapse down again, Eddie shivering like crazy, his teeth chattering; Steve grabs his blanket, covering Eddie. He’s naked and covered in gross shit, completely hairless, and has long gangly legs. Steve doesn’t pay attention to any of it really. Just Eddie. Eddie’s here.
He smells fucking awful, but Steve doesn’t care, Steve bundles him up and pulls him close, “Eddie, are you okay?”
Eddie blinks, his eyes crusted with gack from the pool, pink and puffy and sore looking around the lids, the whites bloodshot to fuck, his voice a raspy mess, the words broken by how violently his teeth are chattering, “Eddidie good bad.”
Steve bursts into tears.