Archive of Our Own ^beta

It’s the dumbest idea in the world, but Steve lets the kids drag him into the tunnels. 

And, really, what was he expecting? When has telling these kids no ever gone well for him? Never, that’s when. It’s a small mercy that it’s a quick excursion. They set the damn place on fire and then they run like hell, praying to whatever the fuck is out there that they’ll survive. 

Foolishly, Steve thinks they’ve made it. For a split second, that all-encompassing feeling of exhilaration sings through his veins as he ushers the kids towards the tunnel's opening, only to be replaced by a surge of panic as the ground rocks beneath his feet. 

And then the dogs come. 

Their howling echoes through the cavernous space, their feet skittering along the soft, rotted floor, and all Steve can think about is getting the kids out of danger. Shouting and ushering wildly, he gets them all up, bar Dustin, who he shoves behind him in a fit of blind panic in the hope that he can shield him, protect him, from whatever’s coming. 

He swings his bat into the first one’s face before he’s fully registered that the thing has a face– dark, thick blood spraying all over him, coating his shoes and splattering everywhere. The thing– dog, smashes into the wall with a heavy, resounding crunch, the noise drowned out almost entirely by the pounding footsteps of the rest of the swarm. And Steve knows this is it, guilt rising up to choke him, because Dustin’s going to die and it’ll be all his fault. 

But then– 

The dogs… run around them. Steve stays stockstill, deathgrip on Dustin, who’s standing behind him, hardly breathing. Holy shit, Steve thinks, bewildered. Holy fucking shit.  

The dog he’d smashed his bat into starts to rise then, and Steve raises his bat a little in challenge. The faceless creature stands just on the outskirts of the stream, gives a little shake, before it takes off, too. But before it runs past Steve, it lunges, too quick for Steve to react, and locks its teeth around Steve’s leg. 

Searing pain rips through his thigh and he shouts, buckling. Before he even has time to think about throwing the dog off, though, it lets go and darts past them. 

Steve whirls, but it’s gone, disappearing into the darkness of the tunnels. He turns to Dustin, frantic eyes tracking over him - thank God he seems unharmed, if a little covered in Demodog blood. Dustin, wide-eyed and gaping, mouths, you okay? Steve gives a curt nod and hopes against hope that it’s believable. 

He’s hungry. It gnaws in his stomach, shakes in his bones and drives him forward forward forward, across the forest floor-

There’s something, just out of reach, darting through the undergrowth ahead of him - a flash of white, and he can smell it, can hear the pounding of its heart in the back of his head, he’s so hungry- 

Its eyes are red. Unyielding, groaning, gaping red, like the spilling of guts on the damp ground. Fear wracks through him, it’s here for him, he knows it, it’s coming-

Its grin stretches, wide and gaping. 

“—Steve, do you copy? This is Dustin, over.” 

Steve flies upright, heart pounding, breath coming in ragged, stuttered gasps. He almost tumbles right off the bed, only just catching himself on the edge of it. He’s shaking, clammy hands gripping the bed frame like it’s his lifeline. 

For a long second, he stares at the backs of his knuckles. They’re reddened and angry like he’s been punching something, which– doesn’t make sense. Steve hasn’t been punching anything, not for over a month now. 

Sitting up, he can barely hear over the pounding in his head. His body feels like it’s on fire, the aching in his muscles making every breath scream through him. He whimpers pathetically, curling in on himself. 

There’s an incessant noise grating at the edges of his awareness, just out of reach of his sickness-addled mind’s understanding, and he needs it to stop, needs it to stop, feels like clawing his ears off just to escape it. Swiping for the walkie-talkie on his bedside table, he fumbles for the button with trembling fingers.  

“—Steve, Steve, Steve, Steve—” 

Finally, he finds the button. 

“What.”  

“Steve! Holy shit, I thought you had died, oh my God. Over.” 

He squeezes his eyes shut. He’s achy, and his room is too bright, and his teeth are too big for his mouth. “Yeah, well. I’m alive. What do you want, Henderson?” 

“Uh, I wanna know where the hell you’ve been, man. It’s been like, two weeks since we confirmed with our own eyes that you’re still breathing. Over. Also, you have to say over when you’re done speaking. Over.” 

Sitting up properly, Steve puts his bare feet on the carpet. He pushes at his eyeball absently. “I have the flu, I told you.” Belatedly, he adds, “Over.” 

“Yeah, right, Steve. Nancy says you and Robin haven’t hung out in forever. Which is worrying all on its own, but—“

Steve needs him to be quiet so badly he almost growls in frustration. Instead, he sighs, “You’ve spoken to Nancy?” 

“Not important. Over.” 

“Uh, yes, it is important if you’re speaking to my ex-girlfriend about me.” 

Helpfully, Dustin ignores him. “Is this about the bite? Over.” 

Steve holds his breath. “What bite? And stop saying over.”

“The one on your leg, from the Demodog,” Dustin says, and Steve groans. “If it’s not healing right, we need to tell Hopper, you know that, right? You could have Upside-Down rabies or something, dude.” 

Steve swallows the panic that flies through him, muscles stiffening, and replies through clenched teeth. “I don’t have— Upside-Down rabies, Dustin. I have the flu. And there is no bite!” 

“Yeah, okay, Steve. I think I know what I s–“ Dustin’s voice starts to fade, then, goes watery at the edges like he’s speaking from across a room, and Steve thinks oh, shit. I’m gonna hurl. 

He drops the walkie with an ear-splitting clatter and lurches from the bed, staggering clumsily across the hall with his heart in his mouth. He can hear his blood roaring in his ears, can smell everything- the cleaning products shoved beneath his sink (why the fuck can he smell the bleach when it’s hidden away like that); the mould in the corner of the bathtub he hasn’t had time to clean. He thinks he might even be able to smell the remnants of toothpaste still clinging to his toothbrush from when he clumsily tried to brush his teeth last night. 

He doesn’t have time to dwell on it before he’s throwing up so violently he thinks his stomach might come out of his mouth, abs convulsing, wracked with shakes, choking on the sharp bile. He groans, pressing his overheated forehead to the cool porcelain, and fights against the tide of nausea.

He spends an embarrassing amount of time on the floor feeling sorry for himself. Only when the nausea passes does he try to stand again. 

Leaning up against the sink on shaky legs, he wipes his mouth, blinking the tears out of his eyes. Meets his sunken eyes in the mirror and recoils at how dead they look. Around the sink, his knuckles start to creak. 

He knows he did a bad job, patching himself up. His left thigh is bandaged clumsily, the once-white cloth stained a sickening red, crusted at the edges with God knows what. He should’ve gone to Hopper, anyone, but– but what if something really is wrong? What would they do to him? 

Steve fights the urge to puke again as he tugs the bandages away, his vision going black at the edges as the bite is exposed to the cool air in his bathroom.

The wound is raised beneath it, an angry red mound. The flesh has knitted together with wet, infected-looking scabs. Spindly black lines stretch out from the edges of the wound like cracks in the desert floor, and Steve thinks deliriously about blood poisoning and feels his head swim just that bit more. 

He blinks, and– somehow the wound is dressed again. He must have spaced out through the whole fucking process and, God, what if he’s actually going crazy? He exhales out a frantic breath, chest starting to heave as the tide of panic rises in him. He feels marginally better since throwing up, but his hands still shake as he lifts his sweaty hair from his forehead.

He doesn’t think he can keep anything down right now, but he has to try, because if he doesn’t then he’s just going to waste away on his bedroom floor. No one would find him. No one would bother to look. 

“Okay, Harrington,” he mumbles to himself, swallowing around the words as his stomach convulses again. “Bananas are good when you’re sick. Mom taught you that. Just gotta get downstairs.” 

He takes the stairs on his hands and knees, crawling backwards - his mom told him he did that until he was, like, two, or something - and the feeling of the carpet against his hands makes him want to puke all over again but somehow he makes it, collapsing in a heap at the base of the stairs, pressing his cheek to the cool linoleum. 

He spends what feels like an eternity on the floor, focusing solely on dragging in rasping breath after rasping breath. 

Somehow, he makes it to the kitchen. 

The world tilts dangerously around him, and he takes another lurching step away from the fridge. 

“Just eat the banana, Harrington,” he mumbles to himself, head swimming. His stomach clenches painfully then, and suddenly the thought of eating anything but fucking bacon is unbearable. 

Which– he doesn’t have. 

He stumbles through the living room, away from the kitchen, away from– the bananas. Makes it to the sliding doors. He’s panting, by the time he gets to the pool. Can barely recall the journey there. 

There’s a sudden shooting pain in his side then, and he doubles over, groaning. A horrible crest of pounding starts up, just behind his eyelids. Spine tingling, eyeballs suddenly too big for his face, he claws at his head, thinks he might be making noise, but he’s unable to hear it over the thundering heartbeat in his ears. It’s as if his spine is splitting in two, his skin tearing, and he screams–

And then, as if it never happened at all, comes blissful quiet. 

Eddie Munson’s at the quarry the first time he meets the wolf. Incidentally, he is also high off his fucking ass. 

Gareth had to leave an hour ago – or two hours ago? Time isn’t real when he feels like this – so Eddie’s been lying starfished in back of his van, listening to the local radio station alone for a while. It’s nice, he thinks as he sobers up, stuffing his face with Pringles. It’s nice just… Being. No expectations, no looming deadlines, no concerned parental figures. Just him, the quarry, and the radio. 

Eventually, though, he has to take a piss. So, with heavy arms and a full bladder, he pushes himself up and out of his van, stumbling towards a nearby bush. 

It’s almost dark now, and if he looks back to the quarry, he can see the last few dregs of sunlight trickle away. It makes his surroundings look a little larger, a little more dangerous. Makes his skin prickle, like he’s being watched. But he knows it’s just the ghost stories he’s heard playing tricks on him. Nothing ever happens in Hawkins. 

He’s quite literally just shoved his dick back into his jeans when he sees it. Glowing red eyes in the dark shrubbery beyond the forest’s clearing. 

He does what any sane human being would do. He shrieks. 

The brush underfoot crunches as whatever the hell those eyes belong to pounces, growling like it’s about to get it’s first meal of the day. 

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit–” Eddie scrambles backwards, heart pounding. He thinks he might vomit, or faint, or do both at the same time in a final display of cowardice. “Please don’t kill me, I’m– not an upstanding citizen, but I really don’t wanna fucking die so–” 

The rest of the sentence dies on Eddie’s tongue as two large paws step out of the shadows. The paws are followed by a snout, teeth, and ears twisted back like it’s angry. 

A wolf. The biggest wolf Eddie’s ever fucking seen. Not that he’s seen wolves before, but– surely they’re not this big, right? That thing’s at least as big as Eddie. 

Oh, he’s so fucking dead. 

Eddie lets out a manic giggle, rooted to the ground. It makes the wolf pause, the growling morphing into a soft rumble. 

“Hey, dude,” Eddie tries weakly. He’s shaking, he registers distantly. 

Get it together, Munson. 

“That’s a good boy– or girl,” he corrects quickly, but the wolf’s growl rumbles back to life. “Boy! Right. Sorry. Sorry, my bad. That’s– that’s a good boy.” 

The wolf lowers his head a little then, sniffing the wind like he’s scenting Eddie. Determining whether or not he’s a threat, maybe. 

God, Eddie thinks desperately, I don’t know if you’re real but please make me smell non-threatening. Thanks, Eddie. 

PS: I feel like you owe me one, so. Do me this one solid. 

Huffing, the wolf stalks forward. With the last of daylight gone, the wolf moves almost like a shadow. Like he’s comfortable with the dark, like he belongs to it. 

And then, like an overgrown goddamn puppy, he flops to the ground, snout close enough to brush Eddie’s shoe. 

Eddie blinks. Okay, so. He’s not dead. He’s not dead, and there’s a wolf on the ground huffing at his shoe. Cool.

Thanks, God, he thinks, flickering his eyes up to the starry night. And then he looks back at the wolf. 

It’s funny how quickly fear can turn into curiosity. Either human beings have evolved past the need for basic survival instincts, or Eddie’s one of a kind. 

Hesitantly, he pulls his legs closer to himself, bracing himself on the ground to sit up in a crouch. 

“Are you a manifestation of my subconscious?” Eddie asks, tentatively shuffling closer. He sways a little, stage-whispering, “What are you trying to tell me?” 

He knows the pills he took were strong but, well - he didn’t think they were ‘hallucinate a giant dog’ strong. 

The wolf tilts its head. It’s such a puppy-like move Eddie almost giggles again. Slowly, like the wolf is as unsure of Eddie as Eddie is of him, it crawls forward. When he’s an arms-length away, he paws at the ground by Eddie’s feet, like he’s asking him for something. 

Eddie leans forward, so he’s eye-level with the wolf, which– okay, maybe not the smartest move – aren’t you not supposed to look a wolf directly in its eyes, or something? – but he’s high, and the wolf seems nice enough, so? 

“Hiya,” Eddie says softly. The wolf huffs, warm breath ghosting over Eddie’s face. “Can I touch you, big guy? Is that, uh– is that okay? Or are you gonna eat me?” 

Eddie feels his eyes widen in surprise when the wolf tips his head forward, exposing the top of his head – ears still alert as ever – to Eddie. 

“Huh.” Eddie reaches out hesitantly. He lays his hand on the wolf’s head gently, giving an experimental scratch. His fur is soft and thick. Eddie gets the bizarre urge to hug the animal, an urge he very quickly shoves away because hello, wolves don’t want some clingy high-schooler grabbing ahold of them apropos nothing. 

Eddie moves his hand when the wolf doesn’t retreat, scratching behind his ear. Eddie lets out a startled laugh when the wolf nuzzles into his hand, buffing a little at him, like he’s saying more, puny human. 

“Yeah? That okay?” Eddie asks, still keeping his voice soft. 

Eddie nearly pisses himself when the wolf lets out a whine at that, but then, suddenly, the world spins around him, and he’s on the floor, two very big paws on either side of his face. For a second, Eddie thinks, oh God, my subconscious is going to kill me, this is so not metal– but then, a large, insistent tongue licks up his cheek, and oh. 

“Okay, okay– Jesus!” Eddie laughs, twisting away from the wolf’s tongue. “Fuck, I thought you were going to bite me, dude. Give a guy some warning next time.” 

And then the wolf - rolls over? Just flops, right there, exposing his sensitive belly to Eddie, tongue lolling out of his mouth. He almost looks like he’s smiling. 

“God, pup. You’re fresh out of survival instincts, huh?” Eddie remarks, leaning down to scratch the wolf’s stomach obligingly. The wolf wriggles against the grass, and it would be adorable if Eddie wasn’t face-to-face with his huge, fucking sharp canines. Still, he ruffles the surprisingly soft fur on the wolf’s chest with a grin. Figures if he was going to eat him he would’ve done it already. It’s not like Eddie’s a particularly formidable opponent. 

Eddie frowns– he can feel the wolf’s ribs, the skin stretched thinly over them. “You’re skinny,” he murmurs, extracting himself gently from the wolf before straightening up. 

“Uno momento,” he says, walking backwards. Surprisingly, the wolf stays where it’s lying– big, unreadable eyes on Eddie as he goes. 

Eddie only turns his back to the wolf for a second as he rifles through his van, grinning when he finds the ham sandwich he’d packed himself for dinner. 

Turning back around, he holds it behind his back, before approaching the wolf again. 

He hopes it’s not a dumb idea, feeding the wolf. Hopefully it won’t remind him he’s starving, or something, so that he goes for Eddie’s hand next, but– the wolf seems nice enough. Eddie doesn’t trust much, but he does trust his own intuition. 

“Here you go, buddy,” he says, sitting down in front of the wolf, brandishing the sandwich. “It’s no five star meal, but, uh, y’know. It’s something. If– if you come back tomorrow I’ll have more.” 

A stupid promise to make. It’s not like the wolf understands him anyway. 

Sniffing so hard his entire body vibrates with it, the wolf cranes his neck toward the sandwich. And then, gentle as ever, he opens his mouth and takes the sandwich from Eddie and drops it on the floor. Only then, when the sandwich has fallen apart, does he scarf down the ham inside, the bread shortly thereafter. 

Absently, Eddie wonders if wolves can be gluten intolerant. 

“I can’t keep calling you ‘wolf’ in my head, dude. You need a name,.” Eddie says, petting at the wolf’s soft ears absentmindedly. The wolf stares back at him, head tilted adorably. His eyes are- interesting. They’re the colour of the roughened forest floor, a swirl of brown and green that Eddie’s never seen in any animal before. He leans in a little closer, the wolf’s warm breath fanning over his face, until they’re almost nose-to-nose. “Huh.” 

There are flecks of - Eddie rubs at his eyes and then checks again - red, deep red like dried blood, interspersed amongst the brown and green and gold. 

“You, my furry friend, are like nothing I’ve ever seen,” Eddie remarks. “Anyway, how do you feel about Ozzy?” 

The wolf huffs, brown-red-green eyes trained on him. He can somehow feel the judgement, which he knows is ridiculous because this is an animal that doesn’t even have opposable thumbs, why would he have the mental capacity to judge his naming choices, but he puts his hands up placatingly anyways. 

“Fine! No kickass metal names for you then, big guy.” 

The wolf huffs like that’s the dumbest thing he’s ever heard. He leaves soon thereafter, sniffing Eddie once, long and hard, before marching back into the forest brush. 

Lying down to stare absently at the sky, Eddie says, “I need to stop getting high.” 

He’s cold. That’s the first sensation he’s aware of - numbing cold, wrapping around his limbs. His fingers twitch against - leaves? He cracks his eyes open and, yes, he’s lying on leaves. More specifically, the forest floor. 

The second thing that he thinks is that he hurts. That is easier to explain than the leaves, but - not really. He’s covered in scratches and bruises - he looks like he got into a fight with a bush and lost, badly. 

For a long disorienting second, Steve squints up at the sky and tries to piece his scattered mind back together. Why is he naked, in the middle of nowhere? And why does every muscle in his body ache? 

It hits him like a freight train. 

Like someone’s pressed a fast forward button in Steve’s brain, the night catches up to him. The banana, catching sight of a wolf - of himself - in a window’s reflection, the forest, and finally, Eddie fucking Munson. 

He’d eaten a ham sandwich out of Eddie Munson’s hand. As a wolf. 

Oh my God. 

Resolving to think about that later, Steve pushes himself up on shaky legs. It’s only then he realises the bite’s gone. In fact, beyond a few superficial cuts here and there, he looks… Fine. Not at all like he’s spent weeks healing from a world-class concussion and a shitton of random, uncomfortable aches. 

Okay, so. His life is an actual comedy sketch. Sure, a kid with superpowers can save the world. Sure, there are alternate dimensions. Sure, Steve can apparently turn into a wolf. That’s fine. That’s cool. 

Exhaling hard through his nose, he starts marching in a direction he thinks looks vaguely like his way home. Naked. He’s marching naked. Because that’s normal and fine. 

Stop thinking about it, he tells himself sternly, before nearly sagging with relief at the sight of a familiar fence. 

Jesus, he’s lucky his house overlooks the forest. He can’t imagine what he’d have done if he’d had to walk down the street completely naked, waving at neighbours. He’d probably have been arrested, or something. 

Steve manages to take a shower before the fatigue catches up to him. He falls asleep on top of the covers, half dressed. 

He dreams about a wave of curly hair and deep, soulful eyes. 

True to his word, Eddie does show up at the quarry the next day. He sticks around for a couple of hours, kicking rocks and watching the sunset, until finally, he gives up around midnight. The wolf’s not coming. He’s not sure why he feels so disappointed. 

He doesn’t see the wolf again for nearly two weeks. It’s not like he forgot about it, but he didn’t go back to the quarry again. It felt– almost like he’d found out about something he wasn’t supposed to know. Like he’d overstepped, somehow. Besides, wolves are wild animals. Eddie shouldn’t be rolling around in the dirt with one anyway. 

Eddie’s thinking about his latest campaign as his van rolls to a stop in his driveway. It’s well past sunset, nearly 10pm, and he’s the kind of bone-deep tired you only become after hauling heavy automobile parts around all day at an understaffed garage. 

Stepping out of the van with a jaw-cracking yawn, Eddie wonders if he remembered to pick up eggs the other day. If he did, he could go for an omelette. He sniffs, heading toward the door when a movement in his peripheral vision makes him freeze. 

He whips around just in to get a face full of wolf. With a muffled oof, his back hits the van, hands shooting out to steady his furry friend. 

“Dude–” he manages, laughter bubbling up at the sheer absurdity of the wolf’s size. “Ge’off’me–” 

The wolf falls back to all four paws, making an impatient sound. 

“Hey,” Eddie says breathlessly, eyes wide. “Haven’t seen you in ages, big guy. Where’ve you been?” 

The wolf - obviously - doesn’t respond, but he does wag his tail, almost like he wishes he could answer. 

“Chasing rabbits and scaring the shit outta the locals, I bet,” Eddie grins, before remembering suddenly that they’re both out in the open. God only knows the rumours people would spread about Eddie if they saw him talking to a goddamn wolf, so, time to go, people. 

Hesitating, he reaches out to pet the wolf’s head. He seems to melt into the touch, like he’s starving for it. Eddie’s heart softens at the sight. 

“It’s probably a dumb ass idea, but, uh. Wanna come inside for a minute?” Eddie asks the wolf. “I’ve got ham.” 

At that, the wolf’s tail starts wagging again, and Eddie huffs a laugh. 

“Alright, hamboy, follow me.” 

It’s strange, Eddie thinks, how obedient the wolf is. He enters Eddie’s home with a curious, careful stride, eyeing the living room like he’s studying it. He jumps a little when Eddie closes the door behind him, huffing almost playfully when Eddie shoots him an apologetic look. 

He ushers the wolf further inside lest he leave fur on the carpet or something, because Wayne can never find out about this– and oh my God, would Wayne chew Eddie out if he knew he was bringing a wolf into the house. This is so much worse than the time Eddie brought home a family of raccoons. 

“My uncle sleeps in the living room, but he doesn’t get back until, uh, four-ish. So I’ll have to sneak you out before then,” Eddie tells the wolf vaguely, who blinks up at him with unreadable eyes. 

On the way to his room, Eddie snatches up the packet of ham, waving it at the wolf to get him to follow. The wolf does follow, nudging Eddie’s thigh with his head almost affectionately. Man, maybe Eddie should get a dog or something. This is kind of like hanging out with a quiet friend. 

Eddie only turns his back to the wolf for a second to close his door, but by the time he’s turned back around, the wolf is lying on his bed, staring at him expectantly. 

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie breathes, approaching. “You like my bed, big boy? Bet it’s softer than the ground.” 

He sits, cautiously, before unwrapping the ham. He holds a piece out for the wolf, who takes his gently, chewing it quickly before licking his snout, pawing at Eddie’s thigh. 

“More?” Eddie asks. “Hm, I don’t know, you did kinda lay claim to my bed, so I’m feeling a little cheated–” 

The wolf whines unhappily, pawing at Eddie again. 

“Okay, okay. Here.” Eddie tosses him another piece of ham. 

For a while, that’s all they do. Eddie tells the wolf about the garage he works at, about his boss and how he nearly got sunstroke today because he’s an idiot. Maybe Eddie’s crazy, but it feels like the wolf really listens. Like he’s taking in what Eddie’s saying, somehow. 

Soon enough, Eddie lies down and wraps a hesitant arm around the wolf. He’s warm, but not as warm as Eddie figured he would be. The wolf exhales almost contentedly, burying his snout in Eddie’s hair. 

The wolf huffs sleepily, his head a heavy weight on Eddie’s chest. He’s very soft, where he lays pressed up to Eddie’s side. Eddie pets him absentmindedly, looking up at the ceiling with a small smile on his face. He feels safe. Protected. 

Eddie only means to shut his eyes for a minute– he’s had a long day, after all. He doesn’t mean to fall asleep. But, listening to the wolf’s quiet breathing, feeling the steady thrum of his heart beneath his thick fur, lulls him into a gentle sleep anyway. 

Steve has a crick in his neck when he wakes up. Groaning, he buries his face in a pillow. For a long moment, he just lies there, brain moving at a snail's pace. 

He’s transformed into a wolf a couple of times now. Enough to feel comfortable doing it at will. At first, he’d thought maybe this was a Werewolf type of deal, where he’d only transform once a month without having a say in it. But, nope, he can do it all on his own, whenever. 

But it does feel like something he has to do. If he goes a couple of days without changing, his body starts to stiffen, like it’s bracing itself for a shift that isn’t coming. So he’s learned to do it. To enjoy the forest, the peace, the thrill of running just for the sake of running. 

Yawning, Steve stretches his back. Considers running later today, after his shift with Robin. Man, he’s got to tell Robin about this, too. Fuck. 

At that discouraging thought, he finally moves.  

–And freezes, when he rolls onto what feels like a body , and— fuck. Oh fucking shit. Jesus. 

Steve blinks blearily down at Eddie Munson, who’s tucked halfway beneath the covers, atop of which Steve is currently lying. 

What the fuck. What the fuck is he doing here? How did he even– 

Oh. 

Oh shit. 

The memories come back to him in flashes, almost like fireworks. Chasing birds in the forest, catching his scent – Eddie’s scent, a safe scent – in the wind and changing course. The ham. The one-sided conversation. Falling asleep with Eddie’s arm wrapped around his torso. 

Oh, God. 

What the fuck is wrong with me? He thinks frantically. Why Eddie? 

Heart kicking into overdrive, Steve stiffly starts to extricate himself, pausing when Eddie makes a small noise. Hardly breathing, he kicks himself all the way free, and stumbles onto Eddie’s messy floor. With wide eyes, Steve stares at Eddie. The guy’s sleeping with a hand splayed across his stomach, shirt riding up to reveal the pale skin of his stomach, eyelashes fanning over his cheeks, lips slightly parted. He looks so soft in the gentle morning light.

Steve needs to get the fuck out. Steve isn’t wearing any clothes. 

Shoving down the panic – not like it’s gonna do him any good now, anyway – Steve braves Eddie’s floor and makes his way over to Eddie’s drawer. With shaky fingers, chancing a quick look at Eddie, he opens the top one, and takes out a black band t-shirt. He turns it inside out so it looks like a plain t-shirt, and throws on a pair of unassuming, grey sweats he hopes Eddie won’t miss too much. 

Okay. Okay, he’s less nude now. Time to face problem number two. 

Eddie’s bedroom door is closed, and if he remembers correctly it had squeaked last night. So that’s a no-go. Pursing his lips, Steve side-eyes the window. Cringing as the floor creaks beneath his feet, Steve makes his way over to the window and pries it open, getting goosebumps at the cold morning breeze. 

He’s halfway through the window when, behind him, Eddie groans. 

“Mm’ello?” 

Fuck. 

In his haste, Steve falls the rest of the way out, hitting the ground with a kind of pathetic shmack. His — Eddie’s — sweats soak up the morning dew before he has a chance to right himself. Inside, he can hear Eddie tumble out of bed, cursing loudly. 

Steve runs. 

“Who the fuck’s behind my goddamn— hello?” Eddie’s voice calls out, and Steve does not know what to do. He rounds the house, and, in a moment of temporary insanity, he grinds to a halt in front of Eddie’s trailer. Maybe if he— he could lie? He could explain that he’s just here to— 

The door flies open. 

Eddie’s wide eyes take Steve in, and Steve prays so hard that Eddie won’t recognise his own clothes he feels himself sink a foot into the ground closer to hell. 

“Harrington?” Eddie looks glued to the spot. His eyes dart behind Steve then, almost like he’s searching for something. His attention snaps back to Steve when Steve clears his throat. 

“Hi,” he says. “Um. So, like. You sell, right?” 

Eddie stares, eyes flicking up and down Steve’s body. 

Please don’t recognise your clothes that I am currently wearing like an idiot, please, please, please- 

Eddie folds his arms over his chest. “Are you kidding?” 

Steve lets out a slow breath of relief, clothes seemingly going unnoticed by Eddie. “Um, no?” 

“It’s six in the goddamn morning, man,” Eddie says, accusatory. “What the fuck.” 

“Right. So, like,” Steve can barely hear himself over the pounding of his heart. “Sorry. Um. Bye.”

“No, hey–” Eddi reaches out, grabbing him by the elbow. “Just–” his eyes flick behind Steve then, face contorting with confusion. “Wait, did you walk here? Where’s your car, man?” 

Steve opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. 

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie sighs. “Just– come inside. I’m up anyway. Just don’t wake my uncle, ‘kay? We’ll go to my room.” 

Right. Eddie’s uncle. He must’ve come home at some point last night. Maybe it’s a good thing Steve didn’t try to sneak out in wolf form earlier, then. Quietly, he replies, “Okay.” 

Steve barely has time to flick worried eyes over to Wayne, who’s sleeping on the couch, before Eddie’s tugged him into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him with a flourish. 

Steve almost walks right up to Eddie’s bed to fall into it, before remembering he is in fact not a wolf right now (and what a thought that is) and hovers awkwardly instead. 

“So.” Eddie rocks back on his heels, looking expectantly at Steve. 

“So,” Steve echoes. 

Blowing his cheeks up, Eddie heads over to his desk, opening a drawer to rifle through. 

“What do you want?” he asks. “I’ve got, uh. Weed, some coke, Molly–” 

“Weed,” Steve interrupts, too loud. He flushes, ducking his head. 

Eddie pauses. “Weed. Okay, weed.” 

He grabs a baggie before shutting the drawer, waving it at Steve in a manner so similar to how he’d waved the ham at Steve in wolf-form that it throws him for a loop. 

“That’ll be, uh, fifteen,” Eddie says, lips twitching up. 

Steve freezes. Fuck. He’s not wearing his jeans, so– 

“I don’t have my wallet,” Steve says, and Eddie tilts his head. He looks more curious than mad. 

“So, uh. You came here to buy weed without… Bringing any cash.” 

Running a hand down his face, Steve sighs. “Fuck. Look, I’m sorry. I haven’t been sleeping, I must’ve just… It slipped my mind.” 

Eddie regards him with an unreadable look on his face before he finally shrugs. 

“It happens,” he says. He wets his lips almost nervously before adding, “I’d give it to you anyway, but– that’d be against the Munson Doctrine, so, uh–” 

“No, hey, that’s cool,” Steve says, smiling weakly. “I’m an idiot. I forgot my wallet. I’ll, um. Leave. Now.” 

Eddie watches him with wide eyes as he goes to open the door. Follows him wordlessly through the living room, and hovers at the front door when Steve walks down the stairs. 

Steve turns to say bye just in time to see Eddie’s eyes glued firmly to his ass, before flying up, face going pink. He has no idea what makes him do it, but Steve raises an eyebrow, smirking. 

Eddie stutters, pulling his hair in front of his red cheeks. 

Bewildered, both by himself and the morning in its entirety, Steve starts the slow trek home. He feels Eddie’s eyes on him all the way up the road. 

Look. Eddie’s not a complicated guy. He likes loud music, DnD, and his friends. He does not like sports, jocks, or the government. It’s easy. As much as he hates labels in all their forms, he can’t deny how easily he fits into a certain kind of box. 

Steve Harrington, though. He eludes him. Sure, he’s a jock who plays sports, who’s probably gonna marry a rich girl and have 2.5 kids– but something about him gives Eddie pause. 

Showing up at Eddie’s at six in the morning dressed in sweats, ferrying around a gaggle of kids just because they tugged on his sleeve a little– none of it fits. Not to mention Steve smirked at him when he caught him checking out his ass, what the fuck. And look, Eddie can admit when he’s wrong. It’s been known to happen, believe it or not. But being wrong about Steve Harrington? Man, Eddie needs to get his eyes checked. 

That’s not to mention his wolf. Where the hell had he gone? How did he sneak out without Eddie noticing? The window had been open, but– could it have jumped out without waking Eddie? 

He’s running over the morning again when he hears it. A subtle rustle in the bushes, just to his right. 

For a second, he thinks it might be his wolf- after all, it doesn’t seem so unlikely he’d wander all the way here, to the bench behind Hawkins High. But then– 

Billy fucking Hargrove steps into the clearing. 

Oh, fuck no. 

Eddie does his best to remain looking at ease. He subtly nudges his lunchbox away from Billy, spreading his hands on the table like he owns the place. 

“Hargrove,” he says, grinning. “What can I do for you?” 

Hargrove gives him a dangerous smile. “You could fork over the cash you owe me.” 

“Cash?” Eddie wracks his brain trying to figure out what cash Billy’s talking about, genuinely coming up empty. “Sorry, I don’t know what you mean.” 

“The cash,” Billy says, strutting up to Eddie before leaning down, “That you cheated me and Hagan out of last time. You overcharged.” 

Fuck. Did he owe him money? Probably. He did not think that that warranted getting his face beat in, but that’s the world for you. It has no mercy to spare for people like Eddie Munson. 

Eddie swallows. This close, he can smell Billy’s overwhelming aftershave. 

“Don’t think I did,” he tries, subtly leaning back. 

Billy grabs ahold of his shoulder then, fingers digging in too hard to be friendly. “Yeah, I think you did,” he says. 

“Look, man,” Eddie starts, wincing when Billy squeezes his shoulder. “I don’t– my prices fluctuate, you know? The economy’s fickle, it’s just, uh, it’s just business–” 

“Munson,” Billy says, narrowing his eyes in a way that makes him look scary, dangerous. “I don’t give a fuck about your fluctuating economy. Shit, I don’t care about the twenty. But I’ve had a real shit week, and last I remember you’ve got a shit right hook.” 

Eddie manages a weak, “Please,” before Billy’s fist connects with his jaw. 

Tears spring to his eyes as he ducks, shoving blindly at Billy. “Stop–” he tries, but Billy brings his knee up, nailing him right in the stomach. 

Gasping for air, Eddie slips off the bench, hitting the ground hard. 

“That all you got?” Billy taunts. 

Yeah, Eddie thinks. Yeah, this might be it. 

He curls up into a ball right before receiving a kick to his ribs. He can’t breathe, suddenly, an eruption of pain constricting his lungs. Another kick, and he sobs. Another, and his body goes limp. 

And then, nothing. 

Like Billy got bored. Like Eddie wasn’t entertaining enough. 

It takes a long time for Eddie to push himself up on his elbows. Longer still, to make himself stand. It’s embarrassing enough as it is, being a super senior who still gets his ass kicked, so he walks back slowly to his van. Tries to focus on his ragged breathing instead of the searing pain in his side, or the throbbing of his jaw. 

He’ll be fine. He always is. 

When the wolf finds him that night, he whines like he can feel Eddie’s pain himself. 

Eddie’s just past the forest’s clearing, sitting against a boulder with a joint in his mouth. Every movement he makes aches, his muscles tender and bruised. Still, seeing the wolf come lumbering toward him out of the dark makes him smile. 

“Hey, boy,” Eddie says softly, reaching out to press his palm to the wolf’s head. “How’ve you been? Chased any rabbits today?” 

The wolf huffs, pressing his nose to Eddie’s stomach, rucking up his t-shirt. 

“Yeah, they’re pretty bad, huh?” Eddie mumbles, pulling the shirt up to look at the bruises. “I think I broke a couple ribs. Feels the same as last time, anyway.” 

He smooths out his shirt again, looking up to ruffle the wolf’s fur. The wolf tilts his head then, almost inquisitively, like he’s asking him how it happened. As if a wolf would care. 

Still, Eddie finds himself compelled to answer. “Hargrove. He, uh. Well– I cheated him out of twenty bucks the other week, and he came to collect.” 

The wolf makes a low, rumbling sound, almost like a growl. His fur rises on his back, and for a moment, he looks terrifying. For some reason, Eddie’s not afraid. 

“Don’t worry about it, bud,” Eddie says. “”I’ve got the good stuff at home. Nothing a couple painkillers won’t fix.” 

He’s lying, but the wolf doesn’t need to know that. He can’t afford a hospital visit right now, but he hadn’t been able to afford it last time either, and he had healed just fine. He will this time too. 

Last time had been worse, too. Jason, Cunningham’s boyfriend, had gotten wind of the little tryst Eddie was having with Dan.

He’d called them lovebirds, before kicking his chest hard enough for Eddie’s vision to go. All he’d been able to think was, Jason had it all wrong. Eddie would never be able to love a boy in this town. He’d only ever get as far as guys like Jason could kick. 

“It was, uh, Jason,” he says out loud, petting the wolf to calm himself. “Who kicked the shit out of me last time. ‘Cause, uh. He saw me. With Dan.” 

The wolf exhales heavily, giving his thigh a tiny lick over his jeans. 

“Yeah, it did suck,” Eddie agrees. “I’d never had to– I mean, it wasn’t like it was serious, with Dan. We were just fucking around, and it’s not like either of us had– options, y’know? I wouldn’t have brought him home, it wasn’t like that. Not that Wayne woulda kicked me out, or anything.” 

The wolf lifts his head, nuzzling Eddie’s hand until he rests it on top of his snout. Eddie shudders out a nervous breath. 

“Yeah, my uncle just knew, y’know? Never had to— never had to say the words out loud. So, uh. Guess that’s what I’m doing here. I’m— I’m queer.” Relief like he’s never felt before floods his chest, and he lets out a laugh reminiscent of a giggle. The wolf stares up at him, something remarkably human in the gaze he levels at him. “And you don’t care, you’re a wolf.”

Eddie sighs, tilting his head up to look at the sky. He spots a couple familiar constellations he doesn’t know the names of, and lets himself sit. Pets the wolf. Runs his tongue over his teeth, focusing on one he can wiggle. Thanks, Billy. 

He’s tired, though. Tired and hurt, and he should probably eat something if he wants to heal any time soon. So, wincing, he pushes gently at the wolf to stand, and starts walking home. He turns to wave at the wolf with a half-smile once he’s past the thickest of the shrubbery. This time, the wolf doesn’t wave his tail. 

Steve never, ever wants to see Eddie hurt again. 

Lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, Steve can’t stop seeing it. The bruises on Eddie’s stomach stretching all the way up to his ribs, the scrapes on his cheek, the swelling on the right side of his face. 

Seeing him like that… God. Steve feels torn open. He should’ve been there to stop it. Jesus Christ, he can turn into a wolf, and he couldn’t even protect Eddie from getting beat to hell and back? 

Pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, Steve shudders out a watery sigh. 

He has to tell him. Eddie came out to him last night, and he doesn’t even know who he confided in. Steve’s being unfair. Steve’s a bad person for doing this. For deceiving him. Robin would certainly say so. Or– at least call him a dumbass of the highest order, or something. 

Coming clean is hard to think about, though, when Steve’s seen what Eddie looks like in the morning. How soft, how warm. How kissable. The second Steve tells him who he is, who Eddie’s been palling around with after dark, he’ll lose that. Not that he can ever have it again anyway, not when he already feels like a piece of shit for having seen him like that once without him knowing.  

God. God, this is a mess. At this rate, telling Eddie is going to be the last thing Steve ever does before fleeing the state. 

Hey, dude, so, I think I have a crush on you because you’re nice to me when I’m a wolf - I’m a wolf, by the way - which is cool, ‘cause I didn’t even know I liked guys, but that’s chill! So. Um. Coffee date? 

Groaning, Steve rolls over to bury his face in a pillow. 

Yeah, he sucks. His life sucks. 

Fuck. 

Steve doesn’t get a chance to tell him. No, instead he nearly gets himself killed. 

With the inevitable conversation he’d have to have with Eddie looming over his head, Steve had decided to go hunting. He didn’t like killing things, not as a human and not as a wolf, but the chase– that, he could get behind. 

He’s tracking a deer when he smells it. The rot. The decay. The Upside Down. Instantly, he’s on high alert, ears twisting every which way, nostrils flaring. 

He doesn’t see it until it’s too late. 

Yelping, he lands hard on his back as he’s tackled. He whines, panicked, as he tries to scramble out from underneath whatever’s pinned him. Almost like a growl, the thing clicks menacingly, claws digging into Steve’s sides. 

Snarling, Steve lunges for the thing’s arm. He bites hard enough to dislodge it, digging his paws into the ground as he bolts. Whirling, he nearly freezes. 

A Demodog. His maker. 

The monstrous head of the Demodog clicks at Steve again, gurgling as it gets ready to pounce. Steve braces himself, growling as he narrows his eyes. 

Try it, fucker. 

The Demodog lunges. Steve ducks. 

It’s a long and bloody fight. 

Steve can’t help feeling like he deserves it. Like this is repentance. For all the times he did the wrong thing because it was easier, he takes a hit. For the times he’s been cruel when he could’ve been kind, he takes a hit. For every selfish, conceited thing he’s ever said, he takes a hit. 

In the end, Steve manages to - in a stroke of luck - get his mouth around the neck of the Demodog, and yanks. 

Its head comes off with a sickening squelch, and Steve’s left stood towering over the twitching body, panting and bleeding. 

He’s shot through with adrenaline, barely thinking straight, but he has just enough strength to drag the carcass over to a shrub, dumping it out of sight. 

Home, he thinks. He needs to go home. 

He doesn’t realise he’s limped all the way to Eddie’s trailer until he’s collapsed in the bush underneath Eddie’s window with a pitiful whine. 

Panting and uncomfortable, Steve thinks he hears Eddie ask, big guy, is that you? But he can’t muster up the strength to stand before his vision fades, and he forgets why he was trying to stand in the first place. 

When Steve comes to, he’s lying in a bush. Still lying in a bush, his mind corrects itself sluggishly. And then– 

Steve pushes himself up hastily, gasping at the sharp twinge in his thigh, the sting in his left side. His whole body feels like it’s buzzing with the pain, like it’s being stuck by a thousand needles. 

“Woah–” 

Steve’s head shoots up, registering that Eddie is crouching there, right in front of him, for the first time. 

His eyes are wide and concerned, more than a little wary. “Hey,” he says. “You, uh. You alright there?” 

“I– I–” Steve swallows, looking down. He’s covered in a blanket Eddie must’ve brought him, and he pulls it aside with a shaky hand to get a look at his side, where the demogorgon had clawed at him. His vision swims a little at the blood. Quietly, he rasps, “I don’t know, man. I don’t know.” 

“Okay.” Eddie bounces on his heels like he wants to stand, looking around as if to determine nobody’s watching them. “Okay,” he says, lowering his voice. “Okay, look, Harrington. I don’t know why you’re in a bush right now - without clothes, I might add - but if you’re running from a fight or something–” 

“I’m not,” Steve says, wincing as he makes to stand. Eddie’s arms shoot out to catch him, helping him up. They’re so close, all of a sudden. Eddie’s eyes look almost black in the cover of night. 

“I’m not,” Steve says again, breathless. “It’s a long story.” 

They regard each other for a long moment, and then, finally, Eddie says, “Come inside?” 

Steve nods without hesitating. 

Bypassing the living room altogether, Eddie leads Steve to the bathroom. He sets him down on the toilet seat, murmuring something under his breath as he rummages through the cabinet for supplies. 

With antiseptic, gauze, and tape, Eddie kneels in front of Steve. It’s so vulnerable, Steve has to tilt his head back, exhaling deeply. 

“You ready, big boy?” Eddie asks, hands on Steve’s blanket. 

You like that, big guy? 

Swallowing, Steve nods. 

Eddie’s careful, cleaning Steve up. He works methodically around them, wetting the dried blood before wiping it away. Looking down at Eddie as he swipes the towel over Steve’s wounds – wounds that have already begun to stitch themselves back together – warms him all over. 

“These, uh, don’t look as bad as I thought they’d be, so. Gauze and painkillers’ll do, no stitches required, Harrington.” Eddie looks up, lips quirking, and Steve’s breath nearly hitches. His eyes are nearly molten in the muted light, lips full and pink. Jesus, how does anyone ever look away from this guy? 

The longer Steve stares, the darker Eddie’s cheeks get. 

“Thanks,” he says softly, after too long. “For doing this. And for the diagnosis.” 

Eddie clears his throat, looking down again. “Yeah, no problem, dude. Happy to help any jock in need of urgent bush-rescuing.” 

A laugh bursts out of Steve at that. He doesn’t miss the pleased smile on Eddie’s face before he ducks his head. 

They sit in comfortable silence while Eddie finishes up. When it’s time to wrap the gauze around Steve’s torso, Eddie leans in close enough for his hair to brush Steve’s thigh. He’s an overwhelming presence all on his own, but this close, it’s almost unbearable. 

Steve holds his breath as Eddie works, shuddering out an exhale as soon as he leans back away, tucking the bandage in properly. His eyes flick up to Steve’s then, almost apologetically. 

“Sorry,” he says. “Didn’t mean to hurt you.” 

Swallowing, Steve shakes his head. “You didn’t. It just– hurts, on its own.” 

Looking at you hurts, he doesn’t say. He’s not sure Eddie would take it the right way. 

Standing, Eddie claps his hands together. “Right. Uh, my room?” 

Steve nods. 

As soon as Eddie’s closed the door behind him, Steve feels his shoulders loosen a little. This is familiar. Eddie’s room, the way it smells like old paper and cigarettes, the posters on the wall, the window he’d fallen out of just a couple of days ago- he knows this room. Feels safe here. 

Walking over to perch on his bed, Eddie looks down, face hidden by a curtain of hair. “Shit, this is probably gonna sound insane, but… I just– I feel like I know you, man. Like this is… Familiar.” He pauses, huffing. “Fuck, I sound insane, sorry, ignore me–” 

“No,” Steve says, heart hammering. Eddie looks up at him, mouth parted. “No, it’s not insane.” 

Say it, he tells himself. Say it now. 

“Eddie,” he croaks. 

Eddie’s eyebrows furrow. “You okay?” 

“I– yeah. Yeah,” Steve says, but he’s not. He’s not okay, because he’s hurt Eddie, and Eddie doesn’t even know it. 

When Eddie pats the bed next to him, Steve’s helpless but to follow his direction. He sits, too close so they’re thigh to thigh, and stares at his hands. God, he’s a coward. 

“Sorry,” Eddie says quietly. “If I, uh, freaked you out. It’s kinda my whole shtick, being the freak and all.” 

“You’re–” not. You’re more than that. You’re not freaking me out. I’m freaking me out. “Not freaky enough to be a freak.” 

Next to him, Eddie barks a surprised laugh, a nervous hand landing on Steve’s back. Steve focuses on the point of contact, on the circle Eddie rubs into his skin. And then he steels himself. 

“Look, man,” Steve says, wringing his hands together. “There’s something I have to tell you. And just– in advance, I’m sorry. I’m– fuck, I’m– you have to believe that. I never meant to– I never wanted to lie to you.” 

The hand on his back stills. “Lie to me?” Eddie asks. “How did you– what do you mean?” 

Body aching in protest, he says tiredly, “I think it’s better if I show you.” 

And so he does. 

Steve stands, still only wearing the flimsy blanket, and focuses. He feels the prickle on his skin, his hair standing on end, the way his bones start to creak. His back curves, his fingers snap, eyesight whiting out completely as he pants, and then– 

He’s the wolf again. And Eddie’s staring at him like he’s seen a ghost. 

Face pale, his mouth trembles as he breathes, “Steve? Are you–? Is this–?” 

Steve whines, because he’s so sorry, and he has no way of saying it. 

“Son of a bitch.” Eddie's eyes are so wide, mouth hanging open like he just can't believe it. He buries his face in his hands, before dropping them again to stare at Steve. “Am I dreaming?” 

Steve swallows, throat constricting. Lowering his head, he closes his eyes. Focuses again, until he feels his tendons stretch the wrong way, bones cracking eerily. Until he’s human again. 

Grabbing the blanket, he swipes hastily at his hair, ignoring the way his head spins. Weakly, he says, “Sorry.” 

Eddie just keeps staring. And then finally, Steve has the displeasure of watching it - everything - dawn on him. “Oh, fuck. Fuck, I’ve told you– I’ve– oh my God. Son of a bitch–” 

“Hey, hey–” Steve reaches forward from where he’s sitting on the floor, but stops himself, unsure if he’s allowed to touch. “Eddie.” 

“And– Jesus Christ, you’ve– in my bed, and–” 

“Eddie.” 

Eddie snaps his mouth shut, looking at him with wide, panicked eyes.

Steve chooses his words carefully, his tongue still feeling foreign in his mouth. “Anything you’ve told me, I won’t– I’m not gonna tell anyone, man. I swear. I– I deceived you. I should’ve just… The first time you saw me, I… God, I shouldn’t have come back. It was selfish. I’m so sorry.” 

Eddie’s eyes flicker between Steve’s like he’s trying to read the sincerity there. Finally, he shudders out a sigh. “Okay. Okay, I believe you.” He leans back on his hands. Blinks. And then he bursts out, “Have you always been a wolf?” 

Steve hesitates. “No. It happened– like, two months ago? Ish? It's... Also a long story.” 

Steve wonders how he'll explain the Upside Down to Eddie. Hopefully, Steve being a wolf and all is enough to convince him he's not pulling his leg. 

Mouth opening and closing, Eddie says, “That’s when… That’s around the first time I saw you. Up by the quarry.” 

Steve gives him a half-smile. “It was the first time it happened. Turning into a wolf, I mean. You, um. I could smell you, in the wind. So I found you.” 

“Christ.” Eddie keeps moving like he wants to flail, but can’t look away from Steve long enough to do so. “Christ, okay. Sure. This is– yeah.” 

A shiver wracks through Steve, and he has to say, “I get it if you hate me, but could I borrow something to wear? Just to walk home in?” 

“I don’t hate you,” Eddie says lightly, like it’s nothing, and hoists himself out of bed. He rummages through his dresser, procuring a sleep shirt and a pair of shorts, before tossing them to Steve. 

Politely, he turns away as Steve stands to pull the shorts on, shirt quick to follow. 

Still facing away, Eddie asks, “Why was it selfish? Coming back to me?” 

Feeling small, Steve hugs himself. “Because you were nice to me,” he says. “You were nice to me, and you didn’t know who I was.” 

Eddie’s quiet for a long moment. 

Horrifyingly, Steve realises he’s about to cry. He swipes hastily at his eyes, hands shaking. 

“You decent?” Eddie asks, and Steve manages a strangled affirmative noise. 

“Sorry,” Steve says hoarsely, pressing his fingers into his eyes. “Sorry, I’m–” 

He’s not expecting the hug. He doesn’t even hear Eddie turn around before he’s being enveloped in a warm embrace. Eddie’s so gentle, mindful of his wounds, as he winds his arms around Steve, hand coming up to hold the back of his head. 

Trembling, Steve sobs. 

“Sorry–” he tries again, but Eddie shakes his head against his neck. 

“Don’t be,” he whispers, and it’s so kind. It’s so kind, and Steve, for the first time in weeks, feels the tension in his chest begin to unknot. 

For some reason, swaying in Eddie’s arms, Steve thinks of his first brush with death. He’d been seven years old, on a trip with his parents near a frozen lake. It had been the dead of winter, and they’d let him outside to explore. 

He’d spotted a white rabbit not far from the frozen water, and of course he had to take a closer look. The rabbit, alerted by Steve’s clumsy footsteps, had taken off, right across the lake. Steve followed. 

He had managed ten steps before he fell through the ice. It had been so cold he barely felt it, his small body sinking fast before he managed to get a hold of the sharp ice. 

For a heart-stopping moment, Steve had thought the rabbit would also crash through the ice, that Steve had doomed them both. But as he splashed and screamed, he saw a blur of white dash across to the other side of the lake. Away from Steve. To safety. 

His mom, who must’ve seen him through the window, had come to pull him out a moment later, chastising him like her life depended on it. He got pneumonia, despite the hot bath she put him in, which was, incidentally, his second brush with death. 

This, much like that, feels like taking an unexpected plunge. But this time, it's into warmth. 

Steve buries his nose in Eddie’s hair. Breathes him in as he squeezes his eyes shut against the swell of tears, and lets himself be held. 

“You’re okay,” Eddie says softly, breath tickling Steve’s neck. “I’m not mad.” 

They stand there for a long while before Steve’s breathing evens out. Maybe it should be weird, being this close when they don't know each other- but that's not entirely true, is it? They're friends. Even if they became friends in a somewhat (very) unconventional way.

Eddie keeps holding him. A point of safety, of comfort, for Steve to cling to. When he does finally pull back, Eddie doesn’t let him get far, holding onto his elbows. He searches Steve’s face, and whatever it is he’s looking for, Steve hopes he finds. 

Steve doesn’t mean to, but he looks at Eddie’s lips. They’re just… Right there, pink and pretty, and Steve’s just a boy. 

“Tell me I’m reading this wrong,” Eddie murmurs, inching closer. 

Steve's heart skips a beat, thundering in his chest. “You’re not reading this wrong,” he says softly, eyes flickering between Eddie’s. “Eddie, I–” 

Eddie kisses him. Steve barely has time to react, hands scrabbling to find Eddie’s shoulders, eyes flickering shut. And then he melts into it. Melts into Eddie. 

Eddie’s kisses like he's nervous, like he's taking a gamble. And then, inhaling shakily, he pulls away. Steve opens his eyes slowly, head foggy with words like good and more. Eyes full of anxiety, Eddie opens his mouth as if to say something, but Steve beats him to it. 

“Again?” 

Fear melting away, Eddie's face splits in a grin. And then he kisses Steve again.  

This time, he sucks on Steve's bottom lip, tongue darting out to taste him. Steve wants to live here, stay here forever with Eddie's mouth on his, his arms tightening around him. He makes a soft noise, and in response, Eddie buries his hand in Steve’s hair, pulling him even closer. 

Gasping into his mouth, Steve gives him his all. He pulls out all the stops, needs to tell Eddie how much he wants this without saying it out loud. Needs to kiss the words into his mouth, press his affection into his skin, lick his thanks against his tongue. And Eddie lets him. Breathing hard, he gives as good as he gets, scrabbling to hold onto Steve like he wants to devour him. Like he wants to be devoured.

It's only when he realises he's hard and aching between his legs that he pulls away. Heat coiling in his gut, he presses a soft kiss to the corner of Eddie's mouth, and then to his cheek, his chin, his nose. He strokes Eddie's cheeks with his thumbs, looking at him. Taking him in now that he's allowed. 

“Fuck,” Eddie pants, his pupils blown wide. And then he starts to grin. 

Steve’s answering laugh is light and relieved. “Fuck,” he agrees. 

Later, with his arms wrapped carefully around Steve’s waist despite his wounds all having healed, Eddie says, “Hey, can I take you to the pet store?” 

“No.” 

Eddie pouts, imagining ushering Steve in wolf form into his van. Maybe feeding him ham on the drive there. “Please?” 

Lips twitching, Steve says, “Absolutely not.” 

Eddie sighs. “There go my plans to call you a good boy in public, I guess.” 

That seems to get Steve's attention. Very slowly, he says, “...You can take me to the pet store one time.” 

Eddie can feel Steve smile against his neck as he whoops. “Hell yeah.”