Chapter Text
He wakes slowly.
There’s nothing dramatic about it, no gasp, no flailing, no scream. It is gradual and he is still. He’s conscious for a while before he tries to move. Eyes first. A twitch, eyelids screwed, but they’re heavy. So heavy.
Something is wrong.
It’s hard to understand at first. Something is wrong. Something…
A finger twitches. A foot. The whole body comes to him slowly. Oh, shit. Shit.
The body burns. Not everywhere. Not all of it. There are points that are lit up with white-hot fire.
Now he screams. He flails. He gasps.
He rips the burning points from his body. On his fingers, his chest, his waist. Throws them away.
His eyes open as he pants in relief. Blurry at first, then clearer. Rings. Necklaces. A belt. Scattered on the road a short distance away.
He raises his hands to his face. Scorched burns where the rings were. But the fingers still move. That’s useful.
Kas.
It’s not aloud. He’s aware of that much. It’s in his head. A voice, like a homing beacon. An address. Impossible to ignore.
I am Kas, he decides. That is me.
Feast.
+ + +
He wakes with a start.
It’s not pleasant in the slightest. He thinks he might be screaming but he can’t hear a thing over the roaring in his ears. He’s sweating in a way he has never sweated before. It’s pouring off of him. He’s hot. He’s boiling inside his skin.
And he’s in agony.
Something white-hot is embedded between his ribs, right in the centre of his chest. Piercing, burning, sharp.
He’s in a hospital room, which is weird. And he’s fairly certain his limbs are handcuffed to the rails, which is psychotic. And he may or may not be half naked, which is perhaps the most reasonable part of the whole affair.
On one side, Dustin, who looks like he’s probably screaming, too. On the other, Robin, crying her eyes out.
Looming above him, of all people to be here in this moment, is Steve fucking Harrington. Jaw clenched. He looks a bit like he’s about to vomit.
Eddie thinks he may well have pissed himself, and who can blame him? It hurts so fucking bad.
And then Eddie understands why. And that might just be the scariest thing that has ever happened to him.
Steve fucking Harrington is driving an actual real life sword into Eddie’s heart.
Which is… fucking metal, actually.
And so fucking painful.
“Oh fuck, oh fuck!” Dustin wails, and Eddie’s head snaps towards that familiar voice, “Eddie, oh shit!”
“Move!” and that voice Eddie doesn’t recognise. A man Eddie definitely doesn’t know pushes Steve out of the way and shoves a needle into- well, somewhere. It’s not really what Eddie is focussing on, because there’s still a whole fucking sword lodged in Eddie’s chest.
He’s fairly certain he has lost the fucking plot, because suddenly he feels incredible. And it’s almost funny to watch Harrington retch into a trash can. It’s not so funny to see Robin sobbing, but focussing on Harrington’s guts being ejected into a bucket is, frankly, a lot more fun.
“Alright, son,” that same voice again, “We’re going to fix this.”
Eddie might giggle, he’s not sure. He can’t really tell any more. He’s floating. And then he makes eye contact with Steve fucking Harrington, who looks like someone kicked his coiffed fucking poodle in front of a semi, and then, well…
Eddie’s gone.
+ + +
“The Red Vines are for Eddie, not your fat ass.”
Eddie frowns. He doesn’t really like Red Vines all that much. But why Dustin is shouting about candy in Eddie’s bedroom is kind of beyond him.
He creaks silted-closed eyes open, squints at the bright lights of the room which... means this definitely isn’t his bedroom.
“He’s not exactly awake enough to be pissed about it, just buy him some more!” says Sinclair. Sinclair is here, lounging in a chair with his comically large feet up on Eddie’s bed. Why, exactly?
“I don’t even like ‘em,” Eddie informs them, his voice rasping out of his throat like sandpaper. He feels like shit warmed over, then frozen, then nuked.
“Eddie!” Dustin yells, barrelling over, “Oh man, Eddie!”
“Wotcha, Henderson.” Eddie musters a smile, but it’s about as pathetic as he feels. He coughs weakly, and fuck does that hurt.
“Hey, hey. Don’t move too much, Jesus Christ Eddie.” Dustin grabs Eddie’s clammy hand in his, and he looks manic, which isn’t as unusual as it could be. “Holy shit.”
Eddie can just about see Sinclair running from the room behind Dustin’s big old head.
“Is that… a moustache?” Eddie asks, turning his attention back to Dustin, who flushes.
“Suzie likes it.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Shut up, man. You’re like, back from the-”
“How about we give Mr Munson a chance to recover before we overload him with information, Mr Henderson?” a voice asks, wry. Eddie recognises it. He’s not sure why.
Dustin’s mouth snaps closed and he shifts out of the way, looking sheepish.
A dumpy, friendly-looking man makes his way into the room in a lab coat. A doctor, then, with short gray hair and a pleasant smile.
“Well, you’re looking a damn sight better than the last time we saw each other, son,” the doctor waggles his eyebrows a little, trying to be comforting, maybe. Eddie thinks it over for a moment.
Remembers a doctor pushing Steve Harrington out of the way, injecting Eddie, right next to the -
An urgent-sounding beeping rings out.
“Hey now,” the doctor cautions, gently moving Dustin out of the way, “No need to panic, you’re safe.”
“There was a-”
The doctor shakes his head, “There will be a time for processing everything soon. For now, you need to try and stay calm.”
The doctor checks the equipment next to the hospital bed and Eddie is faintly relieved to realise that he is, at the very least, no longer handcuffed to it.
Eddie looks back to Dustin, mouths, “A sword?”
Dustin’s eyes light up and he nods eagerly, mimes a two-handed grip on a blade thrusting down, like a grotesque reverse sword-in-the-stone pull.
Eddie feels a bit sick.
“Feeling okay there, son?”
Eddie blinks back at the doctor.
“Huh? Sure, feeling great,” Eddie lies, badly. The doctor clearly sees right through it. Fiddles with some of the equipment. And suddenly Eddie feels real good. “Hey, Doc, is Harrington still here? I think I can sue his ass, right? You know a good lawyer? You must, you’re a doctor…” Eddie rambles. Dustin still looks a bit shellshocked. So he should.
“I think Mr Harrington is safe from litigation,” the doctor replies distractedly, clearly paying more attention to Eddie’s readings, “I’m not sure you’d find anyone willing to testify against him in this particular case.”
Eddie frowns.
“Rich kids, always get their own way,” he mutters, which earns a snort from the doctor.
“He saved your life, son.”
“‘M not your son.”
There’s a pause. The doctor turns back to Eddie, looks at him like Eddie remembers looking at Dustin the first time he saw him, poor little thing, so weak and defenceless.
“Of course, Mr Munson,” the doctor nods sedately, scribbling something down on a chart, “I’m sorry, I should have introduced myself. I’m Doctor Owens.”
“El’s doctor!” Dustin interjects, like he’s desperate for Eddie to know, getting an amused huff from Dr Owens.
“The magic girl?”
“Something like that,” Dr Owens agrees. He pours a plastic cup of water and holds it to Eddie’s lips. Eddie sips, and fuck does that feel good.
The room is silent but for Eddie’s slurps as he drains the cup. It sounds gross. It feels amazing.
“Thanks,” he mutters when he’s done. Raised in a trailer, maybe, but he’s no hick.
There’s some muffled voices outside the door and the sound of footsteps rushing over. Dr Owens raises an eyebrow.
“I thought we’d have a little more time before the cavalry arrived,” he admits, looking faintly disappointed but amused more than anything, “Mr Sinclair really is an excellent athlete.”
“Don’t remind me,” Eddie mutters, still disgusted at the thought. Dustin snorts.
“Are you feeling up to visitors?” Dr Owens asks, and his face is suddenly more serious than Eddie has seen it. Worrying.
“Depends, are they cops?”
“What? No. I believe they’re…”
“Friends,” Dustin reassures Eddie, “Your friends.”
“My friends? I don’t really…”
Dr Owens is suddenly all smiles again, “Then you may be pleasantly surprised.” He raises his voice, “You may as well come in, I imagine you’re blocking my corridor.”
The door bursts open and a bundle of people tumble inside. Sinclair, Sinclair Jr., Wheeler, Max Mayfield, Nancy Wheeler, Robin and, alarmingly, some more people he doesn’t know. They all look like they’re looking at a ghost, which is a bit fucking rude.
“Um.”
“Holy shit, you’re awake!” Robin stage-whispers, pushing through the crowd to get to him. She grabs Eddie’s hand in a vice-like grip, “Oh my god.”
“Gently, if you wouldn’t mind.” Dr Owens reminds her.
“Shit sorry,” Robin grimaces, but she doesn’t grip his hand any less tightly, “Eddie oh my- do you even realise-? We’ve been so- it has been a whole month, we thought-”
“A month?” Eddie interjects, blinking a bit, “Since-?” He can’t even bring himself to mention the sword, because that makes it real.
“Since you had open-heart surgery, yes,” Nancy informs him, calm as ever. It’s actually really rather nice to see her.
“We thought we lost you, man,” Wheeler pipes up. Eddie zeroes in on his face. Frowns.
“What’s the deal with the moustaches?”
Wheeler goes beetroot red. Turns to the girl next to him for reassurance. Eddie glances at her for the first time and knows, instantly, that this is the magic girl. Which is mad, because she looks pretty damn normal to him. They hold a charged moment of eye contact, then she smiles, just a little.
“You should see yourself,” the ever-delightful Erica pipes up, “You grow that ugly-ass beard any more, you’re gonna have to change class to wizard.”
“Always a pleasure, Sinclair,” Eddie murmurs, his voice catching in his throat all of a sudden.
It hits him, then, that he is surrounded by people who care about him. Who were worried about him. And that, well, if that makes him a little choked up, he’s gonna blame the drugs working their way through his system.
Robin squeezes his hand gently, and Eddie smiles ever so faintly, but it feels like a lot of work.
“Alright, gang,” Nancy announces to the room at large, “You’ve seen him now. Let’s let him rest. We can catch up later.”
A chorus of groans and complaints fill the room, which makes Eddie’s lips twitch. Nancy dismisses them all, though, and herds everyone out like the good little school teacher he imagines she is. Except Robin. Nancy squeezes Robin’s shoulder as she leaves. Robin smiles faintly up to her, thankful.
After a moment, there is blessed silence. Dr Owens smiles down at Eddie.
“Your uncle will be along later. He’s working. We’ll make sure he knows you’re awake.”
“Thanks, Doc,” Eddie nods a bit, feeling a relief that he hadn’t even realised he needed to feel.
“Make sure you get some rest, hm? I’ll be dropping in, Ms Buckley, don’t let him get overexcited.” Dr Owens makes his way out of the room, too, and Eddie feels like he can breathe again.
Robin shifts off of the side of the bed and into the chair Sinclair had been in when Eddie awoke. She doesn’t release his hand for a second, tubes and all.
“I’m so fucking glad to see you, Eddie,” she tells him, quiet in a way that is categorically unlike her.
“Likewise,” Eddie offers back.
“They weren’t sure that they’d be able to… but we had to try. We had to,” she tells him, like it’s imperative that he knows.
“Had to let Harrington-”
“Don’t, Eddie,” Robin says sharply, sharper than he’s ever heard her before, “Don’t. You have no idea, and he’s so torn up about it all.”
Eddie swallows. Her tone makes him feel horribly guilty, which he doesn’t like one bit.
“Yeah, well…” Eddie mumbles, like a scolded kid, “Do I get to keep it?”
“Keep what?”
“The sw- the-” he swallows, rubs his free hand over his face, “You know what I mean.”
“Oh. Uh. No, that’s… kind of a long story. I think it’s probably best to speak to Steve about it,” Robin admits.
Eddie frowns, “Didn’t see him just then.”
“No, he’s… he’s still really upset, Eddie. We don’t really know what to do. He hasn’t left his house in weeks. He thinks he killed you. That you wouldn’t wake up.”
“Well, I’m awake now. He can come apologise,” Eddie decides.
Robin’s face twitches, like she has a million things to say and for once can’t get a single one of them out. Eddie doesn’t like that one bit.
“Just be gentle with him when you see him, yeah, Ed?” Robin requests. And damn, if it isn’t really fucking horrible to think about disappointing her.
“Sure, Robin,” he nods, “Sure.”
Robin smiles a bit, linking their fingers together, then releasing them. It occurs to Eddie that his rings are missing and- and his fingers are kind of sore. He tries to look down at his hand. Robin notices and lifts it a bit, so he can see.
There are burns where his rings used to sit.
“It’s such a long story, Eddie,” she admits, “I don’t even think you’d believe us.”
“Try me.”
Robin shakes her head, “Doctor’s orders.”
“Fuck,” Eddie grumbles, “This Twilight Zone episode sucks.”
That gets a snort out of Robin, who settles his hand down.
“Get some rest. I promise we’ll tell you,” she gives his hand one last squeeze.
“I’m holdin’ you to it,” Eddie lets her know, watching her smile ruefully and make her way out of his room.
“Goodnight, Eddie.”
“Night, Robin.”
The door closes behind her, and it is quiet again. A little too quiet. Eddie wriggles a little against the pillows, moves his feet under the sheet. Can’t get comfortable. He feels antsy and anxious, nebulously aware that he’s cautious of falling asleep and not waking back up.
It doesn’t take long, though, for the drugs to kick in. And he’s so tired that he doesn’t fight it as they pull him under.
He sleeps through Uncle Wayne’s visit, in the end. Not that Uncle Wayne minds that much.
He sleeps through Steve Harrington’s visit, too. But nobody will tell him about that one.