[ It's going to be work. This - whatever the fuck this is - and it'll be more work if Steve decides that he'd rather trade up. Billy is hurt and hurt people are always the most fucking dangerous, especially when they've yet to even start to heal. Or when they've decided they have nothing left but a vendetta, or worse, a desire.
In truth, Eddie's worried. Billy Hargrove had left a score of wounds on his little flock. Steve may be willing to walk it off and turn over a new leaf, but he worries for Lucas. For Max... but a lifetime of living on the wrong side of the tracks has taught him it's better to befriend the monsters in the dark, rather than passively hoping they don't bite you.
He's done his fair share of monster taming. And, in his worst moments, he knows how to wound them enough so they know better than to come the fuck back. His reputation isn't entirely fabricated - it's just a part of himself he doesn't want to relive. A promise he'd made long, long ago to not be the kind of man his father was. To strive to be the kind of gentle and warm person his Uncle has always been, and to give others that same refuge from the hateful world outside.
For now, he's got to deal with Steve Harrington. Coaxing him up to take a drink and smoothing his hair down, grinning despite himself.
He grabs a pair of Steve's pants and reclaims a stolen shirt, retreating into the bathroom to take a shower and undress. His legs are sore from the sudden increase in walking - and he's not totally used to the prosthetic yet, so moshing was maybe not the smartest fucking idea he's ever had - but it's fine. He hangs out in the bathroom for a few moments with it off, rubbing the stump and giving himself a chance to breathe. Then he's snapping it back on and stepping outside.
Crawling into bed next to him. Slings an arm around him and tucks his face into the back of Steve's neck.
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In truth, Eddie's worried. Billy Hargrove had left a score of wounds on his little flock. Steve may be willing to walk it off and turn over a new leaf, but he worries for Lucas. For Max... but a lifetime of living on the wrong side of the tracks has taught him it's better to befriend the monsters in the dark, rather than passively hoping they don't bite you.
He's done his fair share of monster taming. And, in his worst moments, he knows how to wound them enough so they know better than to come the fuck back. His reputation isn't entirely fabricated - it's just a part of himself he doesn't want to relive. A promise he'd made long, long ago to not be the kind of man his father was. To strive to be the kind of gentle and warm person his Uncle has always been, and to give others that same refuge from the hateful world outside.
For now, he's got to deal with Steve Harrington. Coaxing him up to take a drink and smoothing his hair down, grinning despite himself.
He grabs a pair of Steve's pants and reclaims a stolen shirt, retreating into the bathroom to take a shower and undress. His legs are sore from the sudden increase in walking - and he's not totally used to the prosthetic yet, so moshing was maybe not the smartest fucking idea he's ever had - but it's fine. He hangs out in the bathroom for a few moments with it off, rubbing the stump and giving himself a chance to breathe. Then he's snapping it back on and stepping outside.
Crawling into bed next to him. Slings an arm around him and tucks his face into the back of Steve's neck.
It takes a while for sleep to come. ]