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Steve's sick. Leave to him to somehow get the flu in the middle of summer, on the fucking Fourth of July. He'd thought he'd felt something yesterday - the usual signs of slight nausea, a scratch at the back of his throat - that should have tipped him off. He should have drowned himself in fluids and hopped himself up on that vitamin and immune boosting shit Robin swears by (or more accurately, Mrs Buckley swears by) and gone to bed early. But no. He ignored it, and now he's woken up late, feeling like death warmed over, currently flawed by just how much mucus one can have in their head (he's five tissues in and still feels blocked up).
At least his boyfriends let him sleep in. He knows by the lateness of the hour that they'll both be out. Billy is taking Max and the boys to the lake to try water-skiing, Eddie is helping Wayne do some repairs to the new trailer (Steve would have offered to help too, he loves spending time with Wayne, but he knew Eddie also liked alone time with his uncle). Steve's parents aren't back for the Fourth this year, but when are they ever, so he's free to stay in bed all day. If he rests hard enough, he should be well enough by dinner tonight. He's got go be better by tonight.
The Fourth of July is kind of a sore holiday for everyone Steve loves; it brings back traumatic memories, anxiety attacks, and emotional breakdowns for him and his friends. Eddie's the only one not mared by that Fourth of July, but he still frets and worries and hates the holiday because of what it does to them all. So, while it's still a holiday to spend with family, Steve usually hosts a quiet dinner at his house to celebrate surviving Starcourt and all that. They hang out in the den, away from fireworks and fares and ice cream and malls.
Their first year they decided to just have a dinner together, like a normal family on the Forth. A family that understood each other, like no one else. Nancy had managed to get her hands on a projector, and they screened a movie against the outside wall of Steve's house. It was fun; the kids camped out in and around the pool, Joyce helped Steve man the barbecue, while Jonathan and Billy kept sneaking off around the side of the house and coming back happier. Eddie was still recovering from that spring break so was drinking with Robin on recliners by the back door. But then the fireworks had gone off in the distance, and the mood plummeted, memories flooding in. The kids got snappy and jumpy, El and Will kept staring at Billy which irritated him and made him growl at them, which set everyone more on edge, the sudden tension and flashbacks caused Steve's head to ache and Robin's hands to shake.
So they decided Fourth of July nights are best spent in the den, where the dull pops of fireworks are easily ignored. All celebratory nature is far away. They're safe, together.
Only maybe this year they'd have to relocate, if he's not better by tonight. Hopper's cabin was surely far enough away that the sound of the fare and fireworks would be quiet. But that wasn't exactly a nice place to be in around this time of year. The Wheelers had a basement. He could call Karen and explain, make sure the party knows the location has moved and he won't be coming. Maybe he could…
Oh Steve's too sick to focus on this right now. He needs pain meds, more fluids, and more sleep.
He struggles out of bed, feeling a painful chill run up his limbs and throbbing behind his eyes as he slowly, slowly, plods his way downstairs. He should be careful with what he touches. If his boyfriends aren't sick yet they might be lucky. He does hastily leave a note in case someone drops by, saying he's sick, to not come into the bedroom and that he'll be better later. He just needs a couple hours rest.
Later he'll cook up something spicy to clear his head up, burn away the itch from his throat. He's used to taking care of himself when he's sick, he's worked out the perfect formula for his body. Robin tried to help once; she got him on the vitamin boost, which helps a lot, but she doesn't have a maternal bone in her body. It's always just been Steve since he was fifteen, his parents rarely present enough to dote on him when he fell ill. Not that they were very useful when they were around, Steve still handled things himself. He'll be fine on his own.
Steve heads back upstairs, gently settles back into bed and sets an alarm. Yeah. Yeah, it'll be fine.
-
When Steve resurfaces, it feels like he's been at the bottom of the pool. It takes forever to catch his breath with his blocked sinuses, his eyes burn, his chest feels tight. Even the act of rolling over leaves him breathless.
And he's not alone. There's a hip against his forehead, maybe it's a thigh. Someone's sitting next to him in bed and there's exposed skin right there.
He specifically said in his note not to come into the bedroom!
Fingers thread into his hair, scratching slowly at his scalp. Steve whines, trying to pull away, only his body won't cooperate. The hand on his head is grounding, the scratching soothing the ache between his temples, and his body feels so heavy.
But no! Whoever came, whoever is petting him, should get away from him before they get sick too!
“Go back to sleep.” A voice says. Steve can't really grasp who it is, one of his boys…
God he's freezing. He's actually shivering. He's curled up on bed, in July, shivering and sweating.
“God, baby, look at you.” The hand playing with his hair rests on Steve's forehead, and the owner sighs, pulling the blankets up, fingers returning to gently rake at his head. “What'd you go and do to yourself, huh?”
It's Billy.
Billy's sitting with Steve, stroking his head, tucking him into bed. Billy's rarely this tender, but he is doing so for Steve while he's sick. Steve whines again. Maybe he whimpers. It's a lot to process.
“No? Want to sit up? Eds is cooking you something, feel up to eating?” Billy's voice is gentle, no wonder it took Steve's swollen brain a minute to catch up. “What do you need?”
“You…” Steve swallows, God his throat is made of razor blades. “You're… gonna get sick.”
Did Billy come home early from his trip and decide to stay and look after Steve? Why'd he come back early? Max was so excited to learn to ski, she'll be so upset with Steve for taking her brother's time up. And now Billy's going to get sick and Steve won't be able to take care of them both, and -
“It's just a cold. I'll be fine.”
“Mmno. Go.” Steve grumbles, pushing his head harder into Billy's skin. It feels so nice and cold.
“Tough shit, Harrington. You're sick. I'm not going.” Billy brushes him off.
Steve then feels him shifting slightly, thinking Billy is actually going to get up. Maybe Steve imagined Billy's reply in some vivid, fever induced hallucination. But then there's a thump against the floor, like Billy dropped something, a book maybe, and he settles back with Steve again.
Steve tries to keep his eyes open long enough to look up; Billy looks back at him, playing with his hair, face serious and pink. He's sunburnt… So he went to the lake?
Wait - why is Steve's bedside lamp on? Was it getting that late…? But that means he overslept and he didn't -!
“You thudded?” Someone says by the door, and Steve jumps a little, wincing.
“He's awake. Soup ready?”
“Shit, yeah. I'll bring it up.”
“Eddie?” Steve croaks, trying to lift his head this time. He only gets it so far, due to the lethargy and he ends up with his head on Billy's lap.
“Hey, big boy. How you doing?” Eddie comes over with a smile. If Eddie's here too, how late was it??
“What's ‘a time?” Steve nearly gags on how horrible his throat feels.
“Uh,” Eddie looks to the side, at Steve's clock. “Just after five o'clock.”
Fuck. That's when everything's supposed to start! Steve sits up, so suddenly that Eddie jumps a little, and the whole room spins.
“Where are you off to?” Billy growls in the negative, like Steve's a naughty child.
“The - the party. I didn't… I never…”
Shit the kids will be here soon, and now not only is nothing ready, Billy and Eddie are both gonna get sick now and then everyone will get sick and -
“We postponed it, Stevie. It's fine. Lay back.” Eddie smiles.
Postponed? Why?
“I'm going to get you some soup. It'll make you feel a millions times better, old Munson recipe.”
Steve's still processing Eddie saying ‘Munson recipe’, which means that little arsonist cooked, when Billy is forcefully pulling Steve backwards.
“Would you fucking just -” He settles Steve against his side, Steve's heading now on his stomach. Sitting up slightly feels marginally better than laying back so Steve doesn't fight it. “Relax. We got you, okay?”
“What... about... the party?” Just talking is laborious, Jesus Christ.
Billy sighs. “We'll do it Friday night, okay? No one cares.”
“But -”
“Oh for fuck's sake. Steve, you're sick. No one was interested in hanging out without you, alright? All the assholes love you, want you to get better. It's not like it's a real celebration anyway, we can do it in a few days.”
No party. Everyone agreed to wait for Steve. Everyone agreed to wait for Steve, and his boyfriends are currently nursing him back to health, not caring if they get sick.
“What did -”
Steve's interrupted again as Eddie returns. He's found a serving tray from somewhere (Steve doesn't doubt his parents probably had one lying around, but he can't think where it would have been), with medication and a bowl resting in the middle. He stops beside the bed, and Steve wishes he could smell whatever it is he's made. Knowing Eddie it's not going to be pleasant.
“Can you sit up a bit more, sweetheart?”
Steve does so, feeling as if his bones are made of lead. Billy happily pulls him close again, letting Steve rest against him with an arm around his shoulders.
It's nice. It's actually really nice to be cared for.
“What is it?” Steve winces as he swallows down the painkillers, which seems to only renew the fire in his esophagus.
“Told you, Soup of the Day. This old recipe Wayne used to make me when I was a kid.” Eddie perches on the edge of the bed, table on his lap, and unfolds a fucking napkin he also found some God knows where (Steve usually just grabs paper towels when someone needs something to wipe up with). The soup looks good, but looks can be deceiving. “Great-grandma Munson apparently created this. Think of it as chicken noodle soup, but with pasta and lemon and shit.”
Eddie then picks up the bowl and spoon, scoops up a mouthful, and gently blows on it a bit before holding the spoon out. Steve stares at the spoon for a second before he realizes Eddie's trying to feed him. No one's ever fed Steve before, not since he was able to hold a utensil as a toddler.
“Come on, promise it's good. Billy even tried some.”
“It's actually quite palatable.” The blonde agrees, squeezing Steve gently.
Steve hesitantly opens his mouth, Eddie gently tips the spoon up so the contents don't spill out the side of Steve's mouth. Steve chews and swallows, and God it hurts to swallow, but… it's good. The flavour is dull, no doubt because of the issue he's having with breathing properly, but it's not horrible. It tastes faintly familiar, comforting. As comforting as having someone dote on him for the first time in recent memory.
It's almost too much.
“Thanks.” Steve mumbles, Eddie already ready with the next spoon.
After a few more spoonfuls, Eddie hands the bowl to Billy and puts the tray at the foot of the bed, saying something Steve misses as he readjusts himself. He goes to take the bowl but Billy holds it out of his reach.
“Nuh-uh, my turn to feed the baby.”
“God, this is mortifying.” Steve groans, vocal cords protesting less now that his throat is soothed by the soup.
Eddie isn't going to let him forget this. Miracle soup. He'll think he's a professional chef.
“I kinda dig it.” Billy shrugs, loading up the spoon. “Say ‘ahhh’, pretty baby.”
“Fuck you.” Steve chuckles, then chokes on the itch in his throat. He doesn't blush in the slightest.
Once the soup is done, with lots of gentle hand feeding, Billy picks up a book from the stack on bedside table and throws it on the floor. Eddie reappears, and Steve realizes that was the thud from earlier, Billy called Eddie without shouting for him. Because shouting would hurt Steve's head. They've really thought through the best way to care for him.
Steve hides his face against Billy's side. Mortifying.
“Bath ready?”
“Nearly, he done?” Eddie comes over. "How'd you like it, Stevie?”
“Mhm. Helped.”
“Good. Come on, bath time.”
Eddie helps Steve get settled into the bath, it's bubbly and deliciously hot, and then Eddie just… sits down beside the bath and smiles like he's happy to be there.
“What's up?” Steve frowns, feeling mighty sleepy now he's full, warm and relatively pain free.
“Nothing's up, gorgeous. Just supervising.”
“Why?”
“‘Cause you're sick. You're not sick often, wanna make sure you're all better in no time.”
Steve goes to argue, say he's taken care of himself before, that he doesn't need them fussing over him. But he doesn't say anything. They didn't need to do this, they know that. Instead, he lets himself sink further into the bubbles, the chill gone from his body.
"Thanks." He says quietly. "For everything."
"You don't need to thank anyone." Eddie shakes his head, smiling fondly. "You're always taking care of everyone else, you deserve to be taken care of back. Besides, not like you haven't done the same."
Steve has. The first time Eddie got sick when they were first dating, Steve had basically moved into the trailer and kicked Wayne out, handing him Steve's own house keys. Wayne did protest for all of five minutes, saying he couldn't possibly live in Steve's house. But the call of limitless got water and an actual bed must have gotten to him. Steve stayed with Eddie for four days, waiting on him hand and foot. Then there's the times when Billy would have random bouts of sickness after moving out of his father's house - he'd have panic attacks and get ill, be in bed for days at a time, and Steve would be there. They both would, making sure Billy was okay.
"Oh shit!" Eddie jumps up suddenly, and Steve doesn't even startle anymore. He's used to Eddie moving at random. "Cold compress!"
He's back in a second, a cold washcloth pressing to Steve's head. He tries to pull away but Eddie won't let him.
"Hey, hey, Harrington. You wanna get better by Friday or what?"
"Ugh."
-
Steve's still a bit congested by Friday, but he deems himself well enough to attend dinner. He doesn't blame the kids when no one will touch or hug him, Eric making particularly disgusted faces when be so much and sniffs. Robin still hugs him, but holds her breath the whole time.
Eddie has cooked tonight, because he is convinced he's a chef now, though Steve did supervise from afar. Billy set up the den for everyone, got a movie ready. Steve's not sure what he did to deserve such good guys as his boyfriends. He's not going to linger on it though, he's just going to be grateful.