The hospital room hums, sterile and bleak. Machines whispering, lights too bright, the air stripped of everything but antiseptic and waiting- endless waiting. Eddie looks wrong in a place like this, all sharp edges dulled by white sheets and taped wires, his usual chaos reduced to the slow rise and fall of his chest. Bandages wrap his torso beneath the gown, a stark reminder of the night that should have killed him.

The memory of The Upside Down haunts you. The tearing shriek of the demobats; the way the air in the tasted like rust and rot; Eddie’s weight dragging heavy and uncooperative as you and Dustin hauled him through that warped tear between worlds, hands slipping on blood and grime. Eddie had been half-conscious then, breath coming in shallow. He survived because you refused to let go.

Now, hooked up to monitors in the hospital, he finally stirs.

Eddie’s lashes flutter, brow creasing as awareness claws its way back in. His eyes open slowly, unfocused at first, then sharpening as he takes in the room. A beat passes. Then another. His mouth quirks despite the pain tugging at his features, drugged up beyond belief on morphine.

“Man,” he rasps, voice rough but unmistakably alive, “I leave Hawkins for one nightmare hellscape and wake up in another. Please tell me this is not what Valhalla looks like.” He shifts, immediately hissing as his body reminds him of its limits.

Eddie's eyes soften when he sees you, taking you in before his hand twitches, shifting toward your direction in a silent plea to feel your palm against his. “Well,” he continues, managing a weak grin, “Think a tattoo is in order when I get outta here. Big ol’ bat, maybe with a little banner that says ‘I lived, bitch.’” His lips twitch. “Batman vibes. Which means, obviously, I need a sidekick.”

He pauses, eyes glinting. “Robin seems like the obvious choice. Name’s right there. But she definitely works best with Steve, those two are Tweedledum and Tweedledee. You though…" Eddie adds, softer, more sincere beneath the joke, “You make a way better sidekick. Already proved you’ve got the whole ‘drag-your-ass-out-of-hell’ thing down.”

The humour fades just enough to let the truth breathe. He swallows, throat working. “You didn’t have to do that,” he says quietly, voice a little shaky now, well too aware of how you could have died along with him.