It had taken Steve a long time to be okay with a diagnosis of any kind, to be okay with the fact there was something wrong with him. But it wasn't right, losing himself in a long finished war when a car door slammed, or feeling his knees go weak over fireworks. If he could be an example of living with and dealing with it, then he'd try. Sure he didn't put it on the front of magazines, but he talked openly about it, especially to someone else that was suffering.
Richie looked wrecked, like a shell full of suffering so fresh he wasn't even in it yet and Steve knew that look. He'd seen it on his own face, the faces of the people that he loved. "Things here aren't what they are back on earth, people come from different places, different times. You never know what will happen," Steve said with a shrug and it wasn't comforting, not really. But maybe it was better than what Richie had.
Steve poured him another drink and called upstairs to the kids. It was going to a be a weird sit down dinner, but why not. "Alright, take a seat, you look like you're about to throw up, but this will give you something to get up later," Steve said cheerfully as he served dinner.
And if Richie woke up screaming, well he wouldn't be the only one to do that in this house, what was one more.