The Spaces In Between - yourguardianangel (2024)

Chapter 1: Every Breath you Take

Chapter Text

It was Nancy that heard it first.

“What is that?” She whispered, her voice breathless and her eyes wide as she glanced at Robin and Steve. They had stopped in unison, shoes grinding against the loose stones of the crumbling road as they listened intently. Steve could already see the livid marks on Nancy’s neck blossoming; marks that looked mottled and black against the purple-red light. Her skin looked even paler here in the Upside-Down, and Steve couldn’t help the low swoop of unease in his stomach as he looked upon her.

She’s so fragile, he thought to himself. How can someone so brave be so damn breakable, and yet keep standing up at the end of these fights?

And another thought, one that emerged from deep within and made his breath turn icy in his lungs.

How many more of these fights can we get through until she doesn’t stand up any more?

“I- I don’t know,” Robin answered, her head shaking ever so slightly, and Steve had to pause for a second to slow his racing heartbeat. She wasn’t answering the question in his mind, he told himself firmly.

Keep your focus, Harrington, he chastised himself, even as his eyes began to blur from the sheer exhaustion. Robin’s grip tightened on her weapon and she shifted her weight from foot to foot. Steve knew that no matter how brave his friend had been thus far in their stupid, crazy, suicidal attempt to kill Vecna, that she was still at risk of a fully-blown breakdown the moment anything even slightly deviated from the plan. The plan which Steve had been repeating aloud to the three of them like a prayer, a looping refrain as they walked through the empty mirror-wasteland of their own hometown, the sound of his own voice cracking and going hoarse as his own wounds slowly got the better of him.

We get back to the trailer.

We check the gate seals.

We find the others and we help them with whatever they need.

The sound - a kind of guttural, deathly wail - carried once again over the crest of the hill they were approaching, and all three of them jumped. It was lilting and long, and they were close enough now to their end goal that Steve knew it was coming, roughly, from the entryway to the trailer park beyond. The raw, unearthly pain of the sound sent a shiver down Steve’s spine; it was unlike anything they’d ever heard before. I’m his head he immediately began calculating out the risks; what to do, how to hit, where to run, when to distract and sacrifice and get them out of there, should the worst be on the other side.

“Is - Is something guarding the gate?” Robin stammered, voice quivering. “Is it- is it waiting for us?”

Steve cast a quick eye over Nancy and Robin, his grip tightening on the weapon in his hand.

“I guess we’re about to find out,” Steve muttered lightly, trying to keep his tone even and unconcerned. They didn’t need to know that inside he was screaming; they didn’t need to know just how exhausted he was in that moment. From Robin’s fleeting glance, he suspected she could tell a little more than he hoped, but as they had no choice in the matter she must have decided not to press the issue.

He rotated the axe handle in his palms, adjusting its weight, and co*cked a head at the other two.

“Stay behind me,” he murmured, watching in his periphery as they dropped back, weapons drawn and pointed low to the ground. “If something’s there, you run, and I’ll draw it away. No arguments, no hero moves, do you hear me? You run . You get to the gate, and you don’t look back.” He felt rather than saw their nods; heard the shuffle of Nancy’s feet as she very obviously, almost violently debated his words in her head.

Don’t you dare, Nancy, he urged her in silence, and with nothing else to do and nowhere else to go, they moved forward.

He kept his footsteps measured, careful not to make too much noise on the rotting bitumen road. Steve’s eyes tracked over the landscape as he rose above the hill’s line of sight, searching for any signs of attack, any signs of danger or malice-

And that was when he saw them.

The two figures folded over each other on the ground, a ring of dark shapes crumpled and curled around them. Webbed, membranous appendages fluttered and lifted in the dead air, like plastic bags on the interstate. But Steve could barely see them.

His ears were ringing, his vision reduced to a greyish tunnel as he recognised all too well the wooly texture of Dustin’s ghillie suit jacket.

No .

Steve’s feet tripped beneath him as he staggered down the hill, moving towards the forms on the ground.

No hero moves , his thoughts rolled through his mind in a seasick cascade. He could already see the dark wash of blood soaking the ground like ink around them, and he heard the cries of alarm and recognition behind him as he bolted forward.

I said no hero moves .

The scene was absolute carnage; the dema-bats were everywhere, and Steve slipped on their slick bodies, their sharp bones crunching underfoot as he entered the circle. He could see a pale, limp hand from underneath the mass of the ghillie suit, could see the leather clad sleeve and combat boots -

The ghillie suit shifted, and Steve’s heart lurched so hard in his chest that he felt a shooting pain, his lungs failing to breathe as Dustin’s pale, tear-streaked face lifted from the mass.

“Steve?” He croaked, and as relief rushed over Steve in a heady wave, he instantly knew where the ungodly wail had been coming from. He also saw exactly why Dustin had been wailing.

“sh*t,” Steve said eloquently, his knees hitting the bitumen beside the boy. “sh*t, sh*t, sh*t .”

There wasn’t even a ringing in his ears now; there was only a profound, suffocating silence as he took in the figure in Dustin’s lap.

Eddie looked so small on the gravel, his head resting in Dustin’s arms. Impossibly small, and impossibly young. His eyes were glassy and open, his neck slack, the tangled curls of his hair plastered to his pale skin by the blood.

My god, the blood -

“He’s gone,” Dustin moaned, his face contorting in abject, unfiltered grief, and he swayed backward as though he was about to hit the deck himself. “He’s gone, he’s gone-”

Something inside Steve shifted, ever so slightly to one side, like a door at the end of a dark hallway swinging open. It was just a crack; barely the sort of thing one would notice in a hurry, but Steve could feel the yawning something that stretched out behind it and it scared him more than any of the visions that plagued his nights ever could. With every passing second, that door threatened to swing fully open, in even the slightest of metaphorical breezes.

But Steve couldn’t allow that.

“How long?” Steve asked, shifting closer. The strength of his own voice surprised him a little, grounding him back into the moment. Dustin didn’t answer him, and as Steve placed a hand on the side of Eddie’s cheek, he looked sharply at Dustin.

“How long , Dustin?” He repeated, and the words must have filtered enough into the fog of Dustin’s brain.

“A couple - a couple minutes, I don’t - I don’t know-” Dustin’s voice cracked and lifted towards the end as he descended into a fresh round of tears, but Steve was already pulling Eddie out of Dustin’s lap.

“What are you doing ?!” Dustin wailed at him, scrabbling at Steve’s hands as he spread the other boy flat on the ground. Nancy and Robin dropped to the ground beside him at that point, and Nancy wrapped her arms around Dustin, partly in comfort, partly to keep him back.

“Just give him a second,” Robin said to Dustin, and she put her hands on both sides of Dustin’s face, drawing the teen’s gaze away from Eddie. Dustin’s breathing was harsh, almost hyperventilating, but Robin pinned his eyes with her own, wide and concerned, and began gently distracting and soothing him with a steady stream of words.

Steve didn’t have the time to feel grateful for her, though. His stomach heaved as he searched for a pulse in the seeping mess of Eddie’s neck; his fingers kept slipping in the blood.

“Come on, come on, come on,” he breathed, his eyes searching Eddie’s face for something; anything to indicate he might have a chance. The years of lifeguard first aid courses were one of the few times Steve had actually found the presence of mind to concentrate on the information being given to him, partly he realised in preparation for a moment exactly like this. Those instructions filtered back to him now, clear and crystalline in his mind, and he reached for them.

“Nancy, get the bandages from the backpack,” He ordered. “Put pressure on as much of the bad areas as you can.”

“Steve-” Nancy’s voice was soft and consoling.

“ Do it, Nance,” he ground out between gritted teeth, and something in his tone cut her off before she could say anything further. He saw her break away from Dustin in his periphery, plucking at the backpack with urgent efficiency. This was why she was so important to him; why he had spent years unable to picture anyone else at his side. It was as she settled down opposite him, kneeling on the other side of Eddie’s body with a quick, uncertain glance up at Steve that Steve completely missed, that he finally found it.

Faint, so faint that Steve almost thought he was imagining it, or feeling his own. But it was there.

A pulse.

Steve’s entire body tensed as he realised what he had found, and he finally dared to look up at Nancy, wide-eyed. She read his expression immediately, alarm and hope blossoming equally across her pretty, feminine features, and with a nod, she pulled back Eddie’s layers of shirt to begin placing pressure… Well.

Everywhere.

“Hey,” Steve said, his voice louder and clearer than he thought possible. “Hey Eddie, man, are you in there?”

“He’s gone , Steve!” Dustin was shrill, and he twisted in Robin’s hands, but the other girl brought the kid back around before he could do something stupid. Steve grabbed for one of Eddie’s hands, squeezing the limp fingers between his own. “Eddie, if you can hear me, I need you to give me an indication, yeah? Can you squeeze my hand? Give me everything you can, man, I’m trying to save your life here.”

“Steve, I don’t think he’s breathing,” Nancy whispered in a low tone to him, and he was almost ready to snap at her that he’s alive, damnit , when he caught up to what exactly she was saying.

“sh*t, yeah, ok,” he said, and with his hand still wrapped around Eddie’s in a death-vice, he spoke down to him again.

“Eddie,” he said, watching the boy’s face. “Eddie, if you don’t start breathing like a real boy again, I’m gonna have to give you mouth to mouth, man. I dunno about you, but I don’t think you’re gonna want that from me, that seems like the least metal thing you could ever want-”

“ Steve ,” Robin said, and it’s enough. He had almost hoped that his words would break through the boy’s rapid descent into death; that the very prospect of having to be revived by an asshole like himself would be enough to make Eddie sit up and grin and make a joke about how easy it was to fool them all, can’t believe you were gonna kiss me Harrington, you square -

Steve leaned down over Eddie, lifting his chin with his free hand and bracing the young man’s jaw with it to clear his airway. In one motion, his mouth was pressed against Eddie’s, and he was shocked by how warm his lips still were.

There’s still life in you yet, you stupid freak , Steve thought viciously, and he emptied his lungs into Eddie’s. Steve had propped both of their hands on Eddie’s chest lightly, so he could feel the young man’s ribs shift and move as the air went into his lungs.

Good .

The coppery tang of Eddie’s blood coated Steve’s lips, Steve’s tongue, and he leant back for a moment, reeling at the sudden and incredibly unwelcome knowledge of what another person’s blood tasted like. What Eddie’s blood tasted like. He pressed down hard on his discomfort, however, wiping his mouth on the back of his already-filthy sleeve and letting out a quick, “come on Eddie, work with me here,” before leaning back down to repeat the process. He felt Eddie’s chest rise again, and slowly fall beneath his hands. Steve turned his head to the side, staring down the lean, flat length of Eddie’s torso for any sign of independent breath, his cheek close enough to the boy’s mouth and nose that he would be able to feel any ghost of it against his skin. He stayed low, his hand dropping from Eddie’s chin to feel around for a pulse again. His hand squeezed Eddie’s fingers, a quick little rhythm, one, two, three, as he searched for the pulse. One, two three , like an SOS beacon, over and over. Steve tried not to think too hard about the fact that it was Eddie who had shown him what the Morse code for SOS was in the first place.

“We’re gonna need to move…” Robin said quietly, but it was Nancy who spoke before Steve could raise his head.

“Get Dustin back to the trailer, Robin,” she ordered the other girl. “Get him through the gateway. We’ll meet you over there.”

“I- Yeah, okay, alright,” Robin nodded, though she looked for a moment as though she wanted to argue. Her head ping-ponged between the two of them, and with a single, ashen glance at Eddie between them, she hustled Dustin to his feet. The boy was silent now; shellshocked by the events, and not fully processing the scene unfolding before him.

“I’ll wait on this side for you,” Robin called back to them. “Yell if you need a hand with…” her voice trailed off as she struggled to put into words what exactly she was offering to help with. But Nancy and Steve were already focussed on Eddie.

“I need to wrap some of these properly,” Nancy told him. “It’s like a leaky ship, he’s just going to keep bleeding out if I can’t find some way to….”

“Do it,” Steve said, giving her a nod. “Do whatever you can.” She picked up his and Eddie’s hand, drawing them over to an already-soaking pile of bandages.

“Place pressure here,” she told him. “I’ll get more bandages.”

Steve did as he was ordered, pressing their hands down hard over the wound. He looked down at Eddie’s face, so streaked with dirt and blood and the dark strands of his own hair that he looked more like a crumbling cemetery statue than a human being.

I can’t let you die.

Steve had no idea where exactly the words came from within him, but they filtered through his mind, quiet and deep and steady like a bass line. A raw, animal sound escaped his throat without his permission, and he felt the hot prickle of tears begin at the corners of his eyelids.

I can’t let you die.

He lowered himself, pressing his mouth to Eddie’s again, and pushed another breath of air down his throat. Nancy returned, the sound of plastic medical pouches being ripped open an announcement of her arrival, and Steve counted to five, watching Eddie’s chest lower naturally as he fought against the panicked tears threatening to rise and consume him.

One breath at a time , he reassured himself. One breath at a time .

His mouth closed over Eddie’s once more. One more breath, from Steve to Eddie.

He hadn’t quite finished when Eddie bucked beneath him.

Steve recoiled as Eddie’s forehead connected with his nose, pain lancing through his vision as he gave a muffled cry.

“ f*ck,” he exclaimed, but Eddie’s body was still spasming. His head slammed back against the pavement, the bandana offering little protection, and Steve winced at the sound of it.

“Oh my god, Steve, what do we-” Nancy’s frantic words were drowned out by the grating, ghastly sound of Eddie’s heaving gasp, a sound so wretched and painful that Nancy’s hands pulled away in shock.

It was the best sound Steve had ever heard.

“Eddie,” he called down to him, hands on the boys cheeks as he went slack. “Eddie, can you hear me?”

The boy didn’t speak, but his eyes were no longer open. As Steve stared down at him, he saw the metalhead’s chest lift and fall. It was rattling and laboured and fragile, but entirely on its own.

“He’s breathing,” Steve announced, and as he looked up, he could see Nancy’s watery grin mirroring his own. “He’s breathing, Nance. We did it.”

“You did it,” she corrected him, her voice soft, but he didn’t have it in him to argue. For as she was speaking, he felt the ringed fingers laced between his own, twitch.

One.

Two.

Three.

Steve’s heart hammered in his chest, his throat tight as he squeezed back in answer.

I hear you Eddie, he thought. I’ve got you.

“He won’t last long if we don’t get him out of here,” Nancy had leaned in close, her eyes wide and almost pleading. Steve found himself struggling to maintain eye contact with her, no matter how important and truthful the words she was saying happened to be. His eyes just kept dragging themselves back to Eddie, barely able to believe it as he saw each shallow breath enter the boy’s body.

Limp, dying Eddie, still actively bleeding out in an alternate dimension.

All in service to a friend.

But not dead yet, Steve thought, and he let the potent feeling of victory carry him forward.

“You’re right,” he said. “Let’s get him home.”

Chapter 2: I’ll Be Watching You

Chapter Text

Steve would never be able to forget the sounds Eddie made as he hefted him up in his arms. The pained, high pitched whimpering had scorched itself into Steve’s brain from the moment he heard it, and he didn’t know his heart could break in such a sharp, visceral way. It felt nothing like the heartbreak he had felt when Nancy had left him for Jonathan, no, but it was a heartbreak that he recognised all the same. The first whimper, broken and desperate like a dog’s, shocked Steve enough that he almost dropped the young man back onto the bitumen. His arms wobbled, and he frantically shuffled Eddie’s head against his shoulder until he could see his face.

“Eddie? Eddie?” Steve’s voice clambered against his own ears, looking for signs in Eddie’s face that he had come to, that Steve was hurting him, that he wanted to be put the f*ck back down, goddamnit Harrington. But no, the sounds he was making were as a result of the pain, but Eddie at least wasn’t conscious for it. Steve told his hammering heart to stand down, and swallowed the acidic lump that had gathered in his throat before gathering himself again.

“I’m sorry, Eddie,” he muttered, though the boy did not respond. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, we’re going to get you out of here.”

Nancy didn’t offer to help carry him, instead taking point with the shotgun in hand as they moved through the empty trailer park. Every jostle and step drew another little noise from Eddie’s limp form, and Steve devoted his entire inner monologue to convincing himself that the noises were a good thing, the noises meant Eddie was alive, and he didn’t have to drop him to the ground and begin resuscitation again. The very thought made Steve’s stomach lurch in horror, and he focussed on not tripping over his own feet or causing Eddie any more pain than was absolutely necessary.

Steve couldn’t help but pause as he took in the damage to the trailer; it took his breath away to see the onslaught that Eddie and Dustin had endured.

I can’t believe I left them to this, Steve’s mind fed to him. The guilt - the sheer disgust at himself - wove themselves together, curdling and congealing in a tight netting around his insides.

The groaning shriek of the chain link gate brought Steve back to himself, and Nancy looked back at him. She held the gate propped open with her hip, gun loaded and eyes sweeping the perimeter, and she sent him a quick look that said what are you doing? Get over here.

Robin’s silhouette filled the doorway to the trailer, and she looked just about ready to sob with relief as Steve shuffled sideways up the stairs.

“Is he-?” She began, and Steve manoeuvred past her into the main room before answering.

“He’s alive,” he said, and Nancy closed the trailer door behind them. “For now, anyway. We gotta move though.”

Robin nodded, her face pale, and Steve didn’t have time to respond as her shoulders folded forward and she bent double, heaving straight onto the mouldering carpet.

“Jesus, Robin,” Steve stepped back, alarmed, as Nancy stepped closer with a concerned, “are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Robin answered, wiping her mouth with one hand while keeping the other braced on her knee. “I’m sorry, I just-” another wave overtook her before she could finish her words, and Nancy’s hands stretched out automatically, one to pull Robin’s hair away from her face, the other to draw soothing lines across the narrow frame of her back.

“It’s okay,” Nancy offered her quietly, as Robin gave an undignified groan. “It’s okay. I get it.”

Robin tentatively opened her eyes, breathing harshly through her teeth, to peer up at Nancy. “Thanks,” she whispered.

Steve’s eyes were already elsewhere though. He was peering up through the hole in the ceiling. Dustin was there, huddled on the edge of the mattress and rocking slightly, his head in his hands and his elbows braced on his knees.

“Dustin!” Steve called. The kid looked up so quickly that Steve swore he heard the crack of his neck. The skin around his eyes was puffy and red, even from this distance, and Steve saw the way his gaze cut between Steve and the body in his arms.

“He’s alive!” Steve repeated, in case Dustin hadn’t heard him the first time, and the expression that crumpled across his open, innocent face was enough to make Steve want to sit down and stare at the wall for about a hundred years. But he didn’t have time to do that.

“Is there anything you can get to soften that fall any better?” Steve hollered through the gateway, but Dustin was already moving.

“I can try,” the kid’s voice was barely recognisable. “Steve, whatever happened on this side is absolutely f*cked,it’s f*cked man, I don’t know what I can do-”

“One thing at a time, Dustin,” Steve tried, and he heard the kid staggering around in the trailer somewhere out of view.

“I don’t - I can’t-” there was a wheezing noise from the other side, and Dustin’s face appeared at the gateway again. “There’s nothing, Steve, you’re gonna have to see it to believe me.”

Okay, Steve thought, a hissing breath escaping through his teeth. He desperately wanted to rub his temples, clear some of the pressure building behind his eyes, but his arms were already occupied by something significantly more important.

Okay.

Okay okay okay.

Plan, Harrington. There’s always a plan.

“Nancy, Robin,” he called over to the two of them. They looked up from their huddled state. Robin’s eyes had cleared again, and she didn’t flinch this time as she spotted the swinging combat boots that bumped against Steve’s thighs as he moved. “You both need to go through first.”

“But-” Robin started.

“Can you not argue with me right now?” Steve burst. He could feel it now all too clearly; he was frayed to breaking point, and he just needed out, now.

“You both need to go through, now, so that you can help Dustin to catch Eddie. He’s one strong wind away from not being here at all, and I don’t wanna risk it.”

“Right,” Nancy nodded, encouraging Robin to do the same, and they stepped up to the significantly shorter makeshift rope - what had happened to it? Steve wondered briefly - suspended between the spaces. Nancy gave Robin a leg-up, and then Nancy was following after her, propping the gun against the sofa before heaving herself up the rope.

“Alright, Munson,” Steve muttered, eying the unconscious boy, “this isn’t going to be pretty, and I’m sorry about that.”

Eddie’s yelp as he adjusted him over his shoulder sent hot waves of revulsion right back through Steve’s core, the sound of his pain rattling around in Steve’s head long after it was gone, but he refused to let his own self-disgust be the cause of someone else’s death.

Get through the hole.

Get him to safety.

Find help.

Steve’s arms ached and shook as he gripped the rope between his fingers. He groaned as he pulled, the muscles screaming at him to give up and just lie down on the floor and die. And God, it would be so easy to give up in that moment…

But then he had one hand around the break in the mirrored ceilings, and with a strained “on the count of three; one, two…” he pulled Eddie’s body up high enough that the centre of gravity shifted, and the weight of him fell away from Steve’s shoulder with little more than the rumpling sound of denim. The heavy thump onto the mattress was somewhat stifled by the three pairs of hands that assisted Eddie’s descent, and Eddie gave one long, horrific whine before lying still. Nancy and Robin were quick to haul their friend off the mattress, clearing the way for Steve. Dustin was hovering over him quicker than a moth to a flame, wiping Eddie’s hair from his face with shaking hands.

“Steve…?” Dustin’s sliding pitch had all the warning signs of an impending mental breakdown, and Steve let the last of his strength carry him through the ceiling onto the mattress below. He grunted in pain as all of his own injuries yelled at him at once, and his vision swam.

Maybe it’s my turn to throw up, Steve thought. But he blinked, and looked around the room slowly; or, more accurately, he looked around the scorched, eviscerated remains of the room.

“What the hell happened here?” Steve wondered aloud. The walls were glowing with still-burning embers, and the familiar black vines of the Upside-Down were tangled across the walls. It was Dustin who eventually spoke, limping over to the doorway and opening it on squeaky hinges.

“Wait til you see the rest of it,” his voice wobbled, and Steve’s heart sank.

I guess resting will have to wait.

…

Steve did not know how to hotwire a car, so it was nothing less than a miracle when they found that Nancy’s parent’s car hadn’t been swallowed into the jagged hell-chasm that had opened up in their absence. However, it wasn’t until they had loaded all five of them into the vehicle, and Steve had pushed the key into the ignition, that several thoughts occurred to him in rapid succession.

Thought number one: judging from the sheer scope of damage caused by the hell-chasm in front of them, and the way it seemingly stretched all the way on into town judging by the long column of smoke that was rapidly choking the sky, there was likely to be all number of injuries for the local hospital to deal with.

Thought number two: current apocalyptic distraction aside, Eddie Munson was still the target of at least one active lynch mob, and the most wanted suspect in the murders of three of his classmates. Regardless of his innocence, a trip to the hospital would likely result in a pair of handcuffs in the ICU, best case scenario, or an “accidental heart failure” when witnesses were not around to provide alternate accounts.

Thought number three: they would have to find some way to keep him alive without any interactions with local authority, and they would need somewhere to do it.

“sh*t,” Steve said into the silence of the car. “sh*t, sh*t, sh*t.”

“Uh, Steve?” Robin’s voice filtered through from the back, full of apprehension. “Are you okay?”

Steve didn’t answer. He simply turned the key in the ignition, letting the rumble of the engine ground him in time and space as it dutifully came to life beneath his fingers, and he turned the car onto the gravel road out of the trailer park. He could hear Nancy and Robin shifting in the back, Nancy directing Robin on where to put her hands to help staunch the flow of blood. But their voices eventually dropped away to silence as well, as the car crawled around the ugly twisting cracks in the road, and they too took in the extent of the damage.

The drive was a blur to Steve, his head a static cloud on autopilot, through which no clear thoughts with words could penetrate. It wasn’t until the road switched to gravel beneath the tyres, and he was staring up at the dark windows of a familiar two storey house, that he realised where he’d brought them.

Home. Steve’s mind echoed.

Or, kind of home, anyway. One side of his parent’s garage had collapsed in on itself, another fissure continuing on into the backyard beyond.The house appeared unscathed, however, and Steve killed the engine before opening the driver’s side door in silence. His parents had planned a trip to Florida without him, his father citing Steve’s need to ‘manage his own destiny’ and ‘be a real man’ as the reason he wasn’t invited along. It didn’t matter that it had stung at the time; he was relieved to remember that for better or for worse, his house was currently empty, and he could attempt to keep a dying metal head alive without fear of parental or authoritarian retribution for a couple of days.

That’s if he makes it through the next hour, his mind managed to gather through the fog. He swatted it away.

Steve opened the back door of the car, and as he looked at the haggard, frightened, and above all trusting faces of his friends, he felt his own expression soften.

I’m sorry, he wanted to say. I’m sorry I snapped at you all, I’m sorry I led you into this, I’m sorry I didn’t protect you all the way I should have…

“Let’s get him inside,” he said instead, and hoped that somehow, they would simply know. Robin began to move in slow motion at his words, her thousand-yard stare giving no indication that she’d heard him despite following his request. Nancy’s eyes bored right through him, too perceptive for his own good, and as she hesitated, Steve felt himself turning to spun glass.

Please, Nancy, he pleaded. Don’t let me break down right here. There is so much more I need to do. So much more at stake. But then she was moving, and the spell that had captivated Steve was broken, leaving him hollow and wrung out. They shuffled Eddie’s limp form out of the car somewhat awkwardly, and they struggled with his weight split between them until about halfway to the door, when Steve gave up the ghost and simply threw the young man into his arms again. With a little dance that reminded Steve’s body that he too had just been through a near-death experience, he managed to detangle his house keys from his pocket.

“Someone open the door, please,” he managed, and he didn’t see the hands that took them from him or the person who opened the door.

The inside of the house was several degrees colder than outside, and the pre-dawn light filtered through the windows in a milky blue half-tone.

“Someone clear the kitchen table,” he called, and another silhouette moved past him to do as he asked. He heard rather than saw the clutter hit the linoleum as someone swept their arms across its surface.

You’re going to be alright, Steve aimed his thoughts down at the weight in his arms, as though the golden spearheads of his own willpower would be enough to close Eddie’s wounds all by themselves.

You’re going to be alright.

“Here,” Steve called, “Help me with his head.” A pair of hands moved to support Eddie, and they spread him out on the table.

“First aid kit?” Nancy’s voice carried across to him from the kitchen.

“There’s one under the kitchen sink, one out in the pool shed, and I think there’s iodine upstairs in the bathroom,” Steve rattled off automatically, and the silhouette by his side - Robin, he faintly noted, though his head felt so heavy that he couldn’t turn it to fully acknowledge her - broke away from the table.

“I’ll get the iodine,” she called to Nancy, and the other girl ducked below the counter to rummage for the kit he had mentioned. Steve didn’t want to peel himself away from Eddie’s side, but he needed to switch on a light, he needed more light, damnit, and though it only took a couple of seconds to fumble at the switches near the doorway it felt like swimming through tar. He flinched at the sudden burst of yellow artificial light, and was already back by the young man’s side.

God, Steve thought, and fought the sudden, visceral urge to search for Eddie’s pulse yet again. You look like a corpse, Munson.

His chest was rising and falling in shallow, pained breaths, but they were there; it was the everything else that had Steve reaching for the countertop to support himself.

In the Upside Down it had been difficult to tell, but those dema-bats had absolutely shredded Eddie’s shirt. One of the sleeves had been reduced to tatters from his shoulder to his elbow, and beneath it there was barely an inch that hadn’t been chewed up like mincemeat. His chest had fared little better, and it was all Steve could do to stay standing in the moments before he heard Robin’s footsteps on the stairs. He placed a hand once again against Eddie’s cheek, one of the only places that didn’t seem to have been mutilated, in the half-formed hope it would offer him some kind of comfort.

“Hold on, Eddie,” he murmured below his breath.

“I found the iodine.” Robin appeared at his side, and Steve heard the muffled f*ck under her breath as she took in the sight as well.

“And I found the first aid kit,” Nancy said, huffing as she lifted it onto the table top. It was one of the heavy, well-stocked kinds that school nurses owned, and Steve sent out a small prayer of thanks to the universe for giving him a hypochondriac for a mother.

“Let’s get him cleaned up,” Steve decided. “ Quickly.”

He found a pair of scissors in the first aid kit and began cutting away the shirt like he had been shown in the instructional first aid course videos. It was easy work, given the state of it, but the cutting away was the easiest part; peeling away the chunks of shirt, embedded and partially scabbed into the mess of wounds lacing across him, proved more difficult. After accidentally opening one of the wounds, causing a black, angry pool of blood to well at the site of his efforts, Steve decided it was better to leave the bits that were stuck where they were, and he moved instead to cut around them where he could. Nancy and Robin were following his efforts, one of them dipping long strips of bandage into the yellowish iodine mix they have poured into a bowl, the other methodically wiping away the worst of the filth and the drying blood and replacing it with the long strips.

“Just go over the top of them,” Steve told them quietly, when he saw their hands hesitate over the twin chunks of Eddie’s shirt that he didn’t have the courage to try and peel away. Soaked completely through with the red of his blood, Steve’s eyes could still make out the letters “LLF” and “CL” on them. They didn’t answer him. A hand simply reached for the bottle of iodine and poured a liberal amount over the shirt fragments before moving on.

It passed in a haze; the smell of iodine and copper was laden upon every breath, and even as Steve’s eyes blurred and he had to reach out to steady himself against the table again, he continued. Every now and then Eddie would twitch or buck, and they would all step away, waiting until it subsided, Steve checking his pulse and giving them the all-clear before returning to their work.

The light from outside had become a faded peach glow by the time Steve dropped his scissors and the girls dropped their rags.

“What now?” Robin asked the silence, and Steve couldn’t help but wonder the same.

“I’ll stay with him,” the words were out of Steve’s mouth before he had even fully thought them. It was obvious though; it was his house, and he would stand watch. He glanced between the other two. Robin was swaying on her feet, her eyelids dipping shut even as he watched. Nancy’s expression was more alert, but it held a worry behind it that he couldn’t quite understand.

sh*t, his mind filtered to him. Nancy’s vision. Nancy’s FAMILY -

“You should go,” Steve blurted, and they both started a little at his urgency. “Your families… the gateways…” Robin’s face shifted to a look of abject horror at the realisation, whilst Nancy’s filled instead with a kind of open relief.

“Oh my god,” Robin breathed, and she was already moving towards the front door. Nancy hesitated, stepping closer to Steve.

“You sure you’ll be ok?” She asked him, her hand ghosting on the crook of his arm in concern, and Steve wanted to pick her up and carry her to the car himself, a half-co*cked lecture on his tongue.

You saw visions of your family dying horribly if Vecna’s plan came to fruition, and you are still checking on me? Go! Go! He wanted to shout, though he didn’t.

“I’m sure,” he told her instead. “Someone’s gotta keep him from dying, and I’ve got the easier task. I’ll try and find out about how Max and Lucas are- something must have gone wrong for this to have even happened, but if I can’t get ahold of them then it’ll be up to you guys.”

“You’re right,” Nancy said, and hearing those words from her still gave him a small, pleased thrill at the base of his spine. He watched her jaw work as she processed this, her mind already calculating and planning the next 12, 14, 24 moves ahead.

“Will you be alright?” Steve asked her, and she started, turning to give him a tired, wan smile.

“I’m always alright,” she answered, and it wasn’t for Steve to argue with her. He nodded, and led her back to the front door. Dustin was still seated in the passenger side, and Steve felt vaguely bad about having left him in there to stare into whatever horrors were impacting him. Nancy noticed his gaze.

“I’ll take care of him,” Nancy reassured him. “You don’t have to babysit all of them all the time, you know.”

She was moving away from him before he could think of an answer. The smoke was glowing a dull pink in the dawn light above the treeline, an ominous spectre hanging over them all as the car pulled out of the driveway.

“Yeah,” Steve said to no one. “Yeah.”

…

It took Steve half an hour to work up the courage to leave Eddie out of eyesight once he returned to the kitchen-dining area. He had checked Eddie’s pulse once again, a nervous desire that he indulged now that no one was around to see him check, and check again. The young man’s skin was clammy and cold, but Steve didn’t have anything resembling a blanket within arm’s reach to cover the poor guy, and he didn't want to risk moving him at that moment. After everything else, Steve couldn’t shake the feeling that now was the time Eddie would finally decide to step into the light.

“You would die right now on me, wouldn’t you Munson,” Steve spoke to the unconscious young man. “You’d do it just to spite me; get me accused of being the real serial killing cult leader after all. A perfect twist ending. I’m sure you’d love that.” He huffed, rubbing a hand across his face in exhaustion and reeling from his own ridiculousness. It’s not like he can hear you anyway, he reminded himself. Oddly, he found the thought comforting. What he didn’t find so comforting was the way his hand felt so sticky upon his face as he rubbed at it, and he frowned, peering down at the palm as he pulled it away.

In the yellow light of the kitchen, his hands glowed almost blue-black with blood. It was tacky in some places, and flaking in others, but it was all the way up his arms to his elbows, and with mounting horror he realised it wasn’t just on his arms. Bile rose in his throat, and he breathed heavily through his nose to control it.

Keep it cool, Harrington,he coached himself. Keep it cool. It’s just blood. Eddie’s alive, and it’s just blood.

Steve’s head was between his knees before he could process slumping onto the floor, and he schooled his breathing as best he could as little black spots formed behind his eyelids. He could hear the rushing of the ocean in his ears; a decidedly unsettling experience in rural Indiana.

“Bet you think this is funny, don’t you Munson,” Steve groaned from the floor, and though the young man didn’t answer, just saying the words aloud was enough to let Steve slowly reel himself back in, inch by careful inch, until his breathing had slowed and the world no longer felt like it was going to sink out of existence, taking him with it. He grabbed for the table leg, missed, and decided f*ck it, I’ll just crawl to the sink then. Standing’s overrated anyway.

Hand over hand, he pulled himself over from the dining area linoleum to the kitchen area linoleum, tracing the rounded, raised joiner on the ground between his fingertips with no small sense of relief.

Almost there, he cheered himself on. By the time he reached the kitchen sink cabinet, his biceps no longer shook with weakness, and he pulled himself up to his feet with minimal extra support. The tap ran with icy cold water, the steady white-noise hiss of it hitting the metal sink a reassuring sensation that tethered him to reality. He dropped the bar of soap he had plucked from the sink’s side, and it clattered loud enough that Steve’s head pounded, but he scooped it out again and proceeded to lather with an almost crazed fervour. It took four rounds of lathering and rinsing to get the majority of the blood from his hands, and no matter what he did, he couldn’t get the little rusty half-moons beneath his fingernails to go away. His head was pounding in earnest by the time he decided he was done, and he dipped his head under the freezing jet of water a couple of times, the sensation waking him up ever so slightly, before sucking in several long drags of water and turning the tap off. He shook his head, raining droplets he would have to wipe away later from his mother’s pristine kitchen, and used a dish towel to dry the worst of it off.

“Still alive, Eddie?” He called, and clomped over to the dining table to check, yet again, Eddie’s pulse. It was light, but it was stable, and Steve’s shoulders relaxed incrementally at the small reassurance. He looked at the seats around the table with longing; several of them had been pushed aside to clear a path for their amateur attempt at medicine, but the ones still positioned around the table looked tantalisingly comfortable.

I could just sit down for a little bit,Steve reasoned with himself. He eased down into the chair more gingerly than his previous crash-landing with the floor, and he gave a sigh as all of the exhaustion settled over him at once. He wanted to lay his head down next to Eddie’s, flat onto the cross of his own forearms, more than just about anything in the world. But he knew that to do so would be to fall asleep and not wake up, for hell or high water, so instead he did the next best thing.

He leaned back, lifted one exhausted, leaden leg up to balance on his other knee, and he unlaced his army surplus combat boot. He eased it off with a soft, slightly pained groan, letting it drop from his hand to hit the floor with a weighty thump. The loss of that pressure, and that weight, was such a sweet and simple relief that it almost brought tears to his eyes.

One down, one to go.

The other came off easier than the first, and he leant forward to shimmy his shoulders out of his bulky jacket as well. The kiss of cold air on his arms was not unwelcome, though he hadn’t realised how much protection the jacket had been offering him. Without it, he suddenly felt small and vulnerable. The thought made his eyes cut back to Eddie, and his chest tightened a little at the now-familiar sight.

Still breathing, Steve reminded himself. Still breathing. You haven’t f*cked up yet, Harrington.

The young man was beginning to shiver though, ever so slightly, and Steve stood. Alarm flowed through him and his mind began to spiral as he mentally kicked himself.

Should have gotten something warm for him earlier, should’ve kept him warmer, safer, oh my god what have I done…

He threw the jacket over Eddie with a decisive flick of the fabric. He didn’t stop to overthink pesky things like bacteria or iodine stains; he just wanted the voice in his head that was shouting at him for doing nothing, nothing, nothing,to shut up. It swamped Eddie’s form immediately, covering him from shoulder to mid-thigh with ease, and then Steve leant down close to monitor him intently. His eyes roved across the young man’s face, hoping and praying that he hadn’t signed his death warrant by sending him into hypothermic shock on the back of his hypotensive shock. But Eddie’s Eddie’s breath seemed to slow almost immediately, the residual warmth of Steve’s body heat seeping into him from the jacket.

Crisis averted.

“You need more of that, don’t you,” Steve murmured, nodding to himself and backing away as his fractured resolve finally began to coalesce again. “I’ll get you more warm things.”

The linen closet was down the hall and around a corner. Steve felt a surge of what he was pretty certain was irrational panic at the thought of stepping away from Eddie from the moment he reached the threshold of the hallway itself, but he breathed in deep, balled his aching hands into fists, and strode forward with purpose. If he broke into long, leaping bounds the moment he had to round the corner out of eyesight, like a child running from their bedroom monsters the moment the lights are off, then no one was around to see him do it. He wrenched the cupboard door open, pulling towels and folded quilts from the cupboard haphazardly, ignoring the ones that fell to the floor at his feet. Casualties that he would deal with later, he decided, and with arms full of manchester he made a break for the kitchen again. Eddie was, to no one’s surprise, exactly where Steve had left him, and he sagged in defeat as his adrenal system caught up to the more rational parts of his brain.

So much for keeping it together, Harrington, his mind fed him unhelpfully. With dragging feet, he padded over to Eddie, and spread out the assortment of blankets he had pulled from the cupboard. He threw one over the top of Eddie, then another, burying the jacket beneath them, then he reached for the folded towel to place beneath his head. Steve was surprised by the slim, delicate column of Eddie’s neck as he slid his hand beneath it. Ruined and iodine-stained as it was, Steve couldn’t help it that his sleep-deprived brain’s first word of choice for it was elegant. Steve’s face did heat a little as he caught himself, and he was incredibly thankful that Eddie wasn’t awake to see his cheeks grow red. He knew for a fact that Eddie would never let him forget it if he’d said it aloud. He lifted Eddie’s head just enough to slide the makeshift pillow-towel beneath it, easing him down on top of it with a small amount of satisfaction. He paused, watching the flicker of Eddie’s eyes moving behind his bruised and sunken eyelids, and after a small moment of hesitation he let his hand creep up. He traced a finger along the line of his cheekbone, drawing the stray curl of hair away from his face to sweep behind his ear.

So impractical, Steve thought, though a small smile twitched at the corner of his mouth as he moved to sweep another wayward thread of dark hair away from his forehead, and another. His eyelashes were so long, and so dark, Steve noted, that they looked like little half-moons stamped onto his cheekbones. They fluttered in even the suggestion of a breeze, it seemed, somehow shimmering against his almost translucent skin, and Steve brushed one last stray hair away from where it had pooled in the hollow hinge of Eddie’s jawline.

A small, shuddering sigh escaped Eddie’s parted mouth, and Steve stilled. He couldn’t identify the sudden, intense rush of…. Something, that moved through him at the sound. It was a heady and almost silken feeling that pooled deep in his core, and as Steve stepped back, he could swear that he still felt the phantom pull of Eddie’s hair between his fingertips. It wasn’t unpleasant, to say the least, and Steve had no idea what to do with that. He let the uncertainty slip away from him though; holding just about anything in his mind at that point was proving to be difficult, and the urge to sleep was something he would have to fight for many long hours yet.

So, exhausted, injured, and yet undeniably alive, Steve found he had little else he could do in that moment. So he unrolled one of the spare blankets, drew it around his own shoulders, and settled back into the chair to keep watch over Eddie Munson; Freak, Metalhead, and however begrudgingly it seemed, Friend.

Chapter 3: I Wanna Be the One To Walk In the Sun

Chapter Text

Steve didn’t fall sleep. He didn’t, really.

It was one of the hardest things he’d ever done in his life, if he was perfectly honest. His very bones seemed to ache with the exhaustion of the past 48 hours, and that was without even beginning to consider the collage of bruises, scrapes, and general injuries that he had amassed in the altercation itself. But he sat in that dining room chair, head propped up in his hands, and he watched the dawn for the first time in years.

The colours bled into the room like ink through a glass of water, staining everything pink, then red, then orange; so orange that Steve couldn’t see where the iodine stains on Eddie’s neck ended and the blueish-white pallor of Eddie’s skin began. The bird calls started somewhere around the time the colours were shifting from cadmium red into the hot persimmon of dawn in earnest, and the hairs on the back of Steve’s neck lifted as he listened to them awaken in the forest beyond the perimeter of his parent’s house. In spite of everything, Steve couldn’t help the subtle but profound sense of wonder that spread through his chest at the sound of life waking up all around him.

The birds don’t care that the world almost ended, he realised, the thought driftI got delicately through his mind like a falling leaf. He found it… Reassuring.

Eventually, however, the birdsong faded, and without its clear strains to occupy his mind, Steve found his head growing dangerously heavy. His eyes blinked slowly, so slowly that one started the motion before the other like the world’s smallest Mexican wave. It was his stomach that ultimately made him move, however. The ominous growling that rumbled through his entire torso was a stark and surprising reminder that oh, that’s right. Even when telepathic serial killers are trying to break into our world, I still need to eat.

He noted, rather bleakly, that he couldn’t remember the last meal he ate, and so he pushed himself to his feet with a groan to make himself some toast.

Coffee too, the adult part of his brain prodded him, and he added it to the list.

The head spin and roiling nausea that hit him as he stood, harder than a freight train, were unexpected.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered under his breath, steadying himself on the table edge. It took a moment to blink away the black spots fringing his vision, but once he did he eventually moved to the kitchen to complete his little quest. He snorted as he did so; Dustin’s nerdy ass must truly be rubbing off on him in the worst of ways, if he was thinking about making breakfast in such epic terms as quests.

The first sip of coffee was both a blessing and a curse.

The hot, bitter rush of it down his throat was a more potent reminder to his body that he was actually alive than anything else. The open mouthed, guttural groan he gave as it reheated him from the inside like a microwave burrito was… A little more genuine than he had anticipated.

The sudden, violent lurching of his abdomen as the unadulterated caffeine hit his stomach, however, was not so pleasant. He barely made it to the kitchen sink before he heaved it right back up. The coffee cup clattered against the fake-marble patterned countertop as he braced himself, and as he wiped the saliva from his mouth, he could see the brownish ring of coffee where he’d spilled some of it.

“Ugh,” was all he could muster.

Toast first, idiot, he told himself all too late. Toast first.

The second attempt at food-based resuscitation went smoother, and Steve nursed a second cup of coffee back to the table, limping a little as some injury in his calf muscle made itself known. Steve was all too familiar with this sensation. He rarely felt the full extent of his injuries at the time of them. It was only in the absence of further adrenaline rushes that his body would begin to make him pay for the damage he had allowed it to receive.

He was about to ease himself back down into the chair when another pesky thought filtered into his mind with a steady drip, drip, like his parents’ coffee machine. It was daytime, and as far as Steve could tell there was no reason to expect further danger for at least the time being. He had heard nothing from Nancy or Robin, or even Lucas, but given the current extent of the town’s upheaval Steve was working on a ‘no news is good news’ kind of reasoning.

And yet.

And yet.

The lack of noise around him made him uneasy.

Like he was being watched, though it was not the same kind of paranoia that he had previously found to be perfectly reasonable and eventually proven right. No, this was just 100% the mundane, sleep-deprivation and home-alone type of paranoia, and pat of Steve was aware of that. But Steve caved to his baser instincts after only a moment or two of hesitation, and wandered the ten or so feet across the room to dig around for the TV remote. He switched the channel over to whatever he could find that wasn’t utter garbage, the crisp staticky noise of the screen warming up a satisfying little signal of reassurance to his stupid animal brain. Setting the volume down low enough to be background chatter, he finally returned to his seat.

Much better, he thought, as the quiet sounds of early morning soap opera voices brushed away the tattered edges of his unease. With coffee number two warming the seizing and sore tendons of his fingers, he settled back in for the long haul.

…

The day passed at a crawl, and even with the tv and a steady stream of caffeine within arm’s reach, Steve inevitably found himself lightly dozing by around midday. His head would drop to his chest, arms crossed, for only a minute or two, before he would start awake, cursing himself and reaching for Eddie. When he wasn’t accidentally dozing, he was staring at the wall closest to the pool-side door. The movement of the forest’s many-limbed shadows was hypnotic, and he couldn’t conjure the energy for anything more involved than that.

The soap opera had ended, and a news station replaced it. The word “Hawkins” had drawn Steve out of one of his many semi-zombified reveries, turning his head in slow motion as curiosity got the better of him. He caught only a second or two of the newsreader’s desk before the program cut away to aerial footage of a smoking crater of a town.

Damn, Steve thought, as his eyes focussed and unfocused on the screen.

It took him a moment to process that he knew that town, that was his town, at which point he sat up straighter. The camera shot shifted again, showing the damage to Hawkins and the recovery efforts that were already under way. He could barely process what he was seeing; shot after shot of smoke, and shops on Main Street burning, and injured folks that Steve recognised, that Steve knew, being patched up out of the back of ambulances like it was a goddamn warzone or something.

Steve wanted to know what was happening, he really did; but the sight of it was enough to make him want to hurl yet again, so he reached for the remote and scrolled until a brash children’s cartoon filled the screen instead.

He forced himself to make a ham-and-cheese sandwich a little after that, eating over the sink to save himself washing a plate, and shuffled, aching, back to Eddie.

Should probably check his dressings, he thought blearily, and sighed. Eddie didn’t move as Steve lifted the blankets-and-jacket combination, drawing them back to fold over in a line that stopped at the narrow jut of his hips. Steve couldn’t help the harsh intake of breath through his teeth at the sight of Eddie’s torso; it was a mess of rusty red and sickly, seeping yellow. They’d done the best they could, Steve knew that, but in the daylight it was clear that the poor guy’s skin was still mottled with dark filth from the Upside Down, smears that seemed to seep through the almost mummy-like strips of bandages. The place was a poison, and it was working its way out of the body.

“Alright, Eddie,” Steve mustered reluctantly, looking at the boy’s face. “You be still and don’t bleed out on me, yeah? No need for any dramatics. Save it for your dungeons-and-damsels schemes or whatever, I ain’t got time for that nerdy sh*t here. You hear me?”

The bandages had crusted over with iodine, and Steve could hear the dried crystals crumbling between the stiff fibres of each strip as he lifted them. His breath hissed again in sympathy as he took in the damage once more in the brutal light of day.

But now he also found his chest tightening with something else; hope. For with every bandage that lifted, sore and tender and angry and oozing as much of his skin was, Steve could also see the chequerboard of scabbing that was forming across Eddie’s many wounds.

“This is looking good, man,” Steve told the unconscious boy, a note of surprise brightening his tone.

“This is looking- this is looking so much betterthan it was.”

Steve found himself smiling as he allowed himself to admire the success of his own work. “You might actually get through this, Eddie.”

He worked quickly, but a lot less efficiently than he had the night previous. God, was that only a few hours ago? It already felt like years. He longed for the assistance of Nancy and Robin once again, but the thought of them reminded him that sh*t, he really should try and call the others. He was distracted by this thought when Eddie’s back arched beneath his hands, and Steve swore as Eddie heaved in a horrific, rattling breath. Steve startled to see that Eddie’s eyelids had wrenched themselves open, wide and gripped with some unseen terror, and he panted through locked teeth, muscles tensing as his gaze darted around the room like a hunted animal. Steve was above him in a moment.

“Eddie,” Steve spoke to him, drawing close in the hopes of pulling Eddie’s panicked eyes to his own. “Eddie, it’s alright. You’re alright, man.”

Steve’s hand reached automatically for Eddie’s, and it was only as his fingers wrapped around the many rings on the other boy’s hands that Eddie’s eyes locked upon him like a homing beacon. They were dark, Steve realised. Incredibly dark, and as the pure, animal fear welled up in them and threatened to spill over, Steve knew that he couldn’t have looked anywhere else if he’d tried.

“…Steve?” Eddie croaked, uncertain. Relief flowed through Steve’s body so quickly that he felt his head spin.

“Yeah,” Steve replied, swallowing the unexpected knot that had formed in his throat. “Yeah Eddie, it’s me. You’re safe. I’m looking after you man. Nothing’s gonna get you.”

“Steve…” the muscles in Eddie’s jaw ticked as he nodded, ever so slightly, and then his eyes rolled back in his head and he went slack.

Steve couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. He just stared, unblinking, a potent and conflicting concoction of fear and relief vying to be the dominant emotion at hand. He wanted to call Nancy; wanted to curl up on the floor and bawl his eyes out.

He woke up, Nance. He woke up and he SPOKE to me, he said my NAME! He’s not dead, Nance!

I’m not a failure.

I’m not a f*ckup.

I didn’t f*ck this up.

But instead, he allowed a long, slow breath to pass through his teeth, and he nodded to himself.

“Nice talk, Eddie,” Steve murmured, patting the man’s hand. “You should wake up again soon, so I can tell you all about how stupid you are to your face.” The bravado sounded false even to Steve’s ears, but it was enough to prompt him into action. He finished up the dressings, throwing away the soiled ones with a wrinkled nose of distaste. When he pulled Eddie’s blankets back up over him, he made sure to extricate his less-injured arm from beneath the covers.

If I hold onto his hand, I’ll be able to feel if he seizes or wakes up, even if I fall asleep again, Steve reasoned, gingerly slipping his hand back into Eddie’s slack grip. It’s like a failsafe. A backup plan.

Eddie’s fingers were cold, and clammy, and the rings were slick and bumpy against Steve’s knuckles. He adjusted himself in the chair, tucking the hand into the crook of his folded arms alongside his own hand, and even though it felt a little awkward and uncomfortable, Steve finally was able to give himself permission to sleep.

…

Steve couldn’t tell what had disturbed him at first. He blinked, hazy, his head pounding and his eyes narrowed against the brash, late afternoon sunlight. His shoulders had seized where he slumped, half-seated in his chair. As his sluggish mind tried to piece together what century it was, he felt it again.

Movement, pressed against the left side of his ribcage.

What…? Was the furthest his brain managed to get, before memories began clambering back in searing, too-bright flashes.

Blood. Screams. Gunshots. Iodine. Fissures. Vecna.

Eddie.

f*ck, Steve was fully awake, springing up straight-backed in his chair despite the screaming protestations that came at him from just about every part of his body. He glanced down, spotting Eddie’s hand still lodged firmly in his crossed arms, and he followed the wrist up to the shoulder, to the neck, to Eddie’s dark hair fanned out around him like a mop head…

Eddie’s eyelashes fluttered like leaves in the autumn chill, and he gave a stifled groan.

“Eddie?” Steve barely dared to breathe, let alone move closer. He leaned forward, pulled into Eddie’s orbit against his own better judgement, as the young man finally opened his eyes. They were glassy, and unfocused, but as Steve watched he blinked and grimaced, and turned his face. The movement must have caused him an unexpected twinge of pain, for his face contorted and he gave a breathless whimper, eyes screwing shut against the feeling.

“Painkillers,” Steve blurted out, standing and almost knocking the chair over as he reached over Eddie’s body - Eddie’s alive and awake body, thank you Steve Harrington - to dig through the open first aid kit. He scrabbled for a bottle of pills, popping the lid off with his teeth and shaking a couple out onto the tabletop. He picked them up between two fingers, balancing them there and reaching for one of the several cups now gathered around Eddie on the table like offerings on an altar.

“God, you probably need some of these, and some water, hey… Let me just…”

“Steve?”

The rasp of Eddie’s voice halted Steve dead in his tracks. He glanced down at the young man, whose head was still turned to the side a little ways, but his eyes were pinning Steve in place like a butterfly in a museum display.

“… Am I dead?”

Eddie’s voice was hoarse and quavered with uncertainty, and if it wasn’t for the heartbreaking sincerity of his question, Steve would have burst into tears of relief. He couldn’t completely suppress the feeling, an ugly, strangled kind of noise escaping from his throat instead as he folded Eddie’s hand up between both of his own completely on instinct. He sank back into his seat, painkillers momentarily forgotten, as he simply appreciated the fact that Eddie was not only alive, he was asking dramatic bullsh*t questions like only a god-tier nerd would.

The look of growing horror on Eddie’s face at his non-answer spurred Steve into words quickly enough, however.

“No. No, Munson, you’re not dead. You live to fight another day, for better or worse. Dustin certainly thought so, though,” Steve admitted. Eddie’s face shouldn’t have been able to get paler, but Steve swore it did at the mention of Dustin’s name.

“He’s alright?” Eddie asked.

“Of course,” Steve reassured him. “A bit worse for wear, but he’s fine; I think he broke an ankle coming back for you.” The words weren’t meant to be anything but helpful, but Eddie flinched as surely as if Steve had slapped him. “Nothing compared to you though,” Steve said quickly, pulling a smile onto his face and squeezing Eddie’s hand in a way he hoped offered camaraderie. “You look like sh*t now Munson, but you should have seen yourself last night. Could’ve been a backup dancer in Thriller.” Eddie frowned, uncomprehending, and Steve looked incredulous.

“No, surely - thriller? Like Michael Jackson? Come on, you’re a horror buff, with the zombies?”

“I don’t…” Eddie’s voice trailed off, and Steve shook his head.

“It’s fine, but I am judging you for it just a little. Here you are with your Ozzy Whatnot, Black Saturday references and sh*t…” he pulled himself back on topic as his thoughts tried to run away from him. He blamed the lack of sleep.

“Anyway, you should’ve heard him. Dustin, I mean. We thought he was some kind of banshee. Scared the sh*t out of the girls.” He paused, a semi-hysterical grin blooming on his face. “Scared the sh*t out of me too, actually.”

It wasn’t funny, not even close; but in that exhausted moment of utter relief, Steve was pretty sure he could have found the punchline in even a meteor hurtling towards earth. So he was somewhat surprised when Eddie’s face contorted into a wobbly expression, and he turned away from Steve to stare up at the ceiling.

“Hey,” Steve said, alarm growing as he saw the young man’s lip begin to quiver. “It’s alright, man; it was touch-and-go for a second there, for sure, but you’re awake now, and hey, I’ve got you painkillers! They’ll be nothing on the kind of sh*t you usually pack, I’m sure, but I might have some weed stashed somewhere if you’d prefer that-” Steve’s voice trailed off as Eddie’s eyes squeezed shut tight, hot tears pooling and spilling over. He breathed in a heavy, congested breath, and released it in a tremulous sigh.

“sh*t, man,” Steve said, his expression falling and his mind spiralling.

What did I say, what did I do wrong, f*ck I’m such an idiot-

“I’m sorry,” he blurted, unsure of what to do or where to look, whether to touch him or pull away. “Whatever I said, I didn’t mean it. I’m an idiot; a f*ckup; just ask my Dad. Don’t listen to a word I say, man-”

“Stop,” Eddie groaned, and Steve’s mouth snapped shut.

“It’s not-” Eddie’s body shuddered as he reined in whatever emotions were wracking him. “It’s me,” he said eventually, the words wrenched from within. Steve frowned.

“What?”

Eddie’s eyes scrunched up again tightly, and two more fat, salty tears tracked down the sides of his face to pool in his hairline before he spoke again.

“I’m the f*ckup,” he rasped, his words barely louder than a whisper. “I f*cked up. I… I was supposed to die, I was supposed to help, and keep Dustin s…Safe.”

His eyes opened, staring straight up at the ceiling, and his mouth worked around the next words like they were physically cutting his throat to escape.

“The only thing I’m good for is dying, and I even f*cked that up.”

In the silence that followed, Steve was absolutely certain that Eddie could hear his heart breaking inside of his chest. He felt it crumbling, pieces embedding themselves in his stomach as they flaked off in chunks and made him want to double over in pain.

How the hell could he possibly think that? Steve reeled.

How could he possibly feel that way?

And another, more worrisome thought; had he been planning that all along?

“You shut the f*ck up, Eddie Munson,” Steve said, the words coming out angrier than he had perhaps intended them to. They cracked through the air like a whip, and they were enough to startle Eddie into looking at him again, wide-eyed and unguarded and broken.

Jesus, Steve thought, seeing it for the very first time. How did I not notice that before?

“It’s-”

“If you’re about to finish that sentence with ‘true’, I’m going to smack you,” Steve told him firmly, eying the other man like a preschool teacher warning a toddler on the verge of a tantrum. “And then I’ll make you listen to Cyndi Lauper until you decide that you too are a girl who just wants to have fun.”

The shocked silence that followed gave Steve a chance to collect his thoughts, and swallow the angry knot at the very base of his throat. He could feel the anger rolling through him, pulsing in time with the headache that was blooming once again, and he dipped his head. He looked down at the hand, still held firmly between his own, and without thinking too hard about exactly why, he let the pad of his thumb sweep over the angular topography of Eddie’s knuckles. It was… Well, it bought him the time to let his own runaway frustration come to a halt. He continued, softer.

“Look,” he said, voice low and even, and as he lifted his gaze, he caught the way Eddie’s eyes snapped up from where their hands were meeting. “I don’t… I don’t know you, Eddie, not well enough to tell you anything you can’t wave away with a hand. But if Mike cares about you, and Lucas cares about you, and Dustin cares about you, enough to run head first into a swarm of murder-bats for you? Then there must be something in you that isn’t a f*ck up. You’re… You’re a good guy, Eddie. You’re a great guy. It’s not your fault that Hawkins is way more f*cked up than you could have imagined, and frankly-” Steve’s eyebrows raised and he tilted his head in acknowledgment of exactly how right his own point was - “you’ve taken that discovery like an absolute champ.” He pointed a lopsided smile down at Eddie, who was watching him with an expression that made Steve think of those ducklings that accidentally imprint on dogs instead of their duck moms. It made a prickle rise on the back of his neck, but he forged on.

“Honestly, I can’t think of a single person who could handle a supernatural serial killer and a lynch mob against them as well as you have; let alone simultaneously.” Steve leant back, exhausted, and his mind turned back more fully to the subject at hand.

I have to make him understand, he felt the words like a bassline in his ribcage, and Steve’s upper lip curled as a bitter thread of grief unwound from somewhere deep inside him.

“So don’t… Don’t give me some bullsh*t about dying like a hero or something,” Steve said eventually, his voice carrying the weight of finality. “Because you know what happens to the real heroes in Hawkins? People forget them. Their stories never get shared. And it’s me that gets to carry them.”

He slumped back, looking away from Eddie’s face and out into the late afternoon beyond. It was almost molten now, and he let his eyes close, breathing in deeply through his nose as he tried not to think too long about Barb, or Hopper. Tried to let his guilt and his grief move past him like a river around a stone. When he finally opened his eyes and looked back, it was to find Eddie looking up at him. Despite everything, despite his tears and his blood loss and his definitely-more-likely-actually-dead-than-near-it experience, Eddie looked clear-eyed and… Almost vibrant in the golden light.

Steve couldn’t have told you why Eddie’s words had made him so upset; he didn’t want to poke around in that mess or examine it at that moment. But as Eddie’s mouth pulled up in a valiant, clearly pained attempt at a watery smile, Steve’s chest constricted.

“I can’t believe you threatened me with Cyndi Lauper,” Eddie croaked, and Steve’s huff of laughter was entirely genuine. He rolled his eyes, and let the moment pass; he could see that Eddie had listened. The way Eddie’s gaze held with his own said as much, inviting him to move with him into easier territory. Steve took that invitation with open arms, letting the weight of the conversation dissipate like dust motes in the afternoon sun.

“Yeah, well,” Steve tried, “you push me to my limits, Munson. I’ll do what I have to do for the greater good.”

“For the greater good,” Eddie echoed dramatically, wheezing on the last word. He was staring at Steve so intently that it made him want to squirm, that damn smile still lodged incongruously on his ashen and drawn face. “You’re evil, Harrington. That’s villain talk right there. I should have known it all along.”

Steve bowed his head into his own lap, leaning his forehead on the edge of the table to hide his grin.

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve conceded. “You’ve caught me. Finally got me all figured out.”

“If only,” Eddie murmured, an almost sigh, and the sound of it had Steve lifting his head again. Eddie’s eyes were drifting shut again, clearly exhausted, but he tugged them open.

“Hey, Doctor Steve,” Eddie tried again, swallowing and hacking at the end of the phrase in a way that made Steve flinch in sympathy.

“What happened to those piss-weak pain meds you were talking about?”

Chapter 4: My Father Yells, “What you Gonna Do With Your Life?”

Chapter Text

It took Eddie a couple of goes, but he eventually got the pills down. Steve had to support Eddie’s head in a half-lift after the young man attempted optimistically to sit up on his own and just about passed out from the sudden, nauseating pain that roiled through his entire body. Steve tried not to think too hard about the fact that, in spite of the blood and the dirt and the sweat that was embedded in his hair, the curls still somehow felt soft between his fingers. Thankfully, he had the distraction of trying not to drown Eddie in the glass he was holding to his lips, and the sight of Eddie’s throat bobbing as he swallowed down the water, to keep him from such thoughts.

It wasn’t dignified, and it wasn’t exactly pretty, but they managed it well enough without either of them feeling the need to comment on it. Eddie drank half of the glass of water in loud gulps, and Steve was worried he was going to make himself throw up when Eddie flicked his head a little in an indication to pull the glass back.

At least that’ll replace some of the blood, Steve thought optimistically, though the words had a miserable edge to them. He couldn’t quite dismiss the small, golden beads of pride that he felt settling in his stomach, however, at the sight of Eddie drinking. Living, breathing, snarking, and drinking water like a human that was definitely not dead, thanks to Steve.

His mind was already trying to figure out what else he could feed Eddie to give him a fighting chance at recovering. Not only recovering, Steve noted, but recovering quickly. He thought of sugars, and salts, and soup, and mentally he was already halfway to checking the pantry for cans of Campbell’s when a small noise from Eddie brought him back to the moment at hand.

Water was dribbling down Eddie’s chin, tracking clean lines through the grime that Steve hadn’t thought to wipe off of him, that he hadn’t really noticed until the water was revealing exactly how filthy he was all over. The man’s eyes were watching the shadows on the roof in a pained daze. Steve couldn’t muster the courage to wipe at the water, despite the mother hen instincts that went into overdrive at the sight.

He wouldn’t have hesitated before, when Eddie was out cold; something that he tried not to examine too closely. There was just… Something fundamentally different about Eddie being awake for that kind of thing versus Eddie being unconscious, and Steve didn’t want to risk making the man uncomfortable. It was something to do with the stakes of the situation, Steve decided. When Eddie was out of it - when Eddie was dying - the risk to reward for acting on any potential life-saving action was worth it. But the last thing Eddie needed right now was Steve’s overbearing caretaker instincts to trigger some kind of wounded-animal need to leave before he was healed enough. The guy is incapable of withstanding a stiff breeze, let alone an unforgiving and riled-up Hawkins public, Steve thought. And so Steve simply repeated the same refrain internally.

Risk and reward. That’s it. Risk and reward.

Thus, Steve reeled in his instincts; to touch, to assist, to comfort. He would let Eddie lead him through the boundaries of this strange new situation they were in together, and let him set the rules of what was okay for Steve to offer to him. So far, head support, water, and painkillers had all made it onto the list of this is fine; Steve could certainly work with that.

“Thanks,” was the only acknowledgement Eddie gave as Steve lowered back onto the towel-pillow with a grimace, and Steve’s internal battle dissipated like morning fog.

“Anytime,” Steve told him lightly, and it startled a snort out of Eddie that quickly morphed into a grimace as something inevitably twinged. Eddie’s eyelids were already growing heavier, and Steve was all too familiar with this part of the whole healing process. It was easy to see the bruises and the cuts and the swelling, to expect them even; no one ever mentioned the sheer exhaustion that came along with getting the sh*t kicked out of you. Steve was feeling it himself, barely able to fend it off and getting worse with every passing minute, but Eddie’s return to the land of the living had put a pin in that little problem of his for the next little while at least. Steve was relieved that Eddie was getting tired, if he was honest; it meant that his body was, indeed, on the mend. But as Steve watched, he saw Eddie’s eyelids drift shut, only for the man to start back alert. His body tensed, his breathing harsh, and his eyes widened with fresh, renewed terror.

“Hey,” Steve coaxed him, pulling the blankets up further over the man’s chest for something to do and patting him on the shoulder. Steve was close enough that he could smell the stale iodine on Eddie’s skin, could feel the patchy warmth of his body rising to meet Steve.

“You won’t heal unless you sleep,” Steve chided him gently. “Come on, just relax, man.”

“You won’t leave me here, right?”

The words were so small, so earnest, that Steve had to pause as he processed them. Eddie was looking up at him with those big, dark eyes for all the world like Steve was a lifeline; a shiver rippled down Steve’s spine.

He shook his head.

“Of course not,” Steve told him. He chanced a small, joking smile. “I’ve been here this long, haven’t I? You think I’m gonna let you out of my sight now?” He softened as the young man failed to relax, and tried again. “Seriously. I’ll be right here. I promise.” Something in his face must have been enough, because Eddie finally nodded, an abortive little movement.

“Do you-” Steve tripped over the words as they clambered past the containment chamber labeled ‘stupid things to say’ in his brain. He swallowed, frazzled, but it was too late to pull the thought back and stuff it back inside of him.

“Do you want me to hold your hand? While you fall asleep?” He’d meant it as an offer of comfort, but the words sounded odd to Steve once they were out. Way more intimate than he’d meant them, for sure, and he felt the tips of his ears prickle with an embarrassed flush. Eddie was silent, his expression inscrutable, and Steve wondered briefly if the Upside Down would reopen an interdimensional hole specifically beneath his feet and swallow him if he just asked it nice enough.

Of course he doesn’t you to hold his f*cking hand, Steve berated himself. He’s a f*cking adult, not a five year old. God, you’re such a loser, Harrington; in what world does a grown ass man want to hold another man’s hand-

“Yes,” Eddie managed, his gaze unwavering as he swallowed. “Please.”

Steve short circuited.

Eddie winced, but his elbow bent of its own accord. His forearm shook a little with the effort, but then there was a scraped and battered hand held aloft in front of Steve’s face.

“Of course,” Steve said, taking it immediately. He threw Eddie a small, reassuring smile, and shrugged his shoulders as though that would make the strange magnitude of the feeling go away. Eddie huffed through a smirk and closed his eyes.

“Stop it,” He mumbled, and Steve’s face froze.

“Stop what?”

“Lookin’ at me like that.” The last of the words came out as a sigh.

“Like what?”

Steve didn’t expect an answer, not really; the young man was already fading before his eyes. As he watched, the strained muscles in Eddie’s neck, his shoulders, his jawline, all gradually relaxed back onto the tabletop. He almost didn’t catch it at all, so quiet was the response.

“Like you’re happy I’m here.”

Eddie’s breathing evened out only moments later, the hand going slack in Steve’s grasp, and it was a long time before Steve could even begin to think about anything else.

…

Steve was able to give Eddie a couple of hours of peace before the restless worry began to creep back in again. It prickled at the edges of his ribcage, and he gently folded Eddie’s hand back onto the tabletop before taking a walk around the room to try to shake off the feeling. The sky outside had dropped to a hazy purple by the time he remembered that his phone existed, but when he picked it up to dial Dustin’s phone number the line was dead. He dropped the receiver back into the wall-mounted cradle in annoyance, and turned his attention to the kitchen. His parents did in fact have canned soup in the cupboard, much to Steve’s semi-hysterical relief, and his stomach gave a warning clench at the prospect of being fed. He put the contents into a saucepan, watching in mild horror as the purported “cream of chicken” soup slid out of the can with a wet slap and maintained its perfect cylindrical shape in the bottom of the pan.

“Yikes,” he said to no one in particular, and wrinkled his nose at the pet-food smell of the unheated almost-food-but-not-quite. He poked at it with a skeptical spoon while it heated, humming something tuneless as he did so. It was thick, very thick, and Steve tossed a cup or two of water in there after a moment’s consideration.

The thinner it is, the easier it’ll be to get him to drink it, Steve reasoned. He set the stovetop down to a lower heat to let the pot simmer while he moved through the space, turning on lamps in the lounge room and a hallway light to break up the rapidly approaching darkness and to fill the time a little more; allow Eddie just a little longer before he disturbed him again.

But he couldn’t put it off any longer, and the feeling of angry hornets in his chest had grown to a fever pitch as he approached Eddie apprehensively.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, he thought to himself as he squeezed Eddie’s hand and placed the other on his shoulder.

“Eddie,” he murmured, his voice too loud to his own ears. “Eddie, gotta wake up, man, we’ve gotta get some food into you.”

He awoke slowly, and in much the same way as he had previously; with half-seeing eyes, fear, and the harsh rise and fall of his own panicked breathing.

“M- What is it? What’s wrong?” Eddie clambered, sleep-clumsy and sore, and Steve gently held him down, so gently that Eddie wouldn’t even realize that was what he was doing.

“Nothing’s wrong, nothing’s wrong,” Steve told him quickly, the other boy’s eyes roving across his face to search for any indication of a lie. “You’ve been asleep for a little while and we’ve gotta feed you something, you’re not gonna heal without something to eat.”

Steve took it as a positive that Eddie both sagged in relief and rolled his eyes at the same time.

“Jesus Christ, Harrington, you really are trying to kill me,” he wheezed, and Steve rolled his eyes in an effort to redirect his sudden desire to smack the man on the side of his arm.

“Not yet, I’m not,” Steve quipped with a lopsided smile, “but you haven’t tried my cooking yet. Come on, let’s see if we can get you sitting up.”

Steve wasn’t sure whether Eddie’s horrified groan was in response to the concept of Steve’s culinary misadventures or the awkward, half-heaving way in which Steve maneuvered Eddie into a sitting position on the table, or some combination of the two. Eddie’s free hand snaked up to support his middle as he folded over. His dark hair was lank, sticking up in an undignified lump on the back of his head, but Steve didn’t dare to laugh or comment on it as he helped Eddie shuffle his butt to the edge of the table. He kicked his legs over the edge, knees dangling, to let his feet rest on the seat of a chair.

“You wanna just sit here, or would you prefer the chair?” Steve asked, but Eddie just shook his head, eyes closed and sucking quick, intense breaths through his nose and out through his teeth again.

“Mm, nope, table is good for now,” Eddie managed, and Steve stepped back a little.

“You okay? sh*t, do you need to lie down again-” Eddie flapped a half-hearted hand at Steve, but he quickly pressed it back into the surface of the table for stability.

“’m fine,” Eddie gritted. “Just… gimme a minute.”

“Okay.”

Steve backed away a little, hands up and open in mock defeat, but he kept a careful eye on Eddie as he inched around to the stovetop to take the soup off the heat.

If he so much as sways, this soup is getting dropped, I don’t even care, Steve’s mind rambled as he worked. He poured it out into two cups, leaving ample more in the pot for later, and rummaged through a kitchen drawer for spoons.

“Here we go,” Steve announced as he made his way over to Eddie, both mugs held aloft triumphantly. Eddie peaked at him through one slitted eyelid, wary. Steve forged on, injecting as much normality into his voice as his exhausted mind and body would allow.

“It’s not much, but we’re going to start you off small, alright? Keep it simple, see if you can keep this down, and then we’ll move onto solid things. Like pizza. But probably toast first. Definitely toast first.”

He moved to press the mug into Eddie's hands, but realized that both of them were occupied with holding Eddie upright, and he didn’t seem prepared to move either of them any time soon. Steve hesitated, placing his own mug down on the edge of the table.

“Uh - You okay to hold this by yourself, or do you want me to do it?” Steve asked him, lifting his eyebrows seriously. Eddie attempted to scoff at him, clearly ready to snap something back, but the unimpressed look on Steve’s face killed whatever words Eddie was thinking. He sagged.

“Just get it over with then, Harrington.”

Steve could see the effect of the food blossom over Eddie like some kind of magic spell. From the first warm sip, colour began to return to Eddie’s cheeks, and Steve only had to provide him a few sips before Eddie’s hand was taking the mug from his hands, whatever unsteadiness he had been feeling superseded by his body’s realisation that oh sh*t, that’s right, food good.

“Take it easy,” Steve warned him, amused. “The last thing you want to do right now is throw up.”

“Ugh,” Eddie agreed, though he looked petulant as he lowered the mug to give the soup a chance to settle in his stomach. “I think my guts would pop out if that happened.”

Steve gave a dry huff of a laugh, his eyebrows lifting as he tried not to picture it too vividly. Given how recently he had seen far more of Eddie’s insides than he ever cared to again, it would be all too easy to conjure.

“Just what I need, more cleaning,” Steve’s tone was teasing as he lifted his own mug to his lips, but Eddie went still. His stillness drew Steve’s eyes, and he found Eddie looking at his own lap, mug cradled in between his thighs.

“How bad was it?” Eddie asked quietly. Steve tempered his initial instinct to minimise it for Eddie; the terror; the adrenalin; the panic.

“It was… Pretty bad,” Steve admitted, and he knew Eddie looked at him then; could feel his eyes piercing his f*cking soul , but he couldn’t return it. He bit his lip and focused on tempering his heartbeat, which had ticked up in a valiant attempt at danger-move-now , and nodded to himself. “Thought we’d lost you for a minute, there.”

Silence hung in the air between them. Steve traced a finger around the rim of his mug, lost in thought.

“I’m sorry.”

Steve made a face.

“Not your fault.”

“Kind of was, though.”

Steve shook his head and placed the cup on the table with a soft click.

“Just - can you not do it again? Please?” Steve held up a hand to stop whatever was coming next from Eddie’s mouth, and the young man paused, an affronted look on his face as Steve continued. “Look, I heard what you said before, and I get it, but I’m also calling bullsh*t on you. This isn’t some fantasy novel, or one of your - your - campaigns , Eddie. Real life doesn’t need to end with the final battles against the big bads, or with the lovable misfit sacrificing themselves for their friends, or some kind of epic power-of-friendship superpowered nonsense battle. The way we’ve survived every other time this crap has happened is by sticking together, moving quickly, and being smarter than they expect. And we don’t leave anyone behind.”

Eddie’s eyes were bright when Steve finally took the moment to examine him.

“Did you just refer to me as a lovable misfit?” Eddie asked, a smile spreading across his face as smoothly as peanut butter on bread. Steve knew he’d f*cked up immediately, and felt his ears warm.

“I- shut up, you know it wasn’t- just, look, promise me? No more noble sacrifices-”

“Well if I’d known I was the lovable misfit I would have never been so careless-”

“Eddie.”

“Fine,” Eddie laughed, holding his side with one hand. “I promise.”

“Good,” Steve sat back, defeated, and as Eddie mouthed the words ‘lovable misfit’ at him teasingly, he felt absolutely no guilt in flipping him the bird.

“I need more soup,” Steve grumbled, and Eddie peered down into his mug before holding it out expectantly.

…

They had finished their soup in silence, Eddie chasing his with another dose of painkillers, when Steve decided it was high time Eddie to graduate from makeshift tabletop hospital gurney to the three-seater couch. It was clear that the soup had done wonders for Eddie’s general wellbeing, as he kept up a steady stream of teasing from his place on the table while Steve hobbled about the lounge.

“You worried I’m gonna get my filthy leavings all over your cushions, Harrington?” Eddie poked him as Steve spread yet more old towels over the lounge.

“That’s exactly what I’m worried about,” Steve agreed. “My mom would have a fit if she knew that you’d bled all over her dining table; I think she’d disown me if I actually stained anything.”

“Your mom sounds like a tough cookie.”

“Nah,” Steve said, reaching for another towel. “She’s not so bad. House-proud, for sure, but she’s good. It’s my dad you gotta worry about.”

“Oh?” Steve heard Eddie’s tone shift ever so slightly, but he was behind him and Steve couldn’t bring himself to break away from his work to check what his face was doing.

“Oh yeah,” Steve said. “You think my mom’s a bit of a battle axe then you should meet my dad.”

“What, is he like, strict?”

“Stricter than strict,” Steve confirmed. “You can barely breathe without breaking some kind of rule around him.”

“Sounds rough.”

“He’s - look, it’s not even like he’s a bad dad or anything. He just has like, all these rules and ideas about- everything, really. How life is meant to go. What ‘success’ for Harringtons is meant to look like.”

“And golden boy Harrington, kingpin basketballer, darling of Hawkins High, somehow doesn’t fit with that?” Eddie prompted, his tone almost skeptical to Steve’s ears. Steve scoffed down at the couch cushions, eyebrow co*cked.

“Golden boy Harrington didn’t get the scores to go to college,” Steve said. “And if Golden boy Harrington had got into college, it wouldn’t have been the one that he was meant to go to, or it wouldn’t have been the right course, or he wouldn’t get the right grades or make the right connections or-” Steve shook his head, biting down on the rest of his words; he was way too tired to be thinking about these things, let alone vomiting them at the resident town weirdo.

“Everything is a test to my dad, and somehow, no matter what I do, I’m always failing.” Steve patted the pillows in finality, satisfied with his work. He glanced up to find Eddie watching him with an inscrutable expression, and Steve wondered what he’d done to prompt that look again, whatever that look even was.

“Anyway,” Steve smiled, desperate to dig his way back out of the maudlin little trench his over-active mouth had walked him into, “you look like dogsh*t, Munson, so until you can prove to me that you’re not gonna bleed on my couch, the towels stay.”

Whatever thoughts were clouding Eddie’s mind were cleared away, replaced with mock-outrage.

“That is so f*cking rude of you to say,” Eddie’s face contorted melodramatically, “and to an invalid, of all people. Shame on you, Harrington; your bedside manner is awful.”

Steve assisted him gingerly to his feet. Eddie swayed as his knees buckled, and Steve automatically wrapped his arm underneath Eddie’s and around his back in support.

“Alright, I got you,” Steve coaxed, hobbling as Steve half-limped half-carried him the short few feet to the couch.

“Jesus, Harrington, I’m not a wild horse; don’t talk to me like one,” Eddie griped, but his words were toothless since his eyes had gone glassy with pain and a fine sheen of sweat had broken across every inch of his exposed skin. The bandages shifted under Steve’s hands as he jostled Eddie down onto the couch. He sank into it like a stone, his eyelids fluttering in relief at the chance to sit again.

“Here,” Steve said, and Eddie didn’t have time to react as he was swaddled in the double-blanket situation from the kitchen table again. Steve nodded, pleased with his work.

“For the record, Harrington, you look like dogsh*t too, you know,” Eddie’s voice filtered up from beneath the blankets, making Steve pause. Eddie adjusted himself, moving his chin to rest over the top of the blankets again as he eyed Steve.

“Are you still in the same clothes from the f*cking - the Upside Down? Even though this is literally your house and you could wear anything else?” Eddie asked him, and Steve looked down at himself, baffled. He was wearing the same outfit, yes; but it wasn’t exactly like he’d been in the right headspace to just leave Eddie alone and go and grab some goddamn sweatpants, for crying out loud, the dude could have died -

“And what happened to your throat? And your nose?” Eddie continued, his eyebrows wrinkling in horror, and Steve wondered briefly at how bad he must actually look for the almost-eaten-by-bats guy to be making a face like that. “Did Vecna try and f*cking deck you?”

No, you did, with your head, Steve almost said, remembering the way his body had bucked on the ground as Dustin screamed behind him. But he thought better of it, suppressing his shudder and snapping his teeth shut on the words.

“Go and like, take five, Harrington,” Eddie said. “Have a shower. Sacrifice kittens to whatever dark gods keep your hair looking like that. Just, like, go make yourself comfortable.”

“But-”

But what if you go into shock while I’m in the shower?

But what if Vecna comes for you telepathically and I’m not there to bring you back?

But what if-

“Harrington.” Eddie’s tone broached no argument. “I have no intention of dying in the next ten minutes.”

“That a promise?” Steve meant it to be lighthearted, but the wavering in his voice betrayed him. Eddie rolled his eyes, exasperated.

“What is it with you and promises? Yes, I promise I will not die in the next ten minutes! Go shower! I can smell you from here!”

Alright, Steve nodded to himself, trying to gee himself to the concept. Alright. You can do this.

“Fine. Fine. You win. I’ll go shower.” He turned.

“Oh, Harrington?”

Steve almost tripped over himself. He felt a thrill of mortification as he saw Eddie’s smug little smile of amusem*nt, half hidden in Steve’s bedsheets.

“Pass me the remote, would you?”

…

The sting of the shower was brutal, but familiar. Steve gasped as it hit his skin, bright arrows of pain lancing through him as the water targeted each and every cut, scrape and bruise with laser precision. It would have been utterly unbearable if it hadn’t felt so extraordinarily good.

The panic had passed quickly after he shut the bathroom door behind him, a surge that made his ears ring but he managed to get under control with a few long breaths bent over the porcelain sink. As he had looked up in the mirror, he realised that it was the first time he’d actually looked at himself since before everything went down.

Eddie wasn’t exaggerating.

His brief face-dunking in the kitchen sink had not done much in the way of removing the thick, dark layer of Upside-Down grime and, he realised belatedly, his own blood. Rather, it had kind of smeared it around in a way that looked partly like 4 o’clock shadow, partly like freckles, and all around dirty. His whole body had kind of become one large, pulsing centre of pain throughout the exhaustion, but seeing the split skin against the ridge of his nose, and the swelling and crusted blood that surrounded it, had allowed his brain to zero in on the unique, persistent rhythm of pain from that injury. He gently prodded it with his fingers, swaying and gripping the sink white-knuckled as a wave of nausea made his eyes blur.

Do not touch, got it, he thought to himself. He blinked away the blurriness, and after turning his face this way and that, decided that it wasn’t broken, thank goodness, just smushed in a don’t-have-to-forcibly-reset-this-myself kind of way.

The water of the shower wasn’t entirely uncomfortable, despite the injuries. The heat soaked through his skin, bringing his body back up to a passably human temperature. Steve felt the muscles in his shoulders relax, increment by increment, beneath the hot stream, and he tossed his head under the water with a groan of release. Even the smell of his shampoo, utterly mundane and familiar, felt precious and good and comforting to him as he washed the caked-in grime from his hair.

It’s not sacrificing kittens but it may as well be, Steve thought to himself with a little internal chuckle.

He couldn’t stay in there forever, of course, and after a quick holler down the hall to Eddie (“Still breathing, Munson?”; “Eat my entire ass, Harrington.”) he decided it was worth the aching joints to drag himself upstairs to his bedroom and find some clean and comfortable clothes. He tossed on an old pair of sweats and a ratty old concert t-shirt with holes in the hem. He hesitated over the drawer in his bedroom, debating for a moment whether to bring one down to Eddie. Though tossing it at his head with some quip about preserving his modesty was enticing, as was the idea of grabbing him something way too small or silly just to see his reaction, he dismissed both ideas. Instead he grabbed something bigger and softer, in case manoeuvring Eddie’s stiff limbs was limited.

“Oh thank god,” Eddie said as Steve rounded the corner, rubbing at his hair with his towel idly and feeling more human than he’d felt in… sh*t, was it over a week? He couldn’t even tell anymore.

“I was just about to mind-control myself into cardiac arrest like one of those zen masters but now you’re here again. Curses.”

“Don’t let me stop you,” Steve smiled. Eddie rolled his eyes from beneath his blanket-igloo.

“I can’t do it when you’re looking at me, Harrington, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Steve echoed. He held up the shirt in his hand, eyebrow raised in offering. “I brought you a shirt, if you wanted something to cover the bandages.”

“Is my rockin’ athletic bod making you uncomfortable, Harrington?” Eddie dropped his chin to eye Steve in a cartoonish approximation of flirtation. It made Steve grin, and he had to look at the ceiling and put his hands on his hips as some stupid urge to argue back in earnest - no it doesn’t why would you even say that - arose within him. Despite Eddie’s banter, Steve could see the weariness creeping in again, and even the effort to maintain his ridiculous facial expression was clearly draining as it slipped away.

“Honestly, I don’t think I could lift my arms high enough to get it over my head,” Eddie said with a grimace, and Steve nodded. “Thanks though.”

“No problem, it’s here when you’re ready.” Steve paused. “We had to, uh, cut through your Hellfire shirt. Sorry about that.”

Eddie pulled a noncommittal face.

“‘S’okay, I can make another one. I’ve still got the silkscreens stashed somewhere.” Steve didn’t know what those were, but he nodded as though he did and dropped the shirt onto the coffee table. He hobbled over to the armchair opposite the couch, mentally preparing himself to ease his aching, geriatric babysitter bones into its soft embrace.

“Uh, Harrington?”

“…Yeah?” Steve paused mid-lowering to look at Eddie, blinking narrow-eyed at him in discomfort.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Uh,” Steve said eloquently, “I was about to sit down? Fall asleep, probably?”

“And you are doing that in the uncomfy single chair because…?”

“Uh…” Steve was struggling to follow him, his brain acting like the little green cursor on a high school computer monitor.

“Just get the f*ck over here already,” Eddie sighed with so much world-weariness that Steve wondered for a split second if he really had done something terrible; but then he remembered this was just the weird dude from high school, and not like, his girlfriend or a parent or a teacher or something, and he huffed and moved back towards the couch.

“There’s not enough space for two,” Steve tried, and Eddie hissed at him.

“Bullsh*t, Harrington, this is a rich-people couch, and a rich people couch can always fit two people. Minimum.” Steve looked heavenward as Eddie half-heartedly shuffled himself a little over on the couch to make space. The rustling of towels against the couch fabric was not a sound Steve was used to, and he focused on that instead of the warmth that seemed to emanate from Eddie’s shoulder where it brushed against his as he sat. The tv was on, but muted, and Steve glanced at Eddie incredulously.

“The A-Team? Really?”

“Don’t look at me like that. It was this or Golden Girls.” Eddie shuffled a little, and at this proximity Steve could hear the short, stifled whine as he pulled one of his many scabbing injuries. Blanket was extended into Steve’s lap, and he accepted it. He had anticipated the cloying smell of iodine and general grime, radiating from Eddie’s body like the lines on a comic strip; what he hadn’t expected was the warm, earthy scent that underscored it, flooding through Steve’s senses like a river breaking its banks.

He most certainly hadn’t expected to find it… Nice.

“I would’ve thought you’d be more of an Evil Dead or American Werewolf in London kind of guy,” Steve admitted. Eddie tutted at him.

“Always judging a book by its cover. And as if either of those are gonna be on at prime time on a week night, Harrington, get real.” He unmuted the television, the actors’ voices ringing through the comfortable silence. It was a rerun, and one that Steve had seen before, but that made it easier for him to sink into it, his mind quieting as he followed the beats of the story.

It took Steve a solid moment to pull himself out of the show again when Eddie spoke.

“You’re totally Hannibal.”

Steve blinked, sputtering.

“What?”

Eddie’s eyes didn’t leave the screen, mesmerised.

“In your little club of monster hunters. You’re the Hannibal.”

“Like hell I am,” Steve laughed, and the outrage he felt was good, and it was light, and it was the kind of outrage someone his age should be feeling when sitting on the couch at the end of the day with a friend, watching a dumb action show and talking sh*t. Eddie was grinning, his eyelids crinkling and dimples apparent as he glanced at Steve.

“You don’t think so?” Eddie quipped. “Which one do you think you are?”

“I’m obviously Face!” Steve exclaimed, and Eddie gave a mock-groan.

“Aw, come on,” Eddie said. “There is not a chance in hell you’re Face.”

“Why not? Heart of gold, clever, handsome, lady-killer-”

“Lady killer!” Eddie’s cackle was short lived and he doubled over, briefly wheezing in pain.

“sh*t, are you-”

“ Lady killer ,” Eddie wheezed like a broken kazoo, and Steve rolled his eyes. “How’s that going for you right now, Harrington? You’re stuck at home during a maybe-ending world maybe-not event, looking after me, Loser McGee.”

“You’re not a Loser McGee,” Steve rolled his eyes. “And that is the dumbest thing you’ve ever said.”

“I kind of like it though,” Eddie said, slumping back into the couch. “Which one am I?”

“Murdoch,” Steve said immediately, and he felt Eddie rock his shoulder against his.

“Aw, Harrington, you flatter me,” he said. “Murdoch’s the best character, hands down.”

“You would think that, you’re a Murdoch.” Steve said seriously.

“And Nancy?” Eddie asked, and Steve’s mouth pulled up at one side.

“Nancy’s Mr. T.”

“No.”

“Oh yeah, for sure. You should’ve seen her shoot Vecna in the goddamn face, man.”

“Sorry, what?!” Steve blinked, and rapidly realised he hadn’t actually filled Eddie in on the details of what exactly had happened while he was facing down his imminent demise.

“Oh yeah,” Steve said. “Stone cold. No hesitation. You had to see it to believe it.”

“No wonder you still have a thing for her.”

Steve huffed, a chord ringing out inside his chest at the acknowledgment, but something didn’t quite feel right about it. He blinked, assessing. It was like one of the strings had slipped out of tune while he wasn’t looking; though it still sounded sweet, it didn’t quite hum with the same unity as it had for months - damn, almost a year - previously.

Huh , Steve thought. Weird .

Steve hummed his answer; he heard the gentle shift of Eddie’s hair as he turned to look at him, but he was already staring back at the tv.

“That leaves Robin as Face,” Steve said, his eyelids feeling heavy. He shrugged. “I guess that works. She talked her way into that asylum for us.”

“Yup,” Eddie said with a sleepy sigh. “And that leaves you as the fearless leader. Without you, the whole operation falls apart.”

Steve had no idea what to say to that, so he let it wash over him and then slip away. The episode ended, and another rerun started in its place. When Eddie’s head eventually slid down to rest in his lap, Steve was too exhausted to do anything but stroke his fingers through Eddie’s hair automatically.

It really is as soft as it looks, were the last words to pass through Steve’s head, and then he too succumbed to the welcome embrace of sleep.

…

When Steve woke up, bleary-eyed and slow like a diver resurfacing from deep water, he noticed two important things.

One, he had slept clean through the morning.

Two, he had woken up alone.

“Eddie?” He called, tripping over his feet as he pulled himself off the couch. His feet protested loudly, shooting pins and needles through his neglectful legs and Steve aimed a betrayed look down at them.

A low groan emerged from the hallway, and Steve was moving before the million horrific scenarios were even able to fully form in his head, flashing images like a slide show.

Eddie possessed by Vecna -

Eddie’s limbs snapped, his pretty brown eyes gouged from his face -

Eddie’s guts popping out of his body -

Eddie Eddie Eddie -

The bathroom door was ajar, and Steve barreled straight through it without a second to think about it. He saw Eddie’s bare feet first, toes curled on the tile floor, and followed their line up his body, up his ripped jeans to his waist and his chest.

The dark glow of fresh blood across Eddie’s bandages was enough to make Steve forget how to breathe again. Eddie blinked up at him, curled against the under-sink cabinet like a child in their closet, his face tear-streaked.

“ f*ck , Eddie,” Steve managed, choked, and Eddie’s face collapsed in on itself.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie whimpered, curling in over himself even further. “I just wanted to - to go to the god damn bathroom by myself, and I didn’t - didn’t wanna wake you-”

In an instant, Steve was on his knees, hovering, assessing.

“Eddie, it’s fine, really,” he said, watching as Eddie flinched away from his hand as he tried to touch the bandages. “You just - you scared me is all. Looks like you’ve busted something open; I’m gonna need to take a look at it. Are you okay for me to move you or do you want me to look at it in here?” Eddie struggled to bring his breathing in check, fat tears still rolling down his cheeks, but he nodded, and gulped. “If you help me up, I can move,” he managed, and Steve knew what to do.

The wail from Eddie was positively ghoulish, but he was pulled to his feet and once again mostly-carried out into the natural light of the kitchen-dining. “You’re an idiot, Eddie Munson,” was the only gripe he gave, and the answering groan was enough of a consolation to Steve for his shattered nerves.

Eddie dropped into a dining chair like a sack of bricks, and Steve knelt beside him, quickly pulling at the bandages.

“If you think you’re gonna pass out, put your hands on my shoulders,” Steve told him, and Eddie nodded. His eyes were screwed shut and he was breathing through his teeth, shallow and sharp.

Steve sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, and couldn’t suppress the urge to give a long, low whistle as he found the source of the bleeding.

One of the patches of shirt that had been left behind in their initial triage efforts had detached from Eddie’s skin, revealing not one, but two gashes that were far deeper than Steve had expected. Before Steve’s very eyes, the wounds peeled themselves open, gaping and angry, in time with every rise and fall of Eddie’s ribs. Weeping, dark blood soaked onto the bandages around it, spreading with unsettling speed.

“Is it bad? It’s bad, isn’t it-”

“It’s fine,” Steve said, though his apprehension was a little too evident for his words to be reassuring. “But I’m gonna need to give you stitches.”

This is not a death sentence , Steve told himself. This is NOT a death sentence. Couple of stitches and he’ll be just fine.

Eddie looked at him like he’d grown a second head.

“You’re gonna have to what ?”

…

It took several minutes of convincing, and at one point Eddie attempted to lurch to his feet and climb up over the chair to move back, prompting more blood to gush everywhere and Eddie to wobble right back down onto his seat, pushing his head between his knees until the world stopped spinning. He did, however, eventually agree to Steve’s insistent words, on the condition that he was allowed to drink enough alcohol to numb out the fear and the discomfort. Steve’s counter-condition was that Eddie had to eat something first, which was how Eddie had ended up having a bowl of cheerios and a fifth of vodka for breakfast, and how Steve ended up situated between Eddie’s knees, a grim expression on his face as he ran a sewing needle underneath Eddie’s lighter.

“For the record, this sucks, and bleeding out would almost be preferable right about now,” Eddie pressed the meat of his palm into his eye socket, his mouth a wide grimace as he danced with whatever demons Steve was not personally privy to.

“It’ll be over quicker than you think,” Steve reassured him, patting him on the knee. He felt the muscle in Eddie’s leg spasm beneath his hand, and Eddie snorted derisively at him.

“Easy for you to say, you’re not the one being stabbed over and over,” he grumbled, and Steve couldn’t argue with that.

Instead, he simply began the work.

The steady stream of profanity that erupted from Eddie’s gasping mouth was enough to make even Steve’s eyes water, but he forged on valiantly through the first several stitches. His stomach flip-flopped at the sight of Eddie’s soft, pale skin pulling back together beneath his fingers, and he gritted his teeth against the ripple of tension that shuddered up through his throat. Eddie’s litany of curses subsided around the half-way mark, giving way instead to stoic silence broken by small, sharp, pathetic whimpers every time the needle pushed through.

“Have you done this before?” Eddie asked, his breath hitching as the needle entered his skin. Steve had finally settled into a groove; his vision was unwavering, his eyebrows fixed low over his forehead as he intently pulled the needle through. He was careful not to tangle the thread, tightening the skin together gently as he lined up the next stitch.

“Once or twice,” he admitted, and Eddie groaned as the needle made purchase again.

“Yeah?” Eddie’s breathing was harsh, and Steve could hear the obvious discomfort in it. He wondered, briefly, if he had somehow been so focused on the external damage, that he didn’t notice a broken rib or two. He didn’t remember checking for any.

“I don’t think hemming your own capris counts, Harrington.”

Steve hummed noncommittally and there was a lull, the sounds of their breathing and the subtle drag of thread through Eddie’s skin the only thing to punctuate the silence.

“Who.”

The word was a question, but it gave Steve pause.

“Hm?” He dared to glance up at Eddie. His head was tipped back as far as it could go, the young man’s eyes pointedly looking anywhere but Steve as he buried his teeth in his bottom lip.

“Who have you stitched up? Previously.” The words were snatched from Eddie’s mouth in a half gasp as Steve sank the needle into his skin.

Oh , Steve thought, frowning a little.

“Uh, mostly Nancy,” Steve admitted, and he adjusted his hands to place tension on the thread and tie it off. Eddie flinched as he did so, and Steve paused, checking himself before he hurt the other man again. A smile twitched onto Steve’s face as he thought about his other forays into medicine. “She’s, uh… Well, you’ve seen her. She’s…”

“Made of glass?” Eddie supplied. Steve shook his head.

“Nah, that’s not it. She’s just - she’s the kind of person who can’t do things half-way. When this all happened the first time, back when Will was taken, she was the first one to wise up about the danger. She tried to tell me, tried to get my help, but I was too busy wound up in my own stupid bullsh*t to believe her. So she went and she got a gun , and-” Steve shook his head, grinning. He glanced up to find Eddie had finally dared to look at him. His expression was unreadable, and Steve couldn’t quite explain why he hurried on. “Anyway, I’ve definitely patched up Nancy a couple of times, and Dustin as well - the kid’s got a death wish, I swear to god, he’s never once picked a fight he could win-”

“Sounds like someone I know,” Eddie co*cked an eyebrow at him, and Steve rolled his eyes, scoffing to cover the way his stomach flipped.

“Yeah, yeah, he gets it from me, whatever,” Steve conceded. He picked up the pair of surgeon’s scissors from beside him, trimming the threads down to a clean stump next to his knot. He nodded, satisfied, but there was still the issue of the second gash.

“One down, one to go,” he said, inspecting his work. “You still…?”

“I’m fine,” Eddie gritted, taking a few rapidfire breaths of air to brace himself. “Just do it.”

Steve shrugged, unwilling to argue since it obviously needed to be done.

“Here goes…” Steve said in warning, and pressed the needle in. The high pitched whine that Eddie released was sharp, and his hand was suddenly gripping Steve’s shoulder, squeezing tight in a deathgrip as he held his breath through the pain.

“I thought you’d be better at this, considering…” Steve started.

“Considering what?” Eddie winced.

“You know,” Steve gave a noncommittal sound, waving his free hand in Eddie’s general direction. “The tattoos.”

“It’s a completely different thing to being sewn back together , Steve,” Eddie’s teeth ground as Steve reached the halfway point. Steve blinked, pausing as he noted the use of his first name.

“Uh… How so?” He fumbled, turning his eyes back to the task at hand. Eddie’s breathing was harsher again, his chest moving in a way that made it more difficult to align the needle neatly.

“Tattooing needles are different,” Eddie explained. “They don’t - ow - go as deep. It’s more like a cat scratch.”

“Still, doesn’t sound comfortable,” Steve said, noting that Eddie was calming down as a result of the talking. Distract him , Steve ordered himself. Whatever means necessary.

“Though I guess if you went back for more you must enjoy the pain somewhat, right?” The words were joking, and Steve didn’t really register the full depth of their potential meaning until Eddie went utterly still underneath his hands. The aghast, almost hunted expression on Eddie’s face would have been priceless if Steve hadn’t been utterly baffled by its cause. Eddie’s eyes searched his face, and he ended up replying with a nonchalant, “some people think your body releases happy chemicals to deal with the stress.” Steve pulled a face as he pretended to consider Eddie’s words, while instead he was in fact trying to figure out what exactly had spooked Eddie so bad in what he’d said.

Is enjoying pain why he rushed back to the bats?

Is liking pain some sort of cult-y thing I don’t know about?

He seemed so guilty at the idea?

Is there some other kind of pain that could be -

Oh.

OH .

No. Surely not.

Steve’s brain short circuited, and he ducked his head to stare at the zig-zagging stitches he had been neglecting. The wound oozed in a way that brought Steve crash-landing back down to earth, and helped to dismiss all of the sudden images that flooded his mind that he should definitely not have been picturing while kneeling between his legs. It wasn’t like he wasn’t aware of the concept; the Family Video store had a little over-18s back room that Steve mostly spent policing the 12 year olds out of, but he restocked and organised in there often enough to have… Seen things. Read a couple of synopses, perhaps. Taken one or two home on a closing shift without adding them to the system, even. Not that stuff, but he was still aware of its existence.

In a desperate attempt to buy his brain some more time to navigate the treacherous waters that were his own stupidity, Steve stabbed Eddie with the sewing needle again.

“ Son of a bitch ,” Eddie gasped, his knuckles bearing down on Steve’s shoulder again and panting.

Sorry Eddie, he thought to himself.

“So, what, getting tattoos is like a runner’s high?” Steve said lightly, and when he dared to glance up again Eddie’s teeth were buried teeth in his bottom lip. He nodded.

“Always with the sporting metaphors,” the man sighed. “Yeah, like a runner’s high. It’s- it’s just like that.”

“Huh. Cool.”

Crisis averted , Steve cheered himself on, and the relief was enough to spur him through the last few necessary stitches. Eddie’s hand didn’t let go his shoulder for the rest of the ordeal, his death grip just about sending Steve’s arm numb.

“All done,” Steve announced, snipping the last of the strings.

“f*cking finally ,” Eddie groaned, and dropped his head dramatically onto Steve’s shoulder. The casual ease of Eddie’s touch, even in this exceptional of circ*mstances, sent a thrill of admiration through him.

He really trusts me , Steve thought to himself. He really wants to be my friend.

“Told you it wouldn’t be as long as you thought,” Steve chuckled, and Eddie groaned ghoulishly into his shoulder. Steve rolled his eyes and took a moment to admire his handiwork, checking the stitches weren’t going to bust open any time soon. Eddie’s head didn’t move, and Steve swished some the man’s dark hair out of his eyes like swatting a bug. He pressed a hand to Eddie’s side, just above the summit of his hip bone, to lift some of the other bandages and check that there were no other nasty surprises waiting for him. The muscles jumped beneath his hand, and Steve opened his mouth automatically to form an apology. But he hesitated; the accompanying hitch of Eddie’s breath was a little different than the others, he noticed. Lighter. Steve was suddenly all too aware of his own skin; his own heat, his own breathing, his own heartbeat. He could practically feel his blood moving through his own body in a heady rush, and he took special care, barely daring to breath as he experimentally swept his thumb up in a gentle arc. He brushed it slowly, ghosting along the uninjured plane of Eddie’s side with a sense of uncanny, tunnel-visioned wonder.

There it was again; the jump of Eddie’s muscles, the abortive half-breath. Steve couldn’t quite explain to himself why he felt the urge to do it again, but he did, caving to that instinct without a second’s thought; like Alice chasing a white rabbit.

“… Steve?” Eddie’s voice was low, and Steve’s heartbeat told him what he barely could acknowledge with worded thought.

He was rapidly wading into dangerous territory. Territory that if he wasn’t very careful, he may never be able to come back from.

Risk and reward, his mind prompted.

“I-”

The sound of the doorbell may as well have been the chorus of heaven’s angels to Steve’s ears.

“I should check that,” he said in a rush, and he was on his feet and down the hall before he could fully take in the wide-eyed, deer-in-the-headlights look on Eddie’s face.

It haunted him all the way down the hallway.

Chapter 5: Empty Lake, Empty Streets

Chapter Text

Robin was a decidedly welcome sight to Steve, even if she dispelled that feeling the moment she opened her mouth. She was huddled on his front doorstep and bristling with impatient energy, and she jumped when the door swung open in his grip.

“Did you forget how to use a phone?” Robin bit at him immediately, and Steve leaned against the doorframe with an unimpressed look.

“Hi Robin, I’m fine, Robin, it’s nice to see you too, Robin,” Steve said in a sarcastic, sing-song voice.

“Don’t give me that sh*t,” Robin snarked at him. “I’ve been trying to call you all morning!”

“The line’s dead,” he told her, flicking his wrist in a nonchalant ‘sue me’ kind of movement.

“What did you want me to do, send out a carrier pigeon?”

Robin rolled her eyes. She looked as though she hadn’t slept at all since he last saw her, her eyelids heavy and dark, and in spite of her neat, cheerful outfit he could see the signs of her frayed nerves in the bitten-short fingernails she lifted even now to her mouth. Steve was hardly in any position to judge; he had caught sight of his reflection in the mirror briefly when helping Eddie out of the bathroom. He had barely recognised the haggard, lank-haired spectre that blinked back owlishly at him.

“You look like sh*t,” Robin supplied unprompted, and any sympathy he might have been gathering for her evaporated. Steve pulled a juvenile face at her.

“Thanks, I’ve been a little busy for beauty sleep.”

Robin had the decency to look somewhat mollified by that, her nervous nibbling pausing. Steve could see the moment her eyes lit up in realization, and she peered over his shoulder into the house as though she would be able to spot a limp hand or foot from her vantage point.

“sh*t, yeah. Is he-?”

“He’s alive,” Steve told her, a little curt. She went still, and looked at him as though she was actually seeing him for the first time since she arrived. He dipped his head, sighing as he reigned back in his annoyance.

Not her fault.

“He’s still an absolute sh*tbird, but alive,” he added, hoping that it would be enough to mitigate whatever potential hurt he may have inflicted with his tone.

“So he’s woken up?” She pressed, and he nodded.

“He was in and out for a while. He’s gonna need a lot of rest if he wants to, I dunno, get back to whatever weird nerdy sh*t he’s usually up to.” Some of the tension in Robin’s shoulders seeped out of her, but not much.

“Good,” she nodded, sucking in a breath. “It’s good to have some good news.” Steve looked beyond her, noting that there wasn’t any car parked out the front other than his, and that she had a cardboard box of what appeared to be randomly assorted blankets and clothing items.

“Are those for me?” Steve nodded down to the box at her feet, co*cking an eyebrow in question.

“No, dingus, they’re for the emergency hub,” she huffed at him. “Haven’t you been watching the news?”

“No, I-” Steve was half way into a lie about the tv signal being fried when Robin interrupted him, waving a hand to cut him off.

“Whatever. There have been a lot of developments since we ditched you yesterday, and there’s not a lot of time to share them. Where are your car keys?”

Robin ducked underneath Steve’s arm and stepped into the entry uninvited, prompting a resigned huff from Steve. His mind was reeling from trying to follow all of the half-finished threads of information that Robin had left dangling around their heads like party streamers, unsure of which to pick up first.

Probably the one that stops her from driving your car, first, he prompted himself.

“Wait a second, just- just hold up a moment,” Steve put up his hands in an attempt to slow some of Robin’s frenetic energy as she began rummaging through the little junk bowl on the foyer table. He made a frustrated noise, desperately trying to catch up; the sleep may have helped him feel more human, for sure, but that didn’t mean the sudden hit of hurricane-Robin was any easier to grapple with.

“Where exactly are you even trying to go? Isn’t town like, super messed up and chaotic right now?”

“They’ve set up an emergency community meeting point and resource hub thingy in the gymnasium at school,” Robin supplied with a long-suffering sigh, even as she continued her search. Steve looked heavenward in silent thanks for finally making Robin communicate with clarity, even if it was like pulling teeth.

“-and if you know what’s good for you, Steve Harrington, you’ll take me over there and you’ll spend a couple of hours showing your face to people.”

“Why do I have to do that?”

“Dude, I’ve already told you, there’s a lot to unpack and not much time to do so. I can just explain it to you on the road.” She crowed in triumph and turned. His keys jingled in front of his face expectantly.

“So are you gonna go and put on some actual clothes, or am I stealing your car?” she asked him, her chin jutting out in defiance. He stared at her, bewildered.

Have you forgotten the part where I’m making sure Eddie Munson doesn’t die in my living room? Steve wanted to ask her. Do I need to show you the stitches I literally just gave him to stop him bleeding out on my watch?

But given her track record of scathing retorts thus far in the conversation, Steve came to the conclusion that Robin was in one of her funnier, less empathetic moods, and he decided to take a slightly softer tack.

“That’s not really an option at the moment-” Steve began, and Robin was already opening her mouth to speak over him when they were both interrupted.

“Is that Robin?” Eddie’s voice filtered down the hallway. Steve turned to see Eddie hobble into view; he was framed by the hallway, awash from behind in golden light like a goddamn renaissance painting, shirtless and still only half bandaged. He leaned casually against the wall, one ankle kicked behind the other and a jar of - is that peanut butter? - in one hand, looking for all the world as if he hadn’t been found crying and shaking and bleeding on a bathroom floor less than an hour ago. The overall effect of this, combined with the way Eddie slid an entire heaping spoon of peanut butter into his mouth with a sh*t-eating smirk while watching them both, was that Steve’s mind ground to a halt. He felt a heatwave of some kind of stupid, unhelpful emotion wash over his senses, and it was so potent and confusing that he couldn’t even begin to put a label on it. He decided that he’d had enough of all of this, quite frankly, and settled upon feeling irritated instead.

“You’re really alive,” Robin breathed, frozen mid-step in Steve’s foyer. Eddie shrugged, his eyelids crinkling as he smiled.

“For better or worse, it seems,” he joked. His words were muffled as he navigated around the peanut butter.

“Where did you even find that?” Steve directed at Eddie, eyes narrowed in accusation as he bit back the baffled question he wanted to ask.

HOW did you even get that?

Eddie simply raised a single eyebrow at him mischievously and removed the now-clean spoon with a slow, exaggeratedly sensual pull from between his lips. Steve frowned, his brain lurching back into motion and catching up with what Robin had just said. His head snapped around on his neck to glare at her.

“And I literally just told you he was alive!”

“Yeah but-”

“What, did you just not believe me or something-”

“- it’s one thing to be told and another thing to see it-”

“- oh my god, what are you, twelve?”

“- yeah that’s real mature of you, Harrington-”

“Jesus Christ, kids, stop bickering,” Eddie groaned, and the two of them spun to face him with twin looks of indignation. “You’re worse than f*cking Dustin and his crew of baby nerds, I swear to god.” Eddie rolled his eyes dramatically, and pushed off the wall with a casual flick of his shoulder. However, something painful must have twinged as he did so, and Steve heard the stifled groan only a moment before Eddie overbalanced in slow-motion. Steve’s stomach lurched in horror as he watched Eddie topple directly forward onto the floor, folding like a sack of potatoes.

“What the f*ck, Munson,” Steve choked, hurrying down the hallway in undignified bounds even as peels of laughter broke from behind him.

“I’m okay,” Eddie mustered, still face down on the carpet. “Getting the peanut butter… Might have been a stretch.”

“No sh*t, Sherlock,” Steve said, bending to roll the idiot over. “Did you bust your stitches? I swear to god if I have to redo them…” He ran a hand over them before Eddie could protest, but his fingers came away dry, and the thundering in Steve’s chest was able to begin the exhausting task of settling again.

“I’m fine, it’s fine,” Eddie winced.

You’re an asshole, Eddie Munson, Steve thought.

“You’re an asshole, Eddie Munson,” Steve said aloud. He didn’t expect the disarming grin that Eddie aimed up at him like a missile.

“You wouldn’t have me any other way, Harrington, and you know it.”

Steve didn’t dignify him with a response immediately; instead he reached out to support Eddie’s head with one hand as the man attempted to sit up on his own. He gripped Eddie’s hand in the other as he pulled him up, first into a seated position and then onto his feet. Eddie was still holding the peanut butter, Steve noticed. Part of him wanted to smack it away in irritation, but he was too busy keeping Eddie upright to do anything more than chastise him verbally.

Damnit Eddie, Steve thought.

“How many times in one morning are you gonna have to injure yourself before you learn to just sit down and stay down, hm?” Steve prodded, pulling out the tone he usually reserved for the likes of Dustin and the rest of the Dipsh*t Squad. He practically felt the disdainful glare he knew was pointed at his head, but refused to let himself indulge in any sense of personal vindication.

Would you please just let me take care of you? He wanted to ask; to beg him. At least while you actually need it? He bit his tongue, but it wouldn’t have mattered much if he didn’t, since Eddie’s mouth was barrelling forward without him.

“Are you hearing this, Robin? Are you bearing witness to this mistreatment I’m receiving?”

“Mistreatment?!” Steve sputtered.

“Oh, I’m listening,” Robin confirmed from somewhere in the doorway.

“Don’t encourage him,” Steve muttered, but it was too late. It was apparent that Eddie was all too happy to play for his audience, regardless of the pain that was rapidly draining the colour from his cheeks as he continued.

“So, what, Harrington. You’re telling me that you get to penetrate my body multiple times with horrific instruments of torture and I’m not even allowed to get myself a victory snack?”

Steve barely avoided tripping over his feet, and he almost didn’t catch the breathless ‘what the f*ck,’ from Robin. Steve could practically feel the waves of delight emanating from her.

A goddamn peanut gallery, he lamented. That’s EXACTLY what I need right now.

“Can you not talk about it like that?” Steve’s words were strained. He raised his voice for Robin’s benefit. “He’s talking about his stitches.”

“You gave him stitches?” Robin echoed, and Steve nodded over his shoulder as he hefted Eddie the last few feet to the couch. The idiot’s toes were dragging limply on the carpet by the time Steve hauled his ass back into his nest of blankets, his arm leaden around Steve’s shoulders. Eddie’s arms wound themselves around Steve’s neck as he lowered him down, pinning Steve’s face in the crook of his neck as he did so. Instantly, he was engulfed in the scent of Eddie’s hair; the sensation of it rubbing against his cheek; the slight drag of Eddie’s bare skin against his own. He felt Eddie’s elbows tighten, ever so slightly, as he tried to pull back, sending a fresh wave of awareness through every part of him.

“He gave me trauma, is what he gave me,” Eddie said dramatically, and Steve felt the vibrations of Eddie’s throat against his ear as he attempted to gently detach Eddie from his person. He ignored the way his skin seemed to burn wherever Eddie touched him; ignored the way Eddie’s skin felt dragging against the line of his jaw.

It was the closest thing to a hug that Steve had received in… God knows how long, but he was too busy being overwhelmed by the closeness itself to really process how sad that thought was.

“Don’t you have tattoos?” Robin asked skeptically.

“It’s a different kind of needle,” Eddie and Steve said in unison. The experience was uncanny enough that Eddie’s arms loosened, and as Steve pulled back Eddie was looking at him with a surprised frown. Eddie seemed completely unaware of the way he had sent Steve’s entire being into freefall.

“Harrington,” Eddie said, delight coloring the tone of his voice. “You actually listened.”

“You didn’t give me much of a choice,” Steve answered automatically, though he couldn’t see why that was such a big deal. Of course he’d listened; he cared about things that the people he liked cared about. That his friends cared about. Why Eddie would find that so revelatory made no sense to Steve, especially given that he was far too busy trying to figure out why his skin was tingling with a frantic energy that made him feel too big for his body.

“Ahem. Steve.”

“Hm?”

Robin was still there.

sh*t. Right.

“We literally should have left five minutes ago,” she prompted impatiently.

“Where are you going?” Eddie asked, and Robin threw her hands up in disgust.

“For crying out loud! Can’t I just ask one thing of you without getting the god-damn Spanish Inquisition on my case-”

“You could have explained it like twice over by now,” Steve pointed out, and if looks could kill Steve would have been reduced to a chargrilled pile of ash on the floor by the glare Robin turned on him.

“Fine! You want the explanation! Fine!” She exclaimed.

“The town’s in absolute chaos, and there are dozens of people missing, and there are way too few authorities to even begin doing anything about it right now. The sheriff’s department is doing a freaking- a headcount of all the townspeople, and everyone is expected to show up and report in at the gym. People who don’t are gonna get their doors knocked on to make sure they’re okay, and since you’re still hosting Hawkins’ most wanted in your living room, that doesn’t seem like the sort of thing you want to happen right now, Steve! So I have gone out of my way, out of the goodness of my tiny sweet heart, to come and get you so you can put your stupid mug in front of witnesses and keep your super secret serial killer suspect-”

“-hey!”

“-away from prying eyes.” Robin was panting by the time she finished. She took a deep breath, her eyelashes fluttering on her freckled cheeks as she started again, exhausted.

“Now, will you please go and make yourself look like Actual Steve Harrington, instead of the zombie creature you’re currently dressed as, and get in the goddamn car already?”

Her hands were on her hips and she was watching him expectantly. He couldn’t formulate a single thought to save himself, however. His ears were ringing with the new information, and the potential consequences. He felt torn between two terrifying beasts, each as bad as the other. Stay, and risk the sheriff’s department coming looking around; go, and risk Eddie being an idiot and passing out somewhere, or worse, bleeding out helpless while Steve plays nice with the very people who want Eddie dead. He glanced back at the young man, feeling hunted and confused and stuck, with so much seemingly happening all at once. Eddie was staring at Robin, a rapt expression on his face as he took her in in all of her full, weird-ass glory. Something deep and hidden shifted inside of him as he took in Eddie’s profile, the boyish line of his nose, the silhouette of his full lips, the angry, ripped-up line of his throat. Steve could still see the individual teeth marks, where every single dema-bat had gorged itself on Eddie’s very body less than 48 hours ago.

No way in hell am I letting him die on me, a voice insisted within him, urgent and powerful.

No way in hell am I letting him out of my sight until he’s good and well and can protect himself again.

“But I can’t - I-” Steve fumbled for the explanation that remained out of reach.

“You should go.”

Steve turned on his heel until he was facing Eddie properly. He was watching Steve now, something firm behind his eyes.

“You can literally barely stand,” Steve began, but Eddie waved him off.

“I’ll be good,” Eddie insisted. “You should go. Seriously. Give Hawkins a bit of that All-American King Steve, and keep the bastards off my track.” He gave a mirthless chuckle, looking away with a bitterness that couldn’t quite be hidden.

“After all, who’d expect the Boy Next Door Supreme to be hiding the Freak himself?”

Steve’s heart ached with the whip-crack of Eddie’s words, but Robin snorted. Her voice faded out as Steve’s mind raced, forming words finally.

For better or worse, Robin was right, and he ought to do exactly what she said. It didn’t stop the anxious, dogged protectiveness from rearing its head and baying and clawing at the insides of his ribcage, though.

“Go get changed,” Robin’s voice cut through Steve’s clogged internal senses, bringing him back to the now. She was watching him with keen eyes, her irritation and impatience momentarily forgotten.

“I’ll set Eddie up with easy access snacks so he doesn’t need to move while we’re out.”

Eddie rolled his head around on his neck languidly, shooting an almost smug look at Steve.

“Go on, Harrington,” he urged. “Go powder your nose while the adults talk.”

The last of Steve’s ability to fight them crumbled under their twin gazes, and with a sigh and a frustrated sweep of his hand through his hair, he stomped away to do as he had been told.

…

There was a veritable cornucopia of snack foods spread out on the coffee table in a wide fan when Steve returned to the lounge room. Robin had made him a coffee, which he was nursing in his hands as she chattered away to him, spinning the keyring around her finger in a fidgety loop. Steve had heard their laughter filtering up the hallway as he threw more socially acceptable clothes on, and every time a snatch of a phrase reached him he found it both soothing and hideously distracting. The chatter meant that Eddie hadn’t burst open like one of the astronauts in Alien, which was always a good thing in his books, but it also filled Steve with an almost Pavlovian desire to race back and listen to what they were saying. He felt the need to find out what was making them laugh so hard like a hook tugging on his pelvis, uncomfortable and pulling him off balance.

Were they making fun of him? Were they talking about school? Was Eddie just being kind to Robin, or vice versa, or were they genuinely getting along?

“Finally,” Robin said, rolling her eyes dramatically before Steve could even get a word out. “Let’s hit the road, Jack. The sooner we leave, the sooner you can come back and hibernate like the grumpy mama bear you are.” Eddie snickered at Robin’s words. Steve didn’t dignify her with a response, instead moving closer to the lounge room to examine the coffee table foods and Eddie’s general wellbeing. He couldn’t shake the buzzing anxiety off, no matter what he did; he blamed it on the fact that he had awoken to the immediate adrenaline dump that was Eddie’s split wounds situation in the bathroom. That sh*t just… Didn’t wear off immediately, and he couldn’t stop himself from roving an overly keen eye over Eddie’s bandages, his arms, his expression of kind-hearted longsuffering.

“Will you actually be okay here on your own for an hour or so, Munson?” Eddie made a face.

“I’ll be just fine,” he griped, lifting the cup of coffee to his lips and taking a long, loud slurp. “Robin’s got me all set up and I’ve got hours of daytime tv to entertain myself with, and if I get bored of that I can always just go and swim a lap in the fancy ol’ pool Robin was just telling me about -”

“I swear to god, Eddie, if you don’t stay put and actually rest-”

“Go, Steve,” Eddie insisted, his eyes wide and his mouth curving in laughter even as he gave Steve a sincere, doe-eyed look. “Seriously. You did the thing already, and I’m alive to tell the tale. I’m safe here, right? That’s what you keep telling me. So I’ll be fine. The world won’t end while you’re out playing Good Samaritan.”

You don’t know that, Steve wanted to say.

“I’ll be an hour,” Steve said firmly, “one hour, and then I’ll be right back. Okay?”

Something in the stern set of his expression triggered an almost imperceptible change, and Eddie’s smile faltered as a weird, assessing look passed over his face.

“Careful, Harrington,” he joked, his smile sly, “or I’m gonna start thinking that you like my company.”

You should already know that, the words formed unbidden in Steve’s head, their presence brief but disconcerting.

“You should be so lucky,” Steve said with a roll of his eyes, and the tension dissipated. Robin swept past them both with a dramatic growl. Her flimsy patience had finally broken and Steve no longer had any option but to fall in line.

“Steve! Let’s go!”

“Al-right,” he ground out through gritted teeth, and Eddie shot him one last commiserative glance, lifting two fingers to his temple in a mock salute before Steve eased himself back to his feet.

Steve very pointedly did not look back as he walked out of the living room in Robin’s wake.

He wasn’t sure his feet would keep moving if he’d caught Eddie’s stupid, annoying, mesmerising eyes watching him back.

Chapter 6: Here I Go Again On My Own

Chapter Text

“So…?”

“So, what?”

They hadn’t made it out of Steve’s street before Robin was making cryptic noises in his general direction and quite frankly, Steve was too tired and sore to handle it with good grace. Especially since he was once again playing taxi driver for his dumb-ass friends, after having his ass handed to him by some interdimenional asshole of the month. Year. Whatever.

“So,” Robin pointedly reiterated, emphasising the word with almost cartoonish levels of sarcasm,

“Are we gonna talk about it?”

“Talk about what? How annoying you are?” Steve quipped.

“No,” Robin guffawed at him. “Are we gonna talk about what exactly was going on back there?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Steve told her, already grumpy and over it all. He was doing this because strategically he knew it was the best thing to do, and because he was certain that Robin would somehow manage to wrap his car around a streetlight before she had even taken the thing out of park. That didn’t mean he had to put up with any more of Robin’s sh*t than strictly necessary, and the fact that she had just snorted incredulously at him was not endearing her towards him at all.

“Did you guys have a fight, or something?”

“What? No!” Steve’s lip curled up in disbelief.

“Then what the heck was that whole thing?”

“What thing?” Steve’s shoulders were up around his ears and his voice had climbed in volume as he grew more frustrated.

“What thing?!“ Robin repeated incredulously. “The thing, Steve Harrington, with the whole vibes! That thing!”

“There are no vibes! You’re insane and sleep deprived, Robin!”

“Bull sh*t there weren’t any vibes!” She was on her knees on the car seat, facing him fully and practically vibrating with energy, and Steve slapped a hand at her to try and get her to sit down safely again.

“Put your seatbelt on, you moron!” Steve cried, but Robin was already talking at him again.

“If there were no vibes, Harrington, then explain why Eddie ‘the freak’ Munson kept staring at you like he was trying to eat you alive with his brain!”

“Seatbelt, please for the love of god, Robin-”

“If there were no vibes, then explain why you couldn’t keep your hands off him if you tried!”

Steve choked, almost steering the car straight through a three-foot-deep pothole. He had not been expecting that to be the first thing out of Robin’s mouth.

“He’s injured and he needed help! You literally watched him collapse!” Steve sputtered, defensive.

“After he slunk into the corridor like a freaking cartoon seductress!”

“He’s a weirdo! And he’s theatrical! I don’t have to explain how his mind works. Maybe he has a thing for you,Robin! Ever think of that?” Steve countered desperately, though he felt an odd twinge in his stomach at the thought. Steve didn’t see Robin’s eye roll.

“Pfft, that boy clocked me for who I am the moment he saw me in drama class,” Robin dismissed, but Steve forged on.

“Don’t be so sure,” he continued. “He was looking at you like you’d personally hung the moon in the sky.”

“That’s because I’m charismatic and way cooler than you, Steve, not because he likes me,” Robin countered, leaning in close and batting her eyelashes at him like it was all some big joke. Steve was shaking his head.

“Nope,” he said firmly, refusing to tear his eyes away from the road. “You’re being ridiculous. I’m not gonna let you ruin this or make it weird, Robin.”

“I’m not making it weird! I’m just making an observation!”

“An observation where you imply that Eddie is gay and that he has a thing for me!”

“Do we know that he’s not gay?” Robin reasoned, and Steve made a strange, abortive noise.

“It doesn’t matter if he is, Robin, because I’m not gay! I happen to like girls very very much, Robin, as I have proven to you many times.”

“That doesn’t prove anything,” Robin countered, and Steve snorted.

“Like hell it doesn’t.”

A silence opened up between them, and Steve wondered if he’d managed to actually shut down the dangerous and incredibly uncomfortable conversation they were having. His mind was running away with the things she’d said, but he didn’t dare look at Robin in case he accidentally reopened the discussion.

“Steve,” Robin said quietly, and he sighed, blinking slowly in resignation. Guess it’s not over then.

Her tone gave him pause, however, and he dared to glance at her face. She was watching him intently, an assessing, almost pitying expression on her face.

“…What?” He asked, feeling a defensive warmth prickling on the back of his neck.

“You know that it doesn’t have to be an either-or thing, right? You know that some people can like girls and guys, right?”

All at once the engines in Steve’s mind stalled, and he felt everything go still and quiet for a moment.

He, uh.

He did not know that.

He did not know that at all.

“Of course I know that,” Steve’s mouth spat out for him, relieved that some piece of him could still function within the smoking crater of Robin’s revelation.

“And you know that there’s nothing wrong with that, right?” Robin pressed.

“Yeah?” Steve hadn’t meant it to come out as a question but it did, strangled and uncertain.

“Because it is a perfectly normal thing. It’s just how some people happen to feel. And that’s okay. Right, Steve?”

“Right, yeah.”

Steve couldn’t handle the way the air in the car suddenly felt stale and heavy, clinging to his bare skin and weighing down his lungs.

“It’s beside the point though,” Steve mustered, and had to take a second to breathe in deeply. “Because I like- I like girls , and Eddie likes girls, and Eddie’s my friend. I have made a friend, Robin, that isn’t you or a goddamn childfor once, and you’re making it weird.”

That’s what it came down to, wasn’t it; that was why Steve felt so uncomfortable and naked and weird in that moment. Not anything to do with Robin’s words.

Yeah.

“Fine. Fine! I’m sorry,” Robin said, putting her hands up. “I just couldn’t not ask about it.”

“Yeah, well, sometimes your ability to read a room isn’t exactly on target,” Steve finished, but the severity of his reprimand had seeped away until there was nothing but exhaustion left in its wake. He heard the click of her seatbelt as she finally shuffled her ass back into a safe, normal position on the car seat, and he huffed a quiet laugh. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel as he pulled in to the school driveway.

“Oh good,” he said, shooting a hopeful, conciliatory smile her way. “Just in time for you to get out.”

“Bite me,” Robin shot back, but she was smiling too, and they parked the car in companionable silence.

…

Steve had been inside the gymnasium for exactly 18 seconds when he was accosted by a woman with a clipboard.

“Have you signed in with the sheriff’s department?” She asked him, a pair of glasses balanced high upon her nose and a glasses chain swinging as she dropped her head to peer at her clipboard. Steve, box in hand, glanced around to find that Robin had evaporated completely and he was alone.

God f*cking damnit, he thought, and from the recesses of his body he pulled forth his Steve Harrington, Hawkins Resident Good Guy persona. His spine straightened automatically and his face stretched in a charming smile that made the lady pause.

“Not yet, sorry,” he told her, his voice deliberately pitched at a volume and tone that he knew adults appreciated and approved of from him. “I’m a little confused about where I need to go, and I’m mostly here to offer help.”

Her mouth twitched in an abortive half-smile in response to his earnest expression, and she tapped her clipboard.

“Well, there’s plenty of help to be offered,” she told him, and he could see the way her harried demeanour was already melting for him little by little, her shoulders relaxing incrementally. “But it’s best if you get checked in first. There’s an officer with a table set up over in that far corner-” she pointed her pen somewhere off to the left, through a maze of emergency cots. Steve noticed that the pen had a little Mickey Mouse figurine on the end of it, its smile affixed in spite of the chaos surrounding them.

“Just head towards the notice boards, you won’t be able to miss them.” She glanced down at the box Steve had perched on his hip. “Donations?”

“Oh, uh, yes,” Steve followed her gaze. “Blankets, mostly.”

“Great,” she nodded. “There’s a sorting table for blankets over that way, and we could use some help organising clothes donations on the tables over from that.”

“Sure,” Steve said, shifting the box a little bit and smiling. “Happy to do whatever’s needed.”

The lady gave a pleased little wiggle of her shoulders, her surprise at his absolute bare-minimum helpfulness all too apparent, and she clipped away on her heel to offer triaging assistance for some more newcomers. He wound his way through the cots slowly, careful not to step on anyone’s belongings that were scattered between the narrow aisles.

He tried, and failed, not to think about the fact that these people were all here because of something he had attempted to stop. All these people; their homes destroyed or damaged, their families injured or missing, all because of something that was outside of their control. Something that was way beyond the capacity, let alone the responsibility,of a handful of teenagers and their beleaguered older siblings. Something that they had taken on nonetheless, even in the face of ignorance and opposition from the people around them.

Steve’s thoughts darkened as he took in the Red Cross insignia on the shoulders of adults moving through the gymnasium, took in the sea of bandages and dark stained clothing. It was all his fault, he realised, the enormity of it hitting him like a truck. He hadn’t been able to break free of those vines; he hadn’t been able to get there quickly enough, to stop Vecna before he- before he-

He tripped on someone’s discarded sneaker and barely managed to catch himself.

“sh*t,” he said, before he could stop himself. “Sorry.”

There was no one in the cot, however, and Steve felt silly as he shuffled forward, head down and watching the ground to avoid a repeat performance.

Get it together, he willed himself. You’ve only got to be here for an hour. Save the breakdown for later.

The table was exactly where he had been told it would be, but the bulletin boards posed a unique kind of gauntlet for Steve as he moved closer. He turned his eyes to the ground as he walked past each of the boards, all of them papered with dozens of multicoloured flyers. He couldn’t handle the faces peering out of the pages at him; couldn’t bear to feel their eyes accusing him as he went to tell the officers exactly how safe and sound he was, when all of those people were not. The fluttering of their pages sounded all too much like whispers to his ears as he joined the queue to be accounted for. Even as he zoned out for a moment, turning inward against the bustling background noise of the space, Steve found his ears pricking up. For a second, he swore he heard Dustin’s voice, and he was about to turn and look for the little gremlin.

“Harrington, it’s good to see you.”

It was Officer Callahan manning the desk, and hearing his name brought Steve back to the now. He hadn’t even noticed that he’d finally reached the front of the line.

“Good to see you too, Officer,” Steve replied, and he watched as the officer took a highlighter and flipped through a local phone book.

“Harrington, Harrington…” Callahan repeated as he searched alphabetically for his family’s home phone number. “Are your folks alright, Harrington? Your place is out near the forest, right? Pretty close to one of the fissures there. Any damage?”

“My folks are fine, as far as I know,” Steve supplied, and when Callahan looked up at him with a confused frown, Steve blinked and filled in the gaps. “They’re on holiday in Florida. I’m home alone for the break.”

Callahan nodded. “Nice. Guess this whole disaster thing has put a hole in whatever party plans you had then, huh?” He was rubbing at his temple, dark shadows under his eyes, but the officer shot him a smile that was lopsided to go along with his dry tone. It was all too clear to Steve that the officer just wanted to break up the day with a little bit of lightness, so Steve indulged him.

“Oh, yeah,” Steve said, nodding seriously. “Totally inconvenient timing. No idea what I’m meant to do with all this booze I was planning to give to underage teens.”

“Aren’t you an underage teen?” Callahan asked, his face scrunching up as he processed what Steve was saying.

Maybe not joking as much as I thought, Steve realised.

“Joking, officer,” Steve said quickly, “just a joke.”

“Keep it that way, Harrington,” Callahan said, running a line of highlighter through his family’s home phone and address in the phone book.

“You got it, officer,” Steve said, saluting him with his free hand and pushing away from the desk. He stared out at the sea of beds, the milling people and the movement and the noise, and he felt lost.

Dustin, his mind fed to him helpfully, and he finally looked around for the kid. It was like playing a game of Where’s Waldo. For a second thought he saw the kid’s fluffy mop of hair, but when he tried to zero in on it he had already disappeared. Steve sighed.

Go fold some washing, be visible, be nice, then grab Robin when the time’s up, he decided, nodding to himself and checking his watch. He wondered what Eddie was doing right now; hopefully napping and healing, though Steve doubted he would be so lucky. He realised all too quickly that he was picturing Eddie’s head once again laid across his lap, the dark hair tangling between his fingers as the man’s breath evened out, long and slow. A strange, intense thread of guilt whip-cracked through his sternum as he caught himself, and Steve cursed Robin and her stupid big dumb mouth and her stupid big dumb ideas.

If she doesn’t want to leave when I do then she can walk home, he told himself firmly.

Serves her right for making it weird.

He found his way to the tables the lady had indicated, and he got to work, leaving all thoughts of dark curls and surprising, comfortable intimacy behind.

…

They really do look cute together, Steve had just thought to himself, smiling down at the old sweatshirt he was folding in his hands, when the world decided that he had had enough of a break and it was time for everything to turn to sh*t again. He knew that it had decided this because a group of people began to congregate in the doorway of the gymnasium, others standing near the windows, as the lighting in the room shifted. He felt a chill crawl up his spine, drawing a frown to his face, and he glanced up to see the all-too-familiar silhouette of feathery ashes drifting down outside.

sh*t.

sh*t.

His feet were moving forward before he could process making that decision consciously, drawn forth alongside everyone else crowded in the gymnasium.

“I don’t…” Steve breathed, and he felt a hand tentatively brush against the back of his own. He glanced over, following the hand up to see Robin by his side, her eyes wide and terrified as she watched the ash fall.

“But Vecna didn’t win, right?” He whispered to her, desperately trying to put the threads together. “Lucas and Max-”

“Max is in a coma,” Robin breathed back to him, her eyes not leaving the windowpanes. “Her heart stopped for a minute, that’s why the gates opened in the first place - but she’s in the hospital, this makes no sense-”

“Max’s heart stopped?” Steve could barely keep his voice to a whisper.

“You didn’t know?” Robin asked, and when Steve didn’t answer her, she finally dragged her eyes away from the view beyond, a look of dawning horror on her face. “You didn’t know-”

“Why don’t you tell me what else I don’t know in the car?” Steve hissed at her, low and urgent and already scanning the crowd for Dustin. His heart ramped up a notch as recognition ran through him; Dustin was also attempting to peer over the crowd, and when their eyes met Steve jerked his head towards the door. A complicated expression passed over the boy’s face, and Steve noted that even from his distance his face looked puffy and his eyes red-rimmed, but Dustin nodded and began moving immediately.

“Come on,” Steve said to Robin, and he felt the hesitation in her as a tug of resistance against his hand.

“But- what about Vickie-”

“We don’t have time to fill her in on everything, and she’s a hell of a lot safer here than she would be with us,” Steve murmured to her, turning a meaningful look in her direction and hoping that reasoning and logic would manage to win out for Robin. He could see the thoughts moving behind her eyes like cars on a freeway, but she breathed out a harsh, long breath through her teeth and nodded.

They were most of the way to the door when Steve felt as though his soul was going to crumble out from beneath his feet.

sh*t.

The gates open right next to my goddamn house.

Eddie.

Chapter 7: I’m driving By Your House, Though I Know You’re Not Home

Chapter Text

Dustin was waiting for them at the doors when they made their exit, backpack slung over his shoulders and mouth already moving at a mile a minute.

“Steve? Steve, what’s the plan-”

“I don’t have a plan yet,” Steve told him honestly, pushing on the locking bar that held the door closed and taking a brief moment of satisfaction from feeling it give beneath his hands. The blast of cold, stale air from outside was unwelcome but not unexpected, and the acrid, chemical-burn stench that hung heavy on the breeze confirmed Steve’s worst suspicions.

The gates had opened again.

Steve had to do… something.

Eddie.

Have to get to Eddie.

“What do you mean, you don’t have a plan?” Dustin demanded, and Steve fought the urge to roll his eyes up into his skull.

Why do I need to be the one leading this circus every goddamn time? He wondered.

“I’m working on it, Henderson,” Steve ground out, looking around to make sure that there weren’t any stray interdimensional fissures cracking open in their immediate vicinity, or at least that didn’t pose a threat to them getting the car out of the parking lot.

“How did you get here, Dustin?” Robin asked, and Steve was grateful for her distraction as he began striding towards the car.

“My mom dropped me off, I’m not exactly nimble enough with this stupid ankle to ride my bike right now - Steve, Steve, can you slow down?”

“I’m getting the car started,” he called back to them both. He had gotten the doors unlocked and was sliding into the driver’s seat right as the other two reached the car.

“If you’re injured, why are you here?” Robin asked Dustin,swinging herself into the front passenger seat. “No offence, but I don’t really think you’d be much help to anyone at the moment.”

Steve started the car, letting the engine’s rumble soothe the bounding anxiety that was threatening to leap out of his skin at any moment. He threw it into reverse, and the tyres squealed as he maneuvred them out of there. He heard the twin thumps and the vicious language from his passengers, but he didn’t slow down whatsoever.

“Jesus, Harrington, let us get our seatbelts on,” Robin bit at him, and Steve huffed in bitter amusem*nt at her. “Dustin?” She prompted again, craning her neck to peer into the back seat at him. “Why were you at the gym?”

“Because someone had to talk to Mr. Munson,” Dustin said, and the slight accusation in his tone was evident enough for Steve to cheat a glance in the rear-view mirror at the boy’s face.

He was worse for wear, alright; his face was puffy and red, as though he’d been crying not just once, but on-and-off for hours at a time. Days, even. He was staring sullenly out of the window, arms crossed and his throat working silently. Steve felt a dreadful weight sink into the pit of his stomach; felt it pool and spread.

“What do you mean, someone had to talk to Mr. Munson?” Steve asked slowly. “As in, Eddie’s uncle?”

Dustin’s face contorted into a scathing expression.

“Yes,Steve, as in Eddie’s uncle, Mr. Munson,” Dustin spat, but his voice cracked on Eddie’s name. He blinked, adjusted himself in the backseat. “Someone needed to talk to him.”

“Why?” Steve was already recalculating his plans; if Mr. Munson knew his nephew was alive, he might tell someone else, and they might tell the cops, and god knows what would happen if they found him in Steve’s house.

“Why?What do you mean,why? Because he deserves closure,Steve!” Dustin said, and when Steve glanced back at him again, it was to see him staring at the back of Steve’s head in utter disbelief. And, Steve noted, a little bit of disgust.

Closure? Steve wondered. What did he-

Oh.

Oh no .

“Dustin,” Robin asked, her voice low and steeped in warning as she clearly came to the same dreadful conclusion as Steve. “Did you tell Eddie’s uncle that he was dead?”

There it was; the source of the horrible, aching stone in Steve’s stomach.

“He deserved to know!” Dustin defended, his voice cracking in earnest now, and Steve groaned.

“What the f*ck, Henderson-”

“Eddie was a hero, Steve! It’s absolute bullsh*t that everyone in town still thinks he’s a murderer! I can’t believe that you are perfectly fine to stand aside and let him-”

“He’s not dead, Henderson!” Steve roared, and the car fell into total silence. Steve’s ears were ringing, and he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs, and he could feel the jump of his pulse against the side of his neck. He sighed, counting out the long seconds as he focused on bringing himself back down, and slowed for a red light. He came to a stop, and couldn’t help noting that the colour of it was almost perfectly complimented by the glowing red of the otherworldly gate, its hideous scar in the earth lighting up the horizon in an ominous glow even during the day.

Gotta find beauty in the little things, an absurd part of Steve’s brain filtered in, and he snorted quietly to himself. The muted wail of distant sirens carried through the car.

“… What do you mean, he’s not dead?” Dustin croaked, and Steve gave Robin a beseeching glance.

You handle this,he begged her with his eyes. I’m just gonna yell at him otherwise.

She nodded faintly, her face pale, as she explained it all to Dustin.

“I don’t-” Dustin choked, still shaking his head in disbelief even when Robin had finished. “How is that even-”

“For crying out loud, Henderson, you were right there with us the whole time,” Steve snapped, and Robin shot him a glare.

“He’s traumatised,Steve, cut him some slack.”

“We’re all traumatised, Robin! Half of my trauma is from having to follow his dumb ass around and keep him from getting killed! Now he’s inflicted even more trauma on poor Mr. Munson-”

“I didn’t mean to!” Dustin squawked as fresh tears broke across his face. “I didn’t know!”

“Well, now you do,and it’s going to be on you to apologise to Mr. Munson and explain yourself, because I sure as hell will not be bailing you out of this one, Henderson,” Steve insisted, injecting as much finality into his voice as he could muster. He pointedly ignored the severe look Robin was directing his way.

“… Can I see him?” Dustin’s voice was quiet from the back seat. Steve sighed, quietly, and adjusted his hands on the steering wheel.

“We’re going there now,” Steve admitted. “But before anybody sees or talks to anyone, can someone please fill me in on what actually happened two nights ago?”

…

Steve listened intently, and with increasing irritation, to Robin and Dustin as they filled him in on not only Max’s circ*mstances but the rest of the crew as well. It just so happened, according to Dustin, that Mike Wheeler, Elle, Jonathan, and Will Byers had all turned back up in Hawkins that morning. They apparently had their very own bonkers tale to tell, but Dustin hadn’t yet had a chance to hear it; he’d only found out they were back in town via a brief and heavily encoded walkie-talkie exchange. They were almost back to his place by the time they wrapped up their summary, and Steve wasn’t looking at the road as he turned into his street, instead turning an incredulous look towards Robin.

“So. You had… All of this information waiting for me when you showed up at my door this morning,” he said, “and you decided instead to waste our precious time asking me about… the weird vibes you picked up?”

“I got distracted!” Robin tried, and Steve held up a finger in silence.

“I don’t want to hear it!” Steve told her.

“What weird vibes?” Dustin asked, wiping his face on the sleeve of his windbreaker.

“Doesn’t matter!” Steve interjected, throwing a warning side-eye at Robin as she opened her mouth. “And it definitely doesn’t matter in comparison to the news that Max is in a coma and Jason what’s-his-face got ripped in half by the goddamn gate opening.”

“Uh, Steve?” Robin’s eyes were directed out the windscreen, but Steve wasn’t interested.

“I swear to god, I’m surrounded by morons-”

“Steve!”

He glanced back at the road, and swore as his foot slammed on the brake. The tyres squealed beneath them and Steve could hear Robin screaming as they came to a halt barely ten feet from the new chasm that had opened up directly across the road.
There was a beat of terrified silence in the car as they all took in the glowing, pulsing fissure that had almost become their doom.

“You are… Never allowed to complain about my driving again,” Dustin panted from the backseat.

“Whatever,” Steve muttered, and he threw the car into reverse as he realised he’d missed the turn for his driveway by a few feet. He also realised that the fissure passed exceptionally close to his house, and as he turned the car off and swung himself out of the driver’s side he felt his throat seizing up. The feeling was absolutely unmistakable as he stepped out of the car; the sheer crackle of energy that rippled off the fissure came in waves, and it made every hair on the backs of Steve’s arms and the back of his neck stand up on end. He could smell the strange, distinct smell of the gateway all too well from this distance; the scorched, rotting smell of meat, and the acrid, ozone-and-ammonia combination that made bile roil uncomfortably in his core.

It really had swallowed the garage whole this time; before Steve’s very eyes he saw a pile of bricks and concrete crumble from the garage wall closest to the house and disappear into the yawning portal below with little more than a brief flare of that reddish light.

It’s expanding, Steve realised, his eyes tracing the line of the gate back behind his house and into the forest. Why the hell is it expanding?

He couldn’t move quickly enough to the front door, fumbling at his keys with fevered fingers.

Don’t call out to him, your neighbours might be home, he ordered himself, even as Eddie’s name clawed at the inside of his throat.

“Is he…?” Dustin asked, looking towards the house in mute horror.

“Keep it down,” Steve called over his shoulder. “We have no idea what’s happening or who’s around-”

He lunged through the doorway as soon as the key turned, and he was sweeping down the hall before he could even call Dustin or Robin over.

“Eddie?” He grabbed at the word as it left his mouth, choking back a fully fledged yell. “Eddie, where are you?”

Steve wheeled into the kitchen-living area, his eyes falling on the empty couch with a gaze that failed to process what that really meant. Steve heard footsteps behind him as he moved into the living room on unsteady legs.

“Check the bathroom,” he called over to whoever had followed him in, thankful when the footsteps continued onward without argument. “Eddie? Where are you, man?”

It was the blanket that drew his eye; he paused, noting the way it had draped over the edge of the couch, forming what almost looked like a little tent between itself and the wall. He moved closer, and felt his heart wring itself dry in a brutal twist as he spotted the toes of two socked feet sticking out from underneath it.

“Eddie?” Steve asked, his voice dropping low and careful as he approached, even as his mind raced with a thousand bloodied nightmare visions.

Eddie dead; Eddie twisted; Eddie’s blood on his chest, on his hands, eyes unseeing, unable to stop it-

“Steve?” Eddie’s eyes were as wide as saucers, but they were definitely not unseeing as they peered up at him from beneath the blanket. Air returned to Steve’s lungs, and colour bled back into his vision as he dropped to his knees in front of the other man. Eddie was shaking, Steve realised a little blankly, shaking all over in the way that shock victims did on television shows. He had a manic, frenzied look behind his eyes, and his cheeks were tracked with tears that he didn’t bother to wipe away as he stared up at Steve. He lifted his arms up, one hand reaching up to tug at his own hair, the other pawing at the air between them. Reaching for him, Steve realised.

“Steve, you gotta help me; I think I’m going nuts, man— the gate, the Upside Down gate, I’m seeing it again. I can see it, man, it’s right out there -” his voice was riddled with fear, wobbling and almost incoherent.

Steve was crawling forward, drawing Eddie out of his blanket bunker and into his arms before he could stop himself, shoving the words Robin had said to the back of his mind as Eddie clung to him.

“You’re not seeing things,” Steve told him, his voice quiet but firm in Eddie’s ear as he pulled the other man against him. He could feel Eddie’s fingernails dragging at the back of his shirt like he wanted to climb inside of him; like it was the only place he could feel safe. “It’s really there. It’s opened again.”

Eddie’s head pulled back from Steve’s shoulder forcefully, and Steve tried not to mourn the sudden loss of warmth against the side of his neck as Eddie’s face contorted.

“In what way is that meant to make me feel better, Harrington?!” Eddie cried out, but the sheer ridiculousness of it all must have broken something in him because he began to smile; wobbly, partly a grimace, and clearly against his better judgement, but he smiled. Eddie’s eyes cut away from Steve’s before he could respond, staring at something over his shoulder.

“Henderson?”

“Eddie,” Dustin croaked, and there was a swoop of clothing and air and sudden pressure as Dustin threw himself bodily at the two of them. He was a lot bigger than he used to be, and he clearly hadn’t caught up yet with the full implications of that, since he hit them with significantly more force than was likely intended and Eddie toppled back against the leg of the sofa with a pained oof.

An unnatural, bone-chilling noise emerged from the boy, quickly morphing into the all-too-familiar sound of his crying.

“I thought you were dead,” Dustin whined, his voice reedy and wet as he sobbed against Eddie’s shoulder.

“You - you gave me your guitar pick and told me to- to look after the lost sheep -”

Eddie took a moment to process the shock of the moment, clearly blindsided, but he let his chin sink down atop the mess of chestnut curls that were wailing against him. His eyes closed, and Steve marvelled as Eddie shifted from the one in need of help to the one providing it; he made gentle, cooing noises with his mouth, a hand finding its way out of the tangle and press of awkward teenage limbs to stroke Dustin’s hair.

“It’s alright, Henderson,” he murmured to him, as another wet sob shuddered through the boy. “I’m alright. I’m sorry I scared you.”

“You are never allowed to do that again,” Dustin’s voice was broken and raw, and he pressed his face further into Eddie’s shoulder. It elicited a grunt of pain from Eddie that Dustin didn’t notice, and it became very quickly apparent that this was all a bit too much for Steve.

Too much emotion, too close, and he was definitely not needed right there right then. This wasn’t his moment to share in, this wasn’t his moment to be part of…

The hand fisted in the back of his shirt did not budge as he tried to pull back, however, and he looked sharply back at Eddie. The man’s eyes had opened, pinning him in place like a butterfly to a specimen board. Behind the soothing noises coming from his mouth, Steve could suddenly see all too clearly the desperation; the barely-held-back breakdown that he couldn’t show to the others. That he wouldn’t show to the others.

It spoke all too directly to the echoed feeling in Steve, the one that he had been building a box around for days now.

Stay, Eddie mouthed at Steve. Please.

Steve gave a single twitch of his chin, unable to do anything more without disturbing Dustin. It didn’t matter though; he could see that Eddie understood. He let himself relax back against Eddie and Dustin’s embraced forms and closed his eyes, folding his arms around the two of them in a way that tethered him to the here, and the now, and the real. He felt Eddie shift his head just a little bit, so that his nose was pressed into Steve’s shoulder just as Dustin’s was pressed into Eddie’s, and if he felt Eddie covertly rub away his tears onto Steve’s shirt, he was never going to bring attention to it. The moments stretched out in that little corner of Steve’s living room, and Steve resolved that, at least for now, the end of the world could wait until the kid he would walk into hell for (and had, on several occasions) had brought his breathing back under control.

…

“You guys know we can’t stay here, right?”

Eddie would have greatly preferred for Robin to have evaporated right then and there in that moment, her net-positive entertainment value be damned. Quite frankly, Eddie would have been happy with the entire world evaporating around him, until all that was left was the comforting anchor-weight of Steve’s arms around him, Dustin’s stupid big dumb head against his still-aching and bruised shoulder, and the warmth of Steve’s torso pressing against his side. That was it, he had decided. That was all he needed.

He had been…. Unravelling, both figuratively and literally, in the time that they others had been away.

It had all started innocuously enough with one of the bandages around his shoulder coming loose. He hadn’t had the manual dexterity, let alone the sheer flexibility necessary to reach the place where a safety pin would have made sense. He had tried, of course, but the shooting-fire sparks of his stitches pulling was enough to leave him wheezing through clenched teeth, bent double and praying the world would go un-fuzzy at the edges.

He’d have loved to pace away the time, like a tiger in a cage or a fighter awaiting his turn in the ring. The imagery of appealed to him, certainly, and doing something was always better than doing nothing. But when he moved to stand up the world shifted inconveniently sideways, and he felt like he was trying to stand on a fishing trawler in a hurricane.

“f*ck this,” he muttered to himself, dropping back onto the sofa in defeat, and reached for the remote.

He just couldn’t quite get past the silence of the house without Steve in it. He hadn’t realised just how much of his own ability to be comfortable in this unfamiliar space was tied to Steve being there; how Steve kind of effortlessly breathed a warmth and a welcome into the furniture, the air, the very light of the room. Without him there, the space had dimmed, and Eddie found himself chafing within the confines of the walls and the painfully upper-middle-class decor.

But it was the silence above everything else.

With the silence came the boredom, and with the boredom came the pain; the inescapable, undistractible pain, emanating from every inch of his skin and deeper as his body told him over and over exactly how stupid he had been.

And finally, with the pain came the fears, and the thoughts, and the images that he couldn’t quite blink away. Even in the daylight, he’d discovered.

He’d felt them yesterday, when Steve had gone to shower; a slow, crawling unease that had him jumping at nonexistent shadows, watching for the flutter of dark wings in his periphery. Steve’s return had been nothing short of miraculous in Eddie’s eyes, relief seeping through him like a winter sun warming his bones.

Not that he was gonna tell Steve that, of course; he’s not a f*cking baby.

Ergo, television noise and distraction was the next best thing to stave off the good old fashioned trauma-scaries.

Or it would have been, had Eddie not accidentally channel-surfed onto a news station showing rolling coverage of the damage to Hawkins. The news camera panned over the town hall, splashing the distinctive dark mottled vines across his screen, and Eddie had to turn the television off and hum the chorus of Children of the Sea to himself to try and get rid of the prickling sensation in his lungs. It wasn’t working though, and he hummed louder, sweat beading on the palms of his hands and on his temples as he began to pull short, sharp breaths in through his nose.

When a rumble shook the floor, and static lifted his hair, and the burnt-hair smell and the god-damn red glow came back, Eddie had had enough. “Nope,” he crowed to himself, his voice high and strained as he shut his eyes against the sight that couldn’t possibly be real, that shouldn’t be real, that was meant to be firmly relegated to the stuff of panic attacks and nightmares only.

“Nope. Nope. It’s not f*cking there, Eddie; get it together,man.”

He mashed his fists against his head, eyes squeezed shut as he fought against every animal urge to pitch himself over the edge of the couch and just start f*cking digging through the concrete until he found somewhere safe to hide.

“It’s not. f*cking real. Dipsh*t.”

Eddie peered over the top of the couch, but the glow was still there, snaking through the backyard like some grim aurora borealis, and before he knew it he was pulling himself ass-over-tit* off the couch and into whatever shaking burrow he could make for himself to wait out the end.

The panic and the pain greeted each other like old friends, and Eddie couldn’t fight the tears that flowed on his cheeks as he backed himself up against the wall and then under the overhanging arm of the couch. Time dilated as Eddie’s mind spiralled. He begged his body to let him rest, to make the fear and the suffering and the terror go away for just a goddamn second, even as his mind overflowed with images of that dark, desolate place. His hands clutched at the blankets that had come tumbling off the couch with him, and he tugged them close. A familiar smell - warm, spiced, almost peppery - reached his nose, swamping his senses, and the surprised recognition of Steve smell was enough to root him in place and drown out everything else, even just for a moment. He pulled his hands back, noting for the very first time that in amongst the layers of blankets he had been buried beneath was Steve’s jacket; the jacket he had been wearing when they had parted ways in the Upside Down. He should have found it gross. He should have been a little disgusted that he’d been wrapped up in a clearly already filthy jacket for over 48 hours. He shouldn’t - he shouldn’t have been lifting it to his face to bury his nose in it.

He definitely shouldn’t have felt it settle his shattered nerves like a goddamn hit of morphine as he huffed Steve’s scent deep into his lungs.

It wasn’t perfect, and it wasn’t pretty, and it certainly didn’t chase away what were clearly Eddie’s fully-fledged mental breakdown hallucinations, but it was enough to keep him frozen in place, hunkered down and counting his heart beats until the moment Steve came walking back through that door.
He’s coming back for me, he told himself, taking shelter within the words even as his thoughts launched every assault they could against him.

He’s coming back for me, because he promised, and because I’m in his goddamn house.

Eddie whimpered at the sound of thumping outside, absolutely certain it was a horde of those things coming forth to find him. They probably had his scent already; after all, they had already taken their pound of flesh.
Now they’re back for the rest of you, his brain fed to him gleefully, and there’s no Steve to save you now.

“No,” he whispered, his voice hoarse to his own ears. “Not real. Not real.”

He had thought his mind was playing tricks on him the first time he heard his name called.

“Check the bathroom,” the voice said, and Eddie shifted, just a little. His limbs were frozen and uncooperative, however, stiff from the injuries and the absolute pounding, visceral fear that was locking his muscles in place.

“Eddie?”

And then there he was. Steve, bending down, his face tired and drawn and so miserably, ridiculously handsome; so handsome he should have been boring,so handsome it was no wonder the guy got the sh*t beaten out of him all the time. Eddie’s hands were reaching for him like a caver for the daylight, and it wasn’t just his jacket, it was him, and he was enveloping Eddie in safety- no, he was enveloping Eddie in his arms, and that shouldn’t have felt like the same damn thing… ButEddie found himself taking a long, hiccuping gulp of air as the world slowly, carefully settled back on its axis.

Steve was letting him lay it to one side like a dying beast, draining it away from him like a snake bite from his bloodstream, without ever having to carry that weight himself.
And Eddie… Eddie…

Ah, he thought to himself, as a simple, awful thought fell perfectly into place within his chest.

Well, f*ck.

Isn’t that just f*cking inconvenient.

…

“You guys know we can’t stay here, right?”

Eddie blinked up at Robin, rocketing abruptly back to earth as she watched them from behind the couch with her hands on her hips.

“Steve,” Eddie prodded him in the side. “Steve, what’s she talking about.”

“What I’m talking about,” Robin continued, eyeing Eddie with a glare that cut a little too close to the bone for Eddie’s liking, “is the hellfire chasm of death that’s currently eating its way through your pool Steve. It ain’t getting any smaller, and if we don’t move relatively quickly then this whole house is about to be structurally unsound.”

“Are you serious?” Eddie asked. “Is she serious?”

“I’m dead serious, asshole,” she bit. “Casa Harrington is in the dead zone, and we gotta move.”

“She’s right,” Steve agreed, and he gave Dustin a gentle pat on the shoulder to give him a signal to wrap it up. Dustin jerked back from Eddie’s shoulder, his tear-soaked cheeks sticking to the bandages and pulling them in a way that made a string of bites along Eddie’s shoulder smart with pain.

“Where are we even gonna go?” Eddie asked, and he eyed the hand that Steve offered him with hesitation. He didn’t want to look at the unholy glow emanating from outside; didn’t want Dustin and Robin to see him break down and hide like the coward that he was. Steve was excluded from that, because…

Well.

Steve was different.

If Eddie was to believe the scary little thought he had just had earlier, which he didn’t,then Steve was different in more ways than just that. Unfortunately for him, he simply didn’t have time to pick at that particular scab right now. He took the hand proffered to him, and let Steve wind his arm around his waist in support. The strain of gravity on his knees was way worse than he had anticipated, and he was grateful for the assistance, even if he was suddenly very much aware of how nice it felt in a way that wasn’t altogether based in nice-dumb-jock-no-let-me-fall-on-ass. Eddie braced himself for the surge of primal fear as he let his eyes move towards the red glow outside, but this time it didn’t overwhelm him. The hand on his waist was a tether; a lifeline in the sea of his chaotic, over-worked mind, and he felt no small sense of relief as he dared a glance up at Steve’s face. He hadn’t noticed a goddamn thing, bless his heart, and Eddie thanked whatever deity was out there that for better or worse, Steve was the most oblivious well-meaning asshole he had ever met.

“We could go to my mom’s?” Dustin suggested, but Steve shook his head immediately.

“The Eddie lynch mob might still be watching your place; they know you two are friends.” Steve’s words were logical to a fault, but they still felt like a fist aimed directly at Eddie’s guts.

Right. Still wanted for murder, he reminded himself. Cool times.

“My place is off the cards as well,” Robin said with a shrug. “Sorry Eddie, we’ve already got my cousins squeezed in since their house got blitzed in the first gate opening, and my aunt is super religious. She’ll turn you in to the cops before you make it to the pantry.”

“sh*t,” Steve muttered.

“What about Hopper’s place?” Dustin asked.

Eddie squinted, wondering if he’d heard right.

“The sheriff who died last year?” He asked, bewildered. What was worse by far was that Steve’s face was thoughtful. “How the hell do you guys even have access to a dead cop’s house?”

“It’s more of a cabin,” Dustin correct him. “Out in the woods. Well hidden. Kind of perfect, really.”

“Great,” Eddie muttered. “Dead cop’s haunted murder cabin sounds perfect, Dustin, good job; why don’t we all just stock up on candles, I’ll get us a goat, and we can sacrifice it at our full moon seance while we’re at it-”

“The cabin’s a great idea, actually,” Steve said, and Eddie sputtered unintelligably.

“And the Wheelers and the Byers are already out there getting it set up,” Dustin fed helpfully. “They’re planning to stay there while the town gets cleaned up. Or they were planning to before the gate opened again.”

“Wonderful, it’s settled then,” Robin clapped her hands together. “Let’s hustle. Supermarket sweep of Harrington’s house, we’re out at the car in five. Clothes, food, first aid kit, and anything you think will be useful. Don’t get swallowed by the pit. Let’s go.”

Dustin made a break for the pantry, and Steve shifted so he could meet Eddie’s eye.

“I’m gonna prop you on the sofa okay? No offence, but I’ll be way quicker if you just sit tight.”

Eddie wanted to thank him; wanted to press his head into the crook of Steve’s neck and breathe in his stupid dumb skin smell until the world stopped being f*cking insane; wanted to ask him to cut and run, f*ck Hawkins, f*ck everyone else.

“Just don’t leave me behind again, yeah?” Eddie managed, desperately taking a swing at a joke, and Steve had the ridiculous, unbelievable earnesty to look guilty at his words.

“Not a chance in hell,” Steve told him, and Eddie would be lying if he said he didn’t believe that Steve meant every last word of it. It was the only thing that made Eddie let go of him, and he held onto the image of Steve’s reassuring smile as he dashed for the hallway to his bedroom.

“You better know a hookup for that goat sacrifice, Munson,” Robin quipped as she sidled away, and Eddie narrowed his eyes as she gave him an uncomfortably knowing look of amusem*nt. He settled into the couch, his eye catching the discarded shirt Steve had picked out for him only last night.

I should probably be decent if I’m going to hang out with Steve’s ex, Steve’s ex’s boyfriend, and the telepath kid Dustin won’t shut up about.

In a goddamn haunted police cabin.

Eddie did not bother to smother his groans as he wrestled himself into the stupid, dumb, no-good shirt, and questioned every life choice that had led him to this moment.

Chapter 8: You Know the Rules And So Do I

Chapter Text

“I don’t mean to be a Johnny Raincloud or anything,” Eddie’s voice filtered forward from the backseat of the car, his tone disconcertingly nonchalant. “But like… Wouldn’t this have been a way better place for me to have been hiding out from the very start of this whole bullsh*t experience? Maybe? Just possibly? Since it was clearly here this whole time. And you both knew about it, right?”

Steve killed the engine, staring at the narrow dirt drive that led up to the cabin. He could see other cars parked out the front of the old cabin; could see the very recent evidence of patching up and reconstruction taking place. Nancy’s car he recognised, but there was also an incongruously bright yellow van with a pizza decal on the side.

Weird,he thought, but he couldn’t avoid thinking about what Eddie had just said for long.

Steve had been trying not to think too hard about that very thing since Dustin had made the suggestion back at his house, and he scratched idly at his mussed hair, squinting at the cabin as he searched for the reason he hadn’t suggested it earlier.

“Well…” Steve began, twisting a little to look at Dustin. He could see in Dustin’s face that he too was realizing, very rapidly, just how much of a dumbass he had been.

Not gonna find any assistance there, Steve grumbled internally.

“We…”

“Didn’t think of it?” Dustin contributed hopefully, his toothless smile widening as he strove to avoid conflict. Steve felt something deflate inside his chest, and Eddie closed his eyes and rubbed his temples with a long suffering hiss of air.

“You’re telling me that I got attacked by the goddamn basketball team, and almost drowned, because you two forgot that there was a super convenient secret hideaway cabin at your disposal?” Eddie’s face contorted almost comically as he jumped through various stages of grief. He waved a tired hand at Robin. “What’s your excuse?”

“I’ve never been here,” Robin admitted quickly, shooting a hunted glance at Steve as he gave her a derisive don’t you try and absolve yourself of this one either kind of look. “Last time this sh*tshow broke loose Steve and I were being interrogated by Russians-”

“-you what -”

“-and frankly the only person with any reason to know about this place is Dustin, since he’s the Wheeler kid’s friend and his telepath girlfriend used to hide out here with the sheriff.” Her mouth had run off so quickly that Eddie just blinked at her, dumbfounded. Dustin decided that his silence was the ideal time to pitch in his own attempt at reasoning.

“And yeah, maybe you’re right and we should’ve brought you out here sooner, but, think about this; if you hadn’t been at Reefer Ricks, we never would have discovered the lake gate,” Dustin nodded along to his own point sagely, and Steve was happy to jump both-footed into the rabbithole his idiotic little friend was offering up.

Way easier than trying to explain the whole Russian conspiracy to Eddie right now,he told himself. Good going, Robin.

“Yeah!” Steve agreed eagerly, nodding at Dustin and watching the kid’s head bobble back in unison. “And we wouldn’t have found out how to communicate through the Upside Down, and Nancy wouldn’t have seen the vision that helped us figure out Vecna’s plan and prevent the worst-case scenario, and-”

“Max is in a coma, I almost died,and the gates are still open!” Eddie burst. “You’re both dumbasses, and I am no longer taking any advice or planning contributions from either of you. It’s me and Robin from here on out, you hear me?”

Eddie was swinging the door open, muttering to himself as he hauled his ass out of the car. His head poked back in through the doorway and he shot a suspicious glare of warning at each of them one by one.
“And don’t think I missed that thing about the Russians; I’m gonna be following up on that the moment I no longer feel like I’ve been hauled through a trash compactor.” His head disappeared out of the car again, and Steve’s mouth was still working soundlessly as he looked around the car. He shared a mutually bewildered look with Dustin, though that camaraderie did not provide him with much comfort in that moment.

“Aye, aye, Captain,” Robin said, raising her eyebrows a little as she opened the door. She leaned in close to Steve before getting out, breathing a conspiratorial, “hear that? Eddie thinks I’m the smart one,” and shooting him a sh*t-eating grin. He swiped at her with a paw but missed, her laughter dancing inside the car as she swung out onto the forest pathway.

“Yeah, well more fool him,” Steve fired back, but he was seconds too late for it to have any real bite.

“Come on,” Robin called to them, “we need to get all the sh*t out of the car, and Eddie needs another horizontal surface to collapse on, pronto. Come on, big guy, let me help…”

Steve heaved himself out into the chilly forest air and paused, arm resting on the top of the car door as he watched Robin assist Eddie up the little forest pathway to the cabin. He was limping, Steve realized, clearly favoring one ankle over the other now that Steve could watch him moving from this distance, and his knuckles were bone white in between the flashing of his silver rings. Seeing the two of them shuffle, their backs to him and their arms looped around each other’s waists, filled Steve with a soft, gentle, goose-downy kind of feeling that he didn’t get to experience often enough to really know the name for it.

Sentimentality, maybe?

Steve didn’t bother putting too much thought into it, and simply let himself appreciate the moment for what it was.

“They’re kind of cute together.”

Dustin’s voice, quiet and coaxing, made the smile on Steve’s face freeze.

“What?” he asked, and twisted to look at Dustin. Dustin’s eyes were cutting between Steve and the two of them, his expression meaningful. Robin was now coaching Eddie up the lopsided stairs to the porch, her words of encouragement a background buzz in Steve’s ears.

“I said they’re kind of cute together,” Dustin repeated, watching Steve a little too intently for his own liking. “Don’t you think?”

“I mean, yeah, I guess?” Steve wasn’t sure what Dustin was trying to communicate to him, and it made him wary. Dustin’s poker face was the worst that Steve had ever seen, and something that he hoped in the back of his mind to one day help the kid improve upon, if time and apocalypses didn’t prevent such a thing from happening. As such, the ‘oh god what a moron’ that passed through Dustin’s mind may as well have been scrawled across his face in yellow letters.

“Look,” Dustin said, eyebrow raising in the closest attempt at seriousness that he was capable of. He shut the car door and moved towards the boot, and Steve mirrored him. Dustin continued, his voice low. “I don’t know what exactly your deal is right now, but I’m telling you, if you’re not careful, you’re gonna miss your chance, Harrington.”

Steve was utterly baffled, both by the incongruously earnest look Dustin was trying to pin him with, and the words that were pouring out of the kid’s mouth.

“Henderson, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Steve said sincerely, pulling the car boot open to begin unpacking their supplies. “And honestly, I don’t think even you know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, cut the bullsh*t, Steve,” Dustin snapped, and Steve looked at him in surprise. Dustin huffed, clearly somewhat uncomfortable with whatever he was about to say, and Steve couldn’t help but feel an uncanny sense of being trapped in the headlights of something big and heavy and oncoming.

Uh oh, Steve thought. This better not be about that weird vibes sh*t again.

“I don’t care what you two idiots say about your whole ‘platonic with a capital p’ thing. I don’t care if you both have some sort of weird pact, or you’re still hung up on Nancy freakin’ Wheeler, or you’re just trying to be like, a good guy or something.” Dustin jerked his head over towards the cabin, and Steve followed his gaze. Eddie and Robin were celebrating making it up the stairs with a high five and a sit down on the floorboards, and Steve could see Robin smiling at Eddie as he spoke to her about god-knows-what.

“I love Eddie, I do,” Dustin continued, his tone softening a little, and Steve felt a mortifying hot-cold wave shudder through his body as Dustin said his name. He didn’t have a chance to analyse that, however, as Dustin was already bounding on, unaware of the heart-attack he had caused.

“-but Robin’s too cool to wait forever for you. If you’re not careful, man, you’re gonna miss your chance with her, and I will not be putting up with the self-sacrificing, mopey martyr you inevitably become when that happens.” There was finality in his tone, and Dustin nodded once, as though agreeing with himself. Steve’s mouth was hanging agape; something which Dustin clearly took as a good sign, if the subtle preening of his shoulders was any indication.

“I’ve said my piece; I’ll say no more. Consider yourself officially warned, Harrington.” Dustin turned to face the boot, pulling at the assortment of boxes and bags to find something suitable for him to carry with his injured leg.

Steve boggled at the boy.

Did he -

Did he really think-

With Robin?

Steve couldn’t help it when laughter - real, genuine, unchecked laughter - bubbled out of him like a cola bottle shaken in the backseat of someone’s car. It came slowly at first, but once the doors were opened it kept coming, and coming, and Dustin looked at him in mounting alarm as Steve bent double, his sides aching as his body remembered oh yeah, bat bites, but the ridiculousness of it all only fed his hysterical wheezing further.

“Steve…?” Dustin asked, uncertain, and Steve waved a hand at him, tears streaming from his eyes and gasping for air around each deranged burst of laughter. It wasn’t Dustin’s fault, Steve knew that; Robin had only told Steve about her little secret under duress and with the last remaining dregs of a Soviet truth serum in her veins. He couldn’t possibly understand the irony of what he had just attempted to coach Steve through.

Didn’t make it any less goddamn funny, though.

“Oh Henderson,” Steve wheezed, leaning against the car with a grin so broad it was hurting his cheeks. A stray, high-pitched giggle escaped here and there, but he managed to continue as long as he didn’t look Dustin directly in the face for too long. “You really don’t get it at all.”

“Don’t get what?!” Dustin tried, but Steve just patted him on the shoulder.

“Never change buddy, never change,” Steve hoisted the boxes of food onto each hip and walked away, leaving Dustin more bewildered than ever.

“Why do you guys keep saying that to me?” he yelled at Steve’s back, and he simply shook his head at the two curious faces that awaited him on the porch.

“Just girl talk,” Steve told them both, winking at Robin. “You wouldn’t understand.”

…

The door was unlocked, but no one was home, and Steve spun in a slow circle inside the empty main room of the cabin.

“Hello?” Robin called, and Steve heard her make an indignant sound as someone smacked her on the arm.

“What?” she hissed behind him.

“First rule of horror movies, you never call out ‘hello’ if you want to live,” Eddie hissed right back at her.

“Oh yeah? Well, rule two of horror movies is don’t try and take on a massive horde of killer monster bats on your own, wiseguy; how did that one work out for ya?”

“You know what? I take back every nice thing I’ve ever said about you,” Eddie retorted, and Robin scoffed. “Likewise, dumbass-”

“Guys,” Steve shushed them. “Where is everyone?”

“Mmmm,” Eddie hummed into the silence that fell between them as they considered. “Rule three. Never trust a place where there are parked cars but no people.”

“Would you quit it?” Robin snapped, and all three of them turned to face the doorway, collective breaths held, as the sound of footsteps on floorboards approached. They sagged in disappointment at the sight of Dustin, who paused in the doorway.

“Guys, I think everyone else has gone to the hilltop,” he said.

“How do you know?” Robin asked. Dustin’s face lit up with child-like enthusiasm at the question.

“Because judging by the broken twigs and dirt scuffs I found outside, and in accordance with my navigational readings, they should be approximately-”

The sound of radio static interrupted Dustin’s little rant, and his face dropped into a royally unimpressed look as he took in their confusion. “Who do you think I am, Sacagawea? They’re blasting a code everything over the radio waves.”

“They must have noticed the gate reopening,” Steve surmised. He dipped his head a little in acknowledgment. “Makes sense, if Will’s back.”

“Who’s Will?” Eddie asked.

“Will Byers,” Robin reminded him.

“The zombie kid?”

“He didn’t actually die-”

“You know what?” Eddie cut Dustin off, waving his hands in front of him in a cross motion. “I don’t wanna know right now. I’m just gonna sit down, and I’m gonna wait until whoever else is here comes back to help us.”

“That’s the best idea you’ve had all day,” Robin told him, impressed, and he smiled back at her.

“It’s the only idea he’s had all day,” Steve corrected, and Eddie lazily flipped him the bird as he sank back into the dilapidated couch.

“Don’t be jealous just because he likes me better than you,” Robin crooned to him, and Steve rolled his eyes.

“Look after him and keep a lookout,” Steve told her. “Dustin, let them know we’re here if your radio’s got enough juice. Don’t go running off on your own to find them or anything, because I know that’s what you’re thinking of doing, and it’s not gonna happen. We’re best off keeping all the stupid in one place until the cavalry arrives. I’ll unload the car.”

Dustin opened his mouth to argue.

“Hey - hey ,” Eddie cut him off at the pass, pointing a finger at Dustin that held him in place like some kind of magic spell. “Do as he says, Henderson. I’m living proof that reckless hero moves plus dumbass equals bad sh*t. Do you wanna get chewed up by monster bats?”

“No,” Dustin whined, the thought of Eddie’s traumatic self-sacrifice clearly throwing him for a loop and threatening to overwhelm him.

“Well good. Now come plant your ass and show me how that damn radio works.” Eddie gave Steve a covert nod over the top of Dustin’s head as the kid knelt in front of him, and Steve, too stunned to speak, could only give a jerked head of acknowledgement back. Robin said nothing, eyes moving between him with some unreadable, smug look, and began unloading the first box - cans, lots of cans, pilfered from Mrs. Harrington’s nuclear bunker of a pantry - onto the leaf-littered countertop.

Always the goddamn babysitter, Steve grumbled internally as he trotted back down the porch stairs. Oddly, the title didn’t feel so much like a burden as he moved across the pathway to the car.

Maybe it wasn’t so bad if there was someone to help carry the load with him.

Chapter 9: We Are Young, Heartache to Heartache We Stand

Chapter Text

When the others finally returned to the cabin the reunion was… Chaotic. Will was the first one back, his cheeks flushed and panting from undoubtedly running the forest path all the way there, followed shortly behind by Mike Wheeler.

“Will!” Dustin exclaimed, on his feet and pulling the Byers boy into a crushing hug before he could barely react. Steve heard the soft oof of impact as Dustin knocked the air out of Will’s chest, saw the way his eyes widened in suprise, but his expression quickly morphed into happiness as Dustin babbled in his ear. Mike was there seconds later, hot on Will’s heels, and he was forcibly pulled into the hug by Dustin despite his half-hearted noises of protest.

“Jesus Christ, Dustin,” Mike sighed into his shoulder as he relaxed into the group hug. “We were worried about you.”

Mike’s eyes tracked to Steve, who nodded at him.

“Sup, Wheeler,” Steve offered by way of greeting. Any response was lost, however, when Mike caught sight of Eddie, rumpled and battered and watching from the couch in bemusem*nt.

“Eddie?” Mike squawked, detaching himself from the group hug to stumble over to Eddie’s side, crouching down into his space and lapping up every inch of him like he was seeing colour for the first time.

“Dustin said-”

“My death was… Grossly exaggerated,” Eddie offered, complete with a co*cky grin, and it was clear that he was just as surprised as Steve was when the usually sullen teenager pulled him in for a hug of his own. Eddie shared a wide-eyed glance with Steve over Mike’s shoulder, and Steve shrugged at him with a he’s your problem, man, look on his face.

“Whoa, Wheeler,” Eddie coaxed, “watch the bandages, please; I’m the walking wounded here.” Mike pulled back as if burned, and wiped hastily at his nose. Steve had a half-formed thought about how similar Mike’s shaggy haircut looked to Eddie’s; how if it was just a little longer and had a little more time they would almost look identical. He dismissed it before it formed much more than a small, warm ball in the pit of his stomach.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, a wobbly smile on his face as he took in his dungeon master. “I’m just… Glad we didn’t lose the second best DM we’ve ever had.”

“Hey,” Eddie said, pressing a hand to his chest in mock offence. “Second best? Second best? How dare you, Mike Wheeler. I wanna see this mythical first rate DM you’ve supposedly known before me, you little booger.”

“Oy, Eddie,” Dustin called, drawing his eyes. He nodded his head to Will. “You’re looking at him, man.”

Steve’s eyes ping-ponged wildly between Will and Eddie, happy to soak up the second-hand energy of this utterly unintelligible moment from the sidelines. Will’s expression shifted from a confused ‘oh sh*t, me?’ As Dustin pointed him out, into the realisation that he was staring at the metalhead mentor that he had heard so much about over the semester away. Eddie’s eyes roving the kid up and down with a playful, assessing gaze, as though sizing him up for his tactical strengths and weaknesses. He sat up a little further, and Steve silently offered his hand to Eddie as he pulled himself, aching and groaning, to his feet. He mustered himself up to the greatest height he could manage with the crunchiness of his wounds, tilting his head to one side as he put on his cooler-older-scarier persona that Steve knew the younger crew were totally in awe of.

“So this is the infamous Will the Wise,” Eddie said, clicking his tongue against his teeth as he approached, and Will’s throat bobbed as he swallowed whatever hesitation he felt as the other man stopped in front of him. Steve hid his amused smile by dipping his chin to his chest, arms folded in front of him as whatever passed for a stand-off between nerds occurred.

“Hail and well met,” Will stammered over the words, holding out his open hand as though his body had suddenly been possessed by the soul of a forty year old car salesman. Eddie glanced at it, glanced up at Will’s open, tense face, and placed his own hand into it.

“Well met, indeed,” Eddie gave him a lopsided grin, shaking the hand between them, and as Will’s face broke into a smile all tension dissipated. Will let out another small, surprised noise as Eddie pulled on his wrist, overbalancing the kid enough that he was tugged into a brief, companionable hug, and as he pulled back from it Steve could see the hero-worship already taking root in Will’s expression.

It really is effortless for him, Steve thought with a twitch of a smile as he watched the other man adopt yet another of Steve’s outcast teens. Eddie bent forward conspiratorially, though his voice was loud enough for everyone in the cabin’s small main room to hear every word.

“I’ll need to talk to you about the absolutely foolhardy behaviour of your party later,” Eddie told Will, his tone the same as if he was one mother talking to another about their children, and it drew a tentative laugh from the boy even as twin gasps of shock and betrayal arose from the others. “You’ve raised a band of ingrates with a death wish, kid, and I wanna know your secrets.”

Will was about to respond as the shapes of Nancy and Jonathan filled the open cabin doorway, and the sound of more boots outside forced them to enter the cabin. Steve felt the familiar pang of something in his stomach as Jonathan’s eyes met his; there was a moment of mutual assessment, in which both of them acknowledged the metaphorical water beneath the bridge, and with a short, unsmiling nod from Jonathan, they reached an unspoken understanding.

Easier every time, Steve congratulated himself, but he was already distracted by Joyce Byers entering the cabin followed closely behind by-

“Hopper?!” Steve burst, and Dustin shrieked.

“Hey, Harrington,” Hopper gave a tired nod as Steve stood agape and staring. “Good to see ya, kid.”

“Where the hell have you been, man?” Steve asked, unable to comprehend how the police officer he was certain had died in an epic explosion almost a year ago was standing before him; wiry, exhausted, and alive.

“Siberia,” Hopper said blandly. “Soviet gulag.”

Steve had no idea what to say to that, so he nodded.

“Cool,” he said lamely, and stepped back against the wall next to Robin, whose incredulous look he studiously ignored.

Hopper cast his eyes around the room slowly, taking in the additional teenagers that his house had seemingly accumulated like dust while he was out with an unimpressed look. Robin smiled weakly, giving a tentative wave as he laid eyes on her, and as he reached the last face in the room he heaved a long sigh.

“So it seems we’ve got more of the same problems, as per usual,” Hopper announced to the room. The gaggle of teenage voices died down immediately as Hopper unintentionally took centre stage. He seemed to notice this, with mild surprise, but he continued. “The Upside Down, the Gates, whatever you wanna call ‘em, they’re reopening and closing, and the very nice people from the Government have no idea what to do about it. So as usual, it seems like it’s up to all of us to figure this sh*t out.” Hopper paused, surveying their faces, and when he continued it was in his slow, deliberate way of talking that always had that slight, barely-hidden edge of annoyance beneath it. After the last few days, Steve could sympathise all too well.

“Now, before we come up with any kind of plan, or we start splitting up and running off and doing whatever usual bullsh*t we do when crazy psychic monsters start breaking loose, I want us all to sit down, and talk through everything that we know about this thing, and what exactly has been going on around here for the past few months.” Steve watched as Hopper turned on his heel, ever so slightly, pivoting himself in the room until his stern expression was settled directly onto Eddie.

“But before we do any of that, I want to know why the high school drug dealer is in my house and corrupting my goddamn kids.”

“Hey-” Hopper’s raised hand silenced whatever protestations were bubbling up automatically from Dustin and Mike.

“I wanna hear it from him,” Hopper said, his voice dangerously quiet. They snapped their mouths shut, but shifted their bodies ever so slightly, so that they were positioned to physically cover Eddie like a blockade.

This movement was not missed by either Eddie or Hopper, it seemed.

“Hey Hopper,” Eddie said, his face pale and drawn, but standing his ground even as he began to sway slightly. Hopper closed his eyes and sighed.

“Hey, Munson,” Hopper acknowledged. “How much do you know, kid?”

“He knows enough,” Steve spoke up, drawing all eyes onto him. He fought back the urge to slink back into the wall at the sudden focus, and squared his shoulders a little without uncrossing his arms.

“He’s been targeted, and he’s been to the Upside Down, and he’s fought with us. He’s part of this now. He’s one of us.”

Eddie’s expression was unreadable, staring at Steve like he had never seen him before, and Hopper cast a weary, considering look at Munson.

“Well?” He said, looking for confirmation.

“It’s a long story,” Eddie shrugged, and winced. “But one I am happy to share, if you want it.”

There was a long, pregnant pause, in which not a single breath of air seemed to be breathed by anyone crowded in that room.

“Alright,” Hopper said, nodding. “Alright. Elle, can you get me a chair, please? I need to get off this leg, and apocalypse be damned, I haven’t eaten a grilled cheese sandwich in a goddamn year and I will not wait a single day more.”

And with that, the spell was broken, and chaos once again milled throughout the room as people greeted, hugged, and helped each other.

…

They had spent the next 45 minutes preparing the cabin, a task which continued with a lot more speed and productivity thanks to the additional manpower, and there had in fact been grilled cheeses somewhere in the middle of it all.

A meal had been pulled together from Steve’s ransacked pantry goods, with Joyce making the executive decision that it was better to embark with full stomachs upon the Great Explaining of all of their convergent experiences. Or at least, that it was less likely to end in Hopper suffering from some kind of conniption. They had been in the midst of clearing up when a rolling sound, like distant thunder, had shaken the foundations of the cabin beneath their feet with an ancient rumble. A plate shattered on the wooden floor, and Will caught himself white-knuckled on the edge of the kitchen countertop.

“Will?” Jonathan was by his side in an instant, hands bracing the boy’s shoulders.

“I’m fine,” Will told him impatiently, and dozens of eyes cut away from the kid quickly, suddenly finding keen interest in the ceiling and the floor and the empty walls of the cabin. “It was just - I felt it close.”

“The gate?” Hopper asked, eyebrows disappearing into his hairline as he sat up. Will nodded, breathless. “Not for long, though,” he added, his words halting. “It’s going to open again. Soon. I can feel it still. In the back of my head.”

“Can you tell how soon?” Mike pressed, and Will shook his head.

“No. But…” Will hesitated, his chest rising as he took a shaky breath. “It won’t be just the ash coming through it this time. It’ll be…”

“… Monsters?” Jonathan suggested, and Will nodded, unable to say it himself.

There was a heavy moment of silence as everyone in the room considered the implications of that announcement.

“Then we’d better figure out how to stop it once and for all,” Eddie said quietly, watching them all from beneath his dark bangs with a grim expression.

“Couldn’t agree more, kid,” Hopper drawled. A look passed between them; something that may have passed as mutual agreement. Hopper adjusted himself in his chair, turning so that he was facing into the centre of the room. “Time’s a-wasting. Let’s do this.”

…

“What do you mean she can do more than just move sh*t with her mind?!” Eddie burst, hands on his hips.

“She can find people that don’t want to be found-

“And she can step into other people’s memories-”

“She floats when she’s like, super juiced up with power-”

“And she can open and close up the gates on her own -“

The boys practically tripped over themselves to fill him in all at once, and Steve didn’t have the heart to shield Eddie from their overly eager onslaught. Part of him, in fact, was taking a certain amount of perverse pleasure from the fact that Eddie was now also going to have to live with all of this bullsh*t-bonkers knowledge that he couldn’t share with anyone else outside of this room. Call it an initiation, a trial-by-fire, or whatever, but Steve couldn’t fully resist the urge to smile as Eddie’s face grew paler and paler with every babbled sentence that left their mouths.

“Okay, okay, okay, stop,” Eddie waved his hands at them like a white flag. They did so, watching him like labradors that had been promised a walk if they performed their tricks first. Eddie paced, stopped; paced again, stopped. He blew a harsh, frustrated breath out through his nose as he stared at the floorboards, his mind practically buzzing as he processed all of the implications of what they had word-vomited at him in real time.

“Why… the f*ck… has this kid been in California this whole time?” Eddie turned to Elle, who to her credit looked utterly unfazed by the manic, wild-eyed weirdo who now addressed her.
“Where the hell have you been, kid?!”

“In a bunker,” Elle said seriously, her eyes wide and unassuming. “In the desert. Getting my powers back.”

“And I’m still not happy about that, by the way,” Hopper chimed in, as Will, Mike, and Dustin did a poor job of smothering their laughter at Eddie’s distress unfolding.

Eddie threw his hands in the air, wheeling back into Steve’s personal space like a comet on a slingshot axis. Steve clapped a conciliatory hand on Eddie’s less injured shoulder, giving it a gentle shake.

“How does it get crazier than this,” Eddie muttered, a many-ringed hand scrubbing over his mouth, his jaw as he shook his head. “I don’t get how it gets crazier than this.”

“It’s alright Munson,” Steve smirked at him, with only a little bit of well-earned condescension in it. “You get used to it. Promise.”

“No, you don’t,” Joyce’s sing-song voice carried over to them from the kitchen, Jonathan smirking in agreement at her side, and Eddie growled and turned away again. There was a long-haired young man standing with Jonathan in the kitchen, stacking the chipped plates and randomly assorted cutlery where he was told as they were handed to him, and Steve still hadn’t quite gotten his name.

“Sit down, kid,” Hopper’s voice directed at Eddie was as dry and lazy as Steve remembered it, but he couldn’t shake the jolt of discomfort that he felt hearing the voice of a dead man. “You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

Hopper himself was stretched out at his little formica table, one incredibly angry ankle propped up on one chair and his ass in the other, his head resting against the wall of his cabin.

“I can take care of myself, thank you,” Eddie threw across the room at Hopper, narrow-eyed suspicion painted on his face even as he sank a little harder against Steve’s side. Hopper simply peered at him with one eye, smirked, and went back to leaning against the wall with his eyes closed.

“Suit yourself,” he grunted, and it was Steve that ended up maneuvring him back into a seated position on the still kind-of-filthy couch.

“Okay, alright, here we go-” Steve coaxed him, even as Eddie tried to put up a half-hearted resistance. He propped himself behind Eddie, where he was able to peer over his shoulder and monitor him for pain and discomfort.

He wasn’t hovering for his own benefit.

Steve had seen Robin ask Elle something off to one side, and she had brightened and nodded, ducking away somewhere. When she had returned, Robin had taken whatever it was she’d found for her with a grateful smile, and turned to Eddie. She held out a pen and a notepad to him proudly.

“What’s this for?” Eddie asked, mouth full and eyeing her warily.

“You’re going to want to take notes,” Robin told him. “Trust me.” He had only hesitated for a moment or two before snatching them from her hands.

Those notes were now scattered around them on the floor in a wide, chaotic fan, with names and phrases and places and times scribbled on them that would have looked like the rantings of a madman to anyone other than their ragtag crew. From his seated position on the couch, Eddie picked up the pen and pad and scribbled something down on it rapidly, his eyes following the words as he laid them down at a rate of knots. The sound of the paper tear was clean and satisfying, and he inspected the words on the page, muttering them under his breath as he placed them on the ground.

Steve could see the way the muscles in Eddie’s arms jumped and moved beneath the thin, comfortable fabric of his borrowed shirt, and he tried not to let the word handsome linger in his mind for any longer than was strictly necessary or easily explained to himself. I can appreciate his arms for what they are without it being weird, he told himself firmly, as he noted the sure, dexterous movements of Eddie’s fingers as he adjusted the pen. I can notice his hands, too, he reasoned, and I can… I can notice that they’re nice hands. Musician’s hands, I guess. Nothing weird about that. Nothing weird about that at all. He chose not to acknowledge the sudden image of what those hands might feel like on the back of his neck, or what they’d feel like brushing against the inside of his wrist. Like a secret message, his mind offered up, unbidden, and he could practically feel the ghost of that very sensation.

He most certainly didn’t acknowledge the involuntary shiver that ran up his spine in response.

“Okay,” Eddie said, nodding in reassurance to himself, and Steve silently crash landed back in the moment beside him. Eddie noticed nothing, and Steve swallowed the dryness in his throat. “Okay. Let’s go through Vecna’s powers again. One more time.”

…

“Holy sh*t. Holy. sh*t.”

“What?” Dustin asked. Eddie was prising himself off the couch, where half of the teenagers in the house had congregated despite it barely being big enough for two people to comfortably fit. His knees hit the floor, startling Steve out of the exhausted daze he had sunk into after the hours of talking and circuitous discussions and attempted plan formulations. Steve straightened a little, shaking off the muddiness that had settled over his mind, as Eddie picked up and put down different pieces of paper, reorganising them with a fervour that bordered on hysterical. He picked up one of the pieces of paper, muttering to himself as he did so, and crowed with such raw triumph that, when paired with his dishevelled appearance and birds-nest hair, made him look practically unhinged.

“What is it?” Steve asked, alert and all too aware as Eddie slapped the piece of paper down on the ground. Others had brightened in the room; Nancy, Robin and Jonathan, who had stepped outside to assess potential defences they could implement for the house, appeared in the doorway.

“We’ve had it all wrong,” Eddie said, though he scrunched up his face as he said it. “Wait- not wrong, necessarily, but we haven’t been looking at it right - really, we had it so right, before we even knew what we were looking at,that we confused ourselves… Oh my god, it’s so obvious now, it’s all here-”

“Spit it out, Munson,” Hopper prodded him, but it was Steve that he finally met the eyes of, his face positively alright with a passion that knocked the wind right out of Steve’s chest.

“I know what Vecna really is,” he said, a smile spreading so wide across his face that his dimples created shadows upon his cheeks. “And I know what we need to do to stop him. Forever.”

Chapter 10: Though It’s Easy To Pretend, I Know You’re Not A Fool

Chapter Text

“Spit it out then, Munson,” Hopper said impatiently, but Eddie was still pulling pieces of paper towards himself, examining and muttering and crossing things out.

I’m just – give me one second…” Eddie pinned a piece of paper with one ringed finger, and looked up at them all with the gleam of a mad scientist in his eye.

“Okay. Okay.” He drew in a deep, steadying breath.

“Hold on to your butts. We’re putting this thing back together again.”

…

“So Number One, or Creel, was a ‘sensitive’ kid from the very beginning, right?” Eddie said, looking to Nancy and Robin for confirmation. They nodded, glancing at each other, and Eddie tapped his pen against the paper in front of him like a conductor calling his orchestra to attention.

“Right, okay, so he does all this wild, whack murder stuff against his family in the fifties, and his dad takes the fall while the government fakes Creel’s death and hands him over to… Elle’s original father? Have I got that right?”

“Papa is not my real father,” Elle said gravely, and Eddie paused, mouth open as if to speak, then thought better of it and made a note on the page.

“Okay, fine, Elle’s evil scientist paternal figure that she isn’t related to, does a bunch of whack experiments on this kid; torture and mind games and all the usual evil scientist bullsh*t we know and love-”

“Hey,” came the quiet warning from Hopper, and Eddie glanced up to see Elle’s face had paled. She was squeezing Mike’s hand in a vice grip, and Mike had turned a little towards her, head dipped low to murmur in her ear.

“sh*t, sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“Just keep going,” Joyce offered him reassuringly, and she eyed Hopper over the top of their heads.

“Right, right, so then Papa or whatever, he decided that Creel was too volatile and placed some kind of blocker in Creel so that he couldn’t use his powers, which you said you removed for him, right, Elle?” Eddie tapped the pen against his head, considering. “Side note, is there any chance someone in your uber shadow government connection would be able to get us one of those blockers? That could be something.”

“It’d be a long shot,” Hopper mused. “I’d have to get to a working phone, but it might be possible,”

“Okay, sweet,” Eddie wrote something down on another page with a definitive sweep. “We can’t rely on that alone though, especially if Will’s right and the gate’s going to keep opening at closer and closer intervals, which, I have a theory about, by the way-”

“Eddie…”

“Fine,” he relented. “But for the record this is all important and everything is tied together, so you should really be paying close attention.” He paused, drawing in a long breath.

“Back on our side of this sh*tshow, we assumed that Creel was some kind of a dark sorcerer, right? A telepathic monster haunting and killing traumatised kids in Hawkins just for the hell of it.”

“Asshole,” Dustin spat viciously, and Eddie’s lip curled silently in agreement.

“And we named him Vecna before we had any real idea who he really was, because it was easy and because it seemed fitting.” Eddie pulled two pieces of paper from one chaotic stack over to right in front of him; a page with all of the victims’ names scrawled on it, and a page that had the word ‘Vecna’ written at the top of it, surrounded by almost illegible scrawl. “We were too clever for our own good, really. See, Creel really does have a lot more in common with Vecna than I ever could have imagined….”

“Spit it out, Munson.”

Eddie was lost in thought though, and he chewed on his bottom lip for a moment before speaking again.

“… Do you guys happen to know what a lich is?”

The younger boys gasped together in horrified understanding, even as a scattered chorus of negatives from the adults peppered the space. Steve’s was included in that, and Eddie flashed him a generous glance of amusem*nt, even as he was bumped in the side by the sudden presence of Will. The younger boy was on his knees next to Eddie in moments, his eyes alight with an understanding and a resolute, burning drive that mirrored Eddie’s.

“Of course,” Will murmured, as Eddie began to explain.

“A lich, for the uneducated miscreants in the room, is not just a dark sorcerer,” he began, a slow, lopsided smile drawing up his mouth as he watched Will out of the corner of his eye. “They’re a dark sorcerer who, in pursuit of their evil goals, gave up their soul and human form to secure further power.”

“Jesus f*cking Christ, if this is more Dungeons and Dipsh*ts…” Hopper muttered, earning him a smack on the shoulder from Joyce.

“What that means, though,” Eddie pressed on, “is that his power is sourced from souls, which are treated as a finite resource in terms of Dungeons and Dragons lore, and he has to store them somewhere.”

“Munson, we don’t have time to quest after some half-baked idea of a magical soul catching thingie-”

“Let him talk,” Joyce scolded Hopper.

“See that’s the thing; it’s not even half baked,” Eddie told them all, and he could see Will nodding along feverishly at his side. It seemed to give him confidence, as he lifted himself up, talking with his hands.

“Elle, you said that the scientist guy-”

“Doctor Owens,” she filled in.

“Right, Doctor Owens; he told you that Vecna was dangerous not because he was powerful, but because when he does the- the- bone breaky horror show thing,” he shuddered involuntarily, “he’s not just killing that person; he’s also absorbing their essence. We know that he got stronger each time he killed a person, and his attacks got closer together and more intense, which supports the soul-powering theory. And — Nancy; you mentioned that he said he could feel them all inside of him when he spoke to you. So that means, as far as I can reason, that he’s still got their souls – or the power of their souls, anyway – inside of himself. Which. Hm.” He paused, tapping the pen against the ground as he thought, frowning.

“But,” Will said tentatively, “that can’t really be right, if we’re following the lich logic, because they usually store it in a-”

“A phylactery, yeah,” Eddie finished for him, and the boy smiled up at him.

“In a what?”

It was Robin’s scandalised tone that spurred them on this time.

“A phylactery,” Eddie repeated, “it’s like a reliquary, or a – an object of power, something that they always come back to…”

“Usually they have to be in direct contact with it, too,” Will reasoned, frowning. “Like a talisman, or an amulet. They’ve got to be maintaining a direct connection to be able to channel the power.”

“Okay, that’s great and all, but we’ve also established that he’s part of a hivemind,” Robin pointed out. “Like, he could feel us through those vines in the Creel house, since he used them like extra limbs when he tried to kill us. And those vines are just about freaking everywhere in the Upside Down. Meaning…?”

“…It could be almost anything,” Eddie sighed, sitting back on his haunches in defeat.

“sh*t.” He tapped the pen against the ground, thinking, his expression unreadable as the room dropped into a palpable silence. But slowly, Eddie began to shake his head.

“No. No, it can’t just be anything,” he reasoned, his expression firming once again. “Everything about Creel, everything he’s shown us so far, it’s been consistent; it’s been downright symbolic. He pretty much thinks he’s a god at this point; a power unto his own. But he’s also a crazy-ass serial killer, and if there’s one think we know about serial killers with god complexes, it’s that they want you to know how clever they are. They want you to figure it out, or to realise what’s going on in your final moments, when they’ve already won, so that their genius is seen, and appreciated for what it is. So it’s… It’s got to be something that’s significant to him; something we’ve already seen…”

“The clock,” Nancy breathed, and everyone looked up. Her face was pale. “It’s got to be the grandfather clock.”

“Of course,” Eddie pointed his pen at her, his face contorting in victory. “The clock, it’s been there from the goddamn start-”

“All of the victims saw the clock when Vecna was terrorising them,” Robin thought aloud, her eyes unfocused as he mind traced the line of reasoning alongside Nancy. “In all of the different spaces — here, the Upside Down, and that deeper space that he took you to, Nancy — the clock was there in all of them.”

“Okay, alright, okay,” Hopper sat forward, scrubbing a hand over his stubble as he grappled with something internally. Something, Steve imagined, that was making Hopper wonder why he hadn’t left Hawkins in the dust and found his way to a quiet existence on a beach with tequila and coconuts.

“So this Vecna is storing people’s souls in an old grandfather clock,” Hopper gritted out, as though each word personally caused him immense pain to say. Eddie nodded.

“So that he could gather enough energy to open the gate in Hawkins,” Eddie finished for him.

“And he needed four to be able to make the breach,” Nancy supplied, stepping forward and crouching so she could consider the notes for herself. Eddie looked surprised but pleased as she began picking at the pieces of paper around the edge.

“So why isn’t it holding, then?” Steve felt the words leave his mouth; saw the eyes turn his way in surprise. He shrugged.

“What?” he said defensively. “This fantasy sh*t isn’t rocket science. These aren’t exactly huge leaps you’re making here.”

“It’s because of Max,” Nancy said quietly, her eyes wide and intent as she picked up another piece of paper. She glanced around at the others.

“Vecna’s possession; it wasn’t completed. Her heart stopped, and her injuries are… Hideous,” she swallowed, her face tightening with emotion at the thought of the girl lying motionless in the hospital right then. “But she came back. She came back.”

“So maybe…” Eddie clicked his tongue, as he surveyed his own notes. “Hm.”

“We need more information.” Jonathan spoke up. He shrugged, arms crossing over his chest as the group’s focus shifted. “So we think we know how Vecna is getting his power. We think we know where he stores it, maybe, and we think it might be his weakness and the key in all of this. But we don’t know what he’s actually planning to do; We don’t know why the gate isn’t holding open, and we need to know what his intentions are if we want to have any chance in hell of getting the better of him, and actually stopping this once and for all.”

“And how exactly do you propose we do that?” Eddie asked him. “You happen to know of some sneaky back door way into Vecna’s psyche, I’m all ears, man.”

Steve’s eyes cut to the boy sitting next to Eddie, who had gone incredibly still and quiet. Steve wasn’t the only one, either. Eddie looked around at them all blankly, unassuming.

“What? Do you actually have a back door?” He asked the rest of them.

“Me,” Will said softly at his side, his hands shaking and crumpling the piece of paper still clutched between his fingers. His expression was set; resolute. “I’m the back door.”

…

“Absolutely not,” Joyce said, her voice rough and raised as the argument ensued.

“But mom-”

“We will not risk your life just for some outside chance at information!” She insisted.

“She’s right, Will,” Mike said, attempting to reason with him even as Will turned a betrayed, watery-eyed look upon the boy. “You remember as well as everyone else here that we can’t just — feed you to him and hope that he won’t notice you. He’s overpowered you before. For all we know, we put you into that mind state, and then he takes over your consciousness and feeds us a bunch of bullsh*t information and we all end up dead in some trap that could have been avoided!”

“But if we don’t get information then everyone dies anyway!” Will cried, his voice breaking as he pulled himself to his feet.

“Enough,” it was Hopper that cut through the chaos. He eyed Will, his face conciliatory. “I’m sorry kid, but I’m standing with your mom on this one; it’s just too risky. You know that as well as I do.”

“I can help with this! Why won’t you let me help with this!” Will turned, pushing his way past the others to the front door. He stormed out onto the porch, slamming the door so hard that it bounced back open a couple of inches. He didn’t go far, however, and his outburst was quickly superseded when Elle spoke up.

“I could go with him,” she offered, her chin jutting out in defiance as the argument picked up again almost immediately. Eddie heaved a sigh from the floor as Mike, Nancy, and the other adults all piled in with why that was a horrible idea, and he lifted a hand up for assistance from Steve. Steve helped him to his feet, earning him a grateful pat on the shoulder, and to Steve’s surprise he watched Eddie quietly pick his way, unnoticed, out towards the porch himself.

Steve didn’t need to reason with himself in any fully-formed way; he simply followed behind, propping himself against the doorframe as Eddie shuffled his way towards the boy. He had his back to them both, his legs hanging over the edge of the wooden porch and his chin resting on his arms, folded as they were on one of the lower porch rails. Steve watched as Eddie slowly, delicately lowered himself down beside the boy; saw the way the other boy’s shoulders tensed at Eddie’s approach, then softened again in resignation.

Steve could still witness the argument happening inside if he just tipped his head to the left; could see the implosion of drama and stress and fear unfolding as everyone’s conflicting priorities intersected. From the sounds of it, Nancy, Robin, and Jonathan had broken into a separate argument about whether they should be allowed to assist Hopper with getting into town to reach a phone; there seemed to be some resistance on the basis of safety and getting split up, should the gates open again while they were out and leaving both groups exposed. Mike and Elle were still fighting their own battles, and Steve wasn’t surprised in the slightest when Elle stalked away to her old bedroom, Mike on her heels, to continue their intense conversation in relative private. But when Steve tipped his head to the right, the door frame acted as a magical barrier between worlds, and suddenly all he could see was the peacefulness of the forest; all browns and greys and greens as the new leaves began to unfurl in the hopeful arrival of springtime. He settled in, maintaining his unassuming, protective presence unnoticed by the two young men, as they began to quietly talk.

…

Eddie let the kid acclimate to his presence in silence for a good few minutes before attempting to say anything. He didn’t wanna scare him away, that was for sure; it would be just their luck that the moment he wandered out of eyesight would be the moment the gate opened again and all hell broke loose. But he also didn’t want to encroach on a time or a moment where he wasn’t wanted; where he wasn’t needed, even. But the boy didn’t shy away from him as he settled down beside him, and Eddie kicked his legs over the little ledge next to Will’s, swinging them for a moment or two before folding one of them up under the other leg’s knee.

He let the space around them settle, and stared out at the quiet of the trees, spinning the ring on his middle finger around and around idly as he waited.

“You alright, kid?” Eddie asked eventually, breaking the silence after he was relatively certain that Will wouldn’t sigh and get up immediately. Eddie felt a taut string in his chest relax as Will made a small, derisive noise, but made no move to leave.

“What do you think?” Will asked sarcastically. Eddie could practically feel the waves of quiet, bristling injustice rolling off the kid’s shoulders; could feel it oozing out of his skin like smoke through the cracks in a sauna.

“Doesn’t matter what I think,” Eddie said, rolling one shoulder in a dismissive shrug. “I’m way too new here. What the hell do I know.”

“Yeah, well, at least they listen to you,” Will muttered, bitter.

“Only under sufferance, though,” Eddie pointed out, shooting Will a cheek-bending grin in an attempt to lighten his mood. “Did you see how Hopper looked at me? I thought he was gonna try and put me in the paddywagon again. Don’t go corrupting my kids, Munson.” He had sat up straighter as he spoke, and even put on a gruff approximation of Hopper’s voice for that last part, but Eddie only received a sidelong glance and a defeated eye roll for his efforts. He sagged a little.

Time for a different tack, he told himself.

“Hey,” he tried again, and watched as Will’s eyes tracked over to him again, wary but curious. “Grownups have a bad habit of forgetting to listen. But I don’t. If you want to talk about it.” Eddie turned his hands palm up, in a casual, no-fuss kind of gesture. “Just letting you know.”

There were several beats of silence between them before Will opened his mouth.

“I just…” He started, stopped, considered his words. “I’m just sick of running. Ever since the very start of this, all I’ve ever done is run, and hide, and have everyone fussing and fearing for me. The only person who ever tried to help me stand up for myself- I- I got him killed, and there’s nothing I can do to change that. He died because I was too weak to defend myself from this stupid, monstrous, thing, and no one has given me a chance to even try and help since then; no one has tried to help me by teaching me how to be stronger, they just push me to the back, and wrap me up in cotton wool, and treat me like a child when everyone else is given the chance to grow and learn and be part of the solution and I just-”

Will cut himself off from his own outburst, heaving harsh breaths in through his nose as he desperately fought to keep his feelings in check. Eddie could see that Will’s fingernails were digging into his own arms, so hard and so deep that the skin was turning white and red in little rings around the pressure.

“I’m just sick of not getting a say in what I can and can’t do. I’m sick of being helpless, and powerless, and- and- and treated like a liability.” Will dropped into silence, his shoulders dropping in exhaustion. Eddie waited, patient, as Will’s thoughts organised themselves once more.

“This all started with me,” Will said, his voice ringing with finality. “I need to be part of it ending, too. I need to know for sure that it’s over.”

His eyes dropped to his hands, which he had dropped from the rail to hold protectively in his lap instead. Hands, which Eddie noted, were shaking.

“Hm,” Eddie hummed a small, acknowledging sound, his eyebrows disappearing into his bangs as he directed his gaze out towards the forest. With the portal closed up, the ashy dust had stopped falling, and it almost seemed peaceful again.

“You know, I’ve been spending a lot of time recently catching up on what’s been really going on in this town, and frankly, it’s been a lot. And from what I’ve heard, it’s you that’s been through more crazy sh*t than just about everyone else inside that sh*tty old cabin combined.”

Eddie hesitated, thoughtful. “Except maybe the telepath girl. I still don’t get her deal.”

Will huffed in tired, wrung-out amusem*nt.

“What I’m trying to say is, I don’t think any of the people in that room are trying to stop you from doing what you want to do - what you need to do - because they want to control you. I think they’re doing it because they don’t want to lose you. They care about you.” Will was shaking his head, his throat working as he thought over Eddie’s words.

“I wish it was just that, I really do. But it’s- it’s not. The connection I have to the mind-flayer; to Vecna… It scares them. They’re scared of what could happen if I let him in by accident, because it’s happened before and as far as they’re concerned it’ll happen again. I’m sick of being treated like I’m different, like I’m a- a mistake-”

“Whoa, hey,” Eddie said, alarm flaring in his chest as the boy’s face crumpled and large, shimmering tears began to well in his eyes. “Nothing about this connection is within your control, and anyone that thinks you’re a mistake because of that is out of their minds-”

“It’s not just the connection,” Will admitted, wiping angrily at his face as he sucked in a harsh breath through his nose. “ All my life I’ve known that I’m- I’m not like everyone else. I’m just different. And I’ve tried not to be, I’ve tried so, so hard, but… I can’t…” Will’s breath shuddered as he folded his head onto his arms, turning it away from Eddie. Like he was trying to hide away his distress in whatever way he could manage; trying to hide away the parts of himself that he was scared should never be seen.

Eddie felt realisation click into place, like a missing cog in the guts of a pocket watch.

Oh.

Oh sh*t.

Okay.

And a second, quieter realisation that followed behind it; a realisation born of experience.

This… This I can actually handle.

“Hey,” Eddie said softly, placing a tentative hand on Will’s shaking shoulder. The boy jumped a little under the touch, his face lifting ever so slightly from the shelter of his arms. “Hey, kid. Take it from someone who knows what it is to be different. There is absolutely nothing wrong with you. You hear me? Nothing. It may look bleak to you right now - f*cking bleak, even,” His words were halting as he spoke, but Eddie managed a smile as Will’s face emerged a little further from his arms, settling a puffy-rimmed eyeball on him warily. “But the things that make you different are also some of the most extraordinary and special things about you.”

Will’s face scrunched up as he began to withdraw again, pulling back and leaning inwards onto himself like a sunflower on a cloudy day.

“I’m not talking about like, being good at math or liking dungeons and dragons or something-”

“-I know what you’re talking about,” Eddie said with conviction. He met Will’s gaze with a meaningful, almost challenging look.

Ask me, Eddie willed him. Ask me outright. I dare you.

Will’s eyes searched his face, confusion overlaid with a hesitant, almost wary disbelief. But no words came, and so Eddie took a deep breath. He could feel his own heart racing as he continued.

“Believe me when I say I understand, Byers. And I can tell you, personally, that you are not alone. There are lots of people out there who are like you. Like… Like us,” he clarified, not missing the way the boy’s eyes widened at Eddie’s choice of words, “and some day… Some day you’re gonna meet them, and they’re going to love you and accept you for every last part of you, and it will never even occur to them that anything about you is wrong, or a mistake. There will be people out there who love you without asking you to change a thing. You just gotta wait out the… The craptastic sh*tshow that is high school, and then you’ll find them.” Eddie paused, letting his words sink in for a moment for the boy. “And, for the record,” Eddie added, because he couldn’t quite help himself. “I might be new to all this — to your whole monster mayhem crew — but I don’t think there’s a single person in that cabin that would think any part of you is a mistake. If you wanted to share that part of yourself with them.” Eddie shrugged, looking away to let the boy process a little bit on his own. “It’s just a thought.”

There were tears on Will’s cheeks, but as Eddie dared to search the kid’s face, he realised that it wasn’t misery pouring from his eyes, but a kind of terrified, overwhelmed kind of relief. Eddie’s throat tightened at the sight; tightened as he recognised that he was, in some ways, staring back at himself through this young man.

Jesus, dude, don’t you dare f*cking cry with this kid, what’s wrong with you, he chastised himself, and he cleared his throat and rocked a little on his haunches, turning the ring on his finger around and around once again in a soothing motion. He didn’t speak again until the prickle behind his eyelids had faded to less dangerous levels, and he eyed the kid again.

“Although,” Eddie mused, considering, and Will’s expression dropped immediately into a look of open horror, “you might want to rethink the bowl cut, kid. What are you, fifteen? Now that’s a mistake right there.”

He reached out to rub a hand right in the middle of the kid’s neatly brushed bowl cut, startling a wet, wobbly laugh out of him.

“Hey, that’s totally uncalled for,” Will swatted him away, a grin breaking across his face as the moment lightened. “What, you really think I’m gonna take style advice from some mop head in a Wham! T-shirt?”

“In a wh-?” for the first time, Eddie glanced down at the shirt Steve had tossed him to wear. It had been inside out when he’d pulled it over his head, and it was only now that he truly took in the well-worn, faded face of George Michael splashed across the front of it.

“What the f-” Eddie whipped around, wincing and closing his eyes as a wave of nausea rolled over him in time with the pulse of his blood through the myriad of scabbing-over bat bites. An unholy fire burned in his eyes as he locked focus on Steve, who he only now realised was lingering in the doorway, half way between the chaotic negotiations occurring inside and the careful, roundabout conversation happening outside.

We were quiet, he couldn’t possibly have heard us from all the way over there, was as far as Eddie’s brain got before he was speaking.

“Steve f*cking Harrington,” Eddie addressed him, and Steve jumped, a rabbit caught in the headlights. “What the f*ck is this bullsh*t shirt I am wearing?”

“You’re wearing Harrington’s shirt?” Will asked slowly from beside him, and Eddie swatted a hand at whatever awestruck grin was blooming on the kid’s face in Eddie’s periphery.

“Why do you even own this?!” Eddie demanded, pulling the shirt away from his neck like it was a boa constrictor actively trying to strangle him, and Steve looked simultaneously amused and defensive.

“Wham is good music, Munson,” Steve told him primly, crossing his arms over his broad chest. He did it in a way that happened to make his biceps stretch the fabric of his shirt in a way that was, quite frankly, dangerously distracting. Eddie would almost have been convinced that Steve was unaware of its effect, if it wasn’t for the smirk and raised eyebrow he aimed at Eddie.

“It’s not my fault you have bad taste.”

“Bad taste-” Eddie sputtered, abandoning the neckline and tugging the bottom of the shirt away from his body to stare at it in disbelief. It was so soft and faded between his fingers that Eddie couldn’t help but marvel at it with equal measures of awe and disgust.

“How often have you even worn this?” Bubbled out of his mouth. Steve shrugged, arms still protecting his vital organs from the death rays of Eddie’s gaze.

“What? It’s comfy,” he shot back at Eddie, and Will’s laughter drowned out the world-weary groan as Eddie pinched the bridge of his nose.

This guy, his mind prodded him incredulously. Out of all the unattainable straight dudes in the world. You decided this guy.

“How am I ever meant to be respected and feared by these impressionable baby freshmen if they think I listen to crap like this, Harrington?” Eddie asked him, his voice strained as he tried not to let Will’s laughter break his annoyance. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve spent cultivating my scary cult leader reputation?”

“Yeah, well, I think your scary cult leader reputation might have worked a little too well on everyone else, Munson,” Harrington told him dryly. “Between us three, you could use all the image rehabilitation you can get.”

“Why exactly does everyone in town think you’re a serial killer? You guys kind of skipped that part before,” Will asked, looking up at Eddie.

The words died half-formed in Eddie’s throat; the sound of Chrissy’s bones snapping echoed in his mind all too clearly, and he felt his smile falter. Will’s smile faded quickly as he noticed whatever of it was written on Eddie’s face, and he nodded. “Sorry,” Will said, glancing away. “I know the reason you’re part of this now can’t be a good one. It never is.”

“Yeah,” Eddie croaked, his throat all too dry as he tried to keep his whole body from locking up. “You got that right.”

It felt like his heart was going to bruise itself against the inside of his ribcage, and he redirected his eyes towards the shifting afternoon sunbeams that danced between the branches above them. It kept that pesky prickle in his eyes at bay.

It was only once he could no longer hear his own pulse in his eardrums, but instead the whisper of the budding leaves against each other, and the rustle of squirrels moving through the underbrush, and birdsong, that he felt it was safe once again to shoot a valiant, devil-may-care smile at the kid.

“You ready to go back inside?” Eddie asked him. “I think we might be able to convince them of your plan if we work together.”

Will nodded.

“I’d like that,” he said. Eddie bumped his shoulder against Will’s, drawing a smile back again.

“Hey,” Eddie murmured to him as he started to pull himself up off the floorboards. Will paused. “If you ever wanna talk about- being different,” Eddie said haltingly, not missing the way Will’s eyes cut over to Steve’s form still standing in the doorway, “ or even if you just want to talk, I’ll be here. Okay? You don’t have to feel alone. In any of it.”

Eddie saw Will’s mouth twitch and contort as a variety of emotions riddled the kid’s body like bullets. He nodded, his throat bobbing as he swallowed, and that was enough for Eddie.

“Oy,” Eddie grunted, co*cking his head towards the doorway. Steve jolted to attention like a soldier caught slacking off. “George Michael. Come get me up off this splintery-ass floor. I’m dying over here.”

Yeah, no, definitely didn’t overhear anything, Eddie told the anxious little thing inside his chest as Steve moved towards him, a small, questioning smile on his face as he offered Eddie his hand. Eddie gave him a small nod of acknowledgement - the kid’s okay, I think we sorted it out - and let Steve manhandle him until he was pressed against his side to help him to the door.

No way in hell would King Steve be cool with helping me like this if he knew… If he heard… Eddie couldn’t even finish the thought in his own mind, swatting down the words before they formed and made him spiral. He’d long since abandoned the self-hatred that had made his middle school years a misery; no point revisiting such ridiculous thoughts now. Instead, Eddie allowed himself a brief, perverse moment to enjoy the specific, agonising way his body felt ablaze in every place where Steve touched him.

It wasn’t like he would ever have more than this brief, glorious stretch of closeness, anyway.

Steve just wasn’t built like that.

…

Steve had… Absolutely no idea how to process what he had just overheard.

He wasn’t an idiot; or at least, he wasn’t an idiot all the time. Even with the two of them talking in code, it had taken Steve all of about twelve seconds to realise exactly what Will was referring to in terms of being different.

After all, plenty of people talk, the loudest of whom were almost always nosy assholes.

And Steve, for better or worse, had spent most of his adolescent years relishing in an extended reign as King of the Assholes.

So he knew what they said about Will Byers. He knew that Jonathan had copped sh*t for the whispers spoken about his brother for years; whispers that Steve himself had weaponised against the poor guy when he was at his worst. The thought of it now made Steve feel ill with remorse and guilt.

What he hadn’t expected - what he had never anticipated - was that Eddie was also… Different.

He also hadn’t anticipated that the discovery would make him feel… Something. Something buzzy, and intense, that seemed to sit just below the surface of his skin and crackle.

But then his mind had caught up with the words, and Steve remembered two key things.

Thing number one: Eddie was a mastermind of strategy, with experience in drama and storytelling.

Thing number two: Eddie had made it all too clear that he was capable of completely setting aside his own needs for the sake of someone he perceived as needing the support or the comfort more. Case in point: Dustin. As such, Steve felt the gears in his mind turning, and a confused kind of relieved disappointment rippled through him.

It was a good play, really, Steve thought. A master stroke, even.

Will didn’t feel listened to; Will felt different, and alone, and like he had no one to talk to. Of course Eddie would offer up that kind of support to the kid; of course he might even imply a mutual connection between them, if it was enough to help Will get through this fresh round of world-ending apocalypse. After all, it wasn’t like it could do any harm; Eddie’s reputation was toast anyway, and Will was the sort of kid whose loyalty couldn’t be beaten out of him by an entire battalion of Soviet interrogators. Steve was certain that Will would take their conversation with him to the grave.

And, Steve thought darkly, we’re all likely to be dead before the week is out anyway.

Still, the realisation that Eddie had shared this mis-truth with Will left an odd coil of heaviness in the pit of his stomach. Steve had been totally lost in thoughts of this when Eddie had eventually turned around to make fun of him for his exceptional taste in music again, and he had obliged Eddie’s demand to be helped back to his feet. He had made an effort to give Eddie his best non-verbal your secret is safe with me look, which Eddie nodded back to with something that resembled relief.
Good.

But as Steve helped him to his feet, and as Eddie’s weight settled against him for all the world like it was meant to be there, like he had always been there…

Well.

Steve couldn’t quite find a way to shake off the strange, nebulous feeling of loneliness that permeated his chest, and dragged at his every step.

Chapter 11: I Never Really Cared Before I Met You

Chapter Text

“Al- right,” Hopper’s voice was both muffled and strained. Most of his face was compressed into the palm of his hand as he scrubbed it across his haggard features. His eyes raked across Elle, standing pale and stubborn in front of him, every muscle in her body taut as though his rebuttal was something she would need to physically withstand the force of. Her hand was wrapped around Will’s, who was standing beside her with an expression just as resolute. His jaw was ticking with tension as he awaited the final verdict. Behind them both stood Eddie, arms folded like a bouncer as he stared down Hopper with an impassive expression.

“Fine. You win. You both want to risk everything on this? Fine.”

“It makes sense,” Nancy nudged gently from the sidelines, but it only resulted in Hopper flinching.

“No, it’s a risk,and you both are just kids,and we have already seen what can happen when this kind of thing goes wrong-”

“That’s why they’ll do it together,” Eddie reminded him, and Will shot a quick glance over his shoulder at Eddie. He clearly found some level of reassurance in the presence of the young man behind him, because he turned his face back to Hopper with renewed focus.

“If we do this right, we’ll find out exactly what we need to know and we’ll be out of there before he even knows we’ve seen anything,” Will said, nodding slightly at his own words. “We won’t do anything more than the absolute minimum we need to get that. I can guide Elle through my connection to him, and- and she can protect me if he tries to come for me.” He paused, as though climbing through the difficult terrain of his own thoughts. “And, at the very worst, Elle can be a witness and raise the alarm if Vecna- if he invades my mind like the mindflayer did last time. She’ll be able to tell that I’m compromised. And she can warn you all.”

A ripple of pride passed through Steve’s spine as he watched this particular standoff from the sidelines near Dustin. Dustin, to his credit, was paying absolutely zero attention to the drama unfolding, and was instead messing around in the corner of the room with what looked like a pasta strainer, several metal coathangers and the guts of a boombox stereo. Steve didn’t want to ask what he was doing. He doubted that Dustin would have a way of explaining his workings that didn’t come across as a condescending rant, and Steve was way too busy fighting against the internal crisis that had been kicked off by Robin only a couple of hours earlier, and then doused in kerosene by the conversation he was never meant to overhear.

Steve knew Eddie wasn’t gay.

He knew this in his bones.

The guy had been in his trailer with freaking Chrissy Cunningham when she was killed, for crying out loud. To make Steve’s convictions even clearer, Eddie had been, as Dustin pointed out so helpfully, gravitating towards Robin since her arrival that morning like a moon to a planet. He made her laugh; really laugh, which was something that Steve knew was an exceptionally difficult thing to do, and he seemed to do so as easily as breathing. The dude was clearly into chicks. And, if all of that wasn’t enough, then his carefully cultivated bad-boy look was living proof of it. Steve was sure. As if the guy didn’t know exactly how well his ripped jeans fitted him; as if that wasn’t one hundred percent the point of them.

What Steve wasn’t so sure about was why that thought had congealed deep in his core, forming a leaden weight that he was only just now managing to identify.

Why, if Steve was not a bi… Whatever Robin had said that morning, was he feeling such a profound sense of disappointment over Eddie being straight?

It made no sense.

Steve couldn’t parse it, and it made his head hurt if he tried to think about it too hard or too long. Perhaps most frustratingly, his thoughts kept managing to brush up against something weird and foreign and way too big that had taken up residence somewhere inside his brain; something he was almost certain hadn’t even been there the day before. He kept prodding at it, though, like a tongue against a loose tooth. He was sure that given time (and sleep) he would manage to dislodge whatever weirdness was stuck up in his brain, and he would no longer have this tense coil rotting away at his insides, poisoning capacity to think about almost anything else.

What Steve did know, however, was that if Eddie was going to keep up the charade he had constructed to support Will, then he was going to have to pull back on the Robin thing. Doubly so, since Steve was pretty damn sure that Robin wasn’t exactly comfortable with sharing her general disinterest in men just with anyone Willy-nilly. The last thing they needed was the added chaos of a bungled romantic attempt during this unprecedented escalation in their fight against the Upside-Down. They needed their focus , damnit. Without it, they’d all be dead.

Mm , Steve thought. Maybe I should try and talk to him about it .

“I still don’t like it,” Hopper’s voice rang through the cabin, pulling Steve from his thoughts like a wave dumping him on a beach.

“You don’t have to like it,” Joyce said beside him. “They’re old enough to make their own decisions, Hopper. Even if you tell them no, they’re gonna try it the moment you turn your back. It’s better to let them try it here, where they’re safe, and where we can help them and protect them, than to say no.”

Hopper covered his face with both his hands, bending forward so that his head was supported between his knees. He made an odd sound from beneath his fingers, his shoulders heaving. There was silence as they waited for him to speak again.

“I’ve just…” Hopper’s voice was rough. “I’ve just gotten her back, Joyce. I’ve just gotten ‘em both back.”

It was only then that Steve realised that Hopper was crying . Elle gave Will a conciliatory look, and he nodded, letting her hand go so she could step forward and wrap her arms around her adoptive father. Another strange, pained noise erupted from him as she held him close, and she whispered something to him that Steve couldn’t hear. They could tell, however, that the battle was won, and Eddie patted Will on the shoulder with a reassuring grin, before limping back over to the couch. He eased himself down, laying his head across the arm closest to Steve, and his legs over the other arm. He raised a lazy hand to Steve, flicking his wrist in a come here kind of fashion. Steve dropped to a crouch next to him, his knees cracking.

“Jesus,Harrington, what are you, sixty?” Eddie groaned in disgust, and Steve’s head dropped in a huff of laughter.

“Speak for yourself, man; you’re the one who’s been using me as a walking stick all day,” Steve quipped back, and he felt a complicated little thrill as his words earned him a crinkled grin. Steve liked the way Eddie’s cheeks formed a kiss in each corner when Eddie smiled; he liked the way his joy and amusem*nt contorted his face so much that his eyes practically closed.

“Don’t pretend you don’t enjoy it,” Eddie said, all half-co*cked sass without the bite, and he closed his eyes as he performed a languid, joint-aching stretch like a cat. It was lucky that he had his eyes closed, Steve thought later, since Steve had been immediately incapacitated by Eddie’s words, a shuddering wave of heat rolling over him like a runaway concrete pipe. He had barely gotten it under control by the time Eddie went slack, sinking back into the couch and blinking his eyes slowly.

“I’m so tired, Harrington,” Eddie mumbled, low enough that only he could hear. It didn’t matter that he was making Steve’s brain do burnouts inside his head with every stupid little movement; Steve couldn’t help but soften as he looked down at him.

“So rest,” he said simply, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Eddie’s eyes flicked towards the various groups gathered in the cabin.

“Promise it’ll be okay?” He asked, and even though Steve felt something like glass dragging against the inside of his chest, he took Eddie’s closest hand in his own.

“I’ll wake you up if anyone starts to move,” Steve told him, and Eddie’s eyes lingered a moment longer than expected upon their joined fingers, lifting them up a little on his own to peer at them. Steve was about to chicken out; to pull his hand back with what he hoped was a casual, brotherly comment, but then Eddie shifted a little, laying their hands together on the armrest right in front of his face. Like he was settling in. Getting comfortable. And Steve’s touch, for better or worse, was a necessary part of that in that moment.

“Okay,” Eddie breathed. “Okay.”

Steve eased himself down into a more comfortable position on the floor next to Eddie, shielding their joined hands between them from the rest of the cabin as Eddie turned on his side properly, his breathing evening out. Steve let his head dip against the same armrest as Eddie’s, and the sensation of Eddie’s hair against the back of his neck was the last thing in his mind as he dozed off next to him.

…

Steve came back to consciousness at the sound of cabinets closing, and he blinked in the late afternoon light.

“Hey sleepy-head.”

Robin’s sh*t-eating grin was one of the first things to enter his bleary-eyed view. She was crouched in front of him so that they were eye to eye, her chin balanced delicately in one hand. Steve straightened, noting in horror that he had been drooling onto the couch pillow.

“Hope it was a nice nap. Things are happening, if you wanted to throw your hat in the ring for any of it.”

“Right,” Steve rumbled, his voice thick and groggy. Robin’s eyes cut to the figure behind him on the couch, her eyes dancing with amusem*nt even as she started to stand up. “Might want to wake up your boyfriend, while you’re at it.”

She was on her feet before the automatic ‘he’s not my boyfriend’ managed to filter its way from his brain to his mouth, so instead he turned, shifting so that he could check on Eddie. The movement sent pins and needles all up and down his arm, and he grimaced as they sparked and faded. He quickly identified the reason; his hand was still clutched in Eddie’s, a vice grip maintained even in his sleep, and Eddie had positioned his cheek on top of their entwined fingers.

“Eddie,” he murmured, leaning in so as not to speak too loudly. He squeezed Eddie’s hand, and felt him automatically squeeze back. Eddie gave a long, peaceful sigh, and Steve felt his heart clench within his chest as the other man tucked their hands further under his face, nuzzling down into them.

You are going to destroy me, Munson, Steve thought to himself.

“Hey,” he tried again, and tentatively reached out to stroke the hair out of his face, pressing his hand into the uninjured side of his neck gently, at the hinge where his shoulder met it. “Eddie, wake up.”

Eddie’s eyebrows twitched, and that was the only warning Steve got before Eddie’s body seized up in a full-muscular lock. Steve winced in pain at the vice that closed on his trapped hand as Eddie’s eyelids flew open, his chest surging with a rattling gasp.

“Ow, hey, Eddie, it’s alright,” Steve wheezed, and Eddie’s eyes found him immediately.

“Wha’sappenin’?” Eddie slurred unintelligibly, trying to sit up way too fast and brush off what was definitely his own crusting streak of dribble from his cheek, lifting the same hand that was still clutching Steve’s. He was half-way through wiping his face on the back of Steve’s hand when he realised what he was doing, and he dropped it in immediate, wide-eyed mortification. Steve didn’t notice this, however, as he was suddenly very busy trying to figure out what the hell he was meant to do with the startling, crystal-clear image he suddenly had in his mind of leaning down to press his mouth against Eddie’s sleepy lips.
f*ck.
sh*t.
Go away,Steve urged it.

“Uh…” Steve blinked at Eddie, searching for words amidst the empty cavity that was once his brain. “People. Are doing things. We should get moving.”

Eddie slumped a little, and Steve found the internal command to recommence his breathing as Eddie nodded his head.

“Yeah, sh*t, okay,” Eddie said, groaning as he let one leg slide off the edge of the couch and beginning the arduous process of getting up. It was lucky they were already awake, as Elle and Mike stomped over to the television set nearby to them with absolutely zero concern for the amount of noise they were making and began dragging the unit towards Elle’s bedroom.

“You’re absolutely sure about this?” Mike asked her over the din, and Elle just rolled her eyes.

“Keep pushing,” she told him, and Will was at the bedroom door, holding it open for the two of them. Hopper paused, limping from his own room in a thick, slightly musty coat, to watch the three of them in progress, a tight expression on his face. Joyce placed a reassuring hand in the middle of his chest.

“They’re going to be fine,” she said, patting him gently, and he turned to face her. She shot him a tired smile. “The quicker you go, the quicker you’ll be back.”

“Where are you going?” Steve asked, as he noticed Jonathan and his long haired friend - Argyle? - pulling on coats of their own.

“Just into town to find a working phone,” Jonathan told him, the words thrown over his shoulder as he picked up a hefty piece of lumber they hadn’t yet nailed to the cabin walls, turning it in his hands in a considering fashion. “Eddie’s idea about the power blocking chip might be our saving grace, and the sooner Hopper can get his message to the folks in the government, the better.”

“We’ll be gone an hour, tops,” Hopper told them all. If we can’t find a phone, we’ll just head straight back.”

“And if the gate opens again?” Steve asked.

“Then we’ll head straight back,” Hopper repeated. “Mike?”

“Yeah?” The boy’s shaggy head appeared at the open bedroom door, unassuming. Behind him, Eddie could see Will and Elle attempting to resuscitate the old television.

“Need your walkie talkie,” Hopper said, holding out his hand, and Mike nodded and disappeared back into the bedroom. “Henderson? How’s your thingie going?”

“The communications array should pretty much be good to go,” Dustin called from somewhere outside. “Gonna need some help moving it out into the field though; we’ll need the clearest reception we can get if we wanna keep in contact.”

“We can help with that,” Steve suggested immediately, glancing to Eddie to check his reaction. Eddie looked back at him, nodding quickly.

“Sure can,” he agreed. “I probably need the fresh air anyway.”

“Good,” Hopper gave them a nod of confirmation. “No one goes anywhere alone, and no one goes anywhere without a weapon, you hear me?”

There was a scattered round of well-versed agreement, and Steve bent down to fuss with his shoes as Nancy pressed a lingering kiss into Jonathan’s lips. When he finally straightened, Jonathan was outside, Nancy had returned to helping Robin string up some kind of fairy-light warning system, and Eddie was leaning against the armrest of the couch with an expression of amusem*nt.

“You ready, Harrington?” Eddie arched an eyebrow, a wolfish smile toying at the corners of his mouth, and Steve pushed back the urge to make some kind of stinging retort. Instead, he nodded, and offered Eddie the crook of his elbow for support.

“I think I’m alright for the moment, actually,” Eddie told him, brushing him off not unkindly, but Steve felt the rejection like a lash across his skin. Something in him that was mostly protectiveness raised its hackles and told him to insist upon helping as his smile faltered, but he quickly propped it up and channeled saner thoughts as he spoke.

“Alright,” he relented, dropping his elbow down by his side and instead moving to hold open the front door for him. “But you tell me the moment you need to stop, or you need to sit down, or you need me to help.”

“No hero moves,” Eddie echoed back to him sarcastically, but he bumped his less injured shoulder against Steve’s as they fell into a slow step next to each other. “I got it, Harrington. Think of it as a good thing! Your surgical skills are paying off. I might even be able to carry something, maybe.”

“Are you losers done braiding each others’ hair?” Dustin’s voice called over to them from somewhere beyond the single remaining parked car, and Steve and Eddie shared a look before adjusting their path towards his voice.

“We’re coming,” Eddie sing-songed, managing a playful half-skip as he turned on the path to look back at Steve. His hands were in the pockets of his filthy jeans, still caked with blood and mud and all sorts of hideous things.

But Steve?

Steve could only see the way his narrow hips were hugged by the denim; could only see the way Eddie’s playful grin reached his eyes, like they were sneaking off to the hillside to share an afternoon beer and a smoke and watch the sunset instead of establishing an emergency airway to stop the apocalypse. That disconcerting feeling was back again, and instead of the full-body flush of awareness that came with the image of a kiss, it was instead a cloying, desperate feeling, that hoped that Steve would get a chance to see Eddie like this when the world wasn’t ending; when the stakes were only as high as burgers-or-Chinese for dinner, or picking a movie to watch.

“Earth to Steve!” Eddie called, and he startled, shaking his head to dispel the thoughts like a dog. Eddie was looking at him with a mischievous, amused expression on his face. “What’s with the goofy look, dude? Get your ass in gear, we’ve got a f*ckin’ nerd contraption to move! Or are you gonna let the invalid do all the heavy lifting?” Eddie wiggled his eyebrows at him, disappearing out of view behind the car, and Steve released a breath that had gotten stuck half way out of his lungs.

What the f*ck is wrong with you, buthe asked himself, raking his fingers through his hair in an attempt to dispell some of the excess nervous energy that Eddie kept seeming to draw out of him.

Get it. The f*ck. Together.

It was as he paced, out of sight of Dustin and Eddie behind the car, that he noticed the little stockpile of nail-filled planks of wood. Hopper’s words echoed in his mind, and he stalked over to them, picking up one and then another to assess their merits. This was clearly the industrious work of Nancy and Robin, who were even now visible silhouetted through the windows of the house setting up further defences. Steve wondered if the kids had managed to get the television working enough to produce white noise for Elle’s trance to work; wondered if they were already inside, moving through that strange, blank plane of darkness they had described to him before. He looked down at his hands, noting the weight and movement of the piece of wood he held between them.

This one will do nicely, he thought, and he finally felt balanced enough to go and help Dustin and Eddie move the makeshift communications array.

…

They had walked in single file up the narrow forest path, for all the world looking like one of those lame-ass fantasy murals spray painted on the sides of stoner dude’s vans. Steve didn’t mind this, though, as he was happy to be right at the front of them, carrying the majority of the MacGyvered apparatus in his arms with no shortage of weird metal bits poking into his skin. Eddie was in the middle of their short convoy, carrying the nail-studded wooden plank in his hands and a shoulder bag that had been shoved upon them by a fretful-faced Joyce containing a couple of water bottles and some bandaids. He was feeding Dustin the occasional “hm?” And “oh wow” as the kid rattled off just about every fun fact he had stored in his considerable brain about radio waves and their myriad applications to communication systems around the world. Steve had glanced back at one point, fully ready to ask Dustin to cool it on the nerd speak, but Eddie had winked at him before he could say anything, and Steve almost tripped on a stray root that had appeared out of nowhere. He had decided very quickly against any further attempts to request peace and quiet, the tips of his ears burning at the sound of Eddie’s soft laughter behind him.

The trees couldn’t have opened up onto the field at a better time, in Steve’s own reckoning, and Eddie dropped into a seated position amidst the wildflowers to rest and bathe in the rapidly dropping afternoon sun. Dustin persisted, however, pushing past the both of them and climbing up the little ridge that stretched out in front of them and slightly across to the right. He threw a biting command over his shoulder at Steve to follow him, and Steve shared a shrug and a silent look with Eddie before doing as he was told. He valiantly allowed Dustin to boss him around for a good ten or twenty minutes, holding different pieces up and around and all but standing on one leg, before giving up the ghost and stalking away, hands in the air in defeat. Eddie watched him approach, one hand shielding his eyes as Steve planted his ass down in the wildflowers next to him, some thirty feet or so from Dustin and the machinations of his cantankerous genius. The hopeful hum of insects surrounded them, a languid, droning pulse that swallowed the sound of their conversation.

“I’m impressed,” Eddie told him as he settled down beside him. Steve threw him a sarcastic, narrow-eyed f*ck you expression, but Eddie returned nothing but an earnest innocence. “No, I’m serious. I wouldn’t have been able to handle his know-it-all tone as long as you did. You’re way more patient than I could ever be.”

Steve huffed and felt his lip curl a little as he reached down to pull at the grass between them.

“Thanks,” Steve said. “But between the two of us, you’re definitely better at this than I’ll ever be.”

“What? No,” Eddie scrunched his eyebrows together dismissively. “You’re a natural. All these little dummies look up to you. It’s really cute.”

“Maybe. But I can’t, like, meet them where they are like you can.” He was aiming for subtle, but Steve didn’t quite miss the side-glance he received for that one.

sh*t, Steve thought. You’ve f*cked it up already, Harrington, nice going. But the look passed, and Eddie snorted, lifting a hand to comb through the tangled curls at the base of his neck as he shook his head.

“What?” Steve asked him.

“It’s just- nah, it’s stupid…”

“Aw come on,” Steve encouraged him. “You’ve heard me talk. I’m lucky if I manage to say something that isn’t stupid.”

“Fine,” Eddie relented, “but for the record, you’ve gotta lay off yourself about being stupid. You’re not stupid, Steve.”

Steve didn’t say anything to this, and waited for Eddie to share his thoughts. Eddie pulled at a blade of grass, running it between his fingers with an idle, nervous energy. His lashes were dipped so low they were practically brushing his cheeks.

“It’s just… you know how I told you I was jealous of you? Back in the Upside Down?”

“Back when I got bitten by those bats?” Steve clarified, and Eddie winced.

“Yeah, then,” he said, eyeing Steve up and down with a slightly alarmed look. “I just figured out why it didn’t ever have to be a competition between us; why I shouldn’t have been jealous at all in the first place.”

“Because you were obviously the favourite?” Steve prompted, earning him a smack against his bicep.

This is good, Steve congratulated himself. This could be enough. Maybe those weird-ass thoughts were just Robin’s doing.

“No,” Eddie hung a lot of emphasis on the word, “because we fill different purposes for them. You… You’re what they aspire to. You’re their role model. Popular. Attractive. Athletic. Good with girls. Good with people , even. And to top it all off, you’re also brave, and a leader, and you care so damn much.You’re a good guy, Steve, and none of that comes from anywhere but you. You’re just like that because you know it’s the right thing to do. You’re everything they could hope to be in life, whether you think you are or not.” Eddie’s mouth pulled wide in a bittersweet, soft smile. “And me? I’m there to remind them it’s okay if they fall short of that. That it’s not the… The end of the world,and that there will be people to care about them, even if they don’t quite fit with what the world wants them to be.”

Steve… Didn’t know where to begin processing all of that.

“Huh,” he said instead, leaning back on his hands to turn the words over like a stone in his mind. The dirt was dry beneath his fingers and sun-warmed, and it anchored Steve to the moment instead of allowing him to disappear into his own head like a kite untethered from its owner.

Eddie snorted again.

“I told you,” he said. “Stupid thoughts.”

“Not stupid,” Steve told him. “I’m just thinking.”

“A dangerous pastime for you.”

“f*ck off.”

That made Eddie hoot with laughter, and Steve let his gaze wander for a moment down the hill, past where Dustin was still reconstructing his array, and beyond to where Hawkins was laid out before them. The sky was beginning to dip into golden hour, the warm spring afternoon glow bathing Steve’s skin in a dangerously comfortable blanket, and he sank back into the wildflowers until he was staring up at only the sky, his hair inevitably getting filled with dirt and twigs. He didn’t really care, though.

“You really think other people see me like that?” Steve asked, unable to meet Eddie’s eyes. Eddie leaned down on one elbow beside him.

“I know they do,” Eddie nodded sagely.

“Do you see me like that?” Steve pressed, and Eddie paused.

“Well, yeah,” he said, shrugging one shoulder noncommittally. “Wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t.”

Gotcha,Steve thought to himself, feeling his mouth stretch in a lopsided smile.

“So… You think I’m attractive then, Munson?” He said, and peaked out of one eyelid as Eddie rolled his head around on his shoulders with a dramatic groan. Hook, line and sinker .

“Oh my god,” Eddie moaned dramatically, bringing a palm up to smack against his forehead. “He’s caught me,everyone; Steve Harrington has caught me. Whatever shall I do.”

“You know, I’m meant to be the one making fun of you, here,” Steve griped, causing Eddie to break out in another peal of laughter so potent that his elbow slipped and he was laying on his back next to Steve.

Steve turned his head to the side to peer at Eddie through the stalks of flowers; a knee-high jungle that felt like a world away from everything they were facing down. He reached out a hand to detangle one of Eddie’s stray curls from the stem of a yellow-petaled flower that he didn’t know the name of. Eddie’s eyes followed Steve’s hand, wary like a stray cat, but he didn’t flinch away as Steve gently manoeuvred it.

“Hey, Steve?”

“Yeah?” Steve had almost got it free, his eyes affixed to the work he was doing.

“Are we gonna survive this?”

The words were so simple, but Steve felt the weight of them as they permeated the empty space between them. They shrouded them both in a deep, almost expectant atmosphere. Steve didn’t answer him immediately; didn’t have an answer for him. The fingers of his free hand played with Eddie’s hair so idly that he didn’t really register he was even doing it, brushing it back across Eddie’s face. His fingers trailed down, laying the curl along the same line as the others. The backs of his fingers ghosted along the side of Eddie’s throat, tracing the line of him so delicately that he was almost certain Eddie couldn’t feel it. Part of him was… Scared. Scared that Eddie would disappear; would collapse in a haze of smoke and smiles if he actually committed to the touch.

“If we don’t, then at least we’ll know we did everything we could to try and stop it,” Steve said quietly. Eddie nodded thoughtful.

“I’m glad you’re here, Munson.” The words left Steve’s mouth in a rush, as though saying them at a normal speed would be to risk not saying them at all. Eddie blinked, surprised.

“I, uh, what I mean is…” Steve grappled to explain. “I’m not glad that you’re hurt, or that everyone in town thinks you’re a serial killer, but…” Steve sighed, closing his eyes and trying again. “I’m glad you’re here. With me. If it could be anyone I’m standing with through the end of all this sh*t; and my god , I hope it’s the end of all this sh*t,” Steve smiled a little at that, “I wouldn’t want it to be anyone else.”

Eddie was wearing that strange expression again; the one that made Steve feel like he was a many-legged crawly thing being examined under a microscope. Eddie’s eyes were a shade of brown that reminded Steve of the fawns that his father would take him out to track in the fall as a kid; light and warm and so, so deep as he stared back at Steve. They were eyes that he could trip into and disappear forever, and he was all too aware of just how close he stood to that edge.

“Steve,” Eddie murmured.

But Steve couldn’t bear it. His hand had settled against the side of Eddie’s neck, and he could feel the racing pulse of it beneath his fingertips like a cascading drumbeat; but there was also an ocean roaring in Steve’s ears, and he couldn’t bring himself to hear whatever lighthearted jokes were going to come out of Eddie’s mouth. Worse; he couldn’t bring himself to listen to whatever gentle pushback he was absolutely certain he was about to receive. Pushback for something he hadn’t even put into words that he wanted; pushback that would potentially crumble the fragile foundation of the friendship they had been building together.

Steve pulled back, sitting up so fast that he saw little black dots behind his eyes.

We should, uh,” Steve’s voice was rough, and he pushed himself up onto his feet despite the stinging pain that lashed at his injured sides, separating them completely. He snatched a breath in through his nose, gathering himself and running a hand through his hair distractedly. “We should go help Dustin with something. Check on him.”

Eddie was still seated on the ground, his head bobbing a little as he tried to catch up with the sudden, disorienting shift in their conversation.

“Yeah,” he said, his eyebrows furrowing at Steve as he came to grips with whatever had just happened. “Yeah, okay. Sure.”

Steve couldn’t quite look him in the eye as he helped Eddie to his feet, dropping his hand as soon as he was sure Eddie wouldn’t keel over into the grass.

He didn’t watch to see if Eddie followed him over to Dustin’s mad scientist creation.

He just needed to… Step away.

Before he did something he regretted, and ruined everything with his stupid, no-good, dumb idiot mouth.

Classic Harrington.

…

…

Eddie had just about had it with this stupid radio thing, and he wasn’t even the one attempting to help the kid.

They’d been out there for almost 45 minutes, by Eddie’s watch, and Dustin’s attitude had decayed quicker than a brick of yellow cake uranium.

“Calling all call signs, this is Dustin Henderson,” Dustin said into his radio for what felt like the millionth time, the words no longer sounding like English to Eddie’s ears.

“Harrington, adjust that dish, would you? Come on, it’s not that freaking hard,” Dustin said off to the side, and then he activated the radio channel before Steve could bite back at him. Eddie watched Steve sigh, and stretch tall on his toes to try and reach the offending colander-turned-satellite dish that Dustin was referencing. Even if Dustin was slowly driving him mad, Eddie couldn’t argue with the view. With Steve’s arms so high above his head, his shirt had ridden up so high that Eddie could see a clean two inch strip of bare skin; the smooth, toned line of his back rose just above the waistband of his jeans, the hollow valley of Steve’s spine, the shadowy kisses framed in by the tops of his hips …

Eddie’s mind was taking frantic Polaroids of this moment, lest it never happen again.

Steve dropped back down from his tiptoes, arms swinging to his side, Eddie schooled his face into a supportive expression as Steve shot him a beseeching glance.

“All call signs, this is Dustin Henderson, do you copy?” Dustin released the button, and the radio filled with the uniform sound of static once again. “Steve, would you get that, please?” Steve sighed, stretching up again.

“I’m trying, Henderson, it’s not exactly easy to rea-”

Eddie watched as Steve’s eyelids widened in pain, and he folded over in two with a winded groan.

“sh*t, Steve?” Eddie was pulling himself up onto wobbly feet as Steve clutched at his side. “What’s wrong?”

“‘S nothing,” Steve managed, though his voice was as tight as if he’d been punched in the stomach. “‘M fine.”

“You’re clearly not fine,” Eddie said, his hands dancing around Steve as he struggled to figure out if he should touch or not touch, if he could help or if it was something that would clear up in a moment or two.

The bat bites, dipsh*t, Eddie’s mind prompted him helpfully. He’s been so busy looking after you that he hasn’t even looked at his own injuries.

“sh*t,” Eddie cursed under his breath. “Okay, alright, where’s that f*ckin’ bag of tricks-”

“I’m fine, Eddie,” Steve insisted, but his voice was thin and gravelly, and Eddie could see something dark beginning to stain Steve’s shirt beneath his fingers.

“Like hell you are,” Eddie snapped at him. “Adjust your own dish, Henderson; I gotta patch up this idiot.”

Dustin waved a dismissive hand at them both as he spoke into the radio again. “All Callsigns, this is Dustin Henderson, do you-”

“ -Henderson, if you don’t get off the goddamn police channel I’m gonna call your mother,” the reedy voice of one of Hawkin’s police officers broke through the static, but Eddie was already limping a wobbly Steve back over to the spot they had been sitting previously. He was careful not to trip on the nail-plank weapon that he’d let fall in the dirt beside the little bag, and Eddie felt Steve lurch forward with him, almost overbalancing the both of them as he reached for the bag.

“ Jesus f*cking Christ, Steve, I can’t believe you’ve been mother-henning all over me when there’s this going on, what the f*ck, dude,” Eddie rambled, ignoring the dragging discomfort as Steve’s head dropped onto one of the bound, scabbing-over wounds on his own shoulder.

“They’re not that bad,” Steve winced.

“Bull sh*t,” Eddie told him firmly. “Now are you gonna let me take a look, or am I just gonna have to strip you myself?”

“Fine,” Steve relented, petulant, and Eddie could hear his eyes rolling.

Practice what you preach, motherf*cker, Eddie thought viciously at him. You don’t get to look after everyone else and then dismiss their help when you need it. But he was already rifling through the little bag they’d been given to put any of those thoughts into words.

“Are you okay to stand on your own while I look, or do you wanna sit down?” Eddie asked him, and he bit back the wave of nausea as Steve’s head dragged against his shoulder again in a nod.

“I can stand,” Steve said quietly, and Eddie gave him the slightest boost to get him off of his shoulders and standing on his own. He ignored the shaking in his knees as his hand emerged victorious from the bag with an assortment of broad bandaid-y pads and a disposable vial of liquid antiseptic. Of course the police chief’s cabin had these kinds of items on hand.

“Goddamn emergency services and their goddamn first aid kits,” Eddie muttered to himself, and shot a reluctant glance up at Steve’s grey, tight face.

“Alright, ladykiller,” he said, mustering all of his gumption to prise away Steve’s hand from his side and lift the shirt properly. “You better not pass out on me, now. I’ll never let you forget it.”

Steve gave a humorless huff.

“Fair,” he managed, and Eddie gave a hiss as he pulled at the tackiness of the drying blood sticking Steve’s shirt to his abdomen. They weren’t anything on Eddie’s bites, but they also hadn’t been treated with the same care, and Eddie felt a renewed flush of annoyance at Steve.

“Damnit, Harrington,” Eddie said, shooting him a severe glance and dropping to his knees in front of him to get a better, less personally uncomfortable angle to start mopping up Steve’s cracked bat bites. Eddie heard a strangled gasp from somewhere above him as he did this, but he wrote it off as being pain-related since Eddie had just applied a liberal amount of antiseptic to the worst of them.

If Eddie had been given a thousand guesses in that moment, he would never once have managed to hit upon the words that came out of Steve’s mouth.

“Hey, speaking of ladykillers…”

…

Yes, the edges of Steve’s vision were dark grey and blurry. Yes, his feet felt like he was standing on a pontoon in the middle of a lake. Yes, Eddie ‘the Freak’ Munson was kneeling in front of him, his head bobbing as he pressed white-hot stinging pain into Steve’s open, vulnerable side.

Of course now was the perfect time to bring up the whole Will-support thing. What could possibly go wrong.

“Ladykillers?” Eddie repeated, as though he was worried Steve was entering some kind of hallucinatory state.

“Yeah, you called me a… A ladykiller, and I just wanted to tell you that - that I think…” Steve winced, his words cut off as Eddie dragged yet more alcohol across his already flayed skin. “I think you might wanna pull back a little. On your whole… Thing with Robin.”

The pressure against his side dropped away, and Steve breathed out in relief. It was short lived, however.

“… Excuse me?” Eddie sounded baffled, and Steve would have rolled his eyes if it weren’t for the fact that his eyes were already closed, and doing so would have absolutely ended with him sprawled amongst the flowers and the weeds on the ground.

“You know what I’m talking about,” Steve pressed, even as his chest tightened in some odd, brittle feeling that made talking all the more difficult. “Look, I get it, I do; Robin is awesome, and if anyone is aware of that, it’s me. But if you want Will to feel, I dunno, less alone?-”

“Will? What does Will have to do-”

“-then I think you should try and keep your, like, flirting to a minimum until after this is over. If you want him to believe what you- what you said before,” Steve soldiered on, despite the sputtering indignation coming from somewhere around his hips. He tipped his head to the side a little. “And anyway, just between you and me, I think you might be barking up the wrong tree with Robin there. Trust me.”

Steve let out the rest of his breath in a rush, satisfied that he had said what he needed to say.

He just… Hadn’t been quite prepared for the leaden weight that accompanied his resignation. It spread through his body like a cloud of volcanic ash, turning his limbs to stone, and he felt so tired all of a sudden.

It felt… It felt a little too much like heartbreak for Steve’s liking.

There was silence from below him, and he dared to crack an eyelid and try to see what Eddie was thinking. He hadn’t expected the pure, derisive, fury that was written across Eddie’s face.

“You overheard our conversation earlier,” Eddie said quietly. Steve nodded, having the good grace to look as guilty as he felt.

“I hadn’t meant to,” Steve told him. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t realise it would be so private.”

“You overheard that conversation earlier,” Eddie repeated, pulling himself slowly to his feet to meet Steve eye-to-eye, and Steve saw the shift from fury to something more like disbelief, “and you still think I have a thing for Robin?”

“Yeah?” Steve said, shrugging his shoulders defensively. “I mean, it was a nice thing you did for Will, and it was obvious that he needed to hear it. And I’m not about to tell him-”

“Tell him what, Steve? That I’m not gay?” Eddie asked, his voice rising just a little, and Steve nodded even as the words were a slap of confirmation.

“Exactly,” Steve said. “I just needed to say something about it, because, you know, if your thing for Robin was obvious to me, then it’ll definitely be obvious to other people-”

“You really have no idea at all, do you,” Eddie asked, his head shaking minutely as he looked at Steve slack-jawed. “Absolutely no idea.”

Steve swallowed the thick lump in his throat, stepping back from Eddie as blood rushed to his face. So much for telling me I’m not an idiot, Steve thought bitterly.

“You know what? Forget it. I said what I needed to say. Thanks for the help, but I think I’ve got it from here,” Steve said, unable to keep the dismissive edge from his voice as he took the forgotten medical pad from Eddie’s hands. He turned to stalk back towards Dustin, his head throbbing with his own pulse, and hideous, seething disappointment squeezing at his lungs with every step.

“Harrington,” Eddie called, and Steve turned, a half-formed leave me alone already in his mouth.

But he hadn’t anticipated exactly how close Eddie would be, or the hardened expression on his face as he drew closer.

He hadn’t anticipated the ringed hand that fisted itself in the front of his shirt, somewhere between the gaps in his heartbeat tugging him forwards.

He hadn’t anticipated the gasp of air that sealed inside his mouth as Eddie’s lips pressed themselves against his own.

Steve didn’t understand; he couldn’t wrap his mind around the precious, spectacular drag of Eddie’s mouth against his, the friction of it sending sparks out through every nerve in his body at once, or the hot press of Eddie’s nose into the side of his cheek, or the fingers that curved around the square hinge of his jaw, touching him like he was made of glass.

I’ve died, Steve thought weakly, frozen in place. The gates have opened again, and I’ve died, and this is just my body packing up the lights around me.

But if that was the case, why was Eddie now tensing up, and pulling away - why was he pulling away?

Steve’s eyes opened to find Eddie before him, wide eyed and stepping away like he had done something wrong.

“f*ck,” Eddie said, his face pale as he watched Steve, eyes roving over Steve’s blank face, his thousand yard stare, “sh*t. I’m so f*cking sorry, Steve, I just - I misread everything. I’m so stupid, and I’m so f*cking sorry, and please, just, forget this ever happened…”

Steve pressed a finger to his lips, awestruck, as tingling ripples of sensation passed through them. His mind was nothing more than radio static as he looked up at Eddie, whose eyes were glittering as he took another step back. Steve took a step forward.

“Dude, please,” Eddie’s voice was almost panicked as Steve advanced on him, unable to move fast enough to maintain the distance he had established. “I’m so sorry-”

But Steve’s hands were wrapping themselves around Eddie’s neck, settling at the nape amongst the veritable birds nest of knots and curls, and he was pulling Eddie back in. A desperate whimper was pressed against Steve’s mouth as he chased that electric sensation, feeling Eddie relax against him as their realities crashed and melded together.

Steve needed Eddie’s taste, Eddie’s touch, like it was sunshine; like Eddie was the Summer, and oxygen, and laughter itself. He clung to Eddie like he was reaching for the only source of light in that endless shadow world he had only heard about through others. He felt the movement of Eddie’s lips as they parted, ever so slightly, and this was one of the few things that Steve didn’t have to think about. He drew his tongue along the seam of Eddie’s lips, felt the shuddering sigh as Eddie opened for him completely, letting Steve explore every inch of his mouth. Eddie’s hands reached for Steve’s cheeks, and Steve leant in to the pressure of his palms, like a cat that was all too eager for affection, and his stomach swooped as Eddie pressed their fronts together and rolled against him.

It was Eddie pulling back first, again, but as Steve opened his eyes he didn’t see the fear that had been about to boil over before. Instead, Steve was treated to a rare and glorious sight. Eddie’s cheeks were flushed pink, revealing an almost-invisible scattering of freckles high across his cheeks and disappearing into his temples. His lips were glistening and wet and plump from the kiss, and Steve watched as Eddie’s tongue darted out to run over the curved line of his lower lip. The tears that had been threatening to overflow just moments earlier had indeed broken their banks, streaking down his cheeks to catch in the stupid, incredible creases of Eddie’s smile. But it was the dumbfounded look in his eyes that Steve was most proud of. Hedidn’t want to say anything to that effect, however, in case Eddie called him on what must have been an almost identical expression.

See? I can be surprising, Steve thought to himself, taking heart in the fact that everything about this felt... Right.

He hadn’t moved back any further than his arms would allow him, either, though Steve wouldn’t have stopped him if he had wanted to. A dawning kind of expression began to blossom across Eddie’s face as he stared back at him.

“Was that…? Am I…?” Eddie didn’t have to finish his sentences for Steve to know what he was asking, and he felt the heat in his cheeks grow again even as Eddie’s smile broadened.

“No questions,” Steve begged, and as he leaned forward again he couldn’t help but revel in the way Eddie leaned forward as well. They moved in each other’s orbit as easily as any two people could, and Steve didn’t even bother trying to chase down any one thread of the swirling thoughts in his mind as they pressed their foreheads together, simply breathing together as one.

Later, he told himself.

This is now.

And this is perfect.

There was a shudder beneath their feet, but it wasn’t until the sound of Dustin yelling that Steve pulled himself away. A breeze whipped at Eddie’s hair, and his face darkened as he squinted out at the world.

“What?” Steve hollered across the field, feeling Eddie’s laughter through the shaking of his shoulders. Dustin was waving and shaking his arms like a lunatic, and it didn’t take Steve long for his eyes to track over a little further, taking in the red and black maelstrom that was forming above Hawkins from nowhere, or the streaks of glowing scars that were opening through town.

“Did we do that?” Eddie’s words were dry behind him, and not even the growing inferno stretching out across everything they knew could fully wipe the smile from Steve’s face.

“I sure hope not,” he responded.

“- must have gone wrong!” Dustin hollered back at him, the unseasonal wind snatching every second phrase away from them. Steve felt his hair whip at his face, and he took a couple of steps towards the kid as he continued to yell.

“We gotta get the f*ck out of here!”

A bolt of lightning arched through the sky as the sun was blotted out, and it was only in its red light that Steve spotted it; the dark shape at the base of the hill. It was a couple of hundred feet away, but Steve could recognise that shape anywhere; the hulking, rounded spine; the glistening grey-black skin; the unblooming tulip-head and the whipping, dark tail.

“Demodogs,” he breathed, his face turning in horror to Dustin.

“Dustin! Move your ass! We have to go!”

Steve watched the creature watch them back with sightless eyes as they staggered and limped towards the treeline, its head tracking slowly across with every step they took. He had wound Eddie’s arm over his shoulder, ignoring the sting of the just-cleaned wound as he pulled the other man along with him. Dustin hop-staggered ahead of them. “Why isn’t it running, Steve?” Eddie asked him, his voice low and terrified in his ear. “Why isn’t it following us?”

“I don’t know,” Steve puffed, though the creeping horror that crawled beneath his skin had a relatively good idea. Steve risked one last glance over his shoulder as they entered the forest. Another burst of lightning struck at that exact moment, lighting up the field with confirmation of Steve’s worst fears.

Where there had been one demodog, there were now dozens, their smooth bodies poised and ready. In that split second, Steve saw the first demodog’s flower-head open in a piercing shriek, and they leapt forward as one.

Chapter 12: Here’s Your Ticket, Pack Your Bags, Time for Jumping Overboard

Chapter Text

“Hey, Steve?”

“Yeah?”

Steve’s voice was strained, his lungs heaving as they moved along the overgrown track with speed. Eddie was wrapped around him, arm thrown over Steve’s shoulders to keep him from stumbling or falling behind as they ran, ran, ran.

Steve’s injuries were all but forgotten as Adrenaline coursed through his veins, and he couldn’t let them slow down despite the groaning protests that were ripped from Eddie’s chest every time their knees jarred on the packed, uneven earth.

Steve and Eddie had both come to the exact same conclusion simultaneously when the demodogs had first begun to move, and they had pushed Dustin in front of them to forge the path ahead of them. The kid’s lopsided gait was pulling him along with surprising speed, given the state of his ankle, and he was maintaining himself a good ten or so feet in front of them. Steve could hear the steady stream of sh*t, we’re gonna die, sh*t, we’re gonna f*cking die, cascading from Dustin’s open mouth, peppering the trail behind him like breadcrumbs.

Have to get back to the cabin, Steve’s mind raced in time with his feet, his ears on high alert for any movement behind them, around them. Just get to the cabin, and there’s weapons, and there’s defences, and there’s backup.

“I know this probably- isn’t the ideal time to ask-” Eddie’s sentence was broken up between heaving drags of air, and Steve noticed something moving off to their right in his periphery; a shadow that didn’t quite move like the other shadows of branches in the half light.

sh*t, he thought.

“-but, I just was wondering-”

“What, Eddie?”

Steve hadn’t noticed just how many fallen branches and tree roots there were across the path when they were first walking it, but he sure as hell noticed them now. With every obstacle that they had to jump, Steve clamped his arm around Eddie’s ribs like they were a pair of swing dancers preparing for a spinning, tumbling display of trust and prowess. He heard each of Eddie’s barely stifled gasps of pain as he lent the strength of his legs behind them both, almost certain that he felt the popping of a stitch beneath his fingers. But since they hadn’t tripped thus far, and Eddie hadn’t dead-fainted from the physical trauma of Steve’s jostling, he was not about to risk stopping. Eddie’s physical agility only extended as far as his fingers for guitar, and Steve simply couldn’t risk letting him attempt any of the leaps on his own. If one of them went over, or if one of them made one false move? They were all as good as dead, and Steve wasn’t about to take that chance.

Risk and reward.

“- you didn’t kiss me out of, like, pity, right?”

Steve could barely parse the relevance of that question to their current predicament, and he could now hear the sound of rustling in the foliage behind them.

“What?” Steve asked, uncomprehending, even as they wheeled down a slight decline in the forest path, letting their weight and momentum carry them a little faster.

“Like, it’s just- you’re Steve Harrington, and- like, I would get it, it’s the end of the world, we might be about to- we might be about to f*ckin’ die-”

“Munson,” Steve tried, barely missing the stump of a tree with the side of his shoe as the ground evened out. He was half-carrying the fool pressed against his side, who continued to wheeze at him.

“-but I just- I just couldn’t stand it if it was just- pity, man; morbid curiosity, fine, but not pity-”

“Is this really an essential question right now?” Steve’s ability to keep cool was rapidly growing thin, and it was not helped by the fact that there were definitely other things moving on the path behind them now.

“I know it’s stupid- but like seriously, I’d rather you just- left me here to die if it was-”

“Munson, it wasn’t pity,” Steve cut him off quickly, even as he launched them both over another fallen branch.

“You’re sure?” Eddie asked. “Like, no offence, but you’re a bit of a slu*t, Harrington- you can’t tell me that- Jesus, I’m about to die- that you’ve never kissed anyone- out of pity?”

There was a hairpin bend ahead, and Steve used his free hand to catch the nearest sapling, using their momentum to pivot their bodies around it with more grace than he felt he had any right to.

“sh*t,” Eddie exclaimed at the sound of cracking branches and yelping from behind them as whatever was on the path failed to make the turn with as much skill, mere seconds after them. Steve felt Eddie’s feet slow as he tried to crane his head and get a glimpse.

“Don’t look back,” Steve urged him. “Look back and we die.”

“f*ck,” Eddie gasped, “sorry.”

“Just keep moving; we’re almost there,” Steve said, and it was half command, half prayer to the universe. “Also, I can’t believe you just called me a slu*t.”

Eddie wheezed, and it took Steve a second to realise that the sound was made in amusem*nt instead of pain, for once.

“I’m an outcast, not a f*cking hermit, Harrington- even losers listen to gossip-”

“Right,” Steve couldn’t help the slight curdling feeling in his stomach at that. He really had moved through the majority of high school with no consideration for others; of course he’d been talked about. He’d even liked it, at the time, on the occasion that whatever nebulous drivel made its way back to him.

“But like, what I’m saying- since we’re about to die soon, probably- I’d prefer it if you just told me that you’re- not interested- rather than me having, like, hope, or some sh*t-”

“Munson,” Steve tugged him bodily to keep him from sideswiping through a thicket of blackberry bush. “It wasn’t pity. Stop being a dumbass. I wanted to. You just- caught me by surprise.”

A strange, lilting howl echoed through the trees, sending icy fear down Steve’s spine. It was answered by several other calls, rising in an eerie discordant melody.

f*ck, Steve thought, that’s so much closer than I hoped.

“You assholes better be behind me! I’m not coming back for you if you fall over!” Dustin hollered over his shoulder, his voice shrill.

“We’re fine!” Steve hollered back. “Just keep going!”

“So- not pity though? Definitely not pity? I heard that, right?” Eddie’s words were shaky in time with his footsteps.

Steve fought the urge to smile; fought the urge to drop Eddie’s ass on that path and leave him for the demodogs.

“Not pity,” Steve confirmed.

“So, like, what exactly…?”

“I’m new to this, Munson,” Steve said frankly, his teeth clenched as he ducked a low branch of his own. His lungs were screaming at him for a rest, but he couldn’t. “I haven’t had a chance to like- figure it out yet- but you just- you make me feel things- and I wanna be close to you,”

“Ha, lame,” Eddie filled in, but the tremble in his voice betrayed him. Steve could tell, with some surprise, that to Eddie it was anything but .

“And I guess, if you wanted that too…” Steve continued, and his heart was already beating far too hard and fast against the inside of his chest for his own nerves to matter in that moment, “…and if we live long enough- then I’d like to figure out what I’m feeling with you.”

There was relative silence between them, other than the thumping of their feet against dirt, the rustle of branches, the pounding of blood in their ears and the stinging tempo of their harsh breath.

“So like, when you say figure it out, you mean like- like you wanna kiss again?” Eddie asked.

And everyone thinks that I’M the idiot, Steve thought to himself.

“ Yes , Munson,” Steve told him. “I very much want to kiss you again.”

“f*ck yeah,” Eddie wheezed next to him, and Steve was not going to let him forget about this stupid-ass little conversation later, even if the sheer amount of excitement in Eddie’s voice made Steve feel like he could goddamn fly.

The moment didn’t last very long, however; Eddie stiffened beside him a fraction of a second before he yelled, “Steve, duck!” And Steve did as he was told purely on instinct. He folded himself in half, his arm dropping from Eddie’s chest to his hips as a heavy, oily-wet form broke from the trees and leapt directly into the space Steve had been just before. Steve felt his hair flutter in the wake of the powerful, deadly creature that sailed over the top of his head by mere inches.

There was a sickening crack and a shriek as nail-plank connected with the creature’s flower-petal face, Eddie swinging it in a glorious arc over Steve’s head with all the grace of a professional batsman. Steve didn’t have time to admire the way Eddie’s dark hair moved with him, framing the determination on his face in such an artful way that it would have better suited a painting in a museum. He did, however, take a mental snapshot of it for later, to draw upon should he ever find an idle moment in his life again. The creature tumbled forward, wrenching the plank from Eddie’s hand through the sheer force of its own momentum, and Steve was hauling Eddie along the path again before the creature’s body had fully disappeared from the path and back into the rolling underbrush.

“I can see the cabin!” Dustin hollered ahead of them, and Steve saw the kid throw his hands above his head, turning to watch them with a triumphant grin, for all the world like he had just scored a home run and was therefore immune to the thousands of teeth and claws hurtling towards them.

“ Keep running, Dustin!” Steve roared, his voice cracking with the strain.

But it was too late.

The kid’s face shifted into mute terror, clearly taking in the countless horrors on their heels, and Steve had no choice. Their bodies collided on the path, and with his free arm, Steve scooped the teenager up around his middle. With a squawk and the battering of several sharp elbows in his side, Steve was suddenly carrying Dustin against his side like a linebacker, Eddie’s weight on his other side acting as a counterpoint. He felt the burst of fresh blood against his ribs, and Eddie provided a mouthpiece for the steady slew of curses flowing through Steve’s head.

“What the f*ck are you thinking, Henderson, you stupid little sh*t-”

The chorus of shrieks and chittering rose once again from the forest, so close that they made Steve’s feet feel like lead and his stomach lurch with a naked, ancient terror. He had to fight against the urge to brace himself for impact, knowing that his body was only seconds from giving out on him entirely; knowing that if he went down, they all went with him.

He spotted the opening in the treeline, saw the flickering light of the surging fairy lights from the windows of the cabin. A primal sound was ripped from Steve’s lungs as Eddie’s feet collapsed under him, and Steve pulled all three of them along by sheer force of will alone.

Nancy was on the porch, her pale face framed with brown curls and looking like a goddamn guardian angel, the rifle in her hand as good as a flaming sword of salvation.

“Get inside!” Steve hollered to her.

“You get inside, dipsh*t!” It was Robin’s voice, not Nancy’s, that carried across the empty clearing towards them.

No, not empty, Steve realised.

Robin was standing several feet from the front stoop of the cabin, her hands shaking but her feet planted in grim determination. She held out a lighter, far from her body, and Steve frowned. Had the sharpened ring of branches, driven into the ground at 45 degrees, been there before they left? Come to think of it, had the ring of dark, dry leaf litter, almost a foot high and wrapped around the house and the one remaining car, been there before as well?

“They’re coming!” Dustin hollered from somewhere near Steve’s armpit. A gunshot echoed through the clearing, and Steve heard rather than saw the squeal and the sounds of a heavy body hitting the ground somewhere behind him.

“We know!” Robin hollered back. “Now move it!”

Only a few more steps, and they were home free. Steve knew it; he could feel it in his bones, in his aching feet, in his screaming lungs. Only a few more steps and they would be over that weird ring of mulch-

Steve used the last of his strength to launch the deadweights on either side of him over the top of the leaf litter first, letting the last of his own momentum carry him over the top behind them.

Time seemed to slow as he moved through the air, and as he twisted a little he found himself staring at Robin. He caught an incongruously intense lungful of kerosene, of all things, wafting up from the leaf litter. His eyes tracked the flame of the lighter as it dropped from Robin’s hands straight onto the leaf litter.

“Boom, bitch.”

Time caught up with him all too quickly, and Steve hit the ground with a crunch that was more this rapidly aging grown-up bones than it was the twigs and branches in the litter below him. His head bounced against the ground with a disorienting snap , and his shoulder flared with a whip-crack of jarring pain. He cried out, rolling his shoulders inwards on himself and closing his eyes as he tried to stifle the overwhelming urge to puke his guts up. Somewhere beneath the blinding, nauseating agony that rolled over him in waves, Steve noted the denim on his calves growing warm.

“Steve? Steve, f*ck, are you okay, talk to me, man.”

Hands turned him over; rough, frantic hands, and he blinked at the black dots forming over his eyes as he struggled to heave in enough air. Hands were on his face, on his cheeks; warm hands, but there was something else, the slide of something hard and unyielding between their fingers and against his skin. Steve blinked, his chest wracked with movement as he coughed up the worst of the spasming pain, and the hand shifted, trying to support his sides and prevent the worst of the straining discomfort. Steve’s vision slowly cleared enough to make out the pair of wide, brown eyes peering down at him.

“We made it?” Steve wheezed. He sounded absolutely pathetic to his own ears, but a watery smile cracked across the face above him.

“f*ck yeah, we made it,” Eddie grinned down at him, an involuntary noise passing through his throat as he too pulled air into his lungs. He was barely able to support himself, and with Steve’s words Eddie sagged, his elbow buckling and bringing him down somewhere in the proximity of Steve’s uninjured shoulder. His face was still above Steve’s but now he was so much closer; so close that Steve could count his eyes lashes in the flickering orange light if he wanted to. Steve felt a goofy, ridiculous grin spreading across his own face, and he wanted nothing more than to reach up, giddy and half-dead but so f*cking alive, and hold Eddie’s face in his hands, feel him lean into the touch-

“Do you idiots want to die?! Get the f*ck inside!” Robin cried out to them, and Steve felt narrow, bony hands underneath his armpits, forcing him to sit up and pulling him backwards a couple of feet on his ass through the leaf litter until he could turn over and crawl along himself.

“I got it, I can do it,” Steve told whoever it was. “Go help Eddie; go help Dustin.” The hands backed off, and Steve half-crawled, half-staggered his way up into the house. He braced his hand on the doorframe as he brought himself back to his feet properly, pausing as another almost-puke wave of nausea roiled through his guts before dissipating. Finally, he shot a glance back over his shoulder to take in the scene left behind him.

The ring of leaf litter was now a ring of bonfire encircling the cabin in a protective cocoon from the demodogs. Though nearly a dozen had poured out of the treeline in their wake, the fire had forced all but three to retreat to the shadows of the forest, leaving the others to rove several feet from the perimeter of the fire. Steve had no doubt that there were many more of them waiting for them out there; their inky, hateful visages watching them sightlessly from the darkness. Nancy gave him an acknowledging nod, the gun still mounted firmly in her shoulder on the porch, and Steve saw Mike helping Dustin limp to his feet as Robin offered Eddie a hand.

“What happened?” Steve asked Nancy, whose face was tight and haunted.

“Something went wrong in the trance,” Nancy told him. “Vecna noticed them, or something. Opened the gate again. They’re both back, but they’re shaken. I haven’t heard anything else yet. Robin and I came straight out here to…” she didn’t finish her sentence. Steve wasn’t sure whether she meant to say ‘to help you make it back safe’, or ‘to wait for the others’.He supposed it didn’t matter; they’d been there when they needed them most, and that was all that he cared about.

“Where’s Hopper?” Steve asked, his heart heavy with dread as Nancy shook her head.

“We don’t know. They should- they should be back by now,” she managed. Steve wanted to offer her comfort; squeeze her shoulder or hug her or something, but he had no idea whether it was wanted, let alone whether it would be accepted.

“They’re alright, Nancy,” Steve offered her instead, dipping his head and letting the seriousness of his words write itself across his face. “They’re the best of us. They’re probably stuck somewhere helping someone, or trying to get around the damn gates, or something.”

“Yeah,” she said faintly, turning her eyes back out towards the forest. Steve could see the tick in the hollow of her jaw, lit by the orange of the fire, as she wrestled with whatever thoughts were moving through her mind. “Yeah.” Steve waited for the others to reach the porch, offering Mike a quiet ‘thanks’ as the kid eyed him and passed him by, Dustin in tow.

“I think you bruised my guts, man,” Dustin groaned at him.

“Better a bruise from me than mincemeat from them,” Steve told him severely, and Dustin grumbled unintelligibly. Steve’s mouth quirked; the little turd only did that when he knew Steve was right.

Eddie was leaning heavily on Robin’s shoulders, almost threatening to overbalance her, and Steve tried to step forward and help.

“I got this,” he said, offering out a hand to take Eddie from her.

“You don’t got sh*t right now, Harrington; you can barely stand on your own,” Robin bit at him. “Now get inside already before you bleed out.” He raised his hands in surrender as she and Eddie passed him in the doorway. Eddie shot him a smirk that made Steve’s stomach do some kind of weird, tingly sh*t that he… Wasn’t completely opposed to, if he was honest with himself. He didn’t miss the hissed ‘f*cking tragic’ that came from Robin, her shoulder bumping against his roughly and making him wince and grip the doorframe more tightly. Nancy narrowed her eyes, co*cking her head to the side and shooting him a questioning look.

What was that about?

He shrugged back at her; now wasn’t the time to share… whatever the f*ck was going on in the inner workings of Robin’s mind with Nancy, though he had his suspicions about it.

“Nancy, get in here already,” Robin snapped, and Steve and her hopped to. They pulled the door shut behind them as a chorus of demodog howls began to fill the air.

Though they were safe for the moment, the slithering unease in Steve’s chest was still all too present.

The burning moat of leaves was a stroke of genius, and it had saved their asses at the perfect moment. But Steve knew they would not burn forever, and what served now as a protection could all too easily become their downfall.

After all, they were now trapped there inside the ring, just as much as the creatures were trapped outside of it.

And all they had to do now was wait.

Chapter 13: Listen to Her Howlin’ Roar

Chapter Text

There was a tense kind of peace to be found inside the cabin once the door was closed. It didn’t block out the sounds of the howling entirely, but it was enough to let Steve catch his breath, clutch his sides, and attempt to reassess their situation.

No Hopper.

No Jonathan.

One car.

Gates open.

Surrounded by demodogs on all sides.

Great.

At least someone had brought the pile of nail-planks inside, he noted somewhat weakly, as they were now leaning against the back of the couch in an almost-neat row.

There was movement further inside the cabin, and Mike barely paused long enough to deposit Dustin on a chair at the little dining table before he was hurrying on towards Elle’s old room. He barged straight through the door, heedless of the protestations that arose within.

“They need space, Mike, can you please-” Joyce’s voice filtered out towards them.

“But she’s my girlfriend-”

“-and they’re my kids! Out, Mike!” Joyce snapped, and the stunned teenager half-tripped back out into the main room, starting as the door was kicked shut behind him. An uncomfortable silence settled over those in the room, and Steve decided it was the ideal time to slide slowly onto the floor and check his own wounds. He gave a muffled whimper as he prised the sticky fabric off his reopened bite marks for the second time in less than an hour. His vision blurred back and forth as he tried to focus on them; determine which parts exactly were bleeding and figure out what he could grab within arm’s reach to mop himself up a little bit. He needed to… To shift the blood so he could check for… Infection, or something…

“ Jesus, Steve, did they get you?” Robin’s voice was alarmed and way closer than Steve had anticipated.

“What?” Steve asked, and his mouth felt weird and slow as he spoke. Hands were on him again, and he flinched at the chill of their touch.

“Nancy, can you get some bandages and antiseptic please?” Robin said quickly, and Steve blinked up at her, his vision swimming, and raised a hand to shoo her away.

“It’s fine,” he tried, but she quelled any further protests with a furious look.

“They’re not from the demo… Demodogs? Am I saying that right?” Eddie offered from somewhere over on the couch. “They’re his bat bites from a couple of days ago. Idiot keeps busting them open with more of those ‘hero moves’ he keeps warning us about.”

“I do not,” Steve griped, but the words were joined together in a pained slur. The sharp sting of antiseptic sobered him up with an unceremonious spike of burning pain, but a hand pinned him by the chest when he attempted to crawl up the wall to escape.

“Nope,” Robin snapped at him. “You hold still, dumbass, or I pour more on you just to spite you. That’s what you get for looking after everyone else but yourself.”

“You sound just like Munson,” Steve grumbled petulantly, and it must have carried further than he’d hoped since he heard Eddie’s laughter drift over the back of the couch to him.

“Hey, don’t drag me into this,” Eddie said. “And besides, I take that as a compliment, Harrington. Robin’s said more things that make sense in the last ten minutes than you say in a week.”

“Wow,” Steve cried out, even as Robin’s laughter filled his ears.

“Don’t try to butter me up too much, Munson, your bandages might be next.”

“Yes ma’am,” Eddie said solemnly.

Robin worked quickly and efficiently, and Steve watched Nancy flit through the room over her shoulder to distract him from the searing but necessary pain of her ministrations. Nancy checked every window; confirmed every round of ammunition still left in the cardboard boxes on the kitchen bench; brought Dustin a glass of water and checked on his ankle for him.

Steve loved her, yes. He would always love her, in some way or another.

But that vision of children and a Winnebago, with her in the front seat? It only existed in a world where Nancy wasn’t interested in Jonathan, or college, or chasing down her most spectacular dreams with nothing but her brain and her persistence and her courage to catch her. It existed in a world that not only didn’t exist, but had never existed. Steve only realised now, sluggish and raw and half-conscious, just how blind and stupid he had been, to hold on to a dream of a woman who had never asked to be in it. He turned that dream over in his mind now like an autumn leaf, examining it one last time for the shimmer and the beauty of its shape, before letting it slip between his fingers and drift away.

It didn’t, to his surprise, make him particularly sad to let it go.

It was overdue, he told himself, and the words resonated somewhere in his chest, ringing with the clarity of truth.

He shifted his eyes, ever so slightly, until he was peering at the back of the couch. He could see just the very top of Eddie’s curls, propped up so that he could provide a quiet, commiserative ear to Mike, who was balancing hunchbacked on the edge of the armrest. The sight made Steve’s cheeks twitch with a valiant half smile.

Hm.

“Are you okay?” Robin’s voice held some level of actual concern this time, instead of pure, unbridled annoyance, and it was enough to make Steve look at her.

“Yeah? Other than you burning me?”

Steve made a disgruntled noise as Robin’s face was suddenly all too close to his own, her fingers trying to prise his eyelids open so she could stare into his pupils.

“You sure you don’t have a concussion?” She asked, and Steve swatted at her.

“Ow, no, I’m fine, Jesus. Why?” Robin knelt back on her haunches, apparently satisfied, and shrugged.

“Your face is doing something stupid,” she told him. “But on the plus side, you’re all strapped up now, so you’re free to go once you’re able to actually stand.” She slapped her hand against his bandaged side, causing a starburst of black dots behind his eyes and the air in his lungs to turn stale and poisonous. Robin only smirked and stood with a groan.

Steve was attempting to use the wall as a back support to climb back to his feet, determined to make it to the couch for at least a moment before whatever next thing decided to turn to sh*t, when there was the slam of a door. All eyes in the cabin turned to Elle’s room, where Will was leaning against the door frame on shaky legs.

“Will, please, you barely-” Joyce was on his heels as he lurched out into the main room.

“Mom, we have to go, they’re after Max,” Will insisted, and Elle was just behind him, looking equally pale and unsteady as a fawn as she followed behind.

“Just wait and calm down a second,” she pleaded, but she needn’t have worried, as he didn’t make it very far.

“Are you alright?” Mike was on his feet in an instant, moving towards the two of them, and it was with wide-eyed alarm that Mike found Will dropping into his arms. Mike’s shoes scraped on the dirty floorboards as he staggered back ever so slightly, rapidly readjusting his centre of gravity as Will’s body went boneless, despite Will’ s own fierce protestations against it. Mike sent a fleeting look over Will’s shoulder to Elle, who gave him a warning shake of her head as she adjusted to standing up against the doorframe. It stopped him dead in his tracks, and he must have come to some kind of resolution, as from where Eddie was splayed, he could see the minute dip of Mike’s chin, nodding to himself. Mike sank slowly to the ground, adjusting his arms around Will properly until they were both kneeling on the floor. He held the other boy close, even as Will’s chest heaved against his embrace and he made several shuddering attempts to break away and stand up. But, after a few moments, Will softened, and began to relax into the embrace properly. It was only then that Elle spoke.

“We don’t have much time,” Elle murmured, her voice quavering and small like it was coming from far away. “So you all need to listen.” Her eyes cut to Will, who sighed against Mike’s shoulder and adjusted his head so that he could nod to her.

“We got what we needed, but- there’s more. There’s a lot more.”

…

“There’s a reason the gates aren’t staying open for very long, and there’s a reason they keep opening and closing,” Will began. He and Elle were seated in the centre of the main room together. Will was still wrapped in Mike’s arms, Mike’s narrow chest acting as support for Will’s back, and Elle was seated cross-legged next to them, her head tipped onto Will’s shoulder and one hand spared to hold hers in reassurance. Joyce was behind them, her hands tucked into her armpits in a stance that Steve suspected was so that she wouldn’t reach out and fuss over the two of them.

“Eddie was right about Vecna- or One, or Creel. He needed the power of those souls to open the gate, like a Lich, and he stores their souls in his phylactery, just like a Lich.” He took a deep, steadying breath. “What he didn’t account for was the fact that Max wouldn’t die. Or that Elle would be the one to save her.” Eyes snapped to Elle, and the girl blushed, a feat which didn’t seem like it should be possible given the bloodlessness of her face until then.

“Because Max’s body is still alive, her soul is still tethered to our plane in a way that prevents Vecna from using it the way he needs to; but that doesn’t mean we’ve won. Every moment that passes loosens the connection between Max’s body and her soul, and that’s why the gates keep reopening closer and closer together. He was going to wait until her body died on its own, but now that he knows that we know-” Will cut himself off, schooling the frantic breathing that was erring on the side of panic. “He’s sending them after her. The dogs. To finish what he started.”

“sh*t,” Dustin said, whipping out his radio immediately. “Lucas and Erica are there-”

“There’s more,” Elle said, and Dustin’s hand froze on the comms button.

“We also know why he wants the gates open in the first place.”

“… So it’s not just to cause us all misery and suffering?” Eddie asked dryly, filling the silence that stretched out for a moment too long.

“He wants to make the gates permanent,” Will told them. “And he wants more power. And to get that power…”

“He needs more souls,” Nancy finished, looking ill. Will nodded.

“A reaping. A mass reaping. And once he’s reaped all the souls from Hawkins, he’ll be able to expand the gate, and reap more, and reap more -”

“Holy f*cking sh*t,” Steve said, bracing himself on the edge of the sofa. His head was reeling, and pounding, and aching as he tried to parse the sheer goddamn world-ending implications of all of this.

“Okay, so, what the hell are we meant to do then?”

“Is there literally anything we can do?” Robin asked. She was propped up on the edge of the Formica table, a thousand yard stare on her defeated face. She glanced at the others. “I’m serious. We’re hemmed in here already by demodogs, what, how are we meant to prevent Vecna from killing whoever the f*ck he wants whenever he wants?” Nancy put a comforting hand on her shoulder as she buried her face in her palms.

“Will…” Elle said, her eyes wide as she shot him a meaningful look. With her free hand, still shaking, she reached over to the boy’s face and wiped at the long threads of blood pouring from his nose. She pulled her hand back, looking down at it and then turning her delicate, long-fingered hand palm outwards to let him see. Will stared at it in wonder, his eyes cutting up to meet her gaze. He nodded, a tiny movement that got more pronounced as he stared at her.

“There’s something else,” Will admitted, and he shifted to touch his own nose, staring at the blood as though its very existence was wondrous. “Something that we were never meant to know.”

He glanced at Elle again for reassurance.

“Tell them,” she urged.

“When the gate opened the first time… When that first demogorgon came through… It wasn’t just hunting for food. We know now that it was sent through with- with a purpose. To hunt for Elle. Even then, Vecna wanted her for her powers.” He swallowed, his lip shaking. “But instead, it got me. And… and for the longest time I thought it was just bad luck that I got taken, and that it was just luck that I got away, and survived a whole week in there…” His breath shuddered, his knuckles white around Elle’s hand as he held himself in place.

“But… It wasn’t. The demogorgon took me by accident, yes… But I’m not any smarter, or stronger, or faster than Barb was, or any of the others. I got away, I survived, because I had something the mindflayer - something Vecna wanted. He hid himself away inside me, turned me into his spy, not because I’m weak… But because I’m a threat .”

“A threat? A threat, how?” Mike asked, looking between Elle and Will in disbelief. It was Elle, solemn faced and full of wonder at the same time, who answered him.

“He’s like me,” she said simply.

The room was charged with a breathless, awestruck silence as these words settled over them all, but neither Will nor Elle seemed to notice. Will’s face cracked open in a raw smile, wobbly and overwhelming and breaking loose with some kind of ancient, too-big-for-his-body relief. She returned his smile with a bittersweet glimmer in her eyes; even as Steve watched on with tense, rapt attention, he found himself wondering what kinds of emotions such a realisation might trigger for Elle. Relief that she wasn’t alone, perhaps? A not-unjustified envy, that he had somehow been spared the childhood that she had been forced to endure?

A wet, emotional noise made Elle turn before Steve could begin detangling the poor kid’s emotions any further, let alone process the potential implications for their task ahead. It was Joyce, tears openly flowing down her cheeks, as she stepped forward to kneel in front of the two of them.

“Is this true?” She asked, her voice hoarse and thick, and Elle’s solemn nod brought more tears to Joyce’s eyes. She was pulling them in against her chest before they could react, Mike caught in the tangle of limbs and pulled in behind them.

“All this time, One has been feeding on Will,” Elle said, her voice muffled against Joyce’s shoulder as she squeezed them in tighter. “Just like he fed on my brothers and sisters, but slow. That’s why he’s been able to reopen the doorway each time, even when we closed it.”

“I was a key,” Will said, the words bitter with revulsion despite the excitement and magnitude of their revelations. “He used me as a key.”

Elle nodded, her shaved head bobbing. Joyce let the two of them pull away, a watery grin on her face as she looked between them in open wonder and pride. It made Steve’s chest ache, for reasons he couldn’t quite pin down.

“But together… Together we broke One’s hold on Will.” She took Will’s hand and lifted it up in front of them all slowly, like a general lifting a sword. “Together, we can end this,” she said, utterly certain. “We can end this tonight . But if we don’t save Max…”

“Then it’s already over,” Eddie finished for her. His arms were folded, Steve noted, and his face was set. “So we need a back-up plan. And we need one quickly.”

…

“For the record, I hate this plan,” Steve said.

“You sound like Hopper,” Mike told him dismissively.

“Both of you be quiet and get ready to move on your turn,” Nancy hissed at them, and they dropped into a mollified silence.

The sky had darkened outside, but the shadows of the forest were far from empty. They were waiting in single file, Nancy and Robin at the head of the line closest to the cabin’s front door, and Steve and Eddie at the back. There were so many of them, and the cabin was so small, that Steve could see out of the kitchen window onto the makeshift dirt driveway and a little beyond. It was obvious from his vantage point that the burning barrier was already beginning to waver and stall, and Steve felt his heartbeat ratchet up in preparation for yet another slog towards survival. Eddie didn’t have his arm around Steve’s shoulders for once, and found himself feeling oddly aware of their absence. Steve hadn’t realised that the weight and shift of the other man’s arm over his shoulders had quietly come to feel like the norm until it changed. The change was softened a little by the fact that the back of Eddie’s arm was pressed all the way up against Steve’s, silent and so nervous that Steve almost could have sworn that the dude was hooked up to a goddamn car battery, but he was there . Somehow, that was enough to stave off the worst of the thoughts he knew were just waiting to paralyse him; to send him over an edge he had no idea he could come back from, let alone deal with during a life-or-death situation. The warmth of Eddie’s arm, the soft drag of the hair against his skin, was enough to tether him to the moment, and he reached out to straighten Dustin’s backpack on his shoulders.

“Thanks,” Dustin said, his face pale as he wrapped and re-wrapped his hands around the nail plank in his grip. His face was partially obscured behind a hastily tied piece of fabric, an attempt they had all made to protect against the sickly atmosphere spilling forth from the Upside Down, but the lack of joking retort was enough to give Steve pause. He only hesitated a second before wrapping a hand firmly over Dustin’s shoulder. He leaned forward, close to Dustin’s ear, and saw the boy’s eyes slide over to him as he murmured to him.

“It’s going to be alright,” Steve said. “You’ve dealt with demodogs before. You’re the best out of all of us at this. Just stay low, keep quiet, and wait for the signal.” Dustin nodded, clearly not trusting himself with words, and looked away, shifting his feet in a nervous little trot. Steve was satisfied enough with this, and straightened himself. He dropped back into Eddie’s orbit just as the buzzing, prickling thoughts began to form dangerous little words. He didn’t care if anyone noticed in that moment. What the hell could they possibly have to say, anyway? He let the back of his hand trace the inner line of Eddie’s wrist, his heart racing with an exhilaration that he couldn’t solely attribute to the approaching battle. He heard the almost-silent hitch in Eddie’s breathing; felt his pinkie finger twitch a moment before folding itself into the welcoming cage of Steve’s hand. He felt a tidal wave move through his body, pooling in the space between his stomach and his hips as Steve wound their fingers together and squeezed. He revelled in the warmth of them, in the particular sensation of Eddie’s guitar calluses against his palm, between his fingers.

He’d be fine once they were moving, he was sure of it; it was just the waiting that always got to him in these situations.

Until then, he had this.

Eddie would let him have this. And perhaps, Steve slowly realised, Eddie needed this just as much as he did.

God, he wanted to live so bad. Even if it was just long enough that he could find out what those calloused fingertips felt like running through the hair at the nape of his neck, or what Eddie’s lips tasted like when they both weren’t running on a handful of hours of sleep and a questionable amount of personal hygiene. He wanted to live, so that he could find out what kissing Eddie lazily was like; what gentle and slow would feel like, time stretching out between them like a late summer afternoon.

The feeling of Eddie’s hand squeezing his brought him back, and he looked at the man. His filthy bandana was wrapped around his mouth, but Steve could see his eyes, dark and knowing and scared and resolute. He nodded to Steve, squeezed again.

We’re going to be okay.

We’re going to get through this.

Even if it’s a terrible plan.

Nancy pushed open the front door of the cabin with dull, low creak, and the terrible plan began its very first phase.

…

In the end it all happened very, very quickly. One by one, they moved low across the narrow porch and out across the narrow gap to the parked cars. The moment the door opened, Steve could taste the acrid, telltale sting of the Upside Down in his throat, despite the face covering, but there was no time to consider it. Nancy moved to the driver’s side of Steve’s car, leading the pack and watching the darkened treeline beyond the burning ring, gun poised and eyes glowing in the wavering flames. The Californian pizza van had been taken by Hopper and co, and they had decided that trying to reverse and maneuvre both Nancy’s and Steve’s cars at once was too risky. So they congregated one by one on each side of the car, pressing close against it and praying that the demodogs weren’t watching them, with whatever sightless vision they happened to have. Steve watched them go, his breath held as they crossed the open space. Only once they were all in position would Nancy risk alerting the demodogs to their movement with the unlocking of the car; until then, they would all wait for each other, weapons at the ready. There was a quiet scratching noise on the ceiling above their heads, little more than the scraping of twigs against the roof tiles, but the hairs on the backs of Steve’s arms lifted. He placed a hand on Dustin’s shoulder instinctually, just as the boy was about to follow Will and Eleven across the space, and Dustin didn’t fully turn to give him the questioning glance on his face when several things happened simultaneously.

Robin, on the far side of the car, raised a hand and cried, “the roof!”

The scraping noise on the ceiling returned, sharp and sudden, and there was a dark shape descending from above, directly onto Will and Elle.

“Move!”

There was a cry, and the sound of a clawed paw connecting with soft flesh swam in Steve’s ears, followed by the sound of heavy bodies hitting the ground.

Steve didn’t think at all; didn’t plan, didn’t calculate, didn’t say a word. One second he was waiting in the doorway, the next he was hauling Eddie and Dustin out and down the staircase. He directed Dustin around the fray in front of them with a shove, not even glancing to the side to see if the kid’s legs kept him upright or not. He lifted his weapon in a sweeping arc over his head, bringing it down directly in the middle of the creature’s curved back and causing it to disengage from whoever was beneath it. He heard Eddie’s voice, distantly, telling whoever was knocked to the side that they had to move, and Robin had stepped forward to swing at the creature herself, delivering a cracking uppercut blow to the creature’s head with a force so hard that it was knocked back and over to the side with a piercing whine.

“Get them to the car,” Steve ordered, already hauling his weapon over his head to drive the nail end down into the creature’s prone middle. Dark blood splattered on his jeans all the way up to his knees, and he had to brace a foot against the creature’s side as it slumped so he could pull the end of his nail-studded weapon out.

Steve turned as the car engine roared to life, and the unnatural chitter-howls rose just beyond the borders of their fiery defenseline. Beyond its edges, Steve could now make out the wet, glittering surfaces of many muscled, monstrous bodies, pacing only a couple of feet from the flagging barrier. There was a staticky ringing in his ears as Steve saw the first of the leaf pile reduce to little more than an ember glow, a small breeze dissipating it just enough to make a gap of less than a foot.

But it was enough.

“Everybody move!” Steve hollered, as the first demodog placed an experimental paw onto the smouldering gap. He could have sworn that it raised its head to stare directly at him, the lips of its many-petaled mouth rippling in smug triumph.

It was neither Will nor Elle on the ground where the demodog scout had landed; Robin was in the process of helping an ashen-faced Mike Wheeler to his feet, his dark hair making his skin look all the more sickly as. He was half-dragged backwards towards the open car door. Dustin was yelling at them to hurry up. His entire left shoulder was exposed, the layers of fabric hanging in loose ribbons and coated in the deep, vivid sheen of blood. Steve could see the raised skin around each of the claw marks, could see yellowish something beneath the pulsing, constant red, and he was right behind them, barreling the kid up and into the crowded car regardless of space. Robin, surprisingly coordinated when a kid’s life was on the line, folded herself up into the car backward, stepping straight onto the seats as several hands pulled Mike in, howling and crying out at every jostle to his shoulder.

“Steve-” Robin cried out in alarm as Steve shut the car door behind Mike’s feet.

“I’ll climb in the boot,” he hollered at her, turning.

“Way ahead of you, Harrington,” a voice quipped, and Steve felt a grin split across his face as a ringed hand hauled him into the trunk of his own car.

Their knees bumped roughly against each other as they crammed themselves into the space, Eddie wrapping his free hand around the back of the seat in front of them, and Steve decided in a split second to leave the back of the car open. Better to swing at anything that follows us .

“We’re all in, Nancy, go! Go!” Eddie’s voice rang through the car, and he banged his own nail-plank against the roof in emphasis. Steve quickly braced himself against the paneling as Nancy threw the car into reverse, swinging them all around in a reckless, hairpin maneuvre that Steve would only trust her with. There were screams as the car shuddered under a sudden thud on the rooftop, but Nancy had already shifted into drive, and Steve heard the claw-scrape on the roof above as a demodog was forcibly thrown off the back and left in their dust. The car bumped and bounded along the dark forest track, but Steve didn’t have time to relax or even to check on the state of Mike’s injuries or the chaos unfolding in the seats ahead of them. He could hear it, the panicked voices blending together and echoing in the back of his awareness, distant as a storm.

“Mike, you shouldn’t have done that-”

”Can’t believe you-”

”-How bad is it-”

Instead, he and Eddie pulled their legs up under themselves, bracing one foot against the rear bumper, and their weapons slung out in the open air behind them. They swung out again and again as dark silhouettes made their pursuit. Sometimes their blows connected, followed by the shooting pain of impact that sang all the way up into Steve’s shoulder blade; other swings were dodged, or the creature was further away than they had initially judged. It wasn’t until several minutes had passed without tooth nor hide of those oily-skinned creatures in their sight, and the car had mounted a sealed road with much rocking on the suspension and officially left behind the death-trap-forest part of their journey, that Steve dared to chance a look at Eddie. He was watching the road, his face lit red in the glow of the tail lights, but he must have felt Steve’s gaze, as he shifted to look back at him. He pulled down the filthy bandana from around his mouth, catching his breath, and Steve echoed the movement.

“Hey,” Eddie said, a tentative smile playing in the corners of his mouth.

“Hi.”

Steve had no idea how it was possible to be living through the end of the world and still have his stomach doing silly little dolphin flip flops just because some metalhead burnout who couldn’t graduate high school was looking at him like he was real .

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t convenient.

But I guess that’s just Eddie, Steve’s mind offered him helpfully.

“We haven’t died yet,” Eddie said, as lightly as if he was presenting an interesting factoid about the weird weather they’d been having lately. Steve couldn’t feel relieved yet; shouldn’t feel relieved yet. But he felt the stupid smile creeping onto his face nonetheless as he looked at the idiot next to him.

“We haven’t died yet,” Steve repeated back to him, nodding. Eddie lifted the filthy weapon in his hand, eyeing the black-streaked head of it thoughtfully.

“I think we should make a pattern out of it. Not dying, that is. Thoughts?”

“I think we might just manage it, if you keep swinging that stick like that,” Steve replied. He instantly regretted his words as Eddie’s lit up with unholy glee.

“Oh? You like the way I swing my stick, do ya? You’re an absolute animal, Harrington, I don’t know what I expected of you but it wasn’t this-” Eddie gloated.

“Oh God,” Steve rolled his eyes, but his smile undermined him as Eddie cackled, “I didn’t mean-”

“It doesn’t matter what you mean,” Eddie sing-songed at him, rocking into Steve’s personal space with that sh*t-eating grin papering his face. “You already said it and you can’t take it back.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Steve told him, though he leant in closer himself.

“Your face is ridiculous,” Eddie retorted. Their knees were pressed against each other, and Eddie shifted ever so slightly as they passed over a pothole, so that his leg slipped forward until it was pressed all the way up the inner line of Steve’s thigh and he swore he forgot how to breathe.

“Oy, sh*theads,” Robin called over the back of the seat, and the rest of the world came unceremoniously crashing in on them. “One of you is sitting on the first aid kit. Throw it over before I push you out of the back myself.”

Chapter 14: It’s Gonna Take a Lot To Drag Me Away From You

Chapter Text

They had almost reached the edge of town, and Will and Elle had only just stopped their mirrored bouts of semi-hysterical sobbing over Mike’s act of reckless sacrifice, when the crackle of Dustin’s radio sent the entirety of the car into a breathless silence. It popped and fizzled with static, and dropped away to nothing as Dustin scrambled to hold it up for a better signal within the tangle of cramped and bleeding limbs.

“-eeler… -yers… -o you copy? Over.”

Dustin almost dropped the entire radio in his excitement to respond.

“Yes! This is Dustin! Yes we copy!” He babbled into the radio, his bare-toothed grin practically splitting his face in two as the car erupted in a chaos of relieved chatter.

“Shut up! Shut up!” Dustin flapped his free hand at all of them as the radio burst to life again, lifting it close to his face and turning the volume all the way up.

“-ank Christ, kid, glad to hear you. Is everyone alright? Over.”

It was Hopper, there was absolutely no mistaking it for anybody else. Eddie was surprised by the way a knot in his stomach eased a little bit at the sound of his dry tone. He hadn’t had the best track record with the previously-dead cop, that was for sure; but Eddie was also man enough to admit, however begrudgingly, that out of all the authority figures in this dead-beat town, he’d always been the one to treat him fairly.

“We were pinned down by demodogs and Mike’s been injured, but he’s gonna live, and we’re on the move,” Dustin rattled off urgently into the receiver. “We’re almost to town. Where are you guys, over?”

“—re fine too, thanks for asking,” Hopper’s voice crackled dryly through the radio. “We’re a block from the swimming pool, corner of Maple and Vine. How did the demodogs find you? Did something trigger the gate? Over.”

“That’s only a couple of blocks from the hospital,” Nancy offered from the front of the car, and Joyce quickly wrestled the radio out of Dustin’s hands with no small amount of resistance.

“Give it to me, give it, Dustin - Hopper, There’s no time to explain, but you need to get to the hospital and you need to get Max and the Sinclair kids out of there.”

“-What? Are you kidding me? Isn’t she in a coma -”

“She’s the only way to stop this and Vecna’s coming for her, Hopper,” Joyce insisted, holding down the receiver and talking over him. “Will and Elle got us more information and we can fix everything for good, but you need to get to the hospital, get Max and the others, and bring Max to the Creel House. Do you understand?”

“That is absolutely nuts, Joyce-”

“ Do you understand, over?” Joyce reiterated, and the radio dropped to silence. Eddie could practically hear Hopper’s frustrated groan from the other side of town.

“Yes. Understood. We’ll get the others and we’ll meet you at the Creel House. Do not do anything foolish until we get there, do you hear me? Do not do anything stupid or foolish until we get there, Joyce.” Joyce cast a rueful eye over the assembled teenagers in varying states of bleeding and cramped.

“We hear you. Just- move fast and stay alive. We’ll meet you at Creel House ASAP. And Hopper?”

“… Yeah?”

“Look after my boy.” There was a pause on the other end.

“I think your boy is looking after me, more than anything,” Hopper admitted, and Joyce huffed and ducked her head as a smile fluttered across her features. The radio crackled in her hand.

“We’re out the front of the hospital right now. Looks like there’s movement inside. If Max and Lucas are still in there, we’ll find ‘em, but we’re gonna be out of contact for a while. Hopper and co out.”

There was a succinct click noise from the radio and it fell silent again before Joyce could respond. The car was permeated by a palpable feeling of deflation, shortly after replaced by an anxious tension. If the hospital was under attack from more creatures the likes of those demodogs, then Hopper, Jonathan and Argyle were likely walking into a bloodbath so traumatising even the concept of it made Eddie’s stomach churn. He reached automatically for Steve, his hand not needing to move very far before finding the edge of Steve’s thigh. He felt the muscle jump beneath his touch, but he wasn’t looking for Steve’s thigh, and he fumbled about until there were fingers, warm and sturdy and solid, threading between his own. He chanced a look at Steve out of the corner of his eye, saw the way the corner of Steve’s lips twitched upwards ever so slightly, even as he kept his gaze focused on the others. It was incredible how they had managed to sandwich Mike, Elle, Will, Dustin, and Robin into the back seat space, but with Dustin propped in the foot recess on one side, Will in the other, Robin crouched on the seat, and Mike spread across Elle’s lap like a fainting Victorian maiden, they were making it work. Robin had done an admirable job of bandaging Mike’s wounds but Eddie was almost certain that the upholstery would be a write-off now, and between the bloodstains and what Eddie was sure were going to be enormous clawed gashes in the rooftop, he couldn’t help but feel a small amount of second-hand grief for the death of Steve’s car’s resale value.

Why the f*ck am I even thinking about this? He wondered to himself, shaking his head a little. Worrying about Steve’s car when we’re about to head into a literal suicide mission.

But Eddie knew why. It was easier to worry about that than it was to consider the possibility that they were walking towards the very real, very violent ends of their lives.

At least we have a plan, Eddie’s mind offered him, and he squeezed Steve’s hand subconsciously at the very thought of it.

…

“Max isn’t in her body right now,” Elle’s voice was low and husky as she spoke. She wiped the blood away from her nose on the back of her shirt sleeve, staring around at the rest of them inside the cabin. “I know because I tried to find her at the hospital, like I did before. But she wasn’t… There. So when we went into One through Will, I tried to find the fi… Fill…”

“Phylactery,” Will finished for her, nodding reassuringly. She nodded. “Phylactery,” she repeated. “And… We saw the broken house, like Max and Nancy saw, and I could… I could hear Max…”

“So you think she’s trapped in there? In the phylactery?” Steve asked. Elle nodded again.

“I think so. I think I couldn’t find her before because she wasn’t close enough to it… So if Max’s body was near the real phylactery, in our world, and Will and I tried to bring her back… I think we could do it.”

“And that would be enough to shut the gate?” Joyce asked. Elle shook her head.

“One will not let her go so easy. He will fight us for her. Maybe try to take someone else. That’s why we need to destroy the phyl… Actory , once we have her out safe,” Elle finished.

“… And how do we do that, exactly?” Robin asked.

It was Eddie who spoke up though.

“The clock has been there in every plane of Vecna’s- One’s- existence,” he said slowly, his finger and thumb tapping against each other in an agitated tempo as he followed his racing thoughts along their train of logic. “It’s an access thing, but it’s also likely a redundancy thing. Like a back-up. If we destroy one, the power gets shifted into the copy of the item in a different plane of existence, and so on. So if we want to cut him off from his power…”

“We need to destroy all of them at the same time,” Dustin finished, his expression equally awestruck and horrified. Eddie nodded, a jerky, abortive movement. “Give the f*cker nowhere to hide, and strip him of his power for good.”

“Holy sh*t,” Steve breathed, and he whistled low and long.

“So let me get this straight,” Nancy said, leaning over the couch backing with a frown on her face. “We get Max, we get ourselves to Creel House close to the clock; you and Will do your piggyback thing in to find Max and pull her out of the soul-storage thing, while the rest of us make sure the three of you aren’t ripped apart by what is sure to be an army of demogorgons and bats and everything else that sh*t-hole can throw at us.” Eddie grinned in surprise at Nancy using foul language, an odd feeling of pride prickling in his chest. “Then,” she continued, “once you’ve got her out of there and back into her body, you give us some sort of signal and, what? We somehow simultaneously destroy the soul storage here, in the upside down, and in Creel’s mind?”

“But only once Max is out,” Elle agreed. “If we break it while she’s still in there, I don’t know if I can get her out.” She paused, thinking. “I don’t know if I could get me out, either.” There was a heavy silence as they all processed the magnitude of the risk.

“Elle,” Joyce said gently. “I know that Max is your friend, but… If you can’t get her out, and we have to choose between saving her and closing the gates for good…”

“I know,” Elle said quietly. “But I have to try. We have to try.”

“One problem,” Eddie spoke up, drawing everyone’s gaze. “Well, actually, a couple of problems. First though; if we’re meant to be destroying this phylactery at the same time across three planes of existence, how will be know when to do it? We haven’t exactly been successful with communication so far.”

“Getting Max back will destabilise everything,” Will offered up. “You’ll know because the gate will start to act funny, or the ground might shake, or the usual crazy stuff will get crazier.”

“Alright,” Eddie said, nodding and mulling that over. “Fair enough. Second question then, leading on from the first. To destroy this thing, we need someone on every plane. Obviously, we have no shortage of people here,” he co*cked an eyebrow at the rest of them, “and Will and Elle, the turbo twins, are the only ones who can go toe-to-toe in the psychic zone. So which one of us is going into the Upside Down, and how are we meant to get back? Since, you know, we’re meant to be destroying the power source that keeps the fabric of these very realms connected to each other in the first place, and from the sounds of it, we’re aiming to have this closure be permanent.”

There was more silence.

“… Right. Cross that bridge when we get to it?” Eddie suggested helpfully, and there was a wave of uncomfortable agreement.

Right.

Get to Creel House.

Bring back Max.

Break the clock.

Close the gates.

That’s a plan right there.

…

“sh*t!”

Eddie was forcibly thrown back into the present as he pitched over, barely maintaining his hold on his weapon as the car veered on screeching tyres. He gasped like a goldfish as an elbow knocked the wind from his lungs, and he felt an arm wrap tightly around his middle as the car righted itself on the bumpy verge of the road amidst a chorus of swear words.

“I got you,” the words were murmured to him, and as the dust settled, Eddie found himself staring down into Steve’s somewhat surprised face.

The movement of the car had left him spread out over the top of Steve, their faces practically nose to nose, and Eddie was suddenly all too aware of how close they were; how warm and solid and nice Steve’s body felt pressed up underneath his; and then, with a bright shooting bolt of heat, he noticed the pressure of Steve’s thigh between his legs.

sh*t, Eddie thought desperately. f*ck. Not the time, not the f*cking time, brain, even as his head swam with a myriad of potent images.

Steve’s mouth, open, his lips gasping and swollen as his head tipped back in pleasure, long neck stretching out in front of Eddie all for the taking.

The maddening sensation of Steve’s hips shifting and rolling beneath him as their bodies pressed together, skin burning and aching with every little movement.

The line of his hard co*ck, bobbing between them and throbbing as Eddie slithered down Steve’s body, watching Steve as Steve watched him back, eyes dark and desperate as Eddie did something he’d been wanting to do for ages -

“You alright?” Steve asked, and Eddie choked a little, rocketing back to the present.

“What?” Eddie wheezed, unable to process what Steve had just said. Steve frowned, the hand wrapped around his middle coming up to brush against Eddie’s cheek in concern, while Eddie blinked and busily stamped down hard on the images within his mind.

Nope. Not right now. Not right f*ckING now.

“I said, are you okay?”

Steve seemed a little breathless himself, though it was impossible to tell whether it was from the sudden near-death experience of the car or from something else in the low red glow of the tail lights.

Eddie wanted to kiss him; Eddie wanted to get as far away as possible from him.

Steve smiled a little, and Eddie felt the blood drain from his face in horror as he noticed the deeply inappropriate pressure that had appeared between his thighs.

Stupid f*cking brain, stupid f*cking thoughts, Jesus f*cking Christ just kill me now-

“I’m sorry the boot of my car is so cramped,” Steve admitted to him conspiratorially. “It’s, uh, not exactly a comfortable ride, huh?”

Eddie stared at him, utterly aghast, noting the teasing smirk on Steve’s face with mounting disbelief.

“Are you flirting with me, Steve Harrington?” Eddie asked, keeping his voice low. Steve shrugged beneath him, which was an impressive feat in its own right given the sheer lack of space they had between them in which to move.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Steve murmured back nonchalantly, his free hand settling back on the curve of Eddie’s hip. Eddie was about to respond to him, his brain half-focused on willing away the hard-on that had sprung up in his jeans, when Steve’s grip tightened and then he was rolling his hips up against Eddie.

“Is it working, though?” Steve’s smile was wicked, and Eddie’s mind was wiped utterly blank. He gasped, choking, even as he saw the pleased look spreading on Steve’s face.

“What the f*ck, Steve,” Eddie hissed, dropping his face low to hide himself from any potentially prying eyes in the seats in front of them, and trying to desperately to get his lungs pumping air into his body again. Of course, dropping his head had only put his face closer to Steve’s, which meant that Eddie’s entire view was filled with the stupid, smug look on Steve’s stupid, smug face.

“Is that a yes..?” Steve prompted, his eyes dropping to trace the shape of Eddie’s mouth, even as his thumb began to make maddening little circles in the dip of Eddie’s hip.

“You’re a piece of f*cking work, is what you are,” Eddie breathed at him, and he felt the warmth of Steve’s quiet laughter against the bare skin of his neck. Steve craned his neck upwards, closing that gap between them, until his lips were ghosting along that very spot on Eddie’s neck. Eddie’s breath hitched as Steve buried his nose right in the vulnerable, soft spot where the hinge of his jaw met his neck.

“I told you,” Steve whispered in his ear, making all the hairs on the back of Eddie’s neck stand up, “I’m Face. Smooth talker. Lady killer.” He paused, and Eddie felt stars bursting behind his eyelids as Steve pressed his lips against his neck. Just when Eddie was convinced it was too much — that his brain was going to short circuit and he was going to have to f*cking tuck and roll out of the goddamn car — that was when Steve decided to drag his teeth along Eddie’s pulse.

He couldn’t completely bite back the small, pitiful whimper that escaped his throat, couldn’t stop himself from sinking down further into Steve’s touch. There was a huff of warm air against Eddie’s neck, and he was filled with equal parts disappointment and relief when Steve’s mouth pulled away.

“Glad to know it doesn’t just work on the ladies,” Steve breathed to him, and the amusem*nt, the pride, the smugness was simply unbearable —

“I am going to kill you, Steve,” Eddie told him with the utmost sincerity.

“And I’ll let you,” Steve promised easily, and Eddie could hear the open tenderness in his voice so clearly that he swore his heart was going to break right then and there, all on its own.

f*ck, Eddie thought. f*ck.

“Look alive, everyone,” Nancy’s voice carried through the car, and Eddie and Steve shifted quicker than either of them should have feasibly been able to given the space and their assorted collection of injuries.

“We’re a block away.” And then, much quieter.

“God, this better work.”

…

They weren’t there for much longer than five minutes before the Surfer Boy Pizza van came peeling around the corner of the street, but it felt like an eternity of uneasy tension and jumping at shadows, both real and imagined.

The gate had split clean through the Creel house in a not-quite even line, and they had parked the car right at the edge of the property in case the chasm decided to open itself up any further; the stained glass door swung loose upon its hinges over the chasm, the glow from beneath catching in the red of the intact rose and flickering as it moved. Their rag-tag crew of teenagers pulled themselves from the car with a collection of winces and hushed gripes, and they approached the house with wariness. It was relatively slow going, as they had to weave their feet between the spreading, black vines that were steadily creeping their way out of the pit.

“There’s… There’s nothing here,” Nancy said slowly, keeping her voice low as they advanced on the house. She was right; for all that the house was the epicentre of this entire nightmare, there wasn’t a single demodog or creature in sight.

“He doesn’t know we’re here,” Will offered up, pinning the inside of his lip between his teeth to chew on anxiously as his eyes roved across the unsettlingly silent scene. “We stole information from him, not the other way around. That’s why he sent the dogs to the cabin, rather than guarding himself here.”

“But why wouldn’t he guard here anyway?” Robin asked. Will shrugged.

“He thinks he’s already won. Why would he guard a weakness he doesn’t think we even know about? This is the last place he’d think we’d come.”

“Yeah, because it’s batsh*t crazy,” Joyce muttered, casting her eyes around warily. She paused when she felt the press of dozens of teenage eyes on her. “…What?”

“Hopper and co, do you copy? What’s your ETA, over?” Dustin called into his radio, disrupting their conversation, and they waited on bated breath for a response. There was a crackle, and the sound of panting broke through the radio signal in that coarse, AM sound.

“-almost there. Had a few speed bumps to deal with and we’re coming in hot; get clear of the road, and if you’ve got weapons, have ‘em ready,” Hopper replied, and Eddie’s stomach clenched with relief at the sound of his voice. He didn’t sound in pain, just out breath, to the best of Eddie’s reckoning, and he heeded the words and started handing out what remained of their nail planks to everyone lacking firepower.

“And the others? Max? Did everyone get out safe, over?” Dustin pressed, and there was another, longer pause before the frequency opened up again.

“All are safe, and we picked up a new friend. Just get. Ready. Over.” The radio signal cut dead, and Dustin looked around at them, a frown on his face.

“A new friend…?” Dustin mused.

“I think we may have a more pressing issue at hand. ‘Coming in hot’ sounds ominous,” Steve said, and Eddie couldn’t help but agree with him.

“Should we get inside…?” Will asked, somewhat helplessly. Robin snorted.

“What inside, man?”

“We don’t know what’s coming in, and we don’t know what’s inside yet, either,” Nancy reasoned. “Better to just stick close and wait for them.”

“Nancy’s right,” Joyce nodded, and so they braced themselves.

They heard the van before they saw it; the screeching tyres and engine carried to them a solid ten seconds through the unsettling quiet of the town. The yellow van skittered around the corner with an ungodly shriek, the tyres creating a heavy cloud of smoke as it fishtailed and corrected onto the street. Even from this distance, Eddie could see handful of the stricken faces peering through the windscreen at them; or, what was left of the windscreen, anyway. It had been completely shattered, haphazard chunks of it sticking out of the ceiling and the base, and as half a dozen demodogs pelted around the corner in hot pursuit, Eddie understood all too clearly what must have caused it.

“sh*t,” Steve said, automatically shifting to put himself in front of the younger ones, and Eddie had to gently nudge Steve’s shoulder with his own to stop the young man from trying to lump him in with the rest of them. He gave Steve a brief, raised-eyebrow look, which was the closest thing he could muster to an I can stand with you as an equal on this, dude, and Steve’s face flickered through a brief nonverbal apology.

Good enough, Eddie thought, and then braced himself.

He had not been prepared to watch the van scream up the street with absolutely no consideration for the Pit of Utter Despair that lay in front of it. He had been even less prepared to watch the demodogs sweep past their entire group as if they were a troupe of ceramic garden gnomes, only to fail to make the same air-raising pin turn that the pizza van made at the last minute. The screeching of the van’s tyres almost completely swallowed the baying sounds of the demodogs as they skittered to follow, only to overbalance and slip, one after the other, into the yawning red gate and disappear.

The van came to a stop on the verge of the old kid’s park across the road, a scant foot-and-a-half from the edge of the chasm, and the driver killed the engine so that the street fell once again into silence.

“What the f*ck, that was f*cking awesome,” Dustin crowed, and Joyce and Nancy were already busy tripping over their feet to chastise him for drawing attention, and they rushed to help get the others out of the still-smoking van. Eddie couldn’t help but assess the damage that the van had endured as he followed after them. The driver’s side door had been completely ripped off its hinges at some point since they had last seen the van, and the sliding door had three enormous, jagged claw marks etched straight through the metal panelling. The smell of burning rubber was almost as harsh on his lungs as the atmosphere pouring through the extra-dimensional gate, and from the quiet, continuous hissing noise, it seemed that at least one of the tyres had been busted on the way there. He wasn’t sure, but there seemed to be quite a few more bullet holes in the doors than there had been previously.

Joyce’s arms were wrapped around Hopper’s waist before he had even fully exited the van; there was a flash of surprise on his face, which Eddie didn’t quite understand, but then Hopper was breathing out, long and slow, and his eyes were closing as he let his arms wrap around her as well. Nancy move to Jonathan like a homing beacon, their hands checking each other over and frantically checking in with each other in snatches between kisses. Though the sight of them made Eddie smile, something unpleasant in his chest twitched, and he found his eyes seeking out Steve. He wasn’t even looking at them; in fact, he was helping a somewhat grey-faced Erica out of the side door of the van, who was immediately taken into the care of Dustin and Robin, and Steve was already reaching in to the van to grasp another hand-

“ Wayne ?” Eddie blurted, his stomach dropping through his knees. His uncle’s face turned away from Steve, following the sound of his name like a bloodhound, and Eddie saw first-hand the overwhelming movement of feelings that hit his Uncle like a freight train. Eddie’s feet were moving underneath him before he knew it, and he hadn’t felt so small, so young, so fragile, in a very long time. He hit his Uncle’s chest with some speed, hearing the quiet ‘oof’ of air as their bodies collided. He squeezed his eyes shut as his uncle’s arms wrapped tightly around him, so tightly that Eddie swore he felt his soul being squished back into shape inside of him. He didn’t care that every bruise and cut on his torso was pulling simultaneously beneath the pressure, like a carpet of burning pain across his skin. Wayne was here, and he was safe, right here and right now, and that was such a shock and a surprise that Eddie couldn’t have thought about anything else if he had tried.

“That Henderson kid- he told me-” his uncle’s words were halting and thick, and Eddie’s arms tightened automatically as Wayne’s shoulders shuddered.

“I’m fine,” Eddie told him, his own voice croaking as he grinned. “I’m sorry, he didn’t know the full story, it’s not his fault. I’m fine, I promise.”

Wayne pulled back, his whole body tight as he barely managed to reel in the overwhelming deluge of emotion he was wracked with, to peer into Eddie’s face.

“Those kids- the girl in the trailer, Chrissy-”

“I didn’t do it,” Eddie said automatically, a cold wave passing over him like a bucket of arctic water as he frantically shook his head. But he needn’t have worried.

“I know,” Wayne said immediately, putting a reassuring hand on the back of Eddie’s neck like a man trying to calm a spooked horse. “They came to the trailer, and I told them it wasn’t you. I told everyone who’d listen that it wasn’t you. I know you could never do anything like that.” He glanced around though, his eyes touching warily on the other assembled people and lingering on the glowing gateway. He leant in closer, worry etched in the lines of his face.

“I know this is gonna sound stupid, and you already know I ain’t religious, but — this isn’t the Rapture, is it, Eddie?” Uncle Wayne asked, his voice low as he checked to make sure no one had overheard him. The question was so out of left field that Eddie laughed, too high and too fast and too relieved to even care.

“Not for any religion that I know about,” Eddie told him, and though it was clear that was of some comfort to Wayne, he was far from relaxed. “Look, I have no idea what Hopper or anyone else explained to you-” his uncle scoffed. “What a day, first you not being dead then Hopper, what’s next?”

“-but there’s a lot that’s going on right now and everyone is in a lot of danger. We have to act fast, or what’s happening here is going to happen to the whole world , and I’ve gotta stay, but you should get as far away from here as you can.”

“Like hell I should,” his uncle retorted, throwing him a scandalised look, and Eddie grinned. “If you’re here, I’m here. I’m not letting no kid tell me what did or didn’t happen to you twice in one damn day.”

“Fair enough,” Eddie agreed, and his chest heaved with another disbelieving laugh as Wayne pulled him into his arms once again.

“You scared me, kid,” he murmured. Eddie felt his chest tighten.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“S’ okay. Not your fault. I’m just glad there were some folks around who didn’t fall for the bullsh*t.”

“Trust me, what these fools are into? Somehow worse,” Eddie admitted, smiling against his shoulder as Wayne’s grip tightened on him.

“Sounds like I got here just in time, then,” Wayne said, and with a companionable pat on the back he straightened himself and cleared his throat gruffly.

“Right,” Wayne said, raising his voice for the sake of the rest of the group. “Where are we moving Susan’s kid to? Because she might be a little bit banged up right now, but if you’re gonna try and sacrifice her to the pit, I’m going to have some reservations.”

…

They laid Max down in the middle of what remained of the Creel house’s hallway, the structure groaning and creaking with every breeze and every footfall. The rooms off from the hallways seemed shift and shimmer with every flash of lightning overhead, lending them a haunting air ominous unreality. Eddie suppressed a shudder, and stuck close to the others.

“You better come back,” Mike told Elle, quietly and intently, and she nodded to him. He looked between her and Will, his expression heavy with pain and stress. “ Both of you.”

“We will,” Elle agreed. She gave a rueful smile to Will and reached for his hand. “We will look after each other. Like brother and sister should.” Jonathan put a hand on Mike’s shoulder, and the boy craned his neck to peer up at him. “I’ll keep them safe out here, they’ll keep each other safe in there, but you need to move somewhere that you’re safe now too. You’re in no state to fight, and you’ll get in the way.”

Mike opened his mouth to argue, but Dustin and Lucas stepped in.

“Mike, you can be in charge of the fireworks,” Lucas offered, even as Erica shot him an indignant look.

“Excuse me? What happened to-” she began, but Lucas shot her a quelling look. She glared. “ Fine . Put Mike in charge of firepower. As per usual.” She stomped off towards Robin and Nancy, who appeared to be doing something reprehensible with a flammable liquid and some strips of fabric. Dustin helped Mike to his feet, and he shot a longing glance back towards Elle.

“See you on the other side,” Mike said weakly, and Elle’s smile wavered as he looked away. Her gaze turned to Lucas, who was lingering nearby. The boy looked like he hadn’t slept in days, and that was certainly saying something considering that Eddie had been staring at Steve’s exhausted mug for every waking moment in the last three days. He looked haunted; he looked like a ghost himself. Will followed her line of sight, meeting Lucas’s eyes.

“Do you trust us?” Will asked him. Lucas nodded, haltingly.

“Always,” he said.

“We’re gonna try everything we can to get her back,” he told Lucas. “Okay?”

Lucas’s throat worked, and he nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

“Just- what Mike said. Don’t wanna lose you either,” he managed, and then he turned on his heel to go and help the others. Eddie hesitated before following after him.

“Hey, Lucas,” he called, and the boy stopped for him, turning with a blank, exhausted expression. Eddie was struck by a wave of doubt; should he even say anything at all?

Now or never, he thought, and he took a steadying breath.

“I just wanted to say thanks, again,” he mustered. “For believing me. And I’m really sorry about what happened to Max, and to- to Jason. He didn’t deserve what happened to him.”

Lucas’s face flickered through a number of unreadable emotions in the span of a couple of seconds, but eventually he nodded.

“He wasn’t a monster,” Lucas told him, his voice soft and sad and a little bitter. “He just… Couldn’t handle knowing what the rest of us know. I can’t help but feel like if it hadn’t been Chrissy, Jason would have been the first one to take our side. To take your side. But the grief— it twisted him up all wrong.” He chewed on the inside of his cheek, breathing harshly as he worked through whatever words he wanted to say, and Eddie waited for him. He would always wait for these kids, he realised; he would always listen to them, and look out for them when the rest of the world didn’t.

“He— If he hadn’t been there, when we were trying to fight Vecna, then Max wouldn’t be where she is right now, but— But even now, I can’t hate him. Because… Because I get it. He loved Chrissy, and if what he was feeling was anything like how I’m feeling right now? Because of Max? Then I get it. I’d have gone nuts too.”

“Yeah,” Eddie nodded. He frowned, lifted a hand to wave at his own face.

“Hey, what happened to your eye, man?”

Lucas rolled said eye, and the bruising and swelling practically shone beneath the next crimson lightning bolt.

“Jason happened to it,” Lucas admitted. “I said he didn’t deserve what he got, not that he wasn’t an asshole.”

Eddie gave an appreciative huff, shaking his head in silent admiration of the kid. How was it that this little baby jock-in-the-making was more mature than the rest of his little friends combined? Perhaps excepting Will, that was.

“You’re a good kid, Lucas,” Eddie offered him. “If we survive all this, maybe you can teach me how to, like… Shoot some hoops? Is that what they call it these days?”

“I would literally rather be torn apart by a demogorgon,” Lucas scoffed, but the heaviness lifted between them, and Lucas softened a little. “But… I am a little disappointed I missed out on the final part of the campaign. I know you worked really hard on it.”

“Don’t worry,” Eddie said, a teasing grin pulling up the corner of his mouth, “I’m sure your little sister can fill you in on the plot twists.” Lucas shuddered. “Still can’t believe you let her play,” he muttered. “What I’m trying to say is, maybe we could all do a one shot or something? If we actually manage to survive the next hour, that is?”

Eddie looked him up and down, assessing, before letting the smile settle properly into place.

“Sounds like a deal, Sinclair. We’ll roll up some new characters for the whole of your monster-hunting freak squad and get something cooking.”

“Cool,” Lucas gave him a tentative smile, and turned as Dustin called his name. “I’m gonna-”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie waved him off. “Go help the brains trust. Good talk, Sinclair.” Eddie turned to limp back towards the hallway, when Jonathan’s voice drew his attention.

“Are you sure about this?”

Eddie peered around the corner of the empty doorframe, unsure of whether he was meant to be overhearing whatever conversation was being had. Joyce and Hopper were standing near the edge of the gate, hand in hand, and Jonathan was in front of them with his arms crossed. His expression was pale, the muscle in his jaw ticking.

“We don’t know what’s going to happen when the soul thing is destroyed-”

“All the more reason for it to be us,” Hopper insisted, evenly. Joyce gave her son a watery smile as his expression crumpled. “Oh, honey,” she crooned, pulling him into her arms as he pressed his head into her shoulder. “Do you really think we could any of you do this?”

“Not on my watch,” Hopper said dryly, giving Joyce a somber smile. He clapped a hand on Jonathan’s shoulder. “It’s alright, kid; if it comes down to it, I’ll be kicking your mom back through that gate ahead of me, no hesitation.”

“Elle won’t forgive you,” Jonathan’s voice was thick, muffled in Joyce’s coat, but Eddie saw the flinch in Hopper’s brow at the words.

“She’s forgiven me for worse,” he said quietly.

“Keep your brother safe,” Joyce told him, and she gave a small, pitiable sound as she smiled. “And your sister safe, too. Just in case.”

“Of course, mom,” Jonathan whimpered, his hands fisted in the back of her jacket like he wanted to crawl inside of her. “That’s all I ever do.”

“I know,” Joyce burst, gasping as tears spilled down her cheeks. “I know you do. You’re such a good boy.” She leaned back, just far enough that she could look at his face, contorted with grief and tears. Her watery smile was fond, and she swept one of the lank strands of his hair back behind one ear, a movement as easy as breathing. “Such a brave young man,” she corrected herself. “I’m so proud of you, Jonathan.”

“Stop,” he begged her. “You’re coming right back.”

She nodded. “Of course I am. But- just in case-” she crushed him to her chest, one last time, and then Hopper was placing a steady hand on her shoulder and she was stepping away.

“Once we’re through, tell them to start,” Hopper repeated to Jonathan, even as they stepped back towards the gateway. “We’ll wait for the signal, then we’ll destroy the clock and book it back through the gate, easy as pie.”

“Easy as pie,” Jonathan repeated, and Hopper nodded.

“We’ll be right back, and if we’re not… It’s been a pleasure, kid.”

And then Hopper and Joyce turned to each other, smiling, and with hands joined, they stepped over the ledge and disappeared. Jonathan had his back turned to Eddie, his shoulders hunched and shaking as he stared into the gateway. Eddie waited until the movements seemed less violent, and took that as his queue to step around the corner into view.

“Hey, uh, are you okay, Byers?” Eddie asked, and Jonathan straightened guiltily. He wiped at his face with the back of his sleeve, but the puffiness around his eyes was a dead giveaway.

“I’m fine,” he said, shooting a sheepish look. “I’m just…” He gathered himself slowly, but Eddie couldn’t help but marvel at the shift from vulnerable teenager to quiet, iron-willed man before him. “I’m just sick of this thing f*cking with my family.” He levelled his gaze with Eddie. “I’m ready to end this.”

“Rock on,” Eddie agreed. “Let’s go tell the Shining one and two to get this party started. We’ve got a skater girl to rescue.”

…

It was to expected, by this point, that something was going to go wrong. It was inevitable, really. How could it possibly not? So many moving parts, so many half-baked assumptions, so many damn places and cues to follow simultaneously… Something had to give.

Eddie just couldn’t have anticipated exactly how wrong it was going to go, or how quickly it was all going to shift.

“Everyone in position?” Steve called, triggering a round of scattered responses from the various spots throughout the house and the yard beyond it. They had made sure that Max was within line-of-sight of the grandfather clock, which Elle eyed warily as she settled in beside Max’s unmoving form.

“Are you ready?” She asked Will in a murmur, and he nodded, taking her hand.

“See you on the other side,” he said hopefully, and at the same time, they took Max’s bandaged hands in their own and closed their eyes.

Eddie lifted his nail plank in hand, though he couldn’t help but feel somewhat inadequate now that he had seen the sheer firepower that Hopper and the Surfer Boy Pizza crew had managed to muster between the hospital and their arrival here; fireworks were just the beginning. Will’s and Elle’s breathing shuddered in tandem, and Eddie turned to Steve as the first beads of blood gathered at the dip of their nostrils.

“Have we got this?” Eddie murmured to him. Steve shrugged, rolling his shoulders, and shifting his body weight from side to side, like a baseball batsman limbering up before a game.

“Sure we do,” he said lightly, shooting an easy smile at Eddie that made him instantly suspicious. “We’ve made it this far, haven’t we?”

“You seem way too okay with this,” Eddie told him, narrow-eyed. Steve’s eyes glittered with mirth as he rolled one shoulder casually, and he swung the makeshift bat around lazily in one hand.

“It’s just- It’s almost funny at this point, right? Like, I know this is all a lot for you, but this is like, the fifth time I’ve done this now. Not quite as high stakes, to be fair, but… I guess I’m just used to it now?” He gave a disconcerting laugh. “Jonathan, how many times have you done this now?”

Jonathan looked surprised to be spoken to at all, his expression drawn and far away, but he straightened, considering.

“I guess… If you count the time Nancy and I accidentally crawled through that tree gate near your house, and the time at the hospital… Like, five or six now? Maybe seven? They kind of blur together,” he admitted, his mouth stretching in the first smile Eddie had seen since the boy’s arrival. Steve turned it look back at Eddie, a satisfied expression on his face.

“See?” He said.

No, I don’t see, Steve Harrington, Eddie wanted to say. All I’m hearing is goddamn crazy talk from your fool mouth.

“You’re both insane,” Eddie told them. “None of this is normal, and I will not let either of you make me feel like I’m the one who’s weird for feeling nervous about this.”

“Oh I’m nervous,” Steve said simply. “sh*tting myself, even.”

“Me too,” Jonathan said quietly. Steve ducked his head for a moment, as a warm expression crossed his face, and he looked at Eddie slyly out of the corner of his eye.

“Maybe I just feel better knowing that you’re here with me,” Steve said quietly. “Maybe you make me feel brave.”

Eddie didn’t know what to say to that; didn’t know how to tell Steve exactly how much those words made his chest feel like it had been fed through a meat grinder. Instead, he reached out and took Steve’s hand in his own. Steve looked down at their hands, at the fingers laced together, and then back up at Eddie in surprise. Eddie could feel the change in Jonathan’s expression as he saw this happen; but Eddie didn’t care.

“That is some seriously sappy sh*t coming out of your mouth, Harrington,” Eddie told him, bumping his shoulder against Steve’s for good measure. “You should probably go see a doctor. Get that checked out.”

“Bold words, considering you’re the one who’s probably got spooky vampire demobat rabies, for all we know.”

“You were bitten by the same bats, numb nuts-”

“Guys,” Jonathan interjected. “Something’s happening.”

They turned to find the gate had shifted from red to a sickly magenta colour.

Eddie and Steve barely exchanged a fearful glance before all hell broke loose at once.

Chapter 15: And You Give Yourself Away

Chapter Text

There shouldn’t have been so many.

There couldn’t have been so many.

This was what Eddie’s mind repeated, over and over, as clawed hand after clawed hand reached out of the chasm to grasp at the crumbling concrete and rock on the right side up. He took a step backward on instinct as icy dread coiled and solidified within his gut like cooling lava, weighing his limbs down with horror.

“Keep it together, Eddie,” Steve murmured, and it was enough to stop the potent, hazy rise of panic that threatened to strangle him. But there was nothing Steve could say that would quite stop their situation from being completely and utterly f*cked.

“Mr. Munson! Mike! Have you got eyes on this?” Steve called.

“You bet your ass we do,” Erica called down to them from above. Eddie chanced a glance up to the ripped-open level above; the shattered house had turned the second floor into a strange, toothy mezzanine, the facade parting like the jaws of a monster around the gateway. He could see his Uncle, Mike, and Erica peering down at them, a lit makeshift torch wedged between two broken floorboards in the space between them.

“Good. Wait for the signal,” Steve called, and Eddie practically heard the eye roll.

“No sh*t, Harrington,” Erica called out again, “we know how to optimise a limited resource. Don’t we, fellas?”

There was a bemused and hesitant muttering of agreement from above. Steve took that as being close enough to a reassuring answer.

“Nancy? Henderson?” Steve called.

“We see them,” Nancy’s voice carried. “We’re ready.”

“Don’t let them cut you off at the doorway,” Steve told them. “Pull back earlier rather than later. If they do cut us off, get to the cars and go.”

“We got it,” Robin’s voice filtered over as well. “Focus on making the damn call, Steve.”

They waited, Eddie’s vision blurring as he counted every breath, every heart beat, as each creature pulled itself hand-over-fist out of the portal.

“Fu-cking hell,” Eddie breathed, his jaw clenched so tight that his teeth were hurting and his breaths coming harsh through his mouth.

“Hold on,” Steve called in warning, even as he sent a reassuring glance at Eddie.

“Steve…”

A single tulip-faced demogorgon poked its head above the edge of the crevasse, and it opened its toothy maw in a battle shriek.

“Now!” He shouted, and then everything was too fast, and too loud, for Eddie to fully track. What he did know was that the three on the floor above them shifted and moved on the floorboards suddenly, sending a shower of dust and plaster onto their heads, and then there were small red balls being lobbed towards the line of the gateway, and then things were exploding with tremendous sound and gleeful shouting. There was a chorus of shrieks, and several of the first wave of demogorgons slipped, tipping backwards inelegantly into the glowing pit and disappearing. But there were more behind them, and they didn’t clear the whole row in one clean sweep, so the first of the hideous, pale creatures lurched onto its clawed, humanoid feet and sprung for them. Eddie ducked, and it was Jonathan’s bat that connected with the creature’s torso, sending it slamming into the peeling wall instead of his siblings, prone and shivering over Max’s still form.

They had expected demogorgons. They had expected demodogs, and even the demobats.

What they hadn’t anticipated was the twelve-legged monstrosities, quick moving and roughly the size of a Pomeranian, that followed in the wake of the first demogorgons. They skittered up the side of the chasm with spider-like ease, their greyish, chitonous limbs clicking menacingly in what Eddie assumed, with dawning horror, was some form of communication.

“What the f*ck are those,” Eddie heard Lucas holler, and Eddie couldn’t help but agree with him as he leapt back from the nearest skittering creature. He danced backwards, avoiding its scuttling legs and wicked, greenish looking mouth hole that twitched with hundreds of equally wicked, slime-coated fangs.

“sh*t, sh*t, sh*t,” he said, swinging his bat and missing once, twice. The third swing connected with the closest thing the creature had to a central body part, and it gave a piercing squeal as dark goo oozed from the cracked surface of its body. A long, roaring whoomp noise rose from somewhere near the cavity where the front door should have been, and Eddie felt a wave of heat beat against his right arm from outside.

“Whatever they are, they’re flammable, friends!” Came the rasping voice of Argyle, and Jonathan only hesitated a second before reaching for an unlit wooden torch of his own.

“Where did Argyle get a flamethrower?!” Eddie threw over his shoulder to Steve, right as Steve sidestepped the desperate swipe of a demogorgon from the edge of the chasm. His bat connected with its tulip head, turning it 90 degrees and sending it shuddering back down into the depths.

“Is that his name?” Steve asked back, placing his back foot in line with Eddies and covering him as new horrors emerged. They spun together as neatly as dance partners to face two incoming demodogs that had managed to avoid the notice of the group fighting on the front doorsteps.

“No you don’t,” Eddie puffed, as he managed to bring the bat up in an underhand swing, lifting the first of the creatures by its chin and sending it whimpering and flailing over onto its back.

f*ck, Eddie thought, his mind almost hysterical in its fear and excitement. You got it. Maybe you can survive this f*cking nightmare.

“Nice!” Steve said next to him, shooting him a grin as he stepped forward to ricochet the second demodog towards the hole with a practiced swing.

“It’s a shame you weren’t on the baseball team, Munson, you’d have made a great batter.”

“Ha,” Eddie laughed, his teeth gritted together as he dropped his makeshift bat nail-end-first into the shrieking mouth of the demodog, over and over again until it was silenced. He nudged the creature with his boot for good measure, checking that it wasn’t going to get up the moment he turned away.

“Don’t play coy. Harrington. You just want to see me in those stupid little tight white pants. I’ve got your number now.”

Steve blinked back at him, his eyes travelling up his body in open awe. He was taking in every last inch of him; the hot, dark sprays of blood that had caught Eddie across his jeans; the inky demogorgon mess climbing most of the way up the bat swinging lazily in his hand; the heaving of his chest beneath Steve’s silly borrowed shirt, and the exhilarated, semi-feral expression on his face.

“Never say never,” Steve breathed faintly, and Eddie would have found it adorable if he hadn’t needed to immediately haul Steve towards him by his shirt front to avoid the jaws that immediately tried to close around the man’s head from behind.

“f*ck,” Steve gasped with feeling, as Jonathan stepped in to beat the creature with what Eddie now saw was a flaming nail-studded bat. He tried not to feel jealous of the obvious weaponry improvement, and also fought against urge to double over and dry-heave at the sheer terror of Steve almost being eviscerated in front of him.

“Eyes on the prize, Harrington,” Eddie managed, ignoring the heart that was beating in his throat.

“Yep,” Steve’s reply was tight, and they redoubled their efforts.

“Erica! Round two, please!”

“Thought you’d never ask!”

The whizz bangs were met by a flurry of shrieks and bought them just enough time to regather their forces. Eddie, Jonathan and Steve pulled back towards the three crouched in front of the grandfather clock. They looked so pale, and fragile, gathered together like acolytes in front of their abandoned god.

Eddie wondered whether they would manage to do the impossible; whether they would truly bring down the gate, and if so, whether the gate itself could possibly stay open long enough for Hopper and Joyce to get through.

God, he hoped it would.

“Behind you,” Jonathan shouted, and Eddie spun to see Steve land a splintering blow right onto the top of one of the twelve-legged creatures less than a foot away from him.

“There’s more coming!” Wayne called down to them. “A lot more!”

“It shouldn’t be taking this long,” Eddie realised, speaking low and shooting a meaningful glance at Steve. “What’s taking so long?”

“I don’t know,” Steve replied, his gaze shifting towards the three on the floor. Elle’s white-knuckled grip on Max’s hand was shaking, and Steve’s eyes tracked up to her grim, fearful expression with increasing worry.

“Something’s wrong,” Steve said, just loud enough for Jonathan and Eddie to hear. “Stay close behind me and cover us; I’m gonna see if Elle can tell us what’s going on.”

“Wha-?” Jonathan shot Eddie a questioning look, but Steve was already moving past them both and they shrugged and moved into position with the slightest of hops. Jonathan seemed to take particular pleasure in batting the stray demodogs back towards the chasm when their heads popped up over the edge, and Eddie’s mind suddenly conjured the image of a whack-a-mole game. Steve knelt beside Elle, careful not to touch her, and Eddie stood watch a foot or so beside him, eyes casting themselves across the walls and the flooring for any sign of a threat.

“Elle? Can you hear me?” Steve asked her. “What’s going on?”

Jonathan’s ankles were swept out beneath him by the clawed grip of a demogorgon, and the young man scrambled back in alarm.

“Something’s… Wrong…” Elle murmured, her voice soft and faraway.

“What’s wrong? Elle?”

Eddie was seconds from breaking his position and stepping in to defend Jonathan as he pulled himself back and out of the way of the creature. Come on, come on…

“Max isn’t… In the clock…”

Eddie felt the hairs on the backs of his arms stand up as he caught the words.

No, he thought, horror turning leaden in his stomach. It can’t be. It HAS to be…

“What do you mean, she isn’t in the clock? Isn’t that the soul catcher?”

“No,” she moaned, her voice breaking a little. “Not the clock. Trying to find it…”

“What else could it possibly be?” Steve asked, though Eddie knew it was directed at him. His mind was racing, his chest tight with terror. I’ve sent everyone to their deaths over a stupid f*cking dungeons and dragons game, he told himself, the air in his lungs clinging and burning. I was so f*cking SURE-

“Uh, uh…” Eddie gaped, as Jonathan stopped a killing blow at the last minute with his own bare arm, screaming as claws sank into his skin.

“There were other things that kept popping up, like the fireplace, and the staircase, and, and…”

“Mike! Erica!” Jonathan called. “Grand finale! Do it now!”

“She’s here,” Elle said, her voice more urgent.

“Where? Where is she?” Steve asked, frantic.

“The flower,” Elle’s voice quavered.

Eddie frowned in confusion.

“It’s the flower.”

“The what?” Steve asked, just as Eddie turned, realisation dawning on him with a crawling certainty.

His eyes found the Creel House’s front door, still hanging by a single hinge precariously over the open gateway and swinging gently in the breeze. With every movement, the stained glass caught in the light, and the green and red panes glowed with a sinister new significance.

The rose.

The others have no idea, Eddie thought to himself. The plan won’t work if they don’t destroy the right thing.

Eddie turned to find that the trio was no longer slumped on the ground but slowly lifting, suspended by their own power in the open air. He barely had time to even acknowledge that, however, meeting Steve’s already-too-knowing gaze.

“Steve,” was all Eddie managed before there was a high pitched whistling, and a blinding light, and he was knocked clean off his feet by a blast.

…

“Eddie,” Steve’s lips were moving, but Eddie couldn’t hear his words over the ringing in his ears from the explosion. He shook his head, trying to clear it, even as Steve gripped his shoulders tighter.

“Eddie. I have to go. I have to finish this.”

“Steve-“

“We don’t have time,” Steve insisted, knowing exactly what Eddie’s panicked, desperate mind was going to say.

Not you.

Someone else. Anyone else.

Not you.

Please.

“We can find another way,” Eddie tried, but Steve was shaking his head, a broken smile lifting the corners of his mouth smearing the grime he was covered in.

“There’s no time,” he insisted gently. “I can do this. I’ve got to do this.”

Eddie couldn’t breathe, could barely think beyond don’t go, don’t go, don’t go.

But his chest rattled, and he tightened his fingers in the hair at the nape of Steve’s neck, and Eddie locked his gaze upon Steve’s.

“Aliens,” Eddie said, watching the confusion flicker across Steve’s face.

“What?”

“Aliens. The new movie. It’s coming out in July, and it’ll probably be absolute sh*t, but the first one was so good-“

“I don’t understand,” Steve said, his expression earnest, and Eddie tugged on his hair in frustration because damnit Steve, keep up, this might be the last goddamn time I ever see you.

“You’re coming with me to see it, Steve. I don’t give a sh*t whether you hate scary movies or sci-fi or nothing. We’re gonna go watch Sigourney Weaver kick ass in space, and we’re gonna go get fries and shakes afterwards, and I’m gonna kiss you in my van. In July. Do you understand?”

Please understand, Eddie begged him, scouring his face as he tried to memorise every line, every feature right now, just in case…

The comprehension dawned on Steve’s face as Eddie watched him. The smile, bitter and terrified and so painfully sad, cracked wider as Steve gave a wobbly, delighted laugh, and his eyelids crinkled so tightly that Eddie could barely even see the honey-brown of the eyes behind them.

“It’s a date,” Steve offered, his expression soft, and Eddie nodded.

“It better be,” he said fiercely, and he pulled Steve in to crush their mouths together.

For once, the universe was kind to Eddie. In his mind, in that moment, time slowed down, the world narrowing until the whole of existence felt like little more than a darkened stage, and he and Steve were stood in the spotlight. He kissed Steve with every last ounce of his strength; he poured every last tattered, gossamer thread of his feelings into Steve, desperately hoping that he knew, that he could somehow tell. He could taste the coppery, warm tang of human blood in Steve’s mouth, and as his lips passed over Steve’s he could also taste ash, and dirt, and salt-sweat, and some acrid chemical burn that he realised must be demogorgon blood.

But damn everything else; damn the others, should they stop and see what was happening; damn the demogorgons, and the demobats, and the endless horrors that Vecna would continue to sow across Hawkins if he won; damn the way time worked, and their sh*t luck, and the fact that Eddie might not even live long enough himself to know if they finally managed to end it all.

Steve pulled back, and Eddie caught the regretful look and the twin pale lines that had moved through the grime on his cheeks as he backed away.

“I’ll be right back,” he called to Eddie, even as he reached for him, a shadow of King Steve’s confident facade drifting into place as he stepped back and back, closer to the glowing gate. “Hold the door for me, okay?”

And then Steve gave a mock-salute, his spare hand still wrapped tight around his weapon, and tipped backwards, and then he was gone.

Steve.

Eddie blinked, his heart hammering in his chest and a tight ache in his lungs that was so painful he was convinced that he shouldn’t breathe. That he couldn’t breathe.

“Eddie!”

Voices drifted in and out of his perception, and as he moved it was as though his mind was swimming through space and time a fraction slower than the rest of him. He was certain he was about to be sick; he was certain he was about to die.

Steve.

“Eddie, we gotta move!”

His stomach settled, and the world sped up again, and he could see the scene laid out before him.

The gate glowing, as red and angry as an open mouth. Nancy and Robin, shoulders pressed against each other in a show of strength, holding back a squad of demodogs with swinging torches. There was an ugly gash on Nancy’s forehead, and it was clear that she was blinking slower, moving slower, and Robin openly crying.

Dustin, sweet, terrifying Dustin, was crouched over Lucas’s unconscious body, a fierce battle cry on his lips as he lit the last of his own cherry-bombs and threw it a demogorgon half-emerging from the gate itself. Jonathan, his sunken eyes wide and worried, a makeshift weapon in hand as his brother and newfound sister levitated a head or so above them all like twin beacons. Max’s body, the bright red of her hair whipping across the surface of her thick, bright white casts, suspended between the two of them like a lifeline. Argyle, kneeling near that stupid, beaten-up pizza van and frantically reloading a gas canister in what Eddie assumed was a makeshift flamethrower.

Eddie was the only one who could do it.

He had to make sure that Steve had a chance; that everyone had a chance.

He had to get over to that f*cking door.

And he had an idea.

“Argyle!” He yelled, and the long-haired boy looked up, his face uncharacteristically tense and taut. He spotted Eddie, lifted a hand in acknowledgment.

“Bit busy here, bro, but I love the hair!” Argyle called back to him, but Eddie was already staggering towards him, taking the cracked and broken stairs two at a time. He ignored the pain that shot through every limb, every joint, every muscle with the movement. He didn’t have the time to feel it; Steve didn’t have the time for him to feel it.

“I need your help,” Eddie said, and Argyle stood up, confused. “You got keys for this thing?”

“Always leave ‘em in the ignition,” he nodded companionably, and Eddie slapped him on the shoulder.

A manic fervour was building within him. It was a sick, pounding and perverse kind of joy that started low in his gut, but was rising, and he was all too ready to chase after it. Better than letting the worry- the pain- the terror for Steve-

Better than the alternative.

“I need to get over to the other side,” Eddie told him, nodding to the cavernous maw that split the house and the very road. “Everything depends on it. Do you think it would make it?”

Argyle considered, his mouth slowly contorting in an impressed kind of smile.

“If she doesn’t, it would at least be awesome to behold,” Argyle told him, nodding again. Surprised laughter bubbled out of Eddie’s chest, high and almost delirious, and he slapped Argyle on the shoulder again for good measure, every small success feeding the flames within him.

“Hell yeah, man. I appreciate it.” Eddie made to move into the driver’s side of the van, but a hand stopped him.

“Hold up, compadre,” Argyle said, and Eddie frowned. “If it’s so important you get over there, you should be on top, not captaining this fine vessel. Onto the roof.” He pointed a thumb to the top of the van for good measure.

“But-“ Eddie hesitated. It was true, and eh knew that; but that didn’t mean he wanted this stranger to risk his life for the sake of Eddie. But Argyle was levelling him with a surprisingly serious glance, and Eddie was only so strong.

“Alright,” he conceded. “Alright.”

He got a helping hand from Argyle, his combat boots slipping a little on the roof of the van, but he braced himself against the ugly little light-up pizza sign and called upon whatever luck he may still have left to his name as the van lurched to life.

But it started to reverse, not go forward.

“What are you doing?” Eddie hollered over the side of the van.

“Giving you a run up, my dude! Flying leap!” Argyle’s voice drifted up to him, and Eddie nodded to himself, jaw clenched and legs tense as the van rolled to a stop and revved.

“You ready, hair guy?” Argyle yelled up to him.

f*ck, eddie thought. This is a terrible idea and I am going to f*cking die.

“Pound it, Argyle!”

Eddie felt the wind pull his hair away from his face; felt his stomach drop as the van’s tyres slipped and slid on the cracked concrete as it sped towards the chasm.

It’s not fast enough, it’s not fast enough, we’re gonna f*cking die-

And then they were sailing through the air, Eddie’s feet spreading on the roof until he was riding it like a surfer on a wave, and he watched the lighting change to red as they moved through the air over the chasm. It stretched on, endlessly, and Eddie counted the beats of his heart.

One, two-

The front tyres made purchase on the ground, and Eddie bounced, lurching off the roof and rolling with a starburst of pain through his entire left side. His vision swam, but he pulled himself to his feet in time to see the Surfer Boy Pizza van tilt backwards, the front wheels spinning uselessly, as it tipped back towards the chasm.

“Get out! Get out!” Eddie screamed, moving towards the van as fast as he could, and Argyle looked at him in surprise from the doorless driver’s side.

“We made it!” Argyle crowed, his arms pumping in the air, and Eddie’s lungs screamed at him as he wrenched the other boy from the van, the steering wheel catching Argyle right in the stomach as the entire van slipped backwards.

Argyle’s body weight crashed down on top of him like an ungainly sack of bricks, and Eddie found himself bruised and beaten on the cold bitumen for the second time in less than thirty seconds.

Both of their faces turned to watch the van slip and disappear into the chasm, producing little more than a momentary flare of light. Then it was gone, and they were panting alone on the empty roadside.

“Thanks, man,” Argyle said, panting and smiling down at him like an overgrown Labrador.

“Please get off me,” Eddie wheezed, and Argyle obliged.

The ground chose that exact moment to splinter and shake beneath them, knocking Eddie directly back onto the palms of his hands and jarring his elbows with such force that he saw stars for a split second. There was a cry from somewhere across the chasm, and Eddie saw all three suspended kids crumple the few feet they were levitating directly onto the ground.

“f*ck,” Eddie spat. He could taste blood in his mouth, and this time he was absolutely certain it was his own. “That’s our cue.”

“Cue for what?” Argyle asked, but Eddie was pushing himself up, again, and limping forward on aching legs. He grunted, lungs heaving and desperate animal noises clawing at the inside of his throat as he pulled himself up the side of the house. He bent over, his eyesight blurring, to pick up a shattered wooden floorboard from the rubble scattered along the edge of the fissure, and it was with a bone-deep, iron willed sense of serenity that he stood in front of the doorway. He could hear the earthquake, feel the vibrations and the smashing of falling debris, but all was quiet and still as he stared into the stained glass.

“Enough,” he breathed, and with gritted teeth and two hands braced on the floorboard, he swung hard and true.

…

Somehow, in spite of all evidence to the contrary, Eddie was under the impression that if they managed to destroy the source of Vecna’s power, then everything else would simply work itself out.

Hopper, Joyce, and Steve would manage to leisurely stroll back through the gently closing gate, welcomed back into theopen arms of their loving, living families, and the fissures would close themselves up neatly as though they had never been there, and Eddie would get to feel Steve’s arms wrap around his waist, a knowing smile on his face, as he chased Eddie’s mouth for a deep, soul-searching kiss.

He’d thought that, even if that wasn’t the case, perhaps Elle the superhero psychic girl, who he’d been told had been able to fix every other horrible problem they’d ever had before, would be able to magically grit her teeth and raise her hands and hold the gates open herself, at least long enough for them to make it back in one piece.

But Elle was cold and unmoving on the other side of the fissure, and Eddie’s face was streaked with blood from shattered glass and wood chips, and he was crawling, no, half- tumbling, down into the fissure to chase the edge of the gateway. It didn’t magically heal the earth around it like something from a children’s cartoon about love and friendship; there were sharp rocks and rubble and rebar ripping yet more holes in Eddie’s poor, ruined jeans, and he was still moving forward, as the reddish fleshy gate receded like a turning tide.

“Come on, Steve,” he muttered, desperation and hope fighting as the edges got ever closer to each other; a wound scabbing over all too quickly before his eyes.

“Steve, come on, come back to me, Steve, no, please, no, no -” and then he was clawing at the edge, fighting to try and keep it open, but it moved too fast and he was only human and then suddenly-

Gone.

The fissure sealed with a dying ember, and then it was gone.

Eddie’s head roared with the sound of perfect, inescapable silence. And then, slowly, everything within Eddie that knew what it was to feel good, and right, and wanted, began to scream.

Chapter 16: When the Chips are Down, I’ll Be Around

Chapter Text

“Eddie? Eddie…. -right?”

“… -re’s Steve?”

“…Gate…”

Eddie knew he was in shock.

He knew it, like he knew that people were yelling somewhere nearby.

The fragments of their words swam around him through the air, distant and dead, but he couldn’t fully hear them.

Eddie knew he was in shock, because his hands were bleeding, throbbing where they were still pressed into the dry, hard-packed earth, but the pain was as distant as if it were somebody else’s entirely. He could feel vibrations through his fingers as chunks of rock scattered and bounced their way down into the open pit. It was crumbling in on itself slowly without the force of the gateway to keep its edges forced apart, and Eddie was just one of the many broken pieces of debris that had settled in the bottom of it.

He was sitting at the bottom of that pit, some ten feet or so below ground level, and someone was wailing, a raw, grief-stricken sound.

But Eddie couldn’t tear his eyes away from the empty dirt.

Steve.

Gone.

Eddie knew that he was in shock. He knew this, because even as his mind raced, he found himself perfectly still, and empty, and numb. It was as though he were sitting in the eye of a hurricane watching the storm rage around him on all sides, or standing on the edge of a river with the surface frozen over. If he concentrated, he could peer down into the darkness and see the shadows of fast-moving thoughts just beneath its surface. He could observe them like this, where they couldn’t pull him under, suck him down into a choking darkness that he knew yawned just below the ice. But he knew that this momentary peace was not a protection, and nor was it permanent. One false step on that ice, and he would plunge into those frozen waters.

Eddie knew he wouldn’t survive that fall.

But still he followed those thoughts, half-formed and distant on their racing paths, even as his chest ached and heaved with each pained, shallow breath.

Thoughts of how he should have hesitated a split second longer.

How if he’d waited, perhaps, for some sign that the others had destroyed the glass window first, then perhaps- perhaps maybe the gate would have held long enough.

How he should have moved faster, been stronger, been smarter.

How, when all else failed and he could see what was going to happen… He should have made the jump himself, and joined Steve on the other side.

Coward, his mind spat at him. Always the coward.

And now he’s gone.

His fingers tightened in the dirt, and a small, broken noise spilled from deep in his throat.

He’d been so stupid. So goddamn, f*cking, stupid.

Of course it had been the window. It had always been the window. He’d just been too blind to see it.

Vecna- Creel- he had fed upon the fear and the cruelty of his actions at every turn, killing the most vulnerable and hurt in Hawkins first and toying with them as he did it. He had treated them in the same way a lazy predator treats the wounded creatures he decided were his prey. He had let them run from him, let them seek out false hope, and each and every one of them had taken it. They had never realised that they were already dead.

It made sense, now that Eddie knew, that Creel would choose an object that represented freedom; that demarcated safety and the promise of escape to his victims.

Freedom.

An exit.

Bile rose in Eddie’s throat as he thought of Chrissy, and Patrick, and Freddie, desperately beating their hands upon that door’s unassuming surface, never realising that they had run right for the very thing that would be their end.

Of course Vecna would have chosen an object that represented a conduit between realms; the safety of one’s home, and the possibilities of the wide world.

Of course Vecna would use his own family’s front door, corrupting and defiling everything it represented in the process.

But it was gone now, and the gate was gone, and Elle was out cold somewhere far above, and there was nothing any of them could do to change any of it.

And Steve…

Steve was gone too.

Eddie’s head pounded and his eyes blurred and stung; his cheek was bleeding from a wicked cut delivered by the explosion of glass that had almost knocked him clean off his feet as his weapon sank straight through the centre of that damn rose. The triumph he had felt only a minute before felt like the memories of another lifetime ago.

Every muscle in his body was as taut as a bowstring, seized up with the effort of holding back the frozen dam that he was certain would break without mercy.

He can’t be gone, Eddie’s lip quivered as his mind forced the words through the thick, ringing silence.

He can’t be.

Eddie could barely bring his eyes to focus on the scattering of pebbles that trailed down to meet him; barely registered the appearance of a beaten up pair of olive green sneakers in his field of vision.

“Eddie,” a voice filtered in through the vast, painful nothing, and Eddie lifted his head in slow motion. He hadn’t noticed the tears that were falling freely from his eyes until he was staring up, mute and blurry-eyed, at a pale and swaying Will Byers.

Eddie had seen better-looking zombies on album covers. The boy’s face was a mess of blood, his nose and chin caked in thick, still-drying lines of it, and the shadows beneath his eyes were a latticework of dark, burst capillaries. Most unsettlingly, Will’s irises appeared to have suffered some kind of burst blood vessel trauma, as the warm hazel colour was pooling instead with a deep, vivid red. He wasn’t crying, but Eddie could see a version of the desolation consuming him from within reflected in the boy’s face.

f*ck, the word drifted through Eddie’s mind. Kid just lost his mom.

“It’s going to be okay,” Will croaked, and Eddie opened and closed his mouth uselessly. He was unable to find words, let alone speak them, as the yawning emptiness spread within his chest.

How could any of this possibly be okay? He wanted to scream. How can you think that right now? Even if the words found their way to his mouth, Eddie couldn’t say them aloud. When had he stopped breathing? He wondered, as he listened to the burning in his chest and heaved in a shattered drag of air. Already the poisonous stench of the alternate dimension was clearing from the air. There must have been something in Eddie’s eyes, because Will half-lowered himself, half-collapsed into a kneeling position in front of Eddie, and prised his hands gently from the ground. Eddie stared down at them dully, seeing the way they shook in the boys long-fingered grip without fully registering the sensation himself. He could have been staring at someone else’s hands.

“It’s going to be okay, Eddie,” Will repeated, nodding to him slowly. “I just need you to trust me.”

“I- I don’t understand…” Eddie tried, his voice so small and thin even to his own ears, but it was too much, and he was shaking his head.

Will gave him a small, sympathetic look, and planted his own hands into the soil. The boy’s face settled into a grim, resolved expression, his brow deepening, and there was a small whimper as he closed his eyes. Silence stretched out once more, but Eddie’s world was slowly regaining focus, and he watched the young man with something that could generously be described as the hollow and mummified husk of his own curiosity.

Eddie was sure that the flicker of orange was just a trick of the light, the first time.

The second time it flared, spreading out from Will’s fingers like the glowing coals of an early-morning fireplace, Eddie had to shuffle back on his haunches in alarm.

“Will? Eddie? What’s he doing-?” Came a call of alarm from somewhere above, but Eddie’s eyes were widening, even as Will almost doubled over completely.

“Keep going Will,” Eddie urged, as the undeniable circle of red-orange membrane stretched open between them, a circle barely the width of a basketball, but growing, growing. There was a horrible, grating feeling in Eddie’s chest, as something heavy and uncomfortable moved an inch or so. He gasped, a raw, painful sensation, as that movement within him created the very slightest of openings; a breach in the comforting, cloying nothingness of his mind.

Hope; terrifying, exhilarating, agonising hope, pressed its long, delicate fingers through that gap.

And Eddie?

By God, did Eddie reach for it.

“Help them,” Will breathed through gritted teeth, and Eddie didn’t have to ask him what he meant.

A singular, filthy hand punched through the membrane from below, and without a second to think, Eddie surged into motion.

…

It all happened in a chaotic blur.

The first hand pushed through the gap, barely a shoulder’s width in diameter, and Eddie locked his hand around it without a moment’s hesitation. Sounds began to pop and burst on the edges of his awareness, too loud and too bright, and there were others crowding around to help him as Joyce’s head appeared through the gateway.

“Quickly,” Nancy urged from somewhere at Eddie’s side, and then her hands were helping to ease some of the strain for him, pulling Joyce out and up. She gasped, a deep, rattling sound, and there was a desperate, animal yelp from behind them as Jonathan surged forward to help as well.

“Mom,” he cried, catching her as her legs gave out on solid ground, and Robin’s hands were on his shoulders to guide the two of them onto the ground in a semi-controlled crash landing as Jonathan clung to his mother and heaved a loud, dry sob.

“I’m okay,” Joyce managed, and she coughed, long and wheezing. “I’m okay, baby. Hopper-”

Another hand, large and bleeding and masculine, surged through the glowing fissure, and there were relieved cries as several people reached forward to assist at once. It took more effort to pull Hopper through the gateway, his head breaking the surface to reveal an enormous, profusely bleeding gash over the man’s forehead. The panic in Eddie rose like a tsunami, and he was blurting out words before he could even process them himself.

“Where is he? Where’s Steve? Where is he-”

“I’ve got him,” Hopper groaned, and as his shoulders broke through the barrier Eddie could see the limp, sandy-haired form pinned under Hopper’s other arm.

A hideous noise broke from Eddie’s throat as he reached for Steve, and it was Argyle’s hands that reached out to assist him as he scrabbled at Steve’s unmoving form, desperate to wrestle him through the gate before it closed behind them, before this all turned out to be a hopeful nightmare. Hopper let go of Steve, and Eddie overbalanced with the sheer force of his own sickening, hysterical need to get Steve out of there. He hit the ground on his ass with a pained groan, Steve’s body a weight against his chest, and Eddie let his knees part to cradle Steve between them.

“Steve? Steve, are you with me?” Eddie was babbling, and he knew in some part of his mind that he was babbling, but he couldn’t help it; everything was too much, and Steve was gone but now he wasn’t, but he wasn’t moving and he wasn’t talking and, Eddie lifted his hands in mute horror, he was wet with his own- oh god, how could there possibly be so much blood-

“Steve,” Eddie shuffled the other man in his arms, tears burning his eyes and stinging his cheeks as they slid into the raw cuts on their way down to his chin. He turned Steve over rather awkwardly, hiccuping gulps of air causing pain to lance through his sides with every movement, but he had to see Steve’s face, he had to check for a pulse, or something-

Eddie’s lungs clenched as he took in the sight of Steve’s pale, bloodstained face. The entire left side of his face was awash with the dark tattoo of his own blood, and it didn’t take long for Eddie to see its source. The angry, deep wound had carved its way from the top of Steve’s temple to the side of his nose, splitting through Steve’s eyebrow and directly across his eyelid. The entire socket was swelling already, and he was so pale, and so cold, and so limp, that Eddie felt the grief and the panic pressing against the walls of his sanity yet again.

You can’t be dead, he willed down at Steve, rocking him a little in an automatic act of comfort. You promised me. You made a promise.

He groaned, sucking in a wet, choking sound, and one hand shakily came up to stroke the hair away from Steve’s face.

“Come on, Steve, let me know you’re in there,” Eddie murmured to him. “You know I don’t know any of your jock first aid sh*t, I’m as useless as a f*cking wet noodle. You can’t leave me in charge of all your stupid adopted teenagers, Harrington, we’ll all be dead in ten minutes flat without you to stop them from being stupid, we need you, man-”

Steve gave a rattling breath and his unmarked eyelid flickered. Eddie’s breath caught in his throat and time stood still for a split second as Steve’s eye opened to blink, unfocused and unsteady, up at Eddie.

“Hey,” Steve wheezed, his voice as gravelly as a cement mixer. Eddie had never heard a more beautiful sound in his life.

“Hey,” he replied, his voice wobbly and wet as he grinned down at Steve. It was a broken smile, and he was crying, and he was pretty sure he had snot on his chin to go along with the rest of the blood and the sweat and the filth, but he didn’t care, because Steve was in his arms, and he was alive, and he was talking.

“Did I do it right?” Steve wheezed, and Eddie couldn’t help but laugh. He felt giddy; he felt hysterical. He felt like his chest was going to crack open and swallow the rest of him whole.

“Yeah,” he managed, nodding down at Steve. “Yeah, you crazy motherf*cker, I think you did.”

Steve’s cheek twitched in a pained, abortive attempt at a smile, and his eyelid fluttered again.

“Not a f*ckup then…” he said, his words drifting away as he once again went slack.

“Steve? Steve, don’t you go anywhere, you hear me? We’re gonna get you some help, and we’re gonna get you out of here, okay? Come on, Steve…”

Eddie didn’t care who saw him press his forehead down to Steve’s as he let himself cry, and cry, and cry.

Chapter 17: Even As I Wander, I’m Keeping You In Sight

Chapter Text

He felt the weight before anything else.

It wasn’t a bad thing, specifically. Everything had been dark and blank and muffled for a good long while, but this wasn’t exactly his first passing-out rodeo, so he let himself simply drift along through the undulating nothingness.

It was comforting, if he was honest with himself; almost familiar, by this point. He kind of appreciated the way time moved in this state of existence, in its strange short-long dilation. He had no idea how he’d gotten there, but it wasn’t of any concern to him. It was only a matter of time before something marked the exit for him, and as it turned out, that something was a pressing sensation on his chest.

The weight was comfortable, and firm, and neither cold nor warm, he noted.

It just… Was.

The second sensation he became aware of was the rough, starched texture of fabric. It was dragging softly along the undersides of his arms in time with his breathing.

In and out, in and out. Steady as a drum.

It was nice to know that he was still in possession of both of his arms, and that he was, indeed, still capable of breathing. Both of these things were undeniable positives, and he catalogued each of them away for later. He reached internally, crossing the vast distances of his own awareness to make his fingers twitch experimentally. His breath caught in his throat at the invasive, tugging feeling that emanated from something embedded in the back of his hand.

Not ideal, he thought to himself, though he took some comfort in the sensation of managing to think in word form again. Another positive to add to the pile.

Sounds began to filter into his little grab-bag of sensory inputs, and he clung to each of them, trying to push his silly-putty mind into some semblance of coherence as he listened. It was slow going, but his mind began to limp along with him as he identified each sound, one by one.

A quiet, rhythmic beep; the clip of shoes along hard floors; distant voices, low but unconcerned.

His throat was dry, and he shifted a little more as the discomfort of lying still seeped into him. The movement promptly backfired, however, as his body sent shooting waves of pain through each and every one of his f*cking bones. It was an oddly muted feeling though, with an echoey sort of delay to it; it hinted at something far more jagged, far more ugly and unbearable just below the surface, but there was something clouding it over, softening its edges a little bit. It was like someone had tossed a piece of old carpet over the barbed wire fence of his nervous system.

I’ve been drugged, he mused, poking at the fog of his own brain as it confirmed his suspicions. He paused, contemplating this particular development with an ambivalence that only further supported his theory of being drugged, before settling on the mental equivalent of a shrug.

Wouldn’t be the first time, he decided, and let it go.

He groaned, his throat aching and cracked, but it was the sound of moving fabric directly beside him that finally brought his mind into focus.

Steve blinked, his vision blurred and sliding about in a roiling, seasick rhythm. He hissed in a long, uncomfortable breath as the halogen lights gave him bright spots, and he twisted his head minutely to look down his own body.

He was in a hospital bed, which confirmed some of his suspicions, the blankets tucked firmly on either side of his torso. His arms were above the bedsheets, and as Steve’s gaze drifted lazily over to his left hand, he was able to see the web of dark bruising that surrounded a cannula embedded in the back of his hand. A pale strip of medical tape held it in place, and he lifted his hand experimentally, noting the way the skin twitched and tugged around the sharp, alien needle. The plastic tube that projected from it shifted and caught against the metal bars on the edge of the bed, and he followed its clear pipeline back to the IV bag it originated from.

Huh, his mind offered him bleakly, before unceremoniously tilting everything forty-five degrees.

He stared at the back of his eyelids, breathing harshly through his nose, as he attempted to get the sudden wave of hot nausea under control.

One, two, three, breathe.

One, two, three, breathe.

You’re not dead.

It’s just a needle.

Breathe.

When he no longer felt as though he was ready to empty his guts over the side of the bed, he tentatively cracked an eyelid again and brought his attention back to his body. He followed the line of the blankets down, noting the stiffness of his right leg and the bulkier shape of his right foot. He traced his leg back up, slowly, like a newborn discovering things only at the speed at which they can comprehend them. He reached his right hand, which was blessedly cannula free, and wrapped, much to his surprise, in a many-ringed hand.

Eddie Munson, high school freak, shepherd of nerds and outcasts, and one-time suspected serial killer, was curled up in the chair next to him, his entire body folded up like an origami rabbit within its unyielding plastic arms. His eyelashes were dark against the pale, tight skin of his face, and Steve was struck in that strange, half-conscious clarity, by just how young and exhausted and fragile this young man really was. He was swaddled in a patient’s hospital gown, and Steve simply watched him breathe, his chest rising and falling softly as he slept. A calm stole over Steve, and his chest ached with a soft, warm feeling that he distantly hoped wasn’t some kind of internal bleeding. He let his fingers twitch inside the cage of Eddie’s palm, revelling silently in the warmth of his skin.

Eddie must have been a lighter sleeper than he had anticipated, as the boy shifted, his brow furrowing under the weight of Steve’s watchful gaze, and he breathed in deep and long, blinking awake with a frown. He sat up suddenly, alert and turning to check on the door of the small hospital room in an instant. Steve saw the way Eddie’s shoulders relaxed only a fraction as he took in the closed door, and he scrubbed his free hand across his face with a quiet groan. His hand dropped back into his lap, his head dropping in defeat, and he delicately adjusted himself back around to face Steve’s bed. His eyes tracked up Steve’s body with a tight, haunted expression, but he froze as he met Steve’s gaze. His eyes widened, alarm and relief and something else seizing him like a rabbit caught in the headlights.

“Hey,” Steve croaked, and the very corners of his mouth ached as he stretched them into a valiant, soft smile.

“You’re awake,” Eddie breathed, and he sounded so awestruck that Steve wondered, briefly, exactly how bad a shape he must be in for that to be such an achievement. “sh*t. Hi.”

Steve was about to say something he was sure was going to be smart, and smooth, and maybe a little teasing, but when he opened his mouth he was struck by the inescapable need to cough up his own f*cking lungs. He lurched forward, his whole torso spasming with the strain of the movement, and Eddie followed him, supporting his back in alarm.

“Hey, hey, sh*t, are you okay? f*ck, hold on, I’ll get the nurse-”

“No,” Steve wheezed, his hand tightening around Eddie’s. “I’m fine. Just gimme a sec.”

He focused on controlling his breathing again, slowly laying himself back down on the bed. He blinked back the little black spots that clouded his vision.

“How are you feeling?” Eddie asked him softly, and Steve managed to give a huff of amusem*nt.

“Like I’ve been hit by a truck,” he admitted, “and dragged behind it on the freeway for a couple hours.” Eddie leaned back, giving him an assessing look.

“You look it, too,” Eddie teased him easily enough, though there was no bite to it. Steve shot a sidelong glance at Eddie, but didn’t comment on it. Instead, he let his eyes drift around the room again, taking in the impersonal features, the modern equipment, the general lack of chaos.

“This isn’t Hawkins General, is it?” Steve croaked at him.

“Nope,” Eddie agreed, his eyes roving across Steve’s face like he was trying to consume him. “We’re in Indianapolis. Hopper insisted we drive all the way here, said the one in Hawkins was-” he paused, lifting his free hand to make air quotes with a lopsided grin, “no longer fit for purpose.”

“Jesus,” Steve managed. “What the hell did they do to it.” His vision blurred again, the seasick waves rolling over him, and he caught sight of Eddie’s look of concern as he pulled himself back into the realm of stability.

“Wait,” Steve mustered, shaking his head in the most minute movements to avoid the bruised-brain pressure feeling that coughing had given him.

“Wait. You said Hopper? As in, Hopper’s alive?” His voice strained around the disbelief, and Steve winced at the raw feeling of his throat. Wow, he needed a glass of water.

Eddie looked ready to launch into an explanation immediately— looked just about ready to launch himself up to the moon, if Steve had asked— when he hesitated, his expression faltering. Something in his eyes clouded over, and his eyelids narrowed with what looked like wariness, and not a small amount of panic.

“What, uh… What do you remember?” Eddie countered, his tone as even as he could manage, but Steve heard the wobble in it. He gave a stiff, bruise-laden shrug, letting confusion steal across his battered features.

“It’s all a little bit of a blur…” he admitted, frowning. The movement in his brow tugged on something on his face, but he was too painkillered-up to find it anything more than inconvenient in that moment. “I remember… The cabin? Maybe?” Eddie’s face paled so quickly that Steve felt a jolt of concern ripple through his own body, and he looked down at their joined hands, lifting them a little. He lifted an eyebrow at Eddie in mute question.

“f*ck,” Eddie gasped, and yep, there it was, that was panic. Steve could see the thoughts racing behind Eddie’s eyes, the sudden, rapid calculations and assumptions that he was making and extrapolating from his few words. Steve’s hand tightened around his as Eddie tried to flinch out of his grip.

“I’m kidding,” Steve croaked, a lazy, smug grin breaking across his battered cheeks.

“I remember everything, dumbass.”

He took in Eddie’s shocked face, mouth open in utter horror. He watched his expression shift from sickening, primal terror to intense fury, quick and brutal and completely lacking any kind of emotional filter… And then his shoulders were slumping in exhausted defeat, and Steve couldn’t help but indulge the wheezy chuckle that begged to be let out of his body as Eddie buried his face in the blankets closest to him.

“You’re a f*cking asshole,” Eddie’s voice was muffled but full of feeling, and Steve only grinned harder.

“Your face was priceless though,” Steve told him, and Eddie’s guttural groan was completely swallowed by the mattress. Eddie grumbled something, but the bedding muffled his voice too much.

“What was that? Couldn’t hear you.”

“I said,” Eddie huffed, turning his face to the side long enough to send a brutal scowl up Steve’s way, “that your face looks like you lost a fight with a sledgehammer.”

Steve snorted half-heartedly; he didn’t doubt it. He detangled his fingers from Eddie’s only long enough for his hand to settle in the back of Eddie’s hair.

God, he had wanted an excuse to do this for days. Longer, probably, though he hadn’t exactly been willing to admit it to himself. He was surprised to find that the curls felt damp between his fingers, as he threaded them through slowly and idly. He hadn’t noticed that before in the low hospital light. Steve couldn’t ignore the way his stomach flip-flopped as Eddie leaned into it like a kitten that he’d found in a cardboard box in the rain. The other man relaxed against the bed a little, easing himself gradually into the idea of the touch; of the idea that he was allowed to be touched like this, with such casual, simple comfort.

“Still pretty enough for you though, right?” Steve asked quietly, letting the thoughts slip past his lips before his mind could stop them. He wasn’t sure they would even make sense to Eddie; he was losing track of time in little leap-frog jumps, and he had no idea how long they had been sitting in silence, his hand moving through the curls on Eddie’s head. Something quick and soft and unreadable flashed across Eddie’s face, and he shifted to direct his eyes up at Steve.

“Yeah,” Eddie told him, never breaking eye contact. “Still pretty enough for me.”

It was as he was looking up at him, his brown eyes blinking and bright, that Steve realised what exactly it was that had made Eddie look so damn young all of a sudden.

“You’ve showered,” he blurted. He hadn’t meant to sound quite as delighted as he did, and it was enough to startle a surprised laugh out of Eddie.

“Uh, yeah?” Eddie replied, screwing up his face in amusem*nt as he continued on sarcastically. “The last time my body touched water was at Lover’s Lake, dude. It’s been days. Not all of us enjoy being wild, masculine, mountain men like you, Steve. Some of us enjoy not being caked in our own filth all the time.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Steve teased, his vision swimming as he smiled at Eddie’s mock outrage, and he gasped as Eddie twisted around to deliver the lightest of mock-slaps to his bicep.

Why does that hurt so badly? Steve wondered faintly through the wave of nausea that crested over him, and Eddie pulled back in shock, his eyes as wide as saucers and his hands over his mouth.

“sh*t, f*ck, sorry man, I didn’t mean-”

“It’s fine,” Steve wheezed at him, though the world hadn’ quite settled back down just yet. “I deserved it. I’m just surprised they let a f*cking wild animal like yourself in the building.”

Eddie let out a long, low breath through his teeth.

“Me too, to be honest,” Eddie continued. “Thought I’d get arrested on sight. Turns out no one gives a sh*t who I am outside of Hawkins.” Eddie ducked his head as a mirthless smile twitched at the sides of his mouth, his dark hair shifting to partially cover his face. “Hopper insisted upon it, you know. Coming with you. He said— how did he put it? ‘If they want to arrest you kid, they’ll have to go through me first, now stop crying and get in the goddamn car.’ It was certainly something, you know? I think I get why you guys were all cut up about him dying. Or, not-dying. Being in Russia? Man this sh*t is convoluted.” He eyed Steve ruefully, his mouth quirked up in a way that was simply begging for Steve to reach over and kiss him, and it was good, it was all so good, and he was waiting for it to somehow end and it wasn’t.

“God you’re fantastic,” Steve said, naked affection written in every syllable. The words had once again slipped right out of him before he could pull them back in, and Eddie rolled his eyes with a smile, the expression drifting away. Steve could see the exhaustion written into Eddie’s body in the very lines of his shoulders, and yet here he was, trying to assemble new barriers brick by broken brick.

“Man, they really do have you on the good stuff, don’t they,” he mused, leaning over with a familiar post-injury stiffness to pluck the clipboard from the end of the bed rail. “I mean, nothing really beats the classics, right? Morphine knows it can’t be beaten…”

“Eddie.”

“Mm?”

“Eddie,” Steve tried again, and this time Eddie looked up from the clipboard. The fingers of his free hand were shaking around it.

“Stop,” Steve told him quietly. Eddie smirked.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Eddie insisted, his head bowing so that his dark curls fell in front of his cheek bones. Steve squeezed his fingers, coaxing, drawing Eddie back to him slowly. He didn’t ask the question until he was looking at him again.

“How bad was it?” His voice was so quiet that his words could have been spoken by a ghost; they certainly hung in the air like a spectre between them. Eddie’s eyes began to glitter with something deep and terrifying.

“It was… It was bad, Steve,” Eddie admitted quietly, his voice rough and small in his throat. He sucked in a harsh breath, looked away towards the far wall as he fought something internally, and when he looked back at Steve he was smiling a wobbly, unhappy smile. “The gate closed behind you, and I, uh, I thought you were gone for good. We all did. I…” He cleared his throat, a thick, wet sound, and swallowed. “I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t… I couldn’t stand the thought…”

“Hey,” Steve cut him off, reaching up with his spare hand in spite of the cannula to brush a finger over Eddie’s cheek. “I was always coming back.”

Eddie gave a dismissive huff. “No, Steve, you weren’t-”

“Yes I was,” Steve insisted seriously. Eddie rolled his eyes, and Steve took this as a good sign, a reassuring sign, even if his own vision was getting clouded and slow once more.

“And what makes you so sure then?”

“I had a secret weapon. Couldn’t have gotten stuck there if I tried.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Steve’s mouth twitched in a smile. It was nice, seeing Eddie looking back at him. Clean. Safe. Alive.

“And what was your secret weapon, then?”

The world was fuzzy at the edges and Steve’s mouth felt clumsy and stiff, but he was pretty sure he managed to get the words out so they were understandable.

“I was promised a date,” he murmured.

Steve sank back into the comfortable darkness again before he could take in the smile on Eddie’s face.

…

Eddie didn’t let his tears fall until Steve’s breathing had evened out and his eye was closed again. The enormous surgical patch was fastened over Steve’s entire left socket with medical tape, and the deep gouge in the rest of his face had been closed with a myriad of neat stitches. Eddie had no idea how he was going to tell Steve what the doctors had told him about the eye; about the likelihood of him ever seeing out of it again.

For now, he would just let him rest.

Chapter 18: It’s a Nice Day To Start Again

Chapter Text

Eddie wasn’t even technically meant to be in Steve’s room. He had his own bed, a couple of rooms down the hall, and a nurse would probably stop there any minute now and come thundering down to tell him off.

… Again.

But Eddie couldn’t let Steve out of his sight.

He couldn’t not look at him, in case… He didn’t even know how to finish that thought. The ‘in case’s would sound ridiculous to everyone on the planet except for perhaps… Twelve people? Maybe a few more, if Eddie counted the many supposed nameless government agents who were aware of all the wild f*ckery that had happened in Hawkins over the last two years. Where were all those agents now, Eddie wondered. Dead? Were they crawling all over Hawkins, clad in hazmat suits and taking soil samples from the smoking crater of Eddie’s trailer like it was the ground zero of some kind of nuclear test? Poking at the shattered remains of his uncle’s novelty mug collection, or the half-melted plastic guts of Eddie’s tapes, as sterile and unemotional as if they were performing an autopsy on the corpse of a crash-landed alien?

Sounds about right, he thought darkly.

Eddie had never seen any of those supposed agents, that was for damn sure, and if they existed like Hopper and the nerd squad had so adamantly insisted, then they certainly hadn’t been one lick of help when sh*t had hit the fan.

f*cking vultures.

Eddie caught himself ripping at the edges of his fingernail, his eyes coming back into focus on the back wall of Steve’s room, and he guiltily shoved his hands under the backs of his thighs.

Christ, he really was going around the bend. It didn’t matter if there really were government agents who knew about the Upside Down, or the gates, or the D&D manual worth of monsters that had spewed out at them. If Eddie had tried to explain why he was so damn edgy to anyone else, his reasons would sound so damn stupid that they bordered on delusional. He was absolutely certain that explaining to the nurse exactly why he needed to be in there by Steve’s bed right now would land him a one way ticket to being bunk-buddies with Old Man Creel.

I’m sorry, nurse, but I happen to be incredibly attached to this young man and I recently witnessed him get trapped inside of an alternate hell-dimension with an entity that can snap bones and pop eyeballs with its goddamn mind, so every time he’s out of my line-of-sight I am terrified that he’s somehow ended up back there and I will never see him again. It’s cool that I stay here then, right? That doesn’t sound like an unhealthy reaction to trauma at ALL, right?

Yeah, that was almost definitely not going to fly.

Eddie felt… Raw. Spun out. Like his body had been put through a meat grinder, but also like that was the least of his worries at the current moment.

God, he needed a f*cking cigarette.

He gave a sidelong glance at Steve’s sleeping form. His breathing was slow and even, the pain medication clearly working its magic for him. He couldn’t help the twinge of envy he felt at the peace Steve was being afforded, though it was quickly replaced by a flood of guilt at the very thought.

What the f*ck is wrong with you, he might have lost his entire goddamn eye you piece of sh*t- he mind spat at him, and he wholeheartedly agreed with it.

Eddie pulled himself out of his chair, tucking his hands under his armpits and wincing as he shook out some of the restless energy that was buzzing through his head. It wasn’t enough though, and the walls of Steve’s room felt too close, and the air felt too still, too stale, like it was rotting inside of his lungs, and he had to move, he had to shake off the f*cking disgust that was suffocating him, he was walking -

The metallic crunch of the fire escape doorway mechanism underneath the palms of his hands pulled him back to his surroundings. He was in a small courtyard somewhere on the third floor of the hospital, a simple, blank concrete canvas of a space devoid of any colour or comfort.

Perfect, his nerves told him, and Eddie pressed his back against the grimy brick wall beside the fire escape door and closed his eyes. He counted his breaths until his heartbeat quit with the dramatics and he could hear more than the frantic, crackling tides of his own pulse inside his eardrums. He released a long, exhausted sigh as the Adrenalin began to clear, and he scrubbed a weary hand over his face.

It wasn’t until he blinked away the spots behind his eyelids, some minutes later, that Eddie realised he wasn’t alone in that little courtyard.

“Hey kid,” Hopper greeted him, his voice croaking out after several long seconds of silence. Eddie waited a moment or two longer himself, but oddly no surge of mortification bubbled within him, nor any streak of authoritarian-prompted wariness.

Weird.

“… You alright?” Though the words were reluctant, Hopper was watching him with increasing concern. Eddie mustered a small nod. Hopper echoed it back to him, slowly, and didn’t move any closer. In fact, he gave very little indication that Eddie’s presence was affecting him at all; he lifted something white and thin that had been dangling unnoticed from his fingertips to his mouth, propping the cigarette between his lips, and flipped a beaten zippo lighter from the pocket of his jacket. The sound of the lighter was so familiar, so normal, that Eddie felt something tangibly loosen in his chest. Hopper turned to lean against the low-set brick railing around the courtyard, facing back towards the fire escape doors. He didn’t meet Eddie’s eyes, gazing up instead at the bank of brightly lit windows that enclosed them on three sides. They bathed him in an orange glow, throwing his features in a stark relief that reminded Eddie of the old film noir movies his uncle used to watch when Eddie was meant to be in bed.

Hopper took a long, contemplative drag of his cigarette, holding the smoke in his lungs for one second, two, before allowing it to filter out between his teeth. He watched the people in the rooms above shifting and moving about, eyes narrow. Comfortable in the silence.

Eddie knew, in some stubborn little part of himself, that Hopper was waiting for him to talk. But Eddie just… Couldn’t. He let his throat work, swallowing around the eight or so different sentences he wanted to start with. The smell of the cigarette smoke was making other signals fire off inside of his brain, however, and that need was the need that ultimately won out.

“Can I have one of those?” Eddie managed to spit out, and Hopper only settled his gaze upon him for a moment before raising one eyebrow and reaching inside his coat for the packet. He made small, grumbling noises as he did so, muttering unintelligably to himself before tapping the box in his palm and offering it out to Eddie. This was it, Eddie realised; this was the kitten-in-a-box-in-a-back-alleyway moment. But his feet were already propelling him forward, his eyes fixed on Hopper, as he pulled a cigarette out of the offered box and raised it to his mouth. He was close enough to Hopper that he could smell the stale cologne on the man’s jacket, and the generic, cheap hospital shampoo smell clinging to the man’s hair. Hopper held out his lighter, the flame wavering in the evening breeze, and Eddie leaned in, dragging in on the cigarette as the flame took hold and the embers began to glow.

The first lungful of smoke was enough to chase away the last of the panic, and Eddie sagged with relief against the railing as well. He let his head tip back, far enough that he could stare up at the empty, starless sky, and watched his own breath twirl away above him.

“f*cking hell,” Eddie breathed, and Hopper gave a grunt of agreement.

“Uh huh,” Hopper said, pulling his cigarette away from his lips to contemplate the embers. “Yeah. That just about covers it.”

Silence for a while.

“… it gets easier, you know.” The words were so quiet eddie thought he might have imagined them. He eyed the man beside him with only the slightest turn of his head, but Hopper was still sizing up his cigarette like the soft glow contained the secrets to the universe.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Eddie asked. A tremor in his voice betrayed the unaffected tone of his words. Hopper shot him a doubtful, sidelong glance, but otherwise reserved any further reaction.

“This is your first time dealing with all this wild crazy sh*t,” Hopper elaborated. “The others, they’ve been through this three, four times a piece.”

“…So…?”

“So each and every one of those kids gets it,” Hopper said. “They’ve had their own version of what you’re going through right now. The panic attacks. The no-sleep. The feeling in your gut that it isn’t over, and you’re just waiting for the other foot to drop.”

Eddie felt a shudder of horror at the recognition in Hopper’s words. There was no point denying it; the man had just watched him hyperventilate against the wall for several minutes. Hopper sighed, stubbing out the last of his cigarette in a lonely, well-used ashtray.

“For better or worse, kid, you’re tied to the rest of us now. And that means that you can talk to us about it. Ask us questions, and we’ll help you through it. The biggest thing is that you just give it time, alright? Don’t just expect to be fine because that’ll just make it all worse.”

“Why are you telling me all this?” Eddie asked, his voice small.

“Because—“ Hopper hissed between his teeth, running a hand through his hair as he shook his head a little. “Because God knows I wish there’d been someone to help us all through it the first time.”

Hopper settled back into silence, curling his shoulders in around himself as though to deflect against whatever discomfort he felt from sharing so much with a person he barely knew. Eddie felt the words shift and fit themselves into place within him, little jigsaw pieces that made him feel just a little less empty; just a little less hollow and untethered.

“Do you think it’s over?” Eddie asked eventually. He felt Hopper lift his head in surprise, but he couldn’t look at him. He watched the lit end of his own cigarette, hypnotised by the pulse and wavering of its warm light.

“It’s…. Hard to know, kid,” Hopper admitted, and Eddie’s chest sank a little at the honest admission. “We hoped it was over the first time, and the second, and the third; who’s to say something won’t throw a spanner in the works eventually.” Hopper pulled out his cigarette packet again, stared at it, considering, and then tucked it away. “For what it’s worth, though; Will can’t feel that Henry bastard any more. And neither can Elle.”

Eddie nodded, bleak and exhausted. It did help to know that, it did.

“Thanks, Hopper,” Eddie managed, and he was surprised to find that he really, truly meant it.

“Don’t mention it,” Hopper said, but Eddie saw the lopsided, pleased smile stretch across the man’s tired features.

His cigarette had burned down to the filter, and Eddie put it out.

“I should go back inside,” Eddie said, bowing his head a little awkwardly to the cop. He turned, and was almost to the door when Hopper called out to him.

“Oh, Munson,” he said, and Eddie halted. Eddie turned.

“Yeah?”

“I put in a call for you. Down at Hawkins Police. Your name’s been cleared, kid. You don’t have to worry about it.”

Eddie couldn’t describe the expanding sensation in his chest; couldn’t put a name to it. His throat worked as he tried to speak.

“Thanks,” he said lamely, his voice choking. Hopper shrugged at him.

“Go look after Harrington; he’s gonna need a friend when he’s awake enough to know what’s what.”

Eddie wanted to say more; but instead he nodded, and he turned back into the hospital.

Chapter 19: Let Yourself Be Beautiful

Chapter Text

The next twenty four hours passed in a blur of orderlies and doctors. There was finally news on Steve’s eye, as well, or at least news enough to ease the constant tight ache in Eddie’s chest. An ocular surgeon had visited half way through the morning, and though he had given Eddie a somewhat wary side-eye and he’d faltered in his explanation of his credentials, Steve had waved his one good hand at the doctor.

“He’s meant to be here,” Steve had told the doctor firmly. “‘S not like I’m gonna remember anything you say anyway. Brain’s way too foggy right now. Right, Eds?”

“Right,” Eddie had nodded, and a thrill of terror and excitement burned through his hand as Steve had groped, drug-dopey and awkward, to hold it in his own. “Need some emotional support for this,” he muttered, glancing up at Eddie hopefully. The very sight of him like that had left Eddie attempting to swallow down a thick knot in his throat, but the soaring softness that welled up in his chest was undercut with mute anxiety and his eyes cut back to the doctor. He was terrified of the potential reaction Steve’s action might elicit, but the doctor seemed completely unfazed by this turn of events.

He had lifted the wrappings over Steve’s eye with an impassive expression, but had quickly assured the semi-lucid Steve, and Eddie, that so far it was actually looking remarkably positive.

“The eye is an amazing organ, you know,” the doctor had explained to them both, his eyes cutting between Steve and Eddie as he spoke. “It has the potential to fully heal from some of the most traumatic injuries possible, and the healing process is incredibly fast. The biggest danger comes from messing around with it too much while it’s still healing; which is why we’re going to need to keep you here a while longer.”

“So you’re saying that— that it could make a full recovery? Like it never happened at all?”

“The eye can heal, yes,” The doctor hesitated. “But a full recovery of vision may be a little pie-in-the-sky. At this point, I’d be willing to say that Mr. Harrington here has a strong chance of getting at least partial vision recovery in his injured eye. Maybe full; but only time can tell, really.”

Eddie hadn’t noticed the pulsing discomfort of his hand until Steve’s vice-grip on it eased.

“Well there goes my dream of being a pilot,” Steve grumbled.

“I’m kidding, geez,” he filled in quickly as he noticed the barely concealed horror and pity on the doctor’s face.

“So how do we make sure he’s got a fighting chance?” Eddie asked, and Steve squeezed his hand gratefully. Eddie still couldn’t quite get over the fact that he didn’t need to talk his heart down from the sudden jackhammer that the little movement triggered in his chest; he didn’t need to disappoint himself, couch his own feelings in a dozen little iterations of he’s just a friend, he just likes you as a friend, he’s King Steve he’d never go for you in a million goddamn years.

But monsters were real, and they had poured forth from an interdimensional gate in his podunk hometown that he was still convinced he would live and die in despite his every effort to break free from it, and a thousand different impossible things had already happened to him in so short a time…

So it was okay now.

It was finally okay to accept that maybe, just maybe, he’d gotten out alive, and he’d found something impossible and amazing and all his goddamn own, that he would get to explore together with Steve in their own time.

The thought… Well.

The thought was a happy one, and Eddie wasn’t used to having those.

Heh.

The doctor provided eye drops to keep Steve’s pupils fully dilated, and ordered more bedrest and as little movement as humanly possible. This would prove for the most part quite easy to enforce, since Steve was already quietly snoring by the time the doctor was departing his room. Eddie hadn’t known what to say to the doctor as he left, and could admit to himself that he was relieved when the doctor breezed out of the room to undoubtedly deal with someone else’s eye difficulties.

…

The hours bled into one another, and Eddie eventually gave up on the charade of returning to his room entirely when, during one of his more conscious and lucid moments, Steve simply pulled him onto the narrow hospital bed and wrapped him in a sleep-warm embrace.

“Harrington, this is a bad idea,” Eddie had tried, stifling a yelp as Steve had wrapped a surprisingly steady hand around his hip and pivoted him into place against his side. “I’m gonna bust open your stitches or something. I can’t be responsible for that.”

“I trust you,” Steve had half mumbled, half slurred, and the one eye that peered back at Eddie was not in focus at all thanks to whatever the ocular surgeon had given him, and god damn it, Eddie just couldn’t say no to the goofy, lopsided smile that was directed at him full-blast. He may as well have been trying to break out of a prison with the prison guards pointing a search beacon at him; so potent and inescapable that smile was.

“It’s not about trust,” Eddie had whined half heartedly. Steve must have sensed the moment of weakness, even while handicapped by the co*cktail of hospital drugs, because there was a whoomp of moving air and Eddie was suddenly swallowed by the coarse blankets, his ass tucked in snugly against Steve’s hip.

“There,” Steve said in what Eddie was certain was meant to be a firm tone of finality, “feel much better now.” He wiggled happily next to Eddie, like a Labrador that can’t quite keep its own tail from betraying its excitement, and Eddie felt something big and painful and beautiful crack inside his chest.

It’s really f*cking over for me, huh, Eddie realized slowly, as Steve adjusted his arm so that it slotted better under Eddie’s head, the other hand lifting to brush his hair for him back against the pillow. This idiot right here might just be it. Game over.

“If you choke to death on my hair, I am not taking the blame, man,” Eddie told him, instead of voicing any number of other words that clung to the tip of his tongue. He couldn’t help that he leaned back into the touch like a pleased cat, however, soaking up the casual intimacy of Steve’s fingers teasing apart the strands of his hair, his scalp tingling with pleasure at every tug. Steve snorted, the vibrations of his chest rumbling through Eddie’s back.

“I’ve survived this long,” Steve countered blithely, and his shoulder nudged Eddie gently as it lifted in a small shrug. “Pretty sure I can manage to avoid the deadly grip of your hair.”

“It’s your funeral, man,” Eddie saidHis hand continued to move through the curls, slow and meandering, and Eddie’s body began to unwind, the muscles along the sides of his spine easing in little leaps and bursts. It reminded him of the ticking of a car engine, cooling down and contracting in the late afternoon sun.

“I still can’t believe this is real,” Eddie murmured. He wasn’t quite sure whether the ‘this’ he was talking about was the warm, pliant Steve Harrington wrapped around him in a dinky little hospital bed at that moment, or the fact they were both alive to even be there in that hospital bed. Maybe it was a bit of both. Maybe it didn’t really matter. He felt Steve hum against him in acknowledgement.

“Me neither,” he admitted. There was something in his tone, and Eddie turned his head so he could look at Steve. His face was in profile, and as he felt Eddie shifting against him he tipped his chin down to peer at him out of the corner of his eye. He shouldn’t have looked attractive like that; he had no right to look attractive like that, with his hair greasy and mussed and his chin forming dozens of wrinkles where it was pressed into his neck and his stupid pretty eyes– eye, Eddie corrected himself, singular, but it won’t be forever– pointed at him, crinkling at the corner as if he knew some hilarious secret and couldn’t wait to share it with him. He gave a pleased little hum, blinking at Eddie slowly.

“What?” Eddie asked.

“Pretty,” Steve told him, his eye gleaming with mirth as Eddie sputtered in indignation.

“Excuse you, Steve Harrington, I am not pretty,” Eddie tried to wriggle out of Steve’s grip but his arm only tightened against his side.

“Yes you are,” Steve insisted.

“I’m scary, I’m intimidating, I’m— I’m Hawkins’ favourite little Satanic serial killer, for crying out loud—”

“f*ck Hawkins,” Steve said, his tone uncharacteristically harsh, and Eddie stilled, watching him. “f*ck Hawkins,” Steve repeated, his voice lower. “You are better than every last one of those narrow-minded nobodies, and you are pretty as all hell, and I am so freaking glad that I get to call you mine.”

Well. That was an entirely different matter then.

“… Yeah?” Eddie asked, tentative and feeling all too soft all of a sudden. He saw the smug little look on Steve’s stupid face as he nodded stiffly.

“Hell yeah,” Steve breathed, and Eddie simply couldn’t not stretch up on one elbow to gently press their lips together. Steve’s lips were dry against his own, and he eased further into the kiss, angling himself up into Eddie’s mouth as best as he could and parting his lips just enough to offer the possibility. Eddie was never one to deny an opportunity as glorious as that and he took it, his tongue sliding into Steve’s mouth to draw slow, exploratory lines across his tongue. He felt Steve’s breath hitch beneath him; relished in the simple fact that they had time to do this properly. There was no rush to it, no need to race to the next death-defying plan or snatch at the moment as if it was their last. Steve’s hand slid up the curve of his back, tracing his spine and crawling up underneath the shaggy mop of his hair to thumb at the base of his skull, winding his fingers into the curls there. Steve was in desperate need of a toothbrush, or at least some mouthwash, but Eddie was not about to say anything. This moment was still easily in the top five best kisses of his life, and given that most of his limited experience had involved fumbling hands and beer-breath in the back alleys of out-of-town bars after gigs, he was absolutely certain that Steve f*cking Harrington was going to quickly edge out all other contenders pretty goddamn quick.

Stupid f*cking Harrington, Eddie thought to himself, giddy and soft and tired all at once. Ruining my goddamn life with his stupid f*cking monsters and his stupid f*cking mouth.

Eddie was frowning when they eventually pulled apart, a stray thought catching on the edge of his mind and fluttering in the breeze.

“Wait a second,” he said, as Steve aimed a poorly-controlled eyebrow up at him. “Wait a f*cking second.”

“What?” It was Steve’s turn to ask.

“You’ve got that eye-medication in you right now,” Eddie told him, his tone slowly growing accusatory, “your pupil is fully f*cking dilated or unfocused or some sh*t— you can’t even see me properly right now!”

“You caught me,” Steve agreed, grinning and settling back against the pillows, a laugh dancing in the back of his throat. “But you’re always pretty.”

“You’re a piece of sh*t, Harrington,” Eddie grumbled, his cheeks prickling with the very mildest of embarrassment. He nudged Steve gently in the side as he settled back against the bed himself.

“Thank you.”

“A handsome piece of sh*t, at least,” Eddie corrected himself under his breath, wriggling back against Steve.

“Heard that.”

“Well, good.”

Steve huffed in amusem*nt, the air ruffling the top of Eddie’s head, and Steve’s breathing evened out once more. The arms didn’t loosen, and Eddie felt his breath hitch and his chest tighten at the sensation of Steve’s nose pressing against the nape of his neck and softly sighing in his sleep.

I get to have this, Eddie’s mind told him. The thought was so beautiful, and so simple, and so enormous that he had to hold his breath in his lungs and count to ten.

Me. I get to have this for real.

And Eddie let his mind grow still, safe in the arms of someone who saw him, and chose him, and he finally managed to sleep.

Chapter 20: Hush Hush, Keep It Down Now

Chapter Text

The Wheelers were the first to be discharged from the hospital, into the watery-eyed embrace of their mother and father.

Lucas and Erica followed shortly behind by only a couple of hours, and Dustin was also discharged into the Sinclairs’ care because his mother was busy assisting the Hawkins animal shelter with a sudden influx of lost pets caused by the damage.

“You let me know,” Dustin had insisted tearfully, his hand a vice on Eddie’s forearm as the Sinclairs attempted to bundle him up into their wagon. “The moment you guys are discharged, you let me know, okay?”

“Of course, Henderson,” Eddie had reassured him.

“I mean it, Eddie.”

Eddie raised his eyebrows as he levelled the boy with a sincere look. “I promise, dude. The moment I hear anything about Steve’s eye, and the moment we’re out of here, you’ll know. Okay?”

Dustin watched him for a moment before responding.

“Okay,” Dustin nodded seriously to himself. “Okay.”

Eddie rolled his eyes.

“Come here, idiot,” He said, tugging his arm back and dragging Dustin along by proxy into a quick, ginger hug, and then the kid was gone.

The rest of that day had passed in a chaotic coming-and-going of others, too; Max’s mother had arrived some time in the middle of the night to sit beside her bed, and it wasn’t long before Hopper got antsy enough about keeping Elle in such an exposed, official place that he decided to discharge them too. It was Jonathan Byers that stopped by Steve’s room, his knuckles knocking quietly on the doorframe, to tell them.

“Hey,” Jonathan inched his way into the room like a feral cat towards a food bowl, his eyes cutting to the open door and back like he was ready to bolt at any moment, and Eddie looked up from the beaten up old sci-fi pulp he’d found in the hospital’s lending library.

“Hey,” Eddie greeted him, glancing towards Steve’s sleeping form. He looked peaceful, and when Eddie looked back at Jonathan it was to see his eyes following the same trajectory.

“How’s he doing?” Jonathan asked, waving a hand towards Steve in an awkward, half aborted gesture.

Gone once more was the quiet, steady young man who had stood so resolutely in that crumbling hallway and faced hell with him. No, just as surely as the bridge to the Upside down had shut its horrors away within, so too had Jonathan returned to the boy Eddie remembered from Hawkins High. The overly serious, gloomy boy who had been the opposite side of the same ‘freak’ coin to Eddie, and no less crucified for it.

“He’s okay,” Eddie nodded slowly. “The doctors say his eye is looking well on the way to healing; superficially at least. We don’t know about his vision yet.”

“Right,” Jonathan looked pained, as though he didn’t really know what to do with this information. “Still. That’s good news, I guess.”

“I’m certainly trying to take it that way,” Eddie agreed, his mouth curling up at the side in encouragement even as Jonathan lapsed back into silence. Eddie watched the other boy marinate in a discomfort entirely of his own making for a moment or two longer before opening his mouth to try and ease his suffering. He was unsure of what exactly to say.

Sorry everyone thought you murdered your brother, that must have sucked, didn’t exactly seem like a great starting point for making him more comfortable. He was beaten to the punch though, as a sleep-muddled voice rose over his shoulder.

“Hey Jonathan. What’s up?”

Some of the tension in Eddie’s shoulders released at the sound of Steve, and he turned to watch as he shifted himself into somewhat of an upright position. Eddie shot him a grateful glance.

“Hey man,” Jonathan said, hoisting a weak smile onto his sallow face. “Was just coming to check in on you. Wanted to let you know that mom and Hopper are getting us discharged, once they’re finished with the hush money people.”

“Hush money people?” Eddie repeated, right as Steve hissed a gleeful “f*ck yeah, it’s hush money people time.”

Eddie looked between the two of them in disbelief as Steve continued.

“Any idea how much the others got?” Steve shot Eddie a conspiratorial smile. “I wanna know what to ballpark it at.”

“I think they’re basing it more on a mix of what we know and the extent of our individual injuries at the moment,” Jonathan offered him, leaning in closer to the pair of them as if the conversation were a campfire and he was physically warming to it. Eddie was horrified to watch as Steve pumped his fist in the air.

“Jackpot,” he said, and Jonathan smirked.

“Yeah,” he agreed, rolling his eyes. “Trust fund kid like you totally needs it, right?” Eddie felt his hackles rise a little at the outright jab, but Steve waved it off.

“Nah man, my parents cut me off completely, like, almost a year ago now,” Steve brushed off the words easily, but Eddie felt a dark streak of vindication as Jonathan’s face flinched with something that wasn’t quite sympathy, but rather guilt at having misspoken. Good, Eddie thought to himself viciously, even if he still wasn’t quite sure what was going on yet.

“Sorry man,” Jonathan offered half-heartedly, eyes pointed at the linoleum. “I didn’t know.”

“Don’t sweat it, Byers,” Steve shrugged. “I’ve still got it pretty damn good, I guess.” His eyes brightened with an unholy light. “And I’ll have it even better with some hush money to spare. So spill. How much are we talking here.”

“Erica and Lucas negotiated before their parents got there this morning,” Jonathan shook his head, running a hand through his lank strands of hair and breathing out through his teeth as he recalled what must have been a doozy of a post-game discussion. “I think they managed to get around, like, fifty? Fifty five?”

“As in fifty-five thousand? Dollars?” Eddie repeated back to him, his mouth agape and his mind absolutely spinning.

“Each,” Jonathan’s face split into a smug grin as Steve crowed with glee from the bed. “I didn’t get a chance to talk to Dustin but I think he ended up with similar. Mike managed to snag a little more than the rest of them, from what I managed to get from Nancy, since he took a bite to the shoulder.” Jonathan eyed Eddie and Steve’s numerous bandages, clearly mentally cataloguing the bite marks and injuries they’d managed to pool between them. “I don’t think it’d be out of the question for both of you to push for more, either.”

“f*ck me,” Eddie breathed, sagging into his chair as he tried to process it. Fifty grand. If he— and his Uncle, who had been in and out of their room as well to let them know Max’s mom had arrived— played their cards right, they could have fifty grand each between them by the end of the day. At minimum, apparently.

That was enough to buy a house.

That was enough to buy two houses, if they bought kind of sh*tty houses. Or, Eddie reasoned, maybe they didn’t even have to be that sh*tty, given that Hawkins was likely to have a whole lot of places on the market in the wake of the latest catastrophic sh*tshow.

That was enough to… To move away, and make a new life, and chase after whatever ill-conceived dream happened to take Eddie’s mind at one time or another.

It was enough to have a future beyond Hawkins, if he wanted one.

“I gotta tell Wayne,” Eddie said suddenly, causing the other two boys to look at him. “I gotta— I gotta go tell Wayne…”

“Go,” Steve said, waving a hand at him with a grin.

“I was leaving anyway,” Jonathan said, thumbing towards the door. “Just thought you’d want the heads up.”

“Thanks, Jonathan,” Steve offered him, and Eddie hesitated at the note of quiet sincerity in his voice. Jonathan rolled one shoulder, terminally uncomfortable.

“Don’t mention it,” he said lamely.

“Seriously. Thank you. For everything.” Steve was levelling him with a soft, knowing look, and Jonathan’s throat bobbed before he nodded slightly.

“You too. For taking care of Na— of everyone. For keeping them safe.”

Steve gave a noncommittal grunt.

“Always the babysitter,” he intoned, though in that moment it sounded more like a point of pride than a cross to bear. His eyes cut to Eddie, hovering near the edge of the room with one foot out the door and a fondness tugging at his chest. That’s MY guy, Eddie thought to himself, as pride swelled so large and so potent that he felt it pressing against his ribcage like an ache. That brave, dumb, injured, selfless, bitchy, incredible guy right there is mine.

Steve must have seen the distraction on Eddie’s face because he had a smug, knowing kind of curve to his lips as he rasped, “what are you doing? Go find your uncle already!”

He feigned throwing something at Eddie, and Eddie couldn’t fight the bright, electric feeling that was coursing through his veins as he dashed out of the imaginary line of fire.

“I’m going! I’m going! Jesus,” he laughed, and his grin didn’t budge even as he hobbled down the hallway.

…

Wayne rounded the corner coming away from the intensive care ward when Eddie stepped out of the elevator.

“Hey!” Eddie called, watching as his Uncle’s faraway gaze zeroed in on him with a frown that cleared as soon as he recognised him.

“Eddie,” His uncle greeted him with a tired, wry smile. “Got some good news.”

“Me too,” Eddie said, then paused. He’s coming from skater girl’s room, Eddie realised quickly, his mind making several leaps at once.

“Wait- is she awake? Max?”

His uncle nodded, his eyes glittering with relief, and Eddie felt something tight that he hadn’t noticed in his chest finally ease. Oh, thank Christ, he thought.

“She’s tired, and doped up to the eyeballs-”

“Yeah no sh*t, the kid doesn’t have a single goddamn bone in her body that’s not broken right now-”

“-But she was awake, and she even managed to talk a little,” his uncle finished, and Eddie let himself sag against his uncle’s chest in relief, let the man’s arms pull him close and squeeze him like he was stil knee high to a grasshopper.

“That’s such good news,” Eddie agreed with a sigh, his words absorbed into the familiar feel of his uncle’s coat swamping his cheek.

“The slightly less good news, but unexpected I guess, is that the poor kid’s got a hell of a healing journey ahead of her.”

Eddie’s stomach clenched in sympathy. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Months of rehabilitation, they think, and that’s after the bones themselves have healed.”

“Yikes.”

“Uh huh,” his uncle agreed. “Susan is gonna have to stay here in town for the foreseeable future. The feds are gonna put her up somewhere nearby, full ride for the recovery period apparently.”

“That’s good, I guess,” Eddie nodded.

“Yeah, and since our trailer’s apparently been swallowed by that goddamn hell-vortex-”

“Jesus, Wayne, not so loud-”

“Susan has offered to let us stay in her trailer for the time being, since she won’t be needing it. While we get back on our feet.”

“Oh, that’s really kind,” Eddie said on autopilot, but he pulled back a little with a frown.

“Wait. Wait a second. Did the hu- I mean, have you already spoken to the Feds?”

“Nah,” Uncle Wayne shook his head. “They spoke to Susan first thing this morning and then scurried off to find those Wheeler kids, I think. Why?”

Eddie grinned.

“I don’t think we’ll need to live in Susan’s trailer for very long, Uncle Wayne.”