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It’s been a week since everything went to shit. A week since Vecna pulled his little disappearing act, since Steve’s definition of weird got even weirder. It’s been a week, but it feels like a year, or just a second maybe, gone in the blink of an eye. Time gets difficult to grasp, and nothing gets better.
Steve knows he should be grateful, should be laughing at the sheer incredulity of it all - but he hasn’t felt right since before it all began, like something horribly vital within him is missing, stolen perhaps. Or just not here anymore.
It's like he’s been hollowed out. Like whatever he is now is new and old at the same time. He tries to care. Tries to remember he needs to eat to survive, needs to sleep, needs to talk to people. It’s always come easy to him, running on automatic. Now, it’s like someone’s boarded up the windows. Locked him away.
It’s a shitshow of a week, and his head won’t quiet down.
Tomorrow, Nancy leaves Hawkins. She’d come around to say goodbye earlier, and had ended up staying when Robin invited her inside. It’s movie night, Robin had said. They can have those again, apparently. Nancy had smiled. I don’t have to leave until three tomorrow, so - sure. Why not?
They’re watching James Bond, and they’ve got blankets and candy and it’s all so fucking appalling and normal, and Steve’s head won’t stop fucking going. It feels like a joke. Like pretend. He just can’t bring himself to participate. Not when -
It was supposed to be him. The protector of the group. He was meant to die that night, die a hero, die a friend. Die to be remembered. He shouldn’t have let the plan go ahead. Max would still be here, laughing with El, sneaking looks at Lucas, and Eddie -
He bites his tongue. Tries to give a shit about whatever James Bond’s saying on screen, tries to appreciate Robin and Nancy’s presence as comforting instead of intruding. Tries to breathe through the heaviness in his chest. He looks at Robin. Looks at Nancy. Already back to small-talk, to living life and moving on. Steve wants to want that too. Finds - when he reaches for it - that whatever part of him should want it is missing.
It’s just past nine o’clock when the phone rings.
“I’ll get it,” Steve says, already pulling himself up and off the couch. He feels Robin’s worried eyes on him as he makes his way to the phone. Doesn’t care.
He picks up on the fourth ring, and motions for Robin and Nancy to pause the film when he only hears breathing on the other end.
What would he normally say? Harrington residence, this is Steve speaking. “Hello?” he tries instead.
“Hello? Steve?” says a small voice, and Steve leans further into the phone, eyebrows furrowing.
“Henderson? Are you okay?”
“Dustin?” whispers Nancy from the couch. Steve nods.
On the other end, Dustin takes a wet, shaky breath. “I’m fine.” A pause. It sounds like he’s fiddling with something. “Okay, that was a lie. I didn’t know who else to call. It’s been kind of a shitty night. Sorry if I woke you up.”
“It’s nine, Henderson,” says Steve, heart aching a little. “And like, it wouldn’t have mattered if you woke me up. Did something happen?”
“No. I just…” Dustin hesitates. “I just found, um. Eddie’s necklace? The one with the guitar pick. It was - he gave it to me when he - when -” he goes quiet.
Steve’s heart stops. Tries not to see Eddie in front of him. His dimpled smile. Full lips. Lively hands. His damn jacket. And now he’ll never get the chance to -
Swallowing past the lump in his throat, he squeezes his eyes shut. “Hey, why don’t you come over, bud? Robin and Nancy are here. We could make hot chocolate?”
Dustin exhales shakily on the other end, sounding relieved. “Yeah. If that’s okay.”
“Always, Henderson. Need me to pick you up?”
“No, I’ll take my bike. Thanks, though.”
“Yeah. No problem.”
Dustin hangs up.
“Is he okay?” asks Robin, sitting up a little when Steve comes back.
Steve grimaces, wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans. Sits down on a blanket. Feels oddly like he's addressing the elephant in the room when he says, “I mean, like. Should he be?”
Robin looks at him. “Guess not.”
Nancy puts her chocolate bar down on the couch table, although she's only taken a bite. “Are you sure you can - handle this right now, Steve?”
He looks at her. Her worried eyes. Her gentle way of caring.
Steve sighs. Feels it down to his bones. “Who else is gonna handle it?”
Nancy holds his gaze a moment too long. He’s glad when she doesn’t push. Quietly, she says, “You’re a good guy, Steve.”
He ignores her. Pretends his eyes don’t burn. It’s fucking stupid. It’s been a week. Robin lays a gentle hand on his back. He doesn’t shake her off.
Let it go, man.
He glances at Nancy again. She’s biting her lip, looks like she’s debating something. Inhaling sharply and tucking her hair behind her ear, she says, “If you need - or want me to stay, I - I will, you know. I don’t need to go tomorrow. Jonathan will understand.”
Steve frowns at the floor. That’s not - that’s not what he wants. Maybe it should be. But it’s not. “No. No, Nance. Life- doesn’t wait for anyone, you know that. I’m fine here. Helping out.” He scuffs at the floor with his foot.
“Steve,” says Robin. She slides off the couch, so she’s kneeling in front of him. Tries to catch his eyes. “Life can wait. We want you to be okay, and if that requires everyone to be here, that is so fucking okay, do you hear me? We’re worried about you. You’re - you don’t look like - like -”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re handling this, Steve.”
Steve blinks. Says what he’s been telling himself since they got back. “I just need - time. To like… process everything. Or to, not think about it?” He pulls a hand down his face. “I don’t know.”
Robin and Nancy exchange glances.
Nancy folds her hands together. “I know you don’t love the idea of it but, you could try… counceling? I have a number for this - this guy called Dr. Wilkins? He specialises in - um, trauma and... Loss?”
“I don’t need fucking - therapy, Nance. I just - I need time.”
Thin-lipped, Nancy nods.
Robin takes Steve’s hand, still kneeling on the floor. “What if we all went? We could -”
“Robin,” he warns.
“Or we could -”
The doorbell rings. Steve shoots up from the couch, letting go of Robin’s hand.
When Steve goes to open, both Robin and Nancy trail after him, hovering. Steve doesn’t know whether he should feel suffocated or cared for. He doesn’t feel anything.
There’s a nervous energy to Dustin when he opens the door. He looks - flighty, almost. Not like he wants to leave, but like he fled here. Something in Steve's chest clicks open at the sight, the numbness making way for concern. For affection.
Steve puts a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, man. Come in. How’re you feeling?”
“Considering it’s not the end of the world anymore? Just peachy,” says Dustin. He toes off his shoes. Looks up at Robin and Nancy, gives them his trademark grin that just doesn’t reach his eyes at all. “Hi, ladies. Nancy. Robin.”
“Hi, Henderson,” says Robin.
“Hey, Dustin,” smiles Nancy.
“So, uh,” says Steve, clapping his hands together, because he really doesn’t know how to act like everything fine right now, like the world didn’t stop turning, like he isn’t spinning wildly and violently out of control. “I think I got all the ingredients in the kitchen. You take your hot chocolate with milk or water?”
“Fifty-fifty,” says Dustin. Rubs at his nose a little. “Keeps them on their toes.”
Steve cracks a small smile.
In the kitchen, he retrieves a pot and gets out all the ingredients, including mini-marshmallows, which Dustin lights up at. Robin hops up on the counter, swinging her legs a little. Nancy leans on the kitchen island and makes small talk with Dustin, who sits himself down on a stool and says more and talks louder the more time passes. Steve finds himself stirring together the hot chocolate quietly. Can’t find anything at all within him worth saying.
He thinks - unwillingly - about what this might have been like, with everyone here. Making hot chocolate with the rest of the kids. With Eddie. What it might’ve been like to kiss him. The guilt is still staggering. The thoughts cyclical.
Should’ve gone back for him. Should’ve run like hell to get there in time. Shouldn’t have let Dustin be the only one there with him. Should have kept them both safe.
“Steve?” Dustin pulls him out of his head. “Is it done yet?”
Steve looks down. Realises he’s stopped stirring.
“Yeah. Sorry, it’s done.”
Steve pours the hot chocolate into four mugs, tops them off with too many marshmallows, and slides them across the table.
“Hot liquid, Steve. Safety hazard,” warns Dustin, catching his.
“Woops,” he says, cupping his own mug. It’s too warm. It burns his hands. He doesn’t let go.
“Thanks,” says Nancy, taking a small sip.
“Oooh, so many marshmallows.” Robin coos.
They drink in silence.
This house has never been much of a home to Steve. Absent parents, absent days. It feels more like a hotel, sometimes. Like he’s a guest, haunting the halls of someone else’s home. Tonight, though, for Dustin, he chooses to think of it more as a safe haven. He just wishes he could take part in it. Wishes he wasn’t an outsider in his own kitchen.
“Hey,” says Dustin, suddenly. He’s looking at Steve inquisitively.
“Yeah?”
Dustin slides off the stool, and approaches Steve. “I wanted to give you this.”
Dustin holds out his hand. Steve holds out his own automatically. Into his palm, Dustin drops a small chain with a guitar pick attached to it. Steve feels the blood drain from his face.
“You - you brought it?” he says numbly.
“I gave the other one to Wayne," Dustin explains. "The one he called his lucky charm. This one was... his reserve. He told me to hold on to it when we were in the Upside Down, in case he lost the other one, or something. I don’t really think I should be the one holding onto it anymore.”
Steve doesn’t know what to say. The pick looks so small in his hand. Is this all that’s left of Eddie? His breathing comes faster.
“I -” he says. Shoves the chain back to Dustin, who looks at him, wide-eyed. “I can’t.”
Confused, eyes pinching with hurt, Dustin asks, “What do you mean? Just take it.”
“No.” Steve backs away. Knocks over his mug in the process, gets hot chocolate all over his arm.
He hisses, shakes his arm as he turns on the sink.
“Shit, Steve,” says Nancy, behind him. “Let me- here, I can -”
“Fuck off,” he says through gritted teeth. Holds his arm under the water. Nancy goes quiet. He squeezes his eyes shut. Focuses on the rushing water. He can see it all in front of him now, vividly: the future that could've been. Getting to Eddie in time, bringing him back with them, home, maybe asking him if he wants to catch a movie sometime - can hear him making fun of his taste in action flicks. All the way through to the end, despite everything, Eddie had been a magnet. Steve had wanted to be close to him, had wanted to do something stupid like hold his hand, lean in close just to tell a private joke. Fuck - Steve hadn't even thought he liked anything other than girls, and now - now it doesn't matter anymore. Steve's a selfish asshole, grieving what could've been when Eddie's dead. Dead, and gone, and he's never coming back.
Let. It. Go.
“Sorry," he says finally, into the strained silence. "I didn’t mean that.”
Nancy's voice is kind when she says, "It's okay."
It makes his throat close up.
He looks to Dustin, who’s standing still, looking down at the necklace. God. He doesn't deserve Steve's bullshit. He was just trying to do something nice, and here Steve is, acting like he'd tossed him a fucking grenade.
He turns off the tap, turns to him fully. “Hey, man. I - I'm sorry.”
“Why don’t you care?” Dustin’s voice breaks, tears welling in his eyes. Steve halts, heart dropping. “Why does nobody care?”
“Henderson -”
“You don’t! You don’t.” Dustin throws the chain onto the kitchen island. It slides to a stop in the middle of the table. “Stop lying to me, stop lying to everybody, stop lying to yourself, for once in your goddamn life! You’re selfish and you’re just sitting here, watching movies and Eddie’s body’s still in the Upside Down, and Vecna’s still alive and nobody cares that Eddie’s dead, and now you won’t even take his guitar pick, we left him and no one - no one -”
Steve chances it, and scoops him into a hug. Dustin doesn’t wait a second, he just falls apart in his arms, sobbing into his shoulder like he’s the one dying, like everything in him hurts.
“I hate you,” Dustin cries into his jacket. Clings to him tighter. “I hate you so much.”
“It’s okay,” Steve says softly. “It’s okay.”
The room is still and tense as Dustin cries. Out of his peripheral vision, Steve can see Robin still sitting on the counter, expression undeniably concerned. Now leaning against the kitchen island, Nancy’s looking down at the floor, arms folded over her chest.
“He was -” Dustin's breathing hitches. “He was so brave, Steve. He just - he did it all for you guys. For this town. And now, this is it? This shithole of a town will remember him as a killer, as some psycho freak, and that's - that's if they remember him at all. And now - now I’m here, and - now nobody cares. Nobody gave a shit about Eddie Munson when he was alive, and nobody gives a shit now that he’s dead.” Dustin’s trembling in Steve’s arms. He looks off at nothing, at empty space. Quietly, he says, “He didn’t - he didn’t even get to graduate.”
Steve doesn’t realise he’s crying until he feels the wetness on his chin.
Trying to talk around the lump in his throat, he holds Dustin with shaky arms and says, “Henderson, I - I'm so, so sorry.”
He feels Dustin look up at him, even as he closes his eyes. Tries to hold it together. Says through trembling lips, “God - God knows I failed you. God knows I shouldn’t have let you or - or Eddie be there. I just -” He leans down, puts his hands on Dustin’s shoulders. Makes bleary eye contact.
“I need you to know I’ll - I'll regret it for the rest of my life. It should’ve been me. Not Eddie.” He lowers his head. Drops his hands from Dustin’s arms. He shouldn’t be saying this to him. He’s a kid - Steve’s baggage is not his to carry. Still, Steve can’t bite back the sob when Dustin kneels down too, and takes Steve’s limp hand.
A slow second ticks by, and Steve's just - crying on the floor, and it's so absurd and fucking horrible, but then Dustin says, quietly but fiercely, "It wasn't your fault."
And it's relief, this time, that breaks the sob loose from Steve's chest.
He feels another hand rub at his back, hear’s Nancy say so softly, “You saved a lot of lives.”
Robin, who sits herself down with crossed legs next to him, doesn’t touch him. Doesn’t say anything. Just shares his space.
“I wish -” Steve starts, voice thick with tears, even as he attempts a smile. He clears his throat and tries again. “I wish he was here. I wish he could - he could see us now.”
“He’d love this,” says Dustin. The tears on his cheeks are drying. Face not quite as pained. “Steve Harrington, crying over him. He wouldn’t believe it.”
“Maybe - maybe he knows,” says Robin. “Maybe he’s - watching over us.”
“Laughing at us,” Nancy amends.
The kitchen light flickers. Steve feels his eyes go wide, looking around. He holds his breath, meets Robin’s startled eyes, then Nancy’s, and then Dustin’s.
“Oh, that motherfucker,” Dustin says.
“Language,” Steve and Nancy say, in unison.
It seems to crack the tension a little.
“Sheesh, sorry." Dustin holds up his hands, which makes him lose his balance, and Steve catches him by his sleeve. He pulls him up so that they’re both standing again. He dusts Dustin off a little, straightens his jacket.
Then he meets his gaze. “We okay?” he asks.
Dustin nods. “We’re okay. Sorry for -”
“It was all true,” says Steve quickly. “I - I think I needed to hear... someone else say it. So. Thanks for, saying it.”
Dustin’s eyebrows pinch together. He shakes his head. “It’s not true. I was - I just said - things I think about myself, man. I don’t… I don’t want to move on yet. I don’t want everyone to remember Eddie like - like he was the bad guy. It just…” Dustin sighs. “Sucks. It sucks so much, Steve.”
“Yeah. I know, bud.” Steve pulls him in for another hug, this one gentler.
Next to them, Nancy helps Robin get to her feet.
When Steve and Dustin move apart, Robin says, “Hey, I know Steve has Ghostbusters lying around somewhere. Wanna pop it on?”
Dustin gives a small shrug. “It’s pretty late,” he says.
“I’ll drive you home, if you wanna stay. So long as your mom’s okay with you being out past curfew by like,” he glances at his watch. “Wow, a while.”
“I told her I was going to Lucas, what with Max and - everything. Pretty shitty of me, but.”
Steve thinks about Max, motionless in that hospital bed. Thinks about Lucas, who’s with her every day. He knows El’s there too, sitting with them both when she's not busy planning their next move together with Hopper and Joyce. Knows Dustin’s been there a lot to see them all, bringing with him snacks. These kids have got each other, but sometimes they need others also. Somebody older to lean on, someone’s who’s seen what they’ve seen.
“I’m sure he’d understand,” Steve says. “How about it? Ghostbusters?”
Dustin smiles tearfully. He wipes at his eyes. “Yeah, man. Ghostbusters.”