Chapter Text
You’d think by now, he’d be used to this. Things happening because they might as well. That had essentially been the last three or four years of his life. Steve Harrington wasn’t even a stranger to things just happening even before all the crazy government stuff. But every time, it felt like ripping a scab fresh open, raw and angry and never given enough time to heal.
And, as before, he couldn’t rightly explain what had happened.
One minute, he was standing on a hill, the ground before him crackling and bowing angrily as dirt and rock split into their own tectonic plates. A feeling of icy cold fear shot through his veins, blurring the edges of his vision and sending his heartbeat right into his eardrums. The kids stood in front of him. Horror and dread spread itself generously between them. His chest roiled as the cracks spread further, like fingers clawing through tilled dirt, and he faintly recalled screaming something. It wasn’t fair, not after everything they’d done. Not after everything, and every one, they’d sacrificed. They had killed the bastard, right? Pumped him so full of lead and soot he’d gone toppling out a window. But no. They had lost. White dots of ash billowed up from the trenches, falling down in lazy spirals as a blend of rage, fear and dread pooled in his stomach and rose through his throat. He couldn’t tell if what would come out would be a scream, a laugh, tears or vomit.
The next second, something snapped, and the blurring of Steve’s vision heightened. A heady rush of adrenaline tore through him, consuming everything until his back hit an inappropriately soft mattress, and he was left staring at the off white ceiling of his bedroom. The sluggish buzz still lingering behind his eyes felt eerily like when he’d woken from a particularly bad nightmare.
Had he just… what the hell? Steve pressed his palms under him. He was in… his bed. Just like that. As Steve tried to lift his head to look around, another rush of pressure mounted against his temples, squeezing his brain as every nerve ending lit up like a firecracker. Steve could only gag on a scream as he reached up and ground the heels of his hands into his eyes, a weak attempt to staunch the pain. No, it was much worse. Nightmares could be shaken off, this was something physical tearing up Steve’s insides. He’d been on a bender once; it felt closer to the comedown of that.
Steve rolled over with a whimper to peer at the blinking clock perched on his cluttered bedside table, not liking how long it took his eyes to focus. 6:30 in the morning. The sharp chirp of birds also waking up filtered through his window, stabbing at his ears like little needles. Every sense had dialed up to eleven. He hadn’t even realized his entire body was wound like a spring until he forced himself to relax so he could properly get up. A deep breath, another, and the pains subsided enough to start getting up.
Steve slung his legs over the side of the bed with as much strength as he could muster and gasped as he rolled to a sitting position. The slight ebb washed away as the pain rolled back in, more intense. He groaned, bracing his feet on the carpet and staggering up. So far so good. The ground was swimming under his feet, but he was up. Steve braced his hand on the wall and stumbled out the door and down the hall to the kitchen. His entire face felt damp, dripping with sweat and… he couldn’t tell.
Daylight attacked his already warping vision and almost sent him toppling over if not for the marble countertop he gripped like a lifeline. As he placed his head down against the cool stone, he caught sight of the calendar tacked to the fridge. The red drew his eye more than anything. It was a habit formed once he started living on his own, marking off the days so he wouldn't forget. But something didn’t look right. Steve pushed against the marble to get upright again. Walking felt like dragging his limbs through overset pudding. It took a second, propping himself against the wall to keep from hitting his knees.
The year was wrong. 3 instead of 5. That wasn’t…
Sloppy red marks trailed down the paper, stopping- his breath caught slightly. The day Will disappeared. This was the day after. He couldn’t… Steve stumbled back across the slick tile, and felt his back slam into one of the many rows of cabinets, legs finally unable to take the strain and giving out. It hit in waves. First shock, then confusion, and finally a cloak of abject horror.
Had he dreamed all that? No, no it was too vivid. There was no way Steve could make up any of that. Unlike the kids, he didn’t spend his time on high fantasy, and sci-fi had never struck his fancy. He barely got an A in English, and he’d just had someone else do his work. And Steve couldn’t think of anywhere else he could have gotten those elements from. Then again, dreams weren’t supposed to make sense.
Steve considered the more obvious answer as the heat on his face died down but the dampness remained. Was he dreaming now? It could be Vecna, hell, it had to be after seeing those cracks, but the gut churning clock chimes weren’t ringing around him.
Steve stared down. Maybe he’d passed out. And this was a normal, passed-out dream, which meant he could wake himself up. He pinched his arm a little. Nothing. He hit himself a bit harder. No. Steve kicked his foot hard against the ground and yelped. Maybe if he grabbed the knife-
Steve slumped. That was probably enough. So if he wasn’t dreaming then, and he wasn’t dreaming now …what remained? The aches and lacing pains shooting across his body had dulled to a faint simmer, and on a line of inquiry he inched up the thin cotton of his pajama shirt. No scars. No marks. Not even the three long lines down his front from the first go around with the Demogorgon. Steve combed his fingers through his hair nervously as he let the shirt flutter down.
It was then he became more aware of the dribble making its way down his lip. And the sides of his head. And the metallic taste on his tongue. The dampness. Steve subconsciously swiped his finger across his face, and saw it come back with a familiar red streak.
Oh.
God.
His heart started to race again and Steve quickly braced his hands under himself, hoisting and puffing until he was slumped over the counter near the sink. His head pounded gratuitously. And he vomited.
-
Steve really did look like he had three years ago. Shorter hair, less scars, a bit more lithe. He was 17, again, in all its awful glory.
After throwing up some blood and then a lot of bile and collapsing onto the tile for a couple hours, he dragged himself back up and went through the entire house. Steve found things he’d forgotten, things he’d lost or gotten rid of, just to prove his point. He was in the past, well and truly.
Steve didn’t go to school that day. He couldn’t, or he’d completely crack. Instead, he paced around his empty house, and he thought. In this simple act, he could hear the quiet chiding of Dustin about his lack of method with everything, and Robin faintly saying ‘don’t hurt yourself, Dingus.’ But he needed to think, as a chaotic storm of thoughts and theories bounced back and forth, his poor taxed synapsis firing on all cylinders.
If, by some miracle, he had actually, really, gone back in time, then there were things he needed to do. People he needed to save, things he couldn’t repeat.
Right. He needed to go through this in order, that was the only way he’d really get everything.
Steve grabbed a notebook and wrote as fast as he could. Will was already gone, but after a long point of deliberation, he figured whatever miracle had brought him to this point probably wouldn’t swing back around just to send him back a bit further. Will was gone. And Steve couldn’t do anything about it. So the domino remained fallen. Will disappeared, and Eleven showed up to help, bringing in the kids and the Wheeler family. Joyce brought in Hopper. Steve was too late to fix that, but maybe he could work faster. Maybe if he was quick enough, he could stop the rest. El was already most certainly here. He could save Barb, of that he was certain, and maybe that other guy too. Barb more so, since she died in the pool he was currently staring at. Steve hadn’t exactly heard how Joyce’s boyfriend died, but there had to be something he could do about it.
He also needed to stop being such an asshole to everyone. It had been gradual before, as he’d been so blissfully unaware of the events to come. But now he knew, and while it would look suspicious, everyone would be better off without Steve’s royal boy persona.
It was going to suck. It meant cutting ties early and flinging himself onto his own sword. It was enough to make him want to rip his too short hair out with his too manicured nails. So be it. He’d do it all again.
There were also the people he didn’t need to save. Robin. Steve couldn’t fathom doing this without Robin. She held him down.
Nance… He liked her, well enough, they had a tenuous friendship that had just been settling before Steve convinced himself he was going to die and needed to get things off his chest. Maybe telling her about his dream wasn’t the best move, but there was no guarantee they’d be coming back alive.
Steve didn’t know Jonathan well enough to come to a conclusion there. He wouldn’t threaten him again, and maybe he’d apologize, but who knew.
And then there was Eddie.
He tried not to think about Eddie.
Steve scratched down every event he could remember, sectioning it off by page. If he took it one incident at a time, he’d be fine. Everyone would be just fine. A therapist, or maybe Robin, or maybe Nancy had told him that making a problem smaller made it easier to solve.
This year, it was just the gate. Just the government, and a couple monsters, and Will. Steve knew next year would bring Max, whom he missed a bit, and Billy. God, would he have to get his ass handed to him again?
He peered out his window, watching the sun dip low, shimmering over the surface of the pool. He needed help. Desperately, he needed help. Doing this on his own was daunting, no matter how small and compartmentalized his brain tried to make it. But who the fuck would believe him?
After rooting his baseball bat out of his miscellaneous sports closet and hammering as many nails as he could into it, Steve tugged down a slightly dusty Walkman from one of his cubbies. His parents bought it when it came out, so their son could have a shiny new thing, and because of how many of those he’d gotten, he’d never really given it a second thought. But right now, the prospect of drowning in his favorite tape sounded like heaven. Especially knowing its importance now, if Vecna still lurked about. First thing he had to do was stock up on everything he could think of; namely first aid, since they’d be doing a lot of fighting. Steve hoped to keep the kids out of it. And once again he was brought back to a simple conundrum.
The kids still thought he was an asshole. Everyone still thought he was an asshole. He was back at square fucking one, and every inch of him wanted to scream at the unfairness. Even so, the back of his brain stuck itself to the bloody nose, face, everything. And it reminded him of a familiar buzz cut haired little girl. Just maybe… but he’d have to wait to ask.
-
He really had to buckle down to go to school the next morning. Slide on his old clothes, sling on his old backpack and drive the old road to the school, speak to his old friends, hunker down by his old locker, and all of it just felt so... but he had to. Steve couldn’t draw suspicion. So he ducked his head back into the cool trappings of his position, smothering his unease with a flick of his hair and a cloying smile as Carol peeled off another wave of vitriol to someone who didn’t deserve it. He was actually surprised at his ability to just… slide back into it. Slot himself back into a time that wasn’t his, and swim through the current of the day like he was completely fine. Maybe it was some sort of auto pilot. He hated it. What happened to not being an asshole, Steve?
But it was so much easier, not having to fight and explain himself or contend with horrors so big he couldn’t grasp them. To only be what others thought of him. To fall into old patterns, he realized later on. Steve did manage to be nicer with Nancy and Barb, fighting down any hint of morose feelings to the latter, although he kept a firm distance between him and Nancy. She clearly noticed, Tommy and Carol clearly noticed, but they didn’t say a thing. Thank god. He’d even managed to play off hosting a party by pretending the cops were starting to wise up to the rowdiness. And that wasn’t a lie, but last time the risk made the activity all the more appealing.
Steve even saw Robin in the seat behind him in a class he remembered barely passing. Her hair was longer, and everything about her took on softer edges, but she looked away as soon as their eyes met. A quirk of annoyance ran through her brow. Steve didn’t push it. If he was careful, he’d have time later. Hopefully not two years later, but later.
Then… the parking lot. Exhaustion bit at Steve’s heels and chased him to his car. He needed to be done with today. Then the mask could be dropped and he could start his plan to try and fix everything. Steve was so close. His hand slipped around the door handle when he tilted his gaze up, and froze.
The first thing he caught was the van, dingy and worn down. Then a crop of wild brown hair and a hand covered in rings gripping the sliding door as he leaned in and rooted around in there. No, no no, Steve had been trying to avoid this. He knew a chance encounter wasn’t impossible, but he wasn’t prepared to handle the sudden pains of guilt and shame and sheer remorse of seeing Eddie alive again. Someone else in need of saving. Someone who also only knew him as ‘King Steve’ as of now.
He hadn’t known the man that well, but the visual of Eddie gory and glassy-eyed burned bright under Steve’s eyelids when he tried to sleep. Sure, others had died before them in their escapades, but it had never been so… visceral. Some part of him had felt that way about Billy, watching him get torn apart, but with Eddie it was more palpable. More raw. Steve didn’t even realize he was staring until they locked eyes, glittering mischievous brown on wide watery hazel. Steve couldn’t drag himself away by then. He just stood, hand clamped around the sweaty metal of his car door as they stared from across the lot.
Eddie bared his teeth slightly as he made a mock lunging motion, clearly trying to get Steve to flinch and look away, but he couldn’t. Eddie was alive. And moving and breathing, and it was suddenly all too much. A light breeze prickled dangerously against Steve’s exposed skin and the fabric of his shirt pressed a little too tight; his breathing came out in shallow gasps. The scab tore open again. The only thing that actually startled him out of his stupor was realizing that Eddie had disappeared from the side of his van. He’d started slinking across the pavement towards him.
And by god if that wasn’t the last thing Steve wanted. He panicked, tugging fruitlessly on the handle as the shadow edged closer and Eddie shouted something in his direction - okay maybe not shouting, Eddie didn’t sound that upset, but certainly talking loud; he could feel beads of sweat trickling down his temple, god, if only Steve hadn’t been staring-
And then it just… stopped. Idle chatter, the sound of walking, hell, even the sun rays felt like they were hanging in the air. Steve slowly looked back up. Everything was still. Like someone had paused the surroundings. And very slowly, it started to go back. He’d seen it plenty of times, working at Family Video rewinding tapes all day. People walked backwards and items suddenly plucked up off the ground as if on a string. He’d seen it on tapes. On a tv screen. This was real life. Rewinding every action as it had been taken, until Munson’s back was to him again. Someone clicked the play button, and time flowed normally. Eddie’s hand propped open the door to the van, and his head bobbed as he rooted through the bits and bobs crowding the back.
Blood trickled down from Steve’s nose, and his wrist throbbed.
-
Running. That’s what Steve found himself doing.
From what, he couldn’t see. But he knew. The heavy footfalls and the guttural sounds from a creature that had no right to exist followed Steve down broken roads and dilapidated buildings. He was running, then falling, and suddenly there were white lights. His shoes squeaked against a waxed floor as all the energy in him fled further than Steve could reach. Glaringly white walls lined the corridor down past rooms with small number plates, denoted from 1 to 12. A hand on his shoulder guided him forward, making no sound other than the scuff of rubber and the click of heels on the sterile unmarred tile.
They stopped, and the hand turned him towards the room with a 7 plaque next to it.
Just one more push, Seven, it whispered as the light press lifted. One more, and you’ll understand. The voice was so soothing, easing over whatever fears sent his heart pattering.
But he couldn’t. He was so tired from running. The soothing voice had disappeared, he realized as he tried to turn, only replaced with the yelling in his peripheral and the gargling of… there was so much red-
Steve woke up running. This time it was to the bathroom, to once again throw up everything he’d eaten over the past hour or so. Steve hung his head over the bowl once he spat the last of it, eyes watering as he grounded himself on the cool tile. The back of his neck prickled violently. It was screaming at him to remember something. Something he’d just seen, but was fleeting from him faster than water in cupped hands.
He stayed there for a few minutes, until he was sure his stomach was settled and sleep wouldn’t be coming back any time soon. The house was stifling him though. Too many thoughts contained to one small space. Steve picked himself up, stumbling over sudden vertigo, grabbed his bat, and left the house. It was a routine he’d gotten into after the first… ‘experience’. He’d go outside and walk through the woods with his bat. It made Steve feel like he was helping keep everyone safe just a little bit longer.
Steve passed his property line, the bat draped over his shoulder, and let his feet guide him on. He sighed as wildlife whispered through the trees. It was good just to think, really grapple his brain against the whole situation. Steve figured the ease of assimilating to the past came from exclusively dealing with bullshit like this for years. Maybe the Russian drugs knocked just enough loose for him to naturally accept whatever came his way. Sure, go to the past. It wasn’t any weirder than big smoke spider demon things. But Steve kept getting hung up on the how. No matter how batshit, there was always a cause to these things.
Steve was starting to make peace with the fact he’d probably never know. He’d never know the specifics, of anything, really, and that would be just fine.
Around ten minutes into his walk, something decidedly not wildlife sounded from his right. The cadence was too heavy. Too close to bipedal footsteps. Headed his way. Steve lifted the bat from his shoulder and braced, watching the branches shift and part, waiting for the gurgle and the telltale shriek. A pale hand came through the dark to…
Eddie Munson. God fucking damn it. Not again.
The man startled at the sight of him, yanking down a pair of earphones sat on his quaff of curls. He stumbled a fair way back upon seeing the bat. “Holy shit , Harrington!-“ Eddie held up his hands, eyes wide. It was like the exact opposite of the dock situation.
“Munson..?” Steve lowered the bat as fast as he could, as inconspicuous as he could manage. Which wasn’t much, considering Steve almost took a swing at him.
He could see the deliberation, the old snark trying to worm its way through the panic to make a snippy comment. But the anxiety must have won. “What the fuck are you doing out here in the middle of the night? With that??”
“Just… walking.” Not Steve’s best moment. He’d been doing so good so far, if you ignored everything else.
“Just walking. With a bat covered in nails.” Eddie’s shoulders fell with the tension, curiosity rushing to fill the void the panic left. “Oh dear, I hope the King isn’t going mad.”
Steve’s nails dug into the wood at the nickname, but Eddie didn’t seem to notice.
“Careful, Denethor. There might be a siege soon if you let the peasants see you like that.” The fear evaporated completely at Steve’s lack of retaliation, leaving nothing but glee at what he was witnessing. And Steve had no clue what he was talking about, but by the expression it wasn’t good. The confusion and discomfort must have shown because Eddie just squawked out a laugh. “What a way to go, huh?”
“Munson, can- not right now. Okay? I’m not in the mood for this shit.” He took a step back. “It’s late. I should head h-“
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“What?”
Eddie sauntered into his personal space, all too close for his liking. “I asked what you were doing, and you said ‘just walking’. I may not have a stellar track record of understanding the royalty of Hawkins, but something tells me even Sir Thomas and Lady Caroline don’t know about this.” He leaned in, peering up at eyes that tried their hardest to look away. “You’re not a good liar, you know. So. I’ll ask again. What’s happening, big boy?”
Steve’s gut revolted at the nickname, kicking up a fuss and tinted the back of his throat with panic. It shoved him two steps closer to a breakdown, and that warmth planted right into his side wasn’t helping him. “I…” Steve’s voice wavered, and he damned the tears threatening to spill. He wanted to get to Eddie when the time came, and here he was, all over Steve’s fucking business as soon as possible.
The presence near his shoulder seemed to clock that slip immediately, and Eddie stepped back. Steve snapped his head over to see Eddie holding his arms up in a placating manner. “Hey. Whoa.” Eddie’s tongue flicked out over his bottom lip nervously. “Okay, look, I know we aren’t- not like we’re friends or even on good terms but- I mean-“ he cut himself off with a scoff that sat between anxious and dismissive. “Fucking hell, Harrington. It’s not like I give a damn or anything, but you look like shit. Do you need something?” Eddie once more paused. He nervously shot his eyes to the side. “Not- that sounds- god damn it-“
Despite everything, Steve laughed, a wet crackly burst of noise. “Don’t hurt yourself, Eddie.” He scrubbed his sleeve over his face though, grinning under the fabric at the annoyed scowl he received.
“I’m trying to help, your majesty.” He grumbled. Then his lips quirked up. “So we’re on a first name basis now? No more ‘freak’?” Eddie stuffed his hands into the pockets of his thick jacket, leaning into a tree as he messed with his Walkman.
Steve sighed, finally bringing the bat forward so he could lean on it. He could see the way Munson’s eyes flicked down to the bat momentarily. “I mean, I could always go back to it.”
“Nah. I like the way you make my name sound.” Steve’s chest did something funny, and apparently his face did as well because Eddie burst out laughing. The renewed tension all but collapsed in on itself. Like they’d put the costumes away now that the theater of high school was behind them, and they were just… them. Not the Freak and the King, just Steve and Eddie. Something close had been achieved before - or maybe after? The loop made talking about it strange - but it was much more dire to keep moving than to explore it. “Fuck, you’re too easy, Harrington.”
Steve rolled his eyes and flicked his arm, leaning more into the bat. “Haha.” He groaned as he eased himself into a sitting position so his legs would stop shaking, leaning his back onto the tree. Eddie hunkered down next to him, staring with a very palpable curiosity. Steve realized he’d just ask what he was doing out here again if he didn’t say anything. “…I couldn’t sleep.” He traced a small pattern in the wood on the bat. “And being out here is… comforting.” He heard more than saw the twist of disappointment on Eddie’s face from the half answer. “Look, I don’t want to talk about it, okay?”
“Alright alright, Mister Mysterious.” Eddie tutted. Steve’s heart clenched when ringed fingers curled around his bat and pulled it away from him. Primal fear screamed to snatch it back, they needed protection, but he was already acting weird. That would just add onto it. In fact, it might break this fragile truce they fostered. Eddie picked at one of the nails. “So why the nails? Don’t get me wrong, metal as fuck, but still.”
Steve pulled his legs up a little. A simple question, but it hit right where he was least experienced in this whole time travel thing. He needed to come up with an easier explanation for things if he was going to remain here. The problem was, right now Steve couldn’t think of anything. Nothing but a truth that would beget more questions, to wit Steve would have no answers. The most pressing - and the one he’d been trying to bounce around before they’d ran into each other - was how it happened. It had to be El, right? She could do all sorts of things, why not send someone back in time? But why him? And earlier in the parking lot. That couldn’t have…
Oh shit, he hadn’t answered the question. Ed’s eyes were locked onto him now. “Just, extra intimidating. Nails.”
“Damn right.” Eddie spun the bat awkwardly. Steve let his eyes linger on him, tracing the curve of his face as his eyes filtered eagerly over the weapon, cataloging it. Probably for the little fantasy game he ran. Shit, had he started the hellfire club yet?
Steve picked at a loose thread on his pants. “What about you?”
“Hm?”
“Why’re you out here?”
Eddie stared back at him for a moment, tension pulling up at his shoulders before his gaze flicked away. The light atmosphere condensed. “Doesn’t matter.” Steve remembered, almost violently, that he wasn’t in a time where him and Eddie could banter properly, much less inquire into more serious matters. But Steve really couldn’t stand to be reminded once again about everything. The compartments for all the information he had were starting to crack, and if anyone put even the slightest bit of pressure on them, they’d burst. And it would overwhelm him. Again.
“Alright.”
Eddie stared at him now, almost incredulously. Silence. Just enough for Steve to hear the hard strums of music through the tugged down earphones. The deep scratchy sound of a guitar was all that filled the space between them. He could have sworn he’d heard it before, maybe in a car somewhere, but Steve couldn’t quite place the name. The moment passed, and Eddie broke eye contact so he could focus on fiddling with the bat. Steve let him.
He wasn’t sure how long they sat there, but at some point Eddie tore open his finger on one of the nails, and the bat was passed back to him without a word. The tape wound down. Neither of them said a word, caught in this strange atmosphere but unwilling to disengage. At least on Steve’s end, he knew he didn’t really want to go home yet. That meant returning to the silence and getting maybe two hours of sleep. He didn’t know why Eddie linger though, not with how awkward and quiet it was-
Something was wrong. That nagging feeling returned ten-fold, a skittering feeling going up and down his neck, and he gripped the bat tighter.
“Harrington?” Eddie was watching him again, but he sounded miles away. Steve scanned the forest slowly, easing himself up onto his feet. It was quiet. Completely silent. Even the bugs weren’t around to chatter at them anymore. Wrong, wrong, wrong. “King, you’re worrying me.”
Steve shushed him quietly. The affronted look that caused would almost be funny. If it weren’t for the footfalls echoing through the trees. The gurgling. The clicking. The-
Oh.
God, if it were anyone else, it would have come to them faster. Nancy would have already cleaned everything up and been home in time for dinner.
This was the night Barbra was killed.
“Munson- Eddie, you need to leave-“
The Demogorgon burst through the trees with a gargling screech, claws stretched wide and flower petal face open, flashing rows and rows of teeth. The eyeless void lunged.
Eddie screamed. Steve screamed louder, swinging as hard as he could and feeling the nails connect with the skin. The thing stepped back just a bit, barely reacting to the black ooze now burbling down its chest. His second hit only seemed to make it angry. It clawed forward with a horrendous screech, and managed to catch the front of Steve’s shirt, hoisting him up roughly. The bat clattered to the forest floor just as pain flared across his chest. He was bleeding now too, he was pretty sure.
Steve choked on a sob and squeezed his eyes shut as the petals of the Demogorgan’s face peeled open. There was no bear trap to save him now. No Nancy or Johnathan with actual planning. He’d only survived by pure luck before; it was kind of funny that now he knew, he was dying faster.
…he should be dying, right? Steve slowly peeled an eye open to see the mouth still poised to eat him, but it wasn’t moving. He craned his neck around. Eddie hovered half stumbled back, looking like he was in the middle of falling down. A whine pulled from his chest. “No, no no please not again-“ Steve tugged fruitlessly at the claw around his throat. It didn’t rewind though, not like before. It just hung there, completely still. Pressure mounted on Steve’s temples, dull but steady. He couldn’t hold this. Whatever this was.
Steve forced himself to relax, ignoring the tickle of blood gathering under his nose. He couldn’t free himself unless he figured out how to rewind again. And the sudden revaluation that he was the one winding and unwinding was something Steve could grapple with later. For now, focus.
Something rippled against the back of his skull. It felt like fishing line pulled taut, snaking back and forth as the prey on the end tried to free itself. That had to be the key. He grabbed tight to the claw, mentally yanked on the line, and felt the muscles begin to shift under his fingers. Fuck, fuck that was so weird. He kept pushing until they were angled down enough. With a gasp, Steve fell to the ground, gagging for air and scrambling back. The sounds of the monster and Munson screaming faded into reality again.
“FUCK!! Fuck! Fuck fuck, Harringt-“
“Do you have a lighter?!” Steve scooped up his bat again, eyes watering as he tried to remain steady on his feet.
“Do I- What?? Yes of f-“
The monster roared at the loss of its meal and charged. Steve yanked Eddie behind a tree. “Hand it!”
It was a good thing situations like this left little room for arguing, as Steve found the cracked plastic of a gas station lighter quickly pressed into his hand. They needed fuel, though. Steve wasn’t about to sacrifice the bat he’d just spent hours on, and the sticks around them might not burn fast enough. Steve glanced down. Well. Backs against the wall, and all that. He ripped off his shirt, ignoring the steely eyes boring into him, and tied the end in a knot before threading it onto the nails. A shame. Steve kind of liked that nightshirt. Not that he’d be able to salvage it anyway with the tears and the blood from his chest wound.
A few clicks of the lighter, and the sleeve caught. He heard the clacking grow louder, no doubt smelling the blood from… the blood from Eddie’s finger. Fuck. Steve dove out from behind the tree to see the petals of its head pulling back - a perfect opening - and jammed the end of the bat into its face as hard as he could.
And for once, he heard a creature that did nothing but torment this town wail. The sound split the sky, shuddering the trees as claws flailed in an attempt to rid itself of flames. Steve stumbled away, back hitting the tree as it flopped and screeched before collapsing in a heap. Something so terrifying and impossible knew death, and it was by his hand. Steve felt a small swell of triumph. The fight before had been long, and taken three people and planning. He panted, reaching up and swiping the nosebleed as best he could, but his entire body was shaking.
Eddie peered around the tree. “…Steve. What the fuck was that?” His eyes were blown wide with fear, and he could see the faintest bits of almost.. admiration?
“…do you have a couple hours to spare?” He braced his back against the tree more, ignoring now the bark jabbed into his skin.
The metalhead nodded frantically.
“Then… my house is this way.” Steve pointed.
Eddie blinked. “Your house?”
“Yeah, you want to wait for another one of these things to show up?”
“I- fine. Cool, cool cool cool.” He combed his fingers through his curls. “Going to, Steve ‘the Hair’ Harrington’s house to talk about a fucking… god damn it.”
Steve walked over to the Demogorgon and yanked out the bat, scraps of burnt cloth dangling from the nails. “Let’s go.”
“Shit. Fine.”