Work Text:
i got a horseshoe 'round my neck
lotta angels that stay close
and a pretty boy up on my chest
and he loves me like a psycho
so who am i to cry tonight?
such a lucky boy, i know
but where should all my sadness go?
where should my sadness go?
- HORSESHOE, tate mcrae
“That night, I told you not to be heroes. I told both of you. What did Eddie do? He charged into a swarm of killer bats.”
”To save my life!”
”He saved no one.”
"Hey Dustin?" Steve says, gathering all the courage left in his heart.
"Yeah?" Dustin replies, not turning around.
"Hey about uh... some of the stuff that I said earlier. I just-"
Dustin doesn't let him finish. "It's fine," he interrupts him. "It's okay."
But Steve knows it isn't. The bitter aftertaste of the hateful words he's said is still lingering in his mouth. "No, just- It's not okay."
Dustin freezes. "Eddie," Steve starts, the name ringing in his ears. Tugging at his heart.
"He saved your life. Our lives. And I know what he meant to you. I can't even imagine how hard it's been. But instead of just being there for you, I just..." he trails off, twisting the spear in his hands, absentmindedly.
"Well, I got angry about it. I guess..." Dustin looks at him, but he doesn't quite understand.
"I got angry, because things were different."
Steve’s voice trails off, and the room seems to notice.
The quiet presses in around them. Dustin doesn’t say anything right away. He just stands there in the doorway, unmoving.
“Different how?” Dustin asks finally.
It’s not accusatory. It’s careful. Like he’s stepping onto thin ice.
Steve exhales through his nose and drags a hand through his hair. It’s longer now, curling at the ends, darker with sweat and stress and weeks of not caring enough to trim it. He paces once, then twice, then stops like he’s hit an invisible wall.
“I didn’t mean-” he starts, then stops himself. Shakes his head. “No. That’s a lie. I did mean it. I just didn’t know how to say it without sounding like a complete idiot.”
Dustin’s eyes flick up to him, sharp and searching.
Steve lets out a soft, humorless laugh. “You ever have one of those things where you don’t realize how important something was until it’s gone? And then it hits you all at once, like-” He snaps his fingers. “Like that?”
Dustin’s mouth tightens. “Yeah.”
Steve nods. “Yeah. Me too.”
He sinks down to the ground, back against the wall, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together like he’s afraid they’ll start shaking if he lets go.
“With Eddie,” Steve says slowly, testing the name like it might break. “It wasn’t just… losing another person. I’ve lost people before. We all have.”
Dustin flinches at that, but he doesn’t interrupt.
“But Eddie was…” Steve swallows. “Eddie was possibility.”
The word hangs there, strange and fragile.
Dustin frowns slightly. “What does that mean?”
Steve looks at him then, really looks - at the kid who idolized Eddie, who wore his vest like armor, who talked about him like he was a damn superhero. Dustin deserves honesty. Maybe not all of it. But enough.
“It means,” Steve says quietly, “that Eddie was someone I didn’t expect. Someone who showed up in my life and made it… bigger. Weirder. Better.”
Dustin blinks.
Steve keeps going before he can lose his nerve.
“I spent a long time thinking I knew exactly how my life was supposed to go,” he says. “You know - college, job, wife, six kids, the whole Harrington fantasy. And then everything went to hell, and suddenly I wasn’t so sure anymore.”
A pause. Then, softer: “And then Eddie Munson came crashing into it with his stupid rings and his loud music and his absolute refusal to give a damn what anyone thought of him.”
Despite himself, Dustin snorts quietly.
Steve smiles at that. It fades fast.
“He didn’t fit,” Steve continues. “And instead of trying to, he just… existed. Like that was enough.”
Steve presses his lips together, jaw tightening.
“I didn’t even realize how much I was watching him until after.”
Dustin’s breath catches. “Watching him how?”
Steve’s eyes flick to the floor. Back to Dustin. Away again.
“Like you watch something you don’t have words for yet,” he says. “Like you’re waiting for it to explain itself.”
Dustin’s expression shifts, confusion melting slowly into something closer to understanding.
“You mean,” Dustin says carefully, “you liked him.”
Steve laughs under his breath, short and broken. “Yeah. I guess that’s one way to put it.”
He scrubs his hands over his face, then drops them, eyes glassy.
“I didn’t know what it was at first,” he admits. “I just knew I felt… different around him. Lighter. Like I didn’t have to be on all the time. Didn’t have to be the babysitter or the screw-up or the guy who peaked in high school.”
Dustin listens. He doesn’t interrupt. He doesn’t tease. That alone feels monumental.
“Eddie saw me,” Steve says. “Not the reputation. Not the jokes. Me.”
A beat.
“And I think,” Steve adds quietly, “I was starting to see him too. Really see him. Past the noise.”
His voice cracks on the last word.
“I kept thinking there’d be time,” he says. “Time to figure it out. Time to say something. Time to see where it went.”
Dustin’s hands curl into fists.
“And then there wasn’t,” Steve finishes.
Silence.
The kind that aches.
Dustin swallows hard. “So when you said… earlier…”
Steve nods. “I was angry because he didn’t get the chance,” he says. “Because we didn’t.”
He looks up at Dustin, eyes shining. “And that’s not his fault. It’s not yours. It’s not anyone’s.” His voice drops to a whisper. “It’s just really hard to live with.”
Dustin wipes at his face angrily. “He would’ve liked you,” he mutters.
Steve huffs a wet laugh. “Yeah?”
“He already did,” Dustin says, more firmly. “He talked about you all the time.”
Steve freezes. “He did?”
Dustin nods. “Said you were different than people thought. That you were brave. That you always came back.”
Steve stares at him, chest aching. “He said that?”
“Yeah,” Dustin says. “He said you never ran. Not when it mattered.”
Steve’s breath stutters.
“God,” he murmurs. “I wish I’d told him.”
Dustin’s voice is gentle when he says, “I think he knew.”
Steve closes his eyes.
Maybe that’s what hurts the most.
Steve keeps his eyes shut longer than necessary.
He’s afraid if he opens them, the room will be different. That Dustin will look at him like he’s said too much. Or worse - like he’s misunderstood everything.
When he finally looks up, Dustin is still there. Still curled into himself next to him. Still watching him with that quiet, devastating focus he gets when something matters more than he knows how to say.
“I think he knew,” Dustin repeats, softer this time.
Steve swallows. “You don’t have to say that,” he murmurs. “I mean, I appreciate it. But you don’t have to make it better.”
Dustin’s brow furrows.
“I’m not,” he says. “Making it better, I mean.”
Steve lets out a weak breath. “Then what are you doing?”
Dustin hesitates. He looks down at his hands, twisting his fingers together, the nails bitten short. When he speaks, his voice is steadier than his posture. “I’m telling you the truth.”
Steve’s chest tightens.
Dustin glances up, searching Steve’s face like he’s bracing himself. “You remember how Eddie talked,” he says. “Like, about everything?”
Steve huffs a small, broken laugh. “Hard to forget.”
“Yeah,” Dustin says. “He talked a lot. But there were things he only talked about with me. Late at night. When everyone else was asleep or pretending not to be scared.”
Steve stills.
“He talked about you,” Dustin continues. “A lot.”
Steve’s throat feels dry. “Like… in a this guy drives me crazy way, or-”
“In a this guy is the reason I don’t feel like a freak all the time way,” Dustin says, cutting him off gently.
Steve’s breath catches.
Dustin presses on, like if he stops, he won’t be able to start again.
“He said you were brave in a stupid way,” Dustin says. “Like, you didn’t even realize you were doing it. You just showed up. Over and over again.”
Steve squeezes his eyes shut again.
“He said,” Dustin adds, voice dropping, “Steve Harrington looks like he belongs everywhere, but he chooses to stay with us.”
Steve feels something crack open in his chest.
“I didn’t even know I was choosing anything,” he whispers.
“That’s kind of the point,” Dustin says.
A beat.
Then, carefully: “He liked the way you looked at him.”
Steve opens his eyes.
“What?”
Dustin shrugs, one shoulder lifting. “He noticed. Said you didn’t look at him like people usually do. Not like he was a joke. Or a freak.”
Steve’s hands curl into fists on his knees.
“He said,” Dustin continues, “Sometimes Steve looks at me like he’s trying to memorize me.”
Steve’s breath shudders out of him.
“Oh,” he says hoarsely.
Dustin nods. “Yeah.”
Silence stretches between them, thick and aching. Steve presses the heel of his palm against his sternum, like he can physically hold himself together.
“I was so stupid,” he says. “I should’ve-”
Dustin shakes his head. “No.”
Steve looks up sharply.
“You weren’t stupid,” Dustin says firmly. “You were scared. There’s a difference.”
Steve laughs weakly. “Feels the same.”
“Maybe,” Dustin says. “But Eddie wasn’t mad about it.”
Steve freezes. “He wasn’t?”
Dustin shakes his head. “He said he was patient.”
That word hits Steve like a punch.
“Patient,” Steve echoes.
“Yeah,” Dustin says. “He said, Some people need time to figure themselves out. Steve’s one of them. That’s okay.”
Steve’s vision blurs.
“I didn’t deserve him,” he whispers.
Dustin’s voice softens. “He didn’t think like that.”
Steve scrubs at his face, breathing hard. “Did he-” His voice breaks. He clears his throat. “Did he ever say… outright?”
Dustin hesitates. Just for a second.
Then he nods.
“He loved you,” Dustin says simply.
It happens late.
That’s how these things always happen - when everyone else is asleep or pretending to be, when the trailer feels less like a hiding place and more like a confession booth.
Dustin is sprawled on the floor with a blanket half-kicked off his legs, staring at the underside of Eddie’s table like it might suddenly reveal the meaning of life. Eddie is sitting cross-legged on the mattress above him, guitar resting against his knee, fingers idly tracing the worn wood without actually playing anything.
It’s quiet enough that Dustin can hear the crickets outside.
Too quiet.
“You ever notice,” Eddie says suddenly, “how silence feels louder when you’ve been through hell?”
Dustin snorts. “That’s the dumbest sentence you’ve said all day.”
Eddie grins, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Still counts as true.”
They sit with that for a while. Eddie doesn’t play. Dustin doesn’t talk. It’s one of those rare moments where neither of them feels like they have to fill the space.
Then Eddie sighs.
A real one. Heavy. Loaded.
“Hey, Henderson?” he says.
Dustin tilts his head back to look at him. “Yeah?”
“You ever fall for someone you absolutely should not fall for?”
Dustin squints. “Is this hypothetical, or are we about to have one of those talks?”
Eddie huffs a laugh. “Both.”
Dustin props himself up on his elbows. “Okay. Who?”
Eddie hesitates.
That’s new.
He rubs his thumb over one of his rings, spinning it around his finger like it might give him courage. “You gotta promise not to freak out.”
Dustin’s stomach tightens. Not with fear, but curiosity. “I mean, depends on your definition of freak out.”
Eddie looks at him. Really looks. Then he says, quietly:
“Steve Harrington.”
Dustin blinks.
Once. Twice.
Then: “Steve Steve?”
Eddie snorts. “Unless there’s another Steve Harrington hiding in Hawkins with perfect hair and a hero complex, then, yeah. That one.”
Dustin’s brain scrambles, gears turning fast.
“Oh,” he says. Then, after a beat, “Oh.”
Eddie watches him carefully, like he’s waiting for the punchline. Or the rejection.
“You’re not laughing,” Eddie says.
Dustin shrugs. “I’m processing.”
Eddie lets out a breath. “Good. ‘Cause I really didn’t feel like being the joke tonight.”
Dustin sits up fully now. “How long?”
Eddie doesn’t answer right away. He looks down at the guitar, fingers tapping once against the strings.
“Long enough that I should’ve figured it out sooner,” he says. “But I think… I think it snuck up on me. Like most things that matter.”
Dustin tilts his head. “What do you like about him?”
Eddie laughs softly. “You got a few hours?”
Dustin smiles faintly. “Try me.”
Eddie thinks for a second.
“He stays,” Eddie says finally. “When things get bad. When it’s scary. When it would be easier to walk away. He stays.”
Dustin nods.
“And,” Eddie adds, voice quieter now, “he doesn’t look at me like I’m disposable.”
Dustin’s chest tightens.
“He looks at me like I’m… worth something,” Eddie continues. “Like I matter even when I’m not being loud or funny or useful.”
He swallows.
“I don’t think he even knows he’s doing it.”
Dustin’s voice comes out softer than he expects. “You love him.”
Eddie doesn’t deny it.
“Yeah,” he says. “I do.”
There’s no drama in it. No grand gesture. Just truth, plain and aching.
“I don’t need him to love me back,” Eddie adds quickly. “I mean- yeah, okay, I want that. Obviously. But mostly I just…” He shrugs. “I want him safe. I want him happy. I want him to know he’s more than what Hawkins thinks he is.”
Dustin watches him closely. “Do you think he could?”
Eddie’s mouth quirks into something sad and hopeful all at once.
“Maybe,” he says. “I think he’s standing at the edge of something. He just doesn’t know how to jump yet.”
Dustin exhales. “You’re patient.”
Eddie smiles. “For him? Yeah. I can be.”
They sit in silence again after that.
Later - much later - when the world breaks and Eddie doesn’t make it back, Dustin will remember this moment like a bruise he keeps pressing on.
And now, sitting beside Steve Harrington with his shoulder trembling under Dustin’s head, he realizes something with painful clarity:
Eddie wasn’t wrong.
Steve would have jumped.
He just never got the chance.
The words land heavy and irreversible.
Steve’s breath stutters. “You don’t have to-”
“I know,” Dustin interrupts. “But I want to.”
He takes a breath. “He didn’t say it like some big dramatic thing. He just… said it one night. Like it was obvious.”
Steve stares at him, heart pounding. “What did he say?”
Dustin looks down, then back up, eyes shining.
“He said, If I ever get out of this town, I think I’d like to do it with Steve Harrington. Even if nothing ever happens. Just… being near him feels like hope.”
Steve’s shoulders shake again.
“Oh my God,” he whispers.
Dustin’s voice wobbles now. “He was planning, Steve. Like, future stuff. After everything.”
Steve lets out a broken sound that might be a laugh or a sob.
“I didn’t even let myself imagine it,” he says. “I kept thinking if I did, it’d make it real. And if it was real, it could be taken away.”
Dustin nods, tears slipping down his cheeks. “Yeah. Turns out that happens anyway.”
Steve reaches out without thinking, hand hovering for half a second before settling on Dustin’s shoulder. Dustin leans into it immediately, like he’s been waiting.
“I’m sorry,” Steve says thickly. “I’m so sorry I said what I did. About him. I didn’t mean it.”
Dustin sniffles. “I know.”
Steve swallows. “And I’m sorry you’re the one telling me this. You shouldn’t have to carry it.”
Dustin shrugs weakly. “I kind of already was.”
They sit there like that - two people bound by the same absence.
After a while, Steve whispers, “What do we do with it?”
Dustin thinks for a moment. Then he says, “We remember him right.”
Steve nods slowly.
“And,” Dustin adds, “we don’t pretend it didn’t matter.”
Steve’s grip tightens, just a little.
“It mattered,” he says. “He mattered.”
Dustin leans his head against Steve’s shoulder.
“Yeah,” he says softly. “He really did.”
Steve doesn’t say anything for a while.
He just sits there with Dustin’s head against his shoulder, the weight of it grounding and unbearable all at once. The room feels smaller now, like the walls have leaned in to listen. Eddie’s trailer, Eddie’s voice, Eddie’s hope - it all feels too close, like Steve might turn his head and find him leaning in the doorway, grinning like he always did.
I can be patient.
Steve squeezes his eyes shut.
“He was… he was waiting,” he whispers, barely audible.
Dustin doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to. His silence is confirmation enough.
Steve’s breath starts coming unevenly, shallow pulls that don’t quite reach his lungs. He presses his hand flat against his chest again, like before, but this time it doesn’t help.
“He thought I was standing on the edge,” Steve says, voice shaking. “He thought I’d jump.”
A broken laugh slips out of him, sharp and wet. “I didn’t even know there was an edge.”
Dustin shifts slightly, closer. Steve feels it - feels how easy it is for Dustin to lean into him, how natural it is. How Eddie must’ve noticed that too.
“I would’ve,” Steve says suddenly. “I would have jumped. If he’d just- if I’d had more time, or more guts, or-”
His voice gives out completely.
He turns his face away, jaw clenched hard, but it doesn’t stop the tears. They come anyway, hot and relentless, slipping down his cheeks and over his jaw. His shoulders shake now, the restraint finally cracking under the weight of everything he didn’t say.
Steve remembers the heat first.
That thick, late-summer Hawkins heat that clung to your skin and made everything feel slower, heavier. He’s leaning against the side of the trailer, arms crossed, pretending not to listen while Eddie argues with Robin about whether Metallica counts as “real music” or “just aggressive whining.”
“You wound me,” Eddie says dramatically. “Right here.” He presses a hand to his chest, grinning wide. “I thought you of all people would understand the poetry of shredding.”
Robin scoffs. “I understand ear damage.”
Steve snorts before he can stop himself.
Eddie’s head snaps toward him instantly, eyes lighting up like Steve’s just flipped a switch.
“Oh now he laughs,” Eddie says, pointing at him. “See? Harrington gets it.”
Steve shrugs, trying to play it cool. “I didn’t say that.”
Eddie pushes off the table and strolls over, standing way too close - inside Steve’s space like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He smells like cigarette smoke and cheap cologne and something warm underneath it that Steve doesn’t have a word for.
“You didn’t have to,” Eddie says. “Your face did all the talking.”
Steve rolls his eyes, but he can feel the heat creeping up his neck anyway. “You always assume people are thinking about you.”
Eddie grins. “Not people,” he says easily. “Just you.”
Steve should’ve questioned that.
Instead, he just shakes his head and mutters, “You’re unbelievable.”
Eddie’s smile softens at that. “Yeah. I get that a lot.”
There’s a beat where neither of them moves. Robin and Dustin’s voices fade into background noise, like static Steve doesn’t need to focus on. Eddie’s eyes flicker over Steve’s face - not lingering anywhere obvious, just… noticing.
Steve remembers feeling strange then. Like he was being seen through layers he didn’t know he had.
“You okay, big boy?” Eddie asks, quieter now.
Steve blinks. “Yeah. Why?”
Eddie shrugs. “You just look like you’re thinking too hard.”
Steve laughs, a little defensive. “Since when do you care?”
Eddie tilts his head. “Since always.”
Steve doesn’t know what to do with that, so he looks away.
Later - he remembers this part clearly, painfully clearly - they end up sitting on the hood of Steve’s car, the others inside arguing over snacks. The night’s cooled down, cicadas buzzing loud enough to fill the silence.
Eddie swings his legs, sneakers knocking lightly against the metal.
“You ever feel like Hawkins is too small for you?” Eddie asks.
Steve stares out at the dark stretch of road. “All the time.”
Eddie hums. “Yeah. Me too.”
Steve glances at him. “You gonna leave?”
Eddie smiles, but it’s softer than usual. Sadder. “Maybe. If I ever figure out where I’d fit.”
Steve doesn’t think before he speaks. “You fit here.”
Eddie looks at him then. Really looks.
“With you?” Eddie asks, half-joking. Half-hopeful.
Steve’s chest tightens. He laughs it off, like he always does. “I meant- like-”
“I know,” Eddie says quickly. Too quickly. He looks away, fiddling with one of his rings. “I’m messing with you.”
But Steve feels it then. That pull. That almost.
He should’ve said something.
He should’ve asked what Eddie meant. He should’ve admitted that the idea of Eddie leaving makes something in his chest ache in a way that doesn’t make sense.
Instead, he says nothing.
Now Steve sees it all differently.
Eddie standing too close. Eddie watching him like he’s something worth memorizing. Eddie talking about the future in vague, hopeful terms and always, somehow, including Steve in the frame.
I was standing at the edge.
Steve presses a hand to his mouth as the memory fades, grief crashing back in full force.
“Oh,” he whispers. “Oh.”
He hadn’t imagined it.
He hadn’t misread it.
He’d just been afraid.
And Eddie had loved him anyway.
“I keep replaying it,” he chokes. “Every moment. Every look. Every stupid joke. Trying to find the part where I could’ve done something different.”
Dustin’s hand comes up, gripping the fabric of Steve’s shirt like an anchor.
“He liked the way you looked at him,” Dustin says softly. “So maybe… you already did.”
Steve lets out a sound that’s halfway between a sob and a breath.
“I was so careful,” he says. “My whole life, I’ve been careful. About what I want. About what I let myself feel. And he was just-” He shakes his head. “He was fearless. About that, at least.”
Dustin murmurs, “Yeah. He was.”
Steve drags a hand down his face, wiping at tears he doesn’t bother pretending aren’t there anymore.
It’s late enough that the world feels hollowed out.
They’re holed up in the Wheeler basement, lights dimmed low, everyone scattered in that boneless, exhausted way that only comes after surviving something you weren’t supposed to. Robin’s half-asleep on the couch. Dustin’s on the floor with his back against it, headphones crooked over one ear. Steve should be sleeping too.
Instead, he’s sitting on the stairs, elbows on his knees, staring at nothing.
Eddie drops down beside him without asking.
Steve doesn’t even flinch. Somehow, Eddie always knows when it’s okay to do that.
“You look like your brain’s doing laps,” Eddie says quietly.
Steve exhales. “That obvious?”
Eddie smirks. “Man, you get this little line right here.” He gestures vaguely at Steve’s forehead. “Like you’re trying to solve the universe.”
Steve snorts. “Yeah, well. Not going great so far.”
They sit in silence for a minute. Eddie’s knee bumps Steve’s, solid and warm. Steve notices it. Pretends he doesn’t.
“Can I ask you something kind of invasive?” Eddie says.
Steve glances at him. “That’s never stopped you before.”
Eddie grins, but it softens almost immediately. “You ever think about leaving?”
Steve hesitates. “Hawkins?”
“Yeah,” Eddie says. “But we talked about that already. I mean- like all of it.”
Steve leans back against the wall, staring at the low ceiling. “I used to think that was the only goal,” he admits. “Get out. Go somewhere where no one knows me.”
“And now?” Eddie asks.
Steve shrugs. “Now I don’t know who I’d be without… this.”
Without you, he almost says. The thought startles him.
Eddie nods slowly. “Yeah. I get that.”
Another pause.
Eddie picks at a loose thread on his ripped jeans. “You know, you’re not what people think you are.”
Steve laughs quietly. “You’re about to tell me I’m secretly deep?”
Eddie looks at him, expression serious in a way that makes Steve’s breath hitch.
“I’m telling you you’re kind,” Eddie says. “And lonely. And braver than you give yourself credit for.”
Steve blinks. “Jesus, Munson. Buy me dinner first.”
Eddie smiles, but his eyes don’t leave Steve’s face. “I’m serious.”
Something tightens in Steve’s chest.
“I don’t really know how to be… whatever people expect from me anymore,” Steve admits. “Feels like I missed some kind of instruction manual.”
Eddie hums thoughtfully. “Yeah. Same.” He nudges Steve’s shoulder with his own. “Good news is, I don’t think there is one.”
Steve turns his head, looking at Eddie fully now. The basement light catches in his rings, the sharp line of his jaw, the softness underneath all the noise.
Eddie notices him looking.
“What?” Eddie asks.
Steve swallows. “Nothing.”
Eddie studies him for a moment, then says gently, “You don’t have to have it all figured out, you know.”
Steve lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “Feels like I do.”
Eddie shakes his head. “Nah. You just have to keep showing up.” He hesitates, then adds, quieter, “You’re really good at that.”
Steve’s throat tightens.
“Why do you say stuff like that?” he asks.
Eddie shrugs, but there’s something careful in it. “Because it’s true.”
Silence stretches. Not uncomfortable. Charged.
Steve feels the urge to say something - something important, something real - but fear clamps down hard and fast. The words get stuck behind his teeth.
Eddie watches him. Waits.
After a moment, Eddie smiles - soft, patient, understanding - and looks away.
“Anyway,” he says lightly, standing up. “Get some sleep, Harrington. World’s probably not done with us yet.”
Steve watches him walk back across the basement, settling on the couch.
At the time, Steve thinks:
That was nice.
Now, sitting in the wreckage of everything that came after, Steve knows the truth.
That was Eddie offering him a door.
Standing there with it open.
Waiting to see if Steve would step through.
And Steve had stayed right where he was.
“He wanted a future,” Steve says. “With me in it.”
The words feel unreal in his mouth. Heavy. Sacred.
“I didn’t even let myself imagine one,” he continues. “I kept telling myself I’d figure it out later. After everything settled. After we survived. Like there was some finish line where it’d finally be safe to be honest.”
His voice drops to a whisper.
“And now he’s gone.”
Steve is running.
Not the clean kind of running you do on a track, not the cocky, controlled sprint he used to do when he thought the worst thing that could happen was tripping in front of the wrong crowd.
This is frantic. Messy. A run powered by dread.
The Upside Down air bites at his lungs, wet and metallic, like breathing through a rusted pipe. The red haze makes distance feel wrong, like the world is stretching and folding, like every step is both too far and not far enough.
Behind him, Robin is swearing under her breath, voice sharp with panic. Nancy is silent, which somehow scares him more.
And then Steve hears it.
Not the bats. Not the wind.
Dustin.
A sound that is barely sound at all - like something trying not to be real.
“ -no, no, no-”
Steve vaults over a broken beam and skids to a stop so hard he almost falls over. The scene hits him like a fist.
Dustin is on his knees in the ruined street, Eddie crumpled against him like a puppet with cut strings. Dustin’s hands are everywhere, trying to hold Eddie together, like if he presses hard enough, he can stop him from bleeding out.
Eddie’s shirt is torn. The fabric is dark with blood. His face - God, his face is still Eddie’s, still sharp and familiar and alive - but his eyes are unfocused, fluttering like he’s already halfway gone.
Steve’s brain refuses to catch up.
He moves anyway.
“Dustin-” Steve starts, voice breaking.
Dustin looks up at him, eyes wild and soaked. “He- he-” He shakes his head like his skull can’t hold the truth. “Steve, he-”
Steve drops to his knees so fast it hurts.
“Hey,” Steve says, and it comes out like a plea. “Hey, Eddie. Hey. Look at me.”
Eddie doesn’t respond. His head lolls slightly against Dustin’s shoulder.
Steve’s hands hover for half a second - fearful, reverent, furious - then he grips Eddie’s shoulders carefully and pulls him forward just enough to see his face.
Robin stops short behind him with a choked sound.
Nancy stands frozen, her hand over her mouth, eyes wide and shining.
Steve can’t look at them. He can’t look at anything except Eddie.
“Eddie,” Steve says, louder now, like volume can force life back in. “Eddie, c’mon. C’mon, man. Don’t do this to me.”
Dustin makes a broken sound. “He saved us,” he whispers, voice shredding. “He saved- he-”
Steve can’t hear it. Not really.
He shakes Eddie once, gentle at first, then harder - not because he wants to hurt him, but because he can’t stand the stillness. Because stillness means the end.
“Eddie!” Steve snaps. “Eddie, look at me! Please-”
Eddie’s lashes flicker.
Steve’s heart stutters so violently he feels it in his throat.
“That’s it,” Steve says, voice shaking. “That’s it. Stay with me. Okay? Stay. Just- just stay.”
Eddie’s eyes crack open - barely - and for a second they don’t land anywhere. They drift, unfocused, like he’s searching for the right world.
Steve leans in closer.
“Hey,” he whispers. “It’s me. Steve.”
Something shifts.
Eddie’s gaze finds him.
And it’s like being hit with a memory you didn’t know you had - every grin, every stupid joke, every too-close moment suddenly collapsing into this one point of contact.
Eddie’s mouth moves. Nothing comes out at first.
Steve’s hand tightens around Eddie’s shoulder like he can anchor him here.
“What?” Steve breathes. “What is it? Eddie- tell me.”
Eddie swallows. It looks like it hurts. It definitely hurts.
Dustin’s hands tremble at Eddie’s back. “Eddie?” he whispers, voice small. “Eddie, I’m here, I’m right here-”
Eddie doesn’t look at Dustin.
Not because Dustin doesn’t matter.
But because Eddie’s eyes are fixed on Steve like Steve is the last thing he needs to see before he goes.
Eddie gathers something- strength, breath, will. It’s visible, the way his chest rises like dragging air through broken glass.
Then, finally, his voice comes out.
Thin. Ragged.
But unmistakably Eddie.
“Steve,” he rasps.
Steve laughs - one wet, strangled sound. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m here.”
Eddie’s mouth twitches, almost a smile. Almost.
“Don’t-” Eddie coughs, a small jerk through his body that makes Dustin flinch. Blood stains Eddie’s lips.
Steve’s stomach drops.
“Don’t talk,” Steve says desperately. “Save it. Save your strength. We- we can get you out, okay? We can-”
Eddie’s eyes sharpen just a fraction.
“No,” Eddie whispers.
The word is soft. Absolute.
Steve shakes his head, tears blurring everything. “No, no, don’t say that-”
Eddie lifts his hand - only a few inches, like even gravity is too heavy now.
Steve catches it instantly.
Eddie’s fingers are cold. Sticky. Trembling.
Steve holds them like they’re sacred.
Eddie’s eyes flicker over Steve’s face, like he’s memorizing him back.
Like he’s taking him with him.
“You… did good,” Eddie breathes.
Steve can’t speak. He can only shake his head, mouth open, helpless.
“You-” Eddie swallows again, throat working. “You were… never… what they said.”
Steve’s face crumples.
“Eddie,” he whispers, “please-”
Eddie’s thumb moves softly against Steve’s knuckles.
A tiny, impossible comfort.
“Listen,” Eddie rasps, and it’s the closest he gets to stern. “Okay? Just- just listen.”
Steve leans in, forehead almost touching Eddie’s.
“I’m listening,” he says.
Eddie’s eyes shine - not with tears, not exactly. Something brighter. Something undone.
“I… love you,” Eddie whispers.
Steve’s breath catches so hard it hurts.
“I know,” Steve tries to say, but it comes out broken. “I-”
Eddie’s gaze holds him hostage.
“Not like-” Eddie coughs once, weak. “Oh Steve.”
Steve freezes. He doesn’t understand.
The world narrows to Eddie’s mouth, Eddie’s eyes, Eddie’s hand in his.
Robin makes a small sound behind him, like she’s just realized she’s witnessing something holy and shouldn’t interrupt.
Nancy’s breath hitches, but she stays silent.
Dustin’s face twists - grief and dawning understanding crashing together - and he presses his forehead against Eddie’s shoulder like he can’t bear to be outside this moment.
Steve can’t move.
He can’t breathe.
Eddie’s eyes soften, almost apologetic. Almost amused.
“Wanted… to tell you,” Eddie whispers. “But… figured you’d-” His mouth trembles. “Figure it out. Eventually. You will. I believe in you.”
Steve shakes his head, tears spilling freely now.
“I love you too,” he whispers. “I- God, I did, I just-”
Eddie’s eyelids flutter. He doesn’t know that Steve means it the way he meant it, too.
Steve panics instantly, tightening his grip. “No. No, stay. Eddie, stay.”
Eddie pulls in another breath like it costs him everything.
His eyes search Steve’s face one last time.
“Steve,” he whispers.
Steve leans closer. “Yeah?”
Eddie’s lips part.
And with the last of his strength, he says something so quiet Steve barely hears it - but he feels it like a bruise forming under his skin.
“Don’t… be scared… of it,” Eddie breathes. “Of… wanting.”
Steve’s throat closes.
“I’m not,” he lies immediately, because he’s always been good at lying.
Eddie’s eyes flicker, like he knows.
He gives Steve the smallest shake of his head. A final, gentle correction.
“Be… brave,” Eddie whispers. “Like you are… for everyone else.”
Steve breaks.
A sob tears out of him, raw and ugly, and he doesn’t try to stop it.
Eddie’s gaze stays on him through it. Steady. Loving.
Then Eddie’s eyes drift - just slightly - past Steve’s shoulder.
Toward Dustin.
Eddie tries to turn his head, but he can’t, so he just… looks. And Dustin understands anyway.
“I got you,” Dustin whispers fiercely, sobbing. “I got you, Eddie. I’m right here.”
Eddie’s fingers squeeze Steve’s once.
So faint it’s almost imagined.
But it’s real.
Steve clings to it.
Eddie’s breath shudders out.
His eyes return to Steve one last time, like he’s closing a circle.
And Eddie smiles.
Not big.
Not performative.
Just Eddie - soft and honest.
“See you,” he whispers.
Steve’s voice cracks in half. “No-”
Eddie’s gaze goes distant.
His hand slackens in Steve’s.
And then-
Nothing.
Dustin makes a sound like his soul is being pulled out through his throat.
“No,” Dustin whispers, rocking Eddie’s body like motion can summon breath. “No, no, no- Eddie-”
Steve doesn’t let go.
For a second, he refuses to accept the weight of Eddie’s hand going fully limp in his own.
He shakes him once, desperate. “Eddie. Eddie, c’mon-”
But Eddie doesn’t come back.
The silence after is violent.
Robin sinks to the floor like her legs have given out.
Nancy’s hands tremble around her weapon, knuckles white, eyes fixed on the blood and the stillness and the unfairness of it.
Steve stares at Eddie’s face - at the softness that’s settled there, peaceful in a way that makes Steve furious.
Because Eddie looks like someone who’s finally not afraid.
Steve is the one who is.
Steve lowers Eddie’s hand carefully, like setting down something fragile, something precious.
Then he puts his forehead against Eddie’s for half a second - an instinct he doesn’t understand until it’s happening.
A private goodbye.
A confession with no words.
When he pulls back, his eyes meet Dustin’s.
Dustin’s face is wrecked.
Steve’s is worse.
“I’m sorry,” Steve whispers.
Dustin’s shoulders shake too, quiet sobs he’s clearly been holding back for days. Steve instinctively wraps an arm around him, pulling him closer, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“I’m so sorry,” Steve says, not sure who he’s saying it to anymore. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell him up until that moment. I’m sorry I didn’t choose him out loud.”
Dustin presses his face into Steve’s shoulder. “He knew,” he says again, firmer this time. “He really did.”
Steve closes his eyes.
In his mind, he sees Eddie- leaning back against a counter, eyes bright and knowing, watching Steve like he’s something worth waiting for. Like he’s already chosen.
“I would’ve chosen him,” Steve says. “Every time.”
Dustin nods against him. “I know.”
They sit there like that for a long time. Long enough for the tears to slow. Long enough for the grief to settle into something heavier, quieter - something that doesn’t scream, but stays.
Eventually, Steve exhales shakily.
“Thank you,” he says. “For telling me.”
Dustin pulls back just enough to look at him. His eyes are red, face blotchy, but steady.
“He was important to you,” Dustin says. “He was important to me. This” He gestures vaguely between them. “This is part of keeping him alive.”
Steve nods slowly.
“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, it is.”
He looks down at his hands, then back at Dustin.
“I don’t know how to move on from this,” he admits.
Dustin shrugs. “I don’t think you do. Not really.”
Steve considers that. Then he nods.
“Okay,” he says quietly. “Then I’ll just… carry it, I guess.”
Dustin leans back into him.
They don’t say Eddie’s name again. They don’t have to.
He’s already there-
in the space between them,
in the love that was almost,
and in the promise that it mattered anyway.
Steve goes when the cemetery is almost empty.
Not completely - there’s an older couple a few rows down, murmuring to each other in low voices, and someone tending a grave near the far fence - but far enough away that no one is watching him. Far enough that he doesn’t have to explain his face.
The gravel crunches under his shoes as he walks, the sound too loud in the early morning quiet. The sky is pale and overcast, the kind of gray that feels unfinished. Steve likes it better that way. Bright days feel wrong here.
He’s holding flowers this time. Not roses. Not lilies. Wildflowers, uneven and stubborn, wrapped in brown paper that’s already creased from where his fingers have tightened too much. He picked them himself, on the meadow behind his house.
He stops when he sees the headstone.
It’s been vandalized again.
Black paint streaks across the stone in sharp, angry lines. Words half-smeared, half-carved - coward, freak, devil - the same tired cruelty wearing a new face. Dirt has been kicked up against the base, scuffed footprints marring the grass like someone needed to make sure their anger left a mark.
Steve stands there for a long moment, chest tight.
Then he exhales slowly and kneels.
Up close, the headstone is cold beneath his fingertips. Real. Solid. Permanent in a way that still feels wrong.
EDWARD MUNSON
NOW AT PEACE
1966 - 1986
Steve pulls the rag from his jacket pocket and starts cleaning.
He doesn’t rush. He works carefully, deliberately, scrubbing paint from the grooves of the stone, wiping away dirt with slow, patient strokes. His knuckles sting, scraped raw by the rough surface, but he barely notices.
“This town never learns,” he murmurs under his breath. “Guess you already knew that.”
The words come out softer than he expects.
Some of the paint won’t come off completely. It clings to the stone like it belongs there, like the damage is part of the story now. Steve presses harder, jaw clenched, until his arms shake.
“Hey,” he says quietly. “You don’t get to stay.”
He wipes again.
Eventually, it’s as clean as it’s going to get.
Steve sits back on his heels and lets himself look at it properly - the name, the dates, the reality etched into something that isn’t going anywhere.
He sets the flowers down carefully at the base of the stone. Adjusts them once. Twice. Like he’s afraid they’ll feel wrong if he doesn’t.
“Sorry it took me a minute,” he says softly. “I had to… work up to it.”
The cemetery hums faintly around him. Wind through the trees. Distant traffic. Life, insisting on continuing.
Steve rests his forearms on his knees and stares at the ground between them.
“They keep telling me it’s time,” he says after a while. “That I should move on. Like there’s some kind of schedule I missed.”
He lets out a short, humorless laugh. “You would’ve hated that.”
Steve reaches out and places his hand flat against the stone. It’s cool and unmoving beneath his palm.
“I’m not ready,” he admits. “I don’t know if I ever will be.”
The truth settles into him without resistance.
“I don’t want to replace you,” Steve continues. “I don’t think that’s how love works. Not this kind.”
He swallows, throat tight.
“Maybe you’re it,” he says quietly. “Maybe you’re the only man I ever loved.”
The words don’t echo. They don’t demand anything.
They just exist.
Steve breathes them in and lets them stay.
“I’m okay with that,” he adds. “I really am.”
He sits there for a long time after that. Long enough for the wind to shift. Long enough for the ache in his chest to soften into something steadier - not healed, never healed, but held.
“I’m not scared of wanting. Not anymore. But everytime I let the want in… it screams for you.”
Before he stands, Steve wipes his hand on his jeans and gently straightens the flowers one last time.
“I’ll keep coming back,” he promises. “I won’t let them erase you.”
He hesitates, then smiles faintly.
“And I’m trying,” he adds. “To be brave about wanting. Like you said.”
Steve stands, dusts off his knees, and steps back.
The couple from earlier is closer now. They move slowly, careful with each step, like the ground itself deserves respect. The man keeps one hand lightly at the woman’s elbow. She has a cardigan draped over her shoulders despite the mild weather.
They stop a few feet away.
Steve steps back from the headstone to give them space, wiping his hands on his jeans again out of habit more than necessity. He expects them to pass. To nod politely. To keep walking.
But they don’t.
The woman’s gaze drifts to the headstone.
She reads the name first. Then the dates.
Her expression changes - not dramatically, not loudly - just a small, sharp softening around the eyes. She inhales quietly, one hand lifting to her mouth.
“Oh,” she murmurs.
The man leans closer, squinting slightly as he reads. His brow furrows.
“Twenty,” he says under his breath. “That’s… that’s awfully young.”
Steve’s chest tightens.
The woman glances at him then, her eyes gentle, curious in a careful way - like she doesn’t want to intrude, but something won’t let her walk away either.
“I’m sorry,” she says softly. “Was he… someone close to you?”
Steve looks back at the headstone.
At the name he’s traced so many times it feels carved into him now. At the space between the dates that somehow holds an entire universe.
“Yes,” he says.
The word is simple. Steady.
The woman hesitates, then asks, almost apologetically, “Who was he?”
Steve doesn’t answer right away.
He feels the question settle - not as pressure, not as demand, but as invitation. A chance to say it out loud in a world that didn’t always make space for truths like this.
He exhales slowly.
“He was brave,” Steve says. “He was kind. He made people feel less alone without even trying.”
The woman nods, like she understands exactly what that means.
Don’t be scared of wanting.
Steve swallows.
“And,” he adds, voice quieter but surer, “he was the love of my life.”
The words don’t tremble.
They don’t rush.
They land - real and undeniable.
The woman’s eyes fill immediately. She presses her lips together, nodding once like she’s absorbing something sacred. The man straightens slightly, his expression solemn and respectful.
“I’m glad he was loved,” the woman says. “That matters. More than people think.”
Steve nods. “Yeah,” he says. “It really does.”
They stand there for a moment longer, the three of them sharing the silence without awkwardness. Without judgment. Just acknowledgement.
The woman reaches out and gently adjusts one of the wildflowers Steve left, making sure it rests neatly against the stone.
“He must’ve been special,” she says.
Steve smiles - small, real.
“He was,” he says.
The couple moves on after that, their footsteps fading down the path, leaving the quiet behind them intact.
Steve looks back at the headstone one last time.
“You hear that?” he murmurs. “Even strangers know.”
He doesn’t wait for an answer.
He doesn’t need one.
Steve turns and walks away, the words still warm in his chest - not heavy, not sharp, just true.
And for the first time, saying it out loud doesn’t feel like reopening a wound.
It feels like honoring something that never stopped being real.