Chapter Text
March 22nd, 1986
It comes down to this, Eddie’s always been jumpy.
Fidgety, energetic, on edge. He doesn’t know why. He has a good guess, but he’d have to see a shrink again to figure that out and that’s something he’s not really interested in.
He probably gets it from his mom, and both of them probably developed it from living with his old man. Probably both learned to time his footsteps in hallways, estimate how close he was and when they needed to lock doors. Probably both got antsy when the morning beers turned into afternoon beers because afternoon beers meant Eddie was going to school with new bruises tomorrow.
But he doesn’t think about his mom much anymore. He doesn’t even really know where she is half the time. And he thinks she wants it that way, so he’s going to let her be. He doesn’t need her, he’s got Wayne and his friends and his party. He’s got campaigns to plan and sessions to schedule and most of all he’s got to focus on school because this is his year.
He is getting out, leaving this town in the dust and going somewhere gold and green. He’s Bilbo fucking Baggins and he is getting the hell out of this scoured Shire. Leaving his book behind for someone else to finish.
Henderson, maybe, he sees a lot of himself in that kid, even though he’s smarter than Eddie’s ever even pretended to be.
Smart enough to track him down faster than the cops.
And now, somehow, he’s here.
In Eddie’s hiding place, with Steve Harrington.
Eddie is sure that these guys are going to get him killed.
Because even if Dustin is really here to help him, he knows Harrington isn’t. He knows this guy, should’ve graduated a year before him, and he’s an asshole. Dumb, jock asshole who’d probably sell him out to Jason Carver or the cops just on principle.
Eddie used to watch him every day in the lunch room, laughing and joking with those other assholes who thought they ran the school. And maybe sometimes he'd watch him in gym class too, catch himself staring and then drag his eyes away before they caught on the hair or the hands or the tanned thighs.
He’d been clutching the bottle for a while, ever since he heard voices. And then there was an oar poking him and when he peeked he saw Harrington and now he’s got the tip of it to the guy’s throat.
It’s making Eddie even angrier to realize how goddamn perfect this guy is up close. Perfect hair, perfect face, perfect clothes, perfect life. Captain of the basketball team, the swim team, prom king. If Harrington was caught at the scene of a murder, he'd get a slap on the wrist and a full cover-up thanks to daddy's fat checks. Eddie's going to get life in prison if they catch him, just for being in the same room when Chrissy—
And he’s heard Dustin’s stories. He knows that the kids worship this guy for some god-forsaken reason. He’s told Dustin a hundred times that the word “Steve” is banned from sessions because the kid will not stop talking about him. Eddie has no idea why Dustin is so obsessed with Harrington, but it hits a nerve. Makes him think of gym class and all the times he wasn't supposed to be looking.
“I swear on my mother. Right, guys?”
“Yes, yes, we swear.”
“On Dustin’s mother.”
“Yeah, Dustin’s…Dustin’s mother.”
Harrington’s staring at him with that perfect face and he really wants to believe that Dustin is here to help; he’s just so fucking scared. He doesn't know these people, even after Dustin's gone through the introductions. He only knows Dustin and the prick he's got pinned to the wall.
The guy looks scared too and it kind of makes Eddie feel powerful. Makes him understand, just for a fraction of a second, what his father loved so much about violence.
That scares him even more, brings him back to his trailer and the bone-deep dread that had opened up in his chest when she started floating—
He's jumpy, and his brain is fucked up, and he keeps seeing her.
Chrissy, every time he blinks. He sees her bent arms and her crooked legs and her eyes—
Something crashes against the side of the boathouse. Probably a bird, or a squirrel, or something else that’s no threat to any of them.
But Eddie’s jumpy, and he flinches.
He thinks Harrington does too, but maybe that’s just to make himself feel better. But now their gazes are locked and the guy’s eyes are huge, Eddie’s never been close enough to notice how big they are. And his perfect brows are raised and his perfect lips are parted in a way that’s stunned and sad and a bit betrayed.
And there’s a glass shard inside his perfect throat.
They both look at it for a split second, both look down even though Eddie’s the only one who can see it. And when they look back up, Harrington makes a noise like a startled, wet hiccup. A bright, terrified noise that sounds like it’s right inside his ear.
It reminds him of his great aunt’s puppy and the time Eddie pulled on her tail when he was too little to know not to. He’d cried when she yelped and then cried for the next ten minutes while the dog ran from him.
She wouldn’t let him apologize.
Eddie’s first instinct is to pull back, and he does before he can even think about it.
If he had thought about it he’d probably remember the time Gareth stepped on a broken bottle when they were fucking around on the train tracks. How he’d stopped for a second and looked down at his bare foot before lifting it. Why had they been barefoot? He couldn’t tell you, they just always were back then. And he’d probably think about how the foot didn’t really start bleeding until Gareth lifted it up.
But he’s not thinking about anything except getting away. It’s only one step back, and the glass comes with him. Sliding out of Harrington’s throat already red and with a squelching, scraping noise that’ll probably be the last thing Eddie hears before he goes to sleep for however long he’s got left in his stupid, pathetic life.
“Fuck.” He says, and he really means it. Because now there’s red everywhere. It’s bubbling from the hole he’s punched in Harrington’s perfect neck. It’s spilling in uneven lines down his chest and onto his perfect jacket and perfect striped polo. It’s moving so fast that it's already dripped on the floor. The guy looks down at it, confused for a moment before his hands start reaching for his own throat.
Eddie gets there first. He’s already dropped the bottle and decided. He steps up and locks his fingers around the wound, around the whole side of his neck, probably too tight because the other boy lets out a small, choked gasp. But he has to stop it, he has to somehow undo this.
“Fuck, I’m sorry. Shit, goddamn—I’m so sorry. I didn’t—Jesus, Fuck!”
He’s muttering and cursing and he hears screaming around him but he can’t focus on it because now Harrington is falling. His knees are folding beneath him and he’s sliding down the wall and Eddie has to go with him. He panics and crouches and tries to use one hand to guide him down but the hand is already coated in blood and he just makes a few messy red handprints on the perfect jacket trying to grab the guy's shoulder.
They’re both down now, with Harrington sitting against the wall like he just decided to take a load off. One knee raised and his hands braced against the floor, curling and grasping like they want to reach up but can’t.
Eddie uses both hands again, pressing them as hard as he can against the flow and it’s making him so sick. He can feel the pulse of it on his fingers, feel this guy’s heart trying to keep him alive, and the only thing it can do is send more blood.
“What did you DO?! Jesus, Eddie what did you do what did you—“
There’s a loud voice right beside him and he knows he recognizes it but he can’t do anything except hold on and try to stop the blood. Can’t take his eyes off of Harrington’s because he needs to make sure they don’t close.
And they haven’t, not yet. The guy’s just staring at him with the widest, biggest eyes Eddie’s ever seen. A warm shade of brown, kind of like his mother’s. He’s breathing heavy and wobbly through his nose and Eddie’s grateful for that because it means he’s found a way to slow the bleeding without choking him out in the process.
“I’m calling 9-1-1!”
“We need something to stop the—Max! Wait! We need a towel or something to stop the bleeding!”
Two more voices, and the sound of running and now there’s just three of them. Him and Harrington and Dustin and he can’t stop thinking about how many times Dustin’s wanted the three of them to hang out.
He’s shot the kid down every time because why in the hell would he want to hang out with Steve Harrington? But Dustin insists that he’s cool, swears up and down that he’s a badass. He told Eddie one time that Steve’s like the brother he never had, and Eddie had the audacity to be jealous.
“It’s going to be okay.” Dustin says, and Eddie looks over at him but the boy’s not looking back. He’s got Harrington’s hand clutched tight and now they’re looking at each other. “Max is calling 9-1-1, they’ll bring an ambulance. You’re gonna be okay, just hold on.”
Harrington nods, and Eddie could swear there’s almost a smile on his lips. He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something but all that comes out is another wet hiccup. This one has blood in it, and Eddie flinches again when the droplets hit his face and Dustin’s.
“Don’t—“ Dustin says, and he’s sobbing now, gripping that hand like it’s a lifeline. “Don’t try to talk, Steve, it’ll be okay. You’re gonna be okay.”
Eddie’s hands are getting slippery, and when he goes to adjust them, there’s another gush of blood that none of them are prepared for. Harrington—Steve, you should call him that. Give him the dignity of calling him by his first name—shudders under Eddie’s hands, and his huge eyes start to flutter closed.
“No!” Dustin drops Steve's hand and adds his fingers to Eddie's, locking around the wound. Eddie can feel that it makes a difference; the warm flow slows down just a little.
“Steve! Steve, no! Stay awake, you have to stay awake!”
He doesn’t have a hand to spare, and neither does Dustin, but the kid is screaming so loud that Steve’s eyes fly open again. He looks back at Dustin, and there’s something horribly sad in his gaze. His lips start to move again, but there’s no sound, just a mouthed word.
Sorry.
“No, don’t say that.” Dustin sobs, “Don’t you fucking dare—listen to me, help is coming. You just have to—You die, I die, remember?”
Eddie has no idea what this means, but Steve nods again, his lips forming another two words.
You’re my—
“We’re not doing this.” Dustin says, and Eddie sees him bite down on what was probably a scream. “We’re not—no last words, asshole. You’re my best friend too, okay? And you have to stay here, with me. Stay awake, don’t—“
“We got it!”
The other two are back, the band girl and Dustin’s ginger friend. The band girl has a towel, and she kneels beside them, in between Eddie and Dustin.
“Ambulance is on the way.” She says, her voice startlingly even compared to Dustin’s, “Five minutes, Steve, that’s all. You can stay with us for five minutes, right? Dustin, help me—“
She brings up the towel and holds it over their hands. Eddie finally feels like there’s enough pressure for him to move, so he does. And he was right this time, there’s no new gush of blood because now the band girl’s hands are where his were. She’s got the towel wadded and pressed against the wound and it’s getting red very quickly but Eddie can finally sit back.
He scrambles, really, away from them. They’re not looking at him, none of them are. But he has to go. He can’t be here. He knows he’s a coward and a pussy and but he can’t be here.
Eddie bolts for the door, and the only person who looks at him is the ginger girl. She catches his eye just as he leaves. She’s stepping towards her friends, crowded and crying on the floor, but she stops for just a second to stare him down.
Eddie’s been looked at a lot of different ways in his life, most of them bad.
He’s been mocked and jeered at and called slurs he didn’t even understand until much after he’d been called them. But he’s never felt like the way people looked at him reflected how he felt inside.
He’s always known who he is, as long as he can remember.
This girl’s looking at him like he’s a murderer.
And Eddie agrees.
Dustin’s had about a hundred nightmares exactly like this.
It’s not always Steve, but someone is always dying.
They’re being chased and cornered by monsters and someone dies. A lot of the time, it’s in the tunnels. Dustin doesn’t think he’s ever fully left the tunnels. Or the mall, or the Russian base beneath the mall or the air vents in that Russian base.
They’re always there, waiting behind his eyes for him to go to sleep. Waiting until he’s comfy in bed and he can hear his mom watching soap operas way too loud in the living room and then suddenly he’s back and someone’s dead.
Will, or Mike, or Lucas or Max. El, sometimes, though his mind seems to think she can get out of any situation. Even Nancy and Jonathan have taken their turns, but most often it’s Steve.
Dustin would never tell him that, because he’d probably get that sad downturned expression Steve puts on when he realizes that Dustin’s just as haunted as the rest of them.
He thinks Steve probably wants to believe that if he can just save everyone from physical danger everything will be alright. Every time Dustin’s mentioned a nightmare or a near-panic attack his best friend gets that look.
For someone who grins and glares a lot, Steve is also really good at looking sad. So good that it actually makes Dustin kind of sick. So he tries really hard not to say things that make Steve sad. Says things that piss him off or make him laugh instead.
And it’s fun too, pissing him off or making him laugh, so that’s kind of the basis of their whole relationship.
That and Steve trying to get himself killed.
Putting his body in front of Dustin and the others over and over again until Dustin is sure those nightmares are going to come true. Sure that the next time they face a monster he’s going to have to watch him die.
He never thought the monster would be Eddie.
Dustin doesn’t even notice Eddie’s gone at first, because his hands are slick with Steve’s blood and he’s trying to remember how much color his face had before this. Because now he looks gray, and that can’t be right.
”Steve, it’s going to be okay.” Robin says, and Dustin remembers she’s there too. Her voice has taken on a cold, detached quality he’s never heard before. “Statistically, this is a best case scenario. The hospital is close, the ambulance is on the way, and we applied pressure immediately. So you’ll probably need like, a bunch of transfusions and definitely surgery but it’ll be okay. You just have to stay with us. Steve. Steve?!”
Dustin focuses back in. His eyes feel dry from staring but now he’s really looking at Steve again. And he is not looking back. His eyes have gone glassy, like he’s staring past Robin, but there’s nothing there to see. He blinks, slowly, like he’s trying to focus them but can’t keep them open long enough.
”Don’t—Steve, don’t close your eyes!” Dustin’s begging now, he can hear how small his voice is, how high. But Steve isn’t listening any more, the last long blink stuck, and his whole face is dropping. His head rolls to the side just a little, and Dustin can feel his body relaxing into the wall. They’re losing him.
Robin’s calling his name with that same detached tone but it’s getting shakier and shakier each time she speaks.
”Steve, open your eyes. Steve. Please, Steve. Steve.”
Dustin’s chest feels like it’s going to burst, there’s something electric building there like the time he got shocked messing with the radio wires at AV club and fell off the chair. Mike made him go to the nurse’s office because he couldn’t stop shivering and there was this awful, hollow ringing in his ribs.
He doesn’t have a free hand, doesn’t have any way to make Steve listen. To make him stay. His fingers are locked around the wound, and he’s trying really hard not to notice how the pulse has slowed over the last minute. He’s trying not to do the math.
“Max, Max!” He calls, but she’s already there. She’s crouched down on Steve’s other side, staring and pale and holding his hand tightly.
”Help us!” Dustin sobs, “Help us keep him awake. He needs to—“
”What do I do?” She asks, eyes narrowing determinedly now that he’s giving her a job.
“I don’t know, I don’t know. Just help us keep him—“
He cuts off when Max reaches up and pinches Steve’s cheek as hard as she can. It’s the silliest thing she could possibly do, but it works. His eyes blink open again, squinting at Dustin like he’s the one who did it.
“Thank god.” He breathes, leaning in. He’s careful not to move his hands. “Don’t do that. You have to stay with us, do you hear me?”
Steve nods, just a tiny movement. But he’s listening, his lips are mouthing something again.
Trying.
”We know.” Robin says, her voice is shaking so badly now that it’s almost hard to understand. “We know you’re trying. Just a little bit longer. Help is coming, and we’re here. We’re not leaving you. Stay with us, okay? Don't—"
She stops when they hear the ambulance. High and keening and a little too far away for Dustin’s liking. They probably pulled up to the actual house and didn't know to come out here. He doesn't know what Max said to them, how she explained the situation. He hopes that she didn't say Eddie's name, even though he's not sure that he should be hoping that.
He looks at Max, but she’s already up and running. He follows her with his eyes as far as he can before turning back.
That’s when he notices Eddie’s gone.
He looks at Robin, “Where did Eddie—“
”He ran.” She says, eyes not meeting his. “He fucking—I can’t believe—Jesus! Maybe he did kill Chrissy.”
”No.” Dustin says, even though that was the same thought he had when he saw the glass sliding into Steve’s neck. “No, he wouldn’t.”
”Yes, he would.” Robin says, and she finally looks at him. Her eyes are bloodshot and wet, and he has never seen her this angry in the entire time he’s known her. “He just slit our friend’s throat for no reason, Dustin. You don't know what he would do."
He doesn’t have an argument for that, but he’s starting to form one when Steve’s breathing goes from shuddering and slow to panicked choking.
Dustin turns, and he’s got some color back, just not the right one. His lips are turning blue, and he’s much more alert than he has been in the last minute. He’s staring at them again with wide, pleading eyes, and mouthing the same two words over and over again.
Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe.
Dustin has no answer but a wailing sob, one he’s been holding in this entire time.
“No! No, no nononono.” He presses harder, but that only seems to make it worse because it’s not the bleeding that’s killing him now, it’s the fact that the bleeding has cut off his air.
Steve’s chest is heaving, desperate for a breath but every time he tries there’s just a wet, choked wheeze. There are tears streaked on his cheeks and he looks terrified, but his brows are doing that downturned, sad thing they do when Dustin tells him about a nightmare. And he’s not sure if he can even sound comforting anymore, but he still tries.
”You’re okay, buddy, just hang on. It’s gonna be okay. Please—just, just a minute. They’ll be here any minute. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry I can’t—“
He loses control over words again then, and now he’s crying like a child. Like when he fell off the monkey bars in preschool, like when his dad—
Steve isn’t trying to tell them anymore, he knows they can’t help him. He's trying to die quietly now, looking between the two of them like he wants to memorize their faces, and Dustin can see him biting back the choking gasps because he knows it's scaring them. He knows he’s making them sad, and he’s trying not to.
“God, please don't!" Robin begs, "It’s okay, you’re okay, we’re here, the ambulance is right there. Help is coming; you just have to hang on. Steve, please don’t leave us here. This is such a stupid way to die, please don’t—“
She's crying too, sobbing and wailing just like Dustin is. And she’s dropped one of her hands from the towel so she can grab Steve’s. It’s been twitching in his lap since Max left, but now it had started to reach up again. Towards them or towards the blood, he doesn't know, but Robin's holding it now.
That's good, that she's holding it. Because Dustin’s about to run. He's fighting it, but everything in him wants to bolt for the door. He knows he’s watching his best friend die and there’s nothing he can do.
He can't wake up from this.
Can't make Steve listen this time because the pulse of blood against his fingers has slowed to almost nothing, and he’s not choking anymore. He’s not tense or sad or even scared.
He’s just still.
Still and quiet and staring. His eyes are half-open, and there is nothing behind them.
The sight of it is enough to turn every vein in Dustin’s body to acid. Somehow cold and burning at the same time.
Then the door to the boathouse bursts open.
Dustin gets pulled away, and he fights for a second before realizing these are the people he’s been waiting for—the ones who can actually help.
So then he lets go, he backs up and doesn’t realize until he bumps into her that Robin’s behind him. He knows she doesn’t like being touched but he needs someone so he just grabs her. Buries his face in her shirt and cries.
He feels a hand on his back and another on his arm and he’s just listening to the paramedics waiting for them to tell him what he already knows.
Steve’s dead. They did what they could but he’s gone. He died in a boathouse trying to help Dustin find his friend. He died because Dustin couldn’t believe Eddie was a murderer until he saw him murder someone with his own eyes.
But he doesn’t understand what the paramedics are saying. It’s fast and practiced and none of them have said the words yet so he keeps listening until they say,
”Alright, let’s move him.”
He looks up then. They’ve got Steve’s neck packed with gauze and there’s a tube sticking out of him. It’s awful, and for a second he thinks he’s going to be sick before he sees that his friend’s chest is rising and falling.
He’s alive, he’s breathing. He’s limp and gray and his eyes are closed, but he’s alive.
They carry him out on a stretcher and Dustin follows, still clinging to Robin’s shirt. They’ve made it all the way to the ambulance before he realizes Max has taken his other hand. He should’ve told her not to, because now they both have blood on their hands but she looks really upset too so he’ll let her keep holding it for now.
“Can we go with him?” Robin asks, and one of the paramedics turns back with an apologetic expression on his face.
“I only have room for one more person back there, and we need to move fast—“ He starts, but Dustin cuts him off.
“You go.” He says to Robin. She looks down at him, shocked.
”No, I can’t leave you guys here—“
”We’ll be okay.” Max says, squeezing Dustin’s hand. “We’ll call Nancy, tell her what happened. She’ll pick us up.”
Robin looks between the two of them, but the paramedic is already waving her into the ambulance. The urgency of it is making Dustin’s stomach turn and so he gives her a little shove.
“Go.” He says, “We’ll meet you there.”
Mostly he just doesn’t want to watch. He has more hope now and that’s good but he doesn’t want to be there. He knows that makes him a coward and a shitty best friend but he’s seen Steve die enough times in his dreams. He doesn’t need the real thing kicking around in his head.
Robin nods, swallowing hard before she turns away from them. She climbs into the ambulance and they don’t even wait until the doors are closed all the way to start driving. The last thing he sees is Robin reaching for Steve’s hand again and then they’re gone.
He suddenly feels very dizzy. Like everything that’s happened over the past two days has caught up to him at once.
He didn’t sleep well last night, he was buzzing about the campaign and playing the final battle over in his mind. He’d been imagining it like an animated movie, swords and vampires and guts and glory.
Dustin looks down at his own hands, they are solid red.
“Hey, woah.” Max says, and that’s when he realizes he’s swaying on his feet. She’s got two hands on his shoulders. “Dustin!”
”I’m okay.” He says, but he doesn’t sound convinced. He blinks hard a few times before Max’s face stops blurring. “Sorry.”
”I get it.” She says, rubbing his shoulders. “Just don’t faint on me, alright? We’ve got to follow them to the hospital.”
”Right.” He says, clearing his throat, “We’ll just call Nancy and—“
”We don’t have to do that.” Max says, stepping back and pulling out a set of keys.
Steve’s keys, he realizes.
“You stole his keys?” Dustin asks, and it’s so ridiculous that he almost laughs. The concept of Max snatching Steve's keys while he was bleeding out on the floor is too much for even his trauma-riddled brain to make sense of.
Max shrugs, “They fell out of his pocket, and I knew he wasn’t driving anywhere, so.”
She strides toward the BMW, not looking back at him. By the time he makes it over, she’s already moved the driver’s seat as far forward as possible, she’s checking that her feet can reach and they kind of can.
“No box this time?” Dustin asks, and she gives him a tiny smile before she shakes her head.
Max turns the key, the car roars to life.
The only thing Dustin can think about is that if Steve is still alive tomorrow, he’s going to kill them for driving his car.