When Dustin bikes past Steve’s car, left abandoned and empty by the edge of the woods, for some reason the first thing that comes to his mind is a phone call from last summer.
July 5th 1985.
He’d picked up the phone before his mom could get to it, thank God, because Steve hadn’t bothered with any pleasantries, just said in a garbled rush, “Henderson, your house, is it—you’re safe, right?”
“I mean, I’ve not used the toaster yet,” Dustin said, eyeing the bagel he’d set out for breakfast, “but the house is still standing.”
“No but, like—” Steve snatched a breath, almost like he’d been running. “Like, no-one’s… y’know, watching you or anything?”
Then it hit Dustin: remembering Steve, finally somewhat lucid, muttering sheepishly, “Yeah, we might not wanna go to your house… Well, I might’ve told them your full name.”
Dustin took pity on him, answered sincerely. “No, we’re all good, Steve.”
He didn’t even tease about how, if the house was being watched, then Steve phoning him probably wasn’t the smartest move, because the line would’ve been tapped.
Maybe everything at Starcourt had sharpened his senses, because Dustin could now hear that Steve’s voice was slurred around the edges, like he’d just woken up, breathing harshly as if he’d ran to the phone; and he had a sudden image of Steve jolting awake, wincing from the gnarly bruises on his face, Dustin’s safety being his first thought.
Steve breathed out in a whoosh of relief. “Okay… good. Great. I’m, um. Gonna sleep. Yell if you need… I dunno. Something.”
And then he’d hung up before Dustin could work out how to say that he didn’t really mean it, when he complained about Steve not “resisting” whatever nightmare cocktail of drugs he’d had forced into him.
There was a little knot in his stomach for the rest of the day—a quiet mixture of panic and concern. The next time he saw Steve, he acted like he’d never made the phone call, so they never talked about it, and the knot faded away until Dustin almost convinced himself that it wasn’t there anymore.
But now, as he brakes then steers himself round to Steve’s car, the knot has returned—along with a little prickle of goosebumps that he usually only associates with any and all Upside Down shit. This isn’t quite a Code Red, he knows that, but he also knows that it’s…
It’s something.
The knot doubles in size when he peers into the car windows, sees that the keys have been left in the ignition. When he tries the door handle, it’s unlocked.
He bikes to the nearest payphone. He’s memorised Steve’s work schedule, knows that he’s not in today, that Robin has the late afternoon to closing shift.
He listens to his gut and dials Eddie’s number.
At first, Eddie thinks that Dustin’s calling him for a ride because his bike got a flat tire again. But as Dustin explains, he gets quieter and quieter until he’s just making anxious little hmm noises.
“I think I know where he’s gone,” Dustin adds, and Eddie’s sigh is a bit like Steve’s had been that morning he called, like he’s been holding his breath.
“Oh, thank God. You’d know better than anyone, Henderson.”
Dustin hangs up the phone after promising Eddie that he’ll stay by Steve’s car until he arrives.
He thinks about the relief in Eddie’s voice when he said he had a hunch about Steve’s whereabouts, like Dustin is the chosen one for understanding what makes Steve tick. Eddie’s joked about it before; he’d called it “sibling telepathy” when Dustin had silently communicated his popcorn order at the movies, and he’d nudged Steve in the ribs when Steve’s nose wrinkled meaning Gross, dude. Then Steve had huffed a laugh, nudging Dustin back. Okay, okay. I’ll pay for it, you little shit.
But Eddie gets Steve, too, Dustin thinks; that’s why he called him. And yeah, it’s different than the way Dustin understands Steve, but it’s significant enough for Eddie to make the cut of Steve Harrington Interpreters in Dustin’s mind.
Eddie’s van comes into view, and he actually uses his turn signal perfectly as he parks next to Steve’s car, like the panic has made him extra cautious.
“I’ll leave my bike here,” Dustin tells him as Eddie hops out.
Eddie’s lips turn into a thin line when he sees Steve’s keys. He nods.
“Yeah, okay. I’ll—okay.” He takes a breath, looks Dustin up and down. “Uh, I’ve got a coat if you need it, man.”
Dustin rolls his eyes, and Eddie at least smiles through his concern. It’s started to rain, that slow misty kind that clings to the skin, but Dustin reasons that he’ll be fine; he’ll be warm enough once he gets moving.
Eddie eyes the trees nervously. He jerks his head back to the van. “There’s—you need a flashlight? Just in case, um. Just in case?”
Dustin shakes his head. “It’s not that dark,” he says, not unkindly; Eddie kind of has a thing now for always having a flashlight on hand. Dustin can’t remember the last time he’s even come this close to the woods after March—his eyes keep darting down to the ground like he’s going to see vines there instead.
Eddie nods again, sighs. He checks his watch, then says, “Two hours tops, okay? And if it gets too dark and—just come back the way you came, even if you’ve not—” Eddie swallows. “We’ll figure it out.”
Dustin acts like he agrees and leaves his bike with Eddie—but there’s no way he’s gonna turn back, not without Steve.
He heads for the railroad tracks.
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