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loveinhawkins · 11 months

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The RV careens out of the trailer park and hits the open road with what pretty much amounts to ‘all speed, no grace.’ The turn Steve makes is, quite frankly, abysmal; he’s sure that if his driving instructor could see him now, the poor man would be weeping in distress.

Yet his passengers erupt into cheers as they pass the Leaving Hawkins sign, like he’s pulled some kind of James Bond move.

And, for all his insistence on being the absolute antithesis to so-called ‘jock culture’, Eddie rushes over to the driver’s seat, starts squeezing Steve’s shoulder with decidedly jock-like exuberance.

“Holy shit, holy shit, that was so fucking cool, Harrington.”

Oh, he’s definitely broken through the depression stage of the ‘finding out there’s an alternate dimension in Hawkins’ journey—landing firmly in the fuck it, might as well have some fun stage.

Steve could tell they’d reached that point even before the goddamn ‘big boy’ comment, when Eddie had taken one look at the Michael Myers mask, looked Max dead in the eye and said, “This is gonna be. So fuckin’ stupid. Let’s do it.”

Steve goes through a few seconds more of having his shoulder pummelled before saying, “Dude, you’re doing a shitty job at being undercover, stay down.”

“Like, do you have any idea,” Eddie says breathily, as if Steve hasn’t spoken, “just how perfect that was? That was, God, a childhood dream fully—”

“You dreamed of stealing an RV?” Steve says dubiously.

“Not in such crude literal terms, no. C’mon, Harrington, you must’ve had an imagination once—”

“Hey!”

“—didn’t you ever dream of, like, daring escapes, pulling the sword outta the stone, all that shit?”

Steve thinks about it. “I mean,” he says, “when I was a kid, I just kinda… climbed trees and stuff.”

Eddie sighs as if he can’t decide whether Steve’s done something especially annoying or endearing. “Of course you did.”

They reach a stop sign and Eddie finally flops into the passenger seat, facing Steve like he’s sitting side saddle on a horse.

“So,” Steve says, “I take a right after this, yeah?”

“Mm-hmm, well remembered, Mr Getaway Driver.”

Steve scoffs, glances over—finds Eddie framing him with his index finger and thumb, like a director trying to capture the perfect shot.

“James Dean,” Eddie says authoritatively, dropping his hands.

“What?”

“Was tryin’ to figure it out, your whole look, you know? Very Rebel Without a Cause.”

“Okay,” Steve says, “but I have a cause, we all do.”

Eddie just blinks at him, and Steve chuckles.

“You, idiot.”

“Oh.”

Steve has a moment to appreciate the way Eddie’s eyes go all soft and maybe just a little shiny, before he has to set off again. He takes the right turning.

“We should watch it,” Eddie says eventually. “Hell, I’ll take any movie. Just gimme, like, two hours of not having to think.”

“Tell me about it.”

Steve’s sure he’ll never complain about double VHS tapes ever again. Then a thought occurs to him.

“Shit.” He calls to the back. “Rob?”

“Yeah?”

“Y’know when we left Family Video, did we even lock up?”

“Yes,” Robin says followed immediately by, “No?”

Steve snorts. “God, we’re so fired.”

He hears Robin making her way up to the front, then Eddie saying, “Oof, Buckley, that was right in the ribs.”

“Why the sudden concern about our jobs, dingus?”

“I’m not concerned, I just got reminded of—Eddie was mentioning—”

“—Rebel Without a Cause,” Eddie finishes.

“Oh, Steve, I know you’ve seen it, I put it on last week!”

“Uh, maybe I was preoccupied doing, I dunno, my job.”

“It’s the one with—”

“James Dean,” Eddie cuts in.

“Yeah, I gathered, thanks,” Steve says sarcastically, but he can’t help smiling as he does so.

“—and it’s, you know,” Robin goes on, “troubled kid moves to a new town, and—”

“Aw,” Steve says, “you think I’m troubled, Munson?”

“It’s all in the eyes, Harrington. Such depths.”

“Right?” Robin says, and she’s laughing, tongue-in-cheek, “I’ve always said so.”

“You ever considered wearing a leather jacket?”

Steve laughs, too. “Tell ya what, Eddie, why don’t I just wear all your clothes?”

“Well, we know denim suits you.”

“If only you saw his last car-stealing outfit, Eddie.”

Steve sighs. “Robin, shut it.”

“Excuse me,” Eddie says, “d’you have form, Harrington? Grand theft auto form?”

“Literally once. Crazy circumstances.” Rest in peace, Todfather. “It was a Cadillac.”

“A Cadillac.” Eddie sighs dreamily. “Do you have any photos?”

“Uh, no, I was kinda busy.”

“I shall mourn the loss.”

“Take the next left here,” Nancy calls, which Steve is grateful for—the directions had gone completely out of his head.

“Wheeler, come up to the front,” Eddie says, “it’s a party.”

She must do, because her voice sounds much closer when she says, “Shit, I think I forgot to lock up, too.”

“Don’t worry,” Steve says, “no-one’s gonna ransack The Weekly Streak.”

Another stop sign—Steve looks over, smirks at how Eddie has ended up squished between Nancy and Robin, all of them sharing the one seat.

“They better not.” To Eddie, Nancy adds, “I think I gave your uncle the impression that I’m doing a big piece on you. Like, testimonials for an innocent man, stuff like that.”

For a flicker of a second, Eddie looks nauseated at the thought—Steve spots the shift, the decision to make a joke about it.

“Well, Wheeler, you better make me sound good.”

“Oh, I was going more for journalistic integrity.”

“Hey.”

Steve hears a couple of thumps behind him; without even glancing in the mirror, he says, “Sit your asses down, shitheads, don’t make me turn this thing around.”

“Don’t make me turn this thing around!” Lucas parrots.

Max scoffs playfully: “Nineteen going on forty.”

“Eddie was standing before!” Erica points out.

Steve rolls his eyes. “Yeah, well, Eddie’s a law unto himself. Look, just sit down and, like, make a list or something, I’ll stop off for food after we’ve—”

Dustin laughs. “You really are forty.”

“Uh-huh, one more wisecrack and you’re not getting any chocolate pudding.”

Steve’s hamming it up, he knows he is—smiles to himself as he hears a quartet of giggles.

“Can you believe they used to think I was cool?” he says.

“I dunno, Harrington,” Eddie says warmly, “at least one of them doth protest too much.”

Nancy stands in search of a pen, Robin following, insisting to Dustin that, “We’re getting one of those camp stoves, if I don’t eat something hot soon, I’m gonna die.”

“Yeah,” Steve says. Maybe it’s because they’ll soon be arriving at The War Zone; his levity slips just a little when he says, “It’s probably, like, a proximity thing. Henderson’ll have a scientific term for it.”

Eddie chuckles. “What, the Steve Harrington effect?”

Steve shrugs. “You get too close, the shine wears off eventually.”

He doesn’t realise until he’s said it that the joking, perhaps, has stopped somewhere along the way.

“Huh,” Eddie says. “I’m no scientist, but that doesn’t sound like the Steve Harrington effect to me.”

“No?” Steve says.

He can see the parking lot in the distance, and he gestures for Eddie to duck.

“Nope,” Eddie says. Steve can hear him moving, crouching to hide behind the driver’s seat.

He parks and everyone’s abruptly all business, deciding who’s staying in the RV, who’s going into The War Zone.

Steve hates it, has a sudden intense longing to keep talking about movies, to just be stupid.

And maybe Eddie can tell, because just before Steve heads out, he catches his eye, smiles.

“Hey, don’t worry, Harrington,” he says with a tiny, fleeting wink. “You’re still my leading man.”

#Eddie staring at Steve dreamily: you have the range darling #conversations in the RV are becoming another fave #pre steddie #steddie #steddie ficlet #steddie fic #steve and robin #steve and the party #eddie and nancy #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie

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steddiealltheway · 1 year

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Some College AU

It’s about an hour after what Eddie is now naming “The Incident” when he storms into Nancy’s room. He glances down to the left where Nancy's roommate leaves her red converse - announcing she’s in the room. But right now, they're gone and only Nancy's shoes are in the spot. So, Eddie flops down on the plush rug in the center of the room and covers his eyes with his hands.

“Nancy, I fucked up. It was so embarrassing,” Eddie sighs and hears the telltale click of a laptop shutting from above him. She must be in her lofted bed, but it doesn’t matter because he needs to rant. “You know, maybe I should go ahead and drop out and save myself the embarrassment of once again running into the human embodiment of every single wet dream I’ve ever had.”

There’s a slight gasp that Eddie knows is Nancy’s “Eddie we’ve been friends forever, but there are just some things I do not need to know about you” gasp. But it’s not her turn to talk. In fact, she’s the exact reason he’s in this predicament because without her convincing him to apply to the same college and actually go with her, then he would never be here.

Eddie groans and rolls over onto his stomach burying his face in the rug. He points up behind him gesturing vaguely towards where Nancy is sitting and says, “This is all your fault, but thank you for always shampooing your carpet it smells nice.” It comes out more as a muffled mess, so Eddie sighs and turns his head to the side.

“But anyways. I had my damn intro to economics class, and please tell me why we have to take foundation courses later because I think it’s the stupidest thing on this planet except for me at the moment. Because before that class a beautiful, kind man had to clean chocolate milk out of his sweater because of me. And this is exactly why I will never show my face in the dining hall again or anywhere on campus, so I will never run into that perfect man again. End of story.” Eddie finishes his rant, knowing he’s going to say more because he still feels like a stupid idiot. Because yes, spilling a drink on someone is bad, but that’s just clumsiness and nerves and that’s forgivable. But when Adonis himself is target of said drink, and the drink is goddamn chocolate milk… that’s unforgivable.

Eddie groans and rolls onto his back to stare up at Nancy who will likely have her head poked over the side of her bed with that flat look of “are you done yet?” solely expressed through a tight smile. Only, Nancy isn’t peaking over the side of her bed. But out of the corner of his eye, he spots someone else glancing over the edge of Nancy’s roommate’s lofted bed.

Holy shit. It’s hot dining hall man. “Fuck shit fuck damnit,” Eddie eloquently says, scrambling to get up and immediately backing up into Nancy’s desk. “What the fuck?” Eddie heaves out. He’s died, and gone to his own personal Hell, that’s the only explanation for it.

“I’ve never been called beautiful before,” the man says with a big smile, cheeks slightly pink, and holy shit he’s so beautiful. Maybe Eddie has died and gone to his own personal heaven. Then the man is climbing down the ladder and giving Eddie the view of his life before he’s right in his space. “I’m Steve,” he says, holding his hand out.

Eddie automatically takes it and wills any part of his brain to work but it’s all been turned to goo as he shakes his hand. “What are you doing here?” Eddie asks, and he thanks himself for at least somehow reacting although he sounds pretty breathless.

“Robin’s my best friend. I'm just waiting for her to get back, but I think her and Nancy went out to get groceries or something. But it’s nice to formally meet you…” Steve trails off, and Eddie notices he’s still holding his hand with his very clammy one.

“Eddie,” he supplies when he realizes what Steve is prompting. Gosh he has such nice lips... and eyes… and hair… and a really nice nose honestly and… Eddie stops when he realizes he’s blatantly checking the man out once again. “Shit,” Eddie mumbles under his breath and takes his hand back.

“I’ve also never been called the human embodiment of someone’s wet dreams before,” Steve says. Oh shit. He’s really going to bring that up and not move past it. Eddie sighs, and prepares to apologize when he notices… Steve is smiling. An overwhelmingly charming type of smile as if he was flirting.

Eddie opens his mouth and says the first thing that comes to mind, “I spilt my chocolate milk on you.” He cringes. Okay, thinking before speaking is something else he needs to work on this semester. Got it.

“You did,” Steve says with an amused smile. He points to his shirt. “Changed and everything. Plus, the other sweater is fine, and it was too warm to wear today anyways.”

That is an absolute lie because it’s freezing outside. But Eddie doesn’t call him out on it. Instead he says, “Blue is a nice color on you. In the color way, not the… depressed way. Jesus H. Christ.” Eddie pauses, closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath. He opens them and with a wide smile he says, “Hell of a way to make a first impression.”

“I’ve noticed you around before,” Steve admits as if it were no big deal although their campus is fairly large, and Eddie had somehow never seen him before today, so he has no idea how that was possible.

“How have I never noticed you before?” Eddie asks honestly but takes pride in the way it makes Steve’s face flush. “Maybe you can make it up to me - all that lost time when my eyes were not graced by your beauty.” Yeah, he's still got it.

Steve laughs pleasantly and looks away somewhat bashfully, but he quickly recovers and leans into Eddie space. “Just tell me how to make it up to you, and I’ll do it.”

Eddie swallows. Oh, this is dangerous. He is dangerous. And Eddie knows exactly what he’s going to request first-

The door opens, and Eddie and Steve’s heads snap to the side. Nancy walks in and freezes.

“What’s wrong Nance? Why did you-” Robin walks in and also freezes. She takes a second to recover before she cracks a big smile and nudges Nancy. "You owe me ten bucks."

Nancy sighs and sets her grocery bags down then digs through her purse emerging with ten dollars which she hands to Robin. What the hell?

"What's that about?" Steve asks, not taking a step out of Eddie's personal space, but he's really not complaining.

"Robin bet ten bucks that you two would somehow meet and hit it off before we could introduce you guys," Nancy says then turns and smacks Robin on the arm. "You planned this didn't you?"

Robin puts her hands up. "I had no idea Steve or Eddie were coming over. Not my fault that we gave them copies of our keys."

"They're for emergency use only though," Nancy says then turns an accusatory finger at the boys. "What was your emergency?"

Eddie catches a quick glance at Steve. They both know what Eddie's "emergency" was, but Steve looks a bit reluctant to admit his. A quick glance towards Nancy, and Eddie is immediately spilling out the truth, "I ran into a hot guy in the dining hall and spilled chocolate milk all over him and needed to rant."

Nancy looks disappointed but satisfied in the answer, so she turns to Steve expectantly. Steve shoots Eddie a quick glance and runs a hand through his hair. He gives in and admits, "A cute guy spilled chocolate milk on me, and I wanted to talk about it..."

Eddie gapes at Steve. There's no way. There's absolutely no way this gorgeous man was there for that reason. Holy shit. Steve turns to Eddie and softly smiles at him, and Eddie absolutely melts at the sight.

Robin laughs, "Nancy, you owe me twenty bucks." And bless Nancy, she reaches into her purse and hands Robin ten more dollars as Eddie and Steve continue to stare at each other.

Maybe going to college was the best thing Nancy has ever convinced Eddie to do.

I currently have about zero time to be writing stuff, but I missed you all and missed getting to write steddie content, so I'm just glad to get something down.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #eddie and nancy #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #steddie ficlet

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beep-beep-robin · 2 years

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eddie just scratches off his nailpolish instead of taking it off properly because he‘s too impatient. the first time nancy witnesses this she berates him about how bad that is for his nails and takes it off for him while going on and on about how it makes his nails break easier.

steve just watches the exchange, confused look on his face (and trying not to let his eyes linger on eddie’s hands) while robin shamefully looks at her own nails that she occasionally does the same thing to.

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marvins-linguinie · 1 year

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eddie, staring at steve: why won't he look at me the way he does with that girl?

nancy: wait. you have a crush on steve?

eddie: was it not obvious?

nancy: ...OH MY GOD, YOU'RE A GENIUS!

eddie: were you talking to yourself or..?

nancy: if we get steve to date you, then i might actually have a chance with robin. it's a win-win. robin said that she couldn't date me a while ago, because she didn't want to hurt steve. is this selfish? if we do this?

eddie: ...i-i don't kn-

nancy: EXACTLY! so, how would we get steve interested?

eddie: um..

nancy: THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT I WAS THINKING! you invite him to a movie, with all four of us, but then robin and i cancel.

eddie: wheeler, are you good-

nancy: we'll get married in fall.

eddie: WHO'S GETTING MARRIED?

nancy: do you want to be my maid of honor? it could be a man of honor, right?

eddie, tearfully: wHAT'S HAPPENING?!

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spectrum-spectre · 7 months

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thinking about unknowingly-related Eddie & Nancy

tw: unplanned pregnancy, abortion mention, emotional abuse/manipulation of a teenage girl

Karen Wheeler (born Karen Childress) had a sister two years older than her, Lisa Ann Childress. When Lisa was 17, she started hanging out with that no-good Munson boy--Albert or something. Karen couldn't be bothered to actually remember his name. She thought his presence was just due to her sister having a little rebellious phase, and that he would disappear once Lisa got her head back on straight. Unfortunately, condoms break sometimes.

Their father gave Lisa an ultimatum: get an abortion and never talk to that trailer park trash again, and she gets to stay in their nice house with her family and meet a (carefully selected) good little Christian boy to settle down with someday. OR, she can slum it up with those heathens, and be disowned.

Lisa chose option number two, and one Shotgun Wedding later, Karen became an only child. Nancy grew up believing that she didn't have any aunts, uncles, or cousins. Imagine her surprise when she flips through her dad's old Hawkins High yearbooks and thinks she spots her mother, only to realize it's a different woman with the same maiden name.

She has a few questions for mommy dearest.

#eddie munson #nancy wheeler #karen wheeler #allen munson #eddie munson headcanons #nancy wheeler headcanon #eddie and nancy #familial edancy #eddie and nancy are cousins #my writing

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ryan-waddell11 · 8 months

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to me they’re twins idc

#eddie munson #joseph quinn #stranger things #stranger things vol 1 #stranger things 4 #eddie munson stranger things #the hellfire club #joe quinn #eddie deserves better #netflix #stranger things vol 2 #natalia dyer #nancy wheeler #eddie and nancy #eddie x nancy #corroded coffin #Eddie in s5 #Eddie as kas

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nburkhardt · 1 year

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I…I’m gonna say it.

I love the fruity four, like they’re the best. BUT, BUT. I don’t think Eddie & Nancy would be like how Steve & Robin are. Steve and Robin have a bond like no other, they are essentially twins and so codependent it’s sometimes unhealthy.

Eddie and Nancy just aren’t like that. They are good friends, maybe considered best friends. But they are not soulmates.

#I will not be discussing why #it’s just fact to me #fruity four #steddie #platonic stobin #Eddie and Nancy #kinda Ronance

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sky-neverending · 7 months

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Eddie and Nancy friendship >>>>

Them bonding and Nancy teasing Eddie about his crush on Steve. Them hanging out casually after DnD at Mikes, even when the other older teens aren’t there.

People should write them more. Just sayin.

#sky’s stardust #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #nancy wheeler #eddie and nancy #them #their friendship means the world to me

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the-jelliestbelly · 2 years

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Nancy: I sleep with a gun under my pillow.

Robin: I sleep with a knife.

Eddie: Both of you are pathetic.

Nancy: Oh yeah? What do you sleep with?

Eddie: Steve.

#steddie #ronance #the fruity four #steve and robin #steve x eddie #eddie my beloved #Eddie and nancy #steve harrington #eddie munson #fruity four #i love these characters

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andforthecoating · 1 year

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Eddie sees Nancy playing with Robin’s hair and whines for Steve to do the same for him, to which Steve playfully says no.

The next time they all hang out Nancy sits next to Eddie and starts carding her fingers through his hair. When Steve tries to take over, she gives him a look (TM).

After that, it becomes Eddie’s and Nancy’s thing. Whenever they hang out, one of them will have their hands in the other’s hair.

Robin doesn’t mind: she thinks the ensuing pout Steve always puts on is hilarious.

#*screaming*: platonic eddie and nancy !!!!!#nancy wheeler #steddie #ronance #steddie headcanon #eddie munson #eddie and nancy #fruity four

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mongoose-croft-main · 1 year

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Eddie and Steve share a best friend (Robin)

Steve and Robin share a brain cell

Nancy and Eddie also share a brain cell but it's a loaner (since Nancy has so many to spare)

Nancy and Robin share a bed and a meaningful connection

Steve and Eddie share longing glances and a series of 'do you think he was about to kiss me?' moments that their constantly filling their emotional support lesbians in on

Nancy and Robin share an exhausted sigh

#robin maintains custody of the brain cell most days for 'safe keeping'#steddie #eddie munson x steve harrington #robin and steve #steve x eddie #the fruity four #eddie and robin #eddie and steve #robin buckley x nancy wheeler #ronance #eddie and nancy

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loveinhawkins · 9 months

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Part 1 ao3

When Robin and Eddie return to the trailer, Steve is still unconscious.

“Fuck, should we be worried that—how long can someone…?”

Eddie trails off, goes to check his watch reflexively before remembering that it’s stopped.

Robin shakes her head.

“This kinda thing happened, um. Before. I didn’t see much, but I… I don’t think… Billy Hargrove was completely—well. Steve had to, like, crash a car into him, and I, uh, sorta blacked out? For a bit of it? But he just walked it off, I think. Eventually. Billy, I mean. Like his body wasn’t fully… Like he didn’t really feel it.”

Eddie stares at her, reeling. A dozen thoughts scramble to be heard, many not helpful in the slightest—namely that Billy Hargrove stalked the basketball court like there was something seething within him every goddamn school day, so he can’t even imagine what that combined with the uncanny strength of The Mind Flayer would bring.

And the real major concern is—

“But Hargrove died.”

Robin looks up from where she’s been checking Steve’s head. Her fingertips are flecked with blood.

“He didn’t die from—he wasn’t killed by. By a person,” she says jerkily. “So we… we should be fine to…” She eyes the cistern lid, but her face drains of colour again.

Eddie exhales. “One problem at a time.”

He grabs Steve underneath the armpits, Robin holding his legs up.

They take him to the bedroom. Set him down, back leaning against the cabinet.

Eddie finds the handcuffs and gingerly attaches one end to a drawer handle, the other around Steve’s wrist.

Steve doesn’t even stir at the touch. His head lolls down unnaturally.

“They better not be the shitty plastic kind,” Robin says. “I’m not having him escape cause all you had was a Baby’s First Magic Set.”

Eddie’s startled into a weak chuckle.

“Excuse you, Buckley, these are the bona fide, genuine article.”

It had become a joke in the first place, actually keeping them. A year ago, maybe two. A girl from Loch Nora with a college boyfriend had either naively or intentionally thrown an open invite party—Eddie had only gone out of curiosity, wanting to see just how impressive the living space was.

He’d barely lasted an hour there, because a shithead of a ‘concerned’ neighbour called the cops on young people ‘loitering sinisterly’—as if their precious hydrangeas were in danger of being uprooted and sold.

Eddie got grouped in with a select lucky few accused of stealing. He hadn’t been, but he figured he might as well try and get something out of it. It was either Callahan’s wallet or his cuffs; Eddie picked the wrong pocket.

Now he thinks he actually lucked out, in a grim kind of way.

They take stock of everything they’ve got: lighter fluid; a couple space heaters discovered in the RV, another one found next to Wayne’s folding bed. A few bottles of alcohol along with cloths and spears. One walkie. Lighters.

Rope.

Nancy had left with Dustin in the RV. The plan had been for her to drop him off at the Creel House before returning to the Gate at the trailer.

But Eddie caught the steely glint in her eye as she readied herself in the driver’s seat.

Dustin sat by the table. He pinched his bottom lip between his fingers and tugged, harsh enough to draw blood. His hand was shaking.

Eddie couldn’t look at him.

He turned to Nancy.

“You’re not coming back,” he said in an undertone.

It was only once he’d spoken that he realised it didn’t come out as a question.

Nancy grabbed him by the wrist, pulled him close to whisper in his ear.

“Going to another Gate. Where Fred…”

Eddie understood: it was a last-minute change that she alone was in control of. One that Steve didn’t know.

And if Steve didn’t know, then…

The engine rumbled into life.

Eddie got out—had one last look, hand on the door. There were tanks of gasoline wedged behind Nancy’s seat.

Dread chilled him. He wanted to tell her that she shouldn’t be alone. That when she burned it all down, she needed someone to pull her back lest she get caught in the flames, too.

He didn’t say any of that.

Because Nancy just looked at him with something close to sympathy, as if she could tell everything he was thinking; it was already clear that whatever he said, it wouldn’t make a difference.

It didn’t stop him from trying.

“Nancy. Be careful.”

She nodded. “You too.”

Eddie shut the door behind him.

He was halfway back to the porch when he realised that the RV hadn’t pulled away. He heard the door opening again, began to turn, and was almost bowled over by the force of Dustin’s hug.

“Hey,” he said softly, once he’d caught his breath.

He ruffled Dustin’s hair and then stopped near the end of the motion, kept his hand there. Just held him.

He didn’t say it was okay, because it wasn’t.

Dustin sniffed. He pulled back and finally looked Eddie right in the eye.

“We’ll get him back,” Dustin said.

His voice wavered in the middle. But his determination was much stronger than the falter had been.

Eddie put his hands on Dustin’s shoulders. Nodded.

It was obvious that when it came to Steve Harrington, Dustin would go to the ends of the earth for him. And here he was, doing the hardest thing in the world: leaving Steve behind.

Compared to everyone else, Eddie thought, his job was simple, really. All he had to do was prove Dustin’s trust in him.

Steve’s face twitches when Robin shuts the window.

Eddie watches closely, holding his breath.

One eye opens, barely a slit. Moves sluggishly before finding Eddie.

“Hi,” Steve says.

He sounds… normal.

“Hi,” Eddie echoes cautiously. “Are you—um. Are you…?”

He trails off, feeling immensely stupid. What was he even gonna ask? Are you okay? Like he honestly was expecting Steve to say, Oh, could be better, but the malevolent entity inside me is a fucking bummer, man.

“How’re you feeling?” he settles on, because Steve still hasn’t moved, at least seems in control, and Eddie’ll take any semblance of normality he can get.

“M’okay,” Steve says, after a pause.

He lifts his head up slightly, notices the handcuffs. Gives a faint nod of approval. With his free hand, he gestures vaguely to the back of his skull.

“Feels… distant. I dunno.”

“Good, uh, that’s good,” Eddie says conversationally, like that will take away the reality of what he’s currently doing: tying Steve’s legs together with rope.

Both of Steve’s eyes open, his gaze turns sharper, calculating, and Eddie tenses—

“Eddie,” Steve drawls. He sounds supremely unimpressed. He shifts his legs and the knot Eddie made goes slack. “Tighter, dude.” “Oh, I’m sorry, not of all of us got our Scout’s badge.”

“Here,” Robin says. She nudges Eddie out of the way and binds Steve’s legs; the knots don’t budge. She gives a half smile. “At least Starcourt was educational.”

Steve laughs through his nose, but he grimaces a bit, like something Robin’s said is distasteful.

She puts a hand on his knee, peers at him. “Still here,” she says.

It isn’t a question, but Steve answers anyway. “Still here.”

Robin ties his free hand to another drawer handle.

Eddie catches a glimpse while he’s turning on the heaters, and his stomach twists—unbidden, thinks of Christ on the cross.

Steve nods at the heaters. “Put ‘em closer.”

Eddie does. He keeps waiting for a change, ready to leap back, but it doesn’t come. The only difference is that the pulse point in Steve’s neck starts to jump rapidly when the heaters are tilted towards him, but even that’s nothing like before, nothing like the frenzy in the bathroom.

Eddie puts his palm in front of one of the grilles. It’s only just been turned on, sure, but he can’t help thinking that it’s not nearly strong enough.

He stands in front of Steve, Robin by his side.

No-one moves.

Then Robin speaks out the side of her mouth. “Should you still…?”

Her fingers curl, palm up, and Eddie realises that she’s mimicking fret positions.

“Yeah,” Steve says before Eddie can answer, and Robin jumps. “Should still work.” His cuffed hand twitches. “S’in… Vecna. Me. Not enough… can’t control bats, too. Not—not all of ‘em at once.”

His throat clicks as he swallows, like the words are getting stuck.

“Should follow. Like… like, um.” His eyes widen for a split second, as if in panic, before he swallows again and says, a little clearer, “Pied Piper.”

Eddie glances between Steve and Robin. “Okay,” he says eventually. He steps back while Robin remains where she is. “I’ll—”

“No,” Steve says, and this time the panic remains; he shakes his head urgently. “Not alone. Don’t—not alone with—with me.”

“Steve,” Robin says.

“No,” Steve repeats, and there’s a fierceness to the word—Eddie feels it thrum in his chest, and he somehow knows that it’s not from any unnatural force, that the power is being drawn from Steve alone.

“Buckley,” Eddie says reluctantly.

She squares her shoulders. Takes a step back, eyes never leaving Steve.

Something in Steve unwinds, relaxes. His head droops, almost like he’s falling asleep. A stark vein in his neck pulses.

“Good,” he murmurs. “Good.”

Robin pauses at the door. Her eyes dart to the heaters, then Eddie.

“Are they…?”

“Highest they’ll go,” Eddie says.

Robin bites her lip.

Eddie knows what she’s thinking: that Nancy said unbearable, and right now barely one corner of the room is being warmed.

“It just takes time to, uh, kick in,” Eddie says.

It doesn’t sound convincing—sounds like he’s free-falling, desperately searching for something to hang onto.

But Robin accepts it, Eddie thinks, because what choice does she have? What choice do any of them have?

“Eddie,” Steve says, just as Robin’s stepped out of the room.

“Yeah?”

Steve wets his lips. Swallows again. It looks painful.

“It’s gonna… make him mad.”

Fear seeps down Eddie’s spine.

“We’ll come back,” he says, because right now, it’s the only promise he can make. “We’re not leaving you alone.”

“S’okay,” Steve says. He’s starting to slur his words. “Better this way.”

They tumble through the Gate as quickly as they can, then immediately set up the trailer defences.

“We’re lucky this is here,” Eddie says when they’re done, as he picks his electric guitar off the wall, untouched by vines.

“Yeah,” Robin says. “Lucky…”

She abruptly gasps and runs from the room.

Eddie curses, follows her—flinging the guitar across his back.

But there’s nothing in the living room, no bats to fight—just Robin pulling something out from behind Wayne’s bed, laughing with a touch of hysteria.

“Jesus,” Eddie breathes, “you’re gonna give me a heart attack.”

Then he actually processes what he’s looking at. Robin’s brought out a space heater, a bulky kerosene-fuelled one, much larger than what they’d originally rustled up.

“But that—that broke last winter,” Eddie says, bewildered.

Robin doesn’t say anything, just turns it on. The effect is almost immediate compared to what they’ve been working with: the heater glows red-hot, and Eddie already feels the urge to take off his jacket.

“Eddie,” Robin says slowly. “It’s 1983.”

“Holy shit,” Eddie says. He grabs her by the shoulders. “You’re a fucking genius.”

Robin turns the heater off, drags it to a point just underneath the Gate.

There’s a couple more treasures they manage to stash away: a match box found on the counter, thrown into a deep cooking pot Robin snatches from a cupboard.

“Oh, you mean business,” Eddie says. “That’s the good pot.”

Robin grins, and it makes Eddie’s heart ache—he knows what they’re doing, forcing smiles to hide their shaking hands.

“And what goddamn atrocity befalls it in the future?”

“That’s between me and God.”

They’re up on the roof, Robin crouched by the amp, when Eddie hears the Walkie crackle.

“Max is—bait’s still been taken,” comes Erica’s staticky voice.

“Uh, copy that,” Eddie says. “Sinclair. Henderson with you?”

A click.

“I’m here,” Dustin says quietly.

Eddie breathes out. “Good. Stick together.”

He sets the walkie down and yanks off his guitar pick. He thinks of Chrissy, her body contorting. Of Patrick, dragged from the water.

Steve’s hands clenched around the sink.

“Showtime, Buckley.”

The noise is explosive. It barely takes a few seconds for the bats to start coming; Eddie watches the horizon as his fingers fly over the strings.

Underneath everything, he can hear Robin counting out bars like she’s in band: One, two, three, four. Two, two, three, four.

Prestissimo.

“Eddie, two more bars!”

He nods in acknowledgement. Feels his heart pound as if in time with the music.

“Now!”

They run. The bats circle dumbly round the roof, some clustered onto the still ringing amp, like moths drawn to light.

Pied Piper.

“Go, go, go!” Eddie urges.

It’s tricky getting the heater through, but they manage it between them, an awkward handover across the Gate.

And then Eddie’s falling, landing next to Robin, breathless. They sit up as one, give each other a speechless high five.

Robin moves first. But she stops midway to Eddie’s room—like a reversal of when he was first brought to a standstill, seeing Chrissy’s eyelids fluttering erratically.

“Eddie,” Robin says. “You—you closed the door, right?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, mouth dry.

He knows that for certain because as he shut the door, his last glimpse was of Steve leaning the back of his head against the cabinet drawers, eyes closed.

Now the door’s ajar.

Eddie strains to listen, but he can’t hear anything.

He feels Robin’s hand dart into his. He squeezes tight before letting go. She picks up the heater. He’s got the cooking pot under his arm.

Together, they open the door.

The space heaters they’d left are broken, cracked down the middle. The handcuffs are dangling from the drawer handle, pried open, the ropes frayed apart—and the whole room is littered with…

Shards of wood. Snapped strings.

Eddie’s guitars. They’re shattered beyond repair, the red of the Warlock mixed with the dark wood of the acoustic.

And there, backed into the far corner, is Steve.

He’s cradling his wrist to his chest—it looks badly broken. Even from here, Eddie can see evidence of splinters embedded in both hands.

But above all, what’s drawing Eddie’s attention is that his shirt is off, revealing the state of his stomach, the bandages shoddily ripped away. The wound is oozing slow, thick trickles of black and red.

Steve doesn’t seem aware that anyone’s entered the room, just mutters indecipherably to himself, hair hanging down in front of his eyes.

Eddie manages to set the pot down silently—takes one hesitant step forward, cringes when he jostles a piece of wood.

Steve’s head jerks up at the sound. He stares at Eddie, a crease in his forehead.

“Who’re you?”

Robin lets out a breath like she’s been punched in the stomach.

“It’s…” Eddie clears his throat. Stays as still as he can. “It’s me, man. It’s Eddie.”

Steve doesn’t reply.

More wood scatters across the floor—Robin stepping forward frantically, “Steve, it’s me, it’s—”

Eddie stops her with a touch to the back of her hand.

“Steve,” he says, digs deep to find a calm tone. “Who’s this?”

Steve’s jaw works.

“R… R…”

Robin’s face shatters.

She sets the heater down. Turns it on full blast.

“Robin!” Steve gasps. “Robin, it’s me, I’m still—Robin, Robin, please—”

Robin takes another step—“Careful,” Eddie whispers, heart in his throat—and forcibly shoves the heater across the room.

Steve tries to dodge it, but he’s not quick enough; the grille slams against his arm, and Eddie inhales sharply as the skin blisters an angry, weeping red.

Steve’s cries are piercing.

But they reach a peak than taper off into whimpers; he presses himself against the wall, curls his upper body around his blistered arm.

He starts to sob.

They have to get closer to hear, stepping into the circle of heat radiating from the grille, Eddie just behind Robin; sweat pools in the small of his back.

“No, no…”

It’s a dreadful whisper.

They crouch down. Slow.

It doesn’t look like Steve notices: his eyes are shut tight, lashes damp as he continues to plead, “Don’t make me. Please don’t make me.”

Eddie can’t blame Robin for what she does next.

It’s instinct—he’d seen it in his peripheral vision at the boathouse, her hand reaching out to comfort, like she couldn’t stop herself.

No, he can’t blame her. Because Steve is hurting, sobbing like his heart is going to break from it, and he’s right there.

Robin’s hand moves forward.

Eddie sees the moment Steve’s eyes open, cold and inhuman, and Christ, for a millisecond too long, he’d forgotten that they had stepped into the ring with a cobra.

“Robin,” Eddie warns, too late, as Steve’s hand seizes her wrist.

“Don’t worry,” he says, and it’s almost perfect, almost Steve’s gentle concern, but there’s something off in the inflection, a misplaced note—“I’m not killing you first.”

He twists Robin’s hand.

She doesn’t scream, doesn’t even try to move, like she’s holding her breath just to stay silent.

“I can…” Steve breathes in and out through his nose. Predatory. “I can feel her.”

“Who?” Robin says.

A vague noise rumbles from Steve’s chest, like he’s searching for a name again.

“N… Nancy,” he says eventually. “She’s dying,” he says, off-hand. “She can’t breathe.”

Eddie reaches behind. Feels carpet beneath his palm. Steve doesn’t track the movement, eyes fixed on Robin.

“She will be like… like her friend. She will know how it feels to die alone.”

Steve grunts, and then…

Eddie has to bite down on his tongue to stop himself from making a sound; the skin around Steve’s stomach wound ripples, like there’s something bubbling up underneath, moving, alive, crawling up, up, up—mottled veins spreading, black as tar.

Eddie swallows back bile as his hand finds something solid. Wood.

He feels for the lighter in his pocket.

Steve leans towards Robin, baring his teeth.

“I will—”

Click.

“—consume her.”

The jagged piece of guitar burns in Eddie’s hand.

He throws it.

Sparks fly, land directly in Steve’s eyes, and he yells, lets go of Robin—with such an impact that she’s thrown across the room, landing slumped against the cabinet.

“Robin!”

But Eddie doesn’t have any time to help her, because there’s another click, a crackle, and the walkie comes to life, and it must be on accident because all he can hear is the sound of someone—Dustin and Erica—breathing quickly. Running.

Steve’s eyes narrow.

Eddie thinks of Dustin saying, “He knows where we are, he’ll know—”

“Shit,” Eddie hisses.

He tries, desperately, to turn the walkie off, but it suddenly feels like all the air leaves his lungs, and he’s pinned against the wall, Steve’s hand on his chest.

The walkie’s wedged between them. Steve’s somehow using his broken wrist to still Eddie’s hand, to keep the walkie turned on.

Eddie has no choice but to listen to what comes through the static.

It’s chaos. Heavy, frantic breathing; it’s like he can feel the kids clutching their sides as they run. In the distance, a car, the engine stopping. A door opens.

Jason Carver’s voice. “Did you see them?”

Behind Steve, Eddie spots Robin stirring.

Steve keeps staring down at the walkie.

An abrupt cry of pain, and another voice curses, says, “Shit, Jason, I think it’s broken.”

“El?” Dustin breathes.

Something in Steve’s face flickers, but Eddie’s too terrified to know what it means—tries and fails to turn the walkie off again, but he doesn’t even know what’s the right thing to do anymore. He just wants them to be okay, he just wants—

“Jason, no-one’s fucking there. You—you can’t even stand, I’m taking you to the hosp—”

A car door slamming shut. An engine starting up, fading…

Gone.

Dustin and Erica exhale shakily. Running again, footsteps pounding up the stairs, across floorboards…

The walkie cuts off.

Steve grits his teeth.

“Please,” Eddie whispers.

Robin’s up, moving so quietly—scooping the remnants of his guitars into the pot.

Another crackle.

“Eddie!” Dustin’s voice again, up close. “Max is—the music’s not working! I—I don’t know what to—”

There it is again: that flicker across Steve’s face. A ripple in a lake.

“Max,” he says.

The name cracks with emotion, and although his voice has been used before, an uncanny imitation, Eddie knows this is different, feels it in his gut; it’s him, it’s him, it’s him.

The snick of a match being struck.

Steve’s head tilts ever so slightly, but he doesn’t turn around. Like he already knows Robin is right behind him.

Instead—

Steve pries the walkie out of Eddie’s hand. Presses down on the button. Inhales.

“Run.”

The walkie drops with a clatter. Behind them, the fierce roar of flames; Eddie’s face stings.

He can feel Steve’s grip on him loosening, feels himself sliding down the wall.

Steve’s eyes bore into his—and although dark veins have spread across the whites, like spider webs, Eddie can still see the slightest gleam of something real in them.

Something human.

Steve’s lips move, cracked and bleeding.

Now, he mouths.

“Robin!” Eddie yells.

Steve lets him go, and Eddie sees a flash of Robin throwing the entire contents of the pot over Steve, raining fire upon him; Eddie covers his face from the scorching heat, scrambling to get away, relying on touch alone, and his hand hits something, the crunch of plastic, fuck, the walkie—

He’s by the doorway, gasping for breath.

Awareness comes in stages: the fire’s gone out, charred remains of the guitars on the ground where Steve once stood; Robin’s there, her hands red raw, and she’s looking at something, what’s she…?

Steve.

Steve dragging himself across the floor, his broken wrist pressed against his stomach. Crawling to sit next to the space heater, head tipped back against the wall, eyes closed. Breathing.

Just breathing.

Then, so faintly, Eddie almost thinks he’s imagined it.

“Railroad… Snow Ball… Muppet.”

Steve thumps the back of his head against the wall with each word.

Robin goes to him.

Eddie can only watch. He feels like he’s staring at a puzzle with too many missing pieces.

Despite everything, Robin reaches out with her hand again. She touches Steve’s knee gently, and Steve falls silent, stops hitting his head.

Robin smiles, tearful.

“You’ve—you’ve changed that song for me forever,” she says, choked up, and although Eddie can’t really understand, he senses the heart in it, the echoes of their story, of their love hitting him square in the chest.

“Do you remember,” Robin goes on, laughing through it, “the first time we were closing, and you—you got that whole bag of chocolate chips? Tore the corner and just, like, scarfed it. You looked like a chipmunk. It was—it was so gross. And you just said let’s see you do better, then. So we just kept eating them, and we had to pretend we had, like, a whole week where every order had chocolate chips just so we could get another shipment. You… you made me feel like I was five years old. That’s—that’s when I knew.” Robin takes a shuddering breath. Keeps smiling. “Right there. I wanted to be your friend.”

Steve just looks at her. He blinks, and a tear falls down his face, and Eddie can see it, like the sun briefly appearing through storm clouds, can see more of him breaking through, and for a moment, just a moment, there could be a chance, please, please…

Steve’s stomach spasms, and he groans, inhales short and sharp, twists away from Robin’s touch; the litany starts again, fever-slurred.

Eddie rediscovers the walkie. There’s cracks all through the plastic—it might not even work.

But Steve keens, pressing, pressing as blood flows through his fingers, as he trips up on the words, almost insensible now, and Eddie knows he has to take the risk.

His thumb pushes the button.

“Dustin,” he murmurs, “don’t tell me where you are. But if you’re—if you’re safe. Christ, please say you’re… Steve, he—he needs you.”

Silence.

Eddie closes his eyes.

“—safe. We’re all safe. I copy.”

Eddie thinks he laughs or something close to it. Maybe something else, too. He presses his forehead against the walkie. A benediction answered.

“Eddie?” Dustin says, and his speech keeps crackling, keeps threatening to cut out, but he’s there, he’s there.

Steve blinks, turns towards the sound of Dustin’s voice.

But Eddie’s not afraid this time.

“Railroad,” Steve repeats. Soft yet intentional, like he means it with everything he has left. “Railroad.”

Eddie passes the word on to Dustin. Waits.

Dustin takes a little while to figure it out—or maybe he solves it almost instantly, but here, time moves slow: just Robin and Eddie holding their breath, Steve only mouthing the words now. Barely there.

Dustin must push his button down mid-gasp, the words rushing out.

“That’s how we—that’s when everything—”

What follows is a garbled speech Eddie can barely make sense of, as static obscures every third word or so: about the junkyard and demodogs, and tunnels, and…

“D-different details, Henderson,” Eddie says with a choked laugh.

Fondness wells up; for a second it had felt like he was listening to Dustin in the middle of a campaign, on a tangent, and Eddie knows he just has to nudge him down the right path and then he’ll work it out, because the kid’s a goddamn genius.

“Stuff he can feel,” Eddie tries.

Steve looks at him, unblinking, and God he’s still in there, Eddie thinks, there’s so many thoughts, so much of him trapped beneath the surface.

So Dustin talks about Queen playing in Steve’s car, of how the fall leaves looked as they walked, of his shoelaces coming loose, and Steve getting down on his knees in exaggerated exasperation, you’re gonna fall flat on your face, dickhead, we’ve got enough going on.

Eddie takes the thread he’s been given, adds embellishments where he can—the crunch of leaves underfoot, the steady clunk of walking on the tracks, Dustin sometimes hurrying a little, just to match Steve’s stride—and as Steve finally blinks slowly, Eddie prays.

Can you feel it? Please go there. Go somewhere safe. Go somewhere it can’t find you. “What—what else did he say?” Robin says, when Steve lips stops moving, and his eyes close; he looks so tired. “Snow Ball?”

“Yeah, that’s—” Eddie pushes the walkie button again, so Dustin can hear. “Didn’t the Middle School have something… Did you do anything for it? Like put up decorations or…?”

Robin shakes her head.

Eddie furiously racks his brains for one detail, anything—curses himself for not paying attention, for shirking the ‘volunteering’ he was forced to do that December in lieu of detention; for viewing it all with a petty indifference, when for others, it must’ve meant so—

He releases the button.

“Did you say Snow Ball?” Dustin asks, before he launches into Steve shielding his eyes from hairspray, of the forest green gift bag his mom had passed into Steve’s hands, of Steve’s surprise, his shy smile—and then it’s Erica who takes over, calling over somewhere, “Lucas, remember when we came to pick you up?”

And the Sinclairs had stayed much longer than expected because Max’s folks were late in collecting her; and when Steve came to pick up Dustin, he’d noticed and stayed, too.

“He didn’t make a big thing of it,” Max says quietly, somewhere distant; Lucas adds that Steve opened up all his car doors so the tape he was playing could be heard: The Carpenters, some Christmas medley.

“He danced with Max,” Lucas says. “We were betting on how many times he could spin her in a row.”

“Ugh, shut up.”

Eddie can hear Max’s eye roll. Her smile.

“And,” Erica says, “he actually enjoyed dad’s small talk. Like, he was fully hooked on mom and Uncle Jack’s gift wrapping contest.”

Eddie smiles, covers his mouth just in case a traitorous noise slips out. The kids sound happy, and he doesn’t want to ruin that for the world.

Steve’s eyes shine, almost like he’s thinking the same thing.

Sorry, he mouths. I’m sorry.

The walkie dies.

Steve groans again, pushing down on his stomach wound. He’s trying to hide it from view, Eddie realises.

Robin keeps reaching for him. “Steve, don’t—let me help. Please.”

Steve shakes his head. “Can’t—can’t hold it back.” His voice is rasping.

“I saw you,” Eddie says, and Robin glances at him. “Last year. At school.”

The memory comes to him all at once, sparked by the kids and the thought of Steve chatting in a parking lot, so at ease.

“I was pissed ‘cause I’d just flunked—doesn’t matter. Was walking it off outside, and you turned into the parking lot, windows down, and you looked so fucking pleased with yourself cause you’d already passed everything. You must’ve had a free period, maybe a double, I dunno. I was,” Eddie huffs self-deprecatingly, “jealous.”

Steve’s head slumps against the wall. His chest rises and falls rapidly, laden with sweat. Eddie tries not to look at the marks—where the burning pieces of wood struck his skin.

Steve’s eyes find his. One long blink.

Keep going.

“You—you were wearing these sunglasses,” Eddie says, and Robin sobs, laughs, like she knows exactly the pair he means. “And you—the radio was on, but I—I can’t remember what was—anyway, you were kinda. Singing. Or, like, humming to yourself. And you were walking to the middle school, you kept throwing your keys in the air. You caught ‘em every damn time.” Eddie chuckles. “Do you know how annoying that was? And I—I just kept watching, ‘till the bell rang, and I just didn’t get it. Didn’t get why you looked so… so happy. But I—” Eddie swallows. “I know now.”

Steve’s mouth tilts, not quite a smile—he’s trying, he’s trying.

“You were gonna go see the kids, huh?” Eddie says. “Surprise them or something, I don’t know. You can tell me later. Promise me? And you—” His voice threatens to go, but he pushes through it, because if there’s one thing Steve needs to hear, it’s this.

Just this.

“You were happy. Because you loved them,” Eddie whispers. “And they loved you.”

Steve breathes in.

And he rises up so suddenly that Robin falls back in alarm. He hits the space heater as he goes, and while it still blisters his skin, he doesn’t cringe away, more deliberately leans into it—

“Quick,” Steve mutters. “He’s mad, he’s mad, we don’t have much—”

And he lies down directly on the bed frame, his stomach still oozing that viscous black and red; Eddie’s stomach drops.

He feels strange, like his body already knows what’s coming before his mind’s caught up.

“Quick, quick—”

The smash of a bottle as Steve fumbles it, spilling alcohol on the floor—he tries again, reaches for lighter fluid and douses the whole bed frame in it.

“Robin,” he says, “Robin, please.”

She’s watching Steve’s every move with wide eyes; Eddie just looks on helplessly.

Fucking move.

“Robin!”

“Steve, I—” She shakes her head, uncomprehending—more like she doesn’t want to understand. “I don’t—”

Steve doubles over, picks something off the floor. Eddie’s distracted—stupid, stupid—watching in horror as more black veins spread up, across Steve’s shoulders, the strained muscles in his neck, and too late, he realises that Steve’s holding a lighter in his hand.

Click.

Steve drops it.

Sets the wooden slats ablaze.

He cries out, back arching—the flames lick higher, higher, and Robin’s screaming Steve’s name, running to him, like she can pull him from the flames…

There’s something else in Steve’s hand.

Robin’s trapped where she’s stood, a broken piece of glass to her neck—and Steve’s struggling against it, but his hand doesn’t move, as beads of blood dot Robin’s skin—

Eddie doesn’t know when it happened. Just knows that he’s holding a spear, and it’s on fire too, flames creeping up…

“Eddie!” Steve says. “Finish it!”

His skin writhes, contorting; Eddie thinks of Chrissy again, of Patrick—and a faint memory of Will Byers, vanishing without a trace.

It was you, Eddie thinks numbly. It was all you.

The glass presses closer still against Robin’s neck. She gasps—

And Steve begs.

“Kill me!”

The stomach wound heaves like a living creature, gaping and monstrous.

“Give him back, you son of a bitch,” Eddie breathes.

He lunges forward.

With all his strength, he digs the spear straight into Steve’s stomach; the flames surge, engulf—

Steve screams.

A black mass pours out of his mouth, and Eddie thinks he’s screaming, too, but he can’t hear anything, can’t hear anything but Steve, the torture in his voice, fuck, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, and the mass hits him; he flies through the air, feels his head smack against something solid.

Then nothing.

He comes to in the living room. Blood dampens the back of his head.

Sits up. Blinks dazedly at the ceiling. The Gate… the Gate’s gone.

Bedroom. Has to… Steve, Robin. Bedroom.

He shoves himself up, wobbles. Forces himself on.

He knows he’s lost time when he nears the room: a chill hits him from the broken window, and the flames have been put out.

Robin. Robin kneeling by the bed, burns all up her arms.

“—open your eyes,” she’s saying. “Oh my God, oh my God.”

Eddie very deliberately doesn’t fully register who she’s talking to. If he does, he’ll freeze, useless. He will never forgive himself.

“Band lungs, Buckley,” he croaks, and then he falls beside her.

Starts compressions.

You’re not going, you’re not going. You’ve got so many people to see again. No. You’re not going.

He tries just to count out loud, but even as he’s doing it, something crumbles, something breaks apart irreparably inside of him, “Don’t you dare leave, don’t you…”

Robin. Two breaths.

“I wanna talk to you, Steve Harrington, and you’re gonna fucking be there to listen, do you understand, do you…”

He loses track of what he’s saying completely, lost to wilder and wilder promises, but it doesn’t matter, nothing matters except this, except the desperate push of his hands, the crack of Steve’s ribs, Robin’s long breaths; and God, Eddie would give anything, anything at all, would tear his fucking heart out if it would help, if it meant that Steve would—

“—just breathe!”

Something jolts underneath his fingers; for a moment, it destroys him: it’s back, it’s—

“That’s it,” Robin’s saying, “there, there, that’s—”

Eddie’s head sinks down to his knees.

Wretched coughs. Gasping.

“He can’t—Eddie, he can’t breathe.”

Eddie staggers over to the window. Makes the hole bigger, again and again. Glass slices through his palms.

“That’s better, huh?” Robin’s murmuring, and Eddie can’t look at her, can’t look at who’s in her arms; if he does, the proof will shatter, and that can’t… he has to…

The phone rings.

Eddie goes to it. His arm lifts, heavy and delayed. Like he’s in a dream.

On the other end, a terrified voice.

Mike. Mike Wheeler crying.

“Did it work?”

“I—” There’s a high-pitched ringing in Eddie’s ears; he shakes his head. “I don’t—”

“I-is Nancy there? Where’s Nancy?”

And there’s that gut feeling again, the one that pulled Eddie out of the RV in the first place; “Hang on,” he says to Mike, and he lets the phone fall, pushes the front door open to stand on the porch, breathing in shallow, frigid breaths.

There’s something coming out from behind the trees.

Closer and closer, and Eddie almost assumes the worst.

But it’s Nancy. There’s ash in her hair, and she’s drenched, coated in black sludge; her teeth flash as she smiles, a pocket knife gleaming in her hand.

“I made my own Gate,” she says.

Barely missing a beat, she tilts her head to the side to throw up. She wipes her mouth with the back of her sleeve, spreads more thick tar across her face.

Underneath everything, there’s a scarlet ring around her throat.

“Your brother,” is all Eddie can get out.

Her eyes blaze white-hot.

“Mike,” she says, clutching the phone so tightly, like she would do the very same if she could hold his hand. “It’s gone, it’s all gone.” And then, louder, louder, trembling, “And whoever’s fucking listening on here, get us help. I know you’re there. I won’t stop. I won’t—”

Eddie knows she says more. She must do.

But he can’t stop staring down at his hands. At the blood.

He steps forward—almost sways, and Nancy catches his wrist.

“Don’t go outside without me. Don’t talk to anyone apart from us, Eddie. Okay? They won’t touch you. I won’t let them.”

Eddie thinks he manages a nod. He believes her. Her jaw quivers, but her head’s held up high: if a gun was pressed to her head, he knows the bullet wouldn’t take.

The phone call continues, but the sound is muffled, underwater.

Eddie comes back to himself in the bedroom doorway.

Robin’s still by the bed.

Steve’s lying there, eyes closed. His stomach’s still bleeding, slow, slow, but the veins have gone, they’ve…

“Eddie.” Robin reaches out a hand to him. “Come on. You… you can feel him breathing from here.”

Why don’t you hate me?

He should leave. He should leave.

He doesn’t deserve…

But Robin keeps reaching, and Eddie’s on his knees next to her, a coward, you’re a fucking coward.

“Here,” Robin says.

She guides Eddie’s hand. Places it on Steve’s sternum, above the awful wound, above all the pain Eddie caused—

There. A rise and fall.

Just breathing.

Eddie’s breath catches.

“I thought—” He shudders. “I thought I’d—”

Robin must sense it before he does, before he even really knows it’s happening.

“You’re okay,” she says, and she pulls him into her embrace—keeps one hand on Steve as she does.

Good, Eddie thinks. He needs to know you’re there. He shouldn’t be alone.

He turns his face into Robin’s shoulder, and weeps.

#flayed steve harrington #body horror cw #pre steddie #steddie #steddie fic #steve and robin #eddie and robin #steve and the party #steve and dustin #eddie and dustin #eddie and nancy #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #dustin henderson

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