Archive of Our Own

PART ONE. 

Eddie Munson dies in Dustin’s arms with little fanfare. 

His last words are, “I love you, man." Then his eyes slide up, up, and over Dustin’s shoulder and off into the permanent, midnight expanse of the Upside Down. 

Dustin digs his fingers into the tattered remains of Eddie’s shirt and tries to remember what it feels like to breathe. His chest burns, his vision blurry. His fingers smear blood against Eddie’s tear-stained cheeks as he desperately tries to wake him. 

“I love you too,” he says, desperately. “Eddie. Eddie— please, no. No, Eddie!” 

The air is calm; time ticks on like Dustin’s entire world isn’t crashing down around his shoulders. The dying demobats’ wails join his with a mocking harmony. 

Dustin’s knee skids in the blood pooling beneath Eddie’s back. He goes down with a grunt, legs splayed painfully, Eddie tucked against his chest. He half expects Eddie to groan and cuss Dustin out for dropping him, like this is all some elaborate prank, like one of Dustin’s brothers isn’t lying with his guts on display and chunks of flesh torn from his arms. 

But Eddie doesn’t say anything. And he doesn’t move. His head hangs awkwardly, mouth parted, limbs floppy. 

Dustin curls over Eddie protectively, like a pill bug hiding its vulnerable stomach. “You gotta get up,” he says, tasting salt. “You gotta get up ‘cause we have to, we have to figure out what— how— how to get you on that stage. ‘Cause you gotta walk, Eddie. Can’t just g-get—” His head swims. He can’t tell if the tears on Eddie’s face are his or not. “You can’t get your diploma delivered to the, to the Upside Down.” 

Eddie’s bandana slips when Dustin jostles him. Dustin tugs it free of Eddie’s hair, fingers clenched so tightly in the material his knuckles threaten to pop. He drops it into his lap. Eddie’s hair is a tangled mess of blood and demobat gore, but Dustin pets it over and over, mindless of the filth.

“Eddie. Eddie, Eddie. Please. Please, not you.” 

Eventually he runs out of prayers.

So, Dustin sits there, Eddie cradled in his arms, until the blood that wells from Eddie’s chest, his neck, his side, grows tacky beneath his hands. Then he sits there longer still. By the time he hears the thudding of shoes on concrete, he’s long gone numb.

“Dustin? Dustin!”  

Steve’s hands grapple at Dustin’s face. His vision swims as Steve moves his head left and right, fingers smoothing back Dustin’s sweat-matted hair. 

Nancy gasps. It’s a shallow, choked noise. “Oh, Eddie,” she moans, and then she’s there at Dustin’s side, hand hovering above Eddie’s empty eyes. “Dustin. Dustin, are you—?” 

“Not my blood,” says Dustin, equally empty. “Not my blood. Not. Not my—” he cuts himself off. He hasn’t once looked away from Eddie’s face. Despite everything, all the panic and the violence and the hatred he faced, Eddie looks peaceful.

“God,” one of the girls, probably Robin, says. Her voice wavers. “This is — this is so fucked up. Oh my god.” 

Steve drops to his ass beside Dustin. He doesn’t try to pull Dustin away, and he doesn’t tell him they have to go. Instead, he slips an arm behind Dustin’s back and presses his other hand to Dustin’s face. Dustin feels the shudder rip through him, violently jolting him forward to hang over Eddie’s body. 

“Dustin,” Steve murmurs. He tilts Dustin’s face away to press against Steve’s neck. Then and only then, with Steve’s sweat-sticky skin against his forehead, and his familiar, strong arms bracketing Dustin in, does Dustin truly break. 

“It’s not fair!” Great, heaving sobs tear through his body. He sucks in sloppy, inefficient breaths, no doubt covering Steve’s shirt in tears and spittle. “It’s not fucking fair, Steve! He was supposed to make it. He was supposed to walk the fucking stage.” 

Steve shushes him, arms firm around Dustin’s back, hand cradling his head. Someone pulls Eddie’s body gently from Dustin’s desperate grip. Dustin’s too exhausted to fight it. His fingers clutch for purchase in the back of Steve’s shirt as he weeps and weeps and weeps. 

“I know, Dust,” Steve murmurs, and his voice sounds wet too. “I know it’s not fair.” 

“He was supposed to make it.” Dustin whispers. He doesn’t know if Steve or Robin or Nancy can hear him. It doesn’t matter if they do. The only person who he wants to have hear him is long gone, his chest still, skin growing cold. “You were supposed to make it,” he cries. “You promised, Eddie.” 

Dustin doesn’t remember escaping the Upside Down. He doesn’t remember clambering back through the gate in Eddie’s trailer — doesn’t remember folding himself in the backseat of Steve’s Beemer, curled up in Nancy’s arms. It feels like he’s underwater, drowning in plain sight, but nobody calls for the lifeguard. There are bigger things, he hears, like the town splitting clean in half. 

“How?” he asks, when he finally comes up for air. They’re in the hospital, in a waiting room. His head is in Robin’s lap. Dustin wets his lips and lets his eyes fall shut. “Who else died,” he croaks, feeling puke build in his throat like a thick sludge. “Steve, who the fuck d-died?” 

Steve crouches in front of him. “Dustin,” he says, eyes bloodshot where Dustin meets them. “She’s …going to be okay. She’s alive, just — it’s complicated, okay? But she’s alive.” 

Dustin doesn’t need Steve to say it. “Max,” he says. Heat builds behind his eyes again. “She died.”

“She’s in the hands of professionals, drugged up with the good stuff, and resting. She’s alive, Dustin.” Steve jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “She’s somewhere behind those doors and we’re gonna wait here until we’re allowed back ourselves. Or until they kick us out. I haven’t really thought that far ahead.” 

It’s then that Dustin sees Lucas. He looks lost. Devastated. His head is in his hands. 

“Luke.” Dustin stumbles his way over, ankle burning. “Lucas.” 

Lucas jerks up. His eyes are glossy, unfocused. One of them is swelling, like he's been punched. He looks twelve, not sixteen, mouth a trembling, damp line that strikes across his face. “Dustin,” he says, reaching out. 

They wilt into each other. 

“Max. Dustin, Max,” Lucas tries to say. His mouth is pressed to Dustin’s shoulder, fingers stretching Dustin’s shirt with how tight he grips at it. “Vecna, he — and Carver, he tried to, but.” Lucas’s voice is raspy, damaged. Dustin’s had enough experience with psychopaths and monsters to know exactly what’s caused it.

“Where is he?”

Lucas sinks even further into Dustin’s hold. “Dead,” he says, firmly, a little disbelieving. “Cut in half right through the fucking middle, man. The fucking gate-quake ripped him wide open.”

Dustin thinks about Jason’s cold, calculating eyes and the bloodthirsty hunger he’d chased Eddie through the town with. He’s not sorry Jason’s dead, and he says as much. 

Lucas laughs, but nothing about the situation is very funny. “Yeah,” he says. “Fuck, at least that’s one good thing to come of this. Jason can’t hunt Eddie if he’s gone. Hey, where is Eddie anyway?” 

Dustin goes tense. Max may be alive, but Lucas has no idea that he’s still lost someone. Dustin chokes on a sob, sick of crying already. Every time he blinks he sees Eddie behind his lids, in pain, but still trying to smile. 

“Lucas.” He stares vacantly over Lucas’s shoulder until the receptionist desk smudges. He wets his tacky mouth, and says, helplessly, “Lucas.”

“Dustin,” Lucas says, very quietly. “Where’s Eddie?” 

“He didn’t run.” Dustin feels the weight of Eddie’s pick necklace around his neck, strangely heavy. “He didn’t run, Lucas. He fought, right ‘til the end. He, he was — is a hero.” His chest feels like it’s caving in and the wetness against his cheeks reminds him of blood and his fingers swipe at his skin, claw almost, and then Steve is there, tugging Dustin’s hands away, cradling them.

“Hey,” Steve says, gently. “Maybe we should go outside. Get some air.” He slips an arm around Lucas’s back. 

“He’s gone,” Lucas whispers. “All that and he’s fucking gone.” He shakes and shakes in Steve’s hold. 

Dustin lets his arms hang by his side and plants his forehead firmly against Steve’s shoulder. His tears soak rapidly into the filthy shirt.

“Yeah,” he says. “He’s gone. Eddie’s gone.” 

They don’t get to see Max. With several broken limbs and horrific trauma to her neck and eyes, she’s likely to still be in surgery when evening hits. The lot of them, Dustin, Lucas, Steve, Nancy, Robin, and Erica, cluster together in the carpark. Erica holds Lucas’s hand, more shaken than Dustin’s ever seen her — more shaken than the Russians. 

“What now?” Robin asks, fiddling with her shirt hem. She sags against Nancy’s side.

“We’re technically on the run,” Dustin rasps. “We all ditched our parents at the Wheeler’s, remember? So … I guess we just go home. Face the music.” 

Lucas says nothing. His face is turned towards the morning sun. “I just want to sleep,” he says, eventually. “I just want to lie down and pretend that tomorrow is my stupid basketball game, and this time I’ll fucking skip it. I’ll go to Hellfire.” 

Erica squeezes his hand tighter and tucks herself into his side like a crutch. “We should go,” she says. “Hey, Steve, feel like giving us a ride?” 

Steve glances at his Beemer. “We’re not all going to fit,” he says, hesitant. “I guess I could do two trips, but…” 

Dustin watches the way Steve’s fingers dig into the flesh of his folded arms. Weekly family dinners, afternoon arcade trips, and vapid, half-formed excuses to just spend time with each other — it all leads to Dustin knowing Steve better than most. Right now, Steve’s reluctant. He doesn’t want to let any of them out of his sight, and really, Dustin can’t blame him. Just the idea of going to bed alone tonight is enough to have him close to dropping. 

“Hey, dingus.” Robin bumps Steve’s shoulder. Her eyes are gentle, the hand she takes Steve’s with even moreso. “Nance and I can catch a ride from Mrs Wheeler. We’ll use the phone outside the hospital.” She jabs a thumb over her shoulder. “Take care of the gremlins, okay?” 

Steve sways into her like a sunflower toward light. “Rob,” he says, brown eyes beseeching. He licks his lips, says, “I can call? The second you’re home?” 

Robin nods. “Steve, whenever you want, okay? But maybe call the Wheelers.” She tosses Nancy an abashed side eye, head ducking a little. “Only,” she says, this time speaking to Nancy, “I don’t really want to be… alone.” 

Dustin wonders why Steve isn’t offering to stay with Robin. He knows they’re capital P platonic, or whatever, but they’re still joined at the hip like it physically hurts to be parted. He rocks back and forth on his heels, working the metal of Eddie’s necklace back and forth under his thumb. 

“Sure, Rob.” Steve ducks in and plants a kiss on her forehead. His eyes are sad. “Take care of each other. Call me if you need. I’ll be at the Hendersons,” this is news to Dustin, “or you can try the walkies, okay? Still got mine in the backseat.” 

Nancy reaches out and pats Steve’s cheek. “You take care of yourself too,” she says firmly, bird-mouth just as pinched as her face. “I know you got the … the wounds looked at, but you need to take it easy.”

“Nancy,” Steve says, his laugh a wretched, haunted thing. “The town is split clean in two. We just lost — we lost Eddie.” His eyes start to go glossy. “We almost lost Max. I have no fucking clue what we’re going to explain to Mike when he’s back, and Joyce isn’t even fucking here anymore—” 

He’s spiralling. Dustin cuts in before Steve can work himself into a panic. 

“Steve.” He wraps his fingers round Steve’s wrist. “Hey. Come on.” He falters when Steve turns on him, eyes blown wide, desperate, hand sliding to clasp Dustin’s wrist in return. “We gotta go home. Things … things will be easier in the morning.” 

“It’s barely eleven,” Steve says.

Dustin rolls his eyes. “Fine. Things will be easier once we’ve slept. Better?” 

Steve manages a weak smile. His shoulders slump, head ducking. “Yeah, okay.” He rubs a palm against his nape, embarrassed. “Come on, sooner we get the show on the road the sooner we can … we can rest.” 

They hug each other goodbye. Nancy presses Dustin’s head firmly to her shoulder, squeezing him tightly. He’s thrown back in time to the Snow Ball suddenly, when things weren’t exactly amazing, but they sure as hell weren’t as bleak. His eyes prickle threateningly, but he holds the tidal wave back. 

“Bye Nancy,” he says. “Bye Robin.”

Robin tussles his hair. “Bye Gumby,” she says, pressing cold fingers to his cheek. “Make sure you keep an eye on the moron, okay?”

Dustin nods. Steve’s hey! is weak, but it drags a laugh from everyone, as short-lived as it may be. 

“Come on,” Dustin says, heading towards the Beemer. His ankle hurts, but what’s another deep-set ache added to the list? It’s easier to ignore than the pain in his chest, anyway. “I call shotgun.” 

Claudia greets them at the door. Her eyes fill rapidly with tears. Dustin doesn’t have time to prepare himself, and he damn near crumbles into her arms. He folds himself into her familiar warmth, the scent of her heady rose perfume and laundry detergent, and tries very hard not to scare her more than he already has.

“I’m okay,” he says, muffled, into her hair, like a filthy rotten liar. “Ma, I’m okay.” 

Steve hovers on the doorstep behind him, no doubt hunched into himself and second guessing his place there. Dustin wants to roll his eyes. It’s not like he doesn’t have the spare key to the Henderson house hanging off his keychain. 

With effort, Dustin manages to tug himself back. “Ma, can Steve stay the night?” He sidesteps so she can see their visitor clearly. 

“Um, hi.” Steve gives a little wave, face pinching when it irritates his wounds. “If it’s not too much trouble,” he says. “Only, my parents are out of town again, and with all that’s been going on…” 

It’s an age-old excuse. Dustin wonders if Steve’s parents are ever in town. If they are, he certainly never sees them. He’s pretty sure it’s the same for Steve, despite him being their flesh and blood. Still, Steve’s parents being neglectful does have some benefit, as awful as it is to admit, and that shines through now, when all Ma does is smile, cheeks damp. 

“Steven, of course.” She reaches out and carefully runs her fingers over Steve’s forehead, swiping away some of the wayward hair plastered to his skin. “You can stay as long as you want, honey.” She steps back over the threshold and keeps the door wide. “Come on, come inside.” 

Steven follows Dustin and his mum dutifully through the house. He discards his goo-stained sneakers at the door, grimacing at his once-white, now-brown socks. 

“Mrs H?” He says, dithering in the doorway to the lounge room. “Are you okay?” 

Ma gives him a considering look. “You’re sweet, Steven. I’m upset — with Dusty, not you — but I’m okay. Both of my boys are here, safe and sound, even if they do stink something ferocious. What more could I ask for?” 

Dustin catches Steve’s mouth twist, eyes blinking furiously. He watches his mum soften, arms reaching for Steve, and ducks into his room to give them some privacy. When he returns to the lounge, fresh clothes bundled in his arms, Steve’s eyes are rimmed red, but he’s smiling again, if only just. 

“You gonna use the shower first, sewer rat?” 

Dustin gives him a flat look. “Says the guy who looks like he ate his way out of Vecna’s lair. You know how many wood shards are embedded in that mop?” He gestures up at Steve’s deflated quiff. “You’re going first.”

“Sit outside the door?” Steve asks, quietly. His cheeks burn red and he won’t meet Dustin’s gaze. 

The idea of Steve behind a locked door makes Dustin panic a little himself, so he agrees. He escorts Steve to the bathroom and piles the clothes and a fresh towel into Steve’s arms. 

“Don’t put the shirt on; I’ll help rewrap the bandages first. Just holler when you’re done, okay?” 

“Yes, ma.” Steve slinks into the bathroom. Before he shuts the door, he hovers, chewing on his bottom lip. He seems to debate something before he shakes his head, smile wry. “Hey, think you could give me your best rendition of ‘NeverEnding Story’?” 

Dustin reflexively goes to hiss, ‘I hope you drown,’ but with everything that’s transpired over the last few days, (with Eddie), he catches himself before he can. The wound is too raw to poke at. 

“Want to make it a duet?” 

Steve snorts. “Sure,” he says, “I’ll take the soap-rano.” 

“So-prano,” Dustin corrects. Then he shakes his head. “Get in the shower, Harrington, before your sweat and the goo decide to unite and create a new, even worse demon.” 

Steve swings the door shut all bar an inch or so. Dustin sinks carefully to the floor and extends his injured leg out in front of him. His ankle isn’t swollen, thank God, but it’s definitely tender. Hopefully, it’s just a light sprain; Dustin’s got a horrible, awful feeling that the shitstorm isn’t over. 

Before he can spiral, Steve’s warbly little tune peeks out from the gap between them. “Turn around, look at what you seeee.” His voice isn’t half bad. It’s rough, but he can carry a tune, even if the pacing is all wrong. 

Still, Dustin smiles. “In her face .. the mirror of your dreams,” he hums, just loud enough for Steve to catch. He tilts his head back as Steve continues, resting the base of his skull against the wall, and for the first time in hours, lets himself relax.  

“Steve, just get in the bed.” 

“I can take the floor,” Steve insists, stubborn. 

“You have more stitches than my mum’s fucking handmade welcome mat. Get. On. The bed.” 

Steve blinks, surprised. “Woah, Ma H made that herself?” 

Dustin, frustrated, shoves his hands on his hips. “Not the time, Steve,” he says. He points firmly at the bed, one hand still on his hip, and says as assertively as possible, “Sit."  

Wonder of all wonders, Steve does. 

“Bud, I appreciate it, but I’ll be just fine on the floor. I’ve slept in worse places.” 

Dustin, intimately familiar by now with the flavour of Steve’s trauma, purses his lips. “You nearly put your back out sleeping on your couch for three months straight, Harrington. I know you. Lie down — you’re taking the bed.” 

Steve swings his legs carefully up onto the bed, and wriggles about until he’s beneath the covers. He looks more than put out, face sour like he’s sucked a lemon, but he doesn’t complain again. He shuffles until his back is against the wall, and then lifts the blanket.

“Well?” 

Dustin doesn’t bother arguing. He tugs his curtains shut. Then he shucks his socks, ‘cause his feet run hot, and slides under the sheets. 

Steve rolls over to face him. “Hey,” he says, quietly.

Given it’s late afternoon, the curtains only manage to dim the room. Typically, Dustin struggles to sleep without the almost pitch-black of night. He has a feeling today will be an exception to the rule. 

“Hey,” Dustin echoes, gaze catching on the little scar on Steve’s forehead. “So,” he says, “that fucking sucked.” 

Steve’s laugh sounds as though it’s been punched from him. It’s wheezy, a little strangled, and results in him digging his palms into his eyes. “Yeah,” he mutters. “What a fucking day. Week. Fuck, life at this point.” 

Dustin wriggles about, accidentally bumping their knees together. Neither of them make any move to separate. 

“I want to sleep forever,” Dustin admits. Then, quieter, hollower, “I don’t even know if I want to wake up.”

Steve’s mouth droops at the corners, throat bobbing. His brown eyes are made bottomless by the shadow cast across his face. Eddie had brown eyes too, Dustin thinks, heart clenching in his chest. 

“Dustin,” Steve starts, hand grazing Dustin’s shoulder tentatively. 

Dustin cuts him off, swift. “Do you think it’ll get better? The deaths, I mean.” 

Steve takes the change in topic well enough, though his eyes are still sad. “As in… there’ll be less of them?” 

“No. Well, yes, obviously I’d hope there’s less of them. Preferably none.” Dustin rolls onto his back, staring up at the ceiling with tired, blank eyes. “I just mean … you know. Max. Eddie. Chrissy — Hopper.” 

“Max is alive,” Steve insists. 

Dustin can’t tell who he’s trying to convince. The way he sees it, Max is as good as dead. Lucas had said her eyes had washed pale, blood pouring from them. She’d been legally dead for a minute; they’ll be lucky if she ever makes it out of her coma. Try as he might to summon some hope, in the face of everything he just can’t. 

“What about Hopper then? What about—” Eddie’s name catches in his throat. Dustin squeezes his eyes shut, sees Eddie’s blood-splattered face, and flings them open again. “What about Eddie, Steve?” He throws a forearm over his burning eyes, forcing the lump in his throat back down. “How the fuck am I meant to survive losing him?” 

Steve catches Dustin’s hand. “Dust,” he murmurs, squeezing it. “I’m sorry. I wish more than anything you hadn’t been there to see that.”

“Don’t.” Suddenly seething, Dustin rounds on Steve. He rolls over, pushes himself half up, and delivers a harsh jab to Steve’s sternum. “Don’t you ever say that,” he continues, voice wobbling. “Yes, it’s one of the worst things to ever happen to me, and I’m going to spend every night for the rest of my life having nightmares about it, but don’t ever say you wish I hadn’t been there.” 

“Dustin.”

“No. No, Steve. No.” Dustin drags his fingers through his hair and tugs at it harshly. “The only thing worse than Eddie dying would have been Eddie dying alone. He was so fucking alone, Steve.” Dustin’s voice cracks, and he steels himself as best he can. He has to have Steve understand. He has to. “At the end there, all he had was us, and we couldn’t be with him twenty-four seven. He was stuck in that shitty little boat house — shed, shack, whatever. He was stuck there with a town full of crazies after him. He was alone, Steve.” 

Steve curls his hand around Dustin’s cheek. His fingers are calloused from a lifetime of sport, from the nail bat, but his thumb is gentle where it smooths tears from Dustin’s cheeks. 

Steve’s lips twist unpleasantly. His eyes are glossy. “Dustin,” he croaks. 

“I don’t know how I’m meant to get through this, Steve.” Dustin’s whole body feels like a livewire. He’s sure he’s shaking so badly he’s rattling the bed at this point. “I was prepared for shit to go south, you know, but I wasn’t,” he chokes on his next breath, crumbling, “I wasn’t ready to lose a brother.” 

Steve visibly twitches before he pulls himself together. Dustin doesn’t miss the devastated look that flashes across his face. His fingers flex against Dustin’s cheek. It’s clear Dustin’s caught him off guard. 

“I knew you guys were friends, that you were close, but I didn’t…” Steve trails off.

Dustin slumps back down on the bed, dislodging Steve’s hand. Steve’s quick to replace it, sliding it into Dustin’s hair, urging Dustin’s forehead to rest against Steve’s chest. Dustin goes willingly, bones like slush, heart pounding excruciatingly in his chest. So much so he worries he’s going to keel over and die. 

“I always thought you guys would’ve been good friends,” Dustin admits, wetly. He shudders a breath out against Steve’s throat. “You were complete fucking opposites, but, but I just think it would’ve worked out.”

Steve laughs a tired, bitter thing. “Yeah,” he murmurs, gently massaging Dustin’s nape and the back of his skull. “If I hadn’t been such an asshole in high school, maybe things woulda been different. Maybe we coulda gotten him outta this town.” 

Dustin sniffles. “You guys would have been the most annoying pair. He was always so dramatic, you know? Used to put on voices for every little thing. He wasn’t afraid to be who he was, and he didn’t care what people called him.” His tears have kicked back in again, his mouth tasting of salt. 

“You know, I only had a few moments with him, but he loved you a lot.”

Dustin thinks about black-streaked skies, about dying demobats and the final choked, heaving breaths of Eddie Munson. He thinks about I love you, man and how he hopes, prays, that Eddie had heard him say it back. 

“I loved him too,” he says. Steve’s arms are warm, comfortable, and safe. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to ignore what he sees behind them. “I was so scared I was gonna lose you as well,” he admits, voice tiny. “I know we … I know we’ve been kind of weird lately, these last few months.” 

Steve’s arms tighten around Dustin like a vice. 

“I know we’ve been drifting, kinda, or that I maybe seem like I’m pushing you away, but, but Steve— If I lost you too, if I — I can’t lose you, I can’t.” Then, so quiet it’s like nothing more than a puff of air, he whispers, “I already lost one brother. Don’t make me lose another.” 

Steve sucks in a deep breath. Says, “Dustin ,” voice breaking, and then he starts to shake. He’s not very good at muffling his cries, but they’re not particularly loud or disruptive. Mostly, he just seems exhausted. “I love you, kid,” he murmurs wetly, dragging his hands up and down Dustin’s back. “I was so fucking scared when I saw you with, with all that blood, and I … I can’t lose you either, Dust. You’re my brother. I’m sorry. I got jealous, okay, and it was stupid, but I did.”  

“It’s okay,” Dustin says, even though it’s not. He grips tight to Steve’s shirt. “It’s okay. It’s okay.” 

“It’s okay,” Steve echoes. “It’s okay.”

They fall asleep like that, limbs tangled, faces wet. Dustin closes his eyes to visions of Eddie’s slack mouth and glazed eyes and hopes to God that when he opens them next, it will be to a better day. 

PART TWO. 

Dustin wakes up in Max’s trailer.

“Let them sleep a little longer,” he hears Nancy say. 

Bleary-eyed and confused, he pushes himself upright to lean over the back of the couch he’s curled up on. Max lays opposite him, headphones on, Kate Bush silent for once. To her right, Lucas, half-under the table and splayed like a starfish, a too-small blanket draped across his chest. 

Dustin stares at Max for a long time, heart in his throat. Her chest rises and falls in a steady motion, her face clear of blood, her sleep peaceful. Dustin swallows. He reaches for the necklace around his neck but his hands come up empty. Steve, he thinks. Where’s Steve?

“Did you get any sleep yourself?” Robin asks. Dustin turns to see her and Nancy curled side by side at the kitchen table. “I think my brain is so overloaded from all this never ending drama that it conked out. I dreamt of ponies and Betty Boop.”

No Steve. No Eddie, either. Dustin’s breath catches in his throat and his pulse starts to race. His palms sweat as he searches for the necklace, uncomfortably damp against his shirt. How are they back in the trailer? Where’s Steve? There’s no way Dustin had dreamt of all that, not in such vivid detail, and not unless — not unless.

“Vecna,” Dustin breathes. He jolts upright, alerting Robin to his presence. 

“Woah, where’s the fire?” she calls, drifting toward him. 

Dustin shoves away the blanket spooled around his waist. He feels off-kilter, panicked, and stressed. “Vecna,” he says, and then, “Where’s Steve?” 

Nancy squats in front of him, all wide eyes and serious purse of her lips. “Dustin, what do you mean by Vecna? Can you … can you hear the clock?” 

No, he can’t, but that doesn’t mean he’s not cursed. He relays this to them, skin prickly and nerves shot to hell. Robin and Nancy um and ah for a few seconds, debating whether or not they should wake everyone up or wait just a little longer and then finally, Dustin can take it no longer. He jumps up and starts to pace.

“Where’s Steve?” he asks, because he’s not quite brave enough to ask for Eddie. His hands shake as he thinks about where Eddie could be, where he’d last been: alone amidst the scattered remains of hundreds of demobats, long lost to a realm Dustin never wants to set foot in again.

Nancy brushes the back of her hand against his forehead as if she’s checking for a fever. Dustin lets her do whatever makes her feel safe, even if his patience is wearing thin. Finally, before he snaps, she says, “They’re outside. Eddie wanted to get a little buzz on, but not where you kids could breathe it in.”

“And Steve doesn’t want anyone alone, so he’s babysitting,” Robin chimes in, blue eyes rolling behind her spider lashes. “Plus, Munson’s a wanted criminal and all… I told them to say inside, but no —“ 

They. Steve and Eddie. Steve and Eddie.  

Dustin flies out the door, slamming it open so hard that it bounces off the trailer wall and swings back in on him. He pays no attention to the subsequent muffled shouts from within the trailer.

Steve, sitting a few metres away, jerks and drops his water bottle. “What the fuck, Henderson! Where’s the fucking fire?” He stands up, hand resting against his shoddily wrapped bandages. 

Dustin isn’t looking at him, however. His heart catches in his throat, threatening to fall out between one breath and the next. His blood feels like fire in his veins, swimming through his skull so quickly it drowns everything else out. Eddie stands spooked in front of him, joint half-gone and hanging from the side of his mouth. He looks startled, exhausted, and like the weight of the world sits upon his shoulders. But most importantly, he’s alive. 

Eddie’s alive.

Dustin slams into him with a sob so hard he threatens to gag on it. “Eddie,” he breathes, and then, humiliatingly, he bursts into tears. 

Eddie’s arms are up and around him in seconds. His grip is firm, sure, and unwavering. The joint hits the dirt near their feet, instantly forgotten, as Eddie wraps Dustin up in a hug he thought he’d never receive again. 

“What’s wrong? What happened?” Eddie draws back long enough to tilt Dustin’s face about, finger and thumb firm against Dustin’s chin. It reminds him so much of Steve — and maybe they’re not so different after all. 

Dustin shakes his head, unable to speak. He makes a pitiful little noise and face plants Eddie’s chest. There’ll be time to feel mortified later. For now, he seeks whatever comfort he can find.

“Okay, okay, Henderson. I got you.” Eddie rubs his hands up and down Dustin’s back, a repetitive and calming motion. 

“What the hell?” Steve’s touch joins Eddie’s. He drops his hand into Dustin’s hair, gently brushing his fingers back and forth through the curls. “You know what’s gotten into him?” he asks, quietly. 

“No idea,” Eddie murmurs. He begins to rock them side to side. “Whatever it is, it’s clearly fucked with him.”

“Hey Dustin? Bud? You wanna tell us what’s up?” Steve asks, carefully. He crowds in a little closer and Dustin realises the two of them are bracketing him, keeping him upright and cosy against them. 

The trailer door creaks open. Robin stands at the top of the stairs, a wide-eyed Max and Erica peeking around her side. They’re nothing more than colourful blobs with how much Dustin’s eyes are swimming. 

“We think he had a run-in with Vecna,” Robin says, nibbling her bottom lip. She plays with her earrings, tugs on her hair, fiddles with the hem of her shirt and her sleeves. “He woke up like he’d been hit with a cattle prod, and then the first thing he said was Vecna. Well, and then Steve, but that’s besides the point.”  

“Didn’t even ask for me?” Eddie jokes. “For shame, Henderson.” 

Dustin doesn’t laugh. He sucks in a deep, stabilising breath — weed and hair oil and sandalwood — and manages to pull away. His hand still curls in Eddie’s shirt like a vice grip, but hey, baby steps. 

“Vecna?” Steve is quick to cup Dustin’s face. He studies him intently, hands falling to Dustin’s shoulders. “When did you start hearing the clock? Got any headaches? Nosebleeds? Hallucinations?” 

“I haven’t, sort of, no, and … I don’t know. Yes, maybe. God, I fucking hope so.” Please don’t let it be a vision.

Eddie slings an arm low around Dustin’s back. “Maybe we should head in,” he says, already urging both Dustin and Steve towards the door. “We’ll get you some water, Henderson, and then you can brief us. Say, what’s your favourite song?” 

Dustin casts his mind back on yesterday — on the dream? The hallucination? — with a frown. He thinks of Steve, door cracked open, warbling that silly tune, and of Suzie and her perfect harmony. 

“‘NeverEnding Story’,” he says, refusing to feel embarrassed. He’s a jittery mess plastered to Eddie’s side, unwilling to part with him. 

“Maybe we should start with Nancy,” Dustin says, once they’re all piled on the couches. His head swims. Just yesterday, or last night, they’d been in this exact position. 

Nancy folds into herself when all eyes turn to her. “Well,” she murmurs, locking her fingers together in her lap. “I had a vision. I … Henry, he showed me these awful, awful things. There was a dark cloud…” 

Rolling into Hawkins, Dustin thinks before Nancy speaks. He feels the blood drain from his face, skin turning waxy. He presses closer to Eddie, squeezed into the corner of the couch. With every word Nancy says, every conjured image, Dustin feels himself slipping. The fourth gate, a message for Eleven, a promise of mass destruction. He’s heard it all already. 

“In retrospect, I really should have gone first.” His voice is a weak, reedy thing. Steve and Max snap towards him, eyes worried. “Nancy.” He wets his lips. “Nancy, I … yesterday you said the exact same thing.”  

Nancy’s brow wrinkles. “What exact thing? About Henry?” 

“The gates. Hawkins burning. The cloud. All of it, just yesterday, right in this fucking room.” He ditches his cap to tug at his hair, desperate to ground himself. 

“You saw something,” Robin says, eyes blown wide. “Like Nancy, Vecna gave you a vision.” 

“I don’t know what he gave me, but I know that I’ve had this conversation before. Max,” he twists in his seat to point at her, “you volunteer as bait for Vecna. Lucas, Erica, you go with her to keep her safe.” Dustin drums his hands against his thighs and picks up speed, words slurring together. “Nancy, Robin, Steve — you all head to the Creel House. You want to burn Vecna where he stands — ‘cause when he’s with Max, he’s like Eleven. Mind gone but—“

Max cuts in. “Physical body there.” She snaps her fingers. “Dustin, that’s genius.” 

“No. It’s not.” Because you get hurt. Because you nearly die. Because we almost lose you. Because we do lose—. 

“What about us?” Eddie sways into Dustin’s orbit, gnawing at his bottom lip, nervous. “We on lookout or something? On vacation?”

“We’re…” Dustin’s breath catches in his throat. “We were— are the distraction. Only… only...” He can’t say it. He bows his head toward his knees, rubbing his hand against his chest. The absence of the necklace burns, but he’d rather it secure around Eddie’s neck than his any day. 

Nancy leans forward. “What else happened? What did Vecna show you?” 

Dustin licks his lips. Says, “He gets Max. The town splits. Jason gets torn in half.” 

Lucas winces. His fingers tangle with Max’s. Her face is pallid, the bags under her eyes sickly. 

“Eddie.” Dustin chokes on his words. “We … Eddie, you…” 

It’s not too hard to fill in the blanks, especially given Dustin’s earlier meltdown. 

“I don’t make it,” Eddie states. He says it like he’s making a comment on the weather, all blasé wrist flick and comfortable slump against the couch. But Dustin can see the way his hands tremble, the way his foot starts to bounce, the way he sucks in too-short, too-sharp breaths. “Cool,” he says, somewhat strangled. “Great. Fucking Vecna.” 

After a long, uneasy silence, Steve pushes off the wall. “He’s just trying to scare you. Both of you.” He casts his gaze around the room, searching. “We can’t trust that these visions will come true. It’s a fear tactic. Like that uh, like Freddy Krueger.” 

Eddie snorts, surprised. “You know Nightmare on Elm Street, Harrington?” 

“I work at Family Video.” Steve’s tone is as flat as his stare. “And I mean it.” He turns back to the rest of them, confident, comforting. “He’s just trying to scare you. Don’t let him.”

Moments later, someone mentions stocking up on supplies, and the plan from Dustin’s vision begins to unfold, word for word, move by move, just as it had yesterday. Dustin hopes to God Steve is right, because he can’t go through all that again. Never again. 

Eddie is remarkably calm for someone who’s just been told he doesn’t make it through the night. 

“You’re missing an important detail, Henderson. I only die if I let something kill me.”

“Yes,” Dustin says, flatly, seated atop an upturned crate. “That’s generally how death works.”

Eddie hammers another makeshift spike through the trash can lid. “Right, and if I don’t let them touch me, then we won’t be closing the curtains on my life tonight.” 

Dustin rests his forearms on his thighs to observe his friend. “So, how are we gonna do that? In the vision you cut the rope and went off alone to ‘buy me more time’. Those are your words, by the way.” 

Eddie tosses the shield back and forth. He swings it around like he’s testing its weight, then buckles down to hit a final spike through it, tongue out in concentration. Eventually, he strikes a pose. 

“What do we think?” He grins. “Look any good?”

“Yeah, it’s great, Eddie, but you didn’t answer my question.”

Eddie sighs. He discards the shield to the grass and reefs Dustin up, hand on either one of his shoulders.

“Henderson,” he says, shaking his head. “You need to take a breather, man. I know you’re fucked up ‘cause of this mummified skin bag, okay? Trust me. But Harrington was right; he’s just trying to scare you.” 

Dustin swallows. “Sure didn’t feel like a dream or hallucination,” he rasps. He can still feel the blood rushing through his veins, the adrenaline that had his heart leaping in his throat, and he can hear Eddie’s wheezing, final breaths. His next inhale is damp. He can’t help it. 

“Henderson.”

“Fuck,” he spits, scrubbing harshly at his eyes before any tears can fall. “It’s fine,” he says, pinwheeling away from Eddie. “It’s fine. It’s fine.” 

Eddie regards him carefully. “Hey,” he says, after a second. “You don’t have to hide from me, man. It mightn’t have been real, but I can tell it felt that it was — that it may as well have been.” Eddie takes a step forward and tugs Dustin’s hat down his head, obscuring his vision. Voice earnest, he says, “If you need to spend a second crying it out, then go ahead. I’m not ever gonna judge.”

He’s not lying. Dustin’s known him less than six months but it already feels like a lifetime. There’s still so much they have to learn about each other, but something that had been immediately obvious to Dustin is Eddie’s kindness. His compassion. His genuine care. Eddie’s all heart, and it devastates Dustin that so few people see that.

It’s this love that makes Dustin brave.

“Hey Eddie?” 

“Yeah, man?”

Dustin pushes his hat up, meets Eddie’s gaze. He feels the first tear bud and slip over his cheek. Eddie’s whole face softens. 

“Reckon I can have another hug?” 

His smile must look as wobbly as it feels, because Eddie doesn’t hesitate. “Dust,” he murmurs, arms already looping around Dustin’s upper back. Eddie tugs him in firmly. He says, “You don’t ever have to ask,” and rocks them side to side, just a little. 

Dustin has a brother already — not that he’s ever admitted that to Steve, beyond the vision last night — but somehow, these past few months, he’s gained another. 

“You’re one of my best friends,” he whispers into the space between them, feeling small and vulnerable. The Eddie in his vision had said he loved Dustin, but it could just be Dustin’s wishful thinking. Eddie’s kind, but Dustin’s also just a kid compared to him. 

Fifteen and nineteen — the gap isn’t huge, but it’s certainly there. Eddie might be friends with them, but he may also just be making the best of a bad situation. After all, he’s still in high school; it’s not like he has many opportunities for older friends. 

Eddie goes still. His fingers flex against Dustin’s shirt, and then his grip tightens. 

“Dustin,” he says, just as quietly. “Don’t go telling Sinclair and Wheeler, ‘cause they’re going to be so jealous, but you are one of my favourite people in the entire fucking world. Hands down. There’s zero competition. Zilch. Nada.” 

Dustin’s laughing now, wet, heart swelling in his chest. He’s so full of relief, a feeling so light that he could float away were it not for Eddie’s arms tethering him to Earth. “Okay,” he says, beam pressed to Eddie’s chest. “I get it.” 

“I don’t think you do, Henderson. See, I never had a big family — just me and Wayne, after everything.” Eddie leans back, hands shifting to rest on Dustin’s upper arms. His smile is awkward, maybe a little shy. “But uh, well, turns out, spending the past few months with you in that dingy school room, listening to you talk about Suzie and debating my campaign background music—” 

He pauses, like he’s waiting for Dustin to interrupt, and when Dustin doesn’t, he continues. “These past few months have been baller, man. Seriously. And uh, I guess what I’m saying is, it’s been me and Wayne for a long time, but now maybe … maybe it’s me and Wayne and you. Or something.” 

Dustin’s ready to start crying all over again. By some miracle, he doesn’t, but he does launch himself back into Eddie’s arms, squeezing him as tightly as he can. 

“You’re my family,” he says, firmly, leaving no room for debate. “You’re like the one insane cousin at the family gathering. You know the one who says, ‘watch this?’ and then streaks through the backyard and gives your great aunt a heart attack?” 

Eddie pulls back to stare at him. “What the hell kinda family gatherings are you having? More importantly, how the fuck do I get an invite?” 

Dustin laughs. They probably look insane to everyone else. “Oh no, Munson,” he says, chiding. “You want an invite to that party, you gotta spend thirty minutes listening to me wax poetic about Suzie.” 

“You’re joking. You must be. Fucking hell.” 

Dustin squints. He thinks about how both Eddie and Steve are his family, and how both Eddie and Steve are sorely lacking in their own, outside Wayne and Robin respectively. Then he says, “Actually, that’s too easy. You wanna come to the next party, you gotta promise to spend the afternoon with me and Steve.” 

Eddie groans. 

“And,” Dustin adds, before he can complain, “you have to promise not to complain about Harrington’s poor taste in music. Seriously — not a single bad word about Wham! or we’re both in for it.” 

“Nevermind,” Eddie says, clearly fighting down an exasperated smile. “It’s not worth it. Wham! I could probably cope with, but Steve ‘the Hair’ Harrington? Absolutely not.”

“Hair-rington,” Dustin snickers, snapping his fingers together.

They break off into peals of laughter so intense that it takes Nancy storming over them to shout about their lack of productivity to tug them out of it. Even then, every time their eyes meet, it takes all of Dustin’s strength not to start up again.

The Upside Down is just as awful as it had been in Dustin’s vision. The air is thick, but not in the humid way that summer is. It’s probably all the ash they’re breathing in. Dustin really doesn’t want to know what his lungs will be like in ten years. He wonders if breathing in ten minutes of UD air is like chain smoking a pack of Marlboro Reds. 

Nancy, Robin, and Steve jump the stairs. They start across the gravel and for a second, Dustin thinks that they’ll leave without a goodbye. Then Steve spins around.

“Hey, guys. Listen,” he says, eyes so dark they look black. “If things here start to go south, I mean, at all — you abort. Okay? Draw the attention of the bats. Keep ‘em busy for a minute or two. We’ll take care of Vecna.” He pauses and his mouth contorts, a serious, harsh line that threatens to split his face in two. “Don’t try to be cute or be a hero or something. Okay? You guys are just—”

“Decoys,” Dustin says, stepping in. He doesn’t remember much of Steve’s speech in his vision, but this feels familiar. “Don’t worry. You can be the hero, Steve,” he promises. After all, he knows he definitely doesn’t want Eddie to be. 

Eddie gives a cynical laugh. “Absolutely. I mean, look at us.” He gestures down his body, self-deprecating. Says, “We are not heroes,” with a tired, bitter smile. 

Steve wavers. He spends a minute just looking at Eddie, then at Dustin. Then he nods once, resolute, and turns away. This too is familiar. 

Eddie jerks and then steps forward. “Hey, Steve?” He meets Steve’s stare head on, the two of them silent. Then, eyes darting away quickly, fingers flexing around his shield, he clears his throat. “Make him pay,” he settles on.

Steve nods one final time, spares Dustin a glance, and then he and the girls disappear into the forest. 

Dustin rounds on Eddie. “We need to get your amp on the roof. Fuck, I really hope there’s a long enough extension cord to get back to the real world. Why the fuck didn’t we think of this before we came down here?” 

Eddie snorts. “It’ll be fine, Henderson. Come on. Let’s go make a Frankenstein power bank.”

“Frankenstein was the doctor,” Dustin says, tramping into the trailer. 

“I know. I just like pissing you off.” 

Just before they climb the roof, Dustin stops Eddie at the trailer door. 

“Remember,” he says, more serious than he’s ever been in his entire life. “No heroics. Promise me. Promise you won’t alter the plan to save us.” 

“Ah,” says Eddie, his grin splitting his cheeks. “See Henderson, that’s where Vecna, and subsequently, your dream-vision-hallucination is wrong. I’m no hero.” He thumbs at the strap that holds his guitar to his back. 

Dustin doesn’t bother arguing. He just nods, throat tight. “Good,” he says, rigid. He’s wound tight with panic; it’s almost showtime. 

“Hey.” Eddie clasps a hand around the back of Dustin’s neck, squeezing him gently. He smiles kindly, eyes warm. “Don’t work yourself up into a mess, Henderson. Vecna gave you a vision. That was his mistake.” He taps his other hand against Dustin’s chest. “You’re the smartest one in the party. You tell me what to do, I’m listening.” 

This is objectively not true, especially with Nancy involved, but the praise makes something warm build in Dustin’s gut anyway. His mouth tastes like hope, instead of just ash and fungus spore. 

Dustin doesn’t know what to say. “Dude,” he settles on, feeling ridiculous and off balance. 

Eddie doesn’t seem to mind. “If anyone can sort this shit out, Henderson, it’s you,” he says. “We’re gonna be just fine.” Eddie’s throat bobs. “I’m gonna be just fine. We’ve got our plan, we’re gonna stick to it, and before you know it, we’ll be waltzing out the fucking gates and into Hawkins as heroes— nay! As champions.” He mines tooting a horn and then poses valiantly. 

Dustin shakes his head. He flops forward into Eddie’s chest with a laugh, the two of them gripping each other tightly. 

“Fuck yeah,” he says. “Vecna’s not gonna know what hit him. Now get up there and show these fuckers what a real performance looks like.”

Fifteen minutes later, Eddie cuts the rope.

Dustin’s heart starts to splinter. 

“No— Eddie, no! What are you doing?” 

Eddie looks up — down — at him, eyes glossy. He smiles. “I’m buying you some time.” 

A wave of realisation crashes over Dustin. Eddie isn’t going to survive. Both of them know it. 

“You promised!” He screams, eyes burning and breath heaving. “You fucking promised, Eddie!” 

Eddie overturns the mattress and shoves away the chairs and spares Dustin one last, long look. 

“Love you, man,” he says. “Sorry I couldn’t make it to the family gathering.” Then he turns and disappears out of sight, kicking down the front door and racing out onto the street. 

Dustin caves at the waist like a wet napkin and starts to cry. He wraps his fingers around the nearest chair and tugs it towards the centre of the room. His mind swims, vision splitting in two. Just like yesterday, he clambers up onto the seat and leaps, fingers grappling for purchase around the rim of the gate. 

When he lands on the other side, the bats are already silent. Eddie’s still breathing. He’s made it further than the vision showed, propped up against a vine-covered, ancient car. Dustin kneels in front of him, jeans soaking up the pool of blood immediately.

“I just need a second, okay?” Eddie heaves, blood flecking his lips and sliding down his chin and neck to pool around his exposed collarbone. “Gonna be okay.” 

“Fuck you,” Dustin chokes wetly, fingers digging into Eddie’s cheeks. The bandana is missing this time. “You weren’t supposed to run. You were meant to stay with me. You promised, Eddie.”

“Sorry, kid.” His eyes fall shut, breaths laborious. “I’m always running. Least this time it was towards something, instead of away.” 

When Eddie opens his eyes, Dustin sees they’re already drifting. 

He moans and shakes Eddie. “No. No, not again. Eddie. Eddie, please. You gotta hold on, man. It’s your year. Your year, remember? ‘86!” 

Eddie’s last words this time are, “‘86. Hey Henderson, what about ‘87?” 

It’s so stupid and heartbreaking and completely avoidable. Dustin falls apart against Eddie’s still, silent body. This time, Robin’s the first one to reach them. 

“Oh, oh God. Eddie.” 

Dustin tilts his head back to the midnight sky and wonders which star Eddie saw last. Then he closes his eyes and doesn’t think much of anything anymore. 

Steve and Dustin don’t go straight home from the hospital this time. With Erica and Lucas hitching a ride with Nancy, there’s a little more freedom than yesterday. 

“Where are we going?” Dustin asks, numb. He rests his head against the window, unbothered with how the occasional pothole leaves it bouncing against the glass. The skin of his face is tacky, wet with tears. They flow from him without thought, a cascade so steady it’s a wonder there’s any liquid left in him to produce them. 

Steve’s fingers clench the wheel tight enough to turn them white. “The trailer,” he murmurs. He suckles on his bottom lip like he’s debating continuing. Eventually, he says, “Eddie had a tape he wanted to give me. Mentioned it a few—” Steve cuts off to shake his head, tired. “God, he told me about it this morning. Only a few hours ago. God.” 

Dustin says nothing. Steve drives on in silence. When they eventually pull up to the trailer, he rests his forehead on the wheel to take in a deep breath. Then, composed, he gets out of the car. 

“Won’t be long, Henderson,” Steve mutters, smoothing his stupid, dirt-smeared camo shirt down. 

Dustin thinks of navy blue and Dio and colourful pins and feels his stomach flip. Eddie’s vest is likely still in the trailer. Bloody and stained, maybe, but still Eddie’s. He has to have it. Dustin’s throat tightens and he stumbles out of the Beemer without thought. 

“Woah!” Steve steadies him, eyes wide. “Hey, what’s wrong?” 

Dustin turns on Steve with such ferocious intensity that he startles himself. “Where’s his vest, Harrington? His vest? Where is it? ” 

“Dus— Dustin, please. Hey, hey. Hey.” Steve’s hands clamp firmly on Dustin’s shoulders. His exhaustion is a permanent shadow across his otherwise handsome face. 

“You don’t get it, Harrington,” Dustin yells, head pounding. His chest heaves. “You don’t know.” Steve doesn’t know anything, not what it’s like, not how Dustin’s feeling, not how they’re supposed to just carry on like everything’s fine. How Dustin’s supposed to go through this again, he can’t fathom. He’s fifteen, he thinks. He’s fifteen and Eddie was nineteen and — and neither of them are supposed to know what their own blood tastes like, what torn flesh looks like, and, and, and —

“I know,” Steve says, quietly, like a fucking liar, because how would he know how it feels to lose a brother? “I left it draped over the dash. It’s still there, Dustin. You can have it. We — I can get it for you.” 

Dustin’s skin itches. Though he knows Steve means well, his hackles raise. “I’m not going to collapse if I walk in there,” he hisses. His shoulders hike, pulse pounding. “I just want the fucking vest, Steve. I promise not to have a breakdown over it until you’re no longer in the room.” 

Steve’s eyes go wounded. “Dustin,” he says, quietly. “It’s not like that. I only—” He cuts off with a sigh, shoving his pinky nail in his mouth as he folds an arm around his waist. “Just let me get it for you, okay? I know where it is.” 

Finally, Dustin relents. He settles in Steve’s passenger seat and watches Steve climb the stairs. The door swings in with ease — Steve must have kept the keys on him this whole time — and Dustin catches a glimpse of the couch, of ugly wallpaper, and feels his stomach jolt. 

He wants to throw up, suddenly. All these imprints of Eddie — in the worn away seat of his DM throne, in the footsteps he left in the forest, in discarded chip bags near Skull Rock, in photographs tacked to walls — all these places Eddie existed, and now all Dustin has to show for it is a mangled heart, a head full of trauma, and this fucking necklace. 

And, if the universe forbids, Eddie’s vest. 

Maybe Steve was onto something when he’d implied Dustin wasn’t ready. He pillows his forearms on the dash and slumps forward to wait.

Steve’s in the trailer for half an hour. Dustin wonders, angrily, what’s taking him so long. By the five minute mark, Dustin had started getting antsy again. By the fifteen minute mark, he’d resorted to watching the seconds tick by on his watch. By the twenty minute mark, he’d wanted to start slamming on the horn. 

When it hits thirty minutes, he shoves the Beemer’s door open. He rounds the car and idles at the bottom of the stairs. The trailer door is still open. Dustin had avoided looking in, on account of the fact his stomach had threatened to give him something else to stare at, but now he doesn’t have much choice but to. 

He climbs the porch to head inside. He makes it a few steps up before he catches movement in the closest window. It’s hard to see in from this angle, but Steve’s so close to the window that Dustin can make most of him out.

What he sees makes him pause.

There Steve stands, half-turned away from Dustin, Eddie’s vest clutched in his hands. Dustin watches him stare down at the material, unmoving. Then Steve’s shoulders hike, his head drops, and he wilts into himself, vest pressed against his mouth and chin, eyes squeezed shut. He looks devastated. Dustin rubs at his chest, right above where it aches. Eddie's necklace bumps his fingers.

He tears his gaze away to the ugly wallpaper that’ll greet him should he step in the door. He drags his palm over his sticky cheeks and swallows. He can wait, he decides. Neither the vest nor Steve are going anywhere. 

Dustin makes himself at home on the dying grass surrounding the trailer, not ready for the stifling heat of the Beemer, and stares up at the clouds.

He wonders what tape Eddie left Steve. He wonders if Steve’ll listen to it. He wonders if maybe they could together. Steve would have liked Eddie, he thinks, not for the first time. It’s so fucking unfair the only way he’ll get to know him now is through Dustin’s memories and one double-sided tape, with music that Steve will probably hate. 

There’s noise at the top of the stairs. Dustin doesn’t say anything about Steve’s red eyes. He just reaches out and places his hand over Steve’s when Steve passes him the vest.

“We should listen to the tape on the way home,” he says, quietly. 

Steve sniffs and swallows thickly. He’s holding himself together with duct tape and a dream. “Sure,” he says, even though they both know they’ll be driving in silence. “Maybe if we insult it loud enough, he’ll come wandering out of the woods to shout at us.”

All things considered, it’s not that bad a joke. Neither of them laugh. 

Eddie would have. 

PART THREE.

When Dustin wakes up in Max’s trailer for the third time, he has to admit this is more than just Vecna-induced trauma. Once is happenstance, twice is coincidence, but three times is a pattern. 

There’s no way he’s had a vision within a vision. There’s no rhyme or reason behind that, and he hasn’t heard any clocks, so it’s unlikely Vecna’s playing the long con. So then, who is? Has Dustin finally snapped under the weight of everything? Is he going to wake up next time in Pennhurst, neighbours with Victor Creel? 

He opens his eyes to stare blankly at the ceiling and thinks. A dream within a dream. Possible, but not likely. He pinches himself just in case and — ow, fuck, okay. Not a dream. Except, he had been hurt in the other two as well — rolled ankle, at least, so can he really trust he’s not still sleeping? If he’s dreaming twice over, dreaming squared, then it’s definitely some sort of nightmare, and he’s definitely lucid. Maybe if he concentrates, he can change the location? 

Focus, Henderson. 

He squeezes his eyes shut and thinks about the Hellfire club room. He imagines the stained table and the little figurines and the fading afternoon sun through the solitary window. With a careful, slow breath, Dustin opens his eyes. 

He screams.

Steve jolts back, hands raised in surrender. 

“Jesus Christ!” he yelps, eyes threatening to pop from his head. “Fucking hell, Henderson! Way to give a guy a heart attack. Jesus!” 

Dustin sits up, irritated, sweaty, and nauseous. “I didn’t expect you to be hovering over me,” he snaps. “What were you doing?” 

“Everything okay? Did you see a roach or something?” Eddie leans over Steve’s shoulder, peering down at Dustin with confusion and alarm in equal measure. “I’ll be honest, we haven’t vacuumed in a while.”

Steve doesn’t shrug Eddie off as Dustin had expected, but he does cut Eddie a confused glance. “No,” he says, exasperated. “This little shit just decided I shouldn’t make it past forty. God, no wonder I’m going grey already.” 

Eddie squints. “I don’t see anything.” He leans in a little closer.

Steve, forever dramatic despite how heavily he pretends otherwise, jabs furiously at his dirty quiff. “Look! They’re everywhere!” 

Eddie cups the back of Steve’s head and dips it, um-ing and ah-ing as he inspects the mop of hair. “I dunno, Harrington. Not seeing much there. Maybe just a bald patch.” 

With a strangled yelp, Steve whips his head up. “Bald?!” he shouts, dismayed. “You’re kidding. You’re fucking kidding!” They’re almost pressed nose to nose. 

Eddie grins. He bumps Steve’s shoulder and says, “Okay, okay. You got me. No bald patch — at least, not yet.” 

Steve grits his teeth and fiddles with his fringe, trying to push it back into its usual gentle wave. It only kind of works. “God. Grey at twenty. This is hell.” 

“Relax, Stevie. I hear silver foxes are in,” Eddie says, placating. He sways impossibly further into Steve’s space, and murmurs, “Partial to them myself.” His resulting snicker only increases when Steve, face pink and mouth pinched, elbows him in the side. “Only joking,” Eddie admits, raising his hands.

Dustin catches the pink decorating Eddie’s ears, the way he’s always making excuses to be close to Steve, and the way he bites on his bottom lip and thinks maybe Eddie’s being more honest than he wants. 

There’s no time to unpack it now, but the image of Steve with Eddie’s vest pressed to his mouth, head bowed in grief, swims across his mind. Great — so his subconsciousness wants Steve and Eddie to get on so well that he’s imagining some hidden attraction between them. 

“Okay,” Dustin says, clearing his throat. He glances between the two of them pointedly. “If you’re done flirting,” and wow, forget what he said about Steve going red when speaking to Nancy — it’s nothing compared to his embarrassment now. 

“Shut up,” Steve mutters. 

Dustin lets Steve keep his dignity. “Why were you hovering over me?” 

“You looked like you were having a nightmare. Is it so wrong of me to want to check in?” 

“Aw,” Dustin coos. “You were worried about me?” 

“Yeah, asshole. Dunno why, when all you do is disrespect me.” 

Eddie snickers. He leans in to murmur to Steve all soft and intimate, “his tone.” 

Steve looks like he’s trying desperately not to grin, but he fails pretty easily, glancing at Eddie through his lashes. “Shut up, man,” he mutters, stepping away a little. He doesn’t go too far. “Was it a nightmare or not, Henderson? Whatever it was, didn’t seem pleasant.”

Dustin swallows around a dry throat. “I’m fine,” he says, and miraculously, he sounds so. “I need to piss,” he adds. “Get outta my way.” 

“Pleasant,” Eddie snorts. He moves to allow Dustin past, and then shuffles off to some corner of the trailer, Steve following after him. They’ve already started arguing again. Christ. 

In the bathroom, his skin looks washed out and waxy. Dustin leans over to flick the lock on the door, braces himself against the sink, and stares deep into his own eyes.

“You’re going insane,” he tells himself, matter-of-factly. “There’s no other explanation.” He wishes the bathroom were slightly bigger, because it would be excellent for pacing, which he fucking loves doing, because it helps reboot his brain in a way seldom things do. “Either you’re having the most exhausting, back-to-back nightmare of your life, or something … something’s happening. Something weird.”

Dustin settles on the closed toilet lid to think. 

“Ok,” he says, aloud. “Possible explanations. Weirdly long Vecna vision, extended nightmare, mental snap, prophetic vision from God …” 

Dustin starts picking apart the toilet paper roll absently. He tracks the steady pace of a spider across the roof. It doesn’t make sense to be a Vecna vision, he decides, for several reasons. The mental breakdown isn’t entirely out of the question, but it’s highly unlikely. The extended nightmare is bizarre, but is the most realistic so far. 

“But it just doesn’t make sense,” he says to himself, quietly. It’s like he’s reliving the same dream, the same event. It’s like he’s —

Dustin’s head jerks up. 

In seventh grade, Mrs O’Nelly assigned Dustin’s class Stranger With My Face, some story about a perfect summer ending badly, and crazy stalker long-lost sisters. At the time, Dustin had been going through a pretty shocking summer himself. No offence, Laurie Stratton, he’d thought, but I’ve got bigger things to care about then your psycho twin. 

Instead, he’d read Slaughterhouse-Five like any well-adjusted thirteen year-old. He’d liked it well enough, even if he couldn’t really follow what the fuck was going on at any given point, but Billy had stuck with him. Billy’s words stick with him now. 

“Stuck in time,” Dustin breathes into the stale air of the room. “Or rather, unstuck in time.” He stands amongst the littered shreds of the toilet paper. “Just like Billy Pilgrim.” 

It’s crazy, he thinks. It’s absolutely insane. There’s no way he’s time travelling. And yet. 

Someone bangs on the door. 

“Oi, Henderson.” It's Max. “Did you fall in or something?” 

Dustin kicks the shredded paper to the side of the toilet and hits flush, despite not using it. He spends a few minutes running his hands under the sink and smacks at his cheeks in a desperate bid to get some colour back in them. 

“Alright, alright,” he grumbles, sliding the door open. “Jesus Christ. You know, I could have constipation or something, from all the stress of the last few days.” 

“Gross,” says Max, wrinkling her nose. She draws back from him like it could be contagious. “You better not have streaked the bowl, Henderson.”

“Now who’s being gross?” he says, sticking his tongue out. “Besides, constipation means I can’t get anything out.”

Max takes a threatening step forward. “Stop talking about your bowel movements.”

“Alright, alright.” In the lounge room, Steve claps his hands. He cuts an imposing figure, all cocked hip and laced arms. “Look alive, dipshits. Nancy’s got some intel.” He folds her into his side. 

I bet she does, Dustin thinks. This time when they all trickle into the room, he sits beside Robin on the floor. Then he waits for Nancy to say I saw a dark cloud spreading over Hawkins …

She doesn’t disappoint.

Dustin debates his theory as the others shop. Lucas sits, lost in his own thoughts, up near the driver’s seat. Eddie lays curled on the backseat, apparently too wired to sleep, but his eyes keep fluttering shut every few seconds. For this reason, Dustin doesn’t start pacing. Instead, he sits on the floor beside Eddie’s head and thinks. 

With a theory, he feels grounded. With a theory, he can experiment. With a theory, there comes conclusions. 

Dustin tilts his head back and lets his eyes fall shut. He banishes the flashes of a twice-dead Eddie from his mind, and tries to think like Billy Pilgrim. If he’s unstuck in time, then he must be travelling backwards in time repeatedly, like a loop. The other option is that he’s unstuck in reality and hopping between dimensions. Either way, he’s stuck reliving the same day.

So how does he stop reliving it?

Dustin squeezes his palms against his temples and sighs explosively. If he ever sorts this shit out, he decides, he’s going to write a fucking manual. With the amount of bullshit and insane impossibilities they go through on a yearly basis, it’s probably about time one of them does. 

“What’s all the melodrama for?” Eddie’s voice is sleep-thick. He doesn’t move, doesn’t even open his eyes. 

“Just thinking,” Dustin says. 

“Dangerous.”

“For you, maybe.” Dustin shifts on the floor so he can pillow his head awkwardly against the couch pillow. “For me? I’m just wondering how this is my fourth time saving the world. You know, maybe I shoulda begged ma to move us out of Hawkins too.” 

“Hate me that much?” Eddie asks. He’s only teasing, but Dustin’s heart lurches in his throat.

A little too desperately he says, “No.” And then, “Obviously when I get outta here you’ll be coming with me.” 

Eddie’s eyes crack open, two little slivers of chestnut. “Oh really?” He asks, amused. His lips twitch. “And how do you figure that?”

“Cause you’re gonna become a rockstar, obviously.” Dustin scratches at his nose, contemplates the surprised expression on Eddie’s face. “And when you’re off touring the country, you’re gonna need someone with a brain. You’ll need a manager.”

“Oh, and you’re self-appointing?”

Dustin gives Eddie a grave look. “Do you honestly mean to tell me you wouldn’t want me handling your finances? Organising your tours?”

“You blew five whole bucks on a vending machine last month, Henderson. Forgive me if I’m nervous about letting you handle any stacks.” 

Dustin sighs, put-out. “Eddie,” he says gently. “You need to learn to forgive and forget, buddy. It’s not good to hold on to someone’s past mistakes.” 

Eddie snorts and reaches out to shove Dustin. “You’re a menace,” he laughs, pillowing an arm beneath his head. “Fine. When I get outta here and take the world by storm, you can come with me.”

“Good,” Dustin says. “I know you’d—”

“As my bus driver.”

Dustin hisses. “You’re so lucky you look so pathetic and tired right now,” he says, “cause otherwise I’d scalp you.” 

Eddie’s laughter bounces around the trailer, so loud it’s likely audible to anyone in the carpark. Lucas tosses them a look from the front, amused, before he glances back out the window.

“Jesus, you’re vicious.” Eddie sighs forlornly. “And to think, I only meant for you to repay me for the countless free rides I give you.”

“Steve never asks for gas money,” Dustin says. “He’s also a better driver.”

“Steve is rich,” Eddie responds, pointedly ignoring Dustin’s second comment. “He uses his dad’s money to fund your addictions at the arcade. And at the 7-Eleven outside of town. And, come to think of it, I assume also at Family Video.” 

Dustin shakes his head. “Nah,” he says. “His dad actually cut him off the summer the mall went up in flames, just after he graduated.”

Eddie sits up, surprised. He folds his legs beneath him. “What?” 

“Yeah. That’s why he got a job at Scoops. What, you think he willingly donned the sailor boy fit?” 

Eddie’s brow creases and he sucks his thumb into his mouth, chewing on the nail. “I didn’t know,” he says, eventually. 

Dustin shrugs. “He wouldn’t have told you. He didn’t get into any colleges. I don’t think he knows I know that, though, so maybe don’t mention it.”

“As if I’m going to judge him,” Eddie snorts. He looks a little bitter.

“I know.” Dustin fiddles with his shirt hem and looks away. “Steve’s weird about people’s opinions of him. I know you guys don’t get on well, but he knows how important you are to me, so your opinion would matter too.” 

Eddie sinks deep into thought, eyes unfocused. Dustin gives him a minute. Eventually, he clocks back in. “Every time I think I’ve found something about him to hate, I get the rug ripped out from underneath me. I think he’s an asshole, he turns out to be kind. I think he’s untrustworthy, he turns out to be loyal. I think he’s the stupidest guy out there, he turns out to be braver than anyone.” 

Dustin shrugs. “You’ve got more in common than you think,” he settles on saying. 

Then, speak of the devil, the door swings in and Steve hurries up the stairs, the whole troupe behind him. 

“What happened?” Lucas calls, jerking up in his seat. 

“Gotta go,” Steve snaps, tossing some supplies on the opposing couch and diving into the driver’s seat. 

“Your old friends are here,” Erica says to Lucas. Dustin mouths the now-familiar words at the same time. Time travelling is starting to look more and more appealing. 

Steve shoves the keys in the ignition and tears out of the parking lot, just like yesterday and the day before that. 

Dustin settles into his seat to wait. Where there is a theory, he reminds himself, there is always a result, regardless of whether it proves correct or not. He just hopes he’s got enough time to find it. 

They fashion their weapons for the third time. Dustin smacks ten more nails into their shields and forces another bandana around Eddie’s neck. It’s unlikely to protect him from demobat claws, but it’s the best they can do on short notice. 

“Zip up the vest,” he says, tugging on Eddie’s borrowed ‘armour’. “Seriously — what if a bat sneaks up and slashes you open?” 

“I don’t think they really had claws,” Eddie hums, consideringly. “It was sort of more like little stubs with pricks on them, like a cat’s mouth. It’s the teeth we have to worry about.”

Dustin zips Eddie’s vest up himself. “We don’t need semantics,” he says, somewhat aggressively. He ducks his head and mutters an apology. “I’m on edge,” he explains, which is the understatement of the fucking century. 

Eddie doesn’t care. “Chill,” he says, ruffling Dustin’s hair. “It’ll be fine.”

Except, Dustin thinks, it probably fucking won’t be, because you’re going to do something stupid and deviate from the plan and then die, right in my arms. Again. 

“You’ll stick to the plan, right?” Dustin asks anyway. 

Eddie nods. He levels Dustin with a serious, unwavering stare. “I’m no hero. I’ll run. The second we need to, I’ll run.”

Dustin sucks in a shaky breath, swallows past the nausea, and nods in return. “Good,” he says. “‘Cause if you don’t, I’ll drag you out by the fucking hair.”

Eddie cuts the fucking rope.

Dustin doesn’t have the strength to plead this time, when he finally catches up. 

“I love you,” he says instead, Eddie propped up against his chest. Dustin wonders if ultimately, he was made for this — for holding Eddie’s dying body against himself — because Eddie’s head sits perfectly in the slight dip beneath his ribs. “I love you. I love you, Eddie.” 

Eddie smiles. His teeth are stained red. A few tears puddle against his nose, spreading over eyes that are starting to lose light. 

“I love you, man,” Eddie chokes, fingers sliding around Dustin’s wrist. He never stops smiling. “You’re gonna be okay. It’s okay.”

Dustin thinks about Steve wrapped around him in the safety of Dustin’s bed. It’s okay. It’s not, and it will never be. For as long as Dustin has to relive this over and over, his heart splintering with every loop, it will never be okay. 

But Eddie doesn’t need that right now. 

So, Dustin bows his head. Says, “I love you.”

Eddie’s smile slips. His fingers fall from Dustin’s wrist. His head tilts back and then finally, his eyes go dim. Unstuck in time, Dustin thinks, tears dripping to pool with the blood on Eddie’s face.

“See you soon, Eddie,” he whispers. 

Dustin closes his eyes. 

PART FOUR. 

The fourth time Dustin wakes in Max’s trailer, he gets down to business. The last three loops, Nancy had sat them down around nine to recount her Vecna vision. It’s eight now, so he’s got an hour to get himself prepared. First point of call? Steve.

Steve is sprawled on the floor, a sleeping Erica somewhat tucked under his left arm. He looks like a harried househusband, hair stuck up at odd angles, arms curled protectively, surrounded by a pile of sleeping kids and teens. Dustin’s never woken before Steve before, which might be a point towards reality travel rather than time, or maybe whoever’s in control here is trying to give Dustin a better chance.

Regardless, he needs Steve awake. Very carefully, he bends down and pinches Steve’s nose shut. Steve jerks up less than twenty seconds later, which is a sort of concerning amount of time, but whatever.

“Dustin,” he hisses, scrubbing at his face. “What the hell?”

“I need to talk to you,” Dustin says, firmly. Then he backs up and over to the door to Max’s trailer and sits on the steps outside to wait. 

It doesn’t take Steve long to slip into place beside him. Steve yawns into his palm and waits, eyes droopy, for Dustin to tell him what’s wrong. He’s a good listener when he’s not being stubborn or snide.

“Have you ever seen Back to the Future?” Dustin asks, because Steve definitely hasn’t read Slaughterhouse-Five.

“Firstly: Russians. Secondly: I work at Family Video. I’d be surprised if you could name a movie I haven’t.” 

“Rocky Horror,” Dustin says, only ’cause Eddie’s so squirrelly about letting Dustin see it. 

Steve gives him a startled, odd look. “Um,” he says. He wets his lips, gaze cutting sharply over Dustin’s shoulder. “Sure. Yes.” He doesn’t sound confident and his face is starting to go pink. He’s embarrassed. He’s probably lying, Dustin decides, and just doesn’t want to admit he hasn’t seen it. 

Dustin relents. “Okay… so you’ve seen Back to the Future then? Sober?” 

“Did you wake me up and drag me out here to talk about movies?” 

“No,” says Dustin, trying his best to be patient. “Can you please answer the question?” He tries for a smile. It must come out pretty strained, because Steve doesn’t keep prodding.

“Yeah, I’ve seen it. Robin thinks it’s fun, despite the circumstances surrounding how we first saw it.” 

“Okay.” Dustin wets his lips. “So, I’m going to tell you something that you’re probably going to think is a lie. In fact, you’re probably going to think I’m going crazy, or that I’m playing a prank on you. I need you to know,” he stresses, “that I am being serious.”

Steve blinks. “Okay,” he says, warily. “Whenever you’re ready then, man.”

Dustin sucks in a sharp breath, claps his hands together in his lap, and says as straightforwardly as possible, “I’m going back in time.” 

Steve doesn’t say anything. His mouth opens and closes like a goldfish. Then, he says, “What, like, right now?” 

Dustin’s palm hits his forehead so hard it threatens to bruise. “No, Steve, not right now. In general! I’m time travelling in general.”

“... Why?” 

“I don’t know.” Dustin groans into his palms and rubs them down his face. His shoulders slump and he stares down at his shoes, watching an ant crawl along the wood of the stairs. “I just know that I’ve lived through this exact day like three whole times. Same conversations, same Vecna vision from Nancy—” Dustin raises a hand to stop Steve from speaking before he even opens his mouth. “She’ll get to it in like,” Dustin checks his watch, “forty minutes or so.” 

Steve looks like he’s been hit by a bus. He nods, stunned. “Sure,” he says, weakly, “let’s circle back to that later. You were saying?”

“I’m saying I know exactly what’s going to happen today. Where we go, what we fight and how, and who… who we lose.” Dustin catches Steve’s gaze. Desperate, he says, “I know that sounds insane, alright? I know it, but I think I’m stuck in this loop. This time loop — or maybe reality, I haven’t quite figured out the logistics yet —”

“Henderson.”

“But whatever it is, it’s got a pretty firm grasp on me.”

“Dustin.” 

“And I just, I can’t keep going through this shit, man.” He’s starting to get properly worked up now, heat prickling behind his eyes. “This is round four. Three fucking times I’ve watched him die, and now it’s round four.”

“Dustin!”

“What, Steve? What!” 

Steve clasps his hands against Dustin’s cheeks and pushes them together to cut him off. Dustin’s lips pucker, creating unattractive fish lips, but it has the desired effect: he falls silent. 

“Dustin.” Steve looks him square in the eyes, mouth unsmiling, expression grave. “I believe you,” he says. 

All the wind flies from Dustin’s sails. “What?” He reaches up and tugs Steve’s hands away, fingers wrapped around Steve’s wrists. “You, you believe me?”

Steve smiles. It comes out sad. “Of course I do. Why the fuck wouldn’t I?” 

“Because I sound insane.”

“Dustin.” Steve leans forward and bumps their foreheads together. Dustin almost goes cross-eyed trying to look at him. “We’re gearing up to save the world. Again. One of our friends is telepathetic.”

“Telekinetic,” Dustin says, with a damp snort. “Dipshit.”

Steve cuffs Dustin around the back of the head. “Whatever,” he says, grumpy. “We have a superhero friend, a Russian bunker spreading beneath the remains of the mall, we’re saving the world for the third or fourth time, Vecna can fucking levitate people and suck their eyes out through his mind, and I got chowed down on by a bunch of squid-bat-demon things, and you want me to look you in the eyes and say, ‘Nah, time travel isn’t real’?” 

Dustin blinks. It’s not often Steve leaves him stunned. Unbidden, a flush of heat sweeps over his face. He sucks in a breath and goes to speak, only to find his lips suddenly taste like salt. 

Steve’s face softens and he melts against Dustin. Carefully, like Dustin is precious, he wraps Dustin up in his arms. Dustin presses his face to Steve’s neck, hands clutching at whatever he can reach, and sobs, just once, before he pulls himself together.

“I believe you, Dust,” Steve murmurs. “Now tell me what I need to do.” 

With Steve at his back, it’s hard to believe things could go wrong. But, in what seems to be a recurring theme in Dustin’s life, they do. 

“Maybe Eddie should stay in the trailer,” Steve whispers, knees pressed to Dustin’s. They sit conspiratorially away from the group, heads bowed together. 

“Not possible,” Dustin murmurs, “unless you have another idea to distract the bats.” 

Steve bites down on his lip. The space between his eyebrows crinkles. “What if I was there instead?”

Dustin snorts. “Steve,” he says, “you can’t play guitar. You’re also a Wham! fan. We want to distract the demobats, not repel them. Face it, you’re musically challenged.” 

Steve goes all pouty in that way where he’s clearly trying not to be. “I can play piano,” he mutters, scowling half-heartedly. 

“We are not dragging a fucking piano into the Upside Down,” says Dustin, flatly. 

“I’m not suggesting that. I’m just saying, maybe we could … I don’t know, lock him up here?” 

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. Again, I remind you we need a distraction.”

Steve sighs. He digs his fingers into his eyes and slumps. “Then what do you think?” 

Dustin gnaws on his lip, fiddles with his hat, tries to ignore the distant ring of Kate Bush from Max’s headphones. “I think we should swap places. Maybe I should go into Vecna’s lair, and you should protect Eddie.” Sotto voce, he says, “You’d probably have a better chance getting through to him.”

Steve gives Dustin an odd look. “He doesn’t like me.” He doesn’t do a good job of hiding his hurt about that belief. “And besides, you’re best friends. If you can’t convince him, how the fuck can I?”

Because Eddie doesn’t want to kiss me, Dustin thinks, which, thank fuck about that. Out loud, he says, “I dunno, man. I think he, uh, I think he admires you.” Sorry Eddie. 

Steve looks pleased. He ducks his head and rubs the nape of his neck. “Really?” 

“You’re kidding,” Dustin says, flatly. “You’re joking.” He tosses his head back with a groan that draws the attention of nearly everyone. Waving them away, he stoops to meet Steve’s abashed, uncomfortable smile. “I’m going to let this go on account of there being bigger issues, but the second you start drooling over him, it’s all over, Harrington.”

Steve’s ears and bridge of his nose go lobster red. “Shut up,” he hisses. “I don’t even know him!” 

Because you haven’t given yourself the chance to, Dustin thinks, despairingly. He slides down in his seat with a huff and knocks Steve’s knees again. 

“Let’s get back on track. I go with Robin and Nancy, you stick around with Eddie.” 

“That’s not the plan,” Robin says, eyes wide. “Steve, that’s not what we decided on.”

Steve rubs the back of his neck, other arm around Dustin’s shoulders in a show of solidarity. “Listen,” he says, “I know.” He takes a deep breath and Dustin prepares for the speech of a lifetime. Steve says nothing. 

Robin’s eyes bounce back and forth between them. “Um,” she says, carefully. “So then you’re not going to do it?” 

“Oh no, we definitely are.” Steve grins, all schoolboy innocence, the Harrington charm of old, and rubs Dustin’s shoulder. “I think it’s a good idea.”

Nancy folds her arms firmly across her chest. “We’re not bringing a child into Vecna’s lair.”

“But you are letting him stand on the roof of a trailer next to a guy actively attracting demobats towards them both?” 

Nancy shoots Dustin a sharp look. “It’s different,” she says, voice prim, “because you are right beside the gate. It’s safer!” 

But it’s not, Dustin thinks. It’s not fucking safer, because Eddie still cuts the rope and he still tosses the mattress and he still runs out into the fucking hurricane of monsters and he still fucking dies. 

Aloud, he says, “I’m changing the plan. Steve agrees, and he’s been in this monster hunting business almost as long as you. He protects us kids more than anyone else. He’s our babysitter.” 

Steve looks flattered. Eddie watches with amusement, eyes bouncing between Nancy and Dustin. 

After a long pause, Eddie shuffles forward. “Fuck it. Why not?” Finally, he glances over at Steve. “What do you say, Harrington? Ready to attend your first metal concert?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “You know, Kate Bush has been pretty good to us so far. Maybe you could play something of hers?”

“Fat chance,” Eddie snorts. “It’s Metallica or nothing, Stevie.”

Steve’s fingers flex around Dustin’s shoulder, because of course they do. Dustin’s not even surprised at this point. Apparently the time loop is opening his eyes to more than just the cycle of grief. It’s not like Dustin’s complaining, though; it’s nice to see something soft between two people who mean so much to him, even if one of them dies before anything can ever develop. 

Steve sighs. Forlorn, he casts his gaze upwards. “Don’t suppose I could at least sway you towards Kiss?” 

Eddie’s entire face glows, like the sun from behind a cloud. “You know Kiss?” He’s more animated than Dustin’s seen him in a while. “What the hell? What’s your favourite song?” 

Steve’s arm slips from Dustin’s shoulder, distracted. Dustin moves away with little complaint, leaning into Robin’s side. She runs her fingers through his hair absently, and they watch as Steve and Eddie fall into the most lighthearted discussion any of them have seen in days.

The trailer door hangs open, only this time, Steve lingers on the lawn, not Dustin. Eddie stands shoulder-to-shoulder beside him, bandana on, vest zipped, eyes determined. 

“Good luck,” Steve says, voice steady. He meets Dustin’s eyes with an unwavering focus. 

“You too,” Dustin says. He passes the shield to Steve, pressing it into his hands. “Be careful.” He takes a step back, faltering, before he turns to Eddie. “Hey,” he starts, lump in his throat. 

Eddie interrupts him before he can speak, eyes all big and shiny, mouth a crescent moon smile. “Don’t stress, Dustin.” He jabs a thumb to the side, tilting his face towards Steve’s, mindless of personal space. “Harrington’s got me. Don’t cha, big boy?” 

Steve doesn’t pull away. He meets Eddie’s gaze head on, says, “Yeah. I have you.” 

Eddie goes a little bug-eyed, mouth dropping open just slightly. Dustin catches Steve’s eyes dropping briefly, before bouncing back up to Eddie’s gaze, and sighs. God, he thinks, they’re repulsive. If this is the loop where they make it out — and God, please, please let it be the loop — then his next point of call is going to be helping these two get their shit together. Friends might not have worked, but partners could. 

“Keep each other safe,” he says, eventually.

“Bye Steve,” Robin murmurs, eyes worried, but face determined. “Give them hell,” she says. 

They turn and leave, following Nancy into the forest. When Dustin glances over his shoulder at the treeline, it’s to see Eddie and Steve curled into each other watching them go. 

Dustin’s on cloud nine when Robin throws the last molotov. Nancy strides forward, taking shot after shot, until Vecna flies out the window, shattered glass raining down after him. Dustin stays behind Robin, hand fisted in the back of her shirt. He peeks around her shoulder with tentative hope. 

“Is … is he gone?” 

Nancy leans close to the window. When Robin starts to move forward, Dustin follows, untangling his fingers and coming to a stop beside her. Vecna lays on the desecrated front lawn of the Creel house, still flaming. Dustin beams. 

“Suck shit,” he whispers, feeling light, so very, very light. 

“Let’s go,” says Nancy, all business. She leaves the room without discussion, Robin and Dustin running after her. 

Dustin’s joy evaporates when they make it to the bottom of the Creel House stairs. There’s a trail of ash and blood, and Vecna’s body is gone. 

“Fuck,” Dustin curses, panicked. “What the hell HP does he have? We set him on fire twice and you shot him like, eight whole times!”

Nancy doesn’t say anything. Her fingers clench the gun so tightly Dustin expects it to snap clean in half. Her face is pure rage, mouth a thin, white line. She takes in a few short breaths and then grounds herself.

“We’ve done all we can for now,” she says, voice tight. “We need to get out of here.”

Dustin follows alongside Robin, their fingers linked together. “Hey,” he whispers, trying for levity. "Sorry there’s no popcorn waiting for you after all this.” 

It takes a second to click in Robin’s mind, but when it does, she laughs. “Yeah. Fuck, I would kill to be seated in one of those Starcourt Mall theatre seats right now.” She smiles shakily, readjusting the cap on her head. She looks like a warrior, tired and wary, but fierce all the same. Dustin kinda loves her. His eyes lock onto Nancy’s determined stride. He kinda loves her too. 

“I’m glad it’s you guys,” he says. “You know, this whole bullshit, world-saving shtick? I’m glad it’s with you guys.” 

Some of the stress seeps from Robin’s smile. “Yeah, Gumby, me too. We’re a team.” She offers him a fist bump he eagerly accepts. 

For a second, Dustin thinks everything is okay — that there’ll be getting out of here together.

Then Nancy crests the hill. Then Robin lets out a desperate, strangled wail. 

“Steve!” she screams. 

Dustin’s vision goes white. When he comes back to himself, he’s hovering over Robin’s shoulder. She’s sobbing uncontrollably into the blood-soaked chest of her best friend. 

“Steve?” Nancy whispers, fingers shaky where they press against Steve’s throat. The tears strike through the dirt on her face, leaving little white lines of skin amidst the muck. “No,” she sobs, head sinking. “Oh God. Oh my God, Steve. No.” 

Dustin can’t look at Steve’s face. He can’t. He looks down at Steve’s hand instead, where it rests atop Eddie’s. Eddie’s chest isn’t torn this time, but the horrible mess of his neck gives Dustin an answer to how he’s died. Dustin sinks to his knees, mind so far removed from the situation that he’s not even sure what’s real or not, and rummages through Eddie’s pockets without speaking.

The necklace comes out, tacky with blood, pick dented. 

Dustin slings it on without another thought, uncaring of the blood that rubs off onto his neck and shirt. He reaches out and tugs Eddie’s bandana down, covering those unseeing, blank eyes. How many times he thinks, casting his gaze back into the forest. How many fucking times does he have to do this? 

Robin is crying so hard she’s gagging, throwing herself into Nancy’s arms. “Not him,” she’s wailing. “Please, not him. Not Steve. Please.” 

Dustin shuts his eyes. There are no tears on his face this time. He doesn’t know how much more of this he can take. 

“Come on, Billy Pilgrim,” he murmurs to himself. “Wake me up again. Wake me up.” 

It’s not that Dustin’s avoiding Eddie. It’s not. It’s just, there’s only so many times he can watch Eddie’s eyes go cold and hollow; only so many times he can kneel beside the bloody stew of his brother’s body; only so many times he can see Eddie’s stupid, foolhardy, determined, brave expression before he cuts that fucking rope and runs.  

He’s not avoiding Steve either. He’s not. It’s just, he’d really thought he was onto something, pulling Steve into the fray. Steve had trusted him so easily, accepting every one of Dustin’s words at face value, and all it had resulted in was his fucking death, face probably half-chewed off, chest all mush. Dustin can’t do that again. He can’t.

He also can’t live through another fucking cycle. He sneaks out of the trailer before anyone wakes. Then, mind buzzing like radio static, he walks along the dirt and gravel, through the forest, and out onto the main road. Plenty of cars pass him by but none of them stop. Dustin wouldn’t notice if they did. 

He blinks back into himself on his doorstep, his mother staring down at him with glossy eyes, mouth contorted as she shouts. He doesn’t hear a single word. He lets her tug him inside and sit him down and cup his cheeks. 

“Are you hurt?” she asks at one stage. “Dusty, please, honey. Are you hurt?” 

Dustin stares over her shoulder at the brown wallpaper. He’s not hurt. He’s empty, hollow, listless, but he’s not hurt. At least, not in any way his ma can fix. And anyway, the loop will reset tomorrow, Eddie will die alone tonight, and God, God, he’d promised Eddie would never die alone, but sorry Eddie, he thinks waspishly, you fucking promised you wouldn’t cut the rope and you did. You did. You do.

Dustin settles on a bland smile.

“I’m good, ma,” he says, voice unrecognisable. “I’m going to lie down.”

He wanders out of the room like someone else controls his body, puppeteering him down the hallway and into his bedroom. It’s barely eight in the morning, but Dustin lifts the sheets and crawls into his bed all the same. He wraps himself up, moth-like, and prays he never emerges from his makeshift, cloth cocoon. 

He wakes up in Max’s trailer. 

Eddie doesn’t make it off the roof the fifth time. The sixth time he throws Dustin out the bedroom door and seals it behind him. His screams ring in Dustin’s head for hours. The seventh, eighth and ninth time, Eddie bleeds out in Dustin’s lap, in the trailer, and then all alone, where Dustin can’t find him. That death is the worst by far, he thinks. 

He was so alone, Steve. At least he didn’t die that way. 

And yet he had. Twice now. 

Dustin only tries to take Eddie’s place once. 

“Go, go, go!” Eddie shouts, shoving at Dustin hard enough to cause bruises as they race into the confines of the trailer. 

Dustin, who’s done this so many times he has the timing narrowed down to milliseconds, waits until Eddie has moved behind the chain link gate. Then he takes a step left, pivots, scoops Eddie’s shield, and rushes off into the night.

He makes it to the edge of the trailer park before the bats descend on him. Weirdly enough, the throat-shredding scream that rips from deep within Eddie’s chest hurts more than the demobats do.

By the time the loop hits double digits, Dustin’s little more than a shell of himself. 

“What if we just drove this trailer right out of town, all the way to California?” 

Robin gives him a bleak look. “I can see that going well for us. Reckon they’ll lump kidnapping charges onto Eddie, too?” 

Dustin squeezes his eyes shut. His ears ring with repeated conversations and endless loops of the same fucking nightmare. 

“Whatever,” he says. “We could clear his name.” 

Robin doesn’t say anything snappy. It’s like all the fight is slowly draining from his friends, too. They’re not even caught in the loop the way he is, and yet it saps their energy all the same. Dustin lies on the couch and searches fruitlessly within himself for something other than resignation. 

“Sure,” Robin says. She stretches her legs out in front of her, careful not to jostle Nancy’s head from her lap. She snoozes on, unaware. “I’d get a job at a library, ‘cause I’m so good at being quiet. You could work as a delivery driver, or a mail man. Steve’s obviously going to gun it for a lifeguard.”

“Maybe I wanna be an ice cream slinger.” Dustin smiles weakly. “Take after the legacy of my two favourite people.”

“You bumping Eddie off the list already? Cold, Henderson.” 

Dustin’s too exhausted to cry, but his chest still aches like he’s in the throes of it. Just hearing Eddie’s name is enough to cause him pain nowadays, almost as much as seeing his constant death. 

He tries distracting himself before he sinks too low into melancholy. “Speaking of lists, I think Eddie’s been bumped up onto someone else’s.” 

Robin gives him a confused, probing look. Dustin jerks a thumb over his shoulder and the two of them lean conspiratorially together to catch a glimpse of Steve and Eddie through the trailer window. The weapons they’re meant to be fashioning are discarded around them. 

“Watch,” Dustin murmurs, because they’re on track for one of the Deep and Meaningful loops. 

Sure enough, Steve reaches out and cups Eddie’s elbow. What he says is inaudible through the thick pane of glass, but Robin and Dustin both have front row seats to the way Steve ducks his head and then glances up, beseechingly. Eddie takes a step closer.

“What the … Oh, this is good.” 

Dustin hums. Says nonsensically for Robin, “This time Steve might kiss him. Wonder if that’ll break the spell?” 

“Spell? We talking True Love and its resulting kiss? What kinda tacky romances are you watching, Dustybuns?” 

Dustin shrugs. Outside, Eddie gently fiddles with Steve’s bandages, pressed so close to Steve that they’d need only tilt their head in a little for their noses and then their lips to brush. Dustin doesn’t hold out any hope for it. He wonders if in another life, another world, with a Dustin more capable than this one, or with no fucking Vecna, if Eddie and Steve would have had a shot. 

The thought sinks sour in his gut. He has to look away. 

“I’m going to go check on Erica and Lucas,” he mutters, voice gruff. 

If Robin says anything as he departs, Dustin doesn’t hear it. He’s too busy thinking about Eddie’s fingers skirting shy against Steve’s waist. 

Loop seventeen. Something changes. 

“Does anyone else have, uh, dion view, right now?” 

“Who the hell is Dion View?” Erica asks, legs tucked up under herself as she sips at her room temp water. “If you’re about to tell me we're gonna pick up another stowaway—”

Steve huffs, hands falling to his hips. They’ve got to be indented by now, perfectly shaped to fit the sharp press of his fingers, because they’re always landing there nowadays.

“No,” says Steve, embarrassed, “I mean .. you know that thing when something feels familiar?”

“Déjà vu,” Lucas says. He doesn’t move from where he’s slumped over the table, processing everything that’s just happened over the last few days. 

Dustin looks up with a clearer head than he has in weeks — loops. “What do you mean, Steve?” 

Steve rubs the back of his neck and glances around the room, looking a little prickly and uncomfortable in the face of all their stares. “Well,” he says, “I just … I have a weird feeling that I've been here before. Like, this just feels familiar.”

Dustin’s fingers clench in the roadmap he’s been trying to memorise for when he attempts to kidnap Eddie. It rips. “What.” His voice is quiet, breathy. “Steve,” he says, firmer, a weird martini of hope and panic mixing up in his gut, shaken, not stirred. “Elaborate.”

“What’s there to elaborate about?” Steve huffs, tossing his hands up. “I feel like I’ve been here before with Nancy telling us about her ‘dark cloud over Hawkins’ vision. I’m just waiting for Eddie to borrow Max’s Michael Myers mask.” 

Dustin jolts so hard he spills Erica’s water across the table. He doesn’t apologise, racing over to Steve. He backs Steve up against the wall, ignoring Steve’s gaping, startled mouth, and wide blown eyes, and the sudden tense atmosphere of the van.

“Steve,” he barks, pulse running rampant, “how do we get our supplies?”

Steve swallows, throat bobbing, and glances around the room. “Um,” he says, carefully, “is this a test?”

“Answer me,” Dustin hisses. He leans impossibly closer. “Answer me, Harrington.”

“Jesus Christ,” Steve says, eyes narrowed. Something sparks in their depths. “We’re taking Eddie’s trailer,” he snaps, “obviously. He’ll hotwire it first, and then I’ll drive it, ‘cause Robin won’t trust him enough, and with him behind the wheel, well, it’s not exactly inconspicuous.” 

From somewhere behind them Erica says, unimpressed, “He knows inconspicuous, but he can’t say déjà vu?” 

Dustin’s head swims. He feels faint. He takes a step backward. “What the fuck,” he breathes. 

“Dustin?” Steve reaches for him, concerned. He retreats a little, pressing his palm against his temple. “How did I know that?” he asks, face washing white. “Dustin, what the hell? ” 

Dustin takes one look at Steve, face equally pale, and says, “This is so fucked up.” Then he bends at the waist and throws up the meagre remains of yesterday’s lunch all over Steve’s borrowed shoes. 

A few hours later, they pull up at the familiar meadow. Everyone disembarks the trailer in a hurry, miscellaneous goods bundled in their arms. Dustin lingers in the doorway. He knows the routine. He can go down onto the grass, sit on an upturned milk crate, and listen to Eddie go on and on about Eddie the Banished! and he can let Eddie goad him into a wrestle, and he can get all soppy when Eddie pleads for him to never change.

Steve’s hand drops onto his shoulder. “Can we talk?” he asks. 

Dustin watches Eddie settle down on the crate, hammer in hand. “Sure,” he says, and they walk back into the depths of the trailer. 

Steve’s spine curves like a cooked prawn as he sits on the couch. Dustin settles next to him, mind whirring.

“How’s the head?” he asks. “You remember anything else?”

Steve hisses and jerks forward, squeezing his hands against his head. “Fucking hell,” he groans, “I feel like I’m coming down from a five-day bender.” He burps, ew, and hastily shoves his palm against his mouth.

“I know I already threw up on you, but you do not need to return the favour,” Dustin warns, leaning away. 

“Oh fuck off,” Steve moans, squinting up at him. “Can we turn the sun off? I’ve got such a headache. Hey, did you ever ask me about Rocky Horror? ” 

“Loop … seven. Or four. Or both?” Dustin rubs at his nose as he thinks. “Doesn’t matter which, I guess, but yeah.”

Steve leans back, groaning. “What the hell,” he mutters, not expecting a response. He sinks into the couch cushions and starts chewing on his nails, eyes darting around the room. “How many times have you been through this, man?”

“No clue,” says Dustin, with as much false cheer as he can muster, because what else can he fucking do? His smile is quick to wane. “But if you’re here, maybe it’s coming to an end. Alternatively, we’re all slowly getting sucked into the loop, which would actually be perfect. It’s so much easier to try and save people’s lives when they’re all in on it.” 

Steve cuts straight to the point, an expert at reading between Dustin’s lines. “Who dies?” 

Dustin can’t meet Steve’s eyes. “In the first loop,” he says, instead of answering, “we went back to mine. Just you and me, and we sang ‘NeverEnding Story’ while you showered, because neither of us wanted any silence. Then we passed out on my bed.” 

Dustin can feel Steve observing him. His eyes bore deep into the side of Dustin’s head, like he’s trying to employ X-ray vision to read Dustin’s thoughts. 

Dustin fiddles with his hat and leans forward, forearms on thighs, to stare out the open trailer door to the field of grass beyond. “I told you that you were my brother,” he says eventually. “I meant it. I told you Eddie was too.”

Steve’s shoulders sink. He makes a noise like a punctured tire and wilts. “How many people do we have to lose before it ends?” he whispers, voice tinted with anger. 

“He dies in my arms almost every time,” Dustin admits. He thumbs at his chest, where the necklace always ends up hanging by the end of the night. “It never gets easier, but I think I kind of just black out now. I mean, I know that I’m going to wake up back here, or, in Max’s trailer, so why bother with the waterworks?” 

“Dustin. You need to let yourself grieve. Bottling your feelings? That’s not healthy.”

“Yeah, neither’s watching your friend die like forty fucking times in a row, but here we are.” Dustin laughs humorlessly and lets Steve lean against him. “I don’t know what to do. I’ve tried everything. He always cuts the fucking rope or we fight them together and one sneaks up on us, or the fucking bat suffocates him.” 

Steve watches Nancy and Max through the door. “What if Eddie doesn’t come?”

“You’ve already suggested that,” says Dustin, tired. “We need a distraction.”

“What if … someone else stays with him? Not that you’re not capable, but—”

Dustin closes his eyes against visions of Steve lying in a pool of his own blood, mouth gaping, limbs sprawled, chest pulverised. 

“Tried that. Both of them died.” 

“Okay, what if it’s me?” 

Dustin bows his head, blood like ice. “We’ve tried a bunch of shit, Steve, and nothing works. I’m ready to kidnap him at this point. Fuck Vecna, and fuck Hawkins, too.” 

Steve rubs Dustin’s shoulder. “Well,” he says, bumping their heads together, “you’ve got me, this time round at least. We know what doesn’t work. We can figure this out.” 

“Well, maybe you can convince Lucas to take a gun to the Creel house,” Dustin mutters, only half-joking. “Eddie’s not the only person we lose.” 

Steve goes impossibly still. He wets his mouth. His eyes flutter and a great, heaving breath rushes through him. “Max. How?” 

Dustin snorts. “How do you think? Fucking Jason Carver, accidental accomplice to Vecna.” 

“Fuck, Carver. And I’m getting real sick of this Vecna creep,” Steve grunts. “How fucking pathetic do you need to be to have beef with children?” 

Dustin grins weakly. “If it makes you feel better, Nancy sprays him up every time. I’ve tried telling her to go for the head, but she never does.” 

“Sprays?”

“Shotgun,” Dustin says, pointing out the door. “She’s sawing the barrel off now, ‘cause she’s hardcore as shit.” He stands up to stretch. “It’s nice having you here, Steve, don’t get me wrong. Good to know I’m not the only one potentially stuck, but I know how this ends. I’m not gonna give up, but just … just prepare to leave the Upside Down one man less than we entered it.”

“What the fuck?” Steve’s sudden anger is startling. “You’re telling me you haven’t given up, and then in the same breath you tell me to make peace with Eddie and Max’s death?” 

Dustin startles. For the first time in forever, something crawls from the void in his gut. The hollowness in his chest, his heart, his bones, fills with a thick and heady fury. 

“What the fuck do you know?” he shouts, exploding into motion. He pegs his hat at Steve. “You have no fucking idea what I’ve been through!”

Steve bats the hat away, hands flying everywhere as he yells. “Maybe not, but I sure as hell know I wouldn’t be fucking acting like this!” 

“Like what, Harrington? How the fuck am I behaving?” 

Steve gears up. He says, “How the fuck can you be so selfish, huh?” 

It’s not fair. Dustin knows Steve is upset, knows his world is being twisted on its head, knows that Steve isn’t as jaded as Dustin is yet, as cynical, but it’s not fucking fair. Who is Steve to stand there and tell Dustin he’s selfish? What right does he have? 

“You think I like watching Eddie swim in a pool of his own blood, choking on the liquid in his lungs, cracking jokes to try and keep me from crying?” 

Steve jerks like he’s been punched. He looks wounded. “Dustin,” he says, voice tight. 

“Fuck you.” Dustin says. “It’s all well and good to think you’d be some kind of fucking superhero inferno, Harrington, but you try fighting when all the fucking fire’s gone out.”

Steve freezes. He doesn’t even look like he’s drawing breath. Were it not for the steady widening of his eyes and distant birdsong, Dustin would think time had paused. 

“Fire,” Steve breathes, eyes distant, fingers twitching. “Fire. Dustin. Dustin, fire.” 

Dustin forces himself to take a calming breath. “Congratulations, caveman,” he says, through grit teeth. “You’ve reached the Stone Age.” 

Steve cuts Dustin a sharp, unimpressed, and still slightly angry look. “Shut up,” he snaps. “I’m not a fucking idiot, Henderson. Listen to me: if we’re going to burn Vecna, why not burn the fucking bats, too?” 

Dustin opens his mouth and freezes. He thinks about it. In the single loop he’d gone with Nancy and Robin, neither of them had needed his help with Vecna. He’s willing to bet it’s the same when Steve’s there. The molotov cocktails had worked perfectly, and Nancy’s aim had been in a league of its own. 

“The vines and the bats and Vecna are all connected,” says Dustin, wondrously. “We take out the bats—”

“Maybe we can help take out Vecna.” Steve steps forward, face grave, and clamps his hands down on Dustin’s shoulders. “Either way, we light those fuckers up, I’m willing to bet we’ll have smoother sailing.” 

“We?” 

Steve tugs Dustin over to the couch and squats in front of him. “You think I’m letting you outta my sight for a second now that I know what you’ve been through? What you’re going through?” He purses his mouth, expression pinching, as his eyes dart across Dustin’s face. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t have said any of that to you.” 

“It wasn’t fair,” Dustin mumbles. “I know how you’re feeling, but Steve, it wasn’t fair.”

“I know,” Steve says, ashamed. He looks uncomfortable but to his credit, he doesn’t once look away. He meets Dustin’s gaze front-on, mouth serious, palms warm on Dustin’s knees. “I’m sorry.” 

Dustin lets the anger mellow in his stomach, but not quite fade. It’s the strongest emotion he’s had in a long time, but he doesn’t have to level it at Steve. “I’m sorry too. Believe me, I know how stressful this all is.” 

Steve reaches out to cup the back of Dustin’s head, but pauses. “Ah,” he says, unsure. 

Dustin rolls his eyes, lump in his throat. “You can touch me Steve, I’m not fragile.” 

Steve doesn’t make any comments, just bundles Dustin up his arms, Dustin’s forehead pressed to Steve’s neck. His hair smells kind of awful. Dustin’s smile comes easier than it has in weeks. 

“Love you too,” he says, patting Steve’s back. “Come on. We need to convince Lucas to barricade the Creel house doors, and maybe take his own weapon. Oh, and I need to let Erica know when she needs to hide, you know, ‘cause Carver’s loyal dog squad, and all that.” 

Steve sighs. “Fucking hell,” he says. “How has it gotten to the point where I’d rather fight demon bats than a seventeen-year-old psychopath with a god complex?” 

Dustin watches Max lead Erica and Lucas into the Creel house, spike shields in their hands, hammer tight in Lucas’s. He hopes they barricade the house well enough to keep any of them from having to use them. Steve eases out onto the road and heads towards the trailer park.

Fifteen minutes later, they watch Nancy and Robin disappear into the forest. Dustin squeezes his eyes shut and though he’s not religious, begs for them to come back safely. Then he turns and heads up into the trailer. (This is the last time, he thinks, savagely. There is no other option.)

“You got the rags?” Steve taps his nail bat against the floor and mimes a swing. 

“Already locked and loaded,” Eddie confirms, upending three cloth-wrapped pikes on the floor of the trailer. “Everyone got their lighters?” 

Dustin thumbs his. “Yeah. We got the gasoline laid out already?” 

Steve flexes his wrists as he peers out the trailer door, squinting at the distant bottles of gasoline. “Yes,” he says, “I should be able to drench a ring pretty quick. You’ll just need to watch my back.” 

Eddie nods, eyes wild, expression grim. He’s got paint smeared across his cheeks in two little black stripes, like he’s ready for war, and his bandana on his head, holding his hair back. 

“Remember, we need to plug the vents,” Dustin says, all frantic energy. “Where’s the fucking duct tape?”

Eddie bounds across the room to stand atop a chair, shoving a bundle of old shirts and other material into the closest vent. “We can do the same in the bedroom, too. Do you think we should set the room on fire?”

“Only if you wanna die of smoke inhalation,” Steve says. “We also need this gate to get out, so let’s try and keep the battle outside the trailer.” 

Eddie shrugs. “Sure,” he says, finishing up. He shoves his trembling hands into his pockets as he watches Steve soak their pikes. “How long do you reckon 'til I’m up there?”

Dustin thinks. “Not long. I’d start dragging your shit up after you’re done with the bedroom vent. Hey Steve, can you help him with the amp? And seriously, where’s the duct tape?”

Steve kicks him a roll of tape. His trouser legs are already reinforced with the stuff, in the most vulnerable areas, like his calves and thighs. His arms too, save for his wrists, hands, and elbows. It had worked in a zombie film Dustin had seen the other year, and as unrealistic as those films are, his current biggest concern is a swarm of vampire-bat-demons. So. 

“Let’s run over the plan again,” Eddie says a few minutes later, crouched on the trailer roof, tuning his unplugged guitar. “I’m going to give you the most insane concert of your life; the bats are going to come tearing in to render flesh from bone; we’re going to wait for Dustin’s signal.”

“Then we run for the trailer,” Steve jumps in. “We’ve got the vents plugged. We defend the gate, keep the bats away from it. If they break in, we break out. They’ll chase us.”

“We run for the gasoline circle. Hopefully we don’t have to use it, but if we do, it’s there. We take our pikes with us. We set shit alight.” Dustin splays his fingers across the top of Eddie’s amp, making sure it’s ready to go. 

“Watch each other’s backs. They’re going to swarm us, so make sure you have your shields with you. Dustin, you got the hair spray?” 

Dustin nods and taps the two cans holstered to his belt. “There’s another four in the trailer. Two each. First point of call when you get down there is to sheath them.”

Eddie giggles. Steve and Dustin snap their heads over to him, astounded. 

“Sorry,” Eddie says, mouth wobbly as he raises his hands in surrender. His pupils swallow all the colour in his eyes. “Just, this is insane. Christ, I’m pretty sure I have a history essay due in two days, but I’m in the fucking underworld preparing to torch the joint.” 

Steve’s lips twitch. He fights his grin desperately, before giving in with a breathy little laugh. “Yeah, welcome to the party.” 

“Literally. Welcome to the Party,” Dustin says, emphasising the word. “You’re one of us now, Eddie. We’re setting this place ablaze and hauling ass out.”

Eddie glances between the two of them and slowly, his shoulders relax. As much as they can in the current situation, anyway. “Jesus H Christ,” he says, shaking his head. He looks dazed and somewhat sheepish. 

Dustin bumps his fist lightly against Eddie’s shoulder. “Show time, man. Show ‘em what Eddie the Banished is all about.”

Eddie nods determinedly. He slips his necklace over his head, presses his lips to it, and says, quietly, “This one’s for you, Chrissy.” 

Despite how many times Dustin’s watched Eddie shred — so much so he’s pretty sure he could bust out ‘Master of Puppets’ himself at this point — Eddie’s playing still makes his breath catch in his throat. Steve’s not faring much better, eyes blown wide, stunned, mouth in a delighted half-open grin. 

“Eddie!” he shouts, delighted. “Fuck yeah!” He throws his arms up with a whoop, rocking back on his ass. 

Dustin’s heart leaps in his throat. He sucks in a deep breath and yells. “Woohoo! Let’s go, Eddie!” 

Eddie tosses his head back with a grin, fingers slamming and sliding up and down the fretboard. The amp thuds and booms and shakes the trailer roof and then, over the horizon, comes the wave. 

“Incoming!” Dustin shouts and Steve slides off the roof, speeding into the trailer to initiate the next stage of the plan. “Thirty seconds, Eddie!” Dustin shrieks. 

Eddie nods, eyes fearful, but he keeps hammering away at the tune. He’s a wizard at the guitar. When they make it out, Dustin’s got plans to beg Eddie to teach him. 

Twenty seconds.

Ten. 

Five.

“Now, Eddie! Go, go, go!” 

The door threatens to fly off the hinge as they barrel in, Steve slamming it shut behind them. He shoves the hairspray into Eddie’s belt while Eddie double-checks the pikes and shields. Dustin’s heartbeat drums like it’s got its own solo show to do, his skin already tacky with sweat and fear. They all fall silent, chests heaving. Dustin stares at the vent, Steve at the trailer door, and Eddie at the bedroom door. It’s quiet, so quiet. Then, a thud on the roof. A repetitive scratching, and then the cacophony starts up. 

“They’re on the roof,” Dustin hisses. “They’re going to try for the vents next. Get ready to break for the door, ‘cause I don’t think the material’s gonna hold.” 

Sure enough, a few moments later, a bat shoves its head in. Eddie slings his shield up and jabs it firmly against the vent, eyes wide, mouth pinched so tight his lips go white. 

“Get the hairspray,” he shouts, voice reedy. He casts Steve a desperate glance. 

Steve whips out one of the canisters and flicks his lighter open. “Move,” he yells, hands steady, and when Eddie draws back he shoots a long plume of fire straight up into the vent. 

The bat goes haywire, screeching and clawing like a cat stuck in a bag, and Steve aims and fires again, the flames casting harsh shadows across his face. Eddie scoops Steve’s shield, one in each hand.

“We gotta go,” Dustin shouts, watching the bedroom door start to buckle. “We gotta make a break for the circle.”

Steve eyes up the two remaining pikes on the floor and his bat against the wall. “I’m gonna drop the flames. Eddie, take a pike, leave one of the shields. I’m taking my bat. Ready?”

Dustin sucks in a breath, squeezes his eyes shut, and forces himself to calm. They’ve lasted longer than the last sixteen loops. They can make this work. 

“Ready,” he and Eddie chorus.

Steve gives a grim nod. “Run,” he says.

And they do.

Steve cracks his nailbat into another one of the creatures, letting lose a raw cry as he does so. Dustin ducks under his swinging arm to send a jet of flame off at the nearest bat. The creatures screech and claw at each other, dodging the fire, and raise to circle above the trio's heads. The three of them are stuck in the eye of the storm, but they're holding their own. 

"Shouldn't be much longer," Dustin hisses, pulse tripping. 

Eddie slams his shield up with a grunt, hair flying everywhere as he spins into the next hit. He's weirdly coordinated; his balance is impressive. He spins again to smack away another bat, chest heaving. 

"They're clumping together," Steve shouts, dropping his bat to aim the his DIY flamethrower upwards. "Ready?"

No, Dustin thinks, hysterically, but he aims the spray can anyway. 

"We make it outta here and I'm going on the straight and narrow," Eddie promises, dropping his shield. "Fucking hell. This is insane." 

"Now!" Steve shouts. 

The three of them flick their lighters on and press down on the hairspray triggers. Steve aims the plumes of fire above their group while Dustin and Eddie sweep their flames from side to side. The swarm of demobats screech and plummet, flying straight towards them, vicious mouths wide open. Dustin braces himself. Eddie stumbles. Something buffets Dustin's side.

He drops the lighter. 

"Eddie!" Steve shouts. "Dustin, get the shield!" 

Dustin dives onto the gravel, feels claws rake over his cheek, and rips the shield up. He slams it to the side, and caves a bat's head clean off. Wicked. He spins to the side to catch Eddie holding his stomach. Blood spreads rapidly across his shirt. No.

"Don't you dare fucking die," Dustin hisses, eyes burning. Steve shoots another jet of flame. Its light illuminates Eddie's waxy face, painting it orange. He looks uncomfortable and in pain, but he's also lucid and upright. 

Steve whips his nailbat up, takes a big step, draws back, and swings. He cleaves the oncoming demobat clean in the face and sends it launching towards the rusted, vine-ridden car Eddie had once died against.

Then, before any of them can do anything else, the demobats start screeching. The skin around their head starts to bubble, and they shake profusely, dropping out of the sky like dead flies. One, and then two, and then ten, and then double that, and then, before Dustin can even catch a breath, the air stills.

"Holy fuck," Eddie murmurs. He sways a little, grimacing, and falls to a knee, but his eyes are bright, hopeful. "Did we fucking win?"

Dustin swallows. The shield falls from his lax fingers to hit the concrete with a thundering clang. 

"Yeah," Steve says, chest heaving, blood smeared across his cheek. He grins, savage. "Yeah, we fucking won." 

Dustin collapses, relief punching a singular sob from his chest. Steve crouches next to Dustin instantly, carefully guiding Eddie to sit down beside them — half in Steve's lap, really. They're so transparent. 

"I can't believe we won," Eddie says. He touches his blood-stained shirt, fingers coming back red. There are a few claw marks through his shirt, deep and unpleasant looking, but nothing fatal. 

Nothing fatal.

Fuck, Dustin thinks. They've done it. They've actually done it. 

They're meant to wait for the girls, so they're in no hurry to get up. 

After a few minutes, Eddie's breathing gets somewhat wet and laboured, but no blood bubbles over his lips, and he seems more tired than anything, head pillowed against Steve's chest. He glances up at Steve like he can't quite believe what's happening, cheeks a little pink. 

“Hey Steve,” Dustin says suddenly, laughing wetly over an in-joke no one but him and the Robin of a past loop remembers. “We might have broken the time loop curse already," and God, does that feel good to say, "but have you ever heard of True Love’s Kiss?” 

Steve's mouth twists sourly, but his eyes narrow like he’s deep in thought. He absently thumbs Eddie’s wrist, finger remaining on his pulse. 

Eddie glances up at them both with amused eyes. “Yeah, Stevie,” he rasps, exhausted. “I dunno what Henderson means by time loop, but I do know that I don't wanna be cursed if I don't have to be. So, pucker up an’ all.” 

It’s clear they’re just teasing Steve, but he gets this familiar fiery look in his eyes, the oh no you don’t, the I know you’re lying, the I’ve got you all figured out. He slides his hand up Eddie’s chest and cups the side of Eddie’s face, smearing blood everywhere.

“You die after this and I’ll bring you back to life to kill you myself,” Steve hisses, eyes sharp, and then he swoops down and presses his lips firmly to Eddie’s. Despite the ferocity of his words, Steve’s touch is gentle.

“Huh,” Dustin says, surprised despite himself. He thinks about the way they’d danced around each other every single loop, no matter the circumstances, and feels a little curl of warmth puddle in his stomach. “That theory has been proven correct, I guess,” he says. 

Eddie scrambles to clutch at Steve’s shirt, so Dustin turns away to give them some privacy, peering out into the endless depths of the surrounding forest. 

“Not a word, Munson,” Steve mutters. There’s a rustle or two, a few wet gasps and pained grunts. When Dustin peeks back over his shoulder, Eddie is firmly encased in Steve’s arms, eyes wide, smile a little shy and a whole lot pleased. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, big boy,” Eddie murmurs, head flopping awkwardly against Steve’s neck and shoulder. His necklace lays fisted in his hand. He smooths his thumb back and forth over the chain, catching Dustin’s gaze.

Dustin smiles. “Want me to hold on to it?” he asks, gesturing to the necklace. 

Eddie reaches out to drop it in Dustin’s lap without complaint, only his hand keeps moving, fingertips brushing Dustin’s chin and jaw. Eddie winces, clearly stretching further than his wounds are comfortable with, but he doesn’t stop. 

“C’mere,” he groans. “C’mere, Henderson.” 

Dustin crawls forward and presses himself to Steve’s side, a long line of heat building between them. Eddie reaches out and smooths his thumb over Dustin’s cheeks.

“Oh,” Dustin says, voice catching. 

He’s crying, he realises. His chest aches and he wants to lay down forever, but Eddie is smiling at him, eyes gentle, hand on his face, and Steve has an arm around Dustin’s shoulder, and another cradling Eddie to his chest, and his head rests against Dustin’s temple, exhausted, and they’re each still drawing breath.

They’re alive. 

From the forest comes Robin’s whooping laugh. She tugs Nancy after her, hand in hand, Nancy’s face smoother and more at peace than she’s appeared in a long time. Dustin waves them over, chest still heaving with sobs, spine still liquid, but face split in a beam.

He knows better by now than to count all his chickens before they’ve hatched, but something about this feels right. Something about Robin’s hand in his hair and Nancy’s no-nonsense inspection of Eddie’s far less lethal wounds feels good. It feels like things are finally settling. Things are finally over.

In the end, Dustin doesn’t know what ends the loop. Maybe someone upstairs finally cuts them a break; maybe all it needed was the power of fucking friendship, of love, of a boy so fucking determined to save a town that hates him, that someone up above had looked down and said, Christ, cut him a break, send the kid in. Hell, maybe Robin’s right, and True Love’s Kiss isn’t all bullshit. 

Whatever the case, Dustin doesn’t care much for the answer. He wakes up in Hopper’s abandoned cabin and cries so hard he thinks he could puke, laughing like a crazy man the whole time. 

“We’re alive,” he sobs, squeezing Eddie’s hand. “You’re alive.” 

“You saved me, kid,” Eddie reassures. “I’m okay. You saved me.”

You have no idea, Dustin thinks. So many times, and each of them harder than the next, but none of them regretted. I’d spend my entire life trying to save you, he thinks. 

“You’ve still got a family gathering to get to,” Dustin sniffles, swiping at his cheeks. He can’t stop grinning. His cheeks ache. “Couldn't have you bail yet.”

Something flickers deep in Eddie’s eyes. A little spark of something, like he's recovering a long-forgotten memory. Somewhat distantly, he says, “Well, Henderson, someone’s gotta scare your great aunt.”

Dustin wakes up in Hopper’s cabin a second time. Yesterday's discarded banana peel on the sink has browned, proof of a new day. Time ticks on, and for once, so to does Dustin’s life.

EPILOGUE.

“Henderson,” Eddie whines pitifully, curled up on the couch with big doe eyes. “Just one.” 

“No,” Dustin says, dropping a cold washcloth over Eddie’s face without remorse. “Your lungs are fucked from the Upside Down already, you don’t need to make it worse with a joint.” 

Eddie doesn’t bother to remove the washcloth. He just heaves a sigh into it, and says, muffled, “If Wheeler was here he’d give me one. He would respect the code. The bro code.” 

“You macked on my brother,” Dustin says flatly. “I think the bro code is dead.”

Eddie stills on the couch. He gives a strangled little laugh and says, “Wow, so how about this weather, huh? It sure got hot earlier this year.”

Dustin snickers. “Smooth,” he says, puddling on the floor near Eddie’s head. He flicks the TV on, sorting through channels ‘til something other than the news comes up. “You know,” he hums, consideringly, “If I’d known your cattiness was the result of some long-term pining, I would’ve gone about this all differently.”

Eddie croaks like a frog. “Shut the fuck up,” he says, finally removing the washcloth. “I'm not catty. Jesus, why don’t you just leave me here to expire, huh? Like custard.”

The sound of tires on gravel distracts Dustin before he can retort. He bites down on his grin, excited, stomach feeling like a can of shaken fizz. 

“Up and at ‘em, Munson,” Dustin says, stooping to help Eddie upright. He ignores Eddie’s confused look, and says, “We've gotta delivery arriving.” 

Eddie shuffles to the door on unsteady legs, arm shaky around Dustin’s shoulders. “Better be pizza,” he grunts, sweat beading his brow. “Or my guitar. Or my tapes, God. Then we could have some real entertainment around here.”

Dustin doesn’t say anything. He just pushes open the door and helps Eddie down the stairs. When they reach the bottom, Steve’s Beemer pulls into place behind the government's big, black van. Max, Lucas, Erica, Nancy, Robin, El, and the California crew plus Hopper — Dustin’s still fucking reeling from that one — stand clustered around each other. They smile at Eddie and Dustin, but don’t approach.

Eddie waves at them, more than a little confused about why they’re all waiting outside. “Why’s everyone out on the fucking lawn? Do I stink that bad, huh?” 

Steve clambers out of his car. He slams the door shut and rounds the vehicle. “Special delivery for Edward Munson?” He calls, hands cupped around his mouth, even though he’s really not that far away.

Wayne Munson slides out of the Beemer. 

Eddie’s legs wobble like jello and he sags into Dustin’s side, face ashen, eyes swimming, lips mouthing incomprehensible shapes. 

“Ed,” Wayne says, gruff, voice cracking. He strides across the lawn and reaches, and Dustin smoothly steps to the side as Eddie reaches out too, chest heaving as he bursts apart, collapsing into his Uncle’s arms. 

“Uncle Wayne,” he gasps, gripping Wayne’s shirt tight between his fingers. He cries and cries and cries, and Dustin catches a glimpse of Eddie’s core, just for a second — sees him for the boy he is, barely twenty, a town pariah, and above all, a hero. Always, endlessly a hero.

Dustin wanders down the lawn and settles at Steve’s side. 

Steve watches Eddie and Wayne with warm eyes, the afternoon sun melting his expression into something impossibly soft. He wraps an arm around Dustin’s side. 

“You did good, Henderson,” he murmurs. “You did real good.”

Dustin lets his eyes fall shut. He’s still too scared to sleep peacefully, scared he’ll wake in Max’s trailer for the millionth time, scared that the other shoe will drop, but with Steve’s arm around him, it feels a little easier. 

Dustin doesn’t know how to convey his gratitude to Steve — doesn’t know how to even begin to explain how much of it relied on Steve’s support, Steve’s immediate trust. 

“Love you, Steve,” he settles on saying. He doesn’t feel vulnerable saying it. It just feels good. Right. 

Steve drops a kiss to Dustin’s messy hair. “Love you too, bud,” he says, quietly, but no less honest.

“Hey, Henderson!” Eddie hollers. His eyes are red and his cheeks wet, but a brilliant beam stretches across his lips. “You’ve got a new fan. Come tell my Uncle how you kept my ass alive these last few days!” 

Steve rolls his eyes, exasperated. “Hey, don’t give all the credit to him,” he says, but he turns to Dustin with a private smile, eyes proud. “He had a little bit of help,” he murmurs, knowingly. They both know how long Dustin’s really been playing at keeping Eddie alive. 

But that’s a thought for later. In fact, it’s a fading thought at best. Already, Dustin can’t quite remember the first time round — doesn’t even remember the exact number of loops he’d lived through. Hopefully, with time, he’ll wake up in a world where Vecna, the Upside Down, and each and every one of Eddie’s deaths are long behind him. 

For now, Dustin rolls his eyes and grins and lets Eddie bundle him up in an excited hug. Eddie’s necklace swings free of his shirt and presses into Dustin’s skin. It’s as reassuring and familiar as ever.

Eddie catches him eyeing it and wraps his fingers around the chain. “It’s yours if you want it, man,” he offers. “I know you’d keep it safe.” 

Dustin shakes his head. “Nah,” he says, pressing himself into Eddie’s side. “I think it looks best on you.”

THE END.