Chapter Text
In a scientific study, a control group is used to establish a cause-and-effect relationship by isolating the effect of an independent variable. In contrast, the experimental group is where the independent variables are introduced, which may alternate depending on the nature, type, or anticipated outcome of the experiment.
Summer, 1968
Two-year-old Steve Harrington was bored.
Sat of the floor of the cold room, he stared up at his mother who seemed to be doing her best to ignore him, which made Steve a little mad. He wanted her to look at him. While she sat primly on one of the stiff leather chairs lining the wall of the room, she had placed him on the floor next to a few wooden blocks, in the corner furthest from her as possible.
Magazines sat on a side table to her left, but she had about as much interest in them as Steve did in the blocks. But every time he left the corner to approach her, she would shift her aimless gaze from any random point in the room to him, frustration and anger coloring her expression.
“Steven, go play. I won’t tell you again.” She ordered, pointing a finger at him. And Steve would glumly retreat back to the corner, back to the boring blocks provided. And she would go back to looking anywhere else but at him. And Steve didn’t like that.
So she did have to tell him again.
And again.
And just as he was about to go to her for the fourth time, a door opened, and a man entered the room wearing a white coat. Steve’s mother stood up, and approached the man, offering him her hand.
“You must be the neuropsychologist I spoke to on the phone. Alice Harrington, it is a pleasure.” She said, warmth coloring her tone. Steve blinked, surprised by the change in her behavior. She seemed happy now. She hadn’t been happy before.
“The pleasure is all mine. And this little man here,” The doctor looked over at Steve, before approaching and kneeling in front of him. Steve sat a little straighter, gripping one of the wooden blocks on instinct. “…must be Steven. Hello Steven.”
Steve blinked, glancing at his mother nervously. She made a frantic waving gesture, trying to get him to greet the doctor.
“Hi,” Steve said, looking back at the man. He did not like this man.
Steve’s mother scowled, preparing to lecture him on the improper response. She hated slang, as she called it, and would prefer Steve to use a more extensive vocabulary, but he often resisted her. No one else cared how he spoke. And his father preferred that the less Steve had to say, the better.
“My name is Doctor Martin Brenner. Why don’t we step into my office, and have a chat?” Brenner turned back to his mother, who nodded with relief. Steve wanted to protest, especially when Brenner picked him up, taking Steve into his office alone.
As Brenner walked through the door, Steve in his arms, the young child began to cry, reaching out for his mother. She ignored him, and closed the door, only throwing a few words his way.
“Now Steven, be a good boy and do what the doctor says. No complaining.”
Spring, 1986
Today was going to suck, Steve thought as he parked his car, looking at all of the angry onlookers yelling at the gates of Hawkins Cemetery. Not for the first time, he wished he had a flask of something so that he could get through this entire thing without being sober, but he wouldn’t dare show up in front of Dustin smelling like alcohol.
The kid had been through enough in the past few days.
Getting out of the car, Steve straightened his tie and pushed through the crowd, where he met Karen Wheeler and Claudia Henderson guarding the gate, stopping the protestors from getting through.
“Hey Mrs. Wheeler, Mrs. Henderson,” Steve greeted the women, and Karen smiled sadly.
“Hiya Steve, you here for the service?” She asked, and Steve nodded, glancing over at Claudia.
“Yeah, I…I thought it was fair, and all. Besides, Dustin could use a hand, right?” Steve asked, and they both nodded.
“Yeah, he’s taking this really hard,” Claudia whispered, and they let him inside, which only renewed a round of jeers and insults from the onlookers.
“Why would anyone mourn that freak?” Someone asked.
“That murderer shouldn’t be buried here!” Another person said.
Steve ignored them, and left the two women to their guard duty, approaching the assembled group of people already inside. Steve spotted Robin standing next to Nancy and Jonathan, and the weird long-haired dude who seemed to stick to the older Byers. Sitting on the ground nearby, Steve could also see Will, Mike, Lucas, and El, all sitting silently, staring at the pre-dug grave without a headstone. More adults stood slightly away from the group, including the Sinclair parents, Ted Wheeler, Joyce Byers, and Jim Hopper, whose very presence still baffled Steve.
And then a little further away, Steve could see two more figures, sat on a bench. Dustin and Wayne Munson. Wayne sat stock still, holding onto a plain shoebox, and Dustin sat next to him, staring at the box with a mournful gaze.
Steve knew what was in the box. Efforts to recover Eddie Munson’s body had been deemed too dangerous by the adults, and without the ability to tell his uncle the truth about the Upside Down, the only thing Wayne Munson could bury of his nephew was his possessions. So Steve and Dustin had picked through the remains of their destroyed trailer to find something…anything really that they could use, and the only thing that had come up was the neck and head of his guitar. Dustin had cried upon seeing the destroyed instrument, but they both had agreed it was the perfect memento for this occasion.
Distantly, Steve could hear the jeering of the crowd outside once more, and he glanced back to see Gareth, Jeff, and Grant from the Hellfire Club also approaching. Steve was actually glad they’d decided to come since Dustin had worried they wouldn’t after a brutal interaction with Jason Carver about Eddie before he died.
Steve walked up to Mr. Munson, and Dustin, making them both aware of his presence. “Mr. Munson, I…I don’t mean to rush you, but we should probably start now.” Steve said respectfully, and Wayne Munson looked up at him with grief-laden eyes.
“Those Satan-slinging hippies can kiss my ass, boy.” Mr. Munson said. “I don’t give a hoot if they object to my nephew bein’ buried here, he was a Hawkins brat born and bred. He died for this town, so this town is where he gets buried.”
“That’s…not what I meant, sir.” Steve winced. “Everyone is here.”
Wayne Munson looked around, seeing the small group of people who had gathered to pay their respects. “Oh,” Steve wasn’t all the best at reading body language sometimes, but he could tell there was a touch of disappointment at the turnout. “Alright then. Let’s get this over with.”
Mr. Munson stood up, and walked over to the graveside, and slowly, people assembled around the edges as he cleared his throat to speak. Steve guided Dustin over to stand next to Wayne, consciously staying close to the younger boy so Dustin could cling to his arm for support.
“My nephew had a hard life,” Wayne began, and Steve tried not to wince as Dustin’s fingernails dug into his skin through the fabric of his suit jacket. “I know he wasn’t the easiest person to be around, bein’ as loud as he was, as enthusiastic as he was. He had a passion for bein’ different, and never apologized for it. I’d hoped that one day he might grow out of it, that that self-preservation instinct his daddy gave him would one day get put to use so he could accept bein’ normal, but in a way, I’m proud he wasn’t. I’m proud he was different, because he represented celebratin’ that. He drew together people who felt different, people I see here today, who loved ‘n respected him for it, and that’s what I wish this town would remember ‘im for.” Wayne’s voice cracked, and peoples’ heads bowed as everyone subtly glanced at the protestors by the gate.
“I wish the didn’ remember him for this accusation, this rumor that he hurt those kids…because I know he didn’. I know! I wish that my boy was here to defend himself, and I…I wish he knew how much people loved him.” Wayne sobbed, and Steve felt tears come to his eyes. Dustin next to him started crying, and Steve quickly wrapped his arm around the teenager, pulling him into a side hug. Across the graveside, Steve could see Will pull Lucas into a hug as he also started crying, and Nancy wrapped her arm around Mike, who just stared stoically at the grave with bloodshot eyes, while he gripped El’s hand.
“But wishes won’t do ‘im any good now,” Wayne relented, wiping his face with his shirt sleeve. “So all I can ask is the people that did know ‘im, remember him as he actually was. Knowing his memory as being loved and respected by more than just me would mean the world.”
Wayne swallowed and looked at the box in hand. “Now I don’t got no graceful method of doin’ this so you’ll hav’ta excuse me…” Wayne chucked the shoebox into the hole, where it managed to land perfectly in the middle, right side up and everything.
Almost too perfectly.
Suspicious, Steve casually glanced at Eleven, who quickly wiped her nose, concealing the slight nosebleed, and internally he groaned. That girl was far too casual with her powers sometimes. And then Steve internally kicked himself, because his inner monologue was starting to sound too much like Chief Hopper.
“Well…that worked,” Wayne said, blinking in surprise, before looking around at the assembled group. “To my nephew, my boy. Eddie. Eddie Munson. Who will be missed.”
“To Eddie.” People muttered, and Wayne grimaced.
“The groundskeepers agreed to fill up the hole, but there won’t be a plaque or nothin’, they think it’d draw vandals. There won’t be no wake either, but thank you, everyone for comin’, I appreciate it.” Mr. Munson said, before walking off alone. One by one, people began to follow him, and Lucas said something about going back to the hospital.
Dustin made no effort to move, and people directed sympathetic glances toward him and Steve, who stayed by his side. No one spoke to either of them until finally everyone was gone except the two of them and Dustin’s mother.
“C’mon Dusty-bun, let’s go home.” She said, offering him her hand, but Dustin shook his head.
“I…I wanna stay a bit longer,” Dustin pleaded, eyes still locked on the box in the ground.
“Honey, I have to get back to the hospital, I can’t just leave you here.” She said, and Steve locked eyes with her.
“I’ll stay with him. You go, I’ll take care of him.”
“I know you will Steve. If you’re sure, thank you, honey.” She smiled sadly, before pulling her son into a hug. “Okay, Dusty. You know where I’ll be if you need me. And if you want to stay with Steve tonight, just give me a call to let me know, won’t you?”
“Okay,” Dustin said morosely. Steve watched her leave shortly after, and soon after she was gone, Steve left Dustin to sit by the graveside, eyeing the people that were glaring at him with predatory eyes. He went to the back of his car, and pulled out the baseball bat with nails that he was so possessive of, hauling it over his shoulder as he walked back to Dustin, giving the protestors an angry look as he passed, menacingly brandishing the bat, as if to imply a threat. It worked on most of them, many backing away or straight-up leaving at the sight of the weapon, and Steve found his way back to Dustin, unbothered. In the moments that Steve had been gone, Dustin had settled on the grass, letting his legs hang inside the small grave.
“You wanna tell me what’s going through your head right now?” Steve asked, setting the bat on the ground before sitting down next to Dustin.
“Not really.”
“You not wanting to talk actually scares me, you know that?” Steve said, raising an eyebrow.
“What’s to talk about?” Dustin said bitterly. “Eddie’s dead. I watched him die.”
Steve flinched. “Yeah, he is. And I’m really sorry about that, man.”
“Everybody’s sorry. Everybody’s sorry, but no one can fucking fix it!” Dustin snarled. “This town has been subjected to hell incarnate, and people have gotten hurt and killed, and no one is stopping it. As a result, more people get hurt. More people get killed, and everyone’s only sorry now when there are more people to bury.” Dustin started ripping up fistfuls of grass, chucking them into the grave, dusting the box with a sparse layer of debris.
“Yeah,” Steve said lamely. “But we’re not saying sorry because he’s gone, dude. No amount of apology can make up for that. The sorrys are for you.”
“Why would people be sorry for me?” Dustin asked, confused.
“Because you lost someone important to you,” Steve said gently. “And I get it, Eddie…Eddie was a great guy, and we could all see how much the two of you cared about each other.”
“That might be the nicest thing you’ve said about him. I didn’t think you even liked him.” Dustin snapped, and Steve just gave him a look.
“I did like him. You were right, the other day, I was…I was jealous that you were hanging out with another guy, my age. And you two got along more and had shared interests, and I guess I was scared that you just liked him more than me. But we kind of got to know each other, while we were in the upside down, and he was a really cool guy.”
Dustin deflated, and his eyes shone with tears. “I…wish I had gotten to see that. You two talking and getting along more. I don’t know why that’s so important to me.”
“You can imagine how it went though.” Steve said, trying to lighten the mood. “Me getting my ass kicked, by weird mutant bats this time, and Nancy, Robin, and Eddie swooping in to save me. Eddie made some obscure pop culture reference to this Ozzy dude I don’t know, and then we talked about you, and Eddie nearly stuck his foot in his mouth questioning Nancy about her guns…”
“Wait, you two talked about me?” Dustin asked.
“Yeah, I mean…a little bit. We both agreed you’re somewhat of a pain-in-the-ass know-it-all with an attitude problem, but we both loved you for it, so…” Steve finished lamely, not noticing Dustin freeze up.
“You think he loved me?” Dustin asked quietly, and Steve’s heart broke for the kid.
“Oh, yeah. Nearly just as much as I do. You were like a little brother to him, same as me.” Steve whispered, dragging Dustin in for a hug, and Dustin let out a muffled sob.
“I got him killed,” Dustin cried, and Steve shook his head.
“No, you didn’t. Eddie made his own choices, he chose to protect you, and he did. And I am so glad he did.”
“He might not have died if he hadn’t,” Dustin said, and Steve grabbed Dustin, forcing him to look Steve in the eyes.
“Or you both might’ve. And I would have had to attend two funerals. Don’t you dare think anyone would wish you had died instead of Eddie, because not even he would wish that, okay, Henderson? You hear me?”
Dustin stared at Steve, meeting his gaze with grief, before slowly accepting Steve’s words and nodding. “I hear you.”
“Good. Now come on, we should go. We can’t stay out here forever.”
“Can we stay until they fill the grave?” Dustin asked, and Steve looked at him confused.
“I don’t want anyone to desecrate it. We can’t memorialize him elsewhere, so I want to make sure this is safe.” Dustin elaborated, and Steve nodded.
“Okay, we can stay.”
And stay they did. Steve and Dustin sat on the bench next to the grave, watching as the cemetery workers did fill in the hole, and coolly ignored the disgusted glances the groundskeeper gave them the whole time, until finally it was done. They left, and Dustin asked Steve to drop him back at home, which Steve complied with, even going as far as to carry the kid into the house when Dustin fell asleep on the way. It wasn’t until 2 AM, when Claudia returned home to find Steve sitting on the couch, flipping through a random book that Steve finally left Dustin alone.
Going home, back to an empty house, Steve let out a sigh. He had been right, after all, his day did suck. Rubbing his eyes, Steve practically collapsed onto the plush couch in the living room, the scabs on his stomach twinging at the sharp movement, pain flaring through his torso. He groaned, moving his hand to apply pressure to the wounds, which didn’t make him feel any better.
Only a couple moments later, he fell asleep, hand falling lax over the edge of the sofa cushions, fingers just barely brushing the cold hardwood floor as snores began to erupt from his mouth, followed by distressed whines as the sleeping boy’s subconscious subjected him to yet another nightmare.
And if there had been someone awake in the house, they might also have noticed every single light flicker in tandem with each noise Steve made.