Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

July 11^th, 1991

New Ripton, Texas

All things considered, it wasn’t a bad town. It had its share of stores and enough bars that a night out never got boring, which was just perfect for the locals, where for many the idea of ‘responsible drinking’ was mostly met with a cold glare and a none too subtle nod to the nearest shotgun, of which there were many. It was the kind of place where you could still find the echoes of the frontier, where dust storms and cowboys still ruled the wilderness, and where progress was a dirty word only whispered behind locked doors.

All in all, it was the kind of town that would have been perfectly happy staying in its own little corner of the world.

And if it was up to Steve, he would have left it there.

It had taken days to get there. Literal days with a capital D, the kind of days that made you realise just how long an hour could be. Endless time spent driving, with nothing else to do but sit and stare out of the window whilst trying to remember just why he’d agreed to this in the first place.

“Are you sure this is the right place?” Steve asked, not for the first time. Dustin didn’t bother replying – the only response was the rustling of the Cheetos packet he was making his way through – but Steve slowed the truck anyways as they approached a cross section that was emptier than, well, nothing at that moment came to mind for him to compare it to, that’s how empty it was. So far the entire town had been empty. He’d go as far as saying it was abandoned save for all the cars parked up at the nearby bar. He could hear the country music even from here. “I’m serious, Henderson,” he sighed, a headache forming behind his eyes from staring at the horizon for too long.

“The light’s green. You’re meant to go on that,” Dustin snarked from the passenger’s seat, a seat he’d got awfully comfortable with over the course of their road trips.

“Gee, if only I knew where,” Steve replied sassily, throwing his hands up in the air and sitting back. It wasn’t like there were any other cars behind him anyway.

“What do you mean? We’re going to the campsite,” Dustin said in that way he had, like he was explaining something to a five year old. Steve had hoped he’d outgrow that. If anything, his time in college had only made it worse.

“Listen smartass, this place is a ghost town! Look at it! I could run naked down the middle of Main Street and not raise an eyebrow,” Steve said, checking in the rear view mirror to make sure the camper was still hitched up okay, as Dustin coughed. Probably inhaled the dust from all the Cheetos he’d been eating.

“It was my turn to pick where we went, and I picked here. Deal with it, coach,” Dustin said, tone bristling with defiance.

Steve huffed. He was never quite sure whether or not to be annoyed when Dustin called him coach. “There’s nothing here, man. We might as well be in the middle of nowhere.”

“That’s the point. The light pollution round here is almost negligible, the perfect spot to catch the eclipse. Or it would be, if you’d stop moaning and get us to where we need to go. Camping ground, edge of town. Can’t miss it,” Dustin replied, his voice slow and deliberate as he repeated the instructions.

Steve shot him a glare, one that he’d had a lot of time practising in the past, the one that said he was still questioning how their friendship came about.

With another huff, he took his foot off the brake and the truck began to inch forwards.

It was going to be a long trip.

Dustin crumpled up the empty pack of Cheetos and shoved it in the compartment of the door, ignoring Steve’s pointed huff. He leant his head back and closed his eyes hoping Steve would stop questioning him about why he’d chosen New Ripton of all places. There were only so many times he could talk about how the town had a less than average level of light pollution before even Steve would get suspicious.

It was honestly a wonder he hadn’t already. Because when had Dustin ever displayed a great love of astronomy? Luckily for him news of the upcoming solar eclipse was everywhere, and he was excited about seeing it. It would be the first one in his lifetime he’d be able to be anywhere near totality. So, really, it wasn’t exactly a cover coming here. Although it was definitely convenient.

~

In the end they reached the campsite with plenty of time before the estimated hour of the eclipse. Dustin had restrained himself by only pointing out how right he was twice when they’d pulled into the almost empty campsite. There were a lot of new campsites popping up in this town lately. Many of the old ranches here had gone bust in the last few months, a fact that had in no small part affected his choice in coming here. Plus it was always a nice moment when he got to say ‘I told you so’. He’d told Steve that all the bigger towns would be swamped with eclipse chasers, much to Steve’s disbelief. Well, here they were, with only a handful of company. They only had to contend with an older couple who had a similar camper to Steve. A family – with two young teens that looked they wanted to be anywhere else – in a flashy RV that Steve had stared longingly at. And a single guy who was laid on the hood of his car, as though that was the perfect spot to watch the eclipse from.

Dustin was sat in one of two fold-out camping chairs, more relaxed now they’d arrived, his eyes drifting over to the guy laying on his car. He looked to be about Dustin’s age, twenty-ish, his car had a ‘New Mexico State’ bumper sticker on the back which cemented that theory. Probably another student in a science field. He was cute. In a nerdy kind of way. Which Dustin knew was hypocritical because he himself was nothing but a nerd. But he couldn’t help it if he’d always been attracted to the more ‘jock’ type of guy.

It had taken him leaving Hawkins to finally admit to himself that maybe he wasn’t exactly as straight as he’d thought. Not that Purdue University was much more tolerant than Hawkins, it was still Indiana after all. But still, it had been a big step just admitting it to himself. That maybe the reason he’d been so fine being long distance with Suzie had been because he really hadn’t liked kissing her all that much.

Now, two years into his degree, he’d had a few experiences that confirmed his theory. He’d always thought when he finally lost his virginity he wouldn’t be able to wait to tell the Party. Turns out childhood friendships were harder to keep than he’d thought. He still talked to them; Mike, Will, Lucas and Max. But not often. The monthly D&D sessions had lasted for a while, and then they’d become bimonthly, and before long, once every couple of months, until finally it got to that point where most standing dates ended up, with everyone saying they must get together at some point, only ‘some point’ rarely ever came. Same with the phone calls and letters, a once frequent torrent of correspondence now reduced to a mere trickle of missed calls and the occasional hopeful message on the answering machine asking if he’d be in Hawkins for spring break, or if he wanted to drive up to New York to visit Will. The only person from Hawkins he did see regularly was Steve.

Steve, who’d always made the effort even when he didn’t have to. Who drove out to Purdue every chance he got. Who’d bought a camper so they could go on their Henderson and Harrington road trips. Who’d come with him when he got his tattoo to honour Eddie, had called him ‘badass’ and ruffled his hair, ignoring the tears in Dustin’s eyes. So really, it only made sense that Dustin had told him over anyone.

Of course Steve had made it easy, taking his coming out in his stride, joking that he must just have the face for it. Making a dumb joke about almost having a dollar if he had a quarter for every time someone had told him they were gay. Their road trips hadn’t changed, their friendship hadn’t changed, and Dustin was eternally grateful for that. Because at this point, they were one of the only times he was happy.

Sometimes Dustin wondered if staying in Indiana had been a conscious decision. He’d had acceptance letters from all over the country, he was a ‘genius’ after all. He’d told everyone Purdue was the best for the degree he'd chosen, and it was an amazing college. But sometimes he couldn’t help but think that maybe he’d wanted to stay near Hawkins. Maybe he’d hoped he’d stay close with the friends he’d struggled to make as a kid. And maybe the idea of being more than a couple of hours away from Steve had woken him in cold sweats more than once, because truly, the sort of pact they’d made – you die, I die – it stayed with you. In a bone deep sort of way that mostly went unnoticed until the limits were tested.

There was a rustling from inside the camper and Steve appeared at the door, he stepped out and sunk into the other chair, handing Dustin a Coke as he popped open his own. Taking a long sip and stretching out with a groan. Dustin ignored the noise, opening his drink instead and checking his watch, t-minus forty minutes to go.

~

Whilst they weren’t predicted to be in the exact path of totality it was close enough that as the moon began to touch the sun Dustin pulled two pairs of eclipse glasses out of his jacket pocket. Him and Steve had both put their jackets on as the eclipse had progressed, the July weather cooling off even before the moon began to pass in front of the sun, as though the universe itself knew what was coming and was holding its breath.

“Here,” he said, holding out a pair of the cardboard glasses he’d swiped from Purdue.

Steve looked between him and the glasses with a raised eyebrow. “I’ve got a pair right here, man,” he said, pointing at the sunglasses that were pushed up on his head.

“Sunglasses won’t protect your eyes from the sun’s unfiltered ultraviolet rays, Steve,” Dustin sighed. Seriously, he’d gone over this already.

“And that piece of cardboard will?” Steve shot back, voice dripping in sarcasm.

“You can’t look directly at the sun even with sunglasses on. Plus the darkness tricks your brain into thinking it’s safe, your pupils dilate, and before you know it, bam! Permanent retina damage. It doesn’t hurt either, no pain receptors in the retina, so you won’t even know until hours later when you start to go literally blind,” he ranted.

“So I won’t look directly at it!” Steve argued, seemingly not bothered by the idea of potential blindness.

“You will! There’s no way you won’t!” Dustin continued. “Then I’m gonna have to drive you to the emergency room—”

“Alright, cool it, Henderson.” Steve stretched out his arm and snatched the glasses from his grip. “I’ll wear your nerd glasses.”

Dustin smirked to himself, Steve was as possessive over the Chevy as he’d been over the Beamer. Even though Dustin had got his license years ago Steve still never let him drive. Still, it worked in his favour sometimes.

~

The moment near-totality hit it was like a hush fell over the world. A lens of not-quite-darkness being placed upon them, around them, surrounded completely but the dim, grey light. Even the birds fell silent. Confused as to the sudden switch from day to night. Dustin’s breath caught in his throat, heart pounding as adrenaline flooded his veins. God, it’d been so long since he’d got this thrill from science. From the thing that was supposed to be his passion.

His eyes drifted to Steve, sat beside him, looking like a dork in the eclipse glasses. A smile played at his lips at the sight. His attention snapped away so quickly he didn’t notice the tension in Steve’s posture, the way his hands gripped the chair. Too caught up on the magic of what was happening.

It’d been years since the Upside Down. Years since Steve had set foot in that place, but the moment darkness began to fall it was like he was right back there. The grey light, the oppressive silence, the chill in the air. The air which suddenly felt thick around him, cloying, choking. His hands tightened, gripping the armrests of the chair. Forcing away the images that’d haunted him for years.

The minutes passed like eternity until finally the sun began to shine brighter, and it was like Steve could breathe again. A weight lifted off his chest.

“That was awesome,” Dustin breathed out beside him, staring awestruck up at the sky.

“Yeah,” Steve replied on instinct, “it was cool.” Though he wasn’t sure how convincing he sounded.

~

It wasn’t the nightmares that woke him that night, though he wouldn’t have been surprised. Even without the weirdness of the afternoon he’d had his fair share of those in the intervening years. Horrible things, images that would flash like lightning through his unconscious mind and send him sitting bolt upright in bed, clutching the sheets and unable to breathe. So by that comparison, the sudden sense of emptiness in the back of the camper wasn’t so bad.

But it was still an alarm he couldn’t ignore.

It only took a second for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, and a second more to focus on the empty bed on the other side of the camper. Now, a sensible man would have just shrugged his shoulders, taken the chance to swipe the good pillow, and then rolled over and went back to sleep. But then, a sensible man wouldn’t be stuck out here in the middle of nowhere, on the limits of a town best described as the cowboy paradise time forgot, all whilst stuck in a camper whose best days were long behind it and then some. Thankful that they were in Texas where at least it was warm – now that damn eclipse was over at least – Steve pushed himself up and reached for the alarm clock.

It was barely past three in the morning.

The witching hour, a fact he was still surprised he knew, but when you were stuck driving for multiple hours a day with a guy who loved listening to every alternative radio station you could tune into, you picked up a few things. Still, he wasn’t mad about it. If Hawkins had taught him anything, it was that you never knew what was going to come in handy.

“Dustin, you know if you pee outside it's gonna attract a bear. Just use the toilet, it’s not that bad once you get used to the smell,” Steve said lazily as he edged his way though the camper, thankful to finally find the light switch. There was no sign of his friend, and when he peeked out through the windows, all he saw was the same scratchy trees and barren scrub land he’d already got bored of looking at earlier. There were literal tumbleweeds skipping past, but no Dustin.

Where the hell was he?

Flicking his hair back, Steve made for the door and stepped out into the night. The moment he did, he felt it.

There was a chill in the air.

It was summer in the middle of Texas. Right now, the only thing that should be chilled was the six pack in the mini-fridge. He let out a breath, the air becoming misty in front of his face, confirming it wasn’t just in his mind.

“Henderson?” he called out into the night, but it was like shouting into a void, his voice lost in the darkness, fading more and more until another chose to replace it.

The howl was like none he had ever heard.

Wolf-like but somehow not, it sounded like the noise had been fed through a steel shredder, mangling and ripping it apart. It spread through him, making every cell feel like it was shaking, a unnatural pair of sonic claws that gripped his soul and pulled.

Steve’s eyes scanned the land before him, but in the dim light of the new moon all he saw was shadows. The howl came again, just as menacing as before, so he stepped back and pulled the door closed, a sinking feeling in his stomach.

Dustin was out there. He didn’t know how he knew, but he was certain of it. Desperately, he looked around the camper, trying to figure out what to do, what could he do? That was when he saw it, the book, poking out from beneath Dustin’s bunk. Once, in the past – back before Steve had owned the little camper – there had been doors on the cupboards beneath the beds, but now they had to make do with just shoving their things into the empty spaces. He didn’t know what made him kneel down and pull the book completely from beneath the bunk, but the next thing he knew, Steve was flipping through the pages.

What the hell was all this? It seemed like a load of nothing, just newspaper clippings and notes. It was only when he pulled out one of the articles for a closer look that a shiver went down his spine. The headline was like a flashing sign.

New Ripton Cattle Loss Continues, Cause Unknown

Cattle loss, Dustin had mentioned how the ranches in the area had become abandoned lately. So much for less light pollution. Steve flicked through the folder, seeing more news clippings that said pretty much the same thing. They were all small stories, the kind of casual mentions that barely even counted as a story, and were probably put in the paper to fill a space more than to actually report anything – thank you Nancy for that random nugget of information that’d stuck with him. He looked at the dates. There were months between them. How had Dustin got all of these? They seemed like local papers, not something you’d easily come across at his college. As he was thinking on that, another piece of paper fell from the hastily organised bunch. He picked it up and opened it.

It was a map, of the area they were in.

A circle was drawn on it, one with the words, ‘chupacabra’s next hunting ground???’ scrawled next to it in red ink, like something out of a bad cop movie.

Steve glanced out of the window again as another howl came screeching through the night, one that left a very specific type of ice running through his veins. A type he hadn’t truly felt in years, the kind that came with panic and adrenaline and the cold certainty that something wasn’t right. The feeling from during the eclipse magnified by a thousand.

It couldn’t be.

They had gone through so much to put an end to all of that, had bled and lost and… well… the nightmares and scars spoke for themselves really. It couldn’t be happening again. It just couldn’t.

Another howl put into stark contrast as to how wrong that thought might be.

Whatever was happening, Dustin was out there, right now, alone, and no doubt doing something stupid. Something that they’d all sworn to never do again. That was a conversation for later though. Right now, Steve had to find him.

The seconds it took for him to pull on his trainers and grab his jacket felt like an eternity, but in truth it was only moments, and then he was heading out of the door, the map and a flashlight in one hand, the baseball bat he kept by the door – just in case – in the other. 

All he had to do now was follow the howls. And hope he wasn’t too late.

Dustin held his breath.

Everything came down to this moment. All the weeks of long nights in the library and tracking down local newspapers from all over the country, of listening to every late night radio talk show he could find and then calling number after number trying to find the sources on the ground. He’d done so much work to get to this point, it almost didn’t feel real. But the smell of blood being carried on the wind that blew across his face told him just how real it was.

He’d planned on waiting another night before doing this, scope out the area a little more. But he was still riding the high of the eclipse. That buzz of adrenaline in his veins that whispered do it, do it now.

He hunkered down lower behind the small ridge he’d set up at, the dry grass poking through his jeans and scratching his skin. The sudden coldness made him shiver slightly, but he didn’t mind, though he did tighten his grip on the baseball bat he’d borrowed from Steve’s truck. Not a nail-bat, that’d met the same fate as the Beamer long ago, but he could always count on Coach Harrington to have something that’d make a decent weapon. Besides, this was dangerous. Hell, dangerous was an understatement. He could be ripped apart at any moment.

There. There it was.

The moment the thought of a grisly death crossed his mind, a fresh spike of adrenaline hit him. Everything sharpened, and the dreary dullness of those days that only ever felt half-lived was instantly forgotten. His heart thumped against his chest, but it was nothing more than a steady, rapid beat, a soundtrack of excitement that he had almost forgotten. You could say it was almost like a drug, but no drug had ever made him feel as alive as he did right now. Nothing had made him feel like he was actually doing something that mattered.

Ahead of him, the trio of cows he was watching snorted. Their panic was obvious, their terror reverberating through the air like the ringing of a dinner bell. He chanced a look. They were still tied up outside of the rancher’s shack, a small place that was little more than a spot to get out of the sun. He’d overheard some of the ranchers talking about it in the bar Steve had dragged him to – insisting they eat a decent meal instead of road snacks – a stroke of luck that he didn’t feel like questioning. He certainly wasn’t going to question the fact that the shack was right in the middle of the chupacabra’s new hunting territory. All he needed was one more night of luck. He wished the moon was cooperating, it would’ve made it easier to take the picture. That’s all he needed, one picture, to convince Steve that he wasn’t crazy, that he needed his help.

That this was real.

The sound of a howl shook him from his thoughts. It was immediately followed by the snapping of twigs and a chorus of terrified mooing. Dustin prepared the camera and edged to the lip of the ridge, forgetting all about the bat.

That was when his luck run out.

“Dustin! Dustin! Where the hell are you, you little shit!”

Several things happened at once in that moment.

Steve came running out into the clearing around the rancher’s shack, a bat of his own in his hand, shinning in the dim moonlight like some ancient hero who had just stepped out of the pages of a novel. It was so shocking to see that Dustin’s finger slipped. The camera flashed, which in turn caused one of the cows to reach its breaking point and rip free from where it was tied up. It immediately started running, which only set the next domino falling, which was a big one. Well, metaphorically at least.

The creature that came sprinting into the clearing was the size of a dog, one that looked like it had been doing its best to see how close it could get to starving without actually reaching the finishing line.

It howled as it ran, then screeched as it leapt at the rampaging cow, a sound that was like razors on a chalkboard. The cow thrashed violently as claws slashed into its side, blood spurting into the air.

“What the fuck is that?!” Steve yelled as he reached Dustin’s side and pulled him from the ground with one hand. Sometimes Dustin forgot how strong he was.

“Is it still there?!” Dustin shouted back, forgetting about being quiet, shaking himself loose from Steve’s grasp as he spun around. He brought up the camera and flashed another picture.

Steve grabbed him again, fingers tight on his arm, pulling them both down behind the ridge as the cow’s moos became more frantic and blood curling. “Are you fucking insane!?” Steve screamed at him, though the panic in his words was accompanied by a hurt in his eyes.

“It’s not what it looks like!” Dustin argued as he waited for the printout to slide out the bottom of the camera.

“I don’t care! I thought I lost you! We need to get the hell out of here before that thing is done with that cow.”

“It’s a chupacabra,” Dustin muttered as he waved the freshly printed out Polaroid.

“A what?” Steve asked, glancing over the ridge.

Dustin shone his flashlight on the picture. His eyes went wide as his theory was confirmed.

“No… it’s... it’s a… democabra!” he exclaimed, wanting to punch the air.

The picture spoke for itself. You could see the lanky, wolf-like frame of the chupacabra, a line of small spines running down its back and the face of a gremlin sitting upon as stretched out neck. But it was the grey, dead skin that sat taught against strange muscle configurations beneath, and the way that its mouth split open like a flower beneath its eyes that gave the truth away. Like the gorgons, the dogs, the bats… he was certain this thing had the same origins.

“A demo… like, those kinds of demos? A Hawkins demo?!” Steve hissed, bringing up his bat, stance defensive.

“I’ll explain later, it’s too dangerous here,” Dustin shot back, grabbing his own briefly forgotten bat.

“No shit, Henderson!” Steve growled.

“I was going to tell you. I—”

Steve held up a hand.

The world stopped.

“Do you hear that? The cow stopped.” 

The silence rushed in like a tidal wave, as crisp and piercing as the cold that still hung in the air. The two looked at each other, eyes wide and ears straining, listening for the barest hint of anything. It was only when that hint didn’t come that Dustin lifted his head over the ridge.

The universe doesn’t always make it clear when you make a mistake. But sometimes, when the air is cold and moon is shrouded in darkness, and the guy you’d do anything for is crouching next to you, sometimes the universe just likes to throw that mistake right back in your face.

All Dustin saw was claws and fangs and blood, flying at him. There wasn’t even time to scream, just a primal impulse of sudden understanding that something bad was about to happen, lighting up his nerves with one last flash of life before death found him. And then he was hitting the ground, rolling, the world spinning out of sense as a pair of very human arms wrapped round him for a moment. All too soon though, he was alone again, trying to figure out what happened as the sound of screeching filled the air.

“Steve!” Dustin screamed, screamed in a way he hadn’t for a long time.

Steve was already swinging though, ignoring the tear in the shoulder of his jacket and the trickle of blood coming from it. The democabra hissed at him, swiping out with a claw as it circled him, but there was something off about it, something strange, like it’s feet couldn’t keep up with its head. Dustin worked it out a second later.

It was a sprinter.

Good in a direct line, where it could charge and barrel into its target. But in a direct fight, those same features that made it so fast now made it gangly and uncoordinated. He was about to shout out, but Steve had already figured it out. Of course he had. He backed up a little, baiting the creature into a short lunge. It fell for it, howling as it went for him. Steve ducked aside at the last moment, bringing the bat down with all his might.

Thud.

Thud, thud, thud.

And then, one more thud for good measure.

“I think it’s dead,” Dustin said, rushing over to the body, looking at its caved in skull.

“You think?!” Steve barked as he breathed hard, but was otherwise alright.

Urgency took Dustin over as he patted himself down, trying to find the pocket he’d put the test tubes in just in case. Fishing one out, he dropped to his knees and scooped up some of the creature’s blood, and other bits, into the tube.

“Dustin, what the hell is going on?” Steve pushed, more a demand than a question. That’s when the bat fell from Steve’s hand as he let out a groan of pain. He reached up to the wound on his shoulder, and suddenly, nothing else mattered. Dustin burst to his feet and rushed over, pulling out a handful of tissues from another pocket. Not exactly a bandage, but something. He went to push the tissues against Steve’s shoulder, but he stepped back, glaring at him. “Oh, now you care,” Steve snapped, glancing at the dead democabra. “Some best friend you are.”

Dustin’s heart fell, but it was a fair comment. He probably deserved more. “There’s so much I’ve wanted to tell you. I’ve got all this research stored up back at Purdue, all these things that’ve been happening that—”

“I don’t care!” Steve yelled. “You’re... you’re out here what? Gathering evidence? Collecting samples?! Putting yourself in danger! Us in danger—”

“I know,” Dustin cut in, “I just—"

“You know what,” Steve spoke over him, “let’s just go.” He reached down and grabbed his bat, turning his back on Dustin.

“We can’t leave the body. We need to bury it,” Dustin said, his voice a shamed whisper that was barely enough to get Steve to glance back at him.

“Fine. Once the light is up and I get this sorted.” He glanced at his still bleeding shoulder and another pang struck Dustin’s chest. “Should be a few hours. But after that we’re leaving,” Steve stated, his tone as final as a tomb stone. With that he turned and headed back to the camper, seemingly not caring if Dustin was following.

It was a long moment before Dustin took his first step after him, walking through the now still night. He’d forgotten how loud silence could be.

~

The next morning came quickly. It was the only mercy in hours that could best be described as ‘tense’.

Actually, tense would have been an improvement.

No matter how many times Dustin tried, Steve refused to talk to him, barely saying more than ten words since they’d got back. Still, they’d got the wound treated to. In the end Steve’s jacket had been the real victim of the attack, with Steve himself getting away with a little more than a scratch. It wouldn’t even leave a scar, a fact that when pointed out by Dustin earned him a look so acidic he probably could have bottled it and made a fortune selling it as a rust remover.

Patched up and safe, all Steve had done afterwards was get a beer from the fridge and sit down in the small recreational area at the front of the camper. He’d taken one sip from it and not touched it again, and had spent almost every other second staring at the door to the camper, his knuckles white from how hard he was squeezing his bat.

He didn’t have to say anything for Dustin to know what was going through his head. It was the same thing that had gone through his own head when he’d first suspected  – months ago now – that there were more demo-creatures running around. Terror. Sheer, incomparable terror.

The years hadn’t dulled the memories of his time in Hawkins, and in the depths of his heart where honesty flowed freely, he knew that they probably never would, no matter how many ended up passing. Vecna was dead, and the Upside Down, the Einstein-Rosen bridge that had caused them so much trouble, was gone, destroyed by his own hand. They’d all seen it. They’d all felt it, the blast that had ripped through reality and torn one world from the grasp of another, and in that moment, everyone who had been present at the portal in the middle of town had known that it was over. It was like a fact written into the physical fabric that the world was built from, and it had been the only thing that had allowed him and everyone else to pick up the threads of their lives and actually continue on. More than continue, thrive. They had earned their happy endings, all of them. Which was why the thought of something threatening that had been so horrifying. All Dustin could hope for was that, once the shock had worn off, maybe Steve would come to see it the same way he had – as an opportunity.

As a chance to make things right, to atone for the loss he’d caused.

But now wasn’t the right time for that conversation. With the sun filtering in through the windows, Dustin took one last look at the folder on his lap, going over his notes, making sure he hadn’t forgotten anything. Of course, with the recent revelations – the confirmation he’d desperately been seeking – everything was up in the air, so who knew what might be useful and what was just complete toilet paper. All he could do was memorise it and hope for the best, but regardless of anything else, they couldn’t just leave the body of the democabra out in the open. Anyone finding it would have questions, but if the military found it… all bets would be off.

“Let’s get this over with,” Steve said, as if reading his thoughts. Dustin nodded, pushed the folder under his bunk, and grabbed his gear.

The walk back to the clearing was one of silence, partly due to everything that’d happened between them, and partly due to the fact that both of them were scanning everything around them, listening out for even the slightest sound of a twig snapping or a dog barking. There was nothing, even the chill on the air had vanished.

It didn’t take them long to get back to the clearing. The two remaining cows were still tied up. Dustin didn’t know what trauma looked like on a cow, but it was a good bet that it probably looked something like this. The two animals didn’t even react to their arrival, and instead were focused on the body of their third member, now lying on the ground, drained of blood and life. Dustin didn’t look at it for a moment longer than he had to, and instead made his way over to the small ridge, where they’d hid from and then fought the creature only hours before. Well, Steve had fought the creature, protecting him as though he was fourteen again.

“Oh my god,” Dustin said, freezing in his tracks.

“What, what is it? Is it still alive?” Steve asked frantically, immediately on alert as he came running.

Dustin shook his head and pointed to the patch of ground before them.

The empty patch of ground.

“It’s gone,” Dustin whispered, looking over at Steve. “The democabra is gone.”

The plan had been to spend a couple of days in New Ripton, maybe make a few stops elsewhere on the way back to Indiana. Summer break meant their usual weekend road trips could last a bit longer. Steve had been looking forward to it. His fingers tightened on the wheel as a sigh left his lips.

Dustin was asleep in the passenger seat beside him, head lolled to the side, pressing against the window. Steve had told him to just stay in the camper, to sleep seeing as he’d been up all night. Dustin had insisted he was fine. He’d fallen asleep less than an hour into the drive.

The seventeen hour drive.

Steve squeezed his eyes shut for a second before digging around for his sunglasses and slipping them on. The sun had finally crested over the horizon, only serving to hammer home the pounding in his head. He’d suffered with stress headaches for years, ever since Billy had beaten him an inch from death. He huffed another noise through his nose, nothing had been the same since that year, least of all him.

His eyes once again fell on Dustin. They’d barely spoken since they’d found the creature missing. Only exchanged enough words to agree they should get moving sooner rather than later. Steve could only hope that thing, that democabra, had been dragged off by something larger. An easy meal. The alternative wasn’t worth considering. Military. Shady government branches. Experiments. The things that haunted his nightmares just as much as the creatures themselves.

He remembered the days after they’d defeated Vecna well, the hours spent cuffed to a chair whilst Dr Kay’s minions tried to ‘convince’ him to tell them what’d happened. Where Eleven had gone. Not believing that she would have sacrificed herself. Proving just how little they understood.

He’d told the truth, no point lying when it was all destroyed, they’d beaten him anyway. Luckily, Steve had survived torture at the hand of Russians who were even more sadistic. Kay’s men hadn’t threatened to cut off any digits, and in the end had just thrust non-disclosure forms under his nose. Holding him at gunpoint until they were signed, with the implicit suggestion that it was either this or a lifetime in a off-the-books cell, buried and forgotten, wiped under the rug like everything else that had happened in Hawkins.

Obviously everyone had signed. He’d almost collapsed with relief when he’d learnt that, through some stroke of divine intervention, the younger kids hadn’t been subjected to the same treatment as him and the other older ones. They had all been given an out, a chance to leave, though he had wondered sometimes if the others realised just how tenuous that offer really was. He remembered the look on Kay’s face when she’d been forced to give them the gag orders. If it had been up to her, none of them would have ever seen the light of day again. Clearly, her superiors in the government – whoever they were – hadn’t liked the idea of treating a bunch of kids like enemies of the state, but the situation was clear to Steve; they were on a short leash.

Which was part of the reason he was so mad at Dustin, what the hell was he thinking getting involved with all that again? His attempts at explanation rang in Steve’s ears; ‘There’s so much I’ve wanted to tell you. I’ve got all this research stored up back at Purdue, all these things that’ve been happening that—’

He hadn’t wanted to hear it. How Dustin had been keeping this from him. Some sketchy research project, some scheme or plan or something that he’d obviously been working on for some time. He’d heard it in Dustin’s voice the moment he’d said it, democabra. No shock, no horror, an almost satisfied sound as he’d said the word. A theory proved correct. On some level Dustin had known what he was walking into, and that, more than anything, terrified Steve.

~

It was late by the time they got back to Dustin’s off campus house. A shared building, but at least he had his own bedroom now. A fact he’d reminded Steve of multiple times. Steve’s body felt heavy with exhaustion, head still pounding despite the pills he swallowed when Dustin was still sleeping. The anger he’d felt had simmered away in his chest, bubbling down into something worse. A hurt and a fear so visceral it felt like it was choking him.

He’d even let Dustin take over driving at one point, something that’d stunned the younger man so much Steve had almost smiled despite himself. The few hours sleep he’d caught up on whilst Dustin drove were filled with twisted images; a grey sky, particles filling the air, that creature lunging at him. It ended the same way all his nightmares did, with a sense of falling. Slipping through consciousness until he awoke with a jolt in his seat. He’d only nodded silently when Dustin had asked if he was okay.

Dustin’s roommates had thankfully all returned home for summer break, so there was no one to question them as they stood in lounge room, arms folded, tension heavy in the air.

“Steve,” Dustin sighed eventually, “can I please just explain?”

Steve’s resolve cracked the way it did any time Dustin pleaded. “You knew, didn’t you?” he asked softly, hurt bleeding through. “What that thing was going to be.”

Dustin paused, arms squeezing around himself tighter, Steve could see the lie on his face before it reached his lips. “No. Well...” he already began to correct himself, “not exactly. It might be easier if I just show you.”

“Dustin,” Steve reached out and stopped him as he went to move, “you can’t do this. Whatever this is. We signed papers, made agreements, our right to talk about this stuff, let alone go looking for it, was signed over four years ago.”

“I know that,” Dustin stressed, placing his hand over Steve’s on his arm and squeezing, “just... please.”

He sighed, nodding even though he shouldn’t. But really, when had he ever been able to say no to Dustin Henderson?

He followed Dustin down the short hall to his bedroom, at least Steve assumed it was his bedroom. He’d never had any reason to step foot in there before. When Dustin had first moved out to Purdue he’d stayed in one of the dorms on campus, Steve and Claudia had helped him move all his stuff over. But when Dustin had moved to the shared house he hadn’t needed the help, and Steve hadn’t had any need go in any of the times he’d picked him up.

Now he wished he had. The only thing that gave away the room was even Dustin’s was Yurtle’s tank set up along one wall. The tortoise that had been a part of his life the whole time Steve had known him. But gone were the D&D books, the Star Wars memorabilia, the various knick-knacks that Steve had become accustomed to over the years. That nerdy charm that made a space uniquely Dustin’s. Something was wrong. Steve could feel it.

Dustin opened a desk draw, fished around behind what seemed to be a false back – talk about paranoia, although if you were doing something that could attract the attention of the government he guessed it was warranted – and pulled out a single key.

“It’s not far,” Dustin said, and again he followed.

~

Not far was a relative term when you’d been sitting in a truck for the better part of twenty-four hours. But the moment Dustin pulled up the rolling door to the storage unit Steve suddenly felt wide awake. Body buzzing with tension, mind brimming with questions. The door creaked upwards, white light automatically flooding out from beneath it like it was the door to that UFO from that space movie he’d seen a few years back.

Turns out, he had the wrong genre.

The space beyond the door was like a scene from a spy movie, all shoddy desks and pins boards and pretty much every plastic folder in a five block radius. It looked like the kind of place where you could plan the fall of a nation or track the world’s most wanted man. Except the pictures on the walls weren’t of targets. Instead, the majority of them were blurry and half-developed, shapes and shadows and all kinds of non-details, the kind of pictures where you had to use a fusion of a generous imagination and hopeful squinting to see anything of interest.

It was like the file he’d found in the camper had exploded over the room.

Only amplified tenfold.

Except there was more, in the back. Dustin pulled the door closed again after they had stepped inside, giving a shifty look left and right as he did so. He then led Steve deeper into the den of deception, squeezing past the desks at the front of the space, making sure not to nudge any of the boards covered in red string that was connecting pins on maps to notes and newspaper cuttings and even a few suspiciously torn out book pages that would give any librarian a heart attack. There, against the back wall was what he could only describe as lab equipment and computers, even a satellite dish like he’d seen in some of the yards of richer houses in Hawkins, though on a much smaller scale.

All Steve could do was look on, incredulous. Horrified. Whatever Dustin had got himself into went deeper than he ever could have imagined.

“What...?” Was all he managed to get out, but it was enough to get Dustin’s attention again.

“It’s not as crazy as it looks,” Dustin said, immediately defensive. “And I wasn’t looking for demos. Not at first. I subscribed to the Herald, for Nancy’s articles, you know?” Steve didn’t know but he supposed that was besides the point. “She did this one debunking a bunch of paranormal stuff. It was funny, all the things people believe are real but aren’t. Then I guess I just got to thinking, I’d laugh if someone told me about demos if I hadn’t seen them with my own eyes. I asked Nancy for some of her sources, started tracking down local papers, maybe there was truth in some of these myths.”

A flicker of annoyance burnt in Steve’s chest. Why the hell had Nancy encouraged this? Could she not see how dangerous this was?

“Wait...” Steve muttered, head spinning. What else hadn’t he told him about?

Dustin ignored him and continued explaining, excited and hopeful, as if all it would take to convince him was a bit of enthusiasm.

“It wasn’t until I started looking deeper that I started noticing similarities. Things that didn’t add up with the classic legends. Things we’ve seen before. I was going to tell you, I swear. That’s why I had my camera, to get proof!”

“So we could do what, Dustin?!” he exploded. “Track them down? Fight them? We’re not some sorta paranormal investigators. I’m a baseball coach at Hawkins High!”

“You’re more than that!” Dustin shot back but Steve only scoffed.

“Oh yeah, sorry, I forgot my vitally important role as Sex Ed teacher. Hey, if you ever need help learning how to put on a condom I’m your man,” he retorted sarcastically, barely noting the flush of Dustin’s cheeks. “But unless you want me to teach these demos the virtues of safe sex, or how to hit a homerun, I don’t know what you expect from me?!”

“For you to help me! We’ve always been a team! ” Dustin pleaded desperately, making him falter. Making him want to do anything to stop the crack in Dustin’s voice as he said it.

“This is insane. You know that, right? Stupid, dangerous shit that could get you killed. Get us both killed.”

“I know,” Dustin agreed quietly, voice heavy with the weight of it, “I know. And the last thing I want to do is risk your safety. Believe me. But I can’t go back to a normal life, not now I know for certain they’re still out there. God, I barely know what a normal life is anymore, how to live without the idea that the world might end at any moment. This, this feels like I’ve finally found something, and there’s still so much I don’t understand, so much that could still be a threat. To us. The others. The world.”

A sick feeling started to swirl in Steve’s stomach as Dustin began to babble excitedly. He wanted this. In some small way he was glad this was happening. That the creatures from their nightmares had returned. What? Because he was bored? Real life was too mundane for him?

Dustin stopped rambling, probably noting the look on Steve’s face, horror, concern, a hint of disgust. Though his next words both shattered Steve’s heart and filled it with fire. “Don’t you feel responsible too? Don’t you want to make up for what we did?”

His breath left him as one. “What we did?”

“The plan. Operation Beanstalk. The bomb. It was all our fault,” Dustin’s voice was small and on the verge of tears.

Any other time Steve would’ve pulled him into his chest. Arms wrapping firmly around him. But now he only took a stumbling step backwards.

“How dare you try and put that on me?” his voice shook with barely contained anger. “I didn’t kill El. She made her choice. She did something stupid, and brave, and selfless that day. To save us. All of us. And you’re what? Happy the demos are back? You want her sacrifice to have meant nothing so you can feel less guilty?”

He let out another breath filled with disbelief and tears he wouldn’t let fall as he turned around and pulled up the rolling door.

“I’m not gonna stop looking into this,” Dustin’s voice shook from behind him.

Steve scoffed, his only response was the clanging of the door as he pulled it shut behind himself, and a muttered, “Fuck you.”

The funny thing about storage lots, at least the kind a student could afford, was that, once you got past the perimeter security and the bored manager who was always smoking something with a distinctly earthy scent, it almost became a world unto itself. You could pretty much do anything, as long as you kept the noise down and didn’t blow any roofs off, which had happened on exactly three and a half separate occasions before they wrote a rule specifically about it. The ‘half’ occasion had only ended up with the roof partially off; consequently that unit was now rented at a permanently discounted rate, though there had been some discussion about rebranding it as the new skylight viewing model and then charging extra. But hey, that’s capitalism for you.

The point is, it was a little like the Wild West, with people coming and going at all hours, with all kinds of oddities being carried around. People left each other to their own business, which is why no one really batted an eyelid when a dark sedan that all but screamed ‘government owned’ pulled into the lot and casually edged its way down the rows. The two men inside – each wearing black suits and black glasses that somehow weren’t affected by the blacked-out windows of the car – were stony-faced and unspeaking, scanning each of the storage units in turn. Finally, finding the row they were looking for, they pulled the car into an empty parking spot, turned off the engine, and adjusted the mirrors so they could keep their target in view.

And then they waited.

They kept waiting.

Someone bumped their fender when moving a cart of building materials, which could have been something if one of the black suited men didn’t immediately flash the handgun he wore in a holster under his jacket as the offending individual tried to apologise. Said individual quickly vanished, and the two men went back to sternly, unflinchingly, waiting.

In fact they waited all day and long into the evening until, finally, two young men – barely older than boys – approached the storage unit and slipped inside.

The two agents looked at each other, nodding in agreement. Without saying a word, one of them got out of the sedan and headed to the trunk. Checking he was alone, he popped the lid and quickly reached into the space, retrieving a gun-like object that had a dish instead of a barrel and looked exactly like every spy movie listening device you’ve ever seen, because that’s exactly what it was.  

He then took one last look at the partially covered up body of the democabra they’d retrieved from the desert. It was still fresh. Good. Getting the smell of these things out of your trunk was always a full weekend effort, and neither agent was in the mood for that particular job. They still had plenty of time before it started stinking too badly to hand it off.

The agent returned to the car and pointed the listening device, handing an earpiece to his partner.

And then both of them went back to waiting.

Chapter Text

Dustin didn’t feel anything as he watched Steve leave.

He didn’t feel anything as he sat down at one of the old desks he’d liberated from one of the rooms that were being renovated at his college.

He didn’t even feel anything when he closed his eyes and thought back on the last few days and how it had been one of their best trips yet. Well, before everything that had happened at least. He really had wanted to see the eclipse, and seeing it with Steve by his side, with those goofy glasses and his time-defying hair that seemed to just grow more incredible with every year that passed, it had been great. Something special, even. He’d even go as far as calling it almost magical, but now that feeling seemed blurred out like all the rest.

He’d got pretty good at suppressing his feelings, burying his emotions under layers of focus to his cause and dedication to his research. And when that didn’t work, there were other ways to make it all go away too…

But that was the thing about feelings. Even when you push them away, they don’t really disappear. You can try to kill them, chop them up into a thousand pieces and bury the remains in the yard, but they’ll just turn up the next day, with a smile and a wave and a tug on your heart that leaves you longing for death but at the same time more glad to be alive than you ever have been before. It’s a bit of a mixed bag, basically.

But the most annoying thing about feelings, is that they’re frustratingly easy to trigger. Like, paper-cut-on-your-finger-when-opening-a-foil-yoghurt-lid levels of easy. Or, more relevantly, something as simple as looking at a photograph.

This particular photograph was sitting on the desk to his side, his main workspace really, and was of all the people that meant the most to him. The entire Party, younger and older and even older generations all in one picture. Even El. He wasn’t sure when it was taken; it had been a real candid camera kind of moment, printed off later and given to each of them in turn. Mike had actually cried when he had seen El again in it, but all Dustin had been able to focus on was the way he'd been looking at Steve. It was a rare, unguarded moment, where you could see what he had been thinking, where you could see the feelings in his eyes. There was that word again.

Screw feelings, he thought bitterly, pushing himself up from where he’d been sitting. He made his way to the back of the unit, and reached inside his jacket. His hand was practically trembling as he pulled out the test tube from his pocket. He held it up to the light, almost mesmerised by it. The blackish-red, oily blood was iridescent beneath the light, shinning with different colours that fled the eye every time you tried to focus on them.

It was real, an actual sample.

He didn’t know if that thrilled him or terrified him more.

Focusing, he opened the glass door of the altered chromatograph examination chamber that sat between two different computers. Inside, a number of other test tubes were already hanging from scanning racks. Each of them contained something that had once held promise – werewolf fur, vampire’s blood, the surprisingly pungent hair of a troll, those kinds of things. It’d been a pain to get them all; exchanging messages with sources from all over the country, even a few meet-ups with some local paranormal fan groups, of which there were surprisingly many. The events in Hawkins hadn’t been as covered up as well as the military might have liked, and, in some circles at least, it had become something of a conspiracy theory all its own. Many groups had formed around people’s interest in the town, and though they were all over the place in what they believed, they’d been a useful resource in their own right, though he didn’t dare mention he was from the town himself. He’d got as much ‘evidence’ as he could get his hands on and had tested every part of it. None of it had been any good.

But this; this sample, this blood, this was real. Even if he didn’t have all his knowledge of the events in Hawkins to call upon, he’d be able to tell this was real. There was a weight to it, a heaviness that sat in the palm and lingered on the senses.

He placed the test tube into the holder and stepped back, then closed the case.

Right. That was step two completed. What was the rest of the plan again? Oh, right. It was a convoluted mess, that’s what it was.

The goal, at least, had been simple. Find where the demo-creatures were coming from, figure out how they got there, and then, somehow, put a stop to it. It had been remarkable how quickly ‘simple’ had gone out the window.

It turned out that identifying patterns, coming up with the theory that not all the bullshit about monsters and conspiracies was fake and that, maybe, there was something real hidden in there, that was the easy part. Finding proof was another matter entirely, which meant figuring out the best places to look. That had been the first step. He’d pored through every scrap of information he could find, using Nancy’s stories as jumping off points to dive into every myth and encounter that had been mentioned in the last few years.

It’d been a chore. Most records – other newspapers or gossip magazines, the occasional police report that he could get his hands on over the phone – either treated the topic as a joke or over-sensationalised it, losing the actual details behind scepticism, mockery and entertainment.

The only thing that helped was that he knew what to look for. He’d spent years looking for the signs of demos, his experiences in Hawkins burned into him.

Claw marks that left cracks behind.

Blackish, oily blood.

Stalking quickly, then vanishing without a trace, as if through a portal.

The grey, dead skin that seemed to be stretched too tight.

And of course, more teeth than any reasonable thing could ever need.

New Ripton had been the first time where everything had lined up, where there were enough signs combined with a current situation, where it was still happening. Of course he hadn’t anticipated that the demo would be a chupacabra… he was still trying to figure out that particular revelation. Were all chupacabras demo attacks? No, that didn’t make any sense, the myth went back decades, perhaps even more, long before Hawkins. And the demos had taken other forms before. The gorgons, the dogs, the… the bats. But a mythological creature just seemed too… specific. It was a question he didn’t have an answer too, and it was infuriating him.

Which was why he needed the samples. Why, when he should have rushed to Steve’s side to check his injury, he’d gone to the creature first.

Maybe if he got enough samples, from different sightings in different places around the country, he’d be able to figure out where they were all coming from. Possibly. He hoped. And then they’d be able to stop them. But that was a step for the future.

Dustin pulled out the chair again and collapsed into it.

He watched the sample, its contents still reflecting the light in that weird way it had. Normally, thinking about his… secret project – or whatever it really was – normally it made him feel better. Focused. Not tonight though.

His eyes drifted again to the photograph on his desk, it was habit at this point, subconscious. His hand followed as he turned his back on the sample, reaching out and picking up the simple frame, fingers brushing over the image gently. He sighed as he placed it back down and pulled open the desk draw, taking out the bottle of Karkov and unscrewing the cap. It wasn’t the world’s finest vodka, but for less than ten bucks a bottle you couldn’t really complain.

Dustin barely even grimaced as he took a long gulp, the liquid burning an increasingly familiar path down his throat. He was a college student, it was expected. Still, he was certain anyone in that photograph would be surprised. Or they would have been if they were around enough to know. As always his gaze fixed on the still image of Steve, the one person who was around enough, but also the one he was hiding all this from. Not just the storage unit come makeshift lab, but all of it.

He swallowed another deep pull. No, Steve didn’t need to know about the drinking. And not the regular going to parties and occasionally calling him way too late at night just to hear his voice drinking. The drinking like this. Alone. With the sole intention of blocking everything out just for a while. The same way he didn’t need to know about the pot he smoked when he met up with the D&D group he’d joined. It turned out they were more interested in getting stoned than playing the game. It also turned out Dustin didn’t mind so much.

He drew the line at hard drugs though, he wasn’t completely self-destructive. Only mildly. Well, he said he drew the line – and the line had been drawn – but only after one particular incident. A few months back, not long before he’d flung himself headfirst into his project, and there was definitely no correlation there, none at all. One of his roommates had thrown a party, he’d had a drink – or five, or more – there’d been a guy. A guy who, in the harsh light of day and stone cold sober, looked nothing like Steve Harrington. But half-way to drunk Dustin had been enamoured with his pretty hair, his pouty lips, his eyes that weren’t quite the perfect shade of brown but were close enough. He’d agreed way too easily when not-Steve had asked if he wanted to do a line.

Dustin had never thought he’d take cocaine. But that night he’d flown, soaring away from everything that’d been eating away at him. No worries, no guilt, nothing weighing him down. Just a stinging in his nose and the rich sound of not-Steve’s laugh as he snorted a line of his own before dragging his finger through the residue and rubbing it over his gums. Tongue tracing the same path as his finger before somehow, inexplicably, ending up in Dustin’s mouth.

The lines between not-Steve and real-Steve had blurred then in a haze of chemical-induced ecstasy. Lips crashing together, hands in his perfect hair, a hasty retreat to Dustin’s bedroom. Bodies moving together, dripping with sweat, mind flying and falling all at once as Dustin cried Steve’s name over and over.

He’d woken the next morning alone and shaking, body wracked with tremors from the come down and a deep ache inside him to remind him of exactly what he’d done. The only saving grace from his night of stupidity had been the used condom he’d found tossed carelessly to the floor.

Dustin looked again at his younger self in the photograph, the look that was as plain as day on his face. The one feeling that was almost impossible to bury. Because Dustin had loved Steve Harrington long before anything else. Before he’d figured out he was gay, before there was attraction, beneath it all Steve was his best friend.

But best friends don’t cry each other’s names when they come.

It had been a startling moment of clarity. The difference between objectively knowing Steve was attractive and outright wanting him. Things had been different since, even though Dustin had tried his best to be the same as ever. As far as he knew – and he was sure he’d know otherwise – Steve was completely straight. Even if lusting after your best friend wasn’t already a terrible idea, lusting after a straight guy was worse.

So Dustin had withdrawn, unintentionally, a fraction at a time, protecting himself, making sure Steve never found out. And maybe that was why he’d been hesitant to tell him about all of this. He looked around at the crazy conspiracy levels of stuff around him, taking another long drink, starting to feel the effects now. Because then Steve would ask what had set him down this path, and those were secrets Dustin couldn’t afford for him to find out.

Steve didn’t make it far when he stormed away from the storage unit. From whatever the hell Dustin was playing at. Only about twenty minutes on the road before the sheer exhaustion hit him, eyes drooping dangerously. He’d all but forgotten the hours and hours of driving they’d already done, not to mention the fact he was running on a couple of hours sleep at best.

He pulled into the first parking lot he could find that was big enough to hold the camper. Stepping out into the night he fully intended to head straight into the camper and get some rest. But as the cool night air hit his skin he couldn’t help but think of the night before. The supernatural chill in the air, the fear pounding in his veins as he’d searched desperately for Dustin, the anger – the hurt – when he’d realised Dustin had known exactly what he was walking into.

His shoulder twinged as he tried to stretch out his muscles. Flashes of the creature invading his mind too. Like nothing they’d seen before but unmistakably demo. Steve had known it even before Dustin said anything, how could he not? When he had permanent reminders of what those type of creatures could do slashed across his side. Scars that had never quite faded past a muted purple.

He was thankful that whatever the hell a democabra was it was easier to kill than anything else he’d faced. Taken down by a few swings of a – non-modified – baseball bat. He was halfway through wondering why the creature had been so easy to kill, especially when the other demos had been near on indestructible, when the sound of laughter cut through his thoughts.

His head turned as a group of college age girls trotted, giggling, through the parking lot. It was only then that he realised he’d parked outside what was clearly a college bar. His eyes flitted between the camper and the bar for moment before he ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it just so. One beer wouldn’t hurt.

~

The bar was surprisingly busy considering the fact it was summer break. Then again, any bar seemed busy compared to the one he occasionally frequented in Hawkins. He managed to squeeze into an open spot at the bar and ordered himself a beer.

The cold liquid slid down his throat and he wished – not for the first time – that he hadn’t let a thirteen year old Dustin Henderson bully him into stopping smoking. He could really use it after the day he’d had. But no, little Dustin had gone on and on about how his car stank – like Steve had even been obligated to drive him around – and how he was damaging his lungs, and what kind of athlete would he be if he didn’t keep his body in peak physical condition. Steve rolled his eyes, lips wrapping around the bottle as he took another sip. From the start Henderson had been telling him what to do. But not now. Not with this. He wasn’t getting back into all that shit.

It was finally over, they’d all moved on, at least he’d thought they had. He had. He had a job, not that he ever imagined himself a teacher, but it was a damn sight better than working for his dad. And he was good at it, they were good kids, especially his Cubs. Being Coach Steve, it filled a hole he hated to admit was there. The little nuggets he’d always wanted. Especially since his original kids had all grown up and spread out across the country, leaving him behind in Hawkins.

Not that he minded. Not really. He’d bought that place in Forest Hills. A real family home. Everything he’d wanted as a kid. Not too big, not big enough a family could exist without really interacting, but a nice yard. A basketball hoop hung on the side of the house. He just needed someone to fill it with.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t tried. There’d been Kristen, Dawn, Margaret, even Julie. A few others over the years but nothing that ever stuck. It was ironic that these trips with Dustin were more dependable than his love life had ever been. Their friendship the most consistent thing in his life.

And Dustin had lied to him.

Had led him on this wild goose chase, claiming he wanted to watch the eclipse together, a once in a lifetime experience he wanted to share, when really it had been about that damn creature.

He finished his beer, placing the bottle down with more force than necessary. He was going to order another when a woman squeezed up to the bar beside him, leaning forwards and grabbing the bartender’s attention easily. Steve could see why, low cut shirt, boobs resting on the bar. Yeah, that’d do it.

He didn’t mean to stare, didn’t realise he was until his eyes traced up her body to find her watching him, one eyebrow raised.

“Uhhh... hi,” he said, trying to play off the fact he’d been caught staring.

“Hi,” she replied with a smirk, grabbing her drink and sucking on the straw, taking it further in her mouth than completely necessary.

“You from around here?” he asked, because who was he to turn down a pretty girl basically landing in his lap.

She laughed softly, clearly onto him, twirling her hair, obviously flirtatious. “Nope. You?”

Her hand went easily to his, fingers dancing over his skin. God, how long had it been since he’d been with someone? He didn’t really do meaningless sex anymore. Being with someone outside of a relationship. “No. Visiting a friend.”

Her fingers grazed against his wrist, nails scraping his skin, sending a thrill down his spine. Maybe he could break his own rules just this once. After the day he’d had. “Girlfriend?” she asked.

Steve shook his head, flipping his hand to let his fingers tangle with hers. “Nope.”

She leant in then, body shifting closer, pressing against the outside of his thigh. “Good,” she breathed into his ear.

Her lips were ready and waiting the moment he turned his head. Soft and pliant, slightly too much tongue. He followed easily as she tugged him from his stool, onto the dancefloor where she wrapped her arms around his neck, lips back on his as she moved slowly against him. Boobs pressed against his chest, hips rocking against his in a way that didn’t feel like dancing. It’d be so easy to invite her outside, the camper was right there.

He wondered if Dustin would be pissed if he slept with a girl in there. Not that Dustin had any say in the matter, it was Steve’s camper. Just because he’d never taken a trip with anyone else didn’t mean Dustin had some sort of part-ownership. Like he seemed to think he had over the passenger seat of the Chevy. Shotgun called for life apparently.

The girl’s hands shifted from his neck to his shoulders, fingers digging in enough to make him pull his lips away with a hiss of pain. Her forehead wrinkled in confusion as he lifted a hand to rub at the wound. The wound that his best friend hadn’t given a shit about because he was too busy scooping up demo-blood. Who did that? Who saw someone they cared about hurt and just ignored it in favour of research. Because he felt guilty.

Steve couldn’t help the way his mind drifted back to their conversation. The way he’d been so close to agreeing to help, hating how desperate and sad Dustin had seemed. But then he’d started going on about making up for what they did. Like Steve hadn’t spent years coming to terms with the fact he’d been partly responsible for El’s death. And what had all that other shit been about?

‘I barely know what a normal life is anymore, how to live without the idea that the world might end at any moment.’

What did that even mean? They were supposed to leave all that behind. They weren’t supposed to long for those days of constant adrenaline and daring adventures. They were supposed to move on, go to college, get jobs, have families and live in nice houses and go on vacations and do normal stuff in ordinary, not dangerous, happily dull lives. He wasn’t exactly sure why the voice in his head had taken on a particularly bitter tone, but that wasn’t the point. That was the plan. That was what they were supposed to be doing. Not this.

The girl leant back in to recapture his lips but Steve pulled back. Hands brushing through his hair, agitation in his veins. And what the hell did Nancy think she was doing facilitating all of it anyway? She knew as well as he did the documents they’d signed, the promises they’d made. The weight of what going against the US government meant.

“What’s up?” the girls asked, a hand trailing down his chest.

Steve shook his head. He couldn’t talk about it. Not to her. And not to Dustin. Not after how they’d left things. But there was one person he could talk to. One person he really wanted to give a piece of his mind. “I just have to make a call.”

“I thought you said you didn’t have a girlfriend,” the girl snapped, arms folded.

Steve rolled his eyes, he’d had enough of people thinking him and Nancy were going to get back together over the years it was an ingrained response. Apparently it was a bad one.

The girl huffed. “Whatever, asshole,” she said, flipping him off as she slipped back into the crowd.

Great. Just perfect.

~

Nancy’s phone rang an annoying number of times, the ring ring drilling into Steve’s skull, his earlier headache returning. He was tucked in the corner of the bar, receiver of the payphone cradled to his ear, waiting. It was late. He knew that. He also knew Nancy. She never wasted time sleeping when she was working on a story, and she was always working on a story.

When the line finally connected she answered with an irritated, “Hello?”

“Whatever happened to Nancy Wheeler’s impeccable manners?” he asked snarkily.

“Steve?”

He faked a gasp.

“The big shot reporter remembers me.” It was mean, he knew that. But he was pissed, and tired, and his head hurt and his shoulder was throbbing dully. Each jolt of pain reminding him how dangerous it’d been. How Dustin might have been hurt or worse if he hadn’t been there.

“Steve? What the hell is wrong with you?! Where are you?” she asked, obviously noting the noise of the bar bleeding into the background of the call. “Are you drunk?”

He scoffed, meeting her anger with his own. “What the hell is wrong with me? What the hell is wrong with you?”

“What are you talking about?” she snapped on the other end of the line.

“You know damn well what I’m talking about, Nancy!” he shot back, only just realising he really couldn’t talk about any of it. Not here, not out in the open, where his worries seemed to be as loud as the beat of the bass in the background. There was one worry that screamed louder in his mind than the others though.

Anything could have taken the body of the democabra.

Or anyone.

“Steve,” she sighed, an exasperated sound he remembered from his youth, “it’s late. I’m busy. Call me back tomorrow when you’re not out getting drunk.”

“It’s not safe, Nancy,” he hissed into the receiver, keeping his voice low. “Encouraging him like that is only gonna get him in trouble.” He waited for a response, the pause stretching out awkwardly. “Nance? Nancy?!” He pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it in disbelief before slamming it back onto the hook. She’d hung up on him.

Steve contemplated calling back to ask what the hell, but ultimately decided it wasn’t worth it. It wasn’t like he could demand any real answers right now anyway. Not without bringing up demos and the Upside Down and all of that shit. The fight drained out of him as he thought of Dustin again. Steve was annoyed, yes. Really damn annoyed. But underneath it all he was scared. Worried about what the hell Dustin had stumbled into. And how he would possibly handle it alone. His final words about not stopping ringing in Steve’s ears.

He pressed his head against the payphone for a second, he needed sleep. He needed to find some more damn pills for his head. He needed to get out of this bar. What had he been thinking coming in for a drink, almost having random sex with a stranger. Fighting with Dustin had got him all twisted up.

The moment he spun to leave he crashed directly another man’s chest, beer spilling all down his front. “Shit, sorry man,” he apologised immediately, really not looking for a fight. God, that was the last thing he needed.

“Nah, no worries,” the guy said, thankfully not seeming like an angry drunk. “Sorry about your shirt.”

“Oh, it’s cool, my bad really. You want me to buy you another one or...?” He let the question hang there, wanting to leave but also feeling bad about spilling the guy's drink.

Something flashed across the man’s face, something Steve didn’t understand before his tone turned cold, “I don’t swing that way, man.”

Steve’s cheeks flushed at the insinuation, that wasn’t what he’d meant at all, he was trying to be polite! Jesus, stone a man for trying to be nice. He huffed, pushing past the guy and his friends, ignoring the muttered comments and made his way outside. Of course he had no issue with people being gay, his two best friends preferred people of the same sex. But he was Steve Harrington. Steve Harrington did not give off gay energy.

He sighed as he crossed the parking lot to the camper. It didn’t matter. Not really. Who cared if some asshole at a bar thought he liked dudes. It wasn’t like it was going to get back to his boss or something.

His eyes passed over the rest of the cars in the parking lot as he pulled open the door to the camper. Habit, he supposed. A safety precaution that was ingrained into him. They caught on a dark sedan parked under a tree, its windows tinted. He wondered how much it’d cost to get the same treatment on the Chevy. It might help with the headaches. The thought was fleeting though as he entered the camper and pulled the door shut behind himself.

~

The sun was a bastard.

There were other ways you could put that, more eloquent, poetic ways that captured the majesty of the morning star as it rose triumphantly into the sky like it was retuning from another battle with the unending gloom of the night, boisterously announcing its return for all its subjects to bear witness too... but really, who had time for that when your head was still pounding, your mouth was dry, and every time you opened your eyes it felt like they were being melted right there in your skull.

Yes. Bastard would do just nicely.

Eventually, Steve managed to summon enough strength to sit up in his bunk, making a mental note to get thicker curtains as he did so. Really thick. Like ‘block out the entire world and all your memories with it’, kind of thick. But as it was, the events of the previous night quickly came rushing back to greet him.

The bar. The beer. The girl with the boobs.

His call to Nancy.

And then, just for good measure, the girl with the boobs again. Because apparently his mind just loved reminding him of all his screw ups lately. It was almost like—

Dustin.

Steve looked across to the other side of the camper, where the other bunk was still pushed up to the wall. It was possible to slide both bunks together to make a double, not that he’d had the thought capacity to remember that last night, a fact that every muscle in his body complained about as he stretched. For a moment, in his still semi-conscious mind, he was actually confused as to why Dustin wasn’t there, snoring away in his bunk. They’d only been travelling together for a few days, but it always surprised him how quickly he became used to Dustin's presence. The sudden sense of emptiness as he awoke fully just annoyed him further. Screw him.

With hunger pains beginning to creep up from the depths of his stomach, Steve pushed himself out of his bunk, his movements stiff and restricted. Oh, right, he thought as he noticed the clothes he was still wearing from the previous night. He’d been in such a state he hadn’t even bothered stripping before collapsing into a fitfull sleep, and now as he moved, the smell of stale beer and the perfume from the girl he’d danced with came back to haunt him.

Bacon. That's what he needed. Lots of bacon. Once he wasn’t dying from self-inflicted starvation, he could go digging through his bag looking for some new clothes. Maybe he’d even give the shower a go, if Dustin had left any water in the tank. Then he could figure out what to do next. He knew that whatever happened, calling Nancy and explaining would have to be high on the list. Then again, he still wanted an explanation from her, too. But one step at a time.

Moving almost on autopilot, he relocated himself to the small kitchenet area in the middle of the camper and got one of the burners going, then pulled out a frying pan from one the surrounding shelves. He’d got pretty good at cooking, and discovered a level of joy in it, especially when making food for others. He’d always lead the team-building pizza nights for the baseball team, and Dustin always said his meatloaf was a thing of perfection.

Dustin.

There was that damn name again. ‘Screw him’ still very much applied.

Or at least it did, until he turned to reach in the fridge and retrieve the bacon. The fridge was placed beneath one of the camper’s rectangular windows, the one that looked directly out over the parking lot. Now, most people probably wouldn’t have given a second thought at the sight of a handful of other vehicles that were still parked up in the lot. But then again, most people hadn’t spent a good number of years being near constantly followed, if not outright hunted. It left you with a sort of heightened sense for stuff that was out of the ordinary, stuff that didn’t sit quite right.

And the black car with the black windows from the previous night that was still parked across the lot facing his camper was certainly enough to classify as out of the ordinary.

Steve froze, the door of the fridge hanging open. His eyes fixed on the car, a common sedan. You could throw a stone and hit a million more just like it. And that’s exactly why it was the perfect way to blend in. He’d learnt that first hand. In the months after Hawkins, Dr Kay’s military goons had been everywhere, or at least that was how it’d felt at the end. On the end of every street, in every shop, waiting outside your house long into the night, it got to the point where a day wouldn’t pass without spotting one of their teams. Apparently, that had been the point, to slowly ramp up the pressure until someone broke and gave their secrets. Except there had been no secrets to reveal, no hidden cache of Upside Down relics, or whatever they’d been looking for. Then suddenly the agents had vanished, and Steve and the others felt like the last weight they had been carrying since Vecna was finally lifted.

But you don’t stop jumping at shadows just because the sun has gone down. And the black sedan with its soulless black windows that was practically staring at him from across the parking lot was one giant shadow.

It felt like it was suffocating and electrocuting him at the same time. He could practically feel every drop of adrenaline as it flooded into his system. With all sense of hunger forgotten, he switched off the burner and slammed the fridge shut. He barely had enough sense of mind to pull on his sneakers before dashing out of the camper and into the Chevy, glaring at the black sedan with every step he took.

He was panicking. He knew himself well enough to know that. But knowing something and knowing how to stop it were two different ball games altogether, and by the time he’d got the engine started his hands were shaking.

They weren’t the military. It was just another car. Just another traveller sleeping off an all-nighter. That was undoubtably the truth. But what if they weren’t? What if the military was already here? What if they had been watching all this time, waiting for the right moment?

What if they already had Dustin?

Suddenly nothing else mattered. He needed to know if Dustin was alright. Sucking in breaths like the air was running out, he spun the wheel and hit the gas pedal, hoping he could remember the way back to that storage unit. With its walls covered in evidence and computers holding god only knew what, unrepentant proof that Dustin had been poking around where he shouldn’t. If anyone was going to try and kidnap Dustin, that’s where they would do it. That’s where he had to be.

As he sped off down the road, Steve glanced in the mirror. The black sedan hadn’t moved.

~

The drive that’d taken twenty minutes the night before took less than half that as Steve broke multiple laws – speeding down streets and running red lights – in his desperation to get back to Dustin. He could practically hear all the stuff in the camper being tossed around, but it didn’t matter. His eyes kept going to his mirrors, checking over and over that the sedan wasn’t following him.

His logical brain was telling him to slow down, that he couldn’t afford to get a ticket, that of course he wasn’t being followed. But logic wasn’t really in control as his heart beat hard and fast, blood rushing in his ears. Why had he left Dustin like that? When had he ever abandoned him when he was doing something stupid? And he’d done many a stupid thing over the years. This might have been the most stupid of all, but was Steve really going to leave him to face it alone, unprotected? Reckless and risking everything without anyone to have his back.

He screeched to a stop when he reached the storage unit, barely even mindful of the camper hitched to the back of the Chevy, the way it rolled dangerously close to his bumper with the momentum. He wasn’t even parked in a proper space but it didn’t matter, not right now. Not when he was already slamming the door shut and crossing over to the unit he’d stormed away from in anger the night before.

The handle to the rolling door twisted easily, making panic spike higher in his veins, as he pulled the door up. Why wouldn’t Dustin lock it? Why would he leave his secrets so easily exposed? What if he hadn’t had a chance to lock it? What if he’d been taken?

Steve half expected to find the unit trashed, or worse eerily empty, but as the light filtered in through the open door he could see everything was the same as it had been the night before. Still insane. Still bizarre as all hell. But untouched. His eyes moved quickly as he took a step inside, searching for Dustin.

A groan had him spinning towards the corner, a camp bed shoved to the edge of the unit, a lumpy form huddled beneath a blanket, curls sticking out wildly. Relief flooded his veins, his body sagged slightly. Dustin was okay.

“Bright,” the Dustin-shaped lump grunted, pulling the blanket further over his head.

The relief didn’t last long. Not when Steve noted the scent of alcohol in the air, the empty bottle of vodka on its side next to the camp bed. He turned and yanked the rolling door down, the clang of it slamming shut hurt his head but it was worth it to see the way Dustin lurched upwards, eyes unfocused, hands covering his ears.

“You drink away your problems now, do you?” Steve snapped.

“Jesus Christ,” Dustin bit out, eyes squeezing shut for a second, “you’re the problem.”

“And you look like Murray right now,” he shot back, “vodka and conspiracy theories. What the hell is wrong with you?”

Dustin got unsteadily to his feet, head pounding like a bitch, no thanks to Steve’s rude awakening. What the hell was he even doing back here anyway? He’d made his position perfectly clear. What, did he just want to fight some more? Tell him how stupid he was being without stopping to listen for even a second.

He took a step closer to Steve, ready to launch right into another rant when he smelled it. Beer. Steve stank of it. Hypocritical asshole. He scoffed, taking another step, about to call him out when he smelled something worse. Something that hurt much more than it should.

“What’s wrong with me?” he snapped, smothering the hurt with anger. “Why are you even here? Judging me when you stink of beer and cheap perfume.”

A brief look of shame crossed Steve’s face. A look that confirmed exactly what Dustin didn’t want to know. That he’d walked away last night – left him – and sought comfort the arms of some... some... cheap slut. He span towards the altered chromatograph under the pretence of checking the sample, but really he just needed to hide the hurt in his eyes before Steve noticed. God, everything had been so much harder since he’d realised what he felt for Steve went beyond mere attraction. He never used to mind when Steve had girlfriends, even random hook ups. He wanted his friend to have his perfect life. Wife. Kids. White picket-fence. Hated the jealousy that tore at his stomach when he thought of Steve taking someone else to bed. Had it been in the camper? The camper he had no right to think of as theirs but did anyway. He wondered if Steve had pushed the bunks together, whether there would be come on his sheets, if he could bury his face into his pillow and smell Steve or whether the cheap perfume had wormed its way into every surface.

Dustin turned at the sound of Steve’s voice. Quieter now, the anger faded.

“I... I thought...” Steve started then stopped, shaking his head. “This,” he gestured around, “it’s dangerous, Dustin. You do see that, don’t you?”

“Of course I see that,” he said with a sigh, “I’m the smart one remember?” Steve’s mouth tilted into a small smile. “I know the risks.”

“Do you?” Steve cut in. “Do you actually? Because all of that, what happened out there in New Ripton, that was reckless. Dangerous. Going after that demo-thing alone... you could have been hurt. You could’ve died.”

Dustin itched to point out that he didn’t want to do it alone. That he’d practically begged Steve to help him before he’d walked out. Instead he just repeated, “I know the risks.” Eyes going to Steve’s shoulder, remembering his pained cry. “I promise I do. That doesn’t mean it’s not worth doing. You were right, when you said El sacrificed so much for us.” Pain that had nothing to do with the hangover shot through him but he pushed on regardless. “She gave her life to keep all of us safe. To stop Vecna, the demos, the government experiments.” His voice caught, tears burning behind his eyes. “But if they’re back. If the demos somehow survived... then she died for nothing.”

It was the truth that’d torn at him the hardest as his research had reached its fever pitch. That if there were demos – any form of demo – out there, then what had been the point? And without El, who else was there? Who else would stop the creatures from their nightmares?

Steve stepped forwards, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, fingers squeezing tightly. “It’s not your fight anymore,” he said softly, as though he’d read Dustin’s mind.

“Isn’t it?” he breathed out.

Steve’s hand dropped, running over his own face then through his hair. Sighing as though the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. “Alright, Henderson... I’m in.”

Dustin’s heart soared but he shook his head, he’d never wanted to force Steve into this. “You don’t have to help if you don’t want to. Honestly, I can look after myself now. No babysitter required.”

A look Dustin could only describe as bittersweet flashed across Steve’s face before he pulled him in and ruffled his hair the way he had when Dustin had been younger. “You might be all grown up, but I’ve still got the wheels. Admit it, Henderson. You need me.”

Dustin tilted his face up, catching the soothing brown of Steve’s eyes along with another whiff of perfume. His heart clenched, voice rougher than he’d like as he replied, “Yeah, you’re right. I need you.”

Steve couldn’t help the sigh of relief he let out as he pulled away from the storage lot, Dustin in his rightful place in the passenger seat. He’d agreed – somewhat begrudgingly – to travel back to Hawkins with Steve now, instead of when he was supposed to return. Steve had argued it only made sense seeing as they’d cut their trip short, which was the only reason Dustin hadn’t come back to visit his mom yet anyway.

Dustin had insisted on collecting up his samples and bundles of research before they left, storing them safely in the back of the camper. Silently Steve agreed it was best not to leave any – well, not all – of the incriminating evidence just sitting around. He still had the prickling feeling of being watched even now, when he hadn’t seen even a glimpse of the mysterious black sedan since he’d left the bar. He made a double loop around the block and took a few extra turns just in case. Luckily Dustin didn’t notice. He once again had his head pressed against the window of the Chevy, not asleep this time, but his eyes gazed ahead sightlessly. Probably just stuck in hangover-hell. Served him right for drinking so much. At least Steve had only had one beer. Although Dustin had insisted he change his shirt before they left, stating he’d get them pulled over reeking of alcohol. He’d been all too happy to oblige.

Still, he was glad Dustin didn’t pick up on his paranoid driving. He’d almost mentioned the sedan earlier, had only just stopped himself, not wanting to feed into this new conspiracy theorist vibe Dustin had going on. Besides, he was sure it was nothing.

Chapter Text

August 6^th, 1991

Talladega National Forest, Alabama

Day 4 of Sample Hunt 2

There were many things a 1989 Chevy Silverado excelled at it. That was, after all, why Steve had chosen it in the first place.

It was great for hauling things around, for one. Its large truck bed was just big enough to be able to pack up an entire household of stuff and leave no room for all the drama and bad memories to squeeze in. That had been a blessing when he’d moved out of his parents’ place. They’d actually protested when he told them about getting his own place, and for a moment he’d hoped that maybe the distance between them was beginning to close. Then he’d realised that they had been more bothered about losing their house sitter than anything else. The truck had practically paid for itself that day.

The Chevy was also pretty good at just driving. Its sturdy suspension and soft seats were perfect for cruising long distances, and the radio tuned into stations faster than most so there was always something to listen to. Granted, half the time that meant listening to random nonsense that was often in a different language, but still, it was a perk. One of the things the Chevy wasn’t good at was off-roading. This was a fact that was formerly unknown to Steve.

He was damn well realising it now.

With the engine roaring and the tires screeching across the dusty, gravelly ground, Steve found himself chanting swears and curses that he hadn’t realised he’d known. Prying a hand away from the wheel took more willpower then he’d needed in a long time, but somehow, he managed to work the gear stick and lock in another gear.

It didn’t help.

“Are you sure this is the way you want to do this?!” Steve shouted as he slowed a fraction. It wasn’t like they were going fast anyway; the path through the forest was twisty and, as every couple of feet was pointing out, bumpy as all hell. On any other day it would have been a nice trek, even a nice drive.

Decades ago, the forest had been heavily logged, abused almost to the point of collapse. But an extensive replanting campaign had brought it back to a pristine state, and then some. Huge pine trees reached up into the air everywhere you looked, battling to keep the sun from hitting the ground, and thick, mossy bushes carpeted almost every free patch of ground. It was like seeing how the world might have once looked, in some unknown era now forgotten in time. And then they would reach a clearing, and that image would be shattered as surely as if someone had hit it with a hammer.

To describe the clearing as a cut in the land would be underselling it. Instead, it was like a massive claw had descended from the sky and scraped the land clean, raking up the ground into jagged, dry crevices that seemed to resist all efforts of rain and rivers to smooth them over. It was more than that though. The ground was black, as if it had been burnt and turned to ash, and even now, the carcasses of broken tree trunks and torn up stumps could be seen littering the landscape as it stretched in an unbroken line for miles into the forest, a dark streak of death where nothing grew.

Their first day here, looking for a parking spot for the camper, Steve had stumbled across one such line as Dustin pushed them to head deeper into the forest; there were many across the region. It had felt like he had fallen into a rift without even knowing it, and his stomach had tightened so much each step had felt like hitting the ground. Even Dustin’s probing remarks hadn’t shaken the feeling of hanging on from his fingertips, nor had it helped when it was explained that these black void stretches were the remains of the logging industry itself. They were where massive factories and processing lines had been set up, cutting their way through the forest and the planet alike, scarring it in a way that had never healed, even after decades of replanting. Each one they’d come across felt off, wrong, unnatural in a way he hadn’t been able to find words for.

But then again, that was why they were here.

“Henderson!” Steve yelled again as he slammed his hand on the window behind him. He slowed the truck to a crawl. He’d lost sight of the stupid cat anyway.

A second later, the window slid across, and Dustin stuck his head through the gap. The look of blatant annoyance on his face made Steve regret ever asking for the sliding window feature to be installed.

“Why’d you stop?!” Dustin asked frantically.

“Because we’ve been chasing this thing for two hours, I’m down half a tank of gas, and we’ve barely got within a few yards of it. This is stupid.”

“You’re stupid,” Dustin shot back before half climbing, half tumbling through the window into the truck’s cabin. He then reached back, grabbing something.

“Hey, watch it!” Steve growled as Dustin wrestled the weird stick thing he’d patched together. It was a few feet long, a pole with some kind of syringe thing on one end, but right now Steve was more concerned with the way it kept scratching his seats. “Come on man, really?”

“It’s just a truck,” Dustin said in that indifferent way he had that made Steve want to throw him out and tell him to walk back to where they’d stashed the camper. He rolled down the window. “All I need is one scratch and we’re done.”

“Dustin, this thing is leading us further and further into the forest. I don’t even know where we are anymore,” Steve said, grabbing the map he’d left on the dash. Dustin pulled it out of his hands before he could open it, their fingers brushing as he did so. Why did he notice that? Before he could dwell on it, Dustin was speaking. Well, dictating, to be more specific.

“It doesn’t matter, we need this sample! Let’s go!” he yelled like the road behind them was on fire.

Sometimes, all you could do was sigh.

Steve put the truck into gear, then hit the accelerator as he edged it around the next twist in the dirt road. They’d barely gone a few dozen feet before it was there again, standing in the middle of the road, yellow eyes glowing more brightly than any headlight. The demowampus, as Dustin had named it.

To Steve, it was just that weird, six-legged cat thing that had been taunting them since they’d got here.

The demowampus leapt away as the truck raced towards it, apparently without a care in the world. It moved almost casually, gracefully even, avoiding the Chevy with ease as Steve edged them towards it. It glanced back over its shoulder, its ‘face’ a perfect blend of feline features and demogorgon-like terror. Its ever-glowing, narrow eyes were flanked by a double set of ears and a row of slender spikes that travelled down its spine, though it was the mouth that gave it away, the way it split down the middle and opened up like the petals of a flower, revealing countless rows of teeth. Just the sight of it made Steve want to reach for his bat, but he settled for the gear stick and shifted into another gear.

How did they even get here?

It was a stupid question really, because he knew how they’d got here. A couple of weeks researching in Hawkins and more coffee and pizza then he’d ever had in his life had thrown up more than a couple of potential ‘leads’, as Dustin called them. But actually believing that this was happening, that they were right back in the middle of another supernatural shit show, that was something he was still struggling to get his head around. The hiss of the demowampus as it raced along in front of the truck was weirdly helping with that.

‘Demowampus’. He still thought the name sounded strange, but then again, there wasn’t exactly a lot you could do with a name like ‘Wampus Cat’ in the first place. Like the chupacabra-inspired creature in Texas, this particular lead had led them right to another situation where a demo creature was weirdly matching up to another legendary cryptid, the six-legged terror of the forest that had apparently existed since before America was called America. All kinds of Native American myths and, much to Dustin’s delight, modern military conspiracy stories all spoke of the creature, with a number of sightings and encounters over the years. Many of the stories had the creature punishing those who gave in to their greed, which explained why it had been seen most out here, amongst the scars in the land, where stories of loggers meeting grisly ends were a common theme.

Of course, none of the old stories had mentioned the split mouth, Upside Down-style dust, and sudden cold spells that had given the demo away. Mentions of all that had only come in the last few years, and had been the evidence that had convinced him and Dustin to drive down to Alabama and, once again, head into the middle of nowhere with nothing but a camper full of supplies and the unbridled enthusiasm of someone about to do something stupid. Still, here they were, four days later and right smack in the middle of something stupid and impossible and all kinds of dangerous.

Funny how things worked out sometimes.

“Get us closer!” Dustin yelled as he positioned his sample pole in the crook of the window. The road started to incline as Steve edged the wheel over.

The demowampus slowed. It was like it had heard Dustin, could feel how desperate he was, though to be fair, it wasn’t like Dustin had hidden it particularly well. He had been itching to go from the moment they’d got to the forest, and more than once he’d forgotten things like his water bottle or maps when they’d been searching the areas of the previous sightings of the creature. Which was so unlike the ever-prepared Dustin it made his stomach twist uncomfortably. When they’d first come across it yesterday, Dustin had rushed straight for it, and in the process he’d almost twisted his ankle tripping over a half-rotted log that had been hidden in the bushes. The demowampus hadn’t even moved, just watched as Dustin screamed out in shock. It had only run off when Steve had rushed over.

It was at that point that the beginnings of a thought took root in Steve’s mind.

“Almost got it!” Dustin shouted as he jabbed with the sample pole, but Steve was focused on something else entirely. He eased off the accelerator a fraction as his eyes tracked the creature. The distance between it and the Chevy remained the same.

It was matching their speed.

“Hey, I think I’m onto something,” Steve said uncertainly, but with timing that border almost on the supernatural, it was then that they hit a part of the road that seemed like it had escaped from an especially tough marine training obstacle course. Dust and gravel flew everywhere like a miniature meteor storm. By the time Steve heard the door unlock it was already too late.

Dustin was hanging out of the side of the truck, leaning over the door and bracing himself against the frame. He held the damn pole thing in front of him, jabbing at the air as the demowampus slowed again, teasingly, luringly, easily slipping past Dustin’s attempts to jab it.

Adrenaline and terror and god knows what else shot through Steve.

Dustin wasn’t hearing him – how could he not be hearing him? Steve didn’t know, but he did the only thing he could think of. Keeping one hand on the wheel, he reached out, practically diving across the seats, his free hand just about reaching Dustin’s shirt as it blew in the wind. It was a desperate move. A bad move.

“Dustin, it’s a trap!” Steve yelled as loudly as he could. It was clear now. The demowampus must have been able to sense Dustin’s need for it; Dustin himself had explained that it seemed to be attracted to greed, and what was need if not a closely related cousin in the family that was desire?

“I… Can… Almost…” Dustin shouted as Steve’s foot struggled to find the brakes. He could barely see over the dash from where he was leaning, had no idea how fast they were going. All that mattered was the tenuous grip he had on Dustin. He could feel the material slipping.

His foot found the correct pedal.

It was too late.

Before Steve could do anything, Dustin had lunged forward. There was the squeal of rubber slipping against steel as Dustin lost his footing. The sample pole went flying and a horrible tearing noise shot through the chaos as the shirt ripped. And then, Dustin was gone.

Steve’s heart stopped the same second as the brakes fully engaged and the Chevy screeched to a halt.

In the distance, the demowampus screeched, a horrible sound of dark satisfaction. It vanished into the forest as Steve leapt from the truck.

Three weeks earlier

The journey to Hawkins from Purdue seemed to take twice as long as normal. Partly due to the hangover Dustin was nursing, his head thumping where it was pressed against the window of the Chevy, partly due to the jealousy rolling in his stomach. Jealousy which he hated that he felt. He had no right, and yet it clenched in his gut all the same.

Steve dropped him off at his mom’s when they got back, making plans to get together in a few days to go over his research. Dustin should have felt elated, this was what he wanted, him and Steve, a team. But he couldn’t manage much more than a half-hearted smile as Steve drove away.

Luckily his mom was the same as always. Welcoming him home with a warm hug and a home cooked meal. By the time he headed over to Steve’s a few days later he felt back to his usual self, all lingering hints of jealousy or the stupid attraction he’d been feeling pushed aside. Thoughts firmly back on the research resting on the passenger seat of his mom’s car. Borrowed for the evening to drive over to Steve’s place in Forest Hills. She didn’t worry about his driving at least.

That was until he pulled up to see Steve dribbling a basketball out by the side of the house. His tank top stuck to him, sweat clearly dripping down his back, dampening the fabric. He stopped at the sound of the car pulling up, one hand coming up to shade his eyes from the sun as the other held the basketball casually. A smile broke out on Steve’s face when Dustin stepped out of the car into the late-July heat, tossing the ball effortlessly through the hoop before heading over to meet him.

Dustin swallowed, his cheeks warm though not because of the sun. Well, so much for pushing he feelings aside.

~

Steve’s place was nice. Tidy but lived in, a mug by the sink, shoes kicked off by the door, a whiteboard that looked like it belonged in a classroom sat proudly in the kitchen. Scribbles that looked like gibberish to Dustin covered it. As he looked closer he realised it was some sort of baseball play. He smiled to himself, Steve had a ‘strategy’ board. He didn’t feel quite so bad about the frankly obsessive amount of research he was spreading across the kitchen table now.

Steve had ordered them some pizza and dipped out to go and shower whilst Dustin set up. He felt a bit like he was about to give a presentation, but that was a safer thought than Steve right now. The sweat that’d beaded on his skin, or the image of him in the shower. Nope. Best to keep his mind on the task. Phase... whatever it was of his plan: get Steve on board.

~

The pizza arrived before Steve came back from the shower and Dustin pulled some money from his wallet and paid the delivery guy. He was setting the box on the side when Steve walked in with a frown.

“I said I’d pay.”

Dustin rolled his eyes. “Well next time don’t take so long preening in the shower,” he said, fighting his own inappropriate thoughts, and definitely not thinking about what else Steve could’ve been doing in the shower that took so long.

Steve huffed, pushing his wet, noticeably un-styled hair back off his face. It really was unfair what good hair he had. It was possibly even better like this than the hairsprayed glory of his youth. Dustin shook his head, returning his focus to laying out his papers. “So,” he said, “that’s it. That’s about everything. Or at least the highlights. The rest is back at Purdue,” he finished as he laid out the final stack of notes and pictures on Steve’s kitchen table.

He grabbed a slice of pizza from the box on the side, finally listening to the grumbling in his stomach. He glanced at the clock on the wall. It'd been longer than he thought since he’d started laying out all the notes, and pictures, and cuttings that he’d spent countless hours cataloguing. He collapsed into the chair next to where Steve stood, the faint smell of soap hitting him, the heat from the shower still radiating off Steve’s skin.

“This is a lot, man. Like, this is the sorta stuff they put people in hospitals for,” Steve said cautiously, slipping into the seat beside him.

Dustin glanced back to the collection. He’d spent so long working on his theories, gathering the evidence to back it up, that he’d forgotten how it must look from the outside. But at least Steve wasn’t running away. Well... not this time.

“So that’s it, huh?” Steve said after casting another long look over the files. “You’re going to hunt down every weird demo creature and what, beat them to death with your bare hands? That the end goal here? Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out.”

“I’ve put a lot of pieces together,” Dustin said with a half smile, not bothering to hide his pride as Steve looked at him, a glint in his eyes. A glint Dustin remembered from their youth. “It’s not all there though. There’s still a lot of things I don’t know. A lot of questions I needed answered.”

“Oh, great. And here I was thinking it was all going to be straightforward and simple,” Steve replied, his voice dripping in so much sarcasm you could probably fill a bath with it. He let out a long sigh. “Alright, fine. Let me have it. How deep of a hole are we really in?”

We.

He said, ‘we’.

Dustin stuffed the last of the pizza slice into his mouth and jumped up from his chair. He rushed over to the whiteboard he’d noticed earlier. Steve’s ‘strategy’ board. How fitting, he thought as he casually wiped away half the board and grabbed a marker.

“Hey!” Steve shouted in complaint.

“It’s important, trust me. Plus a smart guy like you, you’ll be able to easily remember it,” Dustin replied in a tone that was perhaps a little too complimentary, judging by how his words seemed to take Steve off guard. Dustin pushed down his embarrassment and forged ahead. There was a lot to explain.

“Okay, so... the way I see it, there’s a number of things we need to figure out. Firstly,” Dustin began, writing down his points on the board as he said them, “we know that demos are running around, in places way further away than Hawkins. How did they get there? And what are they doing? I’ve got a theory about that first part.”

“Of course you do,” Steve drawled, watching him closely. “Go on.”

“Right. Secondly, these demos seem different than the ones we saw before. You saw that with the democabra, and from what I can tell from my research, there’s probably even more things out there. Why are they different? Why are they appearing like supernatural cryptids? Have they always been here? Are these stories and myths actually based around demos? I guess that’s actually more than one question, but it’s all important stuff,” he rambled, pausing to draw a breath and flick his eyes over to Steve. An important part of any presentation was making sure your audience was engaged. And this was more important than any science fair he’d ever taken part in. “Also,” he carried on once he was sure Steve looked suitably interested, “why are they so weak? You killed the one in Texas with just a few hits. That was incredible, by the way, but it goes against everything we saw before. So, you know, why is that?”

“Maybe I’m just really strong,” Steve teased and Dustin choked in another breath. He bit his lip and quickly turned back to the board. Nope. Not going there.

“And finally,” he managed to say without his voice rising in pitch how it liked to do when he was flustered, “how do we stop them? I think I might have figured that bit out though,” Dustin finished, putting the cap back on the marker.

“Well, don’t let me stop you, monster-Einstein. You’re on a roll,” Steve said, totally entranced now, the perfect end to a presentation. Yet Dustin hesitated. He didn’t want to ruin it, but he also knew they couldn’t move forward if he continued keeping secrets.

“Fine, but you have to promise you’re not gonna get mad.”

Steve gave him a look. He took a breath that said he was burying whatever he was feeling, and then nodded his head. “Let me have it.”

Dustin moved back to the table and retrieved a folder that had been half buried by blurry pictures of a creature that was meant to be terrorising a forest in Alabama. He flipped through the papers within, and found the official looking ones that had the university’s logo all over them, and laid them down in the centre of the table.

“These are data readouts from a series of climate sensors the government set up all around the country a few years ago, after they found the hole in the ozone layer,” he said, dropping back into the seat he’d vacated.

“Don’t tell me that’s got something to do with this?” Steve jumped in.

Dustin glanced at one of the other folders on the table, and for a moment all he wanted was to dive into one of the other theories he’d been exploring. But now wasn’t the time.

“It doesn’t matter. What does is that these stations are really sensitive. They monitor all the substances that end up in the atmosphere with extraordinary accuracy. They produce so much data that places like Purdue are pulled in to help analyse it all, though only final year students are allowed to help with it. Technically, I guess, I’m not meant to have this stuff, but I’m only bending a rule and it's a stupid rule anyway. The point is, these stations, there’s hundreds of them, everywhere. And they can be used to look for certain things if you have a profile for them to look for. That’s why I came up with this.”

Dustin paused, flipping again through the papers in the folder, finding the series of hand drawn diagrams that he’d made and handing them to Steve.

“This is that thing you had in the storage unit?” Steve asked after a second, taking Dustin by surprise. He always did put more together than people gave him credit for.

“Yeah, it is…”

“How did you even get all that computer stuff anyway? And the desks and chairs and stuff?” Steve asked, and all of a sudden Dustin felt a pressing need to change the subject. Maybe he didn’t need to reveal all his secrets.

“It’s just old stuff the university didn’t need. I saved it all from being scrapped,” Dustin said, thinking quickly. And to be fair, that was mostly true. No one would ever miss some old furniture. But the tech stuff had been another matter entirely… That was a conversation for another – hopefully much later – time. He pointed at one of the diagrams. “The thing you’re thinking of is this. It’s a gas chromatographer that I modified a little. It breaks samples down into their gas states then analyses what’s in them, making a profile.”

“It’s a sniff machine. A sniffer,” Steve said, nodding along in understanding.

Dustin’s eyes narrowed. “I guess. But we’re not calling it that,” he grumbled before continuing. “Anyway, I can program the monitoring stations to look for stuff – demo stuff – but I need a couple of samples to create a general profile that would match all the variations of demo that are apparently out there now. Once we have that, the monitoring stations will be able to track the profile to where it’s most intense.”

“So that’s why you took that thing’s blood,” Steve said, thankfully not sounding annoyed anymore about the fact Dustin had ran to collect the sample before checking he was alright.

“Exactly. I need at least two more samples to create the profile. Once I have that, the stations will be able to track down the highest concentration, the place where there’s the most demos. That’ll be where they’re coming from. That’s where we stop it,” Dustin said, summing it all up like he was reviewing the finale of a TV show. Nice, simple, tidy.

Steve apparently didn’t see it that way.

“What do you mean, stop it?  We don’t even know what ‘it’ is, Henderson,” Steve pointed out, though Dustin waved his concerns away.

“You think I haven’t worked that out?” Dustin shot back. He set the folder down on the table and went back to the whiteboard, drawing more diagrams as he spoke. “I’ve had a lot of time to figure this out. The only thing that makes sense is that a piece of exotic matter must have broken off, maybe when we blew up the Upside Down, maybe even when Nancy shot it. It must be creating a micro tunnel, a miniature wormhole that only something with a relatively small atomic disturbance ratio, like the demos themselves, can use. Anything more powerful wouldn’t be able to ‘fit’. It’d break apart if it tried,” Dustin finished, channelling every ounce of quantum mechanics knowledge his education had provided and hoping he sounded as confident as he wanted.

It made sense.

It was the only thing that made sense.

But it was just a theory. He’d put all he had into figuring it out, connecting the dots and doing the math, the kind of math that looked more like magic than logic, the kind that had symbols and phrases that would put the casual observer into a coma trying to figure it out. He was certain it was the right path, but no amount of certainty could get away from that simple truth. It was just a theory. And he’d been wrong before.

But he couldn’t afford to let Steve see that doubt.

He couldn’t afford to let himself see it either.

“Snack-sized gate,” Steve muttered under his breath, again summing up all Dustin’s ramblings. “By more powerful, you mean something like… Vecna,” Steve said after a few moments, putting the pieces he’d left unspoken into place.

Dustin winced at the name, but nodded.

“We never had a chance to explore the Abyss. We don’t know what else might have been there. Vecna used demos as his foot soldiers because they were easier to send through, but who knows what else might be in that place? That’s why we have to destroy the tunnel before anything else can work out a way to exploit it.”

Steve didn’t say anything. Instead, he stood up and crossed over to the whiteboard, a thoughtful look on his face. He reached out and took the marker from Dustin’s hand.

“Looks like you’ve figured it all out. I’m impressed. But you’ve forgotten one thing.”

Dustin looked at him quizzically, but instead of replying Steve simply wrote another question on the board, a question that had been overshadowing ever second of Dustin’s work, and one he’d been doing his best to ignore:

WHO ELSE KNOWS ABOUT ALL THIS?

Steve placed the cap back on the marker and took a step back as the unspoken question stared at them both, its words a threat that seemed to place itself at the centre of gravity in the room, drawing everything back to it.

“I’ve been careful,” Dustin said, almost defensively, “I know… I know how dangerous this is, not just because of the demos.”

“If the military knows about this, if they catch us sticking our noses in…” Steve cautioned, a weight of knowing to his words that made each one feel as heavy as a cinder block. The next thing Dustin knew, Steve’s hands were on his shoulders, turning him so that they were facing each other head on.

His breath caught at the movement, the way Steve’s fingers dug – just slightly – into his shoulders. “What…?” Dustin began, but Steve shook his head.

“Tell me why we shouldn’t just leave this to the military. After everything we’ve been through. Everything we’ve lost. Why does this have to be our problem? Why can’t we just leave it to them. I need you to convince me, right now.”

Steve’s voice was serious, steady, but filled with something that Dustin couldn’t put his finger on. Like he didn’t just want Dustin to convince him, he needed him to. Like he wanted to be dragged into this if only Dustin would take him by the hand and lead him. But the words he used, ‘we’, ‘us’, ‘our problem’, he wanted this too, he had to. Dustin’s heart picked up, body leaning closer on instinct, this was the Steve that hurtled into danger alongside him. The one who helped him hunt down Dart with no more than a few questions. Who cracked Russian codes. Who fought when there was no logical reason for him to. His Steve, his mind whispered traitorously.

“Because it’s what El would have done,” he said, needing to convince Steve now more than ever. “You know what she said about what Dr Kay and her people wanted to do with the demos. They don’t want to stop them. They want to use them. We can’t let that happen, Steve. I can’t let them do it.” He took a breath, meeting Steve’s eyes, blue staring into brown, and took a gamble. “And if you’re the person I know you are, you can’t let it happen either.”

He watched the emotions flash across Steve’s face, he always had been an open book, one Dustin had always loved trying to read. He saw the moment Steve agreed, felt it in the way his fingers twitched against his shoulders, then finally, he smiled. Letting go of Dustin’s shoulders and tapping them lightly.

“That’s a good speech. They teach you that in debate club or something?” Steve asked with a smirk, but the serious look in his eyes hadn’t completely faded. Then  again, neither had the glint. “Alright. Fine. But it doesn’t mean I like it. And we need to be careful, watch each other’s backs.”

Dustin nodded. “You die, I die,” he said, almost on instinct. Something long past but never forgotten.

“You die, I die,” Steve replied, not even pausing for a beat. As though it was a completely normal thing to declare.

Though somewhere along the way it’d stopped just meaning I would die for you, and started meaning I can’t live without you. Maybe for Dustin it had always been that way, deep down.

“Right, where do we start?” Steve asked, cutting into his thoughts.

Dustin smiled and gestured to the table. “We find a new lead.”

Talladega National Forest, Alabama

Adrenaline was pounding in Dustin’s veins as they sped through the forest. Steve’s hand was fisted in his shirt as he leant out of the open door of the truck, stretching as far as his body would allow. Holding the sample pole at the very end, extending his reach in a desperate attempt to get the sample. They needed to get the sample. It had been four days of tracking this thing, it couldn’t get away now.

Steve was saying something but he couldn’t focus on what as he pushed up onto his toes, releasing his grip on the door in order to stretch that little bit further.

His body was jerking forwards before he knew it, the sample pole slipping from his fingers. He was halfway through a curse when, just as suddenly as he was jerked forwards, he was flying back. His hands scrabbled to grab back onto the door but his fingers merely slipped through the air. The sound of ripping fabric filled his ears as Steve’s grip on his shirt was no match for the velocity at which he flew from the truck.

The last thing he saw before he hit the ground was the hulking form of the creature, its glowing eyes taunting, almost as though it was laughing at him.

Then he slammed into the ground.

His shoulder took the brunt of the impact, screaming in pain as he began to roll. He tried to lift his hands to protect his head but his right arm wouldn’t respond, hanging uselessly as his body scraped across the forest road.

Still, it could have been worse. They could have been driving on tarmac. He was almost more concerned about the fact the sample pole might be broken. The ground was still hard, and painful enough that he knew he’d be covered in bruises, but not lethal.

Which would have been the case except for the fact that the path they were on cut through a steep incline. A fact Dustin had forgotten about until instead of slowing down he began to roll faster. Slipping off the edge of the road and down the bank deeper into the forest.

He cried out in pain as his shoulder – almost certainly dislocated – bounced against rocks and the solid ground with every rotation of his body. Nausea rose up in his throat as he once again tried to brace his head the best he could, tried to pull his knees up to his chest, praying he’d come to a stop soon.

He was unconscious by the time he slammed into one of the vast tree stumps, body coming to a stop with a sound just as sickening as that of the demo screeching in the background.

“DUSTIN!” Steve’s voice spilled out of him in a desperate, panic-fuelled cry.

He didn’t even bother to slam the door of the Chevy closed as he followed the trajectory Dustin’s body had taken. Stomach lurching at the mark in the dirt where he’d hit the ground, forest debris scattered where he’d rolled. Steve’s eyes followed the marks over the edge of road. Fuck. Why had he listened when Dustin told him to drive closer to the edge? If he’d been in the middle of the road, not teetering practically at the side of it Dustin might not have rolled over.

He reached the edge in a few quick strides, eyes scanning rapidly until they locked on Dustin. Crumpled against one of the massive felled tree stumps. Okay, he wasn’t too far down. Six feet? Maybe eight... Twelve? He wasn’t the best at calculating distances unless it was between baseball bases, or maybe a football field at a push, but right now his brain was more focused on getting down there and making sure his best friend hadn’t just killed himself. His heart clenched painfully at the thought.

“Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck,” he muttered in an unending stream as he rushed down the bank as quickly as he could. Coming to a stop beside Dustin’s body.

Steve cradled his head gently with one hand as he rolled him slowly onto his back. Panic spiking higher in his veins at the fact he was unconscious. There was a cut to his temple with a large lump already forming. Swelling was good though, he’d had concussion enough times himself to know that. And his chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. But still...

His hand went to cup Dustin’s face, thumb brushing his cheek gently. “Dustin. Come on buddy, wake up.”

The moment stretched out agonisingly into two, then three. Every second that ticked by filling him with a sort of terror he hadn’t known in years. “Dustin!” he said louder, only realising as he spoke that his voice was thick with unshed tears. His throat clogged with them.

Another awful second passed and then Dustin’s eyes were scrunching, face turning to press more against Steve’s palm. Relief crashed through him and a noise that sounded suspiciously like a sob broke past his lips.

“Steve,” Dustin slurred slowly, eyes blinking open, pupils thankfully focused.

“Hey, you’re okay. It’s okay, just stay still a second,” he said soothingly as Dustin lifted a hand to hold the wrist of the hand that was cupping his face. Silence fell heavy around them for a beat, eyes locked on one another. Then Dustin spoke.

“Did it get away?”

Steve's heart dropped, he tugged his hand back as though burnt. “The hell you mean, ‘did it get away’? Of course it got away. We were never gonna catch it in the Chevy. It was taunting us. Did you not hear me when I said it was a trap?”

Dustin’s eyes squeezed shut for a second. “We have—” he broke off with a pained groan as he pushed himself up with one hand, “—to keep tracking it. We need that sample.”

“No, we have to get you to the hospital,” Steve stressed, grabbing Dustin’s arm and wrapping it around his shoulders as he staggered to his feet.

“I’m fine,” Dustin said through gritted teeth as they began to climb back up to the road.

Steve huffed, he was supporting basically all of Dustin’s weight, not to mention the way his arm was hanging like a dead weight by his side. He’d seen enough dislocated shoulders in his years playing basketball to recognise one, especially once Billy Hargrove joined the high school team. “Tell that to your shoulder,” he muttered, continuing to haul Dustin up towards the road.

They made it back to the Chevy without any major incidents, which Steve was counting as a win. That and the fact his truck was even still there, not run off the road or stolen, seeing as he’d left it wide open, keys still in the ignition. One point for being in the middle of nowhere he guessed.

Things began to go downhill again when Dustin pulled out of his grip, supporting his shoulder with his opposite hand as he limped over to where the sample pole lay broken on the ground. “Shit!” Dustin exclaimed, kicking at the equipment in anger before climbing into the Chevy. Probably to sulk.

Steve bent and collected the broken parts of the invention and placed them in the back of the truck. At least he might be able to convince Dustin to let him take him to the hospital now.

~

He did not in fact manage to take Dustin to the hospital. By the time they made it back to the camper night was beginning to fall, and when he checked the map the nearest hospital was hours away. Then Dustin did that thing where he just talked and talked and talked until half the time Steve agreed just to get him to stop.

Which was how they ended up with Dustin sat at the small built-in table whilst Steve used a pair of scissors to cut the shirt from his body. It made sense, it’d already ripped when he’d fallen out of Steve’s grip earlier, and the idea of trying to wrestle his arm out of the shirt didn’t appeal to either of them. It was what was coming next that made Steve’s adrenaline peak all over again.

His fingers brushed Dustin’s skin as he gently cut away the shirt until he was left bare-chested. Steve’s eyes tracked over him noting various scrapes and grazes, nothing too bad though. Dustin let out a soft gasp as he placed a hand on his stomach, checking the depth of a small slice there. He winced in sympathy, using less pressure as he checked a couple of other spots that were beginning to bruise.

Their eyes met as his hands finally moved to Dustin’s shoulder, more delicate than ever. “I can do it myself,” Dustin said quietly, the pain clear in his voice now. “Cleidocranial dysplasia remember. I’m used to joints dislocating.”

Steve pulled his hands back and rubbed them over his face, “No. I’ll do it,” he insisted even though he hated the idea. He hated the idea of Dustin yanking his own shoulder back into place more.

Dustin nodded. “Okay, so whenever I’ve gone to the emergency room they’ve always given me midazolam but unless you’ve got any benzos stashed in here we’ll have to do without,” he tried to joke but Steve could see the faint tremor that was running through him.

Dustin frowned as Steve stepped away, going to the main duffel bag he always brought on trips and digging around in the inside pocket. His hand closed around a bottle of pills that he took back over to Dustin. Placing them on the table as he sat down opposite him. Dustin picked up the bottle with his left hand, spinning it to read the label, frown deepening.

“Butapap,” he read under his breath. “Steve, these have butalbital in. What are you taking these for?”

Steve stiffened slightly at his tone, it wasn’t like he was addicted to barbiturates or something. “Migraines. And I try not to take them. Make do with regular old Tylenol most of the time.”

“Since when do you have migraines?” Dustin pressed, as though he wasn’t the one sitting around with a dislocated shoulder.

“Dustin, do you want the pills or not? We can talk after I’ve shoved your shoulder back in place,” he said with a huff.

Dustin exhaled in a way Steve knew meant he was annoyed but he nodded. Steve took the bottle and opened the cap, shaking a single pill into Dustin’s palm. He swallowed it, chasing it down with some water from the glass already on the table.

“Right,” Dustin began again, and Steve was kind of glad he was talking him through this. He’d seen it done once or twice but he was by no means an expert. “You might want to kneel in front of me. I need to brace my hand on your shoulder.”

Steve followed the instructions, the stupidly low chairs leaving them practically eye to eye. He helped Dustin lift his right hand up and across to brace against his opposite shoulder, elbow still drooped between them. He watched Dustin’s eyes flutter in pain, watched his throat as he swallowed hard, his chest as his muscles trembled. Muscles Steve had never known existed, not that it mattered.

“You er...” Dustin continued, hesitating, “you need to put your hand right here.” He touched his forearm. “And pull down.” Steve did as he was told gripping his arm and tugging gently. “A bit harder,” Dustin instructed, cheeks flushed now, likely from pain. “Then use your other hand to massage the trapezius muscle... er... that’s—”

“I know where is it,” he cut in, hand going gently to Dustin’s shoulder and working the muscle.

“Yeah. Okay. That, the deltoid and into the bicep,” Dustin continued in a rush, and Steve noted the flush of his cheeks spreading down his neck and onto his chest. Hairless, unlike Steve’s, but broad. And not in an overweight way. Somewhere along the way Dustin had grown out of that pudginess from his teen years without Steve noticing. Not that he was noticing now. Obviously. He was fully focused on massaging his shoulder.

“Now what?” he asked, voice low for a reason he couldn’t explain.

“Just keep rubbing it,” Dustin said before clearing his throat. “Uh... I mean it should pop back in if you keep doing it. As long as I’m relaxed enough.”

“The Butapap started kicking in yet?” he asked with a grin as he worked over each muscle, trying to gently ease the joint back into place.

Dustin rolled his eyes. “So, migraines?”

He let out a breath. Yeah, he should’ve expected that one. “Started getting them after Billy. Untreated concussion apparently. Doctors called them stress headaches. Tension headaches. Whatever. I just knew they hurt like hell. They got worse for a while after Starcourt. The Russians, you know.” He smiled but it felt more like a grimace. “They’re not too bad anymore. Normal level headaches mostly.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Dustin asked softly, his left hand going to cover Steve’s on his forearm.

Steve shrugged, he couldn’t say he really had a reason. Or, not a reason he wanted to admit aloud. That back then he’d wanted to protect Dustin from the harsh realities of the world. That even without the monsters things could go to shit. He’d never really wanted to stop protecting him. Even when Dustin had grown up. God, looking at him he could probably handle himself in a fight just as well as Steve nowadays.

~

Dustin was clearly feeling the effects of the Butapap by the time Steve got his shoulder back in place. His eyes were heavy, voice slurred as he instructed Steve how to wrap his shoulder in a makeshift sling. Once that was done Steve took the opportunity to push the two beds together, locking them into place to make one. He guided Dustin over, getting him to lay down so he could disinfectant the more superficial cuts and grazes.

A hiss left Dustin’s lips at the sting of disinfectant but it morphed into a low groan. Steve’s fingers tightened on his hip where his hand had instinctively gone to hold him still. He looked up, heart beating so hard he could hear it. Dustin’s eyes were closed, mouth slightly open, no look of pain on his features now.

A series of groans and quiet whimpers continued as Steve moved his hands as carefully as he could over Dustin’s injuries, cheeks burning in a way he wouldn’t analyse. Until finally he was done, pulling the blanket up over Dustin and readying himself for a night of trying to sleep slumped over the table. That was when Dustin whined again, louder this time, more of a moan. “Don’t go,” he slurred, practically knocked out from the migraine tablets. His good arm lifted, hand making little grabby motions in the air.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said reassuringly, “get some sleep.”

Dustin whined again, lip jutting forwards in a pout Steve knew he should have found it ridiculous but for some reason only made his heart race even faster. It was a matter of seconds before he gave in. Kicking off his shoes and climbing into the bed, making sure to stay on Dustin’s left. Not that it mattered as he almost immediately curled his body in towards Steve.

“Careful,” he said, arm going around him to stop him from rolling back onto his shoulder.

“’M’fine,” Dustin slurred again, face turned in, pressing against Steve’s chest. It was a good thing he was so out of it or he’d no doubt mention how fast his heart was beating. “Be fine t’morrow. We’ll catch the demo.”

Just like when he’d dragged him out of the ditch ice ran through Steve’s veins. He knew how deep Dustin was in this. He’d seen the research. Listened to the rants and rambles. He’d even got caught up in it himself to an extent, having Dustin in his house, papers spread over every surface as they sipped coffee and discussed demos. But this... this was Dustin throwing himself from a moving vehicle. This was obsession. Dangerous obsession.

“Just get some sleep,” Steve said, fingers subconsciously dragging through Dustin’s curls.

He didn’t want to start a fight right now, but he knew one was coming. Because there was no way they were continuing to hunt the demo. Not with Dustin hurt. It was too risky. Dustin nodded sleepily and Steve sighed. He’d agreed to help, had let Dustin convince him, but he couldn’t just let himself get dragged along anymore. If they were going to do this he couldn’t be a silent partner following Dustin’s judgement, because apparently that judgement meant jumping head first into danger without a second thought. No, if they were doing this it looked like he’d be taking up the mantle of ‘babysitter’ again.

Although something about that word churned in his stomach in a way it never used to. Feeling wrong in a way he couldn’t explain.