Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

March 29^th, 1986 (Saturday)

Death hurts.

While the act of dying is not a guaranteed painful event, death is like a knife stuck in one’s heart. Constant, aching pain like a fire inside. For Steve, dying was painless, but death hurt more than he could describe. Physically (or however physical you could describe a ghost), Steve was fine. Mentally—spiritually—emotionally, Steve was in hell. He was tethered to the Earth and forced to live an existence waving through a window. Always trapped on the outside while his friends screamed, sobbed, and punched a wall all because he wasn’t there. He spent months silently watching, unable to help them nor himself. He, like them, was trapped in grief. Death was so painful; he would’ve given anything to be alive. To not be a ghost. To have one more chance just to live again.

It wasn’t until his desires came to fruition that he realized just how wrong he was.

Death isn’t painful, not compared to resurrection.

In the movies, if corpses are resurrected, they come back just as they laid in the dirt. Rotted skin. Dried blood. A smell comparable to the pits of every city sewage system in the world. In real life, a similar idea stands, but corpses don’t get the luxury of staying rotted. In real life, Steve found himself in a body not meant to be alive, and he was forced to wait for his body to heal.

Steve doesn’t know how any of it is supposed to work. Why would he? It’s not like they covered coming back to life in biology, and he definitely didn’t pay enough attention in church to know how Jesus did all that. Then again, Jesus was dead for three days: Steve’s been rotting in the ground for eight months. Things are meant to decompose. Things come from dirt and rejoin the dirt. How does dirt become whole again? However it happens, it’s painful. God, words can’t describe how painful it was.

At first, Steve assumed he was in hell. He’s not particularly religious, if his lack of knowledge about Jesus isn’t evidence enough, but it felt like the only logical explanation. Afterall, he was in Heaven. Or he thinks he was. A nice field of grass with all his loved ones, not that he had many who would be on the other side. Yes, perhaps that was Heaven, and he was brought to hell.

***

In Heaven, Eddie’s grandma was there. She appeared younger than when Eddie said she died. She had Eddie’s nose. Her light brown hair was pinned up in a style from the 40s, while her dress was more akin to something from the 60s. She was the second soul to approach Steve in the afterlife after his childhood dog, Daisy, who ran up to him with her tail wagging and mouth stretched in a smile. 

“Daisy!” Steve may have had her collar hanging from his old bedpost, but he still shocked himself by remembering her name so easily. He was rubbing her stomach, covered in soft fur and smelling of daisies (ironic, he knows) when a pair of shoes came into his sight. 

“You must be Steve.” The woman’s voice had a southern accent and was as gentle as a song and as clear as the sky above them. She picked some flowers without touching them as she spoke. Steve’s jaw dropped in amazement, he stood, and then he tilted his head.

“I’m sorry. Do I know you?” He held out his hand while taking the offered flowers with the other. Her own hand was soft when it grabbed his. 

“I’m Eddie’s grandmother.” Steve’s eyes widened.

“Holy shit!” He quickly winced and covered his mouth, “Wait, sorry!” He looked around, as if he’d be burned on the spot, “Am I allowed to curse here?”

The woman laughed, and it sounded like Eddie’s—loud and unashamed. “Honey, you can do just about anything you want up here.” She waved a hand, covering her stomach with the other. “Especially around me, sugar. I’ve been itching to officially meet you ever since I felt Chuck found his soulmate. Let me tell you, that boy’s spirit is anything but subtle.”

“You knew I was his soulmate?” Steve’s expression dropped a moment later, “Wait, can you… can you see us?” Heat rose to his cheeks. 

“Sometimes I can. Don’t worry, I never saw y’all doing that,” she explained with a knowing smirk before making a follow me motion. Steve did as he was told, with Daisy following right at his heels. “See, the afterlife, for those who deserve it, is basically an eternity of free will. You can read whatever you want. Watch whatever you want. You want to go somewhere; you can. You want to see someone who passed, you can. There are nearly infinite things to do around here; it’s difficult to get used to such power if you’re not experienced. Now, one great thing about this place is that you can see those still living, but it’s only with their permission. You ever wish someone could see you in certain scenarios?” 

Steve considered for a moment, but he’d never really lost anyone. Not since Barb, but they were barely close. “Not really,” he snapped his fingers, “my friend Lucas told me to be at all his basketball games even after I passed, though!” 

“That’s just it, kid.” Eddie’s grandma nodded, “Anytime that kid has a basketball game, a window will open for you to see to the other side. My own windows to Eddie’s life opened whenever he got a new album to listen to and whenever he discovered something new with his powers. When he first spotted you; I got a window bigger than our old house.” She waved an arm while describing; Steve was seeing where Eddie got all his traits from. “Same goes for here.” She glanced over Steve’s shoulder, then. “And when someone passes, they each get this type of reunion, like you and Daisy.” Steve looks over his shoulder to see a small glimmer of light, “I got summoned here the moment Eddie got attacked; that’s why his mom’s waiting over there.” Steve looked over at a woman sitting beneath a willow tree. She looked almost exactly like Eddie: a different nose but similar eyes and hair. 

“Is that why I’m here?”

“You’re a smart cookie, Steve. That’s why we’re all here. As much as I wanted to meet you, I’m not here for you.” She tilted her chin towards the glimmering light, “Eddie will be here any second. The time of dying is different for everyone; it’s almost always a waiting game.” Steve nodded and sat back on the ground to continue petting his dog, as the woman continued showing off her powers. At one point, she called over Eddie’s mom to introduce to Steve. Eddie’s grandfather showed up shortly after that. The four then sat in the field, and they waited for any second to come.

And the seconds did come, and they passed. Seconds turned to minutes. Into hours. Time moved faster in the afterlife; at least, that’s what Eddie’s grandma said. They sat and chatted in the field waiting, but Eddie never showed. It wasn’t until nearly three hours passed that the woman finally spoke up. “Something’s wrong,” she announced while getting back to her feet. Steve frowned and looked over, and the glimmering light was dimmer. It flickered and hummed, then it was suddenly gone. Eddie’s mom stood from with a gasp just as Steve ran forward, as if the light somehow drifted away—too far for him to see it.

“What’s going on?” Steve asked, looking to Eddie’s grandma for help, but the woman looked just as confused as he did. Eddie’s grandfather was holding her arm, but she stepped away to grab Steve’s.

“This has never happened before. Sometimes people take a while to come over—be it they are ghosts or taking their time dying. They don’t just disappear!” She floundered, waving her hands until a journal was summoned. It looked like Eddie’s but far older. She flipped through the pages and shook her head. “Even if he was revived, the light wouldn’t have disappeared; it would’ve shown us he survived! I…” she trailed off upon returning her gaze upwards. She looked over Steve’s shoulder, and a horrified expression etched across her features. Whatever was behind Steve began to glow red, shining across her face like a stoplight.

“Steve!“ She shouted and reached forward just as something grabbed the back of Steve’s shirt and yanked him backwards. He fell back, passing through some kind of portal into a black void. All that could be heard was his own terrified shriek. All he could feel was wind. Soon, he heard whispers and felt a stabbing pain in his heart, like being electrocuted.

The last thing he saw before coming back to life was Eddie’s grandma still reaching out for him, as he fell back to Earth.

Ripped out of Heaven and brought back to life.

Dragged to hell.

***

If Steve wrote poems on all the pain he’s experienced, they’d fill the library in hell and make the tortured souls weep out of pity. Mentally, Steve has fought battles and trauma enough to leave him screaming nightly from his own mind. Spiritually, his soul has been tethered across town, dragged, beaten, reached heaven, and ripped down to Earth. Physically, he has been beaten, scratched, bitten, stabbed, and prodded like cattle.

Steve Harrington is no stranger to pain. This was not pain. This was perdition. This was enough to make Steve crave something beyond death. He craved a release like eternal darkness. To be numb and empty forever. To be nothing instead of this pained something. To be dirt again.

He was still dirt. The rot inside him turned with each passing second. Despite knowing his death on a personal level, Steve’s decomposition wasn’t something he didn’t get a first row viewing of. So, this was his chance in seeing the show up close and personal. Well, not exactly seeing.

They didn’t teach this in any class Steve’s taken, but apparently the eyes are the first to go when a person decomposes. In a mirrored fashion, they are the last to come back. Despite the eyes taking a less than a month to get rid of, however, the nervous system can take years. This means, while Steve was blind, he could feel everything.

The first moment he fell back into his body came with a tingling sensation. Small tickles danced like goosebumps, but they quickly turned into painful pinpricks, like a limb falling asleep. It was less than five seconds of his soul being back in his corpse that he felt red hot, searing pain. The muscles in Steve’s neck were not healed, so, not only was he blind, but he was silenced as well. He was silenced from the need to scream. Hell, if he could scream, it probably wouldn’t be a scream. It would be weak wheezes, because he was breathing, right? He couldn’t tell by the pain, but he was sure he was breathing, and his heart was beating. They had to be. He was alive. The functioning organs in his thoracic cavity proved it, but his heart was betraying him.

Heartbreak stems from many things. Break ups. Loss. Grief. Losing someone or something near and dear. Steve never thought it could come from within oneself. Even beyond all the pain, he felt his heart chip and shatter with each beat. The heartbreak of being alive. He wanted to be dead. He wanted nothing more than to be dead, even if that wasn’t true mercy. He didn’t feel this kind of pain as a ghost. He felt heartbreak then, sure, but, selfishly, he’d lose a thousand friends if it meant not living through this pain for another moment.

There was no relief. No break. Healing a rotted body meant no rest for his wicked self. No relief to pain came from his voice, and no tears could fall down a dead man’s cheeks. He imagines if they did, they’d smell like rot. They’d taste like iron and spoiled meat. They’d taste wrong. This was all wrong.

Steve couldn’t tell how much time passed. It could be seconds or years. All he knew was that he couldn’t see. He couldn’t speak. He could barely breathe, but each breath felt like claws slicing through his raw, rotten esophagus. He could feel the wind pass through his exposed ribs and tickle his dry yet working lungs. He knows they worked because they ached with each rise and fall of his chest. Eventually, he gained a sense beyond feeling, but he was immediately assaulted by the strong taste of rotten meat. He could taste the mold on his own tongue and the slime of whatever bugs still slithered and crawled inside his mouth cavity. He’d close his jaw or spit them out, but his lips were still ripped away, exposing his cavity-ridden teeth and mouth to the outside world. The bugs crawled between the gaps of his molars, and they slept in his dried gums like beds.

A motel for bugs; that’s all he was. The thought would make him giggle if he could. The pain was clearly quick to make him mad. Luckily, the pain was not constant. If the pain were constant and not slowly worsening and coming in waves, then he’d forever lose himself. The changes kept him sane, albeit tortured still.

As any good motel has, Steve’s rotted corpse provided the bugs sanctuary elsewhere; they were everywhere. He could feel them crawling across the exposed tendons of his arms, legs, and across his bones. Hundreds of tiny legs and pinching mouths that only added to the pain and discomfort. Sooner than he would’ve liked, he began to hear them. Small chirps and scratching noises, as they scurried through his skull like a bad song. Soon, they became trapped inside his healing stomach, making him feel nauseous on top of pained. Some became aware that they were feeding on a living body, and they ran for an exit through rotted holes and tunnels. The rest were not so smart, and they became trapped in darkness within rotted and new flesh alike. Holes sealed shut, as the motel for bugs slowly shut down.

Vacant, yet all too full. The bugs continued their search for meat and survival. The maggots took their place in his eye sockets and the beetles crawled out of his ears to escape his skull. He’d give everything to not feel the worms in his intestines or the roaches inside his arm.

Steve remembered in that moment of how he used to treat bugs; he wasn’t particular mean; he didn’t hate them. He slapped mosquitos and flies, admittedly, but he let spiders outside using a cup and a piece of paper, and he never stepped on a worm purposefully. He even rescued a butterfly with a clipped wing. Now, he wished death to all of them. He wished them gone forever. He wished each one would suffer just as he suffered.

Believe it or not, the bugs weren’t even the worst part.

Steve was so cold. Despite a beating heart, he had no blood. Or, he did have blood, but it had nowhere to go. He could feel what he believed to be blood dripping down his bones. It felt like a thick sludge and was full of drowning ants. It, like the rest of him, was freezing to the touch. This was not why he was cold, however. Even if the blood was not as thick and warm, he’d still freeze. He had no skin, not enough to provide any semblance of warmth.

“Did you know, if a person gets skinned fast enough, they’d die of hypothermia?” Dustin had once told Steve. The kid had begun to grow interested in morbid curiosities, and he dropped disturbing facts often. The skin was the body’s largest organ, and it was what kept someone warm. It kept the heat inside. With no skin, Steve was forced to freeze, like being put in a vat of ice water. Somehow, the cold felt like flames, and the bugs were the embers. Without skin, he’d stay frozen. Without skin, he’d stay lit ablaze in the invisible heat of hellfire, and he wanted nothing more than for it to stop, but it never did.

The pain got to the point where Steve could not think. All that he did was feel. He sat there while his muscles grew back. They grew over his bones and surrounded his tendons, which soon got covered in that cold sludge to regain moisture. Somehow, his sense of smell came after his sense of taste. It not only made his sense of taste stronger, but it made everything that much worse. He reeked of rotten food and roadkill. There was a distinct iron taste mixed with the stench of sulfur and mold. Like vomit and shit. Like everything bad in the world, that’s what it smelled like.

Moving his tongue was more satisfying than he’d admit, as he used it to urge remaining beetles towards the exit of his mouth. His brittle teeth broke apart then healed, as if he were re-losing baby teeth just to grow in new ones.

The first thought he had in a while was the fact that he was thirsty. How strange it is to have focused on such a minor discomfort in the face of everything that was happening. In the face of hot lava burning his skin and the biting cold of the air around him. Each nerve was on fire, and his body was throbbing. It was almost numbing. Almost, and he wishes it was. He wishes it were the kind of pain so awful that he passed out, but he didn’t. Whatever reflexes that could allow for such a thing to happen hadn’t healed.

Cartilage formed around his ears and nose, finally covering up the holes that were otherwise frozen from the air.

He groaned, and it felt like swallowing acid. His vocal cords rubbed together like two pieces of rusted metal wire. His body was singing the songs of the damned. He had realized by then that this wasn’t hell. Hell would’ve been preferred. Especially when his fingernails grew back, and it felt like they were only being ripped apart. His lips stretched over his jaw, and it felt like they were getting sliced with barbed wire.

He's not religious, be Steve will admit he began to pray. Every thought screamed to the heavens. Every pained groan was actually a shout weakened by a still healing throat. Each exhale was fire, and each inhale was ice. He knew it was almost done. The healing began to slow down, and he began to feel warmth from his skin finally becoming his blanket of protection. Flesh and dermis and whatever else he failed to learn in anatomy came back. He got back warmth but not peace. He was still in pain, as his eyes finally began to heal. They bloomed like flowers, growing behind newly regrown eyelids.

Once fully healed, he still couldn’t scream. His vocal cords were too weak to do so, so he did nothing but painfully whimper and groan until he could see the darkness of his lids and the lights beyond them.

Steve finally opened his eyes for the first time in months. He looked down to see the ripped suit he was buried in. There were still small bits of flesh open, and bugs crawled out of him and to the floor until they were gone. The holes in his flesh closed, leaving behind pristine skin.

Then it happens.

Steve is alive.

He’s fucking alive.

“Holy shit.” Steve looks up at the source of the voice, slightly muffled by the blood in his ears, and Eddie is standing in the doorway. He’s got on his camo jacket, a pair of tattered jeans, a ripped Hellfire shirt, has scarred skin, and has glowing, red eyes. “It worked.” His following smile is as bright as the sun, lighting up his trailer. Well, the Upside Down version of his trailer.

There are many emotions Steve should be feeling—is feeling, but they all get quickly pushed away by a sudden wave of exhaustion. Turns out, being dead doesn’t actually mean getting well rested. He opens his mouth to yawn, something he nearly had forgotten how to do, but quickly shuts his mouth as his stomach grumbles. Some trapped gas shifts… no, something crawls inside his stomach. Steve shoots up and bends to the side to empty his stomach onto the floor. What comes up would be enough to make him vomit again if he had anything left. There, on the floor, is now a puddle of black sludge reeking of rotten fruit and meat. It moves with maggots and ants that failed to escape.

Steve is about to fall back when a hand on his shoulder makes him flinch. He looks up to see Eddie smiling comfortingly down at him. A swallow, an attempt to speak, and he spits up more sludge.

“I’m so sorry; there was no way to make the process any faster.” Eddie wipes Steve’s mouth with a paper towel. Steve groans, and it sounds like a dying squeaker toy. “Oh, baby…” Eddie raises a hand, and a water bottle floats from somewhere inside the trailer to his palm. Steve doesn’t have the energy to react, so he merely opens his mouth to let Eddie pour some cold water down his throat. He swallows it, groans, then opens his mouth for more. With Eddie’s help, he somehow finishes the bottle.

“Thank… thank you…” his voice is barely a whisper, and Eddie gently shushes him.

“Don’t try to speak, Stevie. You still need time.” Eddie eases Steve to lay down, and he kneels beside him. He smiles. “I’m happy you’re here.”

Steve wishes he could say the same. Even now that his torture was through, he can’t say he’s glad. It’s a melancholy feeling to be alive. To spend months begging the universe to come back; to finally find peace in dying; to come back to life after finding an afterlife worth dying for. He wants to cry but is too dehydrated to do so. All he can do is slouch into the couch and stare forward, as he’s continuously reminded of the pain of living.

Mental pain is something difficult to move past, but after spending 8 months without any real physical pain, it almost makes him miss the mental torture that was being a ghost. His body aches. His heart hurts. Every limb feels stiff. His throat hurts. His eyes hurt. His head hurts. Everything feels brand new and tenfold. He can’t move. He can’t function. He can’t do anything without wanting to cry. All he can do is look up at Eddie and beg for answers, even as his body begs for rest.

“You don’t deserve this pain,” Eddie laments before raising his hands. One rests on Steve’s waist while the back of the other carefully touches his forehead. There’s a slight jolt, like being shocked, and his pain is soothed. It feels like a wave of warm water has splashed over his shaking frame, and he sighs, relaxing deeper into the cushions. He opens his mouth to speak, but Eddie shakes his head. “Sleep…” he whispers, and it echoes like a siren song. Steve couldn’t fight the spell even if he wanted to, as his eyes close. He sleeps in comfort and barely remembers how, the last time he did so, he died. Sleep shows no mercy for Steve, as he learned then, but now he closes his eyes.

He has no nightmares. Just dreams of heaven. Of Eddie’s grandma. And of a tall creature with red eyes.

He sees the power of the sun in the palm of their hands.

***

Dying hurts.

While nothing can compare to the pain of grief, dying is a physical pain Eddie will likely never forget. He put on a brave face while Steve was there and, before the ghost faded away, hadn’t felt all that bad. The pain felt muffled by the love and power he felt coming from Steve, who shared his energy even as it was slowly drifting to the other side. Then, the ghost faded, and all Eddie could feel was red, hot fire in his veins. The shock of it all made him choke on a shout.

It didn’t take long for him to join Steve—mere seconds, in fact.

Eddie has never been religious, but he saw something pretty damn close to Heaven. There was his mom and grandma. He didn’t see his grandpa, but the man died before he was born. There were birds and trees, and there was Steve, smiling and looking like there was nothing wrong with the world. He looked happy. He looked at peace.

In his excitement to join the other side, Eddie didn’t pay any attention to the pooling water at his feet or the voices he heard in the distance. He jumped, and just as he jumped the portal to Heaven disappeared, and Eddie started a long free fall into the black abyss beneath him.

Now, Eddie knows it was only a day of falling, but it felt like years. When he had first fallen through the floor, he let out a surprised shout that now echoed all around him, growing louder in volume while he continuously felt wind rushing against his back, even though he was positive he wasn’t actually moving.

In the hours of his fall back to Earth, there were a handful of major events that occurred which affected much of the near future Eddie was going to deal with upon returning to his body. The first being Lucas, Nancy, and Max had to race back to the church. They thought they defeated Vecna just for the ground to split open and the chimes of a clock to fill the air. They raced on their bikes, dodging vines and cracked chunks of the Earth. Nancy was arguably the most urgent. She would’ve stayed behind at the Creel house had the building been stable enough to get to a gate without dying in the process. That and, as much as she was worried about Robin, she wouldn’t dare leave the kids to fend for themselves with all hell literally breaking loose.

They were about halfway to the church just as the gates had, somehow, began shrinking back. They were sealing as if they had never opened, and the sigh of relief from each friend was interrupted by a sense of urgency. If the new gates were closing, would the old gates do the same? They went twice as fast, with Lucas, being the most athletic, going far ahead of the pack with a shouted promise to wait for them by the gate.

Lucas was not the smartest kid in his friend group. While he was in the same advanced classes, he didn’t have a real passion for school like his friends. He loved science and reading, was good at math, and was lucky enough to have a mom who spoke French and could help him with that homework. None of that means he was a genius like Dustin or clever like Max. He was smart, and he was clever, but he wasn’t like his friends. His friends listened to their heads; Lucas listened to his heart. He didn’t know much, but he knew how to love, and he did so with everything he had.

He loved fantasy. He loved dnd. He loved his friends. He loved playing sports, even if basketball wasn’t equally loved by his friends. He loved doing what he loved, and he loved how happy it made him. Maybe that’s why he was so close with Steve. They had the same, almost naïve sense of optimism throughout everything that happened in their lives. They stayed true to their hearts even when everyone around them sneered and scolded. Maybe that’s why he was so similar to Steve. They both stayed optimistic, and they both got hurt again and again.

Lucas was not the smartest kid in his friend group; he never learned when to stop being so stupidly optimistic. So naive to think that nothing would go wrong. That everything would be alright…

He didn’t spot Eddie’s body at first. The gray mass blended in so well with the scattered corpses of the demobats, so he biked right next to it. The boy went as far as to even peak his head inside of the church while calling Eddie’s name, but no answer came. His smile, which he’d been wearing since the moment the gates began to close, faltered. He searched through the pews, looking out for any sign of Eddie. He walked back outside to find his guitar sitting next to his amps and set up. He swung the Warlock across his shoulders, and it’s when his back straightened up that he finally realized what the large, dark mass was.

Lucas had never seen so much blood in his life. It soaked deep into the soil, staining what was grey into a red so dark it was almost black. Still, Lucas fell to his knees, and the cold, wet liquid seeped into the material of his pants. “Fuck…” Lucas stuttered and looked around. Max and Nancy were still far behind, so Lucas searched his brain for their PE class’s CPR lesson. He always hated the Bee Gees, but he began singing Stayin’ Alive beneath his breath, as he ripped through what was left of the shirt the bats had eaten apart to expose Eddie’s chest. Lucas jumped back with a wince, as he saw just how ripped up Eddie’s torso and clavicle were. He could swear he could see pieces of Eddie’s ribs sticking out, but he ignored that in favor of finding some kind of untouched patch of skin and began performing CPR.

He may have not been the smartest in the group, but Lucas was not dumb. He was optimistic, though, and he thought… he stupidly thought that maybe it hadn’t been too long. Maybe Eddie was already so cold because of the state of the Upside Down. He heard the story from Will about Hopper bringing him back to life with CPR. Maybe, Lucas could do the same here. He could restart Eddie’s heart, and they’d have just enough time to rush him to the hospital. Everything would be fine.

It's so stupid, he knows. He doesn’t know why he’s so persistent in being happy all the time. Why he laughed at Steve’s funeral through his sobs or why he spent so long giving CPR to a man clearly out of blood, especially when each push stopped making small spurts splatter against Lucas’s sleeves. With all he’d been through, he shouldn’t be so optimistic, but it was the only way he knew how to survive a world like this.

When Will went missing, he was insistent on being realistic. He didn’t trust Eleven, and they had seen the boy’s body. He supposes that when Will came back, some of his mindset changed. Will came back from the dead; anything was possible, even happy endings in the worst of times. Eleven came back too, and they defeated the demodogs and Billy Hargrove. Max, who was someone Lucas didn’t even think would bother talking to him, actually danced with him and kissed him all in the same night! She became his girlfriend and, even if they had rough patches, she liked him! She liked him despite his flaws and nerdiness. She liked him despite her brother and stepfather hating his guts. Surely, all of this would mean something, right? Surely, this meant the world was, overall, good?

Steve was the first person Lucas truly lost, and he stayed optimistic. He stayed optimistic because no one else would. Everyone else was staring at Steve’s grave with some form of hatred or sadness, and Lucas wouldn’t survive if he did that! He’d lost a brother, and he wasn’t about to stop living too. Steve wouldn’t want that. So, he kept on pushing. He worked hard and he got on the varsity basketball team. He stayed true to himself and joined Hellfire. He got closer with his sister and continued being the best guy he could be to Max. He did it all because Lucas wouldn’t survive otherwise. He had to stay happy. He couldn’t just roll over and give up!

He couldn’t end up like Steve.

Steve, who Lucas is just like. Steve, who Lucas matches with their twin optimistic outlooks and permanent smiles. Steve, who let himself die because he realized he couldn’t do it anymore. He couldn’t pretend to be happy. So, Lucas has to be happy. He has to be optimistic, and he has to believe happy endings can come out of the worst of times. He can’t give up like Steve did!

Even then, Steve came back, right? Even if he was a ghost, Steve was back, and he got his happy ending, which means Eddie could too. Lucas wouldn’t be happy for nothing; he was going to bring Eddie back. He was going to get them their happy ending. He—

“Lucas…” Nancy’s hand grabbed the boy’s shoulder. He didn’t know how long he had been giving Eddie’s corpse CPR, but he knew by the strain his shoulders and arms that it had been a while. “Lucas, he’s—”

“No!” Lucas paused his movements to push Nancy’s arms away, “No, I can do this! I can do this! I’ve almost got him. He’s going to be okay!” He was crying, and he didn’t understand why. Why would he be crying when Eddie was going to be okay? Eddie was going to be fine. They’d all be fine. The cracks were closing. Vecna was gone (in every sense of the word). They won. “You’re going to be okay, Eddie!” Something cracked beneath his hands just as someone shouted his name.

Max grabbed his shoulder, and when he tried to push her away, she grabbed his other hand. He sobbed, as she crouched to his level. “We need to go, Lucas.” Her voice was gentle and unbreaking, even as tears streamed down her face.

“No, no—”

“He’s gone.” She grabbed his face when he tried to turn away, “Lucas, he’s gone.” Max’s eyes were the prettiest eyes Lucas had ever seen. He would get lost in them often, imagining he was looking at the ocean instead of her irises. In this moment, they looked so sad, so desperate, and so true that there was no doubt in his mind. She was telling the truth. Eddie was gone, and there was nothing he could do to bring him back.

Sparing a moment to grab Eddie’s pick necklace and one of his rings, the three kids ran towards the gate, relieved albeit annoyed that the small one from Patrick’s death remained open. They left behind Eddie’s body, and Lucas left behind his stupid optimism.

It was a day later that Eddie landed back in his body. He opened his eyes just as the chunk of flesh missing from his cheek healed like it never was there. He looked down at his tattered clothes to find untouched skin beneath. He sat up with a groan, and he looked around with a gasp.

The Upside Down was covered in ruin. The church behind him was almost completely destroyed, with a large line running through it. The gates. Vecna. “No…”

“There you are…” A voice hissed, and Eddie didn’t have to look to tell who it was. He scrambled to his feet, hissing when his sore muscles ached from the movement. Vecna was standing a few feet away from him, holding his side with his one good arm, as his left arm was dangling, dripping with black blood. “I was wondering when you’d wake up.”

“You…” Eddie snarled. He raised his hands, and Vecna actually flinched. Eddie knew he was running on a low battery with Steve still in the afterlife, but he wasn’t weak. It was like there was a locked door in the back of his mind, and dying was the key to getting it open. While his knowledge of his powers remained at the same level, there was a different charge. Dying connected him to a new source of power. The afterlife. Souls. The stars. The cosmos. This must’ve been what Vecna told him about; dying must have been what Vecna was waiting for to get Eddie to reach his full potential. Still, even with a supposed full potential, Eddie had just been dead, and despite having no part in coming back from the afterlife, he did just heal his wounds. If he wanted to actually fight, he’d have to gain energy back. Vecna knew this just as he knew of Eddie unlocking access to power.

“I told you that you had so much potential, Eddie.” He smiled before flicking a hand. A demobat, twitching but still alive, slide across the ground over to the psychic’s feet, “Go on…” he urged, “Heal more than just your body.”

The demobat’s soul trailed off its twitching body to the tips of Eddie’s fingers. It was never a good idea to listen to anything Henry said, but he’d need this if he had any chance of fighting Vecna. Limitless potential or not, this was still the villain’s domain, and most of Eddie’s sources of power—the sun, the Earth, and electricity—were out of reach with only one small gate open far behind him. He’d have to be closer. “Are you really this arrogant as to let me gain all this power? I’ll kill you.” Eddie turned the hand not absorbing power, and more demobats came his way. These were stronger; they flapped helplessly in the air, as Eddie carried them over to absorb their power as well.

“Hm, you say this,” Henry smiled, “but you won’t.”

“And what would ever make you say that?”

“Because all the power in the world is nothing without the knowledge to use it.” he pressed his good hand to his heart, exposing the burn mark it had originally been covering, “You need someone to teach you. To use you properly.”

“I’ll kill you like the villain you are—"

“And if I said you could bring back Steve?” Eddie shut his mouth, eyes squinting. Henry chuckled, “See, I knew that would gain your interest…” he tilted his head, “Promise not to kill me, to let me help you, and I’ll tell you how to bring him back.”

“You’re bluffing.” A few bats fell dead, and Eddie felt fire in his veins.

“Am I?” Vecna put his hand back on his wound, “I brought you back, didn’t I?” he shook his head, “I would’ve brought Steve back too, but I’m too weak.”

“I…” Eddie shook his head, “Steve wouldn’t want that. He… he’s at peace, I saw him.”

“Is he, now?” Vecna took a step forward, and Eddie raised a hand towards him, forgetting about absorbing power. He had enough. “Months in the veil, watching his friends on the sidelines, torturous existence on his part… wouldn’t you want to give him a second chance? Wouldn’t you want him by your side again?” He lowered his voice, “Doesn’t Steven deserve to live?”

Eddie clenched and unclenched his jaw, “And you? What’s in it for you?”

“You heal me…” Vecna nodded, “Heal me, and help me take a new victim and reopen the gates.” Eddie could sense one still open in the church behind him, so

“You must think I’m insane if I’m going to agree to do that…” Eddie turned his hand into a fist, and Vecna raised into the air, “Now, are you going to let me send you to hell where you belong?” Vecna choked, gargled on blood, then let out a loud laugh.

“Oh, Eddie,” he chortled, “so powerful yet so mistaken. So foolish… so brash…” Eddie’s eyes widened, as his hand opened against his will. He looked up to see Vecna’s hand raised in his direction, “The souls of this land don’t belong to you…” Henry explained, as he was carefully lowered to the ground, “You take the souls of my pets, and you become one.” It was Eddie’s turn to be raised in the air, and he fought helplessly against invisible binds. “Now, I’ll give you your Steve as I promised. We need him. Without him, infinity is just out of reach for you. Once that’s done though, you and I are going to have a bit of fun.”

Eddie’s vision began to fog around the edges, “N—No…” he stuttered, as he felt Vecna’s claws sink deep into his mind, taking control. He felt something seep inside. A soul too powerful to absorb. Something strong… something possessive.  

“True, infinite power, Eddie…” Vecna hummed in his mind, “Let’s use it properly this time.”

Chapter Text

April 2^nd, 1986 (Wednesday)

When Steve wakes up, it’s to the sound of gentle humming coming from the kitchen. There’s a pillow behind his head and a blanket draped over his body. He’s still tired, but it’s the kind of tired that tends to come with waking up. The kind of tired that makes the snooze button so tempting in the morning. Otherwise, it’s the best sleep he’s had in a while. Yes, even better than the eight months he spent dead. His throat is still dry, and everything still aches, but he’s awake, and, somehow, he’s alive.

Fuck. He's alive.

It’s not something he’s used to being. Not recently. He’s not used to feeling so warm yet so cold at once. He’s not used to swallowing pooling saliva or the weight of his tongue. He’s not used to needing to blink or the way his back aches from sleeping on the couch. His throat itches: he needs to cough and finds he can’t remember how to do it on command. Luckily, he swallows some spit and ends up doing it incorrectly, and that sends him into a coughing fit. He hunches over, feeling pins and needles throughout his entire body as he coughs into the open air. In an instant, Eddie is at his side and rubbing his back.

“That’s it, breathe.” Eddie pats his back until Steve can catch his breath, and a water bottle is shoved into his arms and empty before Steve even realizes he’s chugged the entire thing. Eddie laughs when that sends him into another coughing fit, “Steve, you’re supposed to drink the water, not inhale it!”

“You try drinking something for the first time in…” Steve pauses to cough, “eight months!” His voice is hoarse, and it’s hard to speak. Eddie doesn’t comment on that. Instead, he just continues rubbing Steve’s back. The silence gives the ghost—no, the living man—an opportunity to take in his surroundings.

They’re still in the Upside Down and still in Eddie’s trailer like the first time Steve woke up. Only now, there’s a pile of supplies on the ground: food, water bottles, blankets, and pillows, and a stack of movies with a tv as well as lots of books. The windows are blocked off with wood, but there are many candles illuminating what would otherwise be a dark and grey room. The walls are covered with random symbols in black paint. The blanket in Steve’s lap is one he recognizes from Eddie’s room, but it doesn’t look like it’s from the Upside Down. It’s far too clean for that. In fact, everything looks far too clean.

In any case, while Steve didn’t see too much the first time he woke up, a lot still changed, so he feels the need to ask, “How long was I out?”

Eddie hesitates before wincing, “Four days.” Steve’s eyes widen, “Hey, it’s okay! I’ve been here the entire time outside of a few supply runs; you have nothing to worry about. Nothing’s bothering us as long as I’m here, okay?” It’s then that Steve bends his arm and hisses, looks down. “I had an IV hooked up to you for a while, but I was only able to find one down here, so you’re probably still dehydrated.” Eddie quickly explains when Steve sees small bruises on his forearm. It’s then that Steve also realizes he’s shirtless—naked except for a pair of boxers. He’s also skinnier, almost scarily so. As a ghost, he still had the fat he had put on in ‘85—something ironic considering he’d spent most of the Summer ignoring ice cream and eating fruit to desperately try and lose it. Now, he can see the slight outlines of his hipbones and rib cage. It’s something that makes him nauseous, though he doesn’t have anything to throw up. Not unless it’s more rot and bugs.

“I have some food cooking right now. A casserole, you’ll like it. The oven doesn’t work down here, but we both know I can get around that.” Eddie winks, and his brown eyes flash red. It’s then that Steve’s brain seems to finally jumpstart. In an instant, he’s fully awake and jumping from the sofa. He stumbles, white stars dance across his vision from a lack of nutrition outside of whatever IV Eddie claims to have given him. He remembers the rest of his first time waking up. The memory of a painful healing process almost made him forget the following events. Seeing Eddie. Seeing the man with red eyes and a big smile.

Eddie raises his hands, makes Steve flinch in the process, then lowers them. “Steve, hear me out—”

“What the fuck is going on?” He asks, looking around the room with a sudden clear vision, as if he had been dreaming up until this point. He knew immediately by the smell and cold air that this was the Upside Down, but, again, everything is too clean. There are no vines on the walls nor dust in the air. It’s like they’re in their own bubble inside the hellish dimension. Eddie must realize Steve’s clarity, because he looks dreadful. He avoids Steve’s eyes before sighing. “Eddie?” Steve presses, looking at his soulmate and his ripped clothes. The unblemished skin beneath the rips that should be scarred and mangled. The flushed cheeks that should be pale from death. The man that died. The man that died so that Steve and he could move on. A part of Steve wants to think that, perhaps, this is the afterlife, but he’s in far too much pain to believe it. “You died.” He finally points out, desperately trying to get Eddie to say anything.

“I did.” Eddie speaks through a clenched jaw, “I did, yes, I died. I saw you.” He finally meets Steve’s eyes, and his are brown again, but Steve swears he can see hints of red mixed in. “I saw you with my grandma, your dog, and my mom sitting beneath a tree. Did you talk to her too?” Steve shakes his head but stays silent. He feels like he should have something in his hand. A gun or a knife to complete this standoff they’ve found themselves in. Steve with his gut twisting in anxiety, nausea, love, yet distrust to the man who died for him. It’s enough to make him want to scream. 

“I tried to join you guys. I did, but I…” Eddie bites his cheek, “My grandma used to say that fate, while difficult to do so, can be changed. But, once someone’s fate is accepted, then it’s written in stone. I accepted my fate the moment I found out about it, but I was wrong. I…” he swallows, “My fate was changed. I came back.” He chuckles and shakes his head, “And I wish I could say it was all my doing, but it wasn’t. I wanted to join you; I did, but someone else took my fate before I had a chance to. Then, I… I brought you back.” He shrugs, “Couldn’t live without you, Stevie.” He smiles, but there’s an underlying sense of guilt and of bitterness.

Steve wishes anything Eddie said eased the feeling in his gut, but, if anything, it worsens. “How?” he knows the answer. He knows the answer like he knows that the sun is a star and Dustin’s favorite color is actually green, not red like he claims. He just needs to hear it from Eddie.

Eddie’s smile drops, “I think you know the answer to that one, Stevie.” His tone shifts, and the red in his eyes deepen before they dart to the floor. Tears spring to Steve’s eyes, and he shakes his head. “Steve—”

“No.”

“Steve, I need you to listen to me—”

“Fuck!” Steve grabs his hair with his hands and squeezes. “Fuck!” he repeats.

“Steve, if you just hear me out, you’ll understand. I couldn’t help it! He knew I’d never reach my full potential without dying first, but he knew without you my potential would be lowered! He knew I wouldn’t be able to gain enough power without you!” Eddie tries to move forward, and Steve merely backs away.

“He tried to kill Robin!” Steve snaps, “He framed you for murder!”

“Steve—fuck, no you’re misunderstanding,” He curses again, “Fuck, I’m not explaining this right!” Eddie grabs his hair and shakes his head. Whatever crisis he’s muttering to himself falls on deaf ears, as Steve continues.

“So, what is it? What? Are you his puppet? His servant? Are you a follower of Lord Vecna now?!” he presses forward, and it’s just before he has a chance to grab Eddie’s arm to demand attention that the psychic collapses to the couch. He’s crying, and Steve’s anger cools into confusion.

“I’m not his fucking puppet!” Eddie’s voice is muffled through his hands.

“What?” Steve relaxes slightly, but he doesn’t sit down despite struggling to stay upright now that his anger is no longer keeping his persisting exhaustion at bay. He slouches and looks at Eddie.

“I’m not his fucking puppet.” Eddie repeats, setting his elbows on his thighs and hunching over. “Not anymore, I…” he sighs heavily through his nose and shakes his head, “I was for about two days, but bringing you back didn’t have the effect he was hoping for. With you comes much of my source of power, and he didn’t realize that power would help me gain control again.” Steve leans back.

“You’re not working for Vecna?”

“No,” Eddie shakes his head, “but we’ve still got some problems. Some really big fucking problems, actually.” He laughs, but it sounds forced.

“What happened while I was asleep, Eddie?”

Eddie doesn’t meet his eyes, “Bringing you back was not an easy task. When Vecna brought me back, all he had to do was catch me before I went to the afterlife. It’s not easy, and it nearly killed Vecna from the amount of power he used, but he did it. Now, bringing someone back—someone already in the afterlife. Someone whose body had been rotting, who was beyond repair; it takes a lot of energy. More energy than I or Vecna or, fuck, anyone could ever have, not on their own.” His voice breaks.

“Eddie, what did you do?” Steve’s voice is shaking, weak, and he finally sits. He grabs Eddie’s hand, and he can’t tell if he’s doing it to comfort Eddie or to convince the man to open up. Either way, it works. Eddie sighs, and it sounds like a surrender.

“I woke up to Vecna standing in front of my body. The gates were closed except for the ones from his first three victims. There were corpses of demobats all around me… I absorbed their aura to heal myself. Vecna didn’t do anything but send them my way. In doing so, I connected myself to the hivemind. I connected myself to Vecna.”

He takes a deep breath, “I became a puppet.”

*

Possession often leads to memory loss. At least, that’s what Eddie always assumed; he never dealt with real possession. Even Billy Hargrove’s ghost was useless, refusing to talk to Eddie while the Mind Flayer took control of his body. Then, after the boy died, Eddie tried asking questions, but Billy still refused to talk to him. Eddie assumed he lost his memories and couldn’t say what actually happened, even if he didn’t know about the possession then. Now, he knows the truth. Billy remembered it all, and so does Eddie.

A few years after The Exorcist came out, when his grandma finally let him watch it, he was unable to sleep. While nothing scares him these days—not in the film variety, at least—that movie terrified him. His grandma had sat beside him, laughing when he cowered in her arms, and a few days later when Eddie finally built up the courage to ask, the woman was truthful.

“Possessions are impossible, Eddie.” She had reassured him, cursing the movie a moment later, “Malevolent spirits are real, and I do believe in demons and hell, but they can’t hurt you. You’re too powerful. Even normal humans can’t be possessed; it’s all humbo jumbo. No ghost or spirit, no matter how powerful they are, can overtake a human soul, not without permission. A soul is too pure, too powerful to be overtaken. Made in God’s image, you’re safe.”

His grandma was religious. When she was alive, she went to church every Sunday. She prayed daily, and she believed in everything the Bible taught. She didn’t go to school, couldn’t afford it, so she didn’t understand much about science. Psychology was something she never fathomed when teaching Eddie. It was true when she said a soul could not be overtaken, thus him seeing Billy’s ghost when the man was possessed, but she forgot that the human mind is a lot less powerful than a soul. It can be mended, molded, shaped, changed, and, worst of all, it can be flayed. Even the strongest psychics, when tricked and put beneath a deep enough spell, like a hivemind, can be taken over.

Eddie was no exception.

When Vecna sunk his claws deep into Eddie’s skull, he felt a pain similar to being lit on fire. He felt something deep inside his mind, like the world’s most destructive migraine. He felt something split inside him. He was forced to take a back seat in his mind. A part of him was still there, still conscious, while another side of him was outside of his body, watching from afar, as he collapsed to the ground.

When he stood up again, he was unnatural. There was no longer a slight slouch in his shoulders but a tall stance with blank, red eyes. It was still him, somehow, he knew, it was still him. It wasn’t, but it was. It was not the entirety of him, not with his soul tethered just outside of its reach, but it was still him. He could tell because he could read his thoughts, and they sounded foreign. They sounded like he was listening to a recording while forced underwater.

“Finally,” it was two voices at once, but it was still his tone, still his vocal cords speaking, “a worthy vessel.” There it was: the Mind Flayer’s thoughts. They mixed with his own, sorting out everything negative, cruel, and intrusive Eddie’s ever thought. The villain picked out each negative thought like a ripened fruit. It hummed in satisfaction, feeding off of Eddie’s darkness. Every time he wished his mom would die, as he once thought that was better than her being emotionally absent. Every time he wished to stab Jason or any of the other basketball jerks. The times when Eddie wished for anything better.

The times when Eddie intrusively thought of kidnapping Steve, showing the man they were soulmates. The times when Eddie thought to kill off Lucas’s character each time the boy asked to reschedule for basketball. The times when Eddie, knowing partially what happened, thought of getting revenge for Steve’s death. Thought that it was Dustin’s fault that Steve was dead, and that he should’ve returned the favor. Thought his visions were hiding the parts where the boy was somehow to blame.  

Each time he wanted to punch Mike’s occasionally infuriating smirk. Each time he thought about kicking Jeff out of Corroded Coffin for being late. Each time he used his powers to get what he wanted. The times he wanted nothing more than to rip his dad apart limb by limb and watch the man bleed on their wooden floors. Each time he wished, just for a moment, that he himself was dead.

The Mind Flayer fed off of his tortured past. It fed off his desires. It fed off what he wanted but couldn’t have, and it knew just as Vecna knew, that Eddie would always, more than anything, want Steve. The Flayer’s desires mixed with his own soon, but it already wanted Steve just as much as Eddie did, if only to gain more power.

“You told me you’d teach me how to bring him back.” Eddie spoke at Vecna, “Help me bring him back.” There was an ache deep in Eddie’s chest, he wanted that too. He couldn’t give in, but he didn’t have a choice. Free floating the way he was, he had no power. He was a ghost—worse than a ghost, for he had nothing. Even Vecna couldn’t see him despite being in the Upside Down, whereas Steve was easily seen so many hours ago. Eddie couldn’t use any of his powers and stayed helpless, watching the Mind Flayer. Watching himself do spells that his grandma once referred to as Dark Magic, forbidden magic…

Blood magic.

Blood magic is simple but far from good. It’s the kind of dark magic which requires sacrifice, like Eddie mistakenly killing that cop after touching his colorful aura that turned out to be a soul. In which he, in his first time in the Upside Down, realized he could see the souls of people above, and he was too curious to not touch the energy there. He killed that cop and took the power of his soul. He was quick to spend it—spent it on foolish things like defeating the demodogs and bats. That was technically not blood magic, however. It was dark magic, certainly, but blood magic requires an obvious ingredient. It requires blood, the physical life force humans require besides their souls.

After Vecna won, as brief as it was, the four gates of his victims connected in a giant X, which almost completely destroyed Hawkins and stretched through the entire town. It opened fast, slicing through the Earth like a hot knife through butter. From then on, no one was safe, if not from the pits of hell swallowing them whole, the demogorgons let loose, or the other monsters, then from Eddie, who needed bodies.  

The first thing Eddie had to do was retrieve Steve’s corpse. The real Eddie, like there was a tether attaching him to his body, had no choice but to follow, as the Mind Flayer flew them through town to the cemetery, which was miraculously untouched, albeit with a few flower vases tipped over and a few older stones cracked.

The dirt of Steve’s grave still stains his fingernails. It wasn’t a difficult task, as the Flayer used his powers at free will to toss the dirt aside. It was absorbing the energy of the Earth much more efficiently than Eddie ever could. It reminded Eddie of the fact that, while Vecna certainly wanted Eddie to kill, the villain had still told Eddie he was wrong when he suggested that was the only way to gain power. It was not through killing, not entirely. Each moving atom, every source of heat, and every living thing was power, and the Flayer learned how to harness it quickly. The Flayer had been more powerful in Eddie’s body than Eddie ever was, but it wasn’t enough. Not with Steve gone.

“Steve!” Eddie smashed the coffin, sending splinters of wood across the surrounding patches of grass. A few sprayed at him, causing small cuts that healed in moments. The Flayer turned away with a hiss before turning back, and there he was.

If Eddie were in his physical body, he would’ve vomited. All he felt was the phantom of nausea, as he looked down at Steve’s rotted corpse.

Steve’s eyes were no longer there, having been eaten quickly. His suit was in tatters, exposing where his chest and stomach were caved in, showing few pieces of dried organs and muscles. There were maggots writhing inside the cavities, taking their meals like the miniature vultures they were. Steve’s hair was a few strands sticking out from a few remaining pieces of grey scalp. The man’s teeth were fully exposed with no lips and only a few pieces of skin keeping his jaw attached to his skull.

When Eddie picked up the corpse, a shoe fell off. With it, Steve’s foot. The Flayer bent down and picked it up, chuckling lowly. “To think something so fragile could give me so much power.” His red eyes shined brighter for a moment. As they flew back to the nearest gate, a few bugs fell from the corpse along with bits of skin. Eddie watched bits of his soulmate rejoin the dirt he was just within. It was in this time that he could finally see the full effect of what Vecna had done. They flew high above the trees, so Eddie could see clearly the destroyed buildings and lights of distant fires. The town he grew up in and all but loved was in ruins, and all he could hope for is that his friends were okay, and that Wayne kept his letters in a safe place where they could be found. He told the man to skip town, didn’t want him becoming a living ghost in his trailer all because Eddie was gone. He hoped Wayne was safe.

Forest Hills looked miraculously intact from what Eddie could see. Though, there was a line leading from Benny’s old joint to the center of town, and it crossed through the main road out of the trailer park. Then, there was Steve’s neighborhood, Loch Nora, which was also intact save for a few streets run through from Patrick’s gate. Then, there was Fred’s gate, which ran from an old road on the other side of town. They entered through Patrick’s gate just as they exited, going through the church.

They laid Steve’s body in the dirt, and, in an instant, vines gently reached forward and wrapped around his wrist. “No!” It was Eddie who said this—the real Eddie, not the body being controlled by the flayer. Still, a voice came from his mouth, gargled and forced. Vecna seemed taken aback when his voice came about in such a way.

Eddie cleared his throat and spoke clearer. “He needs a bed.” The Flayer nodded, as if it was his idea and not Eddie’s. The longer the Flayer was in his head, the more their needs and wants mixed; he mistook Eddie’s desires for his own. The Flayer mistook Eddie’s needs for his own. “He needs somewhere soft.”

They took him all the way to Forest Hills, with Vecna being carried by the Flayer and Steve’s body floating behind them. There was a constant trail of energy stemming from each of the open gates, showing the source of the Flayer’s powers (when in Eddie’s body) came from the Earth in the glowing trails. They looked like spiderwebs connecting Eddie’s body to the real world, the Flayer, meanwhile, still kept his steady connection through the hivemind. This fact was evident strictly through Eddie’s red eyes that glinted each time lightning struck the ground.

Even with Eddie’s desires continuously slipping through, the Mind Flayer forced a settlement with leaving Steve on the Munson’s living room couch instead of an actual bed. It was enough to sooth some kind of ache in Eddie, however, if only for a moment. But there was something still there, a nagging feeling inside of him that wouldn’t quit. Not that it mattered; there was still nothing he could do.

As said before, bringing someone back from the dead, under any circumstance, is difficult. Bringing someone back from the afterlife is like moving a mountain with nothing but a carjack and a wish. It required more than just power. It required a soul.

While Eddie has never paid attention in any science class, he knows the basics. He knows that energy cannot be destroyed or created but can be changed. When a person dies, their energy doesn’t disappear. It changes forms. It changes into something unattainable. Nothing can touch human energy after death, not without having an equal amount. Not without being dead. That obviously wasn’t an option for the Flayer, so Henry knew a trade would have to take place. A soul for a soul. Trading energy from one side of the astral plane to the other. That was where dark magic would be most useful.

If Steve had been dead for less than a day, they would only need this dark magic. They wouldn’t need blood. But Steve was dead for eight months, that’s not an easy fix. Fixing a rotted corpse would require more than just souls, it would require blood and a lot of it.

There were plenty of people in the Upside Down, fallen from the gates opening. There was no reason to go back to the surface, but the privileged survivors were never truly privileged, never in Hawkins. For a reason Eddie believes may have been just to torture him, Vecna sent Eddie’s flayed body to the surface to hunt. It was the perfect plan. Hunt when nobody would blink an eye at another person gone missing, not with buildings in ruins and holes in the Earth, even if most no longer lead to the Upside Down.

They targeted the stragglers—the ones who weren’t packing or doing anything but watching the news. They targeted the loners. Mrs. Charles, who lived up the street from Eddie and had about three and a half dogs (one was a chihuahua missing a leg). She was outside looking for the little rat when Eddie found her. He dragged her to the nearest portal, leaving nothing but her slippers and her screams to echo in the dark. Next, it was a man Eddie didn’t know the name of. He was trying to clean up his car, likely to pack and leave with everyone else. He didn’t get to shout before Eddie knocked him out.  

There was a kid who Eddie recognized but never spoke to. His mom was in the hospital, had been for months. He was on his way to see her, just about to unlock his car when Eddie lifted him in the air. Then there was a girl just a year older; Eddie thinks she was friends with Chrissy.

In total, he carried six people to the Upside Down. He dragged them kicking, screaming, or unconscious to the hellscape’s version of Forest Hills. Only one soul was required to bring Steve back from the afterlife, but they’d need all six bodies to heal Steve. All that blood.

Six bodies were hanged on the branches of the dead trees in hell. Vines trapped them to trunks Upside Down so the blood flowed to their heads. They were killed in the order they were taken, each more brutal than the last.

The Upside Down had plenty of ways to die. Being choked by vines, being eaten alive, starving, dehydration, or getting sick from all the dust and mold. These people didn’t deserve any of these methods, but what did happen to them was much harder to watch. The more blood collected; the faster Steve would heal. Eddie was as inpatient as Vecna. The twisted desire inside him to have Steve again mixing with the Flayer’s desires to have full power. He didn’t have a knife sharp enough to do what needed to be done, so he killed a demogorgan and removed its arm. He watched the thing scream from the ground before absorbing its soul. Eddie felt a small buzz of energy that left just as it started. It left behind the phantom numbness of sore muscles and vibrating fingers, like Eddie had just used his powers despite being something akin to a ghost.

In the dim lighting, the red blood looked like India ink, and the souls, bright and pure, floated to Eddie in small waves. The blood traced along the dirt, painting small sigils along their way, controlled by the Flayer. Neither the Mind Flayer nor Vecna knew sigils as they knew other means of using Eddie’s powers, but he could feel the monster digging around in his skull in search of everything his grandma had taught him. The woman didn’t teach him this, but sigils are not exact. They can be created based on the caster’s desires. These sigils were dark and dangerous, with jagged edges and underlying themes of destruction. Each one made Eddie feel nauseous—doomed.

Slit throats. Sliced stomachs. Pierced thighs to target the thickest veins. Ripped limbs. Peeled skin. A massacre worse than any movie Eddie had ever seen before, and the Flayer was smart. It wanted Eddie to feel tortured. It wanted him to feel awful about what he was doing, even if he had no control. It wanted him to remember the feeling of hot blood on his hands, even if he wasn’t in his body.

The victims were kept alive during all this torture. Each one choking, screaming, crying, and gargling their blood like it was mouthwash. Their eyes pleaded if their voices failed them, as their blood painted the world around them. The girl that Eddie is sure was once Chrissy’s friend recognized him. She cried his name at one point, “Eddie? Oh God, they were right! You—you’re the murderer! You—” but her throat was slit before she could finish her begs. Eddie laughed. His body laughed at their pain. The Flayer laughed at their pain, while Eddie could do nothing but cry and wait for it to be over. Eventually, each person was bled dry, and Eddie stole the power within their souls before they had the chance to move on.

Eddie and the Flayer went back to the trailer, where Steve’s corpse was lying there. The trail of blood crept in through the open door, and Eddie raised his hands. “Come back to me.” He said, and Eddie wasn’t sure if it was the Flayer who pleaded or him. Even if Eddie didn’t want those people to die, he still wanted Steve. He would always want Steve, but not like this…

Though, Eddie knew of a time when he would’ve done anything. So, perhaps he, despite not being in control, was still to blame. He was to blame when whatever the Flayer tried didn’t work, at first. The blood magic was working, as it formed something similar to a hexagon around Steve’s body, but the trade was almost impossible. Even when the Flayer attempted to trade all six souls for Steve’s, he couldn’t do it. Eddie’s grandma was right, it was impossible. Something living couldn’t cross that path—couldn’t reach over. A part of Eddie was relieved, but another was disappointed. He wouldn’t see Steve again. It was for the better, of course, but that didn’t stop his heart from twisting painfully.

“There must be another way!” The Flayer in Eddie’s mind snapped, cursing when the blood did nothing but pool around Steve’s lifeless body. “Why isn’t it working?!” Eddie had assumed he was asking Vecna, but he turned his head and looked straight at where Eddie was floating outside his body. He was certain he was invisible, as he’d made many crude motions to Henry during his time as a ghost, but the Flayer did have his powers, after all.

“I don’t know.” Eddie responded truthfully, watching as his own expression twisted in anger. “It’s impossible. It’s never been done!”

“So, bringing you back as my vessel was nothing more than a party trick?” He squinted, “You’re keeping something from me, aren’t you?”

Eddie scoffed, “Listen, asshole, in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not exactly here willingly. Trust me, the last thing I want to do is be here; if you think for a moment, I’m also going to help you, then you’re as insane as you look.” True Eddie was technically insulting his own looks but flayed him looks disgusting. At first, it was only the red eyes, which showed his power more than the possession. Now, after hours of being flayed, there were black veins prominently showing beneath his pale skin, which looked more gray than white. He looked ill.

“You know…” He persisted, and before Eddie could speak, he felt something in the back of his head. Like a hand was pressing against his skull. It wasn’t painful like when Vecna pierced his claws into Eddie’s brains, but it was far from pleasant. It felt like a helmet meant for a child was being forced onto his head. He groaned and fell to his knees, not feeling any pain but feeling overpowered. “You have to know!”

“I thought your lord was the genius, here?” Eddie groaned, “He’s the one who claimed to know.”

“It’s not working.”

“Yeah, maybe because you don’t know shit.” Eddie was never good at shutting up. He monologued like a villain as often as he breathed, so he didn’t stop his train of thought or his tongue from moving. “You don’t know a thing about Steve. You don’t know where he is; you don’t know what’s waiting for him. You’re reaching into the forest expecting to find the beach, but the waves are right behind you!” The pressure in his mind stopped, and Eddie stood.

“I’d watch your tongue.” The Flayer egged him on.

“You won’t reach him because you don’t love him. I saw where Steve is; he’s with his loved ones. He’s with the ones who loved me because they know how much I love him. You’re not going to reach him because the only thing you love is power. If you think for one second the Universe is going to let you invade someplace as pure as that for something so selfish, you’re dead wrong.” He shook his head and stalked forward, “You’re not getting what you want. You love nothing. He's my soulmate. He won’t come back to Earth for you.”  He hadn’t felt this angry in a long time. His mouth was fully downturned and nostrils flaring. It almost hurt with how deep his sneer went.

He watched his own face, as the Flayer turned his neutral expression into a satisfied smile. “Is that all?” Before Eddie could even realize his mistake, his wrists were grabbed tightly in one hand, while the other pierced through his chest.

What happened next is something bizarre even by Eddie’s standards. When the Flayer originally took him over, he pushed Eddie’s conscience to the back of his mind but kept Eddie’s soul tethered just beyond his own body. This allowed the Flayer to pick up many thoughts, but the conscience and the soul are not the same thing. His mind kept his joys, strengths, weaknesses, knowledge, and thoughts, bad and good. His soul was where his love lied. His soul contained his love, his hope, his dreams, and every purpose he had for being alive. To bring Steve back, the Mind Flayer didn’t only need a soul to trade but a soul with the ability to reach the other side—to reach Steve. To find Steve within the chaos; it was like holding a séance with nothing but a thought.

The Flayer freed Eddie but was still able to use him as a puppet. It guided his hands and forced his own power to flow through his being. They molded, for only a few seconds, into one body. The Flayer and Eddie’s souls intertwined into one. Eddie was so thrown off, he barely registered when he felt something like his hand plunging into a bucket of ice water. He finally looked forward and saw his hand reaching through a portal of light. He grabbed something solid and soft and pulled. In an instant, Steve’s soul landed hard on the ground. Eddie was pushed outside of his body just as the Flayer forced Steve back into his corpse. It was then that the blood began to pool towards the man who looked more like a zombie. His lungs and heart healed first, and Eddie watched them move beyond dried ribs. He felt it then, the pain. The anguish. Steve was hurting.

Steve was hurting, he was scared, and Eddie could feel all of it.  

Something happened inside Eddie, then. Some rush of power. That same rush of lightning he felt the first time he saw Steve all those years ago. It was enough to make him nearly fall, dragging the Flayer to sway with him. They stumbled out the front door. Eddie was not in his body but, like a mirrored version of him, the Flayer copied his every move. He raised his hand, and so did his body. He turned to the trailer, and his body turned with him. The Flayer sneered.

“Is it done?” Henry asked from behind them, not realizing the trouble at hand. His voice was still weak, and he was still sitting down even though he had floated the entire way from the church. “Will you finish the job?” he wheezed.

“Yes, lord.” Eddie’s eyes flashed red, as he turned around. Eddie groaned, being forced to turn with him. It was difficult. He could feel the Flayer shake with exertion even as it turned to do its job. The more Steve healed the more the power surged inside of Eddie. The monster in his body raised its hands towards the distance, where the three portals no longer connected but still open shined like spotlights. Slowly but surely, a new portal opened just a few feet in front of Eddie and far from the trailer. They then connected, and the giant X that already sliced through town went back through, causing more destruction and more suffering.

Opening the portals in such a way required souls. That’s why Vecna needed four victims in the first place; it was using their power and their energy which granted the villain the ability to open such a large gate. Eddie had taken six, but the act of opening the gate alone was still draining. Even with so many energy sources, doing such intense acts were like running a marathon. Sooner or later, the Flayer would need to take a break. Unluckily for the town of Hawkins, he managed to last long enough to completely re-open the x-shaped portal from before. Luckily for Eddie, the Flayer was arrogant.

The Flayer may be better at using Eddie’s powers, but it’s not better at being in Eddie’s body. It didn’t know that the feeling currently present in Eddie’s gut isn’t a good thing. It doesn’t know that the rush of energy coming in waves from Steve, while strong, wasn’t giving it any powers. It was making Eddie’s gut clench and knees weak, sure, but Eddie’s guessing the Flayer’s never felt horny, especially for a soulmate as God-like as Steve. No, there were no powers going to the Flayer, not from Steve, not when Eddie’s soul was tethered right outside of his body. Not when Eddie still had a hold of all that love. Steve was his soulmate, and he felt it deep inside himself, as he watched. As he waited for the moment for the Flayer to fall, exhausted from opening the portals.

“Hey, ugly,” Eddie shouted at his own self. His head turned, and Eddie winked, “that a distraction in your pants or are you just glad to see me?” The Flayer frowns and looks down at his jeans just before Eddie leaps forward. He grabs onto his own shoulders and forces himself into his own body. He can’t push the Flayer out—doesn’t know how, so he shoves the thing into the back of his mind, locking it away while it was still weak before turning to Vecna.

“You—” The villain shouted before he could finish. Eddie grunted, and Vecna flew through the air. Eddie blinked, and lightning struck the wizard just before he landed. His skin charred and sizzled while he laid on the ground. The man groaned and looked up. “How are you…?” he didn’t get to finish his question before coughing up blood.

“Soulmates are connected through souls, asshole. Not bodies.” Eddie let one hand drop to the side but kept the other raised, keeping Vecna pinned to the ground, “The Flayer’s strong, but he doesn’t know shit about love. You two have that in common.” Vecna roared when Eddie raised his other hand again, but he didn’t fight Henry some more. Instead, he pointed towards the gate just a few feet away from them. “Bringing Steve back didn’t boost my powers; it boosted my soul. The same soul you and the Flayer tried to keep out of my body…” Vecna scrambled to stand and stop Eddie from closing the gates but got knocked right back down again. “Gotta say, that was a poor plan on your part,” Eddie winced, as he felt the Flayer wake up in his mind and bang on the cage Eddie put up around it, “it’s not easy, but I imagine it’s harder to keep something from entering your mind than keeping it locked inside.”

“You fool!” Vecna roared in part rage and pain, as the closing gate singed his already injured body, “You think you can hold the flayer?” he laughed, “Even if you manage to win this battle, you will die down here, Eddie Munson. I will kill you and your love, and I will make it back to Hawkins. I swear it!”

Eddie tilted his head in consideration, “Yeah, maybe you will kill me.” He nodded, “Maybe the Flayer will get out, and maybe you’ll win the battle between us, but I got my own promises.” He dropped both arms just before he could seal the final gate. He kept it open just for the trail of energy to refuel him as he spoke. Monologuing for what he hoped would be the last time, “I swear to you that, for as long as I live, I will keep the Flayer locked up.” He raised Henry in the air to keep him eye level, “For as long as I am down here, I will do everything in my power to keep these gates shut. I will never let the Upside Down hurt Hawkins or my friends again. I will keep the Flayer here where it belongs, and I will put you where you belong.”

“And tell me, Eddie,” Vecna coughed, and his spit was stained with black blood, “where is that?”

“Six feet under.” Eddie sealed the final gate and snapped the fingers of the hand previously keeping Vecna suspended. The villain’s breath hitched before he was sent flying with an echoing boom. His body turned darker and darker, floating through the air until disappearing far in the distance. Nothing but a dot in the sky that landed with a thud in the distance. Eddie collapsed, holding his head and panting. He wasn’t sure if it was over.

He didn’t absorb Vecna’s soul like he probably should’ve, but he didn’t trust doing such a thing. He could feel the Flayer constantly, chiming like a bell in the back of his head.  He was tricked once, became a part of the hive mind once, and he wasn’t making that mistake twice. He wasn’t letting his guard down, but just staying vigilant wouldn’t be enough to keep such a powerful being at bay. He says he locked the Flayer in the back of his mind, but it was more like barricading the windows to a hoard of zombies. Sooner or later, that barricade could break, so Eddie needed more than just a lock and key. He needed power.

He needed to actively subdue the Flayer. As draining as it was, he had to use a majority of his powers to keep the beast inside. It was because of that that he couldn’t heal Steve faster or stop his pain. It was because of that that he had to let Steve slip into a coma and use an IV stolen from the Upside Down version of Hawkins Memorial. It was because of that that he didn’t have the energy to open a gate or reach out to their friends, not that he wanted to. Not when he and the Flayer were still technically one.

It was because of this that Eddie would never have enough power to target and kill Vecna for real because, on the day before Steve woke up, he felt something. An echo across the hivemind, a shiver down his spine, and a rejoice across the many creatures. Their leader wasn’t gone. He was weak, he was injured, but he wasn’t gone.

Eddie, as much as he wants to be truthful, doesn’t tell Steve this. He leaves out the fact that Vecna lives, as he finishes a recount of everything that has happened before they sit together to eat. It’s bad enough that they’re stuck here. It’s bad enough that it’s his fault Steve is alive and back when he was perfectly fine in the afterlife. It’s his fault, and he’d rather not give Steve another reason to blame him. He’d rather keep it a secret, if only for now. If only until, maybe… just maybe, he could keep the Flayer subdued enough to kill Vecna for real. To defeat the villain for once.

Maybe, this story could finally have a good and final ending.

Hope is a dangerous thing, but there’s not much else he can do when the future, for the first time in a long time, is an utter mystery.

Chapter Text

April 3^rd, 1986 (Thursday)

It’s been almost a week since they fought Vecna, and everything has gone to hell.

Well, not really. Hawkins has always been somewhat of a hellscape. To say it has gone to hell would be to say it hasn’t changed at all when, in reality, it’s turned downright apocalyptic. And Dustin has no idea what they’re going to do.

In the movies, apocalyptic situations often lead to government takeovers, with small towns being overrun by trucks, solders, guns, cameras, and strict rules. Turns out the movies are pretty much on the nose.

The trucks, soldiers, tanks, and guns didn’t come right away. The first time the gates split open, they sent some helicopters and aid trucks to help with the cleanup. The second time? They sent a lot more trucks and a lot more helicopters. They also sent tanks and giant jeeps. Even as the gates closed again, they kept sending people. They kept sending army green vehicles and men with guns bigger than their arms. Within 24 hours, each road in or out of Hawkins was blocked by gates controlled by people in camo uniforms, and the entire perimeter of town was fenced off. They had a 7 PM curfew, and any guns not belonging to the police were confiscated. Each home was searched under the guise of checking for damaged gas or water lines, but when they reached the Wheeler house, Mike revealed all they had dogs, and all they did was check the closets, beneath beds, the basement, the attic, and any other spots where someone could hide.

Someone like a young girl with superpowers.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that is what they are after, not when Eleven had already dealt with one government organization kidnapping her. Dustin’s pretty sure she’s not the only one being hunted either. Not with Hopper coming back from the dead with a Russian backstory in tow.

“Where are we going to go?” Max asks, crossing her arms while collapsing next to Lucas on Hopper’s dusty couch, “We can’t stay here. It may be far from town, but with all of us coming and going, they’ll come here soon enough.” This is not their first conversation on the topic. Three times they had gone between the Winnebago hidden near the old, abandoned church, Lover’s Lake, and Hopper’s cabin. They had already figured they were going after El; Mike’s reveal only confirmed their suspicions and confirmed they weren’t so paranoid in moving around, but they can’t do that forever.

“Some trailers near mine are clear, but we’re too close to one of the blocked roads.” Wayne shrugs. He’s sitting next to Hopper and Murray at the kitchen table. The man officially joined the part a few days ago under Dustin’s insistence. There isn’t much to do for the civilians, not when they are all being “aided” by government hands. That, and the man is under similar danger, being related to Eddie Munson—a connection to the murders and, thanks to Jason’s ramblings, suspected of powers. If Eddie weren’t dead, he’d be just as wanted as Eleven.

“Reefer Rick’s cabin?” Dustin suggests. He got stuck sitting on the floor, having been kicked out of a beanbag chair by Eleven and Erica. El’s sleeping, slumped on Erica, while the younger girl is writing down “meeting notes” in a book like she’s their very own secretary. Mike’s next to them, leaning against the wall next to the last spot on the couch where Will is taking his own nap. Be it jetlag or their powers, both kids have been nothing short of exhausted.

“It will still look suspicious with the rest of us going back and forth.” The boy bites his lip before shaking his head, “And we can’t forget about the fucking dogs.” He groans, ignoring when Nancy scolds him, “We’re being hunted; me saying fuck is the least of our worries.”  

“We could go underground,” Lucas’s voice is quiet but loud enough to be heard. He doesn’t talk as much as he used to. At first, he was still behaving as his normal self, but ever since the gates opened and shut again, he’s been different. Different enough that they now have his favorite song on tape and a Walkman always within reach. Though, they don’t tell him that, not wanting to stress him out more than he already is. “God knows this town’s got plenty of abandoned buildings. Some of them are bound to have basements, and if we choose the right building—the right base; it wouldn’t be suspicious.”

“They’re shutting down most of the abandoned places—turning them into their own bases.” Nancy, spending most of her time next to Robin at the hospital, knows more than most. There are soldiers keeping guard on Robin’s floor for obvious reasons, and Nancy is pretty good at faking being asleep. “We’d have to find someplace active, so it wouldn’t be suspicious to go there so much, but they need to be willing to keep us hidden. Which means we’ll also have to find someone loyal enough to commit treason. Someone who is willing to protect us…”

“The radio station is still active.” Hopper chimes in, “The government sends out alerts every once in a while, but the Hawkins station is strictly local, playing music, weather, and the news. It’s fully civilian, and it’s concrete.”

“Who runs the radio station?” Joyce asks, sitting across from Wayne, and Hopper shrugs. Then, after a few minutes of silence, Dustin gasps and waves his hands. He turns to Mike, who flinches and frowns.

“Dude, what the fuck are you—”

“Mr. Clarke!” Dustin shouts.

“Our science teacher?” Mike twists his expression even more, “He’s at the middle school. Why would he—”

“He has a job at the radio station now, got a parttime position after the AV club disbanded.” Yeah, turns out Dustin and their small group of friends were the only thing keeping the club running. Not surprising but disappointing all the same. “I’m willing to bet he moved there full time.”

“Why do you say that?”

“He doesn’t work at the middle school anymore.” Erica looks up and answers Mike’s question before Dustin has a chance, “He left last semester due to some budget cuts.” She frowns, “But wouldn’t it still be suspicious to go there? We’re not exactly radio hosts.”

“No, but we were in the AV club.” Dustin smiles, “It’d be a perfect cover.”

“If we can convince him.” Erica snarks.

“Well, we’ve got to try.” Hopper stands with a grown, “Dustin and Max, you two will go to the radio station in the morning and see if Clarke is working there and willing to take us. Until then, we’ll stay here. There’s a shed not too far away that’s hidden much better, and El and I can go there if anyone gets close.” El opens her eyes and smiles at Hopper. Huh, guess she wasn’t asleep.

“How about we go now?” Max suggests, “Less likely to get intercepted, and we can cut through the woods.”

“Yeah, and get attacked by dogs? I don’t think so,” Dustin shakes his head.

“They’re not looking for us, dingus.” Dustin rolls his eyes, “We’ll be fine as long as we don’t smell like them.”

Dustin hesitates, but Nancy confirms it isn’t too bad of an idea. “I could drive on one of the main streets. They already interrogated and cleared me, so they think I wasn’t really connected to Eddie. They’ll just take me home or the hospital for breaking curfew.”

“And Ted won’t kill you?”

“Dad’s…” She glances at Mike, who looks down “He left town with Mom and Holly right before they shut off the roads going out. I won’t get into trouble.”

“What?” Joyce stands and walks towards the girl, who waves the woman off with a bitter smile.

“I’m fine,” Nancy nods, eyes tearing up, “Dad didn’t care much, and I told our mom we were driving to California to stay with the Byers. Since they think I’m still dating Jonathan and with Mike just being there, they let us be on our own. They don’t know we’re still here. It’s better this way; they’ll be safe.” Joyce looks over to Mike, who is giving the same bitter smile.

“Well, you can always stay with us, honey.” Joyce grabs Nancy’s arm, squeezing tightly, “No one should be alone right now.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Byers.” Nancy’s expression looks just as tight as she steps away from the woman, wipes her eyes, then hesitantly turns to Max and Dustin, replastering on that forced smile from before, “Uh, you guys leave first. Radio me if you get caught, and I’ll make some noise, huh.” Her smile turns slightly crazed, now, as if she’s excited at the concept of getting in trouble. Knowing Nancy Wheeler, she probably is.

“Alright, come on,” Max stands and grabs her bag, “Let’s go.” She kisses Lucas and grabs Dustin’s arm.

“What if we get caught?” Dustin repeats his past hesitations.

“Neither of us were ever wanted; at most, they’ll give us a slap on the wrist and tell us to go home.”

“My mom will kill me!” Dustin laments one last time before being yanked out the door. Their bikes are parked just outside. Riding in Wayne’s truck, while faster, would require road stops. Bikes allow them to take backroads and avoid most stations.

Dustin didn’t realize it until the government came, but their little party was very adapted to improvise in disastrous situations. Basically, they got used to the apocalypse quick. Turns out, fighting monsters translates well to escaping soldiers. There was a time when Dustin would probably think that was cool. He’d feel like a character in a campaign, able to adapt to anything. Now, after losing so many people and losing so much time to stressing and fighting, Dustin realizes how much he hates it. He doesn’t want to be able to adapt. He wants to be able to live. He wants to be able to ride his bike at night in the streets without worrying about any demo-beings or soldiers wanting to interrogate him. He wants to go back to worrying about his Dig Dug score, not about whether he or his friends will make it to tomorrow. He can’t even remember the last time he’s been to the arcade, but he remembers how cold Steve felt when he found him all those months ago. He knows where every possible weapon is located in his house. He knows the location every gate in Hawkins has ever been. He knows how to shoot a gun. Not well, but he knows.

He knows how it feels to face death, and he knows how it feels to lose more than an arcade game.

“I hate this,” Dustin huffs instead of letting his thoughts wander too much, “My calves are burning.”  The path in the woods is clear but not perfect. It’s meant for actual hikers, after all, and their bikes were far from designed for rough terrain.

“Too bad,” Max pants quietly, “You’re the biggest nerd I know and Mr. Clarke’s favorite. It was either bring you or pretend I didn’t fall asleep in his class at least once a month,” Dustin rolls his eyes but continues pedaling.  It isn’t until they near the stretch of road near the radio station that they slow to a stop, hiding behind a thick layer of trees and bushes.

“Nancy Drew, come in Nancy Drew,” Dustin whispers into his walkie.

“Code names don’t work if a part of the code is our real name, asshole.” Nancy’s voice crackles through. Dustin winces and turns down the volume while Max snorts.

“Okay, well I’m sorry I’m the only one who thinks of code names. They can’t all be perfect!” he huffs and turns to Max with a sneer, and she merely shakes her head.

“Don’t look at me; I’m on Nance’s side.” Max shrugs, “My code name is Mad Max; you suck at this.” Dustin groans and throws his head up.

“Whatever, listen, Ruth,” Dustin shrugs when Max snorts, “the owl has landed in the branch. I repeat, the owl has landed. Ready to hoot.” Dustin waggles his eyebrows.

“Alright, whatever,” Nancy huffs, “just wait until my signal. Over and out.” Dustin turns off his walkie and leans against a nearby tree.

“No one appreciates thought out code names anymore.” Dustin complains.

“Yeah, and uh, what’s your codename again?” Max tilts her head while crouching on the ground.

“Dust Bunny,” Dustin shrugs like it’s obvious, and Max sighs through her nose.

“We’re toast.”

April 4^th, 1986 (Friday)

“Where is she?!” Max huffs, peaking over the tops of the bushes at the road, which has been untouched for nearly half an hour, “Did she even say what her signal would be?”

“No,” Dustin fiddles with the walkie, “she just said to wait.” He looks up, and Max opens her mouth until there’s a sudden, distance rumble. Dustin frowns and sits up to look over the bushes. The rumble increases in volume until the incoherent sound turns out to be music. No, it turns out to be Madonna blasting at full volume. And there, in her car, is Nancy driving down the street. She flashes her brights, and Dustin scrambles for the flashlight at his side to flash back. She flashes one more time before rolling down her windows, and the music gets that much louder. She honks her horns once or twice before speeding past them.

“Think they’ll notice?” Max asks. Just then, from the same direction Nancy came from, a group of dark trucks come speeding down the road. There are no sirens, but there are lights flashing and a man’s voice booming.

“PULL OVER!” They continue chasing after Nancy.

“She’s insane.” Dustin mutters once the trucks are out of view.

“She just saved our asses; let’s go.” Max grabs her bike and finally moves out of the woods. Dustin follows, and they bike towards the dirt path leading up to the station, which sits atop a hill.

“If Nancy gets arrested, do you think they’ll interrogate her again?” Dustin gasps, “What if she breaks?!”

“Okay, 1)” Max slows down to bike by Dustin’s side, “Nancy’s been through a lot worse than getting arrested. 2) She can pick locks; I doubt they’d be able to keep her,” Dustin rolls his eyes, “and 3) Nancy Wheeler doesn’t break. She does the breaking.”

“Jesus, obsessed much?”

“Please, as if you didn’t idolize Steve and Eddie for months.” She chuckles before her expression falters, “Sorry,” she adds as a last thought.

“It’s okay.” Dustin shakes his head before looking up. There’s a red, flashing light, “Look!” He points, and Max smiles.

“Hell yeah, finally!” she pedals faster.

“Wait for me!” Dustin trails after her until they reach a dirt road. They ride up to the concrete building with the large radio tower on top. The building is circular, like the column of a castle but without bricks. There’s a single car parked out front, and Dustin and Max hide their bikes in the bushes beside it before approaching the door.

“Wait!” Max grabs Dustin’s arms before the boy can knock against the orange-colored metal, “What if it’s not Mr. Clarke?”

“We’ll say we got lost.” Dustin shrugs.

“Lost, when curfew was supposed to be five hours ago?” Max raises a brow.

“Never said we were rule-following kids getting lost.” Dustin yanks his arm from her grasp and knocks on the door again. Max curses and looks around when the sound echoes into the night.

“Mr. Clarke, open up!” Dustin shouts.

“Oh my God, you have no survival skills!” Max snaps and shoves Dustin away from the door. Dustin turns to her. “Are you trying to get us caught?!” She snaps and slaps his shoulder.

“It’s late; what if he’s asleep?!” Dustin lowers his voice to a whisper, thank God, but Max’s expression stays twisted.

“Too late, what if he’s—did Jason’s fist actually give you brain damage?! He’s probably in the middle of the nightly news. Why don’t we sneak around and find a window?” Max waves a hand towards the back of a window.

“Sneak around? Then what?! Do we smash the glass?” Dustin snorts, “Yeah, sure, breaking and entering definitely wouldn’t get us caught!”

“No, but it would come out of the insurance.” Dustin and Max jump with twin yelps when Mr. Clarke’s voice interrupts their short argument. The kids look over, and the ex-teacher smiles. “Thought I heard your voice, Dustin.”

“Mr. Clarke!” Dustin rushes forward and wraps his arms around the man, “I haven’t seen you in forever!” he gushes once he pulls away.

“I could say the same thing to you, kid.” He frowns and puts his hands on his hips, “You too, Mayfield.” Max shows a thinly lipped smile, waves a hand, then elbows Dustin.

“Ow!” She tilts her head towards the teacher, “Oh, uh, right!” Dustin looks to Mr. Clarke, who speaks before the boy has the chance.

“What are you two kids doing breaking curfew? I’m guessing it’s not for help with chemistry homework.” Mr. Clarke looks around then steps back, opening the door wider, “Come on; it’s not safe to stay out in this chaos.” He steps aside letting max and Dustin in before closing the door, locking it behind them. Max frowns while Dustin takes a seat.

The inside of the radio station is nice. It’s a small building that looks kind of like a house or a cabin. There’s a living room type area with two small futons, a loveseat, a coffee table, and a tv. There’s a kitchen setup nearby with a small, four-seat table, a counter with three stools, a single stove, a small oven, a toaster, a microwave, a sink, and a fridge. There’s a small bathroom beside the kitchen and a door marked ‘Basement’. Down the hall there’s a door with a red light overtop of it and three other doors closed off. The carpet is red. The ceilings are high, and it looks nothing like a radio station.

“Nice digs,” Max compliments but stays standing, crossing her arms.

“Thanks,” Clarke looks around, “It used to be a lot different, but when the first earthquake happened everyone left. I took the liberty to kind of move in. Most of the furniture is mine.” Neither Dustin nor Max miss the way the man puts quotation marks around earthquake. They look at each other, and Max sits down beside Dustin before Clarke points to the fridge. “You two want anything? I have some milk and apple juice or water, if you’re interested.”

“No thanks.” Max responds, elbowing Dustin when he’s about to ask for some water. The boy curses and rubs his arm before responding in a similar manner.

“Right,” Clarke smiles and scratches the back of his neck. There are circles beneath his eyes. His t-shirt is ratty, as are his sweatpants, and Dustin realizes there may be more to the man than just running the station. “No, I suppose you guys aren’t here for that. Not for that or homework help or for me to call home, right?” Max eyes Dustin, who shrugs. The man drops both hands and moves to sit on the other couch. He rests his elbows on his thighs, “You’re here because that earthquake wasn’t an earthquake.” He looks up, “You’re here because of what the crevices and caverns led to.”

Dustin inhales sharply, and Max’s eyes widen, “You know, then?” Dustin nearly sighs in relief. The more Clarke knows, the less it would take to convince him to help them.

“I know earthquakes don’t lead to whatever hell dimensions I saw, and I know you kids and your friends have been in the news and on my radio show a lot more than any other teenagers.” He laughs and shakes his head before squinting, “Come on,” he stands, “I need to show you something.” The kids follow him down the hall to the basement door. There’s a metal, spiral staircase leading downstairs. The basement is unfinished, all concrete with another couch and some boxes. “I originally had this set up at home but brought it here after I realized not all the trucks were for earthquake relief.” He led them to a bookshelf that he carefully slid to the side to reveal a door. Dustin gasps and follows the man into the dark room that grows bright with the flick of a switch. Max approaches the table first, which shows a large metal device.

“I’ve been tracking the electromagnetic waves at Hawkins for a while. Initially, it was to see if those strange patterns from a few years back continued or were just flukes. Obviously, they continued on and off, but the week before the earthquake—during all those murders, the data went off the charts. Magnetic pulses coming in waves. There was one so strong stemming from right near the schools, even.” The table also shows a mini diorama of town. There’s a large, red flag pinned at the elementary school, where Eddie shattered all those windows after Fred was killed.

“Fred,” Max helpfully supplies, not thinking much of it before speaking, “right?” she turns to Dustin, who nods. Clarke looks between the two.

“Fred, that’s…” he frowns, “that’s the boy who was killed, yes?” He raises a finger and shuffles over to a chalkboard that has random equations and numbers scribbled on the surface. He spins it around to show a collection of newspaper clippings, photos, and printed wavelengths and data from his machine.  “The day before they found his body was the same day this large pulse went out.” There’s a picture of Fred, Patrick, and Chrissy all over the chalkboard. Dustin avoids the look of Eddie’s face on a newspaper clipping about the murders, and he avoids looking at Robin’s pictures to focus more on some about the Creel House.

“How did you know it was near the elementary school?” Max asks, looking at the other markings on the diorama that were less exact in locations.

“Well, I saw the damage,” Clarke answers, approaching the table once more, “I may not be a teacher anymore, but I still have friends who are. I went over to help them clean up and saw all that happened. I also saw the damage of a few other places; those are the red flags, where most of the damage occurred.” There’s also a spray-painted X spreading from the center of town, and on the points of each X is a flag labeled with the names of a victim. “Now, normally I wouldn’t tell you kids this, but I…” he huffs, “I know Lucas was mentioned on the suspect list along with Nancy, and I saw you in a picture with Eddie.” He points to Dustin, “I’m not much more than a teacher and now somewhat of a radio host, but I’d like to think myself as a bit of a scientist, and I hypothesize that you two are involved in whatever is going on, right?”

“Right,” Max says after a few moments of silence, having approached the board to where there’s a clipping of the Starcourt fire. She pulls off a picture of Billy from the paper and looks over at Clarke, “that’s why we’re here. We need your help.”

Mr. Clarke smiles and claps his hands, “Excellent!” He rushes over to where there are more chalkboards and flips them over to reveal smaller collages, “There are certainly gaps in my research, but whatever you need me to find out I can. I’m sure you two can help fill in the gaps. I assume Lucas and Mike can help too; maybe we can call Will. I’m not sure how well we can get field research with all those soldiers, but with you kids out there, we can surely be more discrete. I mean, who would suspect a bunch of kids…” he trails off after noticing Max and Dustin’s expressions, “What is it?”

“While I like where you’re going, Mr. Clarke, that isn’t entirely why we’re here.” Dustin winces, and Clarke frowns. “The ‘earthquake’—” he uses his fingers to make quotation marks, “-was just the tip of the iceberg.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know how people say Hawkins is… cursed?” Dustin tilts his head after Mr. Clarke nods, “Well, they’re not exactly wrong. There’s a lot more than just a few weird electromagnetic signals.”

***

“Wow.” Mr. Clarke and the kids had moved to the main area of the basement, where he collapsed on the couch to listen to the kids’ insane story. Dustin imagines it must sound insane. The only time he’s seen Mr. Clarke’s eyes be wider was whenever the man wore those hands-free magnifying glasses. Listening to their story made those eyes like two big saucers. “So, you’re saying…” the man chuckles and shakes his head, “Mike’s cousin was actually an experiment with—with powers!” he laughed in a crazed manner, “Billy Hargrove was possessed, Jim Hopper is alive, and Steve Harrington was a ghost—ghosts are real?!”

“I didn’t believe it at first either, sir.” Mr. Clarke raises a finger to disrupt Dustin’s response.

“And Eddie Munson, who was just accused of murder, is a—a psychic?” The man sits up straight, “Magic is real too?!”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that—”

“Yeah.” Max nods and, when Dustin sends her an affronted look, rolls her eyes, “The dude’s journal was full of spells. I read it while he was being held at the station.”

“You read his journal?!” Dustin snaps.

“Sorry if I wanted to help! Our local expert was in jail.” Max waves a hand.

“So, magic, ghosts, monsters, and superpowers are real?” Mr. Clarke interrupts Dustin before he has a chance to continue arguing with Max. Dustin nods, “And—and the earthquake wasn’t an earthquake; I was right about that?” Again, a nod, “So, all those years ago, when you asked about parallel dimensions; you were talking about this Upside Down? And Barb Holland and Will, they were taken by those demogorgans. A—and Bob Newby,” the man’s voice breaks, “Bob was killed by an adolescent form of these monsters?” Bob and Mr. Clarke were friends, Dustin learned after Bob’s death, when a certain scavenger hunt and snowstorm nearly got them all killed before Clarke saved the day. “Is that why Bob’s casket was closed?”

“Yeah,” Dustin nods, “yeah, he, uh, he died saving a few of our friends.” Clarke shakily exhales, and Dustin reaches into his bag to hand the man a tissue. Clarke wipes his eyes, and Max frowns before taking a step forward. She touches the man’s shoulder and sighs.

“Listen, there’s a reason we came here. All that we’ve talked about is the truth, but the government doesn’t know what we know. They think that El is behind the murders, the earthquakes, and the Upside Down. They won’t stop at nothing to get her. Hopper is a fugitive too, and if they get to him, they’ll get to Eleven. We need a place to hide and lay low, a place where it won’t be suspicious for the rest of us to come and go from.”

“We need your help,” Dustin sums up, “and we need the station.” Mr. Clarke gasps.

“Of course,” he nods, “of course, you kids can use it. I’d be more than happy to help. Besides,” he tilts his head, “it’s been hard running this place on my own. It’d be more than helpful to bring back the old club.” He looks up at the two kids, and Dustin beems.

“Then we won’t have to make up an excuse. We’ll work here for real, and we can use your fancy set up to do some research.”

“Research?” Max scowls.

“Yeah,” Dustin nods with an equally as judgmental look, “Steve’s body is still missing, and Will said he sensed Vecna. I know the gates are closed, but that doesn’t mean we’re safe.”

“Dustin’s right, Maxine,” Max scowls, “Sorry, Max.” Mr. Clarke corrects himself before heading back into his small research room, “I didn’t show you guys this because they were small, but since the gates, as you call them, closed the second time, there have been small, constant pulses of energy. Repetitive, like something knocking on a door. Soundwaves, energy waves, and magnetic pulses.”

“Are these all from today?” Dustin asks, looking at the sheet of paper with wavelengths etched across it.

“Today and yesterday,” Mr. Clarke nods, “I haven’t been able to find a source for them, though. Everything else has been a guestimate based on the strength of the wavelengths and any recent damage, like at the elementary school. These are hard to track. They’re constant across the whole of Hawkins. I’ve taken measurements here,” he walks to the diorama, “here, and here.” He points to the cemetery and near Lover’s Lake, “There aren’t many places to go and get proper readings, not without drawing suspicion.”

“We can help with that,” Dustin immediately offers.

“That’s what I was hoping for,” Mr. Clarke nods before checking his watch, “It’s getting late. You two better get to bed while I prepare a few sleeping areas. There’s an old bomb shelter beyond that door under the staircase, and I’ll make that Eleven’s room, and Jim can sleep on this futon or in one of the upstairs bedrooms. I imagine he’s less known about than the girl.” He walks over to a chest and pulls out a handful of blankets, “You kids get some sleep and let me know if you need anything. The bathrooms just there. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Wait, Mr. Clarke!” Dustin shouts after the man just as he reaches the staircase. He stops and looks back, “You know, if you do this; you’ll officially be committing treason, right? If we get caught, you’ll—” Mr. Clarke raises a hand.

“Science knows no bounds, Mr. Henderson.” Mr. Clarke tilts his head and smiles, “Have I taught you nothing?” He goes upstairs and shuts off the lights from a switch by the door, “Goodnight, kids!”

“Goodnight!” Dustin smiles before sitting on the floor, not even bothering dealing with Max’s wrath if he even attempted to take the couch.

“I can’t wait till all of this is over,” Max huffs while taking her spot on the couch.

“Me too,” Dustin sighs, “It’d be nice to not have to worry anymore.”

“No,” Max snorts, and Dustin looks her way, the shadow of her figure in the darkness, “I mean when this is over, I can finally stop surrounding myself with you dorks.” She laughs and bats at the pillow Dustin throws her way. “Night, nerd.”

“Goodnight, asshole!” Max’s sniggering laugh is the last thing Dustin hears before letting his head hit the pillow. There’s a hum of the machine in the other room to fill the otherwise silent night, and the scratch of new data against paper. Wavelengths, constant, never-ending wavelengths.

***

“Turn right up here,” Dustin points from the passenger seat of Wayne’s truck. Erica is sitting in Lucas’s lap between them, elbowing Lucas whenever he tries to hug her waist.

“You’re going to fall!” He snaps.

“I’d rather brain myself on the dashboard then get whatever nerd disease you have!” Erica elbows him once more until Wayne huffs.

“I will turn this truck around!”

“Couldn’t we have taken Eddie’s van?” Mike pipes up from the backseat. Turns out, speeding down the streets while blasting Madonna past curfew gets you a lot more than a slap on the wrist and being sent home. Nancy’s stuck at the station until tomorrow morning, which means everyone had to pile into Wayne’s truck.

“Don’t have his keys.” Wayne responds, “Y’all are welcome to help me look, but I haven’t been to the trailer in a while.” He trails off, and everyone glances amongst each other.

“I’ll help you look, Mr. Munson,” Dustin offers, “After we drop everyone off.”

“Thank you, boy.” Wayne smiles, and the vehicle falls into silence before Max, who is sitting in between Mike and Will, leans forward to hand Dustin something.

“What is this?”

“The key to my trailer. If you’re going to Forest Hills, stop by my place and get me the box labelled ‘STEVE’ and the box labelled ‘BOOKS’.” She raises a hand, “Don’t ask, just trust me, asshole.” Dustin scowls but agrees, pocketing the key before giving Wayne more directions.

“Argyle has a van too!” Mike pipes up again after Max falls back to her seat and accidentally elbows him in the ribs, “Couldn’t we have taken that!?”

“Yeah, a van with Surfer Boy’s Pizza on the side fit with a California area-code number!” Max throws up a hand, “Until Jon and Argyle finish painting that thing, it has to stay hidden or else everyone will suspect the Byers are back in town and that Argyle helped smuggle Eleven in. Which, oh yeah, he did!” Max turns to stick her finger in Mike’s face when the truck suddenly jumps.  

“Ow!” Eleven yelps when Wayne hits a root.

“Sorry kid!” He shouts, unsure if she can hear him. Hopper is hiding in the bed of the truck among some plywood and covered with a tarp, while Eleven is covered by a blanket beneath the kids feet, pressed as close as she can to the seat to look as natural as possible. The amount of people in the truck helps with appearance, but Wayne’s been driving extra careful. The man isn’t like Eddie in his style or personality, but they both drive like maniacs. It’s actually nice to not have to hold onto something the entire ride in his truck, for once.

Mr. Clarke is standing outside of the radio station and, to Dustin’s utter shock, smoking. He tosses the butt aside once Wayne’s truck comes into view. “Howdy!” He shouts, “Hey guys!” he greets his old students then holds out a hand for Wayne to shake, “You here to fix the fridge, right?” Dustin holds back a giggle at the use of codes, but he does smile.

“Yeah, we got the supplies in the back!” Dustin can’t help but wink, leaving Wayne confused while he runs to the truck to help Mike and Will lift up Eleven. Hopper, meanwhile, fully gets out of the trunk bed then helps them lift the girl up. “Am I the only one who cares about anonymity around here?!”

“We’re in the middle of nowhere, Dustin. Hopper’s fine! He’s already inside!” Sure enough, Dustin and Lucas were the only remaining people still standing about, minus Mike and Max, who were grabbing boxes and bags from the truck bed.

“A little help, assholes?!” Mike scowls, shoving a suitcase into Dustin’s hands.

“Ow,” Dustin huffs and nearly falls over, “what did they pack, the entire cabin?!”

“It’s not just them moving in.” Mike sighs and puts his hands on his hips. Dustin’s eyes widen before Max butts in.

“I woke up before you did and asked Clarke if Nancy and Mike could join since they have nowhere else to go. Then, I asked if we could bring the Winnebago up here to get some extra space. Then, I asked if Argyle could park his van out here—if we could turn it into an undercover van for the radio station after painting it. Then, I asked if the Byers could move in considering they’re not supposed to be in town. Then, Mr. Clarke offered to just be homebase for everyone.” She shrugs, “He said it’s fine.” Dustin stutters, “Oh, I also need a bit more from my trailer than what I initially said.”  

“No!” Dustin shakes his head, “No, are you guys insane?! You want to bring the stolen Winnebago to the radio station where we’re hiding fugitives, all the while we’re hiding from both the law and literal super villains?!”

“Now who doesn’t care about anonymity?” Lucas mutters in Mike’s ear.

“We’re not all going to be living here. We’re just keeping more stuff here than at Hopper’s cabin. There’s more room, it’s in better shape than the cabin, and the less stuff we hide the less suspicious it looks. It’s like hiding in plain sight. Plus, Murray’s been working on forging some documentation since Monday, so the Winnebago is going to be in his name.”

“We’re doomed.” Dustin throws his hands up.

“You’re a pessimist.” Max smacks the top of Dustin’s head, knocking off the baseball cap he’d taken from Wayne’s truck. “Have a little faith, dude.” She grabs Lucas’s hand and drags him over to the truck to help carry everything else in, including the plywood that, turns out, wasn’t just to hide Hopper but to put together some makeshift beds.

“Scientist to scientist,” Dustin starts, as he stands next to where Mr. Clarke is observing the chaos in the basement. Furniture being pushed against the walls, chalkboards being stripped of conspiracy webs just to build new ones, and blankets being ripped apart to create one large fort for all the kids, “do you actually think this is a good idea?” he winces when Erica drops a lightbulb, watches it shatter before Lucas suddenly runs forward with a broom and dustpan. Hopper picks Erica up and carries her towards the stairs and away from the glass.

“Scientist to scientist,” Mr. Clarke responds, frowning when Mike trips and knocks down the support beam that he had just set up for the fort’s tent. Will drops the tangled bunch of Christmas lights he was trying to untangle, “I don’t think anything we’re doing is a good idea.”

“Then why did you say yes?” Dustin asks, “Is just a little bit more information worth all this?”

“The research is just as confusing with all that you’ve told me as it was before,” Mr. Clarke responds truthfully, “but I’m not doing this only for the research, Dustin. The science is a small part of this.”

“Then why?”

“Science is not always good, Henderson.” The man sighs, “It can work towards the betterment of humanity, it can teach, and it can give, but it can also be cruel and greedy. It can be destructive. The atomic bomb behind every trip to the moon.” He nods his head towards where Eleven begins building the fort with a raised hand, a small trail of blood above her upturned lip, “That girl was a victim of the bad side of science, and the government out there is the bad part. The villain you’re fighting is another outcome of the bad part. If we can understand her, we can understand him. We can defeat him. If not, we’ll lose her, and we’ll lose it all. I will not let the dark side of science turn her into him, so I’ll keep her here. As for the rest,” he looks to Mike. The boy is setting up a small sleeping area for himself, bringing out an old teddy bear that Dustin swore the boy claimed to have thrown away last year, “you’re still kids. Scientists, soldiers, and superheroes, but kids, nonetheless. You deserve somewhere to feel safe. I’m a teacher; I’m supposed to be that safe space.”

“Thanks, Mr. Clarke.” Dustin’s voice is soft, and the man raises a hand.

“Just promise to name me in your Nobel prize speech, huh?” Dustin snorts and begins to deny the concept of that ever happening before a hand claps on his shoulder.

“Come on,” Wayne tilts his head, “we still need to go Forest Hills. We can get Eddie’s stuff—finally let you kids sort it out and get whatever Max needs.” He holds up a list, and Dustin groans.

“She said she just needed two boxes!” he snatches the list out of the man’s hands and flips the girl off. Max, with no context to the source of Dustin’s anger, smiles and sticks her tongue out at him.

“You know nothing of girls, Henderson.” Wayne messes with Dustin’s hair beneath his cap and laughs at Dustin’s sneer, “Come on, we want to be back before curfew.”

“Don’t forget Steve’s jacket; it’s on my bed!” Max shouts.

“I won’t!” Dustin calls back, looking down at the list and putting it in the same pocket as Max’s keys. The truck is parked in the same spot but a lot lighter without the entire party taking up any empty seat. Wayne gets in and turns on the radio. Some country song Dustin doesn’t know plays through.

“Mr. Munson?” Dustin asks as soon as they turn onto the main road and head towards the trailer park. Wayne hums in response. “Do you think…” he swallows, “You think Eddie is still out there like Steve is? We left his body behind, what if… what if Vecna got to him too?” To the old man, the question likely comes out of nowhere, but Dustin’s been thinking about it since the moment Hopper told them about Steve’s body going missing. If Steve was back, what if Eddie was too? He had plenty of opportunities to ask before, but they were going to the trailer now. They were going to see Eddie’s room and pick up his things like going through a gift shop at a museum, and all Dustin can think of is ‘what if?’. Dustin doesn’t know how superpowers and resurrection works, but what if Eddie’s there. Waiting in the Upside Down for someone to show up?

“I don’t think you want to know what I think.” Wayne responds, turning down the volume of the Dolly Parton song playing. At any other time, Dustin would tease the man for his taste.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I think my son’s very strong,” he sighs, “and nothing that strong is so easily defeated, but something that strong is very often stolen. Manipulated.” He slows to a stop at a red light, “Mankind turns the strongest forces into weapons; Vecna turns the strongest fears into reality.”

Dustin doesn’t respond, staring straight at the red light even as it flickers to green, and they don’t move. “It’s green.” He finally says.

“Eddie is good.” Wayne’s truck continues to move, turning down the road leading to Forest Hills, “Vecna is not, and he’d do everything it takes to turn something that good and strong into something evil.” Another turn, and the gravel in the trailer park crunches beneath the truck’s tires. “So, for my son’s sake and for ours, I hope, and I pray he’s not out there. He deserves his happy ending. Steve does too, so I hope they’re both gone for good. Safe and anywhere but here—but the land of the living. He can do what he wants with their bodies; leave the boys where they are.” He shuts off the truck and stares at the trailer. “I haven’t been here since the day I picked up those letters and the things I gave you. I’ve been staying at the shelter or in my truck instead.” It’s more so thinking out loud than a statement in wait of a response. The man unbuckles his seatbelt without another word but stops when Dustin grabs his arm.

“So, if Eddie is taken over, then? If his and Steve’s body is out there like a puppet?” Dustin can’t help but pressing for some answers. Simultaneously too smart and too scared for his own good, sometimes. Thinking of every possible outcome just to focus on the worst. Maybe he is pessimistic.

“Then it’s just another monster we’ll have to fight, ain’t it?” The man’s tone is strong, almost humorous, but his voice wavers and his hands shake beneath Dustin’s grasp. “Now, come on,” he tilts his head, “can’t keep the others waiting.” He opens the door and steps outside. Dustin watches him wipe his eyes quickly then head to the door.

Dustin huffs and gets out of the truck before slamming the door shut behind him. He watches Wayne fiddling with the lock before whispering beneath his breath, “Eddie, you better not be in here.” And he means that in every sense of the word. It was cool for a week, but Dustin can say it now with utmost certainty that he is done with ghosts. He is done with the world of magic and spells. He’s done with the universe playing with his grief like it’s nothing but a ragdoll.

And he’s definitely done with friends coming back from the dead.

Chapter Text

April 3^rd, 1986 (Thursday)

“What are these symbols?” Steve asks, tracing one of the newly painted sigils on the wooden boards blocking the windows. He’d been wanting to ask since he woke up from his short coma, but Eddie’s been a bit low energy. Apparently, while Steve was asleep, Eddie refused to do so, sleeping in short increments. He was paranoid that Steve would die while he was in his coma and, while Eddie wanted nothing more than for Steve to still be in the peaceful afterlife he found, he also didn’t want to be alone. More than that, he didn’t want Steve to die alone, not again.

So, to catch up, Eddie is sleeping in much more than he usually does, taking time to gain whatever energy he lost while staying up. All the while Eddie was in his own, temporary coma, Steve took the time to clean, organize their food supplies, board up the windows more securely, and, as of this morning, make breakfast (canned fruit cocktails). He’d also been trying and failing to find Eddie’s journal. He’s not proud of snooping, but Eddie’s powers can only go so far. If there’s anything in that journal that could help Eddie keep the Flayer down, Steve vows to find it.

In any case, Eddie finally wakes up and stays up for longer than two hours. He spends an hour and a half using small bottles of paint to freshen up sigils and create new ones on wherever Steve accidentally covered some up in his attempt to better block the glass windows. Now finished, Eddie grabs his can of fruit cocktail and a spoon and walks over to where Steve is standing by the windows. His eyes are still shadowed, he’s still exhausted, but he’s awake. “Protection,” he responds while wrapping his arms around Steve’s waist and resting his head on the man’s shoulder, “not the most ideal protection, but the strongest I can manage. Each sigil blocks negative energy and psychic energy. The Flayer would have to nuke this place to get through it, which, considering its state, that won’t be happening any time soon.”

 “How is it not ideal?” Steve asks, turning around in Eddie’s arms so that they’re chest to chest. “Protection from a nuke sounds pretty good to me.”  

“Yeah, the protection against negative energy works against all the evil stuff. Keeps the mind flayer from entering or exiting without me—” he covers Steve’s mouth when the man begins to speak, “As exhausting as it is, it’s safer with him trapped. If he gains control while I’m in here, he’s trapped. He also can’t go after you if, in the future, I’m busy hunting for supplies and he decides to leave my body without me noticing. He also can’t go after our friends when I’m asleep.”

“Okay,” Steve frowns, “and the psychic blocks?”

“Same idea in keeping the Flayer stuck, and it keeps anyone from spying. Though, it keeps me locked in too…” he bites his lip, “Basically, it makes it impossible for me to contact Eleven or for her to find us. Meaning, come an emergency, I wouldn’t be able to contact any of them. Not that I want to; I don’t need our friends coming in here guns blazing, which, trust me, they want to do. I wasn’t exactly careful when grave robbing.” Steve steps back.

“They know I’m alive?”

“They know your corpse is missing. I don’t think they’re too optimistic on you being alive, though.” Eddie’s jaw clenches, “We’re alone down here.” He tilts his head, face twisting slightly, as he blinks away tears. “It’s better that way.” He nods, though his tone doesn’t agree, “The Flayer can’t open gates, and with Vecna, uh, gone… we’re trapped here, but Hawkins is safe.” He huffs a bitter laugh, shaking his head again. “For now, at least.” He tries to avoid Steve’s curious gaze, but the man suddenly nods in understanding.

“For now… okay, then what’s the plan?” Steve asks.

Eddie frowns, “What plan?”

“The plan…” Steve laughs, “The plan to defeat the Flayer. If none of this is ideal, if it’s all temporary, then surely, we’ll need to fight him, right? Better nip it in the bud sooner than later, right?”

“Steve,” Eddie stares down at his can of fruit, “no, you’re misunderstanding…” he shakes his head, “No, I—I told you; I can’t fight the Flayer. The safest thing to do is keep him locked away.” Eddie reiterates then waves a hand, “Final decision.”

“Final…?” Steve opens and closes his mouth, looks down at his own breakfast, scoffs, then slams the metal can onto the coffee table. “Bullshit!”

“What?”

“Bullshit, what do you mean final decision?!” Steve stands, “Vecna’s dead! If the Mind Flayer is the only thing between us and getting out of here, why wouldn’t we try and defeat it?”

“It’s not as easy as you think, Steve.” Eddie ignores the way his throat feels sick. Vecna’s dead. He wishes. “The Flayer has no physical body. It can’t die. Defeating it isn’t like lighting some fireworks; it’s destroying pure energy, which, in case you didn’t take physics, is impossible.”

“Well…” Steve looks around, as if looking for the very straws he’s trying to grasp, “What about your absorption power?!” his eyes widen along with his smile. It’s a beautiful, hopeful sight. One that Eddie is forced to squander.

“He’s too strong…” he insists lowly, smiling slightly, “I know you want to be the hero, but we’re going to have to simply wait it out.”

“Wait it out?” Steve huffs, “Wait it out? You mean wait for it to kill us, right?!” Eddie avoids his gaze, and before he can stop him, Steve grabs his fruit cocktail and storms off to their bedroom, slamming the door behind him. Eddie doesn’t blame him, Steve’s smart. Waiting it out can only mean two outlooks: win or lose. Either Eddie drains his energy, and the Flayer takes him back over, or it gives up.

Eddie’s not too optimistic in the latter.

**

Steve becomes bent on giving Eddie the silent treatment for the rest of the morning and well into the afternoon. At least, that’s what Eddie assumes by how long it feels. His watch broke weeks ago, and it’s impossible to tell time down here. In any case, Steve keeps himself held up in the bedroom, coming out once for the bathroom. They can’t bathe, but the man does change his clothes, wearing an old flannel of Wayne’s and a pair of jeans that are just on the side of too tight. Each glimpse of them drives Eddie just a little bit insane, but he doesn’t push for anything. Steve deserves his space, and as long as he’s safe then Eddie’s happy.

“We need to make a plan to ration food.” It’s the first thing Steve says in hours, as he looks through their collection of canned foods for a possible dinner. “If we’re going to stay here, we might as well do our best to survive.”

“I can go out and scavenge.”

“I know, but we’re very limited. This food isn’t exactly healthy.”

“I made a casserole your first day back.” Eddie points out.

“Yes, and the leftovers are already going bad,” Steve opens the fridge and winces at the empty interior, “You can’t make this work?”

“The fridge would have to be on all day and night; I can’t extend the energy.” He stands and checks the leftovers Steve is referring to. “We’ll eat the rest of this now then skip breakfast in the morning; it’s large enough portions to last that long.” He pokes at the mold growing on the side of the metal pan and frowns, “No more cooking things, though.”

“No shit…” Steve mutters.

“You’re still mad at me then?” Eddie leans against the counter, looking at Steve, who stares down and pokes at a macaroni noodle from the pan before searching for some plates.

“I’m not mad at you; I’m just mad.” He opens a cabinet and brings out plates and grabs forks, “I don’t like feeling trapped, and I…” he pauses, “I miss the kids.” He continues, grabbing a large spoon to serve the rest of the leftovers between them. It’s a macaroni casserole, which is basically mac and cheese without the cheese and with canned vegetables instead. It tastes bad, and there are no spices down here, but it’s food. “I don’t like them worrying about me.”

“I know.” Eddie takes his plate and sticks it in the microwave. Steve places his own plate on top of Eddie’s before the psychic raises a single hand and brings the device to life. His eyes flash red, as the plates begin to spin. “That’s why you need to stay inside. The less El sees, the less they know, the better.” He speaks breathlessly after the food finishes heating up, tired from the strain. He leans both hands against the counter, collecting himself with deep breaths. He attempts to absorb distant lightning strikes, finds it hard to do so with so many sigils blocking the outside world, but he absorbs a small amount just to grab Steve’s arm. Steve grabs him back, and Eddie feels the energy between them and sighs in relief, feeling better just by touching the powerplant beside him. Steve, meanwhile, frowns. “Are you alright?”

“Fine…” Eddie nods before chuckling, “Good thing nothing else has to be heated, right?” he’s referring to the canned foods, of course. Steve doesn’t look relieved and frowns deeper.

“Okay… Why are you the one going out to scavenge in all these hypotheticals? You can barely heat up some food without nearly passing out. How are you going to fight?” He thinks back to what Eddie had breathlessly muttered while heating up the food, “Would it really be so bad for Eleven to see me?” Eddie knows Steve well enough to know the man is anxious. He thinks far into the future, talking about hypotheticals even if neither of them has gone out to scavenge yet, willing to wait until their resources dwindle low enough to rationalize the risk. “I can fight, Eddie. I might be weaker, skinnier,” he looks down at his arms, still scrawny from months of decomposing, “but I can still fight off some bats. We have lighters, and we have weapons.” They don’t have many weapons, of course. They have a bat, an Upside Down version of Wayne’s shotgun, and a few rusted pipes from nearby trailers. “We can get more from the police station.”

Eddie hasn’t strayed beyond Forest Hills since finding out One is still alive. Vecna is too weak to move, and Eddie would rather not get any closer, even if the villain is on the complete other side of town. It’s also one of the many reasons why he doesn’t want Steve leaving the trailer. Steve is Eddie’s strength, but he’s also Eddie’s weakness. Vecna knows it. The second Steve leaves is the second Vecna goes after him—the second he goes after Eddie.  Then, there’s the issues of the demo-animals. Sure, Steve could handle one or two bats, but there are still dogs and demogorgons to worry about. That and, “It’s not just the monsters we need to worry about, Steve.”

“Well, if the Flayer gets out, I can—”

“It’s not just the Flayer either…” Eddie interrupts, grabbing their plates form the microwaves and leading Steve to the small kitchen table, “Eleven’s strong, Steve. If she catches wind that you’re down here alive and well, then she’ll do everything in her power to get you out, and I can’t risk the Flayer getting out in the process. I can’t risk you, and I can’t risk Hawkins. You’re staying inside.”

“Don’t you think Eleven would look for you too?”

“Eleven doesn’t know I’m alive.” Eddie stabs his fork into the lukewarm meal, “She wouldn’t look for me, and if she did, I can at least talk to her. If she sees you, you wouldn’t be able to warn her at all.” He shrugs, “You guys are all alike; you want to be heroes. But sometimes people can’t be saved.”

“We can’t be saved, you mean.” Eddie doesn’t respond and turns to his food. Steve’s face twists, “You’re a fucking coward, Munson.” Eddie flinches twice. Once when Steve suddenly stands and carries his dinner to the bedroom, and twice when Steve slams the bedroom door. Eddie sighs.

Who knew life after death would be so stressful?

April 4^th, 1986 (Friday)

“Are you still mad at me?” Eddie asks for what has to be the thirtieth time today.

“I’m not mad at you—”

“You’ve been avoiding me all day.”

“Maybe you smell bad.” Steve crosses his arms like a child. He’s sitting on the floor next to one of their many candles. They don’t light many, wanting to preserve the wax, so it’s the only real light source in the room. It allows Steve to read his book, which he refuses to tell Eddie the title of, going as far as to rest the book against his eyes.

“We both smell bad; we were corpses a week ago and haven’t used deodorant or taken a shower since before dying.” Eddie huffs and crosses his own arms. In the outside world, being an empath isn’t too bad once you’ve grown used to it. It’s dealing with practically every emotion at once but eventually learning how focus only on your own. Being stuck with one person—his soulmate, for that matter—it gets difficult to differentiate between Steve’s emotions and his own. Basically, they’re both pretty pissed off. They’re both tired. And they both are really, really desperate.

Eddie felt it from the moment Steve came back. Hell, it’s the very desire for Steve that he believes caught the Flayer off guard in the first place. Sure, their soul connection gave Eddie the power to overcome the being, but the natural reaction of his own body was something the Flayer had never felt before. Some kind of Pavlovian reaction that made his gut stir with lust. Lust and love: he’d forever feel both for Steve. Steve could feel it too; Eddie could tell by his lingering eyes and growing frustration. The man hadn’t had physical release in nearly a year, after all. The band between them grows tauter, and Eddie anticipates it snapping soon.

Until then, they’ll continue being assholes towards one another.

“If you aren’t mad at me, then will you do me the privilege of explaining your frustrations. Your aura is like fog; I can’t help but breathe it in.” Steve looks up and frowns. Eddie rolls his eyes and sighs, “Your anger is rubbing off on me.”

“I thought you liked me rubbing off on you.” Eddie was certain he wasn’t supposed to hear that, but a silent room does nothing but amplify every sound. “I’m angry because you’re not even trying.” He confessed louder.

“What?”

“I know I called you a coward, and I’m sorry for doing so, but you’re not exactly being brave, either.” Steve sets his book down, The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. Must be from Wayne’s collection; Steve slept in his room last night instead of Eddie’s. “I know you’re constantly fighting back the Flayer, and that can’t be easy. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how exhausted you’ve been, but you’re only delaying the inevitable by waiting. Sooner or later, the Flayer is going to win you over, and unless you at least try and find a way to defeat it, then we’ll never win. Then our friends will be in danger.”

“It’s impossible—”

“I’ve never known you not to try, Eds.” Steve picked up his book again, “I’m doing the work—don’t think I haven’t scoured this place for your journal,” Eddie frowns, “but I don’t have powers. I can’t do this alone.” Steve’s eyes are pleading, but Eddie doesn’t know how to answer in a way that will comfort him. Instead, he sighs.

“The journal’s not here.” He chooses, picking the lie from the air as easily as one would pick grapes from a vine. “I forgot it at school on this day. I remember because when Will went missing, I felt an energy shock so strong that I broke one of Wayne’s mugs.” He looks at the wall of mugs behind him then scoffs, “I got it back later and scoured it for an answer. Made an entry when I couldn’t find any, but grandma didn’t know about the Upside Down, so it’s not like it would be help then. It probably wouldn’t be any help now.”

Steve curses and lets his head thud against the wall behind him. The candle next to him flickers with the small brush of wind. “There has to be something.” Steve looks up at the ceiling, as if it held all the answers. Eddie would help brainstorm, but the sight is too much to not behold. Steve’s stretched neck glows orange in the candlelight. His Adam’s apple bobs with a swallow. His eyelashes cast shadows down his cheeks, and his hair falls back while looking up. Eddie clenches a fist then considers something that is likely farfetched but something that could help them. It’s more of a selfish want, but, hey, if there’s a chance it would work…

It doesn’t hurt to try, right?

“I have an idea.” Eddie keeps his eyes glued to Steve’s throat until the man lowers his head to look at the psychic across from him. Steve’s eyes shine with anticipation, as he prompts Eddie to continue. “We could have sex.”

The immediate response is a coughing fit caused by Steve choking on some spit. He bends forward and coughs out a strangled, “What?”

“We could have sex,” Eddie reiterates, “I’m at a loss of energy, right? I need to conserve it, but I won’t have to conserve as much if I find a way to gain it without feeding the Mind Flayer at all. Well, the Flayer can’t feed on any power you give me because we’re connected on a soul level. Sex between soulmates creates a type of power surge similar to the normal surge I get from just being around you, but it’s a larger amount at a single time due to the high emotions. When you were a ghost, it didn’t work as well because sexual energy sources require a physical body to feed from. Otherwise, trust me, we would’ve literally made the bed break.” Eddie’s cheeks burn at the thought, and Steve looks just as red even beyond the orange hue of the candles’ flames. “There’s a chance that, if we have sex, I could get a power boost. It’s like getting a healing potion; it could help me keep the Flayer at bay and use my powers for more useful things.”

The look Steve gives Eddie is wide eyed, almost concerned. Eddie chuckles sheepishly, and Steve finally breaks eye contact to hum. “Okay, as much as I love you… are you seriously saying that, to gain power, we need to fuck?”

“Yes?” Eddie asks. Steve looks from him to the ground, and that concerned expression stays until it twists into a full grimace.

“Yeah, I’m…” he grabs his book and candle and stands. Eddie stands too, but Steve holds out a hand, “I’m going to go finish this in Wayne’s room.” He smiles, and Eddie tries not to appear as disappointed as he feels. It was a longshot, and he knows a hellscape is far from the ideal setting to set the mood, but, hey, he’s only human. A human who can’t help but watch Steve’s ass when he walks away.

“You’re an idiot, Eddie Munson.” Eddie huffs and collapses back to the couch to put his head in his hands. He sits back up with a sigh and stands to grab his own book, deciding it’s better to do something besides waiting for the right time to apologize to his soulmate. He scours his bookshelf for something to reread. He stole a bunch of books from the library (before Vecna made himself known again) while setting up their little home base, but he fears he’s too antsy to commit to something new. Something that would require an attention span longer than a few minutes. His fingers tap the spine of The Shining when he hears a soft knock. The door to his bedroom opens, and Steve stands at the doorway.

“Do you really thing that having sex will help?” Steve asks, playing with the hem of his loose sweatshirt. “Like, no bullshit?”

“I’d never—” Eddie almost says, ‘I’d never bullshit you’, but that isn’t true, “—bullshit about this kind of thing, Steve. As much as I love you, a hellscape is far from the most ideal place to fuck. I don’t even know if it will work, but you helped get rid of the Mind Flayer, so I think you are my best chance in gaining some power.” Eddie sits on the bed and looks up at Steve, who approaches slowly, like Eddie might spook at any moment.

“Okay…” Steve nods, looking down at his hands, “so, how do we do this?”

“Is Steve ‘the slut’ Harrington actually asking me how to have sex?” Steve drops his hands and blanches, letting go of his nerves just to glare, “You’ve had sex before!”

“Not with you!” Steve rushes, “Not while alive,” he reiterates. His hands are shaking, “What if… what if the magic, or whatever, doesn’t work? What if it’s not as good? I’m—I’m human now, I get tired.” He rubs one arm and looks down. Eddie can’t help but let out a short laugh.

“Is that why you were saying no?”

“I said no because I thought you were being an asshole.” Despite the strength in his tone, Steve stays staring at the ground, and Eddie reaches for his fidgeting hand.

“Steve, I don’t care what you look like or—or how tired you get. Sex with you is good because it’s you. Everything else is just semantics.” He releases Steve’s hands and trails it down his arm until he touches the man’s waist. He doesn’t waste time to reach beneath Steve’s flannel, feeling goosebumps rise on Steve’s warm skin.

Warm. Steve is so warm. So alive. It makes Eddie smile.

“We don’t have to do this now.” Eddie says when Steve tenses beneath his wandering hands, even if they don’t move past his ribs or below the top of his jeans.

“I want to.” Steve nods and leans forward. His lips ghost past Eddie’s, no pun intended, and it’s just as they press firmly together that something strikes between them. Like a match being lit, the warmth grows tenfold. There’s something beyond a strike. Something beyond a static charge. Eddie presses deeper, trying to trace whatever he feels within Steve. It goes beyond the man’s mouth too. Eddie’s tongue presses inside, making Steve moan, but Eddie is no closer to finding what he feels. No closer to finding something like starlight inside Steve’s chest. Something sharp, strong, and knee-shaking deep in his soul.

“Remind me to kiss you more often.” Steve smiles when Eddie finally pulls away. Steve is flushed and out of breath, and Eddie has never felt more energized. Whatever spark is inside of Steve has spread to him, yet Steve has done everything but dim. If anything, he’s brighter. His aura is not it’s normal blue or orange; it’s white and gold. It’s like Steve is a star or a flame flickering in the night. It doesn’t make sense. Steve was never like this before. His aura was never so bright, not while alive. Even as a ghost, Steve never looked like this. His power was not so immense. Simply touching the man was a powerplant, but in kissing Steve, something has shifted in the both of them. Eddie accidentally unlocked something. He doesn’t know what. All he does know is that Steve is no longer a power plant.

He is the sun.

“I—” before Eddie can speak, he feels something in the distance. A voice. Steve must hear it too. He steps out of Eddie’s space and glances towards the open bedroom door. Steve’s aura fades away from gold but stays white along the edges of blue. Something unlocked forever, Eddie supposes. Though, he doesn’t focus on that. Instead, he feels the rush of power in his veins, as his eyes turn red.

Eddie’s first instinct is to fight, assuming the Flayer somehow escaped, or Vecna somehow snuck up on them, but the voice gets louder—more recognizable, and Eddie’s breath hitches.

He abandons h storms back to the living room. Steve follows: his expression displays equal shock and hope. Sure enough, there are two outlines of people in Eddie’s living room. Dustin and Wayne talk while they walk around the room. Eddie flinches when Dustin walks his way, raises his hands to avoid possibly touching him and absorbing his soul like he did with that cop, but the boy merely sits down at the kitchen table. He looks over to Steve, who frowns. “Is that Dustin?”

“Yeah, I…” Eddie lowers his hands and looks back over at the boy’s bright, orange aura and his uncle’s light blue one, “I can see him. Wayne’s here too.”

“Coffee?” Wayne’s voice is muffled, like Steve and Eddie are trying to listen through a wall.

“I’m not allowed to drink coffee.” Steve snorts at Dustin’s response and fully laughs when Wayne offers up one of the juice boxes left from the stock Eddie bought for Erica. “Seriously?”

“You said no to coffee.” Wayne points out.

“I would kill for some coffee.” Steve sighs. Eddie shushes him, which makes Steve blanch. “They can’t hear me,” Steve reminds him. Eddie is about to say an equally bitchy remark but stops, looking up at the kitchen light. Around it are little orbs of light—of energy. They swirl around as soon as Wayne switches on the power, and they hum lightly. Steve looks up at the mass of lights like glitter and looks to Eddie, who shrugs.

There is a lot of energy in the Upside Down. This is not the first time Eddie’s seen this kind of energy. He had assumed he was the only one who could see it the first time he was down here, as no one spared a glance at the lamp glittering in gold in the Wheeler’s living room. Now, he knows for certain that this energy is far from invisible to a “normal” person’s eye. A unique trait compared to the other sources of energy, like the vines, the strikes of lightning, the many creatures, the mind flayer, and, of course, Vecna, who occasionally gives off waves of light like a beating heart.  It’s then that Eddie realizes that this energy isn’t from the Upside Down but from the electricity humming in the other world.

“What is that?” Steve asks.

“It’s energy. The electricity from the overheads; Wayne turned the lights on.” Steve hesitates and stays back, while Eddie curiously reaches out with a single hand. The closer he gets to the center of the glittering light, the more his hand tingles. He touches it, smacking his hand against the lightbulb in the process, and there’s a flash, then nothing.

“God dammit!” Eddie jumps out of the way when Wayne runs towards them, “What the hell was that?!” The bright outline of Wayne’s head moves up and down, between the ceiling and the floor. Eddie looks up and sees no remains of that glittering light, but he feels the tingles in his hand. There it is. The electricity from the otherworld in the palm of his hand. He looks over to the other source of light in the room—the lamp in the living room and scoffs. How could he not notice before? There’s light there too. Not as strong as when the overheads were turned on but light, nonetheless. It’s as he chalks that in his mind for a backup source of energy—a pick-me-up if he ever needed, that Steve gasps.

“Will communicated with lights!” Eddie hears Wayne faintly warn Dustin of broken glass, but all his attention has turned to Steve. “When he was stuck in the Upside Down, Joyce strung up Christmas lights and painted letters on the wall; he communicated through those.” Steve points up to the light, “We can communicate!”

“No, we can’t.” Steve ignores Eddie and begins roaming around the small trailer, likely looking for other light sources. “Steve!” Wayne’s aura’s outline moves to dig around in the broom closet, and there’s a click of a switch. The next thing Eddie knows he’s nearly slamming Steve into the wall before the man can touch the orbs around the light.

“Eddie,” Steve shoves the man away, and Wayne luckily turns the light off. There are a few lingering glitters that disappear after a few minutes, “what the fuck?!”  

“We can’t let them know we’re here.” Eddie releases his hold on Steve’s wrist.

“Why the hell not?” Eddie blanches, and Steve scoffs, “Yes, yes, I know. Guns blazing and risking their lives and mind flayers, oh my! So what? If we tell them we’re here now, then they at least know what they’re up against. They know it’s the flayer and not Vecna, and they know about you and me being alive. They can come here and get the Flayer out of you, and Eleven can get rid of it for good. I know you can’t defeat it on your own, but with the both of you, it doesn’t have the chance!” Steve is smiling, and Eddie feels like throwing up. Throwing up from lying. Throwing up from Dustin’s worried tone, as he theorizes out loud about what could’ve really broken that lightbulb. Throwing up because, deep in his mind, there’s a deep voice saying, “You could never win.”

“It’s too dangerous!”

“Oh my God!” Steve throws his hands up, laughing at what he views as ridiculous, “You’re impossible!” he brings his hands down and moves them as he speaks, “You are so fucking powerful, Eddie! Vecna wanted you for a reason, and you proved him wrong. You corrected whatever made him think he could control you, and you defeated the Mind Flayer. Yes, it’s still here, and yes, it’s a bitch to deal with, but you’ve defeated him before. You can do it again!”

“I defeated it because it made mistakes; it’s not going to do that twice.” Eddie speaks through gritted teeth. He feels a throbbing in the back of his mind. The Flayer knows he’s stressed. The Flayer wants to be freed. “The longer it stays inside of me, the more it learns about me and my powers.” He doesn’t say too much. He doesn’t say the truth. He doesn’t think—he hopes that the Flayer can’t actually read his thoughts. Eddie can’t read the monster’s thoughts, and it seemed all the Flayer learned of Eddie’s powers came naturally, like instincts. All the thoughts it read about Eddie’s cruel imaginations were likely brought out by Vecna. The Mind Flayer isn’t learning beyond what it’s viewing through Eddie’s eyes, but Vecna could learn. Vecna could find him. As long as the Flayer stayed locked away, then Vecna can’t get to them. He’s too weak to open portals, but he’s not so weak as to not be a threat.

“We can still warn them.” Steve insists, “Do messages—morse code—the lights in the Byers house. Something to just let them know. Let them know we’re okay, and we’re not puppets, and we’re still good.” The man wrings his hands together, breath quickening, “We can’t let them keep thinking we’re evil or cruel. We can warn them not to come guns blazing; we can tell them the Flayer’s still here; we can tell them we’re okay!”

Eddie realizes then that Steve may not actually care about the Flayer as much as he appears. He doesn’t mind waiting. He just wants to make sure his friends are okay.

Of course, he does. Steve’s never been one to care about his well-being, as if it wasn’t made evident by the circumstances of his death. He cares about Eddie, but he knows Eddie is alive. He can keep an eye on Eddie; he can make sure the man is okay. He can’t do that with the kids. There hasn’t been a second where they weren’t in the back of his mind. Always thinking about how they are, how Robin is, and how El is. Hawkins was destroyed with the gates, as Eddie explained; Steve just wants to make sure they’re okay. Even if they are physically fine, he can’t stand the thought of them worrying. Those kids have gone through enough stress and trauma to last a lifetime; they don’t need worrying about zombies and ghosts on top of it all.

Steve keeps silent when Eddie doesn’t respond, and he moves to lean against the wall, listening in on Wayne and Dustin’s conversation. They missed some of it due to their brief arguing, but Wayne cleaning the glass kept the details missed minimal.

“—saying is that we should get more means to protect ourselves. We need more than just some bats and axes.” Wayne sits across from Dustin, sliding what Steve assumes is a drink. “I’m friends with Powell, I bet I could get an in. I still…” he huffs and lowers his voice. Steve has to walk forward to hear them better, “I still have my shotgun. They didn’t take it; I hid it well. That Wheeler girl probably has her guns too, I reckon.” Steve huffs a small laugh, knowing damn well Nancy would sooner give up an arm than one of her guns.

“We need an arsenal,” Dustin agrees, sighing. Steve can imagine him slumped in his seat, slightly jealous that Eddie can see him when he can’t, “we could go to school.” He suddenly suggests, sitting up slightly.

“What? Are we going to throw protractors at some demo-whatevers?” Steve looks over at Eddie.

“I see where you get your humor from.” Eddie rolls his eyes and shushes him, making Steve snort.

“—archery team. I bet there are some bows locked in the gym. We’ll pretend to be volunteering, Nancy can pick some locks, and we’ll get the bows and arrows. We’d probably find some more bats, golf clubs, and some other weapons too.”

“Yeah, and we’d have to do it under the noses of about thirty guards.” There’s a scraping noise like a chair, “In any case, we don’t got time to talk about it all now. You look for Eddie’s keys, and I’ll take the rest of his boxes to the truck. I’ll take the truck back to the station, then you’ll stay behind and get the things from Max’s place.” There are sounds of footsteps, and Eddie dodges what Steve can only assume is one of their friends on the other side.

“Wait, Mr. Munson!” Dustin calls, and Eddie presses himself against the wall one more time. Steve frowns and tells the man to stay in the living room before following the voices.

“—can’t drive!” Dustin says as soon as Steve enters the room.

“What?”

“I’m fourteen!” Steve can’t help but laugh, as Dustin huffs, “Didn’t Eddie tell you I’m a freshman?”

“He said one of you is fifteen—has their learner’s permit.”

“That’s Lucas; his birthday is in September, and he still has to drive with an adult in the car! Uh, and Max has a learner’s permit too, but, uh…” He trails off, “trust me, you shouldn’t let her behind a wheel.” Eddie looks at Steve, who shakes his head.

“Later.”

“So, you’re telling me, you, knowing damn well we were coming here for Eddie’s keys, didn’t think to ask someone who could drive to tag along?” Eddie inches closer and snorts. Wayne’s angry tone has never been angry. Instead, it’s a quiet, steady tone. He talks about everything like he talks about the weather. He still cries. He still laughs. He still gets mad, but he never raises his voice. Eddie always liked that about him.

“Hey, I’m the kid out of the two of us. If anything, you’re the one who should’ve had enough forethought to realize, oh, hey, we need two people who can drive!” Dustin’s tone is the antithesis of Wayne’s. He’s always been dramatic, like Eddie. He shouts and waves his hands, while cursing and insulting whoever he can. It’s like watching a chihuahua get mad. It’s funny, but it can also be terrifying given the correct circumstances. Eddie wouldn’t want to be targeted by a chihuahua and their needle-like teeth, and he wouldn’t want to be on the other end of Dustin’s rage.  

“Dustin really needs to get his ego in check,” Steve mutters.

“It’s his tone, right?” Steve nods in agreement before Wayne huffs.

“You still got that radio with you? We’ll probably have to call Mr. Clarke so he can bring his car and someone who can actually drive.” Dustin mutters something that Steve and Eddie can’t hear through the barrier, “If Nancy is still in jail, then Clarke can bring Max. Eddie’s van is already banged up, there won’t be a difference.”

“Ouch.” Eddie comments but also wonders what Wheeler’s in jail for.

“I don’t have my radio; you’ll have to call. And they probably already let Nancy out; she’s good at talking her way out of things.” Eddie watches as Dustin goes to sit at the table, and Wayne walks over to the phone.

“How much do you want to bet Nancy got caught picking a lock?” Steve asks.

“I was thinking she probably punched one of the soldiers.” Eddie laughed, stopping in the middle of an exhale at the sudden rush in the air. A shudder runs down his spine, “Hey, do you feel that—”

“Eddie?” Wayne’s voice interrupts him, and it sounds much clearer. For a moment, Eddie fears he may have somehow opened a gate. Instead, he sees Wayne holding the phone up to his ear.

“Can he hear—” Eddie throws a hand over Steve’s mouth.

“Eddie, is that you?” Wayne asks again.

“What?” Dustin stands and walks over. Eddie backs away until he reaches the living room couch, dragging Steve with him, “Did you just say Eddie?”

“I heard him.” Wayne’s voice is fueled by disbelief, “I swear, I just heard him. I didn’t type anything in; I heard him through the phone!”

“Will once communicated through the phone!” Dustin rushes before looking around. He spins then runs over to a living room lamp. Luckily, it’s the one on the other side of the couch—far away from Steve and Eddie. “Eddie, are you there?” Dustin asks. “Eddie?”

Wayne tries the phone again, “Eddie?! Son is that you?” his voice is a shout instead of muffled, and Eddie refuses to answer the call. He does, however, bring his hand off of Steve’s mouth, and Steve shoves him away. Eddie’s eyes widen, as Steve rushes forward, towards the lamp.

“No!” Eddie shouts and raises his hand. It’s an accident. A reflex. Like kicking your leg at the doctor’s office. Eddie truly doesn’t mean to, but raising his hand creates a shockwave. It’s just his one hand raised, but he feels all the lamps in the room zap their energy to him. The microwave. The phone. The fridge. All the appliances and electricity sources on the other side are absorbed through the veil of the Upside Down like they’re nothing. They all go to Eddie. There are loud booms, crashes, and shouts. Eddie hears shattering glass and sees Steve jump to the ground as if avoiding a grenade’s blast.

Eddie feels the energy inside of him, like he’s swallowed three car batteries and washed them down with a thousand gallons of Redbull. He’s panting. He’s shaking. Steve sits up and looks at him, eyes wide and questioning. Eddie wishes he knew the answer, but right now he’s focusing on Wayne and Dustin’s auras. They stand a few feet away from each other silently.

“We need to get back to the station.” Wayne decides.

“Good idea.” They disappear a few minutes later, and Eddie huffs a breath.

“What the fuck was that?” Steve finally asks.

“That,” Eddie swallows, “is a problem.”  

Chapter Text

April 5^th, 1986 (Saturday)

Eddie is about five seconds away from screaming.

They’re in his trailer because where else would they be? It’s early. Too early for him to be awake, but he’s been a bit more wired than normal from absorbing electricity. All other energy sources from the other world—the natural sources, like the sun, the Earth, and other living beings—are cut off. Electricity is different. It’s not artificial, but it’s something innately human. It doesn’t come naturally without some form of a conductor. The energy gets enhanced, so it’s easier to grasp. It’s good; it gives Eddie options. It’s not good, because Eddie has one less excuse to avoid Vecna.

Part of the reason why fighting Vecna isn’t an option is because of the lack of energy sources. Eddie’s been absorbing from the hive mind and any naturally occurring sparks in the Upside Down, but it’s all limited, and the more he takes from these sources, the more he risks mistakenly connecting to it. Giving the Flayer an out and giving Vecna an in. No number of sigils could prevent the entire hivemind at once. That’s why he takes a little at a time and conserves his energy as much as he does.

Opening a portal is not an option. Even a small portal could give him enough access, but he wouldn’t dare risk it. Opening a portal, even a small one, takes too much energy. The Flayer would overwhelm him in seconds. That, and Eleven would surely sense it.

He looks down at his journal—at his plethora of notes and plans, as he hides in the corner of the room cloaked by a sigil sneakily carved into the leather cover. Steve can see it, but he’ll see the journal as a different book. Obviously, he lied before. He didn’t leave his journal at school; Will disappeared on a Saturday. Eddie had the journal in his bedroom as always, and he brought it out the moment he broke from the Flayer’s spell.

A lot of vital information is missing. He has no stories from the ghosts of the Upside Down, and he has nothing new that he’s learned the past few weeks. All he has is what his grandma taught him and what he learned on his own when he moved to Hawkins.

Soul transfers are possible. Eddie found that out when he absorbed the souls of many monsters and from that cop. Bringing Steve back—trading souls for him—proved the power went beyond gaining energy. The way to defeat the Flayer would be by absorbing its energy; Eddie is almost certain of it. But he can’t do that. If the lightbulb in Eddie’s kitchen bursting was any consolation, power transfers can go both ways. It’s like kickback from a gun. The Flayer is powerful; if Eddie absorbed it, there was a high chance it could take Eddie over. He’d be under Vecna’s control once more, and there’d be no coming back. No Steve to rescue him, and no chance for his friends winning.

If the Flayer were gone, he’d defeat Vecna in minutes. Physically, he already has an advantage, but in his current state, he could never fight Vecna in a battle of powers without taking energy from the other side. Not only that, but Vecna still has an army. With the amount of energy, it would take killing the demo-whatevers could also make Eddie lose to the Flayer before the fight with Vecna even starts. Not to mention, again, he can’t risk taking any more than the bare minimum from the hivemind. No demodog or demobat souls to save him this time; he’s stuck between a rock and a hard place, and hope for a way out is slowly disappearing.

Then, there’s the kids.

They know he’s alive. They have to. They’re smart, and Wayne knows Eddie well enough to know that, if Eddie’s alive, then he’d be too stubborn to get help. Eddie cares too much, and Wayne knows Eddie would hide for as long as it takes. He can only hope the man will respect Eddie’s wishes. Lie to the kids if he has to. Tell them nothing was afoot, but Dustin wouldn’t let that happen. The kid is far too stubborn.

One advantage, though, of having the kids all in one place, is that Vecna can’t fix himself with other sources. He can’t risk cursing anyone else with Eleven in town. He wouldn’t be able to survive another attack from the girl and their friends. It was up to Eddie to keep the Flayer at bay, and as long as he did so, nothing could happen to Hawkins. The town would be safe.   

Eddie huffs and turns the pages in his journals, “Dream walking.” He mutters, and the journal flips to a page near the beginning. He could try communicating with Wayne, but it takes too much energy, and Eddie would have to dream walk from outside the trailer. “Not an option.” He mentally crosses it out of his list.

“Hey, morning.” Eddie shuts his journal and sets it on the table by the loveseat. Steve walks out of the bedroom looking just as tired as when he first went to sleep. His hair’s a mess, though, and he trudges to the kitchen as if on autopilot. He grabs a mug, frowns, and sets the mug back before grabbing a water bottle, “Craving coffee as a ghost was fine. Craving coffee as a human running on five hours of sleep feels like being without water in the desert.” He takes another drink of water, “What were you reading?”

Eddie holds up his journal with a tight smile. He can’t see whatever Steve sees on the cover. It changes every few days as well. So, when Steve frowns and tilts his head, Eddie’s stomach drops, “James and the Giant Peach?”

“Uh, yeah,” Eddie glances at the cover, as if he could see what Steve sees, “not many options here.” He tosses the journal aside and smiles normally, “How’d you sleep?” Steve mutters nonsense and shakes his head, “You need sleep.”

“Tell that to my insomnia.” Steve grabs a can off their food stack and looks at the front, canned corn, “Can’t you spell me to sleep?”

“I could…” Eddie tilts his head, “it’d need to be a transfer of energy. I take energy from you, and you sleep to gain that energy back.”

“How could you take my energy?” Steve seems to be too tired to talk, as his tone stays monotonous and almost bored. “Is it like kissing?”

Eddie feels a shudder down his spine at the thought. How Steve’s energy seemed to increase tenfold by the simple press of their lips. As much as he wants a repeat, he shakes his head, “It worked for giving me energy, but your energy didn’t drain. It has to be something spiritually and physically demanding.” Steve pauses in his movements, which were the actions required to eat his canned corn, and frowns.

“Are you talking about sex again?”

“Yes?” Eddie hates the way his voice breaks. He sighs and stands then, walking over to stand on the other side of the kitchen counter. Steve pushes the open can of corn his way, and Eddie begrudgingly takes a bite. It’s cold. It’s unseasoned outside of some salt they found in Eddie’s cabinet. And it’s somehow mushy, “Kissing you gave me a lot of energy, Steve. When you were a ghost, your power naturally boosted, as you didn’t have your physical body to weaken you. As a human, you shouldn’t be as strong. Even with me as a soulmate, your energy should stay the same. You make me more powerful through love, which isn’t technically a transactional form of energy. Nothing to give back or receive. But, when you add a physical aspect, like kissing, energy transfers. Usually it’s both ways with kissing, that fireworks feeling, but having sex is different. It’s a deeper physical connection, and when you add our spiritual connection, there’s a bigger source of power. If I tap into that power directly, I can drain you.” It’s actually mostly the physical exertion that leads to Steve falling asleep, but the energy transfer helps both of them out.

Steve snorts, “Isn’t draining me the goal either way?”

“You know what I mean!”

“We’re in a hell dimension, let me be funny.” Steve takes the can of corn back and drinks the water with a grimace, “So,” he pauses to shudder at the taste, “what? Am I gonna, like, pass out after sex? Am I slipping into a coma?”

“You’ll just fall asleep and sleep for a bit longer than usual. I wouldn’t drain you too much. It’s just enough to get you to sleep and for me to stop feeling so weak all the time.”

“And it’s no risk for the Flayer?”

Eddie shakes his head, “Anything I receive from you goes directly to me. It’s my soul you’re connected to, not my body or mind. That’s why bringing you back only slightly boosted the Flayer’s abilities in my body but gave me the strength to return. Sure, I had to wait for the Flayer to be off its guard, but I got back.” Steve frowns down at his can of corn, as if the mushy kernels could hold the answers to all the problems.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay,” Steve huffs, “I still think we need to have a better plan, and I think we should tell our friends, but I trust you. I want us to be safe here, and I don’t want you getting possessed again…” he tilts his head, “Besides, I haven’t gotten laid in far too long.” Before his eyes, Eddie watches as Steve uses some magic of his own. Any fatigue from his tone disappears, as he switches his voice into something sultry. His tired eyes wake up but stay hooded, as he leans forward and barely presses his lips to Eddie’s in a whisper of a kiss.

“Has anyone ever told you how hypnotic you are?” Eddie chases after Steve’s lips to the point that he’s seconds from leaping over the counter.

“I prefer being magic.” Steve smiles and grabs the can of corn, and the smile drops when he eats a spoonful, “Isn’t there a Pizza Hut we can rob?”

“I’ll be due for a scavenge in a few days; I’ll get Chef Boyardee and fruit.” Despite Steve’s grimace, he pulls the can away when Eddie reaches for it.

“You got superpowers, get your own food.” Eddie snorts but walks to the food stash. While there, he hears something. He looks back and sees Steve’s gone back into the bedroom. Eddie approaches the front door. He hasn’t opened the door since Steve woke up from his coma. The door creaks when it opens, and Eddie sees the outlines of two auras.

“Eleven can see ghosts, Dustin!” Nancy huffs, glancing two ways before grabbing the boy’s arm and dragging him into the trailer. Eddie follows them inside, and Steve steps out of the bedroom with wide eyes, “When she spied on us before the final battle, she saw Steve, not just Eddie, and Eddie and Steve could both talk to her. If Eddie was a ghost, she would’ve been able to see him when she explored the dark place.”

“She calls it the wet place.”

“Where she didn’t find shit! She didn’t find Steve. She didn’t find Eddie. They’re gone, and if they’re not gone, then they’re something we don’t want to find.”

“The lightbulb smashed, Nancy!” Dustin shoves the door open and storms into the kitchen, pointing to the light, “And Wayne heard Eddie’s voice through the phone. They’re here; they have to be! At least Eddie…”

“What are you guys doing?” Max joins them, “We don’t have a lot of time! Just grab Eddie’s keys so I can drive his van back!”

“Not until we plug in the lite brite!” Dustin sits on the couch and crosses his arms. Eddie looks at Steve to find the man with a pleading look. He shakes his head but keeps his arms at his side, not wanting to have a repeat of yesterday.

He’s not surprised the kids are back so soon, but he was hoping they’d have some time to add some sigils. Maybe even figure out a way for Eddie to lead them off their trail. Instead, he and Steve are forced to stay in the hallway leading to the bedroom, where the nearest lightbulb is smashed and can’t possibly clue their friends in on where they are. “The lights all went out, Nance.”

Max huffs and moves deeper into the room, “We believe you, Dustin, but there are more things than just Eddie who could break the lights. It could’ve been anything, but considering Eleven didn’t find them, I’m guessing what it was isn’t something we want to find. Steve’s body is missing, Dustin. Who knows what Vecna’s done to him.”

“It could’ve been Vecna fucking with the lights too.” Nancy adds, and Eddie holds his breath. “Or the Flayer.”

“Has Eleven sensed Vecna?”

Nancy shook her head, “Will felt him when the mega-gate opened the second time, but he hasn’t since.” Eddie subtly releases his breath, “He’s more connected with the Flayer, though.”

“Which he also hasn’t sensed.” Eddie glances at his sigils. Nancy crosses her arms in the meantime, “Dustin, I know you miss him. I miss him too. I know you’re tired of people coming back from the dead. I am too. But we can’t rush into things like this. It’s not just the Upside Down we need to worry about. Eleven is being hunted, Vecna is missing, the Flayer is MIA, and Steve’s body is missing. One lite brite isn’t going to fix that, and, frankly, I don’t want to risk meeting whatever could’ve done that.” She points at the broken light fixture, “Eddie’s gone.”

“I know that! I’m just—”

“He’s gone, Dustin!” Nancy turns on a tone that Eddie knows well. All authoritative and strict, “He’s gone and he’s not coming back. That’s how it works when someone dies. Just like with Steve.”

“Just like Robin?” Dustin returns, voice bitter, “Eleven brought Robin back, what makes you think this isn’t a similar case?”

“Don’t talk about Robin.”

“You’ve been a part of this party long enough to stop being so black and white, Nance. Death isn’t death. Not really.” Nancy shakes her head, and Eddie has the sudden thought that, for the second time in a row, Dustin Henderson is cock-blocking him.

“Bullshit!” Dustin snaps and stands, “I know what I saw!”

“And I’m not claiming that you lied!” Nancy groans in frustration, “Dustin, we just need to be safe right now. Plug in the lite brite if you want, but even if we figure something out, there’s nothing we can do about it. There are too many unknown variables, and I’m not willing anyone else’s lives over what could very well be a ghost…” she tilts her head, “a metaphorical ghost, not an actual one.”

“She doesn’t want to risk it being Eddie but a mind-flayed version of Eddie.” Max pats Dustin on the back, and Eddie can imagine her sarcastic smile.

“Thanks.” Dustin’s tone turns blanched, but he grabs what must be the lite brite with Nancy finally giving him permission. He plugs it in, and Eddie practically sprints to the other side of the room.

“Don’t…” he looks at Steve, who rolls his eyes and chucks the empty can of corn to the floor.

“Eddie? Are you there?”

“I’m not listening to this.” Eddie doesn’t stop Steve from closing the bedroom door but leans against it so he can barely hear the muttered voices. Steve sits on the bed, and Eddie crosses his arms. He presses the back of his head against the wood of the door. “What?”

“Even from another dimension, Dustin manages to fuck up my plans.” Eddie pushes off the door and stalks into the room. It’s cold down here, so he’s wearing Wayne’s old army jacket while Steve wears a sweater. “He’s a cock blocker,” Eddie clarifies and sits beside Steve, who snorts.

“Eleven can make things float with her mind; you can talk to ghosts; Henderson manages to be a butthead despite the laws of time and space.” Steve hits his shoulder against Eddie’s. Even through the thick material of the man’s sweater, Eddie can feel just how thin Steve is. His shoulder is sharp even while being rounded, and the sweater is so baggy it’s practically sliding off his arm. The canned corn isn’t going to cut it. Eddie’s going to need to get a lot more food for them. For Steve, who barely had any fat left to begin with.

Healing from a rotted corpse doesn’t mean becoming a super model. Sure, everything that caused Steve’s death was healed, like his head injuries and the many bruises and cuts, but he’s not in peak condition. He’s not healed; he’s just alive. He’s the bare minimum that can be called healthy, which means he’s dangerously close to being underweight after being mostly bones and rotted flesh. He’s going to be tired. He’s going to get sick, and Eddie needs to figure out how to fix that.

He adds it to his forever growing list of problems.

“Are you okay?” Eddie asks, not pointing out the obvious signs of fatigue. They sleep beside each other, but they’re mostly in the shadows outside of one or two lit candles. This close, it’s hard to miss the dark circles beneath Steve’s eyes and the paleness of his face. He’s not dehydrated; water was prioritized when stocking up. Eddie doesn’t want to say it, but he’s faced this fear before. Steve might be dying. It won’t happen soon, but staying down here, where his body can’t heal in the forever rotting world around them, will kill him.

“Just a bit tired.” Steve smiles. Eddie grabs Steve’s hand.

“Why don’t you rest then?” Before Steve can respond, Eddie mutters something beneath his breath, “Somnum…” The incantation works in seconds, as Steve slumps. His eyes droop, and Eddie feels a slight drain of his powers from the spell. It’s not smart to use incantations when he’s trying to conserve energy, hence fucking Steve and transferring his energy being a much better strategy, but Steve looks tired. He needs rest, and Eddie would sooner slip into a coma than let Steve be so physically pained.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” Eddie whispers when he tucks Steve in. In part for lying. In part for making the man fall asleep without his consent. In part for their shitty situation. And in part for the fact that Dustin Henderson is not their only cock blocker. Not with every day being a battle.

When he walks out of the bedroom, Nancy and Dustin are sitting on the couch. Max is assumably gone and trashing Eddie’s van, if Steve’s story of the girl driving his BMW is any consolation. He doesn’t see her when he walks outside, grabbing the baseball bat and a large duffel bag on his way out. Lightning crashes in the distance, and he shuts the door behind him. The shield of sigils and wood light behind him in a yellow hue, showing the shield is sealed against all psychic energies.

“Here we go again.” Eddie swallows and walks forward. Without the sigils, the energy in the air feels clearer. It feels like being underwater instead of like a steady fog. He takes only what he needs to travel, avoiding vines like landmines, as he heads down Forest Hills.

He left the doors to the trailers he already ransacked open but went back inside a few to search the medicine cabinets just in case Steve does get sick. Eddie could too, of course, but he has sigils hidden in every tattoo, and the spider on his chest works good against most ailments.

He grabs everything he can that seems edible. A few houses have drinks, and while soda and beer aren’t ideal sources of hydration, they’re liquids. He prioritizes food but grabs some spray-on deodorant when he finds some. Beggars may not be choosers, but the rest of the Upside Down smells bad enough without Steve and him adding to it. It’s also why he grabs some mouthwash.

Eddie almost draws the line at seeing a 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner, but then he imagines Steve’s smile upon finally getting to wash his hair and stuffs the product into the bag before returning to the kitchen to pile on more cans of food. He goes back home once the duffel bag is full, which ends up being after only three trailers, two of which he’d already gone through and went back into for medicine.

It's as he’s piling the cans of new food behind the cans of older food that he looks over at the bedroom to see Steve still asleep. It couldn’t hurt to go out once more, right?

Once more turned into twice more, then three, then four. He ended up going out five times, obsessively going through trailers from a slightly irrational fear that Steve will drop dead if he doesn’t. It’s either scavenge for hours, read, or spend those hours planning and obsessing. He’d rather be doing something than nothing. At least doing this—bringing back food, clothes, water, books, weapons, and whatever else they may need—feels like progress. He’s a mouse trapped in a maze; he may as well find some cheese on his way out.

If he ever finds a way out.

The last trailer he goes to is on the other side of the park. Forest Hills is spacious but didn’t have that many trailers back in ‘83. So, they’re spread out, and Eddie steps out of the front door with a bag full of supplies to see his own trailer looks like a tuna can in the distance. “Fuck…” he mutters beneath his breath before grabbing his weapon. He’d switched from his bat to an axe he found in a trailer during his last outing. He holds the handle at the ready, while he walks back home.

It's late. Late enough to where the already dark sky has dimmed, showing the subtle difference of night and day in a place that’s always shady. He’s careful as he walks, keeping an eye ahead but looking around when necessary. The shoes he’s wearing are Wayne’s, as the only pair of shoes he had in ‘83 didn’t fit him. Wayne and he have similar sizes, but Wayne works in a factory that requires steel toed boots that are as comfortable as glass slippers. Eddie didn’t realize until now just how sore his feet have gotten. It makes him wince with every step, feeling blisters form.

At one point he stops to try and fix the shoe, as if it could magically soften and give his feet some relief. He lifts his foot for a second, and that’s when the duffel bag falls off his shoulder. It landed beside him with a loud thud. Eddie holds his breath, but nothing could stop a can from slipping through the slightly opened zipper and rolled down a hill right.

On the side of the canned corn, the Jolly Green fucking Giant stares up at Eddie with a faded smile, as it rests against the small bundle of vines it landed in.

Eddie grabs the bag and runs before he can hesitate. He looks up, expecting some bats to come flying his way even though he’s right beside a dark wood. In his defense, those flying fucks were what killed him, so the demodog slamming into his side comes as a surprise. He doesn’t shout but does land with a grunt. He shoves the thing off and grabs his discarded axe, swinging forward. He slices into the things leg, and it whines in pain before lunging again. Eddie raises his hand, sending it flying back before it can scratch his leg. Even if he’s unscathed, he stumbles, as the Mind Flayer inside of him roars.

“Oh, shut up!” Eddie snaps and tosses the demodog again, but there’s a pounding in his head. The Flayer is trying to get out. It’s trying to get Eddie off his guard. The Flayer and the demodog are working together even if the dog might not realize it, as it lunges for Eddie. With no better option, Eddie swings the axe again. He turns into an animal himself, as he leaps onto the back of the dog when it gets back up. His grip raises to be just beneath the axe head, and he shoves the blade into the demodog’s open mouth. When the maw of the beast closes around his arm, making him shout in pain, he pushes forward. He pushes the axe deeper and deeper until the demodog falls beneath him. It releases his arm, and Eddie brings the axe out just to bring it down. The head of the monster slides limply to the side.

“Fuck…” Eddie stares down at the ripped fabric of Wayne’s army jacket. His arm is sliced and bleeding, so he accepts the demodog’s soul when it trails out like smoke from a fire. He absorbs it but puts it directly into healing his arm before the Flayer has a chance to even smell the power. He feels the subtle connection to the hivemind, but it disappears as soon as his arm is completely healed, leaving nothing but a whisper behind.

Eddie walks towards the discarded duffel bag of supplies and laughs in relief, as he discovers that demodog healed his feet too. He grabs the bag and turns back towards his trailer just to see a figure in the distance.

Eleven is wearing a large t-shirt and plaid pajamas, and she’s looking for him. She’s transparent, like she’s not fully there. Her aura is not that bright either. “Shit!” Eddie glances around before his eyes land on the monster’s corpse. He rushes forward and slides next to the demodog’s body. He peels off the jacket and his undershirt before plunging his hand into the warm puddle of blood pouring from the stump that was once a head.  He keeps one eye on El even as she comes clearer into view. She looks his way, and Eddie keeps his head down but begins smearing the blood on his bare chest. He draws the same sigil that’s drawn all around his trailer, and he weaves in a prayer that this works, as he mutters an incantation, “Evanesce.” It’s not required for a sigil, as the drawing is a spell by itself, but he’s only got time to draw one, and Eleven’s already walking his way.

“Eddie?” Just as Eleven says his name, a yellow light shines around him. He looks up at her, and her eyes are wide. “He… he disappeared.” She tilts her head and walks forward again, stopping just a few feet away. “He was just here; he—” she reaches for her eyes, as if taking off a mask, and disappears. Eddie sighs in relief and looks down at himself. His arms both coated with blood. The sigil on his stomach.

He'd kill for a shower and settles for using his shirt as a towel and leaving it in the dirt. He puts on his jacket and takes his time getting back home, not caring about the blood still seeped into his pants or the shoes. He just opens the door and closes it behind him. “Finally—” before he can finish, Steve’s hands shove him to the side. Eddie stumbles and turns to Steve, who looks better after a few hours of extra sleep.

“Where the fuck were you?!” Steve shouts, eyes darting across Eddie’s bloodied clothes and the sigil drawn on his chest—left bare beneath his jacket. “What the fuck happened?” He rips Eddie’s jacket down his arms to check for injuries, while Eddie tries to still Steve’s frantic movements.

“I’m fine, Steve. I was out scavenging.” He waves towards the stuffed duffel bag and their supply stack that has nearly tripled in size, “I got worried since you didn’t like your breakfast, and you need to gain weight, so we needed the extra food—”

“I heard you screaming, Eddie!” Steve cuts Eddie off and grabs both of the man’s forearms, “You were screaming so loudly that it woke me up. I thought the demobats were back; I thought you were getting killed!” he leans back and looks at the sigil once more, “Why do you have a sigil painted on you?”

“Steve,” Eddie pauses Steve’s attempt at rambling on by stepping back. Steve lets go of his forearms and doesn’t fight when Eddie grabs his biceps, “I’m fine. I dropped a can of food, it hit a vine, and a demodog came after me. I killed it and used its essence, or whatever, to heal myself. It was a small vine; I doubt anything else got triggered, and I’m completely healed, see?” He shows Steve his arm.

“No, I can’t see; you’re covered in blood.” Eddie puts his arm back down, while Steve presses a finger against Eddie’s chest, “What’s with the sigil? It matches the ones on the walls.” There is more than just one sigil painted on the wall, but the one Eddie added to his chest is the one most repeated. It’s the most powerful cloaking spell Eddie has.  

“I saw Eleven; she was looking for me. I had to use the sigil to cloak myself, and blood was the easiest thing to use.” Blood’s stronger too. Sigils can be drawn with anything. Eddie usually uses tea or coffee, carves them into wood or his journal, or he mashes up herbs into paint. The black paint he used for the trailer was all he had on short notice. Blood magic is powerful in every branch, whether it be saving Steve or creating a last-minute invisibility cloak.

He swore to his grandma once that he’d never use blood magic, but she’s dead, and he’s desperate. Before he can move to the kitchen and check if they have some empty jars, Steve responds. “Did she see you?”

“No.” The lie slides easily off of Eddie’s tongue, and Steve sighs. He can’t tell if it’s from relief or frustration or what. But Steve doesn’t give him any clues. Instead, he looks down at the blood and sighs, “Come on.” Eddie gets tugged towards the bathroom.

The shower hasn’t been used the entire time they’ve been there. Nothing in the bathroom works. The toilet doesn’t flush, so they piss in a bucket that they dump outside after being done. They brush their teeth with bottled water, but Eddie found some toothpaste while out, so they can add that to their routine. Neither of them has properly bathed the entire time they’ve been here. Instead, they splash water on their hands and wipe themselves down with damp towels.

The inside of the trailer, like all of the Upside Down, was covered in vines. Eddie cleared the vines accidentally. When he sealed the exterior of the trailer with all his sigils, the vines naturally died off, having been cut from the psychic connection to the hive mind. Eddie’s not sure how it all works, but he knows it saved him a heck of a lot of trouble. He also knows that he doesn’t need to avoid the wilting vines he has yet to completely clear, as he steps into the bath-shower. He reassures Steve of such, when the man flinches after brushing against a dried vine.

“Take off your pants.” Steve grabs a bucket (not the one they use as a toilet) some water bottles, and a towel.

“Not gonna buy me dinner first?”

“You get first pick of canned soup, how’s that?”

“You spoil me.” Eddie tugs at the waistband of his pants and tosses them to the other side of the room. Steve raises his brows, and Eddie removes his boxers as well.

“Get your head out of the gutter.” Steve begins dumping some water into the bucket.

“I didn’t even say anything!”

“You smirked.” Steve threw a towel over his shoulder and grabbed the bucket, kneeling beside the tub, “That’s basically like asking me to suck your dick.”

“Well, you are on your knees.” Eddie tilts his head and looks down at Steve, who frowns.

“And you are covered in blood, sit down.” Steve pulls on Eddie’s arm until the man sat in the tub. Steve pours a bit of water over Eddie’s head. The gore from his kill stains the tub even more than it already is. Red mixes with black stains of mold, or whatever it is that seems to grow on every surface down here. “Check the pile,” Eddie remembers while Steve begins scrubbing Eddie’s arm with a towel, “I found shampoo and some soap.” Steve’s eyes widen, and he scrambles out of the bathroom with a lack of grace that makes Eddie laugh. Steve comes back in holding a bar of soap and the 2-in-1 shampoo-conditioner.

“I love you.” Steve stands at the doorway holding the supplies, but he’s looking at Eddie. There, on his face, is the exact kind of smile Eddie was hoping for when he got the shampoo in the first place. It makes Eddie smile just as wide. “You are so washing my hair after this. Can’t believe you get the first shower.” Steve kneels and grabs the sides of Eddie’s face, kissing him firmly before pulling away and grabbing the shampoo, “It’s scented!” he pops open the cap and practically snorts the substance.

“Okay, don’t eat it!” Steve smacks Eddie’s reaching hand away before pouring some into his hand, “I also got mouthwash.”

“I’m already in love with you; you don’t have to keep buttering me up.”

“How else am I supposed to get you slick?” Eddie hums when Steve’s hand reach into his hair but curses when Steve tugs harshly, “Ow!”

“Never say the word slick again.” Eddie laughs, and Steve continues washing his hair. He takes the bar of soap and lathers away the sigil and the blood until making Eddie stand for a final rinse. “Clean, but nothing is going to fix that dirty mind, Munson.” Steve shoves the bar of soap into Eddie’s arms and strips off his sweater.

“You love me and my dirty mind, Harrington.” Eddie throws a towel over his neck and lets his hair air-dry. It’s cold as it always is, and the water is freezing, yet he only keeps a towel over his shoulders and pulls on a pair of sweatpants, as Steve strips. Steve is shivering, and while Eddie retrieves more bottles of water. When he gets back to the bathroom, he wolf-whistles like a construction worker.  

“Shut up,” Steve responds from where he stripped nude, “I look disgusting.”

“Yeah, and I’m a freak. You look just as beautiful as always.” Steve steps into the tub but stays standing, not wanting to sit in the leftover blood.

“You cold?” Eddie walks further into the bathroom and realizes Steve is shivering.

“I’m always cold nowadays.” Steve shrugs, and Eddie grabs the bucket and some water.  

Eddie carefully pours some water onto Steve’s head. He’s never washed someone else before, so he tries his best to mimic the same gentle treatment Steve gave him. He looks down at the bats on his arm, each one covering a different sigil. “I might be able to help; there are a lot more sigils than you assume. I can draw a few on you, and the spells help with cold and injuries and stuff.”

Before his soulmate has a chance to respond, Eddie pours some shampoo into his hand and eyes Steve’s head. He’s fought monsters, yet shampooing Steve ‘the hair’ Harrington’s hair feels like facing the gates of Hell.

“Wait, I thought the word-stuff you say were spells. Sigils are spells too?” Steve turns and lets Eddie massage the shampoo into his scalp, “Don’t forget behind the ears.” Eddie does as such, wondering just how long Steve normally takes to wash his hair.

“Incantations are spells, but they are one of many types, Steve, and they’re arguably the easiest.” Eddie grabs the same half-full water bottle he used to wet Steve’s hair and holds it up.

“Let it soak in first. Wash me.” Steve steps away and points at the soap.

“We are in a hellscape; are you really trying to correct me on how to shower?”

“There’s a reason your hair is damaged, Eds.” Eddie rolls his eyes but grabs the soap, “How are incantations the easiest?”

Eddie lathers the soap across Steve’s chest. “Well, they’re easy for me. Spells in general are ways to harness powers in a more direct form, but even the easiest ones are more complicated than you think. Spells require some kind of energy put into it. Most can be said through a simple incantation, but it’s the same as using my powers, and it’s draining. I said one while drawing on my sigil, and the only reason it didn’t drain me is because I used the blood as an outlet, and the sigil in itself is a spell as well. Spells, without power usage, require something as a substitute. Offerings, of sorts. Blood is an offering. The drawing is an offering. By putting them together, I make a spell more powerful.” Eddie starts drawing a sigil on Steve’s back, using the soap suds as paint, “Sigils like this are short-lasting because I’m not using a strong offering, but the act of drawing it is enough to get it working.”  

“What—oh…” Steve sighs once Eddie adds the last touch to the sigil. It’s a temporary warming spell made by Eddie that he sometimes stirs into coffee. It lasts only a minute or two, it’s not that warm, and it doesn’t always work, but it makes Steve stop shivering. “Holy shit.” He looks at Eddie, who smiles while grabbing a wet towel to wipe Steve down with.

“Yeah, it’s pretty cool, right? My grandma never liked sigils—said I got all the artistic talent she should’ve had, but she did spells sometimes. Sigils are pretty powerful, and they last long. This one is temporary, even more so than usual considering the soap is already coming off, but it’s good. A lot of sigils last for as long as they are drawn somewhere. So, if nothing washes away the paint on the walls, for example, they’ll stay.”

“Then why waste any time with other types of spells? It sounds like sigils are the easiest.”

“They are, but I’m better at memorizing incantations than I am at making or memorizing sigils. It just depends on what I want to do.” Eddie grabs water to finally rinse Steve’s hair, “Incantations are special to me; only psychics can do them. Anyone can draw a sigil; they won’t be as powerful, but they can. Anyone can do a physical based spell too, like a spell jar or portions.”

“They just won’t be as powerful.” Steve finishes, smiling with the waves of gentle warmth stemming from the sigil on his back. Eddie’s purposefully leaving the spot for last.

“Exactly,” Eddie uncaps the water bottle and offers it up, “Can I rinse your hair now, or do you need to sacrifice a small goat for whatever gods keep your hair so shiny?”

“Ha, ha, very funny—rinse it out.” Eddie laughs quietly but follows Steve’s gentle command. The process of rinsing out his hair washes off the sigil, and it doesn’t take long for Steve to start shivering again. “We’re almost done. We can go jump in the bed after this.”

“Promise?” Whatever flirtatious tone Steve’s trying for falls flat with his chattering teeth.

“Promise, now come out and let me get you dry.” Eddie grabs the biggest towel he can find and practically swaddles Steve.

“How are you not cold?” Steve asks.

Eddie points to the demon on his chest. “Pain sigil. Works against the cold. I’m still freezing my ass off; it’s barely tolerable.”

“Yeah, you seem tortured.” Steve’s sarcasm somehow does make it through the shivering.

“Well, I can draw the sigil on you, but I’d have to redraw it daily. Unless you want a tattoo using an Upside Down needle.”

“Don’t care. Anything’s better than being this cold.” Eddie leads Steve to the bedroom, where he sets Steve on the bed and turns, ready to grab some pajamas. Steve reaches out to grab his arm, and Eddie looks at him.

“Hey, what about the bed jumping?”

“You’re freezing, Steve.” Eddie points out the obvious.

“Exactly, I need some blood flow.” Steve smiles when Eddie laughs and shakes his head.

“You get some actual sleep, and you turn into a harlot.” Eddie walks towards his alter, sorting through the supplies he deposited before finding the marker. “Come here; I’m not fucking you when you look so miserable.”

“I’ve never had sex delayed this much before.”

“Tell that to your involuntary eight months of abstinence. Give me your arm.” Eddie holds out a hand, and Steve rolls his eyes before bringing his arm out. It makes the towels around him slide to the bed, leaving only one still wrapped around his waist. Eddie draws a sigil on Steve’s arm. “There. It should kick in soon.”

“Can you draw that heating one again?” Eddie nods and draws it.

“That one will wear off in about five minutes.” Steve nods and sighs when he gets warm. Eddie draws that same sigil on himself before putting the marker away. He grabs some extra blankets while he’s on it. He tosses Steve the blankets before leaving the room and coming back with cans of soup.

“Looking to wine and dine me, Munson?”

“I’m a gentleman, Steve.” They eat in silence, but there’s a tension in the air that Eddie doesn’t bother to ignore. Killing that demodog gave him a rush of energy that still hasn’t left, even if he used much of it towards healing. He wants to use the rest towards something good, and he’s been thinking about Steve beneath him for far too long.

The sound of Steve setting his empty can on the bedside table is like a jet engine in the silence of the room. Eddie glances over, and Steve smiles, “Are you done being a gentleman?” Eddie chugs the rest of his tomato soup and practically throws the can across the room, splashing the remnants to the carpet, “Eddie!”

“That soup is the least of this carpet’s worries.” Eddie rushes to push Steve down and crawls over him. He puts his hands on either side of Steve’s head to keep himself hovering above the man. “Let’s get you warmed up properly, huh?”

“I always did like working up a sweat.” Before Eddie can snark back, Steve grabs the back of his neck and pulls him down for a kiss. Eddie doesn’t have any complaints, and he wastes no time licking at the seem of Steve’s lips. Steve lets him inside, and it’s electric. It’s warm and inviting—enticing, like a cigarette without the aftertaste. Steve tastes like a dream, like the Heaven Eddie never got to experience. When he pulls back, there’s that golden glow again. Steve’s shining as bright as a star.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous.” Eddie doesn’t let Steve respond and bends down once more. He feels the spark of energy fold between them. He selfishly drinks Steve like he’s found the fountain of youth. It’s golden. It’s light. It’s everything he needs, and he feels the Mind Flayer back away like a submitting wolf, bowing to the power Eddie finds. A power only available to him.

“I want you to fuck me,” Steve whispers between them, “Please.” His hips roll up, brushing his bare cock against the growing tent in Eddie’s sweatpants.

“Just a bit of kissing and you’re ready for action?” Eddie teases.

“I haven’t had a body in months, Munson.” Steve reaches between them to tease a finger in the hem of Eddie’s pants, “We can take it slow later.” He reaches inside and grasps Eddie in a loose fist, teasing something more. Eddie sighs and drops his head, slightly pressing forward until Steve tightens his grip.

“Still need to stretch you,” Eddie reminds Steve, who nods.

“Take off your pants.”

“That feels counterproductive.” Despite his words, Eddie strips. He stands and tosses the sweatpants across the room. As soon as he kneels back onto the bed, Steve moves forward and licks a strip from the base of Eddie’s cock to the tip. Eddie throws his head back with a soft groan and has to force his hips still when Steve takes the tip into his mouth. There’s a trickle of power humming from somewhere inside Steve. It feels like a song—a thrumming like a drum. Steve hums for real, moaning as he takes Eddie in deeper, until his throat jumps, and he has to pull back. “Take your time, baby.”

“Want you to fuck my face.”

“I want you to not hurt yourself.” Eddie reaches down and pushes back a wet strand of hair that had fallen forward. “Turn around. You can suck my dick later; I need to taste you.” Steve bites his lip, looking like he wants to argue but begins to shift instead. He turns so his head faces the pillows and his back faces Eddie. “That’s it, good girl.” Eddie presses between Steve’s shoulder blades so the man’s back arches, and he leans back to sit on his heals. While he does this, he keeps his hand on Steve, sliding it back until he finds the globe of Steve’s ass. He squeezes, feeling warm flesh beneath his hands for the first time in a long time. Steve insists he’s cold, but he’s warm here, where some fat stubbornly clings with his hips. Eddie pulls one cheek to the side then reaches for the other. What he finds in between is something so magical that no spell could ever measure up.

“Fuck…” It’s magnetic. Eddie leans in unconsciously, grasping Steve tightly in both hands until he kisses at the flesh of one, squeezing at the same time until fat pushes up. It’s enough to bite into, leaving indents in Steve’s skin while the man gasps breathlessly.

“Eddie!” he groans, as Eddie bites and sucks on Steve’s skin, leaving behind marks that darken as the seconds go by. “Please!”

“So inpatient.” Eddie soothes one of the deepest marks with his tongue, tracing it over the warm skin until he reaches his target. He kisses it first, pressing his lips against Steve’s hole before darting his tongue out. He licks the puckered skin gently, smiling when Steve not-so-subtle presses back. He presses harder, not wanting to tease Steve too much, especially with how worked up the man already is. Eddie’s getting there too. Cock already beginning to throb, but he needs to stretch Steve first. So, without further delay, he presses his tongue inside, feeling the warm velvet against his taste buds.

It's salty with sweat, and Eddie groans. He presses more forward, forcing the wet muscle into the tightness of Steve’s ass. It makes Steve ground his hips back then forward, indecisive in where he wants more stimulation, his front or back. Eddie decides for him by gripping his ass tighter and pulling him back against his mouth, where he begins thrusting his tongue forward and back, licking deeper each time. Steve’s repeating Eddie’s name like the chorus to a song. It doesn’t take long for Eddie to move one hand, collecting the drool spilling from his mouth and down Steve’s balls. He smears it across a couple of his fingers before pulling back. He traces the edge of Steve’s rim with his pointer, experimentally pressing forward until it presses inside. Steve clenches down with a soft moan and arches his back further. He sucks Eddie’s finger inside, and Eddie has to grab his cock for some relief. Pretty soon, he adds another finger, using his spit as lube.

Steve curses when Eddie begins to thrust his fingers in and out, moving them apart to stretch the muscles and massaging the rim with his thumb. Steve groans, muttering God knows what beneath his breath. Once in a while, Eddie will hear something that sounds like a beg, and he pushes forward each time. It doesn’t take long for him to begin searching. He moves deeper and deeper, fingers crooking upwards and forwards until Steve suddenly shouts.

“Eddie!” His voice is muffled, and Eddie glances to find the man biting down on the pillow. Eddie mentally adds detergent to their scavenging list, and he groans. “What?” Steve asks, and Eddie uses his free hand to grab a nearby towel. He puts it beneath Steve hips, “Oh, that’s smart…” Steve is breathless when he speaks and begins moving his hips, “Keep going.” Eddie finally presses in his third finger, and Steve is so delectably tight, as he squeezes down on the intrusion yet presses back. Eddie takes the hint and targets his prostate once more, and Steve moans. “Eddie…” his voice turns high-pitched, as Eddie massages the spot in small circles.

“What is it, sweetheart?”

“I’m ready. I’m ready. Please…” Eddie tests that plea by spreading his fingers a few more times until he finally pulls out, making Steve groan from the emptiness. His hole flutters around nothing, and Eddie’s cock drools at the sight.

“We don’t have any condoms, but I’m clean, and I assume you—”

“I’m clean.” Steve nods, and the flush in his skin spreads down to his hips, making that golden glow inside of him turn pinkish.

“Okay,” Eddie sits up and presses his hips forward. He spits on his own dick, spreading the saliva down his length, “are you—”

“If you don’t fuck me right now, I am finding something phallic and doing it myself.”

“Loud and clear,” Eddie directs himself towards the throbbing, wet hole in front of him. He rubs the tip to smear some more spit on Steve’s skin, and it doesn’t take long for it to catch against the hole. He does some experimental thrusts, just enough to get the tip in before he gently slides forward. It’s tight. Tighter than he was expecting, and it feels that much better. It’s not just warm. It’s hot. It’s a fire that lights inside of him, and the fire inside of Steve burns brighter. Eddie doesn’t know where the gold comes from, but he does know he sees stars. They float from within Steve just as a ghost does when they move on, but Eddie knows Steve is far from floating away. He’s getting stronger. His connection to Earth grows, as the specks of gold light float from him into Eddie’s chest. Soon, they’re both glowing, and the transfer stops the moment Eddie’s hips are flushed with Steve’s ass. They both gasp, and there’s music inside of them.

“Do…” Steve swallows, “Do you feel that?” He asks hesitantly, and Eddie nods.

“Yeah…” Eddie moves his hips out, “you’re magic, baby.” He thrusts back forward, and the “magic” grows tenfold. There are more than stars; there are sparks in the air. They tickle Eddie’s skin and make him feel more powerful than ever before, second only to moments before his death, when he held off the demobats before succumbing to their sharp teeth. This is more than he could ever need, and he barely feels the Flayer in the back of his mind. “It’s working. I feel stronger.”

“Good…” Steve mutters, sounding drunk, “Now fuck me.” He rolls his hips, and any semblance of control Eddie had is gone. He smiles and thrusts forward, grabbing onto Steve’s hips to keep the man from sliding away. “Harder!” Eddie does as he’s told, moving his hips at certain angles until Steve gasps, “There! Right there!” Targeting the spot, Eddie lets go completely. He feels like an animal, chasing release and power like a starved man. He wants it all. He wants to golden light shared between them. He wants to come. He needs to feel Steve release beneath him and tighten his grip on his cock. Steve’s begging, and Eddie has half a mind to join him. Beg with the gods for release. Plead with the stars for the sun. Thank whoever is listening or watching for gifting him someone as magnificent as Steve.

“Eddie, Eddie, I—” Steve groans, rolling his hips. Eddie reaches around the man to grab his cock. He squeezes tightly, thumbing the tip as he strokes Steve to near completion. Soon, Steve stutters on a moan, and Eddie feels his cock pulsing like a heartbeat. Steve throbs then sprays cum onto the towel below him. Eddie strokes Steve through it then grabs the man’s hips to thrust himself to completion, finishing mere seconds later. The effect is immediate. Like an explosion. It rattles the walls, as Steve shouts and Eddie gasps.

“Holy shit!” Eddie nearly collapses, catching himself but still sliding out of Steve. His release slides down Steve’s balls and drips onto the towel below. Eddie catches his breath and watches their point of connection. A thin trail of golden light between them. Something Eddie’s never seen before. He’s never heard of it either, not from any psychic, especially not from his grandma.

“Are you okay?” Eddie asks while wiping at Steve’s entrance with the same towel Steve release on.

“Tired… warm…” Steve looks back at Eddie with a smile, laying on his stomach, “Haven’t felt this good in a long time.”

“Good.” Eddie tosses the towel to the ground then lays beside Steve, who turns so his back presses against Eddie’s front. “Told you that sex works for giving me power.”

“And in return you’re cuddling with me all night, letting me sleep in, and giving me whatever sweet thing you can find among those cans.” Steve waves towards the open door to the kitchen. Eddie closes it with a wave of his hand, “And you’re giving me a massage.”

“So many demands, Stevie.” Eddie chuckles and kisses the back of Steve’s neck, “I think I found some canned pudding.”

“Perfect,” Steve sighs, voice sounding quiet, “goodnight, Eds.”

“Goodnight, Steve.” Eddie pulls the man closer, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Steve doesn’t shiver the entire night. Or, at least, he doesn’t shiver for the time Eddie takes slowly drifting to sleep, struggling while his body learns to settle the energy inside him. A part of him wants to grab a book, but he doesn’t want to let Steve go. It’s as he’s finally drifting off, eyes drooping and body relaxing, that he lifts up suddenly. There’s something in his closet. It’s hidden beneath a few books, blending in as if it were just another novel, but it's not. No simple novel could glow like that, and Eddie has to hold back a gasp when he realizes what it is.

He'd lost his last copy to a spell gone wrong back in 1985. Now, in the time-capsule that is the Upside Down, his spell-book glitters with a few gold flakes before turning dark, and Eddie smiles wickedly.

Chapter Text

April 7^th, 1986 (Monday)

“You better give me a good excuse, kid.” Hopper’s voice echoed against the thin walls of the Winnebago. Eleven is sitting across from the man, looking down at her folded hands.

Last night, after dinner and after all the adults went to sleep, her and the rest of the younger kids snuck out. They didn’t go far, of course. They went to Lucas and Erica’s house—snuck in through one of the basement windows. It was there that they turned the TV to static and let Eleven put an eye mask on to look for Eddie.

She wasn’t going to look for him. She already tried looking for him and Steve ten times, and, just like the times she tried looking for Robin, she came up with nothing. Hopper had told her to stop after both her nostrils began to bleed instead of one, but Dustin was insistent. Then, dinner happened. They ate fairly early. All the younger kids eat in the basement, eating canned soup and bread, as it was the easiest meal to prep for their group of nearly fifteen people. All they did was set up a giant pot and about twenty cans of chicken noodle. Eleven got two servings to help get all the energy back that she lost while using her powers. She was drinking the leftover broth, while Mike and Dustin were arguing about some movie she’d never even heard of.

“Return to Oz is not scary! We’ve dealt with literal monsters. How can some tacky wheelers scare you that much?” Mike long finished his soup but was using the rest of his bread to point at Dustin angrily.

“Strong words for a Wheeler yourself, Mike!” Dustin put his hands on his hips, as if the response was the last word. It ended up being the finishing argument, as Will suddenly gasped and dropped his spoon. It clattered to the ground, and Mike turned to the boy with wide eyes.

“What is it?” Will was clutching the back of his neck, and Eleven felt something herself. Something in her head, like an approaching migraine.

“I feel it.” Will twisted his face, “I feel the Flayer.” Mike scrambled forward to grab the boy’s hands. Will looked terrified, but El couldn’t share his emotions. The feeling in her head cleared and settled deep in her chest. With things from the Upside Down, she feels things in her head. A tingling sensation. A headache. Sometimes, her nose will build up like she has a cold. This chest feeling was unique, and there is only one thing that matches it.

“I feel Eddie.” Everyone but Mike and Will turned their attention to her, but it was Dustin who nearly threw his soup to the floor in his haste to move beside her, “It is far away, but I feel him.” She pressed her hand to her chest, “He is somewhere.”

“I told you guys!” Dustin hollered, “I told you!” he threw his arms and smiled brightly, “Come on, let’s go!” he grabbed Eleven’s hand, and the group of kids rushed upstairs. Hopper, Joyce, Mr. Clark, Wayne, and Murray were eating in the kitchen. Nancy, Jon, and Argyle always eat in the Winnebago outside. Eleven thinks it’s because they eat something different from everyone else. They always come back inside smelling weird.

“What are you doing?” Hopper leaned back in his seat, while Dustin approached the television and turned it on to play static. The man groaned, “No.” he stood and walked over, taking the blindfold from Dustin’s hands before the kid could hand it to Eleven, “No, I said no more power usage.” He looked to Eleven, who frowned.

“But I—”

“No buts, you nearly passed out earlier. I won’t have you risking your health over Dustin’s hunches.”

“It’s not a hunch, Hopper!” Hopper glared at the boy, “Wayne was there too! He heard Eddie’s voice!” Dustin’s voice was echoing, and his tone was desperate. Hopper wasn’t hearing it.

“Munson is dead, kid. I know you guys loved him, and with what he did for Steve, I wish I could meet him.” Hopper’s voice broke, as it always did when he mentioned Steve now, “But they’re both gone, and we can’t waste our time and energy chasing ghosts. Especially when El’s the one getting hurt the most.”

“El sensed him, and Will sensed the Flayer. There is something there. We can’t—”

“I can’t risk losing another kid, Henderson.” Hopper’s tone lost all true heat, but it was enough to silence the boy. El wasn’t so keen on being silenced.

“I am strong enough.”

“And I am not.” Hopper tilted his head, “I want you to stay safe, kid. You’ve been risking your life for too long. If the Flayer is back, we need to prepare, not go in guns blazing. You’re not risking seeing Eddie when you’re sensing the Flayer too.”

“It’s likely a trick,” Erica added, voice lilting slightly. Lucas turned to glare at his sister, and Eleven watched their facial expressions lightly change until the boy nodded.

“Yeah. It’s probably a trick. Wouldn’t be the first time.” Lucas looked disappointed, and Dustin had an affronted expression on his face. Lucas glared at him until Dustin nodded.

“Yeah, you’re right.” He sighed, shaking his head and looking to the floor, “I was just… hoping for the best, I guess.” He looked wistful, and Eleven was very confused. “I’ll drop it. I’m sorry, Hop. And I’m sorry for pushing you, El.”

“What?”

“And on that note!” Lucas ran up and grabbed Eleven’s shoulders, lightly tugging her back, “We need to continue teaching you dnd. God knows Dustin will have an aneurysm if we don’t have a campaign soon.” Eleven looked at him, and he was smiling wide. Wider than she’s ever seen him smile before.

“She keeps mistaking a Tiefling for a dark elf! Can you believe it?!” Erica’s tone displayed judgement, “I mean, how amateur can you be?”

“What is a Tiefling?”

“See!” Erica displayed her arms forward before tugging on El’s arms.

“Don’t stay up too late,” Hopper said hesitantly, wearing an bewildered expression as he looked between each kid, “and no powers!” He pointed to El.

“We won’t; we care about her wellbeing too, Hop.” Mike crossed his arms, “We just don’t like feeling useless, but we’re capable of patience. A lot has changed since you went to Russia.” Hopper’s eyes widened as Mike continued. “Losing you was rough, but we lost Steve. We all grew up a lot quicker than we would’ve liked. Monsters aside, we miss our babysitter. We had to learn responsibility one way or another.” Hopper’s eyes were practically bursting from his skull. The shock dissipated to a subtle sadness. He tilted his head with a frown.

“I’m sorry, Mike.” He glanced to each one of them, “None of you deserved that. You deserve to be kids.” He sighed and stepped closer to Joyce. She grabbed his hand, smiled, and waved with her other hand.

“Now go play your games, okay? Don’t stay up too late.”

“Thanks mom.” Will smiled, avoiding his friends’ gazes when she requested a hug. El gave her one too before they all went downstairs.

“Are we learning dnd now?” Eleven asked once they reach the bottom. Max snorted, while Will shook his head.

“No? We’re sneaking out.” Max grabbed her jacket as she spoke, accepting a flashlight when Erica offered one. “We’ll need a distraction, though.”

“Can’t be Will, he’d need to come to make sure we don’t fuck it up with the Flayer.” Dustin pointed at the boy with his thumb, “I vote Erica.”

“Erica? Why me? Why not you?” Erica scowled, “Isn’t your mom home now anyway? It’s not like you’re needed.”

“Your friendship is refreshing.” Erica flipped him off.

“Erica’s right. We need to figure out where to go. My mom works night shifts.” Max shrugged, turning to Lucas.

“When does her shift start?” Lucas asked.

“Midnight.”

“That’s too late. They’ve been putting more guards up during curfew.” Lucas sighed and crossed his arms, “If we’re out after sundown, we’d need to have a clear shot to the station, and we’d need to go through the woods.”

“Well, we can’t leave in the daytime. Somebody will see El!” Mike pointed at her, and Erica shushed him, scolding him to keep his voice down.

“He’s right, we couldn’t ride our bikes in the daylight.” Lucas sat down. Max sat beside him.

“We could get Jon to drive us. Or Nancy? She’s been in trouble once; I don’t think she’d care.” Max tilted her head, smiling when Dustin blanched, “Jonathan is supposed to be in California; it has to be Nancy.” She argued.

“Well, even if she could drive us, she’d have to leave before sundown. But then, if we did stay out after dark, we’d have to hike back through the woods.” Max looked disgusted at the idea alone.

“Not all of us.” Dustin pointed out, “It’s just Will and El who can’t be seen. One of us can go walk with them as a guide while the rest of us drive back before sundown.” He smiled almost arrogantly.

“So, where will we go?” Will asked, wringing his hands together. He looked stressed, eyes wide and hair frazzled. Every few minutes he flinched and rubbed the back of his neck, “It’s not getting stronger; it just feels inconsistent.” He had explained when Max asked.

“I guess we’ll go to our house.” Lucas immediately stood to argue with his sister, who merely rolled her eyes, “Mom and dad are practically at the hospital 24/7. They won’t care if we’ve been home.”

Lucas, Erica, Dustin, and Max are in fairly unique situations compared to everyone else. The Sinclair parents both worked night shifts at the hospital, which became increasingly busier with all the new injuries in the earthquake. This meant, when Lucas and Erica asked to stay with the rest of the kids at the station, their parents agreed, not wanting them to be alone at night. Dustin’s mom didn’t want him to go out, but a few nights worth of using his walkie all night, crying about missing his friends, and other forms of lying and manipulation, he got what he wanted. Besides, the animal hospital was just as busy as the human one. Secretaries are just as busy as the vets. Max’s mom, like the Sinclairs, worked the night shift, but she switched from nursing classes at night to volunteering at the school. Her mom didn’t really care where she went.

“They won’t even notice,” Erica added, nodding incessantly.

“Well, we still need to get Nancy to drive us, but we otherwise have a plan. All that’s left is the distraction.” Max turned towards Dustin, who looked around as if there could be anyone else. He sighed and threw his hands up, “Seriously?”

“You’re the best at improvising.” Mike patted the boy on the back, “You were made for this. Just make it seem like we’re all still here.”

“How? It’s not like the basement has many hiding spots.”

“Who said you had to be in the basement?” Lucas tilted his head, and Dustin sighed in defeat. He already knew exactly where they wanted him to be.

The Winnebago’s door was locked when the kids knocked on the surface. They had shouted a half-assed excuse to Hopper – something about needing Nancy to be a mediator during the dnd lessons – then went outside. It took a while for someone to open the door. A plume of smoke exited the doorway as the hinges swung open.

They must have burnt their dinner. Eleven thought to herself, sniffing the air with a grimace. It smelled like burnt herbs. Eleven looked around. Will was blanched, crossing his arms and elbowing Mike when the boy giggled. Lucas wasn’t bothering to hide his laughter, while Max tried desperately to muffle hers. Erica looked confused, and Dustin was face-palming with one hand on his hip. It reminded El of Steve.

Jonathan, who answered the door, looked relaxed. He must have been taking a nap, because his eyes were also narrow and red. He was coughing for a while but looked at the kids, “Oh, hey guys.” He waved and pointed inside with his thumb, “We were just uh, cooking.” There was a high-pitched laughter coming from inside. It was Dustin who shook his head then shoved past Jon.

Nancy and Argyle were sitting on the floor. Nancy was in a fit of laughter, while Argyle was holding something small and cylindrical in his hand. Nancy glanced over at Eleven before ripping the thing from Argyle’s hand and tapping it on the inside of a small, round bowl.

An ashtray: Hopper had one in the cabin, and he added one to the station’s kitchen.

“What’s up?” Nancy was flushed, and her eyes were red too.

“We need a ride.” Mike’s tone was neutral, as he frowned in his sister’s direction, “Are you willing to take us, or do you need to eat some chips and take a nap first?”

Nancy flipped him off before leaning against her arm. “Where, when, and why do you need a ride?”

“To Lucas’s house, as soon as possible, and because, uh…” Dustin looked to Eleven and Will.

“I feel Eddie. He is somewhere, and I can find him. Dad won’t let me use my powers, so we need to leave in secret,” Eleven explained. Nancy’s eyes were like two saucers, and she looked to Will, who clenched and unclenched his jaw.

“I feel the Mind Flayer. It’s not as strong as before, but I can feel it.” Jonathan immediately rushed forward.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, but we need to get out there. El needs to see if it’s really Eddie, and she can talk to him if it is.” Dustin frowned, “A couple of us need to stay behind to cover for the others, but we need to try. If it is the Flayer, we can just get El out of the wet place, and if it’s Eddie…” he trailed off, but his eyes told everything he would’ve said.

“We tried contacting Eddie, remember?” Nancy spoke carefully, as if not to trigger the kid.

“We tried contacting his ghost,” Dustin clarified, looking between Nancy and Max, “I know it’s far-fetched, but what if… what if Eddie’s alive?”

“He’s not,” Lucas insisted almost immediately, “You guys didn’t see him. He was…” he looked down, eyes watering, “He was ripped apart. Parts of him were completely eaten. There’s no coming back from that. He was lying in a lake of his own blood with demobats all around him. He’s not! —” His voice cracked and failed. Nancy walked over and placed a hand on his arm. Lucas immediately stepped away and avoided everyone’s gazes. “He’s not alive, but he could be a ghost. We’ve seen it happen before; it’s possible.”

“The Ouija board—”

“Those are scams, Henderson.” Lucas’s tone turned dark – angry instead of heartbroken, “They’re not real. If we want to contact Eddie, we have to do it through Eleven.” He crossed his arms. “Now, who’s staying behind?”

“I will,” Erica offered. Lucas looked over with a small amount of surprise, “I’m the best liar of all of us, and I can cry on command. I’d be a good distraction.” She looked to Dustin expectantly.

“No way! I want to be there when we see Eddie!” Dustin shouted.

“But no one else can shout like you do. They need to hear our voices while we’re inside the Winnebago.”

“Why can’t Mike do it? He’s just as loud as I am!”

“Hell no! I’m not leaving Will when the Flayer might be out there!” Mike grabbed Will’s arm, and the younger boy flushed.

“Then it’s settled; Dustin stays behind.” Max smirked.

“And why can’t you?” Dustin pointed to the girl. She rolled her eyes and looked at Lucas, who was looking at the ground and rubbing his neck, “Seriously?!” she snapped, “Out of all of us here, I’m one of the only ones who wasn’t wanted for murder! What if we get stopped?”

“I can handle it.” Nancy nodded, “All our names were cleared, and the government knows it wasn’t us.”

“You wrote a tell-all about Hawkins lab!”

“And I’m good at bullshitting, I can do this. And we can’t just have Dustin and Erica here; we’d need multiple, distinct voices.” Nancy crossed her arms, “You’re staying, Max.”

Max threw her hands up, “You’re all assholes!” she stormed to the couch and collapsed on top of it. Her nose scrunched up, “And spray some fucking perfume, this place stinks of grass!” Lucas covered his mouth to siphon a laugh, Jonathan and Argyle didn’t bother to hide theirs, and Nancy flushed before grabbing her keys.

“Let’s go; we’re taking Eddie’s van.” They had put new plates on the vehicle and painted it all a bright blue instead of its normal black. They also added the radio station’s logo on the side, painting their own excuse for driving around. Eleven, Mike, and Will piled into the back, while Nancy and Lucas stuck to the front.

“Buckled up?” Nancy glanced over her shoulder.

“There is nothing back here but a dirty mattress, a speaker, random books, and a pack of cigarettes; what do you think?” He stumbled when trying to situate himself beside Will just to grimace, “Fuck!” he lifted his arm, and a tissue was sticking to his sleeve. He shook the limb and slapped at the trash until it landed beside the mattress, “You guys couldn’t have cleaned this thing out?!”

“We did!” Nancy spat, “Trust me, that tissue was the least of our problems.”

“Would it be better or worse to bring out a blacklight?” Lucas grimaced, as he watched Eleven tilt her head while Will and Mike moved to sit in the center of the mattress, knowing the stained surface was probably better than the hidden crevices surrounding it. That, and the stain is probably bong water.

“Worse: I’d rather stay blissfully ignorant, please.” Mike wrapped his arms around his bent knees.

“What is that?” Eleven pointed at a condom wrapper.

“Okay, let’s go!” Nancy took off to avoid the question. The kids in the back yelped and fell. Empty beer cans spilled from beneath the two front seats, where Nancy was turned the wheel far too fast, and Lucas was grabbing onto the handle above him.

“You guys definitely didn’t clean this thing out!” Mike tossed a beer can to the back doors, where it bounced off the glass and landed in a heap.

“Tell that to the used condoms, dirty laundry, and dirty towels!” Mike looked simply appalled, while Eleven tilted her head.

“What are condoms?”

A hellish fifteen minutes – minutes that would’ve been stretched to twenty had it not been for Nancy’s speed - later, they arrived at the Sinclair residence. They parked just down the road, so the kids could cut through the woods and enter through one of the basement windows.

“We’ll meet you guys inside.” Lucas and Nancy walked to the house, while Will, Mike, and El went to the woods. Lucas unlocked the front door using a key hidden in a potted plant. Nancy followed him inside. She went downstairs to let the kids in, while Lucas ran upstairs to grab a makeshift blindfold.

“Alright, where are we doing this?” Nancy put her hands on her hips, and Lucas tilted his head toward the living room. She looked over to spot the small tv sat next to the fireplace. Mike went to work turning on the static, while Eleven took the offered blindfold.

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Will asked his sister, who nodded.

“Eddie gives off more energy than other people. I can always sense him, and it makes him easy to track.” She looked to Nancy, who was chewing her lip, “I’m ready.” She sat crisscrossed in front of the TV and put on the blindfold. Mike and Will sat next to her, while Nancy and Lucas stood a few feet away. It didn’t take long for the girl’s nose to start to bleed.

“Are you seeing anything?”

“No, but I can feel him. He’s close.” Her jaw clenched every so often, while her eyebrows furrowed. She frowned too. “I think I hear him.”

“What is he saying?” Mike urged.

“Nothing. He is grunting. He is screaming.” She inhaled sharply, “I hear growling. There is a demodog. It is attacking Eddie.”

“Why would a demodog attack Eddie? He’s dead, isn’t he?” Mike dared to look hopeful, as he directed the question to his sister. She nodded.

“He’s dead, but when Steve was in the Upside Down, you could hear him. You could hear him and see him and touch him. The demodog is probably attacking Eddie’s ghost.” She bit her lip, “Do you see him El?”

“I hear something wet.” Lucas grimaced, but El suddenly perked up. “I see something. There is a figure in the distance. It is crouched on the ground. There…” she trailed off, “The demodog is dead.” She approached, walking forward until she could clearly see the man. “It’s him!” she whispered, as if Eddie was an animal that could be spooked. He was doing something to the demodog corpse. His hands were covered in blood, as he ripped his shirt from his body.

“What is he doing?!” Will asked, rubbing the back of his neck. It felt like the Flayer was suddenly closer.

“He is drawing something on his…” she trailed off, and the line between her brows became deeper, “Eddie?” she called. There was a flash of yellow light, and Eddie vanished before her eyes. “He…”

“What?” Mike grabbed El’s arm, ignoring Will’s scold.

“He disappeared.” She tilted her head and walked forward, but there was nothing but the demodog’s corpse, “He was just here; he –“ she paused to remove her blindfold, “ – was on the ground next to a dead demodog. I think he killed it.”

“Holy shit, really?” Mike looked impressed, “All on his own?”

“No shit, who else would help him?” Nancy smiled when her brother flipped her off before turning back to El, “What was he doing?”

“He was playing with the blood. His shirt was off, and he was smearing the blood on his chest. I do not know what it was, but he disappeared. There was a bright light, and then he was gone.” She looked to each of her friends, expecting one of them to explain. Perhaps, it was one of those things she had yet to learn about, like whatever condoms are and why the Winnebago always smells like smoke and herbs.

“Why would he be playing with blood?” Lucas asked, tilting his head.

“Maybe he’s a vampire.” Will snorted at Mike’s joke before slapping his arms, “What? Would it really be that farfetched given everything else we’ve dealt with.”

“What is a vampire?” Eleven asked.

“Something undead that drinks blood, like a zombie but less gross, paler, and with superpowers,” Will responded, frowning next, “Do vampires exist in the Upside Down?”

“Bats do, and they killed Eddie.” Nancy looked to Lucas, who shook his head.

“Was he just playing with the blood or drinking it?” He directed the question to El.

“Playing with it. He was using it like paint.” Mike damn-near pouted, as Lucas sat on the couch.

“Whatever he was doing, we’ll have to figure out later.” Nancy looked at Lucas after he lifted one side of the curtains, showing off the orange-hued sky, stained by the setting sun. “We need to get out of here before curfew.”

“I’ll stay behind,” Lucas offered, “It’d look less suspicious with Mike with you, and, well, this is my house.”

“What? No way! What if you guys get caught?” Mike shook his head, and Lucas rolled his eyes.

“We will fight.” Eleven said at the same time as Will said, “We’ll run.” They looked at each other then back to Mike, who threw his hands up.

“Trust me, Mike, if anyone can handle getting chased by cops, it’s Lucas. He saved our asses; I trust him.” Nancy crossed her arms and squinted Mike’s way. He looked like he wanted to keep arguing, but he instead sighed.

“Fine but bring a walkie.” He spoke through a tight jaw, and Nancy chuckled and grabbed his arm, “What?”

“We have to leave now if we want to beat the sunset. We’ll see you guys at the station.” She smiled. Mike stood to follow his sister outside, but he paused to turn around.

“You guys better not get caught.”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, Mike.” Lucas crossed his arms, “We’ll be fine; get out of here.” Nancy did one final look around to the kids then left, shouting at Mike when he stood idly.

“Alright, we got about two hours until the sun is fully set, but we should wait longer until the after-curfew patrols die down…” Lucas trailed off, as Will was staring at the floor. The line between his brows deepened, as did the frown on his face, “Will, you okay?” Lucas approached the younger boy, sitting on the carpet next to him and El. El turned to face him, as Will opened and closed his mouth.

“I didn’t…” he hesitated, stuttering as he tried to find the words, “I don’t feel the Flayer anymore.”

“Well, that’s good; isn’t it?” Lucas’s smile quickly dropped when Will looked at him dreadfully, “What?”

“He stopped feeling him when I saw Eddie disappeared.” Eleven looked to Will for clarification, and her shoulders dropped when he nodded.

“What does that mean?”

“Multiple things. None of them good.” Will looked to El, knowing she knows a lot more about this than he does. He may have been possessed, and he may have this power to sense Vecna and the Flayer, but she knows the place inside and out. She knows the power beyond physical, and so, when she frowned, he knew not to expect good news.

“The Flayer could be controlling Eddie,” El theorized, “He is magic, and him disappearing may have been a spell.” They knew from all the times they’ve read Eddie’s journal that spells existed. There were a few listed in the journal itself. Dustin spent nearly three hours trying to push a glass of water off of a table, nearly shouting, “Transpourtio!” until Eleven pushed the glass herself. They let the boy celebrate for two minutes before Eleven stepped in front of him to wipe her bloodied nose.

“He was drawing on himself, right?” El nodded, “He was probably drawing a sigil. Something to hide himself. Something to hide the Flayer.”

“If he is possessed, then keeping us in the dark would probably be a top priority. Vecna is still missing. Maybe they’re all staying low until they can heal up – make a plan to defeat us.” Lucas shuffled until he could lean back against the coffee table. Will moved next to him while El stayed sitting crisscrossed. “He probably knew you were coming, killed the demodog, then hid himself using one of Eddie’s spell.”

“Does that mean it has Eddie’s powers?” Will looked to Lucas.

“Probably – I don’t really know how superpowers work.”

“He would.” El interrupted before Lucas could continue, “If he took over Eddie’s body, any physical abilities it would have, and it would have Eddie’s memories too.” Her eyes widened, suddenly, “But it could not possess a corpse.” She looked in Lucas’s eyes, and he frowned, pulling his knees up to his chest.

“Are you saying…” his voice was almost inaudible, as his eyes stayed glued to the floor. He knew if he looked anywhere else, he’d start crying. He focused instead on a stain from Erica’s most recent art project.

“He looked alive. There were no injuries.” Eleven spoke very carefully.

“I—” Lucas looked between his friends before sniffing, standing, and walking away, “I’m going to my room. Uh, I’ll get you guys when it’s time to go.” He disappeared upstairs just as fast as he spoke of his temporary leave.

Eleven moved to sit by Will, who asked, “Do you really think he’s alive?”

“I think that no matter what, we have to fight soon. We need to prepare.” She looked to her brother, “If Eddie is alive, Vecna isn’t the only threat. The Flayer will be ten times as powerful. We could kill Vecna, but with Eddie there, the Flayer could rip us apart.”

“Is Eddie really that powerful?” Will smiled slightly, as if the concept was amusing.

“I saw Vecna’s plans with him during our fight. If he succeeded, Eddie will unlock his full potential.” She exhaled slowly, “He is more powerful with freedom; he could destroy us.” She swallowed, and Will can’t remember the last time El, fearless and strong, looked so nervous, “He could destroy the world.”

***

It was just past midnight when Lucas, El, and Will got back. They were tired, dirty from the woods, and dragging their feet. They reached the door of the Winnebago just for it to fly open. Hopper was standing there with a glare so strong it made Will’s stomach do a backflip. Forget Vecna and the Flayer, Hopper’s going to kill them.

“And where the hell have you guys been?” Will looked over the man’s shoulders to see everyone but the other adults crowded in the vehicle. Dustin looked the guiltiest, rubbing the back of his neck and grimacing. “It’s midnight!”

“We were at my house. Just wanted to play some games—”

“Bullshit!” Hopper snapped, and Max’s voice came from the background.

“Maybe don’t shout outside when there are soldiers everywhere.” Hopper looked back and glared at the girl but stepped out of the way with a huff. The kids outside scurried past him like rats past a sleeping cat. The door slammed shut, and Eleven sat at the table, avoiding her dad’s gaze when he sat across from her.

“You better give me a good excuse, kid.” Hopper crosses his arms, and Eleven finally has the courage to look up. Ever since he lost all that weight in Russia, his face has been narrower. It’s more daunting this way, like he’s a villain in a Disney movie. “And don’t pull that games at Lucas’s crap; I know you guys snuck out, and I know El used her powers.” He looks down, and El follows his gaze to see a drop of blood on her shirt.

“I found Eddie.” She says timidly. Hopper’s face softens, as his eyes widen.

“What?”

“I sensed Eddie, and Will sensed the Flayer. I saw him.”

“Alive?!” She nods, but something must be off about her expression, because Hopper’s eyes flicker with dread, “What is it kid?”

“Nothing good.” She goes on to explain everything she saw. Then, she leaves it to Will to explain everything from his end. Lucas looks nauseous the entire time, gripping Max’s hand until his knuckles turn white.

“Did you sense Steve?” Hopper’s voice is thick when he asks, and El shakes her head.

“No.” Hopper sighs and leans back in his seat. He blinks away some tears, wipes them, then turns back to his daughter.

“You’re not to use any more powers unless you sense Eddie, the Flayer, or if I give you all clear. You must stay in the station where it’s safe, and you can’t be going into town again. It’s too dangerous.” Eleven nods so vigorously she may as well have added a salute on top of it all. “Now that that’s agreed upon, we need to get to work.”

“Plan our attack.”

“No,” Hopper’s voice is stern, “not yet. We’re not going in guns blazing. We need a plan, and we need to study. If Eddie’s powerful, we need to figure out how to get him back. I wouldn’t be surprised if Steve has something to do with it – maybe, that’s why they took his body. We also need to figure out if Vecna’s alive, and we need to figure out about the Flayer.” He jumbles his words, clearly too tired and stressed to play the role of the general properly. “We’ll discuss it more in the morning. Until then, get some sleep. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

He stands and heads for the door, pausing in the doorway to frown and look straight at Jonathan, “And stop smoking weed in here. It reeks!” Argyle laughs, “That means you too kid!” It doesn’t seem to reach Argyle’s awareness, but he throws a thumbs up anyway. Hopper rolls his eyes and leaves without another thought. That’s when Nancy scrambles to life. She reaches beneath her, pulling out Eddie’s journal.

“I have a plan.” She opens the journal to a page marked with a bent corner. There are multiple bent corners, as each page slightly useful is marked. How she found the page she was looking for the first time, nobody knows. “Look.” She turns the journal around, and everyone crowds around her on the floor to read where she points.

“I lost my spell book.” Erica raises a brow and frowns, “He has a spell book?”

“It’s more than what we’ve seen in the journal,” she confirms, “I think it’s an actual spell book, one with more sigils, more spells, more of everything. If we can find it, maybe we can figure out the Flayer’s plan with Eddie’s powers. Maybe we could find something to help us.” She shrugs, and Max leans forward.

“We could ask Wayne to help look, but finding something Eddie’s lost is worse than finding a needle in a haystack. I once saw him lose an entire tire for his van when he was trying to fix it. He had to buy a new one.” Max adds a wince at the end, “Imagine trying to find a book.”

“It doesn’t hurt to try.” Nancy shut the journal. "Well, you guys can. I'm going back to Robin tomorrow." The group of kids look at Nancy, each one wearing the same pitying expression. A few of them wear mindless winces, as if being showed a bad paper cut. It's no big surprise, of course. Nancy spends most of her time with Robin still, only coming home to eat dinner or shower. She'll sometimes stay the night at the hospital and come back a day later looking twice as tired. No one comments on how her expression shifts to something worried and dreadful. She knows as well as anyone else that Robin's not getting better. She just can't bring herself to let Robin go.

Will clears his throat, as Jonathan moves to comfort Nancy, “Well, sounds like a good plan to me. Get the spell book and start training." He smiles.

"Yeah just learn magic overnight." Erica crosses her arm.

"Eddie can do spells as easy as he can breathe; why can’t we give it a try?” Nancy's smile is small when she responds.

“We already tried that—”

The smile drops, while Nancy frowns, “Sigils and potions are a bit different than suddenly developing telekinesis, Henderson.” Dustin deflates, and Nancy brings the journal to her chest. “We have to try. For Eddie. For Robin.” Just as a few moments before, Nancy looks lost for a second, and everyone lets her be lost only to bring her back to reality a second later.

“It won’t be easy.” Eleven warns. “We can try, but we need to have more. Eddie won’t be stopped with a simple spell. It is going to take everything we have.” She swallows, “He is strong. He is powerful.” She replicates the frightened tone from her earlier conversation with Lucas, “If he gets taken over completely, and if we don’t snap him out of the possession, we’ll never stop him. He will kill us. He will destroy us all.”

***

“I don’t want to get up!” Eddie whines after Steve yanks his blanket and tosses it to the floor. “Let me die in peace!”

“You fucked me so hard that I saw stars and you gained enough power to work every light in this place, and you’re complaining about not being able to sleep in?” Steve puts his hands on his hips, frowning and shaking his head like a disappointed mother.

“I didn’t fall asleep right away, and the more I sleep, the more I can save that power for other things.” He smirks, and Steve rolls his eyes.

“Get up, perv. We need to sort through what you scavenged,” Eddie waves a hand and begins to get up. He eyes the spell book in his closet and walks there first. He picks it up, turns it over, then carries it into the kitchen. Steve is gargling mouthwash in the bathroom, and Eddie takes his turn once he’s done. He’s spitting right when Steve pokes his head in the doorway. “What’s this?” he’s holding the spell book.

“Spell book.” Eddie answers before wiping his mouth, “Sigils, spells, potions, sugar, spice, and everything nice.” He smiles, but Steve doesn’t laugh. He opens the book instead. His eyes skim over the pages.

“Wait, so spells are more than just sigils and words?” Steve turns the book over, showing Eddie’s recipe for a luck spell jar.

“I don’t do them often.” Eddie motions towards the book, “I lost that thing a while ago. It’s too much work to do them, and a lot of those spells I can do with sigils and words. A few are good, though.” He shrugs, “I don’t know; I guess I was just lazy, but maybe something in there can help our situation.” He walks past Steve, ”Never too late to pick off from where you left off.”

“Tell that to the dead.” Steve hands Eddie the book then grabs a couple cans of fruit. Eddie takes his can, opens it, then begins to chug the sliced pineapple, “Dude, slow down!” Eddie doesn’t listen. Instead, he flips through his spell book, barely having to touch it before its charmed pages move for him. “Woah…” Steve steps closer.

“It was my grandma’s first. She put all these charms on it; it’s not draining my energy. Oh, and…” he smiles and shakes his hands giddily, “open sesame!” Steve frowns, “Just kidding.” Eddie closes the book then taps the cover in a specific pattern and rhythm. Somehow, after all this time, he remembers it, like muscle memory. Eventually, the book brightens, and slams open onto a page that says, ‘sleep remedy’.

“Infernal desire? What does that mean?”

“It’s like the warmth sigil but lasts way longer. Want to try it?”

Steve doesn’t hesitate to say yes. This leaves Eddie to search through their many supplies. He grabs some honey he’d taken from a nearby trailer, some old bay leaves that are thankfully still intact, and some salt, as he finally managed to find one that was completely sealed not full of tiny pieces of black dust. He also checks his room but pauses in the bathroom door

“Are those the ingredients?” Steve eyes the stuff in Eddie’s hands.

“You’ll find out.” Eddie runs to his room.

Every witch, no matter the power level, has an altar. Not every which has psychic abilities, though every psychic can be a witch. Again, Eddie is not keen on spells; he only ever uses his psychic powers. Down here, his powers are too risky to use. It wasn’t until he made that sigil with blood that he realized just how useful reverting back to a more old-fashioned form a practice was, thus not wasting any time avoiding the book. He’s not going to give up his powers, as not every problem can be fixed with a spell, but he can try. He can get better.

His alter is pitiful, but some of his herbs are in good enough condition. Some are covered in mold and mildew, but others are dry enough to use. He has some incense ash and coal, and that’s all he really needs. He drops the supplies he’s collected onto the table and runs to the bathroom to collect some water. Steve follows him closely, trailing behind him like a moth chasing a flame. He asks questions along the way, asking what Eddie is doing. When Eddie’s settled in front of his alter, Steve sits next to him.

“These kinds of spells aren’t that powerful,” Eddie explains while he works, grinding up some dried bay leaves with a mortar and pistol, “not with these ingredients. Blood is the most powerful. Blood, ash, fire, physical sacrifice, or some energy. Not all witches have psychic powers, so most of them stick with the easier supplies. This is a potion, which most witches use as ink for sigils – make them more powerful. They can drink it, but it kind of tastes like shit unless they’re a kitchen witch.”

“There are kitchen witches?” Steve can’t help but imagine the witch from The Wizard of Oz wearing some frilly apron and making cookies.

“Witches specialize in whatever they prefer. My grandma didn’t do the entire witchcraft thing, but she knew some nature witches – green witches, wiccans, voodoo witches, witches who followed Greek gods, but I’m more of a chaos witch. I do whatever feels right in the moment; a lot of psychics are chaos witches.”

“Can witches gain psychic powers?”

“Maybe, I’ve never heard of it but, uh, after recent events, I feel like anything is possible.” Eddie smiles and adds honey to what he’s grinded up in the mortar. He sticks his hand in the liquid, mixing some water and stirring with his pointer finger. His eyes flash for a moment, and the mixture starts shining, “It’s not a lot of energy,” Eddie dismisses when Steve asks, “just enough to activate it and make it stronger.” He smiles then tilts his head up, “Take off your shirt.”

“Looking for round two, Munson?” Steve removes his shirt, blushing slightly. Eddie swats his back with his clean hand before dipping the other back into the potion. Steve shivers when the cold liquid touches his skin. Eddie looks at his sketchbook as he draws. Sigils involving ingredients and potions are always more complicated, and this one is a giant flame of swirling signs, each meaning something different. A giant, harmonic mixture to make the spell come together. It takes him a few minutes, and he only knows he’s done when the drawing flashes like it did before. Steve sighs and slouches.

“Did it work?”

“It feels like I’m on the beach.” He sighs. Eddie smiles and turns Steve around to press a kiss.

“I’ll wrap it up. It will last as long as the sigil doesn’t get wiped off. Completely, I mean, so don’t worry about a bit of it coming off.” Eddie smacks Steve’s arm and stands. Steve stands as well, following him to the kitchen, where Eddie digs through the supplies for gauze. He eventually curses and mutters something about the bathroom, going there a few moments later.

Steve, meanwhile, grabs his leftover breakfast and eats, staring idly at the wall. There’s a calendar next to the Munson’s front door. Steve smiles and walks closer, eyeing the tacky drawing of a turkey on Thanksgiving. He touches it with the point of his finger, but his smile fades upon finding something else. He steps away from the calendar once Eddie comes back with the gauze. Steve’s heart feels like it’s beating outside of his chest. “Found some gauze…” Eddie trails off when he sees the stern look on Steve’s face.

“Where is your journal?” Steve asks, crossing his arms and setting the can of fruit back onto the counter. He’s lost his appetite.

“I told you, Steve. I forgot it at school on this day—” Steve storms past him and rips something off the wall. He throws it so Eddie has to catch it against his chest. He frowns and looks down to see what it is. The calendar. Eddie’s blood runs cold.

November 6^th, 1983: it was a Sunday. Eddie wasn’t at school. “I can explain.”

“Explain what? Explain that you lied to me or explain how the journal isn’t really lost and you, for some reason, don’t want to use it when it could easily help us.”

“Steve, I can explain—”

“Then explain! What the fuck could you say to make this okay?!” Steve shouts, throwing his hands, and Eddie feels like he’s going to throw up. “Well?” Eddie swallows thickly, as Steve stares daggers.

It’s quiet, almost inaudible, but the gasp that follows lets Eddie know Steve hears it when he says, “Vecna’s alive.”

Chapter Text

April 7^th, 1986 (Monday)

Eddie thinks he prefers Steve yelling at him. He’s dealt with ghosts, evil warlocks, getting eaten alive, and coming back from the dead, but this is worse. The silent treatment. Steve isn’t even avoiding him; he’s out and about, eating and reading in the middle of the living room while Eddie watches anxiously from the kitchen. Steve is pissed; Eddie can tell. The air is thick with it and dyed red from the man’s aura. It gets worse as the day goes on until nighttime shows its signs through yawns and the natural yearning to go to sleep.

Worst of all, before he went silent, Steve forced Eddie to hand over his journal, sneering when the ‘Romeo & Juliet’ cover morphed into the normal leather surface. He reads that the most, and if Eddie wasn’t already on thin ice, he’d try and convince Steve to avoid certain entries. Like the times Eddie described Steve’s hair in detail or the time he astral projected to see what Steve’s room looked like.

Then there’s the kids. While Eddie anticipates Steve blowing up, he expects Eleven to walk into the trailer and immediately figure it all out. He’s in between a rock and a hard place except the rock is his soulmate hating him and the hard place is trying to fake his death post-death. Maybe he should just pretend to be a ghost, tell the kids that Vecna’s alive and the Flayer is after them – give them a proper warning. But he doesn’t want to risk it. It’s better to keep them in the dark.

Then again, he thought the same for Steve, but here he is. Steve is pissed at him, and now he’s reading the journal like it’s the bible and holds all the answers to their problems. At one point, he picks up the spell book and begins reading them side-by-side. Eddie’s not even sure if the man can read his chicken scratch, but he refuses to cue Eddie in on what he’s thinking.

“I can help, you know,” Eddie offers when Steve and he are sitting across from each other eating lukewarm children’s soup at dinnertime, “Whatever it is you’re trying to find in the journal, I can help you find it.” Steve continues chewing, sipping at the broth once in a while. Eddie feels like he’s going to implode, and his leg even starts bouncing against his will. “I know it was wrong of me to lie, but I was trying to protect you. Vecna wants me on his side, and he knows you’re my biggest weakness. I can keep the Flayer at bay, but you will always come first; he knows that.”

“Yet you’re not working towards a solution.” Steve stares at the star-shaped noodles in his soup as he speaks, “There’s a reason Vecna wants you, and there’s a way to defeat him. He needs you to continue his plan, but he’s also scared of you. The Flayer acts all cocky, but it knows you are more powerful than it. It took the souls of nearly every demobat down here to get you in the first place; don’t act like we’re sitting ducks. We’re the hunters; Vecna and the Flayer are a couple of grizzlies.” Steve finally looks up, “We’ll need a lot of ammo, but we can take them down.”

“Steve—”

“Vecna called you infinite.” Steve stood, pushing his chair back, “We need to figure out why.” He turned away, and Eddie followed.

“It’s not that simple—”

“You brought me back to life, Eddie.” Steve cut Eddie off, turning towards him to stop him in his tracks, “You used super speed. You absorbed the soul of a cop through dimensions. You killed hundreds of demobats and held them off. You opened a mega-gate that destroyed half of town –“

“The Flayer –“

“Couldn’t have done anything without you, and neither could Vecna.” Steve’s face turns chillingly neutral, like he’s trying to explain the truths of the universe, even if Eddie doesn’t believe any of it, “The Flayer may have been controlling you, but all it did was use the powers and abilities you already have. You learn how to use them in the same way, and we can defeat Vecna and the Flayer. We can go home.” Steve’s voice turns soft, and Eddie feels himself break. “I have been dead for months, Eddie. I want to go home. I want to finally live. I escaped purgatory, went to heaven, and now I’m here. I’m back in hell, and I know it’s selfish. I know you’re scared – I’m scared too, but I refuse to be stuck in limbo any longer. I got a second chance, Eddie. I want to live.” He grabs the sides of Eddie’s face, and that golden glow is back. Eddie reaches for it, grabbing Steve’s wrists and keeping him close. The warmth traverses between them. It’s power. It’s pure. It’s comforting.

“Okay.” Eddie nods, “Okay, I’ll do it. I’ll do it for you.” The golden glow shines brighter. It’s like greeting a friend you haven’t seen in years—a new haircut, a new style but the same person to pick up where you left off. “Everything I do is for you.” Steve frowns, like Eddie said something strange, but all he did was speak the truth. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” They kiss, and it’s all Eddie needs. Steve matters the most, and if the world dies in the meantime, it’ll be worth it.

Steve deserves the sun. He deserves the warmth. He deserves a chance to live again, if only for a moment. If only until the likely occurrence of everything going wrong.

“Okay,” Eddie pulls away, “what’s the plan?”

“I’ll let you know when I think of one.” Steve smiles painfully, and Eddie nudges his shoulder. He leads Steve to the couch where the spell book and journal are on the coffee table.

“Not like we have anything better to do.” Eddie tries before grabbing the journal. “I’m surprised you could even read any of this.” He opens the pages to see all of his messy entries.

“No, it was fine,” Steve dismisses before smiling, “Your handwriting is like corn hairs shining in Summer.” Eddie’s eyes widen, while Steve laughs, “Two pages front-and-back dedicated to my hair, Munson? Really?”

“Stop getting distracted, we need to work.” Eddie slaps Steve’s arm and ignores the heat stemming high on his cheeks. “Not that this journal would help much…” he flipped to the last entry that was a bit too far into the past for his comfort, “I was strong in the past, especially after seeing you for the first time, but it’s nowhere near the level I got once the Upside Down really started getting into play. The past couple of weeks, my powers have gone beyond anything I thought possible. Now, I’m back to where I started three years ago.”

“What about the memory charm?” Steve is, of course, referring to the sigil in Eddie’s journal that aids in his memories, so that each entry can be as detailed as possible. Eddie shakes his head.

“I tried it already, but it’s worn down from not being upkept. Sigils stop working the second their shape gets broken.” He touches the splotches where the leather rotted and tore from being in the Upside Down for so long. “Everything dies one way or another.”

“The man who came back to life says to the other man who came back to life.” Eddie closes the journal for a second to lightly smack Steve’s thigh, “Why not make a new journal?” Eddie tilts his head and frowns, “What?”

“It’s my grandma’s…”

Steve blanches, “Are you seriously about to jeopardize our planning over the sentimental value of a journal?” He grabs Eddie’s spell book to busy his hands. Eddie reaches over and grabs it.

“It’s not about the sentimental value, it’s about the trade-off.” Eddie sets the spell book back on the table and leans towards Steve, who’s scowling from Eddie’s actions. “When grandma died and officially moved on, she made a trade-off of knowledge with me. There is something similar that happens when witches die; they give their power off through the bloodline or through spiritual connection—to someone else. It’s not always done on purpose; power transfer happens automatically through genetics or through saving someone’s life after death. But Grandma passed knowledge alongside the power. Everything I know, I know because of her, and it goes far beyond any of her entries and any of her lessons.” When Steve doesn’t respond, even if he opens his mouth to do so, Eddie flips the journal to the last page.

“There’s nothing there.” Eddie holds up a hand, and the journal suddenly begins to vibrate and hum like a glitching speaker. A new page slowly grows from the center crease of the book. It grows slowly, like a flower, until a fresh page sprouts completely in the back. At the top of the page is the title, ‘How to unlock full potential’. Everything beneath the title is blank. “Woah…” Eddie flips back to his more recent entry in the book, and that new page appears beside the recent one, “wait, but I thought you said spells wear off after a while.”

“That’s because it isn’t a spell or a sigil,” Eddie shakes his head, “it’s my grandma. She put a bit of her soul into the journal; that’s what makes it special, and that’s why it works down here. She transferred knowledge and power, the knowledge she gave would follow me and this journal, no matter the form of the journal or where I am. It just has to be this journal, and it has to be me using it. It’s not a spell; it’s more like a loyal dog. It followed the power—it followed me here.”

“Why didn’t you use this sooner?” Steve holds out a hand instead of taking the journal from Eddie’s arms as he did the first few times. Eddie handed it over.

“I did,” Eddie insisted, “but that’s where the issues come to play. This journal only shows what my grandma knew. That’s why this page was blank. If I wanted a full explanation on something, I would’ve gotten it. I got it a few times last week when I was asking about Vecna invading my visions, but all I got was a few short sentences that summed up to ‘no idea’.”

“And this page? Why is it blank?” Steve traces the title, “I mean, surely your grandma had to explore her powers somehow.”

“Yes and no…” Eddie grimaces, “My guess is that when the piece of her transferred to the Upside Down, it took a lot of energy. It weakened the knowledge; this isn’t my first time asking it a question since coming down here. It’s become a lot less detailed, but with this question I don’t think it knows the answer. My grandma never really explored her powers; she just knew she could speak to ghosts. Most of what she learned, she did through hands-on experience, and she encouraged me to do the same. She taught me the basics of swimming then threw me to the deep end. Well, I guess the deep end found me with all the Upside Down stuff.” Eddie’s leg begins to bounce, as he sighs. “Most of what I did over spring break was completely accidental. Everything I discovered I did so without meaning to, and until that fight with the demobats and all that stuff with absorbing power and taking back control from the Flayer, I didn’t know how to do anything. Now I can absorb power beyond just electricity—through every source, I can keep the Flayer at bay, but I don’t know how to do the rest. I don’t know how to do everything at once or take infinite power without succumbing to the power of Vecna and the Upside Down, and my grandma doesn’t know either.”

“Well, then we figure out what you did. We get your memories back.”

“Steve, that’s not how it works—”

“This place is covered with sigils, you have sigils in your tattoos, and we have an entire spell book to study; there has to be a way to unlock your memories, and through that, we can hopefully figure out how you did what you did.” Steve sounds doubtful even to his own ears, but he’s trying to build up hope again. He was once optimistic—naively so. He can become that way again. He won’t let it happen too quickly, not with so many things unclear, but a little hope doesn’t hurt. This little bit of hope that Eddie can be powerful enough to fight once more; it’s what he needs. It’s what they both need. “We have to try.”

“Do or do not; there is no try.” Eddie smirks, and Steve rolls his eyes.

“Don’t give me that. You can’t do shit without trying; Yoda’s a jerk.” Eddie gasps.

“You take that back!”

“No way! Yoda’s useless. Why was he on that planet in the first place?! Why couldn’t he fight Vader!” Steve immediately argues, and Eddie’s eyes turn as wide as saucers.

“Oh my God, Steve! Have you even seen the movies?!” Eddie snaps, and Steve rolls his eyes.

“Of course, I have!”

“Did you pay attention?” Steve crosses his arms and levels Eddie with a stare but staring never work out too well. Not when they both are as stubborn as mules. Whatever, they can work tomorrow. Apparently, Star Wars is more important than saving the world.

April 8^th, 1986 (Tuesday)

“Just try again!” Steve offers, and Eddie glares his way, “Don’t say it, Munson. I don’t like Yoda; you aren’t going to change my mind.” The psychic rolls his eyes before raising his hands once more. The TV in the living room hums with a wave of power stemming from Eddie’s hands. He can see thin tendrils of smoke-like light threading from his fingertips. Steve can’t see that, but he can see the television screen start to turn a light grey before static began to flicker in small splotches. The sound of static began to play over the hums, and the TV is on. There are no channels, not that Steve expected any. He doubts satellite can reach this side of the universe, but it works. It turns on and stays on. “Okay, now do the lights.”

“Do or do not…” Eddie mutters with a smile. Steve rolls his eyes. Eddie keeps one hand on the TV and raises the other up to the ceiling. His teeth are clenched, and his muscles strained, and more power grows from his fingertips. The lights flicker. They buzz. They turn on albeit dimly. It’s enough to light up the room. Steve glances towards the fridge, and the thing is humming with life as well. “You’re doing good.”

“It hurts.” Eddie’s head begins to throb, and he shuts his eyes tightly. “I can feel the flayer.”

“Just hold it for a bit longer, Eddie. I know you can do it.” Steve walks forward and grabs Eddie’s shoulder. There’s a shock of static, and Eddie sighs. “Is this helping?”

“Keep holding on. You’re giving me more power.” Eddie groans and sways forward, and Steve is forced to grab his other arm. He keeps him steady, and Eddie’s eyes flicker open. They’re red. “Eddie-“

“I can keep going.” He nods, eyes glancing across Steve’s chest, as he slouches forward from the strain, “I can keep going; I’m fighting him off,” he clarifies. Steve doesn’t know, but his chest is glowing gold again. Little sparks of light stemming from his heart. Eddie furrows his brows, wondering why it’s coming up again now, when nothing sexual is going on. Is it on extinct, or is Steve partly aware of what he’s doing? Of the power he possesses. Eddie gets so lost in thought that he doesn’t realize until Steve gasps that the lights have fully turned on. The fridge is buzzing loudly, and the microwave beeps and shows the time. It’s not the actual time, but it’s the thought that counts.

“Holy shit,” Steve huffs, “Eddie, your eyes.”

“What?”

“They’re gold.” Like stars in a clear night sky, Eddie’s eyes shine bright and yellow. It reminds Steve of the type of gold seen only in movies like The Goonies. Not dull but shining no matter how old it’s supposed to be.

“Gold?” Those eyes flicker, and Steve laughs.

“Eddie, it’s amazing! They’re not red anymore! You subdued the Flayer!” he presses a quick kiss to Eddie’s lips, and there’s a different kind of shock that feels more like lightning. Eddie pulls back with a shout, and the TV shatters at the same time that the lightbulb above them does the same. Steve gasps and leans over to cover his head, but Eddie’s hand is still pointed upwards. When no shards of glass rain down upon them, Steve stands back up. The shards of glass are caught in the air, held by Eddie’s outstretched hand and his still glowing eyes. He flicks his wrist, and the shards of glass float over to the pile of trash they’ve accumulated near the door. They take the trash out once every few days to not stink up the place, when Eddie’s certain the kids are likely asleep and can’t sense him.

“Well,” Eddie pants, “I’d say that was a success.” He smiles, and Steve pulls away, taking some warmth with him. He hasn’t gained much weight since they’ve been down here and is thus still cold, but, to Eddie, he feels warm. Especially when he glows gold. Eddie makes a mental note to ask Steve about it, but he focuses on writing in his journal instead. He’s drawn a new memory sigil, but it’s not as strong as the last, so he needs to write things down as soon as possible. Like now, when he can write down a new strategy in using his powers. Clear your mind. Basically, it might help to not focus as much, which is luckily pretty easy for him. He doesn’t bother writing down that Steve can help him; he already knows the power that comes from Steve.

“What’s next?” Steve asks once Eddie hands the journal back, “Want to try a spell? Maybe there’s something to do with energy, like a potion!”

“Potions don’t exist, Steve. It’s spell jars, hex bags, sigils, candle burnings, herb burnings—”

“Is there a spell to get you to stop listing every single spell type?” Eddie blanches and sits on the couch. “I’m kidding, alright. I just think you should try, even if you don’t like doing those kinds of spells.”

“it’s not that I don’t like them, I just…” Eddie hesitates, “Okay, I don’t like them,” Steve snorts and sits next to the psychic, “but it’s for a good reason. Doing spells is more than just following a recipe. There are guidelines, but it’s mostly working on intuition. You have a general idea of what ingredient does what, but there’s a level of experimentation.” Eddie snaps his fingers, “It’s like Chemistry! You study the elements and acids, or whatever, then you put them together and hope for the best!”

“Didn’t you fail chemistry?”

“Exactly,” Eddie huffs and collapses dramatically to simply lay back, “I’d need to study. Even if there is a spell that could work; I’m rusty as hell.”

“I can help you study. I’m really good at tutoring for Chemistry,” He smiles.

“Didn’t you get a C?”

Steve’s smile drops, “Right, you wouldn’t get my reference. Uh, I can help you study is what I’m saying. I can’t tutor you, but I can, like, help you look over notes. Make some flash cards?” He winces, and Eddie tilts his head in consideration.

“Maybe, but I think you’re either overestimating your tutoring skills or underestimating my ability to retain knowledge.” Steve rolls his eyes and opens his mouth, but Eddie suddenly sits up. His eyes flash red, and Steve drops whatever it was he was going to say. “What is it?” he asks, and Eddie feels chills run down his spine.

“I don’t know; it’s—” He gasps and stands up, holding both hands out in front of him, “Run!” he manages to get out before a demogorgon slams itself against the outside wall of the trailer. A couple of wooden boards once nailed to the wall clatter to the ground. Steve stands, eyes widening. “Run!” Eddie repeats. Steve nods and rushes to the bedroom, as Eddie curses.

Of course, Vecna isn’t the only being down here with the ability to sense energy. His power must have signaled the hive mind. He’ll have to remove more vines from the surrounding area of the trailer, but for now, he focuses on getting rid of the monster outside.

He’s glad he was smart enough to reinforce the trailer with more than just wooden boards and sigils. Unfortunately, the demogorgon apparently knows what doors are, as he switches from slamming into the wall for slamming into the door. “Fuck… fuck!” Eddie keeps his arms raised and pushes against the door like a human barricade. Or a jedi using the force to make a shield. Either way, the demogorgon is not letting it stop him. Eddie soon makes a rash decision, but it has to be done. If the demogorgon tears down the door, they have no means of fixing it or building a new one. Not to mention, breaking the door completely would also break the barrier; Eleven would find them.

“Fuck it.” Eddie turns one of his hands to the side, and the door unlocks and opens.

The demogorgon is a flash of flesh and bone. It roars, and Eddie has to leap out of the way before it crashes into him. He can hear Steve shouting from the bedroom, but he locks the door with a single raise of his finger. The handle begins to shake from Steve trying to get out, but Eddie’s too busy dodging the demogorgon’s next attack to bother. The monster slashes the couch, and feathers and cotton fly into the air. “Come on, man, I take naps there!” The demogorgon roars in response, “Asshole!” Eddie jumps and runs towards the kitchen.

“Can you stop bantering and kill the thing already?!” Steve asks before there’s a slam, “Ow!”

“Don’t hurt yourself!” The door to the bedroom shakes, and Eddie sighs before raising his hand. The axe he killed the demodog with floats over, and the demogorgon storms ahead. Eddie steps out from where he’s shielded by the kitchen counter and slams the blade of the axe directly into the demogorgon’s neck. The thing roars, and Eddie pulls back just to hit it again. The axe slices right through the thing’s neck, powered more by an influx of energy than any natural strength. He feels his arms throb, and the axes does more than decapitate the beast. It slams into the support beam attached to the kitchen counter and ceiling, cutting through metal before getting lodge in the center. Eddie pants and stares forward before waving his hand to shut and lock the front door. The bedroom door finally opens with a crack of breaking wood, and Steve runs, stopping just in front of the body. “Holy shit.” They’re both out of breath.

“Yeah…” Eddie can’t say much else than that. Instead, he sighs and grabs some old towels and jars. He raises his hand, and the blood pooling around the body floats up and into the jars. He’s out of breath even after Steve catches his, even after he takes the risk of absorbing the demogorgon’s energy, he feels sick. He feels exhausted. Steve must notice, because he takes the jars after Eddie fills him. He doesn’t ask, already knowing the general idea Eddie taught him of blood’s power when it comes to witchcraft. He even stops Eddie before the man can reach for the demogorgon’s head. “I got it,” he insists.

“Steve, you’re not strong enough.”

“I will clean up the blood and toss the head. I can use the axe on the body, and if not, I will ask for your help. I promise.” Steve speaks in a gentle tone, and Eddie nods.

“Yeah… yeah, okay.” He swallows with his suddenly dry throat and takes a bottle of water when it’s offered. He rushes to the bedroom and, without fanfare or delay, collapses into bed.

He thinks he hears whispers as he drifts off, but he has no energy to listen. Even when the voice—deep and growly—sings, “The fights are only just beginning, Eddie.”

*

Eddie wakes up, and a bowl of baked beans is shoved into his arms. “Here, eat.”

“Good morning to you too.”

“It’s not morning; you’ve been out for only three hours.” He hands Eddie a spoon next. “I cleaned up the rest of the blood and some of the feathers, but the demogorgon body is a bit more difficult to clean than I thought. I also took the axe out of the wall—nice shot, by the way.” Steve puts his hands on his hips and tilts his head with the compliment.

“All in the wrist.” Eddie hums and takes a bite of the cold beans, “Right, microwave…” he grimaces.

“Yeah, sorry. If it makes you feel any better, my beans were cold and crunchy. Don’t ask; I don’t know why.” Eddie grimaces and takes another bite of his beans. “So, I take it the power surge triggered the hive mind?”

“Yeah, knocked me out too.” He sighs when Steve leans down to kiss Eddie’s forehead. “Thanks,” There’s no golden glow this time, and Eddie thinks about asking but doesn’t yet, “did you hear anything else outside?”

“Nothing. I didn’t even hear anything when I went out there—”

“When you what?!” Eddie shoots up out of bed.

“Eddie, it’s fine, I had the axe with me—”

“Steve, it’s not just the monsters you need to worry about! Vecna can sense you! You’re my weakness; don’t you understand that?!” Eddie flounders and shakes his hands, “Oh my God, Steve, what were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t thinking anything, Eddie! The place needed to be cleaned, and I was only out for a second to toss the trash out!” Eddie groans and grabs at the root of his hair. “I was fine. No one saw me!”

“No one saw you?” Eddie tilts his head and presses his finger against Steve’s chest, “What if El was there, huh? What if she sensed something from the attack and came searching? Or—or what if Vecna saw you? What if he was spying? You don’t know for sure, Steve. That was a major risk; why would you go outside?”

“I’ve been cooped up for days, Eddie! I’m sorry; it won’t happen again, but you can’t get mad at me for wanting a little change in scenery!” He scoffs, “I wasn’t in any danger, and if I was, I would’ve woken you up. And, frankly, I know you don’t want the kids to know about us. Hell, I don’t really want them to know about us either. I don’t want them unnecessarily getting hope, but the fact of the matter is that they could help us. They’re smarter than you think they are, and if you’d just talk to El, you could get through to her. She’s strong; she has powers; she knows Vecna; she will understand.” Eddie bites his lip.

“Steve, it’s more than just them coming down here. I know they’d help, especially El, but…” Eddie swallows, “I can’t let them know we’re alive. It’s bad enough with Vecna on the loose and the kids, apparently, hiding out. The best course of action is to just…” he trails off, frowning. “We need to keep them in the dark.”

“No, no, you hesitated.” Steve crosses his arms and presses forward, “What is it? You have an idea, don’t you?” Eddie tries to convince Steve to drop it through a frown, but Steve doesn’t give up.  

“Alright, it’s just… maybe they don’t have to know we’re alive.” Eddie cracks his knuckles—a childhood nervous habit he never lost, “Dustin already thinks I’m a ghost; I can just confirm their suspicions. That way, I can tell them to stay away but keep an eye out for Vecna.”

“Wow, if only someone had told you that a billion times over.” Steve smiles then blanches and squints.

“Glad to know the undead still love sarcasm.” Eddie waves his hand to return his train of thought to its original track, “The point is, they can’t know you’re here—”

“What?”

“They think you’ve moved on, Steve.” Eddie insists.

“Maybe, but we can just tell them I’m still a ghost. That we’re both ghosts.” Steve suggests and sits down on Eddie’s bed, tired from cleaning.

“No,” Eddie shakes his head and leans against the closed door, “it wouldn’t work. When El visited us before the fight with Vecna, you were able to see her and talk to her. If she saw you, she’d try to talk to you, but you wouldn’t hear or see her this time. There’d be no way for her to communicate with you without me repeating what she says or something. We wouldn’t be able to get away with it; it needs to be me. Just me.” Eddie insists. He can’t believe he’s entertaining this idea, but even the most stubborn people accept defeat sometimes. Eleven has the same powers as Vecna; he knew of Eddie’s potential, and El can too.  

“But she’s going to see me.”

“Not if I use the same sigil from when she spotted me outside. It’ll keep you hidden as long as you don’t wash it off. She won’t know a thing.” Eddie frowns, “You won’t wash it off, will you?”

“Don’t worry, Eddie. I may be stubborn, but I’m not going to jeopardize you finally coming up with a plan.” He smacks Eddie’s hand when the man attempts to flip him off, “I want to tell her eventually, but we need to get you to a point where you can fight without the Flayer rearing its ugly head.” Steve leans forward, “Speaking of which, the Flayer… didn’t rear it’s ugly head earlier, right? I mean, your eyes turned red, but it didn’t take over or—or like speak, right?”

Eddie tilts his hand in a ‘so-so’ manner, “I felt him trying to inch forward, but I was able to push him back after you boosted my energy a bit.”

“Damn, guess it’s true when they say sparks fly, huh?” Steve is, of course, referring to the lightbulbs smashing. Eddie chuckles but goes quiet for a moment. There’s a small shine in Steve’s aura. It’s not gold, but it’s suddenly brighter. Better now than never, Eddie figures.

“Speaking of sparks flying… uh, Steve, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.” Eddie wrings his hands together, and Steve stands for a moment. His expression draws into something worried, “It’s nothing bad; I just don’t really know how to ask.” He walks over and sits on the bed. Steve moves back to his original spot. “You know how I see auras and energies?”

“Yeah,” Steve’s eyes widen, “oh my God, is my aura, like, cursed or something?”

“No, no,” Eddie laughs, “I told you; it’s nothing bad. It’s just something I’ve never really seen before.” Steve tilts his head to the side, “Remember how, when you passed on, you went off in these gold lights, like dust?”

“Yeah, dust in the wind, right?” Eddie rolls his eyes just to pause.

“Wait, do you think Pink Floyd is full of psychics?” He gasps and turns to Steve.

“Eddie!”

“Sorry, sorry! I’ll save it for later!” Eddie raises his hands and brings his legs up to sit criss-cross. He drops his hands and sighs. “Just, when you share energy with me something like that happens. You don’t disappear, obviously, and I’m guessing, considering you’re not, you know, dead, that the gold flakes aren’t a part of your soul, but they’re there. They show up when we kiss, when we fuck, and sometimes out of the blue they show up and transfer to me. I just wanted to know if… well, do you feel anything different? I know you haven’t been alive in a while, but is there anything you’ve noticed?”

Steve frowns and hums, as he wracks his brain, “I’ve had a lot of aches, and I’ve been tired.” He tilts his head, “And my stomach and head have been hurting lately. Started yesterday and kind of got worse. I drank some water, but it didn’t help much.” He looks at the floor, “Whatever you’re talking about, I don’t feel anything about it, but isn’t it good? It sounds like you’re just seeing my energy transference. Like, maybe it looks different coming from a living person instead of a ghost. A living soulmate, or whatever.” He sounds unsure, but Eddie knows the man isn’t lying. Not that he expected Steve to do so, but strange things happen when the world is on the brink of dying.

“If your headaches get worse, let me know. I can try to whip up some kind of medicine.”

“I thought you said potions weren’t real.” Steve raises a brow and turns back to Eddie.

“It’s not a potion, Harrington; it’s tea. It’s a remedy.”

“It’s a potion,” Steve sings, and Eddie reaches forward to tug on Steve’s shirt.

“And you’re a fucking brat.” Eddie whispers between them before pressing his lips against Steve’s. Steve hums in response.

“What are you going to do about it, Munson?” Steve mutters back, leaning forward and smiling as he speaks. Eddie shrugs nonchalantly, as he pushes Steve to lay back on the bed.

“I can think of a few things.” The kiss that follows is as electric as any other kiss with Steve. The man tastes a bit like their dinner of beans, but he doesn’t care. Steve could have a mouth full of poison, and Eddie would still lick inside for a taste. Steve kisses back with just as much vigor, sighing deeply just to gasp when Eddie bites his lower lip.

“Eddie!” Steve gasps as Eddie pulls away.

“Oh, come on, Steve. Already so desperate?”

“Eight months, Eddie. One time isn’t going to change that.” Eddie laughs and throws his head back. Steve takes the opportunity to lick at his throat, making Eddie stutter and smile.

“You may be undead, but I didn’t think you’d become a vampire, Stevie.” Eddie hisses when Steve bites and sucks at his skin. He can practically feel the bruise forming on his neck.

“Not my fault you taste good,” Steve responds breathlessly. Eddie shakes his head then grabs the back of Steve’s, gripping the hair at the back of his neck to pull Steve away. Steve hisses and smiles, as Eddie yanks him back. It’s Steve’s turn for his throat to be bare and offered, and Eddie takes the opportunity to mark Steve up for himself. Steve moans like it’s the only sound he knows how to make. Eddie bites down Steve’s neck then presses his teeth deep into Steve’s shoulder until the man shouts.

“Keep your voice down, Stevie. Don’t you know there are monsters outside?” Eddie growls in an almost hypocritical way considering the teasing warning. To almost prove the point, he rips into Steve’s shirt, tearing it off and over the man’s head so fast that the seams actually rip. Steve’s shout of protest gets interrupted by Steve’s lips. The man beneath Eddie quickly catches up to the program and begins tugging at the bottom hem of Eddie’s shirt. Eddie pulls back to yank it over his head and tosses it to join Steve’s on the floor. Steve grips Eddie’s waist and pulls him back down, spreading his legs until their pelvises line up. Each touch is like a thousand exploding stars, each sending blast waves across the universe. They’re inviting. They’re intoxicating. They’re addicting. Each kiss is like heroin in each man’s veins.

“God, I want to fuck you,” Eddie whispers, and Steve nods.

“Please, Eddie, please.” There’s no real need for foreplay, not with the two of them. As much as Steve enjoys the bites and kisses and breathy moans, he needs this. He needs to feel Eddie in the way he craves daily. He’s got eight months to make up for it, and tomorrow is not guaranteed. They can be patient when the world is safe and when Steve stops feeling like a corpse still ready to drop. Like he’s always seconds away from dying because, while his head and stomach have started hurting recently, he’s not used to living. There’s the looming anxiety that none of this is real. That this is some form of an afterlife, and Steve is just waiting for someone to remind him that he’s dead. Both of them are dead. So, he takes each opportunity to feel alive. Especially when it comes to touching Eddie like this. To feeling the man so deeply, physically and spiritually.

“Come on,” Steve tilts his hips up, pressing them against the growing tent in Eddie’s pants, “don’t keep me waiting.” Eddie presses his tongue against his canine with a smile, and Steve rolls his eyes, “Eddie, I am hard as fuck and desperate. Do something!” Eddie laughs but does as he’s told. He moves to the band of Steve’s drawstring pants. They were the only pants that fit him down here, and even tied they were loose. It takes Eddie a full two minutes to untie the double not—he’d rip it if Steve had more options—but he tosses them away as quickly as possible, taking off Steve’s boxers with them.

“You’re gorgeous.”

“I’m sick and underweight,” Steve corrects, wincing when Eddie fully smacks the side of his thigh.

“Still gorgeous,” Eddie leans down and takes Steve’s lips once more. He smiles through each press of lips until Steve pulls away to gasp, as Eddie takes a hold of him. Eddie smiles wickedly, as he presses his thumb to the underside of Steve’s cock. Steve thrusts up before Eddie grabs his hip to hold him down. He reaches for the pillow beneath his head and grabs it tightly. “Eddie!” He tilts his head to the side, away from Eddie’s persistent lips.

“Sound gorgeous too.” Eddie mutters, as he trails from Steve’s lips to his cheek, to his neck, where he sucks more marks before moving down to Steve’s chest. Steve pushes his chest up against Eddie’s tongue and teeth. Eddie’s responding laugh vibrates his sternum before there’s a sharp pinch of teeth against one of his nipples. Steve groans as the nub is sucked into the other man’s mouth. Eddie flicks his tongue against it and bites down, leaving teeth marks and red splotches before moving on to the other pec. He gives Steve’s other nipple the same treatment, sucking for a bit longer before he finally moves his hand. Steve moans in some kind of relief, exhaling like he’s spent the entire day at work and has finally come home. Right into Eddie’s addictive hands.

“There you go, Stevie.” Eddie’s breath tickles the hair on Steve’s chest. He kisses the center, right over Steve’s heart and lungs. “Look at you. Flushed and warm. Alive.” Eddie kisses Steve’s heart again before trailing down. “Want you like this forever.”

“Eddie…” Steve’s hip stutters. He already feels close. It’s probably the magic between them—the connection. Maybe Eddie’s touch is magic on its own; everyone feels like this with Eddie, but Steve doubts that. No matter how special Eddie is, he will always be Steve’s. That, he knows for certain.

“Fuck!” he groans when Eddie suddenly licks the tip of his cock. His tongue dips into the bead of pre-cum forming like it’s frosting from a cake. Steve lifts his head up to watch him do it, and he nearly collapses right back down again, but he doesn’t want to miss this. He doesn’t want to miss the way Eddie’s tongue dips right into the slit of his cock, slides up and down just to dart to the base. He licks upwards before finally, finally taking Steve inside.

Eddie’s mouth is hot. It’s tight and wet. It’s everything Steve dreamed of and more. Eddie keeps Steve’s dick in his mouth, swallowing halfway down before he stops to throw his hair up into a bun. He doesn’t even pull off but keeps Steve nestled inside as if for safe keeping. Once his hair is up, he gets back to work, swallowing Steve down so quickly that it gives the man whiplash. Steve curses and throws his head back, grasping the pillow in a tighter grip, as Eddie works his cock like some kind of a god. The man has no gag reflex, Steve quickly realizes, and if his mind wasn’t getting blown just like his cock, he would’ve cracked a joke. Instead, his hips twitch against Eddie’s returning hold on them, and he begs into the open air for some release. Eddie hums in the pattern of a laugh but does as begged. He grabs Steve’s cock once more and begins stroking as he sucks. When his mouth moves up his hand moves down until they meet again in the center. Drool and spit slips down Steve’s shaft and drips onto his balls. Eddie must know this, because he releases Steve’s hip to fondle Steve’s balls, using the saliva as lubrication.

“Eddie, Eddie, please… please more…” Steve moans and thrusts up now that his hips are free. It doesn’t deter Eddie this time. Instead, it spurs the man on. Eddie, with his hand wet with spit, moves below Steve’s balls. A finger presses against Steve’s entrance, “Yes! Yes, please!” Steve groans once Eddie’s finger enters him. Eddie pulls off of Steve’s cock but keeps his hand wrapped around it. Steve still practically sobs at the loss.

“Do you want me to fuck you or continue sucking you off?” Eddie’s voice sounds wrecked, all scratchy and dry.

“Both?” Steve smiles, even if he feels far from a smiling mood. Eddie tilts his head and repeats the question. “Jesus, I don’t care what you do, just do it now!”

“As soon as we get out of here, I’m spanking you until your ass is purple.” Eddie smiles through the threat.

“Promises, promises…” The smile on Steve’s face gets wiped off once Eddie adds a second finger and, at the same time, swallows him back down. “S-shit!” It’s the same story again. He’s lost in pleasure, but this time he feels something inside of him. He doesn’t know how, but Eddie manages to find his prostate in seconds. He finds it and pushes down until Steve shouts, sees stars, and thrusts up. His fingers move in small circles, pressing down and massaging Steve’s prostate like it’s as easy to manipulate as the strings on his guitar. Steve swears he can even feel the callouses he knows are on Eddie’s fingers, and they only add to the pleasure. “Eddie,” Steve grabs Eddie’s hair, tangling his fingers in the strands. Eddie doesn’t stop him but hums, and he drops the hand wrapped around Steve.

Steve takes it as a sign. He pushes on the back of Eddie’s head and thrusts up. Eddie hums and sucks harder, hollowing his cheeks. Steve moans louder and louder, losing himself to the pure pleasure loose in the air like smoke. The tension is so thick that Steve swears he can taste it. He feels something deep in his chest that quickly gets overpowered by something deep in his gut. He’s close. He’s so close. He’s so close that he grips onto Eddie tighter then, with a shout, finally finishes. He empties himself into Eddie’s throat, and Eddie… fuck, Eddie just takes it all. He swallows while he’s still around Steve, suckling gently until the hand in his hair moves back. Eddie pulls off and looks at Steve with hooded eyes.

Before Steve can say something, Eddie scrambles up to his knees. Steve had forgotten Eddie still had his pants on. Not until Eddie pulls them down just far enough for his hard cock to be free. Steve watches as Eddie wraps his wet hand around his member. He groans and licks his lips, staring right at Steve as he begins jerking himself off. He’s quick, and he’s already close, if the nearly purple tip and throbbing veins are anything to go by.

“Do I taste gorgeous too?” Steve asks breathlessly. It was a horrible line, really, but somehow it makes Eddie shoot off with a groan. His come splatters over Steve’s bare legs and stomach. It pools in the hollowness of his flattened, underfed gut. Steve, likely out of his mind from Eddie blowing his brains out, reaches down to dip his fingers into the mess. Curiously, he brings them up to his lips. He licks them and watches Eddie shudder.

“Fuck, Steve.” Eddie groans and leans his head back, “I don’t think either of us have the energy to go again.”

“What? Please, I could run a marathon.” Steve covers his mouth, as a yawn immediately follows his response. Eddie snorts and shakes his head.

“Sure.” He gets off the bed and grabs the shirt he ripped and uses it to wipe Steve off. He tosses it somewhere in the room and grabs Steve’s discarded pants and a new shirt—a sweatshirt this time, as Steve already starts to shiver. “Are you feeling okay?” Eddie asks as he gets dressed. Steve didn’t realize it, as he had zoned out, but he does feel his headache return full force. Actually, it feels like more than just a simple headache. Hell, it doesn’t even feel like a migraine. It feels like he’s been caught on a rollercoaster and just got off. The feeling spreads like a wildfire, going from his head and down. There’s fire in his veins.

“No, I…” he swallows and grunts, as the fire reaches his stomach. Saliva begins pooling in his mouth and works as his only warning. Luckily, he spent enough of his high school career drinking to know when he’s about to lose his dinner. He leaps off the bed and storms past Eddie into the bathroom. He grabs the first empty bucket he sees and collapses to the floor. He hunches over the container and heaves. He gags once, twice, then finally throws up with a hacking cough. His throat burns with the vomit he projects out. Eddie’s hand touches the back of his head in comfort.

“Were the beans bad?” Eddie asks, even if he was feeling fine. Steve doesn’t answer, too busy vomiting for a second time in the span of a single minute. When he’s done, he’s violently shivering. He feels dizzy. “Steve?”

The man in question sets the bucket down, not answering. All he does is look at what he’s done. What came out of him.

“Fuck.” His voice sounds even worse than Eddie’s, damaged from vomit instead of… well, dick. His throat burns, and he grabs a half-full water bottle they had used to brush their teeth earlier. He takes a drink and pushes the bucket towards Eddie to give the man a clearer look. “You need to talk to El asap.”

“Yeah,” Eddie sounds shell-shocked, “yeah, I think you’re right.” For in the bucket is something far worse than a normal loss of dinner. There are beans, sure, but they’re barely visible, as the rest of what came out of Steve overwhelms the details.

It’s a black sludge; that’s the only way Eddie can accurately describe it without getting nauseous himself. It looks like the dirty end of a pond, where the moss and bacteria grow the heaviest. Only, it’s the color of tar, and sludge has the decency to stay where it is. This vomit, meanwhile, is moving. More than moving, it’s rotting. It’s decaying before Eddie’s very eyes, filling with strange, black slugs that could be maggots or could be something else. Then, Eddie spots it. Sticking out from inside the sludge.  

“Steve?” Eddie leans down, gagging a bit from the smell of the bucket, “What’s that?” he points. Whatever it is stands out among the dark vomit. Steve leans over with a groan, and his eyes widen.

“Is that?” He reaches into his mouth and feels around to confirm his suspicions, and that’s when Eddie realizes exactly what it is. Steve lost a lot more than his dinner… Steve lost a tooth.

“Eddie, what’s happening?” Steve sounds terrified, and Eddie wishes he knew how to comfort him, but all that he can think of his the obvious.

“Steve, you’re sick.”

“Yeah, I think that much is clear. What kind of sickness makes me vomit up, fucking, rotten meat and lose a tooth?!” Eddie’s not a doctor, and he’s never gotten above a C in any science class he’s taken, but he knows death. He knows path of the damned and the blessed. He knows what it looks like, but he doesn’t have the guts to say it out loud. Instead, he takes Steve back to bed and tells him to rest—that he’ll figure it out himself.

Frankly, he’d rather stay in the dark. Because he doesn’t want what he thinks to be true.

It’s as they say. Things that are dead are supposed to stay dead. And there’s no truly fixing what is already decayed, not when they’re stuck in a place of rot.  

Chapter Text

April 11^th, 1986 (Friday)

Steve is officially sick.

Eddie doesn’t know what to do.

The psychic has been taking care of him the best he can, but the man is not getting better. Every moment is spent drawing sigils on Steve’s body, giving him medicine, force feeding him soup that he used his powers to heat, or force feeding him water. He’s given so much of their resources to the man that he’s had to go out twice to scavenge for more.

They keep a bucket by the bed because, while Steve has thankfully not thrown up again, he’s been saying how nauseous he is. Well, he says as such if he isn’t sleeping, which is what he’s spending most of the time doing nowadays. The first day or two, Steve was fine. He was low energy and didn’t have much of an appetite, but he wasn’t spending all day in bed. He was up, and he was helping Eddie practice his powers. Today, he hasn’t left bed at all. Eddie walked into the bedroom just this morning to find Steve sobbing because he couldn’t get up to use the bathroom without collapsing.

If it weren’t for the gold hue still stubbornly in Steve’s aura, Eddie would be scared. That being said, he’s still nervous. He hasn’t risked contacting El just yet. He’d have to step outside to do that, and he doesn’t want to risk leaving Steve to fend for himself while the man is so weak. In a place like this, anything can happen. What if he goes outside just to find Vecna waiting for him? Steve would be a goner.

Instead, Eddie’s been locked inside the trailer with Steve, and he’s been reading his journal and spell book on a daily basis. Anything that could help him. There are some options… blood magic, of course, but Eddie doesn’t want to make things worse. Blood magic may be powerful, but it isn’t always ideal. Plus, Eddie can’t help but blame the branch of magic for Steve’s current state, especially when it was blood magic that brought him back in the first place.

Steve’s asleep now, put to rest by the same spell Eddie used last time the man needed sleep. Eddie watches him for a while with his journal resting in his lap and a pen in hand, ready to write down what he sees. Though it doesn’t take long for him to begin doodling, if only to take his mind off of things.

He first draws Steve, but the drawings quickly descend to mad scribbles and random lines. It’s these doodles that lead to a surprise. Well, a surprise is an understatement.

With creating new sigils, there are several steps a person needs to take. It takes planning. It takes meditation and connecting with the spirits. Most of all, it takes intention. Eddie doesn’t pay mind to intention too much. He’s powerful enough to where he never had to; things, before Vecna and the events of Spring Break, simply work out for him. Well, spells work out for him. He doesn’t need to think too much about what he’s doing when it comes to simple powers, not when the most energy consuming thing he ever did was use telekinesis if he was too lazy to walk across the room to get something.

Eddie didn’t realize just how powerful intentions are or that it could translate to what should’ve been simple doodles. All he knows is that he began to grow frustrated. He stares at the page of his journal and scribbles so much and so aggressively that the page rips loose. Eddie scowls and rips the page out completely. He begins drawing again with the page laying on the open journal beneath it. As he draws, he keeps thinking about how much he wants to go home. Sure, he doesn’t want the Mind Flayer out and about in the real world, but in the real world, there are doctors and stronger medicine. There is someone there who can help Steve, and Eddie would give anything to get Steve there. It soon becomes his top priority. His mind repeats like a mantra, get home. Over and over, he thinks this, and as he thinks he doodles. It doesn’t take long until something in the back of his mind itches. It’s not the Mind Flayer! It’s unfamiliar… it’s energizing.

He looks down at his doodles, not realizing he had zoned out staring at Steve instead of the page. His pencil touches the edge of a swirling shape Eddie’s never seen before. He lifts his pencil, and there’s a flash of purple light to Eddie’s right. He looks over at a bright light the size of a soda can. He reaches up to touch it, not realizing the same hand he reaches with was the one pinning the page still. In an instant, the page flies towards the light. There’s a flash and a rush of air, and the page disappears in an instant.

More than in the entirety of his student careers, Eddie wishes he was paying attention. He tries desperately to remember the symbol, but no memory sigil is working, even as he draws it on his skin instead of in the journal. He’s only five minutes into drawing that Steve gasps awake. Eddie drops his journal and rushes to the man’s side, “What is it, baby? What happened?”

“I…” Steve swallows, eyes wider than the sun and face flushed. His chest rises and falls in quick procession, and he looks at Eddie with a look that feels urgent, “I had a dream.”

***

“Here, drink this…” Eddie sets a tea down on the table—one made with old herbs Eddie found lying around and honey. Steve leans forward and wraps his hands around the mug, shivering when the surface warms his otherwise cold hands, “Do you remember anything?”

Steve nods. Eddie sits next to him, moving the other chair to sit directly beside Steve. The man is looking better. While he still shivers from the cold, there is color in his cheeks. He doesn’t look as tired, and he drinks the tea with no problem, albeit some complaints about the taste. “It wasn’t anything prophetic, if that’s what you’re trying to get at. All I know is that I was at the mall. The kids were buying ice cream, and Will got mint chocolate.”

“Will got mint?”

“His favorite flavor is butterscotch,” Steve clarifies, “I immediately knew something was off but woke up before I could do anything about it.”

“It’s because you’re uncertain,” Eddie explains. Steve frowns. “The meaning of your dream. Usually if details change like that—something is off—then you’re uncertain or anxious about your real life. It makes sense your dream would be like that; I just don’t know why you’re dreaming now.”

“Or why I’m suddenly better.” Steve takes another drink of his tea. “I don’t know. When I went to sleep, I felt like I was on the brink of slipping into a coma, but when I woke up, I…” he shrugs, “I feel fine.” He looks at Eddie, who bites the inside of his cheek.

“I did a spell.” Steve’s eyes widen, and he turns to face Eddie. Eddie does the same.

“What kind of spell?”

“A sigil,” Eddie answers, “it wasn’t on purpose. I was just doodling, really. All I was thinking is how much I wanted us to be home so you could get help. Next thing I know, I look down and there’s a sigil on the page. As soon as I lifted my pencil, there was this bright light that, like, sucked up the paper as soon as I stopped pinning it down.”

“What happened to it?” Steve asks.

“No idea…” Eddie sniffs and steals a sip of tea, ignoring the way Steve slaps his arm, “All I know is that it disappeared, and with it the sigil. I don’t remember it.”

“I don’t suppose the memory sigil has started working again?” Eddie shakes his head. “Fuck. Well, there’s got to be a way to figure it out, right? Recreate it?”

“I went into this trance-like state, Steve. It’s not something I can just recreate.”

“Well, there’s got to be something we can find. Are there any doodles still here, or are they all on that page?” Steve hesitates, “Wait, why were you writing on a single page? Why not your journal?” Eddie doesn’t point out that it was good that he was writing only on a page. Otherwise, the journal would be gone too. Even if the thing hasn’t been helpful, having it accessible was better than nothing. If it wasn’t for the paper being ripped out… wait a minute.

“Holy shit!” Eddie stands and runs to the other room.

“Why are we screaming and running?!” Steve follows, leaning against the doorframe while Eddie scrambles through the pages of his journal. “What are you doing?”

“I was drawing on a separate page because it ripped out of my journal, but I never closed my journal. I used it as a surface to keep drawing!” He finds the drawing of Steve’s sleeping face.

“Well, that’s not creepy at all.” Steve practically appears over Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie elbows the man, “Ow! – I’m joking! It’s flattering, but how is it going to help our situation?”

“It’s not the drawing; it’s the page after the drawing.” Eddie shoves the journal into Steve’s arms and begins ripping apart his room, trying to remember where he kept his drawing kit in 1983.

“The blank page?”

“The blank page I used as a drawing surface!” Eddie yanks open another drawer, “Aha!”

“I’m so confused.” Steve doesn’t stop Eddie from ripping the journal from his hands. Eddie sits on the bed, Steve joins him, and he opens a small tin container to reveal some pencils, erasers, and sticks of charcoal.

“I had to take art a few years ago.” Eddie grabs one of the sticks of charcoal. It breaks in half with his touch, and Steve, now realizing his questions won’t be answered with Eddie in such a state of urgency, decides to simply observe. “Hopefully this won’t backfire,” Eddie comments, as he turns the charcoal on its side so a flat edge can be rubbed over the page.

“What?” Steve asks, “What do you mean, backfire?” Eddie waves the hand not drawing before dragging the charcoal down the page. There are some random indents here and there, but the drawing that so clearly matters is stark white in the grey hue of the charcoal. “Woah…” Steve leans over.

The sigil is the most complicated one Steve’s ever seen. It looks like the roots of a tree traveling up into a round sun, fit with swirls and a few, almost random dots. “You’re a genius!” He grabs Eddie’s shoulders with a laugh that quickly trails off, “Now, what does it do?”

“I have a theory. I think it has to do with intention. I wanted the paper to go home, but I think I can be more specific—make it go somewhere else.” Eddie uses the charcoal to draw the sigil on a ripped piece of paper from the floor. It disappears in a flash of purple light like before.

“How do we know it even goes anywhere? What if it just disappears?”

“Well,” Eddie sighs and looks over at Steve, “there’s only one way to find out.”

April 12^th, 1986 (Saturday)

“Fuck!” Dustin shouts and shakes his hand. The hammer he’d accidentally hit his thumb with drops with a thud and narrowly misses his foot. Mr. Clarke appears in the basement a few moments later.

“Ouch! It looks like that hurts, kiddo.” The teacher carefully grabs Dustin’s wrist and turns it, inspecting the boy’s quickly swelling thumb. There’s a small cut by the nail that beads with blood, and Dustin sniffs.

“It’s fine,” he wipes one eye.

“Nonsense, let’s get this in a splint.” Dustin walks away from the trash can lid where he was hammering nails through the thin metal.

Ever since El saw Eddie, things have been different. There’s a tension built of the thickest fog filling every room; it’s suffocating. Dustin’s positive he’s not the only one aware of it, but no one has the guts to call it out. Well, Nancy pointed it out yesterday after she stopped by long enough to shower and get a change of clothes. She’s been otherwise at the hospital, too afraid to leave Robin’s side, not that she’d admit it.

Those left at home base have been doing nothing but preparing. El been going to the wet place at least once a day. Hopper frowns and crosses his arms whenever she wordlessly grabs a mask and turns the tv to static, but he knows just as much as everyone else that it’s helping. Sure, she hasn’t seen Eddie since Monday, but that doesn’t mean her work hasn’t been useless. The girl’s growing stronger. The more she uses her powers – the more she practices – the easier it is to do so. Her nose bleeds less, and she’s less fatigued afterwards.

“Not strong enough,” Eleven commented out of breath yesterday just after she moved the Winnebago from one side of the small parking lot to the other, “I have been out of practice for too long.” She’s, of course, referring to the eight months spent without her powers. Everyone’s here for her, but she’s stressed. Her stress only manages to make the silence that much more strained.

“Can the Mind Flayer access all of Eddie’s powers?” Max asks at lunch, as she flips through Eddie’s journal. Almost everyone has read it. The adults haven’t. Wayne because he wants to respect his “late” nephew’s privacy, and everyone else because they’re more focused on Eleven’s powers than Eddie’s. The spell book is also a variable in this entire equation, but they have yet to find the thing. Wayne, Dustin, Lucas, and Max have gone out three times to Eddie’s most common haunts, but it’s difficult.

“No idea,” Dustin responds, leaning against his fist. His taped thumb throbs, so he switches hands with a wince, “there’s not much in there about the physicality of powers, and we don’t even understand the Flayer’s powers. He trapped Billy in his mind, but we don’t know if Eddie’s there too. We don’t know anything.” He pokes at the crusts of peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Erica reaches over and snatches one up, “Hey!”

“Shut up, Mr. Broke-His-Thumb, you weren’t even eating them.”

“I didn’t break my thumb!” He argues, even if the statement is not based in fact. The digit has been going numb all day.

“I wish Nancy was here,” Mike huffs, leaning over Max’s shoulder, “She’d crack this thing in seconds.”

“The spell book was also her idea. The least she could do is help us look,” Lucas complains, frown deepening when Mike sneers, “I know she liked Robin, but she can’t stay in the hospital forever!”

“She’s spying on the soldiers!”

“She’s wasting time!”

“She’s grieving!” Max snaps, slamming her hand on the table. She looks at Lucas, who shrinks in his seat. “God, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Her voice is hushed. Lucas’s jaw clenches.

“What’s wrong is that we’re sitting ducks here! We have no idea what the Flayer or Vecna is planning, yet we’re doing nothing about it! We need to be preparing more than making some weapons. We need to figure this shit out!” He leans forward, “Eddie’s a zombie; Steve’s body is still missing; we don’t know shit about the journal, and the spell book is MIA. We need all hands on deck. I’m not losing more friends because Nancy can’t get over a girl she dated for, what? A week?!”

Max’s jaw clenches, and she shoves away from the table. The chair scrapes harshly against the floor. Lucas watches her leave, and Erica suddenly punches his arm, “Hey!”

“You’re an asshole!” Erica chases after Max, and there’s the distant slamming of a door. Joyce’s voice is muffled, but it’s clear by the tilt in her tone that she’s trying to comfort the girl.

“Robin’s our friend, Lucas,” Will attempts to reason, speaking up for the first time all lunch. Eleven’s in the basement with Hopper training.

“Yeah, well, so was Steve,” Lucas huffs, eyes tearing up, “So was Eddie, and they’re gone. I’m not going to waste time crying over someone who’s probably not going to survive. We need to fight, and Nancy’s one of our best soldiers.”

“We’re not soldiers.” Will’s expression is neutral, but his eyes look pained. He looks like Lucas confessed to something horrible, “We’re just kids.”

Lucas scoffs, “Yeah, well,” he pushes away from the table, “maybe it’s time we grow up.” He heads to the front door, and it slams shut behind him. Will, Mike, and Dustin exchange looks that speak a hundred words.

“What’s his damage?” Dustin sneers, but when he looks over, Mike points at Dustin’s hands. One of Eddie’s rings sits loosely on his pointer finger, and Dustin’s mouth falls open, “Oh…right.” Eddie might very well be alive, albeit possessed, but that doesn’t erase what Lucas has been through. Especially since Lucas has yet to even humor the idea of the man actually being alive.

“Maybe we should get some more walkmans.” Mike suggests. Dustin’s expression softens as Will wordlessly nods before reaching across the table to grab the journal. He picks up where Max left off.

“There’s nothing in here about possession except for a few sentences about Billy, but they’re from Spring Break. It says, though, that a soul is too powerful to overtake,” Before Nancy disappeared to the hospital, she read the journal ten times over, if Dustin had to guess. More than that, she’s put tabs on every other page. It’s color-coded for any spiritual phenomena that could apply to the Upside Down. Possession is marked in blue, and there are only five tabs in total. Resurrection, meanwhile, only has three.

“Well, he saw Billy’s ghost even while he was alive. Maybe it’s like a ghost; they’re tethered,” Dustin suggests.

“That’s assuming Eddie’s soul isn’t in Heaven, or wherever.” Mike presses his side against Will’s, “In that case, the Flayer’s just infected his body, like Billy.” Dustin tilts his head.

“Is his body still dead? Is it possible to live without a soul?”

“Does the Flayer even have a soul?” Will asks, frowning.

“You know more than us,” Dustin points out. Mike frowns, while Will nods hesitantly. “What was it like?”

“Well, I wasn’t completely kicked out, but it was like we were connected. I wasn’t a ghost, I think. I was just trapped in my mind. It was like I was aware, but I wasn’t in control. I was forced to be in the backseat while the Flayer drove, but there was a clear connection. A tether, I guess.” Will looks down, picks his nails, “I was able to get control. We were connected but still separate; I was able to break out. If Eddie’s there, he’s probably powerful enough to be able to do the same.”

“Unless it’s like Billy, and he’s completely kicked out,” Dustin grabs the journal and flips through until he gets to the portion talking about Billy’s ghost. Well, Billy’s “ghost” before he actually died. “Billy was under the Flayer’s complete control. The only time he was able to gain it back was when El was almost killed. It was an act of desperation.”

“It was an act of love,” The three boys jump and look to the basement door, where Eleven is standing at the top of the steps, “he wanted to save Max, and he saved me to do that.” Eleven walked forward and sat at the table, ignoring the way everyone’s eyes were glued on her, “I went inside his mind, I saw that he was able to love. He had some bad things happen to him, but he did love Max. He cared about her enough to save her. I just happened to be the way to do it.”

“So, love? The answer is love?” Dustin snorts, “What? Are we going to snap Eddie out of it with true love’s kiss?” he laughs and looks at Mike, expecting a smile in return, but Mike is already shaking his head.

“Why would they take Steve’s body, then? If Eddie is in there, then why would Vecna want any reminder of Steve if it could snap Eddie out of it. Aren’t they soulmates?” He grabs the journal and flips through the pages, but he’s not looking for anything in particular. Answers don’t just come out of nowhere, the kids all know that, but they don’t have much time. Lucas, while a bit extreme, was right; they need to do something.

“I just hope neither of them are actually zombies. I hate zombies.” Will crosses his arms and cringes, “They’re so gross.”

“Well, considering Steve was probably a rotting corpse, no promises.” Dustin looks around, “What? It’s true! If Eddie’s a zombie, he’d at least look semi-put together! I’m just saying, I really hope Steve isn’t a zombie.”

“Let’s hope neither of them are zombies.” It’s Hopper’s turn to appear at the basement steps. He’s holding a box of crushed soda cans. “And maybe you kids should stop talking about undead friends and actually eat your lunch.” He tilts his head towards the kid’s partly eaten meals, “Waste not, want not.”

“We’re eating! We’re just trying to figure out what’s going on with Eddie. If he’s possessed, dead or alive, we need to be prepared!” Dustin turns in his chair to face the man.

“And the adults are preparing, I would prefer you guys to wait for Nancy or go out to the Winnebago to talk with Jonathan. You’re teenagers, you can’t handle this all on your own.” Dustin raises a brow and looks over at Eleven, “Eleven has superpowers. Not to mention, she’s not on her own. She’s got me, and Joyce…” he looks around, “Where is Joyce?”

He gets directed to the bedroom, and Dustin gets to finish his lunch. He eats the crusts of his sandwich, and it’s as he’s about to ask Will for his that the front door bursts open. Lucas storms inside, and Dustin is about to attempt to settle the boy down, but Lucas beats him to it.

“You guys need to come see this!” His eyes are as big as the sun, and the kids spare only a moment to grab their shoes before following the boy through the woods.

“Where are we going?!” Mike asks.

“Where the fuck did you even walk?!” Dustin asks, cursing when he trips on a root. “God, remind me to never piss you off again. If I knew you were going to go on a dramatic, lamenting hike in the woods, I would’ve just let you yell.” He shouts when he’s forced to grab a branch with his injured thumb, “I hate the woods!”

“Shut up and come on!” Lucas tilts his head and jogs ahead.

“I’m going to kill him,” Dustin huffs and trails behind the rest of the group. They disappear over a hill, and Dustin can hear the faint sounds of his friend’s sharp exhales, “Wait for me!” The hill is steep and covered with sticks and some leaves. Dustin crawls up the ways until he reaches the top, and he sees what elicited such a reaction from his friends. “Holy shit,”

The demodog corpse is lying on the ground. The stench is foul, like rotten meat. Dustin has to cover his nose when he reaches the bottom of the small hill. “What the fuck?” he asks. Mike repeats the sentiment, and it’s Lucas who dares to bend down with a stick, “Ew! What the fuck are you doing?! Gross!” Dustin sputters, and Will fully looks away.

“Look!” Dustin dares to lean forward, and there, carved into the demodog’s chest, is a drawing. No, not just any drawing…

“It’s a sigil! Eddie used a sigil to get the dog here!” Dustin connects the dots and shouts his conclusion before anyone else has a chance. Will’s eyes widen, in the meantime, and he touches the back of his neck. Jane’s eyes widen, and she steps forward. “Look.”

“What is it?” Dustin leans forward.

Call me. – E.M.

“Eddie wants to speak to us.” She says, and the girl is already heading back to base a second later, “Come on!” She shouts, and they all scramble to follow.  

***

“This is so gross,” Steve complains. For the first time in the entirety of them being in the Upside Down, Steve and Eddie are both outside, and Steve already wishes he was back inside. It’s colder out here than in the trailer, and the blood Eddie is smearing on his chest is, as he said, gross.

“Yeah well, you’re the one who said you didn’t want Jane seeing you.” Eddie closed the lid of the jar filled with more demodog blood, “She definitely won’t see you this way.”

“I only said that so they wouldn’t come down here guns blazing, like you said. Besides, it feels like we’re finally making progress, so I’m going to take some risks. And by risks, I mean I’m going to listen to you and your stupid plans.”

“Light of my life, ladies and gentlemen,” Eddie deadpans.

“Just get back to work.” Eddie rolls his eyes before grabbing a towel to wipe the blood off his hands.

Turns out, finding out if a sigil works meant, not finding out where the sigil sent the objects to but what the sigil worked on. They started with pieces of paper but quickly worked their way up to old soup cans, books, a milk crate, a car tire, and, ultimately, a demodog corpse. The corpse was not initially in the plans, but while out searching for bigger things to teleport, Eddie accidentally dropped his spray paint. Turns out, Eddie’s worst enemies were Vecna and cylinders, as the thing landed in a bundle of vines and sent the monster his way. He killed it and carried it back to the trailer, making Steve watch, as Eddie first canned the blood and then used it to paint a sigil on Steve’s chest, left bare beneath a flannel jacket.

“Remind me again why I like you?” Steve asks with a grimace, as Eddie grabs a flip knife from his pocket and begins carving into the bloodless Demodog corpse.

“Sex?” Eddie responds, snorting when Steve rolls his eyes. He signs his initials then works on carving the sigil. It takes a minute or two for the entire sigil to be carved, but he finishes eventually. A purple light appears a few feet away, and the corpse flies through in the blink of an eye. Steve flinches with the quickness of it all. Well, the quickness of the disappearance. The sigil took forever to finish. Hell, on everything they’ve used it on, it’s taken no less than a minute. Something in Steve’s gut doesn’t like that.

“Do all sigils have to be sigils?” He asks.

“What do you mean?” Eddie stands with a slight groan. He stretches his hands up to the sky with another pop

“What I mean is that, like…” Steve sighed and searched for the right words, “Some spells can be sigils and a different form, but are some exclusive to the other? Like, is there a way to change this sigil to be a verbal spell?”

“It’s possible, but I just created it. To turn it into a verbal command would take…” Eddie shrugged, “months.” They’ve also talked about using it to get themselves home, but Eddie’s using this opportunity to guarantee many things. This experiment is not only to determine if the spell works on human-sized things, but it’s also to figure out if it listens to intention. Eddie purposefully took extra time carving the sigil, repeating to himself that it would go to his friends. The spell is new, and nothing new is ever perfect. Well, it doesn’t need to be perfect, it just needs to work.

Eddie needs to get Steve home.

He knows Steve won’t willingly leave without him, but he knows it can’t be him. The Flayer is better trapped, even if it means Eddie never gets to go home. All he cares about now is Steve, and Eddie knows well that this place is making the man sick. There’s a reason he bounced back to life the first time a small portal opened, and there’s a reason he had a dream as well. After opening all these portals and using the spells, Eddie had a dream himself last night. More than that, he had a vision.

A vision of Steve on the ground, choking. The shortest vision Eddie’s ever had, lasting no more than a few seconds, but it was enough.

He didn’t even want to paint the sigil on Steve to hide him from El, but Steve needs to stay in the dark about this. Vecna also doesn’t need to know Steve’s out of the trailer. “Can you hand me that washcloth?” Eddie takes the object and wipes a sigil off his own arm. He can feel the psychic block leave a moment later. “Did you have any dreams last night?” he decides to ask Steve.

Steve shrugs, “If I did, I don’t remember them. I have a vague memory of something to do with Robin, though.” His jaw clenches, and he looks away, “Did you?”

Eddie considers lying again, “Yeah,” he says instead, “it was short, but you were in it.”

“Wish it was a vision. It could help us plan.” Plan. Steve, for obvious reasons, is more than willing to leave. He’s been talking about how they can get out just to go back into the Upside Down with their party of teenage soldiers and defeat Vecna. Eddie humors him, saying how he’ll defeat the Flayer as soon as he has access to that infinite energy of the world above. It’s all bullshit. He could kick the Flayer out, but it would still be a problem. Vecna, while powerful, is easy to defeat with Eleven on their side. He’s tangible; he can be killed. The Flayer isn’t, and Eddie wishes he had the strength to tell Steve the truth. He wishes he knew how to absorb the Flayer’s energy without succumbing to its control.

“Me too,” Eddie mutters.

It doesn’t take long at all for Jane to show up. She’s wearing a long-sleeved shirt and jeans, and her face is in a deep frown. “Eddie?” she calls. Her hands are in fists, and Eddie doesn’t blame her. He knows the moment he senses him is the moment she senses the Flayer too. She must know they’re connected.

“Hey, Wonder Woman.” He smiles. Steve smiles too, not that he can even see El like Eddie, but he smiles all the same, “Long time no see.”

“I do not know what that means.”

“It’s a figure of speech,” Eddie laughs. He stands to meet El at halfway, “How are things up there? What happened to Robin?”

“She is in a coma.” Eddie exhales sharply and looks at Steve, who tilts his head in question, “Nancy is visiting her every day. I tried to find her but...” The girl trails off, frowning. Eddie can hear the muffled voices of the kids around her. “Wayne says hi.”

Eddie laughs caught off guard by the simpleness of the girl’s tone and his own uncle’s antics. “I told that old man to leave town!” He shakes his head and risks a glance at Steve, who points at the trailer. Eddie gives a subtle thumbs up, and Steve goes back inside. Eddie looks back at El, and she is busy listening to more, muffled voices.

“Are you possessed?” She asks suddenly. Eddie huffs and bites his cheek.

“Not in the way you think,” He answers before tapping the side of his head with a humorless laugh, “The Flayer’s in here, alright. It had me kicked out for a while, but I managed to get back in. I broke through his control.”

“Because of Steve?” El assumes out loud, “We know One took his body. Did –what?” she tilts her head suddenly, and Eddie could recognize Dustin’s voice across ten dimensions, let alone one. “Dustin wants to know if he saved you through true love’s kiss.”  

‘I was being sarcastic!’ Steve covers his mouth to stifle his laugh, as Dustin’s voice shouts through as loud as a bad whisper.

“No, El, it wasn’t true love’s kiss.” Eddie snorts and, for a moment, considers telling her about Steve. But they talked about this. Steve doesn’t want the kids getting in the way, and he doesn’t want the kids getting their hopes up in case their plan doesn’t work.

Steve’s the optimist of the two of them but dying changes a man. He may be better today, but he was sick, and everyone knows tomorrow isn’t guaranteed in a place like this. “It was him, though. I saw him, and it gave me enough strength to bounce back.”

“Is he there?” The girl looks around. “Is he…” She cuts herself off.

“He moved on.” Eddie tells her this because it’s technically the truth.

“Oh, okay…” she tilts her head, and there are more voices, “Is One alive?”

Eddie nods, “I thought I killed him when I closed the gates, but he somehow survived. It’s why I’ve been hiding out. In part to avoid him and another part to…” he swallowed, “to keep the Flayer from escaping.”

“But you said it is not in control anymore.” Eleven takes a step forward, an urgency to her tone.

“It’s not, I am, but it’s not easy keeping it that way. The Mind Flayer doesn’t have a physical form, it doesn’t get tired, but I do. It’s constantly trying to break free; I have to use my powers all day just to keep it dormant,” Eddie explains, “It’s why I’ve taken this long to contact you guys.”

“The demodog.”

Eddie huffs, “Yes!” he claps, “Then it worked! The sigil sent it to you guys!”

“Yes, it did.” Eleven nods, smiling when Eddie jumps. “Is that good then?”

“It’s better than good, kid!” He laughs, “It means it works! I sent that dog right to you guys; I’m one step closer to finding a way home!”

“But…” Eleven tilts her head, “I could open a gate. If you cannot use your powers, then—”

“Opening a gate could give Vecna strength, and it could give Mind Flayer a gateway.” Eddie shakes his head, “A gate works both ways. I get over, fine, but Vecna could get out too. Having access makes it easier to find victims—to kill and gain more power. More than that, say I get out. That’s great, but if we don’t close the portal in time, then all it takes is one mistake, and the Flayer gets out. It gets out, goes to Vecna, and we’re back to square one. We can kill Henry in a weakened state, but we need the Flayer out of the way. We need them separated. Henry first, then the Flayer.” It’s accurate to Eddie’s actual plan. First, make sure the spell works on living things. After that it’s leaving the trailer while Steve is asleep to find a smaller building that he’ll use blood to make stronger sigils in. He’ll then get Steve out of the Upside Down, contact El pretending the sigil doesn’t work on him and that they need to kill Vecna, and then he’ll either stay hidden forever or fake his death. Whichever will stop his friends from looking for him after Henry’s gone.

It's a sad plan. It doesn’t hold any happy endings for Eddie, but he never expected to live happily ever after. He’s been hopeful, sure, but from the moment Steve died, Eddie knew the world wouldn’t hold anything good for him. Not soon, at least.

And who knows? Maybe he will defeat the Flayer after all, but even if that is the case, he won’t risk his friends in the process.

Eddie has a brief moment of panic that El will call him out on such a half-assed, made-up plan, but she doesn’t. “Okay, but you will come home, yes?”

“Don’t worry, kid. The spell will work.” He’s telling the truth because it has to. He has to get Steve home. “I need to test it on something living, though, and there aren’t many options down here for a safe test subject. So, uh,” he winces, “what I’m saying is that there might be a demo-creature coming your way soon. Just be ready for that, alright?”

“Okay, I will tell the others.” Eleven nods, and her nose starts to bleed. Eddie smiles.

“You better get out of here, kid. Seems like we both have energy we need to save up, right?” He smiles.

“Wait, but…” El holds out a hand, “Will we, um, call again?”

“If I need any help, you’ll know, kid. You’ll get a warning before I send a demo your way, okay?” He smiles and waits for her to nod, “Now get out of here. I’ve got work to do.”

“Bye…” she mimes pulling off a mask and disappears.

Eddie waves to the air before turning to the trailer. He grabs the jars of blood and balances them in one arm while grabbing the handle with his other. “Steve, the talk went great! We just need to find a…” Eddie trails off and drops the jars of blood. He catches them before they hit the ground, so they float to a table. He nearly collapses in the process, as he rushes to where Steve seems to have collapsed onto the floor. There is a black vomit dripping from his lips.

“Eddie?” He groans and clutches his stomach, “What’s happening to me?”

“It’s okay, Steve. You’ll be okay.” Eddie curses himself and looks around the room. He cleaned the air. He got rid of the vines. Steve was only outside for a few seconds, and he’s already sick! “I don’t understand; you were fine.”

“It was…” Steve cuts himself off with a coughing fit. He wheezes and turns onto his side, where he spits. A black liquid thick as blood drips down his cheek and onto the floor. Steve groans and turns back, but Eddie stops him.

“Don’t turn on your back.” He warns Steve the same way he’d warn his drunk friends. At least Steve has the decency to listen.

“Did you leave me?” Steve struggles to speak.

“No, baby, no, I was outside talking to El. I would never leave you. I won’t leave you,” Eddie answers, voice shaking as much as his hands.

Eddie’s mom died of a drug overdose. It was because his dad got high. It wasn’t the first time his old man had done so, and it’d be far from the last, but it would be the first time he dragged his wife into it. Usually it was small pills, but this time there were needles. He remembers his grandma trying to block Eddie from seeing anything, but it was too late. Eddie just remembers seeing his lying on the floor in a puddle of her own vomit. He remembers an hour before, how she could barely move and was slurring her speech. His dad was the same way, but the man never vomited, only passed out.

His mom is a different story. She was shaking on the ground. Her entire body convulsing and shaking like dust on a loudspeaker, as foam dripped from her parted lips. “Call 911!” Grandma said. Here, there are no ambulances or police to help. Here, all Eddie can do is hold Steve in his arms, while the man continues to cough. Eddie keeps expecting Steve to start convulsing, but all the man does is cough and spit.

“You… you left… you went outside while… while I slept,” Eddie frowns and shakes his head.

“I don’t know what you’re saying, baby. Just… don’t speak, okay? Don’t speak, you need to save your breath.”

“I was okay outside…” Steve slurs, “I should’ve stayed with you,” He nods to himself, eyes widening like he’s solving some great mystery. Eddie just tries not to cry. “Don’t leave me. I will be okay… don’t leave…”

“Steve, I’m not—”

“Do you know what’s happening?” Steve’s voice sounds the clearest now, eerily so. He even sits up, using as much strength as he has to keep himself at eye level, “I’m not sick…” Eddie doesn’t believe Steve, and neither does Steve’s body. Just as he had sat up, he slumps down just as fast, eyes sliding shut and body going limp. Eddie catches him with a curse.

He carries Steve to bed. The man is muttering in his sleep, and it sounds like riddles. Steve sinks into the bed and shifts slightly, as his forehead beads with sweat. Eddie touches the surface and finds a moment of peace in the fact that Steve doesn’t feel feverish. Still, the psychic’s mind goes in a trance. After putting a blanket over his love, he comes back to the living room with a rag in hand and begins cleaning the small puddle of vomit. There isn’t a tooth, thank God, but it’s not a small spot.

“Fuck…” The stain isn’t coming off, but that’s not why Eddie curses. A black stain in a dimension like this is like spilling pain on a Jackson Pollock painting; it’s not really noticeable. No, the stain is nothing; Steve is everything. Eddie was hoping Steve getting sick was a fluke. He was going to save the man no matter what; Steve being sick was nothing but an incentive to quicken the process by making that sigil. When Steve got better, even in a suspiciously quick fashion, Eddie was grateful because he knew it meant he had more time. Now, Eddie’s back to racing against the clock.  

The plan is far from finished, but he can’t risk Steve’s life. The man will surely die down here. Eddie would sooner destroy this place than let it hurt Steve any further, so he does what he has to do. He draws a new sigil on his arm using the leftover demodog blood and puts the rest of the jars in a backpack he used earlier for scavenging. He grabs an axe and a bottle of water before heading out the front door.

Two miles down the road from Forest Hills is an old cabin that became abandoned in 1985. Being down here, Eddie’s noticed a lot of places that have been abandoned since Will went missing. The curse of living in Hawkins is that one way or another, you find your way out of it. Most people leave before they get the short end of the stick. Abandoned or not, there’s a tool shed outside that has Eddie’s name on it. It’s hidden behind a stack of rusted metal, flat tires, and other scrap from the yard, so it’s barely noticeable unless one’s looking for it. Outside of the Upside Down, there are some bushes around it, and it’s one of Eddie’s go-to smoking spots. Inside is an old couch, some cassettes, books, food, and a table. In the Upside Down, though, there’s nothing but tools. Tools that Eddie’s already taken everything sharp from during one of his first rounds of scavenging. He tosses the backpack to the floor, grabs a jar of blood and a paintbrush, and gets to work.

The sigils are the easiest part, but the Flayer, while limited with a physical body, also gains some strengths. Like hands. Eddie can block his powers, but he’s got to find a way to lock himself in here beyond the psychic realm. It’s more work than he can do in a day, but he doesn’t think of that. He just continues drawing sigils and manages to grab some hammer and nails to hammer down the window frames and keep them stuck. He doesn’t know how long it takes him to finish painting and hammering in nails, but by the time he’s done the dark sky has turned darker, and Eddie’s eyelids have gotten heavy.

He makes a mental note to find a lock and key, barricade the windows with some wood, and maybe find a way to handcuff himself to something. Soon, none of it matters all that much, not when Eddie steps out of the shed and his vision suddenly fades to black.

Not when the last thing he hears is Vecna’s cold, cruel laugh.

Chapter Text

April 12^th, 1986 (Saturday)

Eddie doesn’t know where he is. All he knows is that it’s cold, dark, and there’s blood dripping from the cut on his lip. He wipes at the warm substance, watches it stain the pad of his thumb. The blood soaks into the dips of his fingerprint like water soaks into sand. He pulls his hand away from his face and watches the fingers blur together. He counts them one by one, sees nine fingers on one hand, and realizes this isn’t real.

It's a struggle to stand, and when he does the world flashes in shades of white and blue. “Hello?” he asks, distinctly remembering that he heard a voice when he fainted.

“Hello, Eddie.” He turns, and Vecna is standing a few feet away, but it isn’t really Vecna. Even though the villain has the ability to dream walk, Eddie can tell it isn’t really him. Why his subconscious would give him an image of Vecna, though, was a mystery. “I was wondering when you would wake up.”

“What is this?” Eddie wavers where he stands. The world around him slowly builds. Details fade in to replace the darkness, as his vision sharpens. “This isn’t a dream,” he thinks out loud. The world is made of watercolors slowly seeping together to make images. He sees the part of the Upside Down he was in before falling unconscious. The shed behind him slowly builds, but it cracks around the edges. Bits of it float away, brought down to dust.

“It’s your mind catching up,” Vecna explains, and his voice sounds less monstrous and more human, “You’ve been hiding for too long, boy.” His face morphs, twisting into something wretched and vile. Flesh boils like an overcooked slab of meat, bubbling against the villain’s bones before falling in melted heaps on the floor like candlewax. It’s so nauseating that Eddie has to look away. He closes his eyes and shakes his head. When he opens them, Vecna’s gone. All the details set into place. He’s in Hawkins now. The sky is dark but turning orange from a rising sun. The edges are still blurry, but it’s the simultaneous vividness of the world around him to let him know he was right. This was no longer a dream but a vision.

“You really think you can stop me?” The sky darkens in an instant, turning from a bright blue to a steel gray. Eddie turns around to see Vecna has returned. The villain is damaged. He’s skinny, made mostly of vines and dripping with blood, but power still echoes from his aura. It throbs like a heartbeat, and Eddie clenches his jaw, watching as the villain’s eyes squint. “Even if you manage to kill me, you won’t stop him.” Eddie frowns, realizing he is not the main focus of this future.

Visions where he is not in a first person point of view aren’t rare, per say, but they are still a surprise whenever they come about. “Maybe,” Eddie turns around, and Eleven stands across from Vecna with a deep frown, “but you won’t be around to see it.” Right as the girl raises her hands, the world flashes. Eddie jumps when he appears in the middle of the woods. It’s dark outside. Lightning flashes above him, as rain pours from the heavens. It’s so dark that he can only tell he’s in the woods is by hearing the rain patter against leaves around him. There’s a snapping branch in the distance. A blinding light shines Eddie’s way, illuminating the woods around him.

“Hello?!” The voice belonging to the figure holding a flashlight has an unfamiliar accent, “Anyone out there?” A second figure carrying another flashlight appears at the first person’s side, though they also have an axe in hand. 

“Eddie…” a wheeze comes from behind him. When Eddie turns around to see who it is, the vision changes once more. He’s no longer in the woods but in the center of town. Well, he’s standing in what he assumes was the center of town. The large gates to the Upside Down have sliced through most of the buildings, leaving behind ruins of what once was. There are shouts and gunshots in the distance, and Robin stands a few feet away from him.

“Eddie, you need to protect Steve,” She says, voice distant like she’s at the end of a long hallway, “Staying away will only put him in more danger. You’re right; he’s sick, but it’s not because of the Upside Down.” He frowns and turns around, and there’s no one around them. He opens his mouth, expecting a scripted response to come out based on whatever potential future he’s being shown, but he speaks at his own free will.

“Are you… wait, is this real? Are you really here?” He asks and takes a step forward. She steps back with her hands raised. Her wide eyes stare at her hands, as they suddenly start to fade away. Robin begins to turn transparent.

“Don’t be an idiot and get your head out of your ass. I don’t care how scared you are. Steve is your priority! You can’t leave him!” She shouts, fading in and out of space like someone is flickering a light switch, “You can win the fight, Eddie, but not if you push Steve away. He’s safer with you than out there. You can’t abandon him!”

“What?” Eddie approaches the girl, as she blinks in and out of existence.

“He has your power, Eddie. You’re what’s keeping him alive!” She continues, ignoring Eddie’s calls. Each time she turns translucent, her voice dims with her. It’s hard to understand exactly what she’s saying, so all Eddie can do is try his best to fill in the gaps. “He’s going to kill Steve!” She shouts, “You need to get back!”

“Robin?!” he runs forward just as she disappears. His hands grasp around nothing but air, yet he feels himself choke. The world shifts, and he’s in the Upside Down. Steve is laying on the ground choking. It’s just like the last vision he had, only this time he sees more. He sees that Steve is choking on blood and covered in gashes. He sees something gold dancing across Steve’s aura, and he sees Vecna standing over Steve’s body with one hand raised.

“Your choice, Eddie.” The villain’s voice echoes directly through Eddie’s eardrums, “Only you can spare his life.” Eddie frowns and looks down at Steve. Robin’s voice is still in the back of his mind. You need to protect Steve.

“He’s going to kill Steve,” Eddie repeats Robin’s warnings. He doesn’t say this out loud in the vision, but he does grab Steve’s hand and squeeze it tightly. He leans down and covers Steve’s body with his own. Eddie feels his lips begin to move, but he has no idea what he’s saying.

“Tick tock, Eddie,” Vecna growls above him. Eddie looks up at the villain and feels his power fading away, going somewhere else, “Save Steve or save yourself. What will it be?”

“I won’t let you hurt him,” Eddie says.

Eddie’s sight vanishes then. All he can do is feel and hear the future from then on out. He can hear himself whisper a spell he doesn’t know. He can feel a rush of warmth against the cold. He can hear Vecna shouting. He can feel pain in his heart. Something familiar and broken.

“I don’t understand,” he says out loud, speaking to whoever may be listening, “I don’t know what this means! Show me the truth!”

His eyesight comes back, and he’s back at the first stop in this vision. Eleven and Vecna across one another. The girl raises her hands with a shout, but nothing happens. Well, something happens. Her eyes widen, and she stares at her hands. There are shouts from people just beyond Eddie’s field of vision; they come from the blurry edges of the dream. She looks over her shoulder, and a large figure steps into view.

Eddie feels his heart drop, as he watches himself walk towards Eleven from the ruins of the old library. He’s wearing new clothes: a leather jacket, jeans, boots. The jacket is unzipped to show off his chest, where black thread-like veins dance across his pale skin like hair on a shower wall. His eyes are bright red, and in his hand is a ball of energy so bright that it looks like the sun.

“Foolish girl,” his voice is so deep that it rumbles like a storm, “did you think that would work?” Eddie’s eyes widen, and he can’t help himself from jumping forward when his flayed self raises his hand towards Eleven. The vision changes before anything happens, but by the time he opens his eyes the day has changed.

They’re in Wayne’s truck. Eddie can’t tell if he’s the one driving or if he’s merely sitting in someone else’s place. All he does know is that Robin is sitting in the middle of the backseats with El and Max on either of her sides. Lucas is in the passenger seat. Those in the backseat are too blurry to determine what their outfits are, but Lucas is wearing a suit. He has flowers in his lap.

“How far away are we?” Max asks with a sniff.

“We’ll be there soon,” It’s Wayne that’s driving. Eddie still can’t see the man, but he recognizes his voice.

“What’s happening?” Eddie asks. He looks back into the rearview mirror. Robin was staring out the window when he first looked back, but now she’s staring right at him. He gasps then blinks. The truck suddenly vanishes, and they’re both standing across from each other. Eddie, within the blink of an eye it took for them to appear here, was expecting that dark, wet place again, but no water lays on the ground at their feet. Instead of darkness, there is brightness all around, but it isn’t blinding. It’s warm, like lying on a blanket in the Summer sun. Robin is standing with her hands folded in front of her, as if she’s ever been known to pose so properly.

“Are you dead?” Eddie asks. He knows El said the girl was in a coma, but he knows enough about death to know comas aren’t automatic roads to living. He hopes her answer is no, but her responding shrug feels even worse. “Are you the one showing me these visions?”

“Definitely not.” She looks around, frowning, “I keep appearing in this place, though, and I keep seeing you every time I do.” Eddie follows her gaze, finding nothing but the color white in every direction he looks. Their bodies aren’t even casting shadows, like they’re both made of light. “Usually I can’t reach you, but I’m getting better at navigating.” She swallows and smiles, “Though, I keep getting lost or… confused, I guess.” As if on cue, she flickers in and out of existence. When she becomes opaque, she shuts her eyes and scrunches her face with a groan, “Feels weird…”

“What were you saying earlier about Steve? You said he’s sick, but it’s not the Upside Down doing it.” There are a dozen questions Eddie could be asking, but he knows Steve will always be his top priority. He has a feeling Steve is on Robin’s list as well.

Robin shakes her head with a groan, “I can’t… fuck, I can’t remember what I was thinking.” She waves a hand in the air, “I don’t know what or—or where I am. I just know that so much is blurry yet clear at the same time. It’s like I’m trying to read a book with every other page ripped out. I just know Steve got his strength from you, and it’s when you disappear and drain his power that he gets sick, not the Upside Down, though the air isn’t doing him any favors.” She chuckles humorlessly and grimaces, “I saw him throw up that black gunk; that was all the Upside Down’s doing. Him throwing up in the first place and staying sick, though? That’s because of you.”

“I’m draining his power?” Eddie frowns. Steve has all that light in him, how could Eddie be weakening his soulmate if that light is so bright? It never dims unless Steve is tired, then it goes right back to being just as strong. “But he’s not… are you talking about his soul?”

“No, his power,” Robin clarifies, though it clears up none of Eddie’s confusion, “you give him his power, but you keep taking it away. You can’t leave him like that.”

“Leave him?” Eddie tilts his head, but his breath escapes him a moment later, “Leave him alone…” he realizes, stumbling slightly, “Fuck!” He smacks his forehead, willing himself to have some kind of realization. Robin oddly nods, and her eyes go wide in a crazed way.

“Take away his power, Eds,” she insists, as she starts fading away again. Eddie notices and runs up, grabbing her hands even as they go from translucent to opaque over and over.

“No, wait, you can’t go! What about Vecna? You said he’s killing Steve!” Robin nods but can’t speak. Her mouth moves but no words come out. “Robin, what did you mean? Why did you appear in my vision? Where were Wayne and the kids going with you?” She mutters something, closes her eyes, and shakes her head, “Robin?!”

“I didn’t mean to.” Her voice is high pitched and small like a child’s. Eddie leans away, “I didn’t mean to let him get hurt. I would’ve fought them, but I was so weak!” She cries, hunching over. Eddie’s eyes widen, as hers close. “I didn’t mean to kill Steve; he was the closest friend I had.” She flickers in and out of existence, and a darkness grows behind her. Like the shadow in her aura before spring break. The curse that held her still has a grip on her, and it moves to shroud her in darkness.

Robin doesn’t know if she’s dead, and Eddie has a theory as to why. She’s in a coma, and while Eddie has never had the privilege to meet any ghosts of comatose patients, he enjoys reading. There are more than enough stories of comatose patients astral projecting for him to make assumptions on Robin’s present spiritual state. At the end of the day, it’s a guess, but a guess is better than nothing in a place like this.

Eddie wishes he had more context to add to his pile of thoughts to sort through, but with Robin returning to her darkness, his vision leaps. It was as if his time talking with Robin was nothing but a quick stop at the gas station, and now he was back on this confusing journey through the future. He wonders, briefly, if talking to the girl was a waste of time. He gained nothing but more concern for Steve, which he already had lots of. This brief thought was quickly tossed away, as he was reminded why his grandma always said, “Everything happens for a reason.”

Because his visions suddenly become clearer.

He’s back to the part of his vision where Steve was lying on the ground, spitting up blood. The vision is all the same, but Eddie suddenly understands all of what he’s doing. He is not watching the future play out but living it. He can hear his future self’s thoughts and knows what his intentions will be. He knows the spell he whispers and knows where Steve vanishes to when the warmth of his body disappears. He knows why he will do what he has to, and he knows who the man in the woods with the flashlight is and who is on the ground.

He knows why Vecna looks so weak in the final battle with Eleven, where it seems to have hit a climax. Eleven is about to win, until Eddie—the Mind Flayer—gets in the way. This part of the future is a mystery. He knows not of how the fight goes down. He doesn’t know who lives or dies, and he doesn’t know what winning means by the end of it all, but what he finds out is what matters most.

They win.

It’s a battle that lasts through the night, if the rising sun in the aftermath of it all is any consolation. The bodies of slain demo-creatures turn to dust. Eleven is leaning against Nancy. They’re both covered in blood, with Eleven bleeding from both nostrils, eyes, and ears. She collapses onto the bed of Wayne’s truck. Eddie is shirtless, so he feels the roughness of the cast on Dustin’s hand when the boy throws his arms around him with a bright smile. Eddie laughs, shakes his head, and hugs the boy back.

“Robin’s probably awake now. Someone needs to go tell her the good news,” Eddie says with a knowing smirk. Nancy, as predicted, doesn’t hesitate to volunteer, racing towards Wayne’s truck with a wide smile, even if she has to drag two wounded children with her. Steve makes himself known, then, getting forced into a group hug by Dustin with a wet laugh. Lucas and Max are on their walkies, confirming with whoever else is left that they're out of the Upside Down.

Eddie looks around at the destruction of the city, and he feels a power deep in his veins.

He watches his vision play like a montage, or like a mixtape of a band’s greatest hits. The vision isn’t a guaranteed future, but it is a possible one. It’s one to work towards, and one Eddie knows is more than possible to achieve. He just needs to follow the steps it takes to get there, which the vision is gracious enough to show. They are not complete instructions but something Eddie finds is close enough. It’s all risky and ridiculous, and it all could very well go wrong, but it’s better than waiting. And it’s better than locking himself in some flimsy, old shed.

It's better than hiding away from Steve when he’s the only one capable of protecting the man.

Steve, similar to the past, is under the greatest risk in all of this. The steps Eddie has to take could kill him, but it could also save his life. He decides it’s worth the risk. So, when he wakes up an hour later lying in the cold dirt of the Upside Down with blood dripping down his chin from the cut on his lip, he turns around and smashes through the door of the shed he’d just spent countless hours painting sigils into.

He runs back to the trailer, grabbing a notebook and a pencil as soon as he enters the home. He writes down everything he can remember from his vision, putting almost everything in bullet points and shortened version of words. He writes down instructions, sigils, and the spells he learned of in his vision, if only to work for his own memory’s sake. When he’s finished, he grabs his journal to write a shortened version—one for everyone to see, as the notebook is special. Then, he takes his journal, the notebook, his spell book, and puts them into a backpack.

By the time he’s done, he feels a buzzing in his bones.

The world is going to end soon.

And he has until tomorrow night to save Steve.

Just yesterday, Eddie would look at those odds with nothing but dread. But he has his visions back, and he has seen the possible future. In short, he kind of likes those odds.

April 13^th, 1986 (Sunday)

Eddie may have a newfound sense of optimism, but that does nothing to cure his impatience. The issue with having until nighttime to save Steve meant waiting until nighttime. The other issue is waiting to see how to save Steve. Don’t be mistaken, he knows how to rescue his boyfriend; he just doesn’t know how the plot points connect and lead to the moment of a rescue plan needing to take place. He could also, technically, save Steve now, but he’s not so willing to stray from the storyline his visions provided, even if he’s about to go mad.

“Are you okay?” Steve asks after taking a bite of some syrup covered pineapple. The man is feeling a lot better this morning, probably because Eddie returned. Robin was right, Eddie is Steve’s strength. Eddie is all it takes to heal Steve albeit with some conscious intention behind such an occurrence. It took Eddie all of an hour meditating beside Steve’s sleeping body until he felt the man’s body turn brighter beneath a sign of health. The gold in his aura flashed as bright as the sun, and it was only then that Eddie also found time to sleep, if only for a few hours. Eddie still doesn’t have a complete understanding of their trade of sickness and health, but he doesn’t mind leaving that as a problem for another day. His boyfriend can last without Eddie healing him, especially if he’s around alternative means of medicine. Although, speaking of boyfriend…

“Are you my boyfriend?” Steve is physically taken aback by the question. His face scrunches into something odd. “I mean, I know soulmates are probably a step above that, but did we ever confirm dating? Does forced proximity from one person being a ghost and the other being a psychic count as dating? Does surviving in an apocalyptic hellscape count as dating?” He waves around a fork, which holds a thick slice of his own syrup-covered pineapple at the end of its prongs.

Steve merely stares at him. “Seriously?”

“I feel like it’s a valid question to ask.”

“Eddie, we’re soulmates.”

“Yeah, but are we boyfriends?”

“You literally died for me. You broke out of possession for me!”

“Like, am I going to introduce you to my friends as my boyfriend? Because I may be close with them, but only the kids know about my powers. I mean, Gareth doesn’t even believe in ghosts even though his grandpa was one for, like, two months—”

“Yes! Okay! Fine!” Steve throws his hands up, “You’re my boyfriend! Are you happy?!” he slams his hands back on the table and leans forward. Eddie tilts his head.

“I mean, it took you a while to answer, but sure.” Steve blanches and takes his spoon from his canned lunch. The utensil has a thick layer of chopped pineapple and a cherry atop of it. Instead of eating the bite, Steve flings the spoon forward, successfully hitting Eddie square in the face with his edible attack. Eddie drops his fork with a scoff that’s used as his poor excuse to hide his laughter.

“I’m breaking up with you.” He wipes his face off with the same towel the had been using as a napkin.

“But babe, we’ve been together for five whole seconds!” Steve feigns a petulant tone, going as far as to stick out his lower lip. Eddie rolls his eyes and uses his fork to fling some bits of pineapple tasting syrup from his can onto Steve’s face. “Hey!”

“Don’t act like it’s the first time I’ve sprayed your face with something.” Eddie leaps from his chair with a laugh when Steve throws more of his food at his boyfriend, “Hey, that’s wasteful!”

“Says the man wasting oxygen for saying shit like that!” Steve stands and chases Eddie around the kitchen and living room, flinging pineapple chunks until his can is empty. He then uses the leftover syrup in the can and starts splashing Eddie’s back with the sickly sweet substance.

“Hey!” Eddie leaps out of the way from the splash zone, stopping short and stretching out one hand. Before Steve can react, the can floats from his grasp and into the air. Eddie balances it above Steve’s head, and the man’s eyes widen.

“Don’t…” Eddie shrugs apologetically before turning his hand over. The can turns upside down, spilling the small amount of syrup left in the bottle directly over Steve’s head. The man scoffs and closes his eyes, as the syrup drips from his bangs over his eyes and cheek.

“Oops…” Eddie snickers, biting his lip while Steve grabs the towel. Steve wordlessly flips him off, and Eddie smiles before walking over. He takes the towel from Steve’s hands and wipes his face off, “If you want, I could always lick it off.”

“Don’t be a perverted asshole, asshole.” He doesn’t lick Steve’s cheek, but he does kiss it, licking his lips afterwards.

“And here I thought you couldn’t get any sweeter.”

“Don’t be cute when I’m mad at you.”

“Sorry, I can’t help it.” Steve rolls his eyes but breaks out into a smile when Eddie kisses the syrup off his forehead, nose, eyes, and the cheek he hadn’t kissed before. It doesn’t take long for Steve to be sent into a fit of giggles. He moves his head all around, trying but failing to evade Eddie’s lips.

“You’re such a dick!”

“Yeah, but I’m your dick,” Eddie presses one last kiss to Steve, targeting the man’s lips this time.

“If you’re my dick, shouldn’t you be in between my legs?” Steve barely conceals the smirk on his face when he asks this. Eddie can’t be bothered to hide his.

“Well, I do believe it is my duty as more than your dick but as your boyfriend to be in between your legs as much as possible,” he agrees with a smile, leaning forward. Steve exhales sharply through his nostrils.

“Don’t ruin it with your nerdiness.”

“Too late,” Eddie whispers before pressing his lips against Steve’s. The other man welcomes him with a soft exhale. He smiles into the kiss, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s shoulders quickly. Eddie smiles and presses deeper, licking at the sweet seams of Steve’s lips. They part like the gates of Heaven parting for a saint. Eddie presses his sinful tongue forward, chasing the bittersweet taste of pineapple and love.

“I love you,” Eddie whispers in between presses of lips. “Fuck, I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” Steve manages before Eddie takes him back in. He doesn’t let Steve stray away for too long. He kisses like it’s the last time he’ll be able to. After all, if things don’t go to plan, then this is their last kiss. He presses his teeth into the meat of Steve’s lower lip in the chase of blood, something to remember Steve by. Steve gladly offers him the taste, moaning when Eddie bites hard enough to bruise. Steve thrusts forward, then, cock hardening under something as simple as kissing. Though, Steve would argue that kissing Eddie is like sex on its own. At least after sex he gets rest and relief, but kissing Eddie only leaves him craving more. More tongue. More teeth. More touches. He practically shouts when Eddie finally trails his lips from Steve’s down to Steve’s throat, where he licks and kisses the man’s pulse point. He feels Steve’s blood hammering like a jack rabbit and smiles.

“Am I making you nervous, bunny?” Eddie’s voice is a growl against Steve’s pulse. It makes Steve positively lose his mind, and he finds he can’t answer beyond, “Bunny?” Because Eddie’s never called him that before.

“Heart’s racing like a jackrabbit, baby. What else should I call you?” He scratches behind Steve’s ears, then, and the man tilts his head towards Eddie’s hand. Eddie takes the hint and grips onto the strands of Steve’s hair. He pulls, and Steve grunts, smiles. “You’re as cute as a bunny too.”

“I think your flirting has gotten worse since we’ve been down here,” Steve chastises him, even as his cheeks turn pink. Eddie bites his neck, making Steve laugh and shove at his arm. “That tickles!” Eddie laughs and pulls away, using the hand in Steve’s hair to mess with the strands, which stick to his palm from remaining pineapple juice. “Are we going to fuck or flirt, Munson? I need you to pick before I die of anticipation.”

“You get so worked up over nothing, Harrington.” In light of recent visions, Eddie truly does have no plans to sleep with Steve. Steve needs his strength, and Eddie doesn’t want to accidentally take that from him. A part of him also wonders if he can get away with a hand job.

“I won’t tease you anymore,” Eddie promises, pulling away. Steve’s eyes widen, and he pulls Eddie back in.

“Wait, we’re not fucking?” He holds onto Eddie’s arm. Eddie laughs at the look of genuine loss etched into Steve’s expression.

“I will kiss you all you want, but you were sick last night. I don’t want to make it any worse.” Steve’s expression drops, while Eddie smiles apologetically.

“You’re kidding?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Eddie pats atop of the hand grasping his arm, “but might I offer an alternative of mutual masturbation or, better yet, a hand job?” Steve blanches, “Middle ground, baby, just trying to find it.”

“The only middle ground I want is what’s in the middle of your legs,” Steve huffs and walks back to his seat at the kitchen table, “I feel fine!”

“Yes, you say you feel fine, but then a few hours later you’re spitting up black stuff like it’s pea soup.” Eddie sits across from him.

“We don’t have pea soup.” Steve glances over at their stack of supplies. “Did you get pea soup? Why do you want pea soup?”

“I don’t want pea soup.” Eddie slouches forward, resting his hand on his forehead, “No, I’m… babe, have you seen The Exorcist?” Steve shakes his head, and Eddie sighs, “Okay, so… Jesus Christ, really? You haven’t seen The Exorcist?!”

“I don’t like horror movies! The only ones I’ve seen are the ones Dustin forced me to watch.”

“Oh my God, come on,” Eddie grabs Steve’s hand, “I think I have the book somewhere.” Steve groans, while Eddie drags him along, “No, don’t complain! The book doesn’t give the exact same reference, but I can’t have you going on any longer with no context to one of the greatest horror films of all time. There’s a part in the movie where Regan throws up, and they used pea soup during filming for the vomit. Until we can watch the movie, we’re reading the book.”

“I ask for sex, and I get a book club,” Steve mutters to himself.

“It’s a really good book, Steve!” Eddie gushes.

“Yeah, a lot of books are really good!” He stops a foot from the shelf, as Eddie begins scanning the books like he’s part Terminator, “You know what else is good?” He takes a step forward, as Eddie crouches down, “Sex!” Eddie stands back up, holding a small paperback.

“You’re such a jock,” Eddie says before shoving the book into Steve’s hands, “You’ve already admitted that you like to read; you’re not getting out of this that easy.”

“I like to read, yes, but I also like to have sex with my boyfriend.” Steve smiles, and Eddie stands with his hands on his hips. Steve’s smile drops. “I hate you sometimes.” He grabs the book and walks over to the bed, “If I’m reading this; you have to read The Mousetrap!”

“I don’t have a copy of Mousetrap,” Eddie argues.

“Read Wuthering Heights, then. I know for a fact that you haven’t read it.”

“You’re so gay.” Eddie still leaves the room to grab Wuthering Heights from the collection of books he got from other trailers during his several rounds of scavenging. The book is somewhere in the small pile of bags collected beside their cans of food and stacks of water bottles. He finds the books and sorts through them, not finding anything even remotely close to romance novels. “I don’t think we have it!” Eddie shouts, considering for a moment when he spots Romeo & Juliet in the mix, “Would you settle for me reading Shakespeare?! Haven’t done that since Freshman year!” The book sits lodged in between a wooden board sealing a small window and the floor. Eddie grabs the book and dislodges it, wincing when the board comes slightly loose. “Shit.” He sucks on a small bead of blood from his knuckle.

“You okay?!” Steve calls, exits the bedroom to stand in the hallway. He has The Exorcist in one hand and leans the other against the wall.

“Yeah, cut my hand on some wood. Can you get me the hammer and nails?” Steve nods and turns away. Eddie moves some of the supplies out of the way and moves to sit on his knees. He picks at the piece of wood and dislodges it further. He hears thunder in the distance.

“Be careful. I got some band-aids too.” Steve hands over the hammer and nails and begins opening a band-aid. It’s the My Little Pony themed ones that Eddie got from down the street. He snorts and shakes his head but lets Steve put one on his knuckle.

“If I was Vecna and I saw this, I’d be shaking in my boots.” Eddie comments, looking at Pinkie Pie stretched across his knuckle.

“My Little Pony is nightmare fuel, Eddie. Where do you think Erica gets it from?” Eddie huffs through his nose, as Steve presses a kiss over the band-aid.

“I just assumed she was born that way.” Steve hums and moves away to take care of the trash, taking Romeo & Juliet with him. Eddie grabs the small box of nails, which is almost empty, and the hammer. He readjusts the wood and holds it in place using pressure. He takes a nail and hammer and balances it against the wall.

Instead of the wall, the only place the nail ends up is lodged into is Eddie’s cheek, as the wall bursts open in a cloud of dust and wood. Eddie barely manages to turn over to escape the cascade of shattered glass drifting around him. He thinks he hears a shout, but the ringing in his ears is too loud to tell for sure.

“Steve…” he coughs. There are more shouts, and he pushes up on shaking limbs. Bits of the trailer wall were atop of him but slide off when he sits up. Steve is fighting off a demogorgon with an axe. Eddie bounces back quickly, jumping to his feet even with the pins and needles in his limbs. “Steve!” He shouts and holds up a hand. The demogorgon roars, as it gets lifted off the ground. Eddie raises his other hand and twists his wrist. The demogorgon’s head twists around like Regan’s head did in The Exorcist. Only the creature’s head twists clean off, spurting blood from the stump on its neck.

“Eddie, watch out!” Steve’s shout is the only warning he gets before a second demogorgon tackles Eddie from the side. They land in the dirt, and Eddie immediately holds out both hands above him. He gets scratched on his arm, and the wound burns like flames when he rips the monster in half, as if the thing was tied with ropes and yanked apart barbarically. Blood splashes from the beast, landing on Eddie as if it was a tossed bucket of water.

“Holy shit!” Steve appears in Eddie’s line of sight once he wipes the blood away. He can feel the energy from the monsters joining him, and he uses that to heal his wounds. Steve winces, when Eddie pulls the nail from his cheek.

“I always did want a piercing,” Eddie jokes, tonguing the hole until it too heals.

“Yeah, and the tetanus is just a bonus,” Steve returns, adjusting his grip on the axe, “Do you think there are more—” He doesn’t get to finish, as he suddenly gets thrown across the street. He slams into the side of what would eventually become Max’s trailer, denting the metal before falling to the ground with a loud groan. Eddie stands and runs forward, just as monsters’ screams echo throughout the park.

So, this is how it happens.

This is what his vision failed to show him. A battle. A fleet of demodogs appear at the front of the park. Their low growls sound like jet planes in Eddie’s ears, but the thing that makes his bones chill and his knees weak floats above them.

Vecna is still weak. He has vines aiding in keeping him aloft. His skin has patches of scraped away flesh. One arm is twisted, with his shattered bones keeping it bent at odd angles. His clawed arm is still intact, albeit slightly cradled at his side instead of fully outstretched. One leg is bent while the other has a thick trail of blood leading from his thigh. One eye is shut, and a chunk of his jaw is missing. He looked better in Eddie’s visions, healed. Now, he looks like a dead man walking… well, floating.

“Here to pick a fight?” Eddie readies his power, feeling a fire coursing through his veins. He feels a shift in the back of his mind, like the Flayer has awoken from a nap.

“Here to finish what I started,” Vecna corrects. The pointer finger of his clawed hand twitches, and Steve grunts, as he’s lifted from his spot on the ground. There’s a trail of blood leading from his hairline down his cheek.

“Eddie?” These are the last words spoken before his eyelids flutter, and he falls unconscious. Steve begins to head towards Vecna, but Eddie stops him. They get into a game of tug o’ war, with Steve caught in the middle. Eddie holds him, and he finds himself pleasantly surprised when he finds how easy it is. Keeping Steve close, it’s all he ever wanted, but Vecna planned for this. When Steve starts drifting closer to Eddie instead of Vecna, the villain smiles. He wheezes out something that could be interpreted as a whistle, and his large pack of demodogs let out loud barks with mixed in howls.

Eddie spreads his legs and raises his other arm, keeping it out in front of him, as the dogs rush him. They surround him at once, barking and scratching against the forcefield he’s built for himself. He feels his arms begin to shake, and he grunts. There have to be at least twenty dogs, all aiming for the same goal of ripping him apart, or at least weakening him enough to let the Flayer run free.

“Please.” Eddie feels tears spring to his eyes like flowers in May, as he pleads to the skies. He knows this is a battle he loses. He knows it not just from the visions but deep in his gut, especially as dogs begin to bounce forward, breaking through his power to give a shot at bringing him down. He snaps their necks, not having the energy for a death more fanciful than that. Soon there are five dogs around him like a pentagram, and Steve is only a few feet away from Vecna. “Please, don’t,” Eddie sobs, clenching his fist. Steve shakes in the air, going one way then the other.

“You won’t win this, Eddie.” Vecna tilts his hand, and Eddie shouts when a demodog pounces from behind. Its front paws shove against his shoulder blades, sending Eddie tumbling to the ground. Steve flies to Vecna, who disappears before Eddie has the chance to get up. The dogs manage to get that much closer before he raises his powers once more, bringing back the blockage, as he uses the axe Steve dropped to kill the demodog that had jumped him. He uses the axe instead of his powers whenever a dog breaks through, bathing himself and the ground in their blood and stealing their souls, but the more souls he gains, the more he can feel the Flayer getting closer to the front of his mind.

He’s forced to let some dogs have their way with him. Their razor sharp teeth rip through his sweatpants as easy as tearing up wet tissue paper. He screams as claws dig deep into his flesh. Even as the wounds heal just as fast as they appeared, the pain is almost unbearable. He screams and sobs, feeling a bit of his power disappear the further Steve gets from him.

Eddie screams, as he brings the axe down onto the throat of the last standing demodog. The rest lay scattered around him like gold in a dragon’s den. He stands up straight, out of breath and mind buzzing from the Flayer slamming itself against the walls of its metaphorical cage. It wants out. It wants freedom. Eddie can barely hold it together enough to keep it there. He drops the axe, and it clatters to the ground, bumping against a slain corpse at his feet.

“Steve,” Eddie mutters, feeling the sides of his head throbbing like he’s stuck his head inside of the bass of Gareth’s drum set and told him to play Hot for Teacher. He stumbles forward, half tripping on a body but mostly from a sudden wave of lightheadedness. He goes through the giant hole of what used to be the front door of the trailer. He goes straight for the bedroom, where he grabs the backpack, he packed last night. Instead of running after them right away, he grabs the notebook to make some last minute entries. There are salt and pepper spots in his vision, and each one shows bits of the future. His handwriting is practically ineligible, but he doesn’t have time to make it perfect, only readable.

He zips up the pack and changes from his ripped clothes into jeans, a t-shirt, and a leather jacket. One miraculously clean. He swallows and drapes it over his shoulders along with the bag. He stops for a moment, staring at the book Steve left sitting on the bed. He adds that to his pack before heading back outside. He stalls only for a moment to grab his axe before heading towards one of the many parked cars in the lot. There’s a bike chained to a fence at his neighbor’s house. He breaks the chain with his axe and grabs the bike, already knowing where Vecna took Steve.

The sky begins to darken early, illuminated only by a distant red light. Vecna’s powers, and the sense of pain floating through the air. Eddie swears he can hear Steve’s screams, though that may just be the Mind Flayer’s roars.

He waits until he reaches the main road to hop on the bike, but he doesn’t get far. He goes for only half a mile before spotting a white figure out the corner of his eye. The bike screeches to a halt. Eddie steps off and turns around.

Eleven is staring at him, concern etched in her features. “Eddie?” Of course, he doesn’t have any sigils drawn on him this time. She sensed him the moment the trailer was destroyed. He can only wonder why she didn’t show up sooner.

“Get ready, kid.” Eddie doesn’t have time to wax poetry about how deep in shit they are, but he can’t let her go back blind.

“Ready for what?”

A part of him wants to sugar coat it. He wants to make it as sweet as pineapple, so the girl doesn’t get too worried, but there’s no reason to hold back. This kid’s seen plenty; she’s braver than Eddie. “Vecna’s about to get me. He’s about to get the Flayer out.”

Her eyes widen, “No, you can stop him—”

“I can’t, kid. I’ve seen the future. I can’t stop him. I’m not going to win this fight,” he swallows and glances to the ground, “but we’ll win the war. The Flayers going to get control over me, but you guys are going to be prepared. You’re going to get weapons, a plan, and you’re going to make it to the other side. You all will.”

“Eddie—”

“Go,” he pleads, shaking his head. Her eyes tear up, and it breaks Eddie’s heart, “I’ll be okay. I’ll make it out of this. I promise.”

“Your journal said that visions can change. It said the future can change; what if you are wrong?” Eleven steps forward, lower lip trembling and hands clenched in fists.

Eddie shrugs, “I can only hope I’m not, kid.” He tilts his head, “Now get out of here.” he gets back onto his bike once she nods, albeit begrudgingly. “Oh, and El?” She stops mid-movement, as she was about to pull off whatever eye mask she has blocking her vision, “Tell Dustin to get to the hospital. His thumb is definitely broken.” He smiles, but she doesn’t return the expression.

“Do not die,” she says instead.

A smile, a heartbeat, and a wave of his hand, “I’ll see you later kid.” It’s the last thing he says before he bikes away, straight towards his doom.

Chapter Text

April 13^th, 1986 (Sunday)

“I owe Mike and Erica ten bucks,” Dustin complains, as he gets into Nancy’s car. The girl is picking him up from his house, as Mrs. Henderson was the one to finally force Dustin to go to the doctor. Sure enough, the proximal phalanx of his thumb is broken, leaving him in the world’s dumbest looking cast that leaves his fingers free, but his thumb trapped. He can only be grateful that they could make it green. “They were out of red,” he claims when Nancy compliments the shade.

“Sure,” the girl hums before putting the car in reverse, “and do you owe them ten bucks each or together?”

“Each…”

Nancy winces, “Tough luck, kid. You should know to never gamble with a Wheeler or a Sinclair.” Dustin waves his unbroken hand then fiddles with the radio.

“Did you see Robin?” The girl suddenly asks, and Dustin hesitates, making the channel stop briefly on a A-Ha song. “Dustin?”

“I promised her mom I wouldn’t tell you so you wouldn’t worry,” he answers truthfully.

“What happened?”

“Robin’s okay—” The kid yelps when the girl suddenly pulls over, and the car screeches to a stop. “Okay, so Mrs. Buckley told me that last night Robin…” he takes a deep breath, “Robin momentarily flatlined.” Nancy lets out a noise like choking on air.

“What?”

“She didn’t tell you because she knows how much you guys are close, but it’s true. Robin flatlined but came back after about five minutes.” He holds his breath, awaiting a response.

“We need to get to the station.” Nancy drives off before Dustin can respond, and they spend the rest of the ride listening to A-Ha, Duran Duran, Tears for Fears, and Madonna until they reach home. It feels like listening to circus music on the way to a funeral.

Nancy parks her car next to the Winnebago, leaving Dustin to storm straight to the front door. Dustin huffs then follows the girl inside, and what he finds is commotion.

“What do you mean Eddie’s about to fight Vecna and lose?!” Lucas shouts. Eleven is sitting at the kitchen table, Hopper to her left and Max to her right. Nancy looks at Jonathan, who shakes his head.

“What’s happening?” she asks anyway, looking at each dreadful expression in the room, “You just talked to Eddie. You said he was okay.”

“They talked again,” Will explains, looking to his sister for more details.

“I felt Eddie and thought he wanted to talk, but I was eating lunch, and I am not allowed to use my powers during mealtime,” Eleven talks carefully, eyeing Hopper at mention of being unallowed to use powers during lunch. “After lunch, I went to the wet place, and I saw Eddie on a bike. He said that we needed to get ready because the Flayer was about to take over. He said Vecna was about to get him. I think he was trying to run away from him.”

“Shit,” Nancy collapses into a seat next to Will and Joyce. The mother rubs the girl’s shoulder.

“Maybe that’s why Robin flatlined,” Dustin realizes out loud, and Nancy can’t stop the glare she sends his way, “Sorry, too soon, I know, but it makes sense! Maybe something happened last night that we didn’t know about because we were sleeping. Eddie and Vecna could’ve had it out, or something happened, and it made Vecna super strong again or weakened Eddie.”

“Robin flatlined?” Max stares at Nancy, who shrugs.

“Dustin was told; I wasn’t.” She smiles bitterly, “Apparently, I’m too sensitive.” The room goes quiet, “Can we get back on track! Did Eddie mention Robin?!” Eleven flinches when Nancy directs the question at her, “Sorry, El. Please continue.”

Dustin sits at one of the stools at the kitchen counter, as Eleven talks about her and Eddie’s discussion. “We need to prepare. He said he will lose the fight, but we will win the war.” Hopper lets out a breath, and Eleven hesitates, “Also, he said Dustin’s thumb is definitely broken.” Everyone turns their eyes to Dustin, who throws his unharmed hand up.

“It wasn’t hurting that much! How was I supposed to know?!”

“It was purple and the size of a golf ball, nerd!” Erica shouts, “And you owe me ten bucks.”

“Me too!” Mike pipes up, sneering when Max punches his arm, “Hey!”

“Priorities, guys!” The girl scolds the other two, “Dustin owes me ten bucks too—”

“What?!”

“And we need to plan. Eddie says we win, and we need to make sure that vision comes true. We need weapons, a plan, protection, and all of Eddie’s journals, meaning we should crack down on finding his spell book. Check everywhere it could be, tear apart his room if we have to.”

Wayne speaks up from his spot on the sofa, “I have an idea.” He says suddenly then stands and walks to the door, “Be back in an hour.” He pauses and looks around the room, “Henderson, come with me.”

“What?!”

“I don’t want to accidentally summon a demon, now come on!” Dustin’s eyes widen, and he looks back at his friends before following the old man out the door.

“Demons?!” Max perks up, looks at the others, grabs Eddie’s journal, then runs after the two with a far-too wide smile for someone going on a possible demon hunt. The door slides shut behind her, and it’s then that Mr. Clarke speaks up.

“I still have the keys to Hawkins Middle School and the old lab storage spaces. There isn’t much, but there’s enough to make some nice chemical bombs.” He tilts his head with a smile. Erica copies his expression with ten times more enthusiasm.

“Why did you have to leave me with the boring teachers?!” She throws her arms around the man then grabs his hand, “Let’s go!”

“Hold on, you’re not stealing chemicals!” Lucas snaps. Erica rolls her eyes then grabs her brother’s hand.

“If we get caught, I’ll blame you,”

“What?!” Once again, the door slides shut behind a group of three, leaving the others to think for themselves. Nancy eyes her gun forever sitting on the kitchen counter for emergencies. She feels the weight of her other in her purse.

“Do you still have the keys to the police station?” She asks Hopper. The ex-chief looks at her and tilts his head. “We can teach the others to shoot, but I can’t get us an arsenal without breaking some laws. I’d rather get caught by Powell than by some asshole in the military.” Hopper looks at Joyce, who shrugs.

“I don’t have the keys,” he stands, “but I can get us weapons.”

“They think you’re dead.” Murray points out. He’s lounging in a sofa chair nursing a bottle of vodka disguised as a bottle of beer.

“Okay, well imagine your ex-chief of police, the man you’ve been friends with for years, comes back from the dead and tells you the entire truth. Would you believe him?” Hopper asks.

“No, I wouldn’t.”

“Well, it’s better than nothing,” Nancy stands and grabs her keys, “Don’t go anywhere, I’ll radio you any updates!” She closes the door, leaving behind the ones who are unable to leave. Joyce looks at Jonathan, who nods and puts his hands on his hips.

“Well, I guess we need to work on a game plan.” He looks at his sister, who nods. “What do you need from us?”

Eleven shakes her head, “Henry is still strong. I just need to practice my powers. I need to make sure I can defeat him.”

“Well, I don’t know about you bros, but I think we need to stake out the military, man.” Jonathan frowns and looks at Argyle, “Think about it, dude. We can do all this planning, but one run in with those guys, and it is game over, man. We need to figure out where they are so we can plan around them. You know?”

“That’s not an awful idea,” Will admits, looking at Mike.

“Yeah, except if one of us gets caught then we’re toast.” Argyle shakes his head.

“Nah, Wheeler, you still live in this town, and just because the locals recognize you doesn’t mean the military bros will. Just don’t show your face, and I can dress down a bit. No one knows me, so how will they prove I’m from Lenora?” He snorts and looks at Jon, who winces.

“Your accent?”

“What accent?” 

The Lifeguard

“You have got to be kidding me,” Max comments when Wayne reaches into the hallway closet of his trailer and pulls out a Ouija board. Dustin, meanwhile, looks like the cat who got the cream.

“Ed always said that each person has spirit guides. So, I’m gonna ask some of mine to see if they know where his spell book is.” He blows some dust off the top of the lid, “Eddie also always said these things were dangerous, but desperate times...”

“If they’re dangerous, why do you have one?” Max asks, sitting on the ground at the living room’s coffee table when the man sets the game on top of it.

“Gag gift for Eddie’s birthday,” The man answers and discards the lid, sitting on the couch while Dustin sits next to Max. “Apparently, we’re supposed to burn this after using it.”

“So they do work!” Max restrains from hitting Dustin over the head, instead staring at Wayne as he reads the instructions. “I think it’s pretty self-explanatory, Mr. Munson.”

“You haven’t seen what I’ve seen, boy.” Wayne carefully folds the paper back and then unfolds the board, grabbing the planchette next. “Y’all know monsters, but I know ghosts.” He blows the wind off of the plastic triangle, wiping the small lens on his shirt before setting it down, “Two fingers everyone.” Dustin eagerly puts both his hands on the plastic piece, while Max takes a moment to huff. Dustin’s cast bumps the table, and the planchette moves. The boy gasps.

“That was your cast, idiot!” Max snaps.

“You know; no one asked you to come with us!” He argues.

“Please, like I was going to let you two face-off a demon alone. You sleep with a night light; how are you supposed to fight off a demon?!”

“With salt!”

“What?!”

“Salt fights demons!”

“That is the dumbest thing I have ever—”

“Spirits!” Wayne interrupts the kids’ argument by calling out into the room. Max looks over to see the man has his eyes closed but his hands firmly on the planchette, “Spirits, I’m calling to ask if y’all know where my boy’s spell book is. We need it to save the world, I suppose, so I’d be real grateful if one of you boogers lead us the way.” He opens his eyes one at a time and stares down.

The planchette doesn’t move.

“Boogers means ghosts. Sorry if I offended y’all—” The man cuts himself off when the planchette moves. Dustin gasps.

“Are you doing that?!” He asks Max.

“No, I’m not doing that! Are you doing that?!” She looks between the boy and the planchette, as the thing slides over to ‘H’ then ‘I’.

“Hi?” Max squeaks, cheeks burning at her voice crack. The planchette slides. ‘H’ then ‘A’.

“Did the ghost just laugh at us?” The planchet slides over to ‘YES’. Dustin laughs. “Holy shit!” The planchette moves back to the center of the board.

“Are you going to help us or just laugh?” Max asks, already growing annoyed with the “spirit”. The planchette moves to ‘1’. “Help it is, then.” She huffs and looks at Wayne, who is frowning. “What?”

“Eddie says if a spirit guide shows itself for someone, they’d know,” he claims, “I can feel it in my gut. This ain’t one of mine.” The three look at the board with trepidation. Dustin swallows and laughs.

“Are you a demon?” He asks in an over-the-top scandalous tone, hiding his sweating palms behind a character. ‘NO’, “So you’re a ghost?” Again, ‘NO’.

“Are you from, uh, the beyond?” Max asks, lacking a better word. ‘YES’, Max leans back, frowns, “Do we know you?” ‘YES’

“Steve?” Dustin sounds so hopeful it makes Max clench her jaw. ‘NO’ She can’t help but feel disappointed, though she’s glad Steve isn’t wrapped up in this mess again, “Who are you then?” The planchette scrapes across the board.

‘B’, ‘I’, ‘L’, ‘L’—

Max gasps and jumps away from the table, letting go of the planchette. Her chest rises and falls quickly, and Dustin snaps, “You can’t let go!” The girl thinks she couldn’t hold onto anything right now. Her entire body is trembling, but her hands are practically numb and cold. She looks down and sees them shaking like leaves. Wayne leans towards her, not letting go of the game piece.

“Dustin’s right, kid, all kinds of bad mumbo jumbo can hop over with one of these things. Get back on.” With trembling hands, Max does as told.

‘Y’

All the tension leaves her body at once, “Yeah, because it was really unclear without the last letter,” the girl huffs, though her voice lacks any heat.

‘B’, ‘R’, ‘A’, ‘T’

“Asshole, dead or alive,” Dustin jokes.

“Do you know where Eddie’s spell book is?” Max ignores Dustin’s comment. ‘YES’

“Can you tell us where?” Dustin asks, “Sorry for calling you an asshole.”

‘F’, ‘U’

“I apologize for nothing.”

“Where is the spell book?!” Max snaps, hoping her tone heads enough warning for both boys to knock it off. The planchette moves again.

‘M’, ‘Y’, ‘L’, ‘O’, ‘C’, ‘K’, ‘E’, ‘R’

“Your locker? Why would it be in your locker.”

‘S’, ‘T’, ‘O’, ‘L’, ‘E’

“Asshole…”

“Dustin!”

“He admitted to stealing Eddie’s book! What am I supposed to say?!” Dustin huffs, “And you died during summer break. How do we know it’s still there?” The planchette slides back and forth, as if to regain their attention. Max bites her lip to keep in everything else she could be snarking about. No matter how tempting it is to humble Dustin just a bit more.

‘P’, ‘O’, ‘O’, ‘L’

“Billy worked at the pool; it must be in his old employee locker.”

‘YES’

“If I let go, will you go all poltergeist on us?” ‘NO’ Max smiles and lets go of the planchette to grab Eddie’s journal. Wayne flounders for a moment before sighing, lowering his chin to his chest in exasperation. Max flips to the page in the journal about Eddie losing his spell book and grabs a pen, snorting when she rereads the page. “Lost my spell book after a spell went wrong. The spell worked, but apparently revenge is a dish best served steaming hot.” She snorts, “What did he do?”

‘G’, ‘L’, ‘U’, ‘G’, ‘L’, ‘A’, ‘S’, ‘S’, ‘E’, ‘S’  ‘2’, ‘F’, ‘A’, ‘C’, ‘E’

“He glued sunglasses to your face?” Dustin snorts, while Wayne facepalms, forgetting about the rule of keeping hands on the planchette in favor of preventing anymore hair loss. “Alright, what’s your locker combo?” Max writes down the answer then puts her hands back on the planchette. Wayne begins to move to ‘GOODBYE’ when Max shouts, “Wait!”

She swallows and looks at the empty space on the other side of the rectangle coffee table. Unsure how any of this works, she assumes that Billy must be there, “I never got to properly thank you for saving El’s life… saving my life too. I know we had our fights, but you were good in the end. For what it’s worth, I would’ve liked the chance at being your sister for real. I love you.” There are a few moments of silence, and Max is ready to walk away, assuming her brother has left, but then there’s a small groan. She looks up and swears she sees a shadow in place of empty air.

‘U’, ‘2’ Then, the planchette slides over ‘GOODBYE’ on its own. The shadow disappears. Max smiles and wipes at her eyes, “Asshole,” she laughs. and gets up, “Let’s go. I still have Billy’s keys to the pool’s gate from last Summer.”

“Are you okay?” Dustin asks the girl once she gets back from running to her trailer. They’re back in Wayne’s truck, and the man turns on some music and begins to drive, as Max nods.

“I got closer from both brothers this past month.” She smiles, “I’m okay.”

The Teacher

Mr. Clarke leads the Sinclair siblings through the back entrance of the middle school, where the lunch ladies go to smoke and throw things into the dumpsters. Erica keeps her nose plugged until their safely inside for this very reason.

“I’d like to point out that them canceling school was the best part about this entire debacle. Now, I’m back… willingly!” She grouches, “The things I do for you nerds.”

“What are you talking about?” Lucas nudges her shoulder, “You practically jumped for joy about making bombs. The only one of us here against our will is me.” Erica waves a hand with a sneer, while Mr. Clarke laughs.

“Goodness gracious, I missed taking care of you crazy kids.” He’s walking ahead of the two, leading them directly to the science storages, “Mr. Sinclair, you haven’t changed one bit.” With a glance over his shoulder, the old teacher and Lucas make brief eye contact. Lucas uses that time to cringe.

“I beg to differ.”

“Please, once a nerd, always a nerd.” He sticks his tongue out at his sister, “You’re proving my point.”

“Save the fighting for the monsters, kiddos.” Mr. Clarke turns a corner, and there’s a set of double doors marked ‘Employees Only’. He fiddles with his keys and the lock, “With the schools being on one large campus, they’re connected in this tunnel system. It’s nothing much, just a couple of short hallways, but it’s where most of the more valuable stuff is kept.”

“Anyone else getting Déjà vu?” Erica swallows when Mr. Clarke pushes open the set of doors to reveal a large concrete hallway, fit with a ramp leading from the doors to a lower level. There’s a fork that leads left and right, with no signs indicating any direction. Erica grabs her brother’s hand when he risks a step forward.

“Erica?”

The girl is trembling, eyes wide as she stares down the hallway. She opens her mouth, giving nothing to show for except a quivering lip, “I…I…” her eyes well up with tears.

She has no reason to cry. Erica hates crying. She hates crying at school. At home. In her room, and she especially hates crying in front of adults like Mr. Clarke, but Lucas has seen her sob and scream. He was there to sleep on her bedroom floor after one too many nightmares of Steve, and he was the one to chaperone her whenever she felt like going to the man’s grave. That last part happened more often than Erica liked to admit. Now, she finds herself crying over the dumbest thing. The Russian base is destroyed; this is nothing more than her stupid school campus. The basement of her campus, but it’s so familiar. Too familiar.

“I can’t…” she gasps, as if admitting to a crime, and it’s as painful as being stabbed, “I can’t. I’m sorry.” She finds enough strength to move, turning to shove her brother away. Her feet carry her down the hall, towards the one place she knows no one can find her.

Her brother is a basketball legend now, but Erica doesn’t have that. She may have a set of friends, but ever since last summer things have been different, not after she displayed a love for dnd and still watched “stupid cartoons”. At school, she’s practically terrorized. The girls pull at her hair, call her names, and splash paint on her clothes. So, she runs to her safe place. A spot beneath the gym’s bleachers, where no one looks and if they did, they wouldn’t see her. Erica’s too good at hiding.

But her brother is better at seeking. Too much time spent looking in places he wasn’t supposed to. Erica is only hidden for a few minutes before footsteps echo in the gym, “Erica?” Her brother calls, “Mr. Clarke found a wagon; he’s getting the supplies. Are you okay?” Erica is wedged between the wall and one of the support beams, with her knees pressed tightly against her chest. She wipes at her tears moments before the shadow of her brother’s outline appears at the end of the bleachers. He stares right at her and sighs. “I know you like hiding down here, but just know that getting gum in your hair and dust in your underwear is not worth it.” He brings out a flashlight from God knows where and shines it at his sister, who squints then looks up. Chewed pieces of gum dot the bottom of the bleachers like stars. Erica grimaces.

“Wait, is this why you had to shave a part of your head in the sixth grade?” Erica tilts her head, looking at an ‘L.S.’ carved into the wood of the bleachers. Like brother, like sister.

“I lied and told mom that it was some asshole from the eighth grade.” He shrugs, “Will you come out there now? We won’t go back to the underground; Mr. Clarke can handle it from here.” The girl clenches her jaw but nods, crawling out from her spot and into the open air. The lights in the gym are shut off just as all the other lights in the building off, but the sunlight shines through the large windows above them. Erica eyes several large crates covered with tarps and old cots. Luckily, the high school has more than enough room for their makeshift shelter, so this place is just for extra storage.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Lucas asks, disrupting Erica from her thoughts.

“The Russian base looked a bit like that.”

“Oh, right…” Lucas sits on one of the bleachers, and Erica sits beside him, “It just brought up some bad memories, then?”

Erica nods. She doesn’t talk about what happened. Sometimes, Dustin and she will make bad jokes or share bad dreams that practically match. She imagines if they were closer to Robin, the girl would also be involved in such brief discussions, but she doesn’t talk about it to Lucas. Her brother doesn’t push her to talk, but they have moments like these often, where Erica will get upset about something relating to July 4^th, Lucas will comfort her, but his comfort is quiet. He can’t say anything. He doesn’t know what happened, so all he can do is hold her and hope for the best.

“Dustin and I were hiding in the vents.” Lucas tries to hide the way his breath hitches. “After we escaped, we weren’t in the clear. Dustin couldn’t fit, so really it was just me in the vents. Dustin was hiding in a trash can near a vent cover.” The girl stares at a vent near the ceiling of the gym, where small pieces of plastic strands lay limply from the lack of electricity to run the ventilation system. “We weren’t hiding for long; it was just when we were about to go back to rescue Robin and… and Steve.”

“You don’t have to share if it’s too much—”

“I can do it!” Erica snaps, voice cracking. She clears her throat and wipes her eyes, “I haven’t even told Dustin this. I have to… I have to get this off my chest.” Lucas shuts his mouth, nodding quickly.

“When I was in the vents, I heard them interrogate Steve.” The young girl begins picking at her nails, “I heard everything. I heard him beg them to stop. I heard them hit him. I heard his screams and cries, and I could do nothing but sit there.” She’s crying fully, “I tried to drown it out. I tried to cover my ears, but nothing helped. I sat there for nearly an hour listening to his screams on repeat.” She hiccups, “When I wake up from a nightmare, all I hear are those screams.” A drop of water falls onto her hand, and she wipes it away. It only works to make her cries turn to sobs, “I dream of being able to help, of getting there sooner, but I wake up, hear those screams, and remember… remember he’s gone.” Lucas grabs his sister’s hand, “You wanna know the worst part?”

“Erica…”

“I don’t remember his voice. I’ve forgotten what he sounds like when he speaks, but I remember those screams. I’ll never forget them.” Silence stretches, interrupted by sniffles and hiccups from the young girl. Lucas lets go of his sister’s hand and hugs her instead. The silence breaks, “He was so scared, Lucas!” Erica sobs into her brother’s shirt.

“I know.” Lucas cries, dripping tears into his sister’s dusty hair, “I know. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry this happened to you.” For a lack of something better to say, apologizing is all he can do, but it seems to be enough. His sister stops shaking as much, only sniffing once or twice. “For what it’s worth, I can’t remember his voice either.” She pulls back, looking up at her brother, “Not until I met him in the Upside Down.”

“Right, I forgot that happened.”

“Do you remember Steve’s 19^th birthday party?” She frowns.

“I wasn’t invited.”

“No, but mom made me drag you along because she knew Steve had a pool.” He smiles and nudges her shoulder, “Remember?”

“Steve was the only one who was willing to play Marco, Polo with me.” Erica remembers, suddenly, “You guys were all playing chicken or eating pizza, and Steve suddenly got into the pool. He didn’t even wait for me to ask, he just swam up and said…” she pauses.

‘Marco’ echoes in her mind. “Marco,” she finishes, feeling a weight being lifted from off her shoulders.

Lucas smiles, “There,” he says, “you’ve got something to remember besides screaming now, right?” Instead of a verbal answer, Erica nearly tackles Lucas to the ground with how roughly she wraps her arms around him. He laughs and hugs her back, and it’s while they’re embraced that the gym doors open.

“You said you found a wagon!” Lucas groans, as Mr. Clarke walks in pulling a wheeling trash can behind him.

“A wagon, my dear boy, is defined as a vehicle used for transporting goods. This is a vehicle, and I am using it to transport goods; henceforth,” he stops pulling the bin along and lets it stop, causing a few glass vials inside to clink together, “it is a wagon!” He puts his hands on his hips, “You doing better, kiddo?”

“Well, your nerdiness is making me physically ill, but I’m not crying,” Erica stands to look inside the “wagon”.

“That’s what I like to hear.” Mr. Clarke laughs to himself and glances behind him, “What are these?”

“Some supplies for the shelter,” Lucas answers without looking, instead following his sister’s act of checking the man’s supply grab. Each bottle is carefully wrapped, with a few empty beakers freely placed on top. He wonders how Mr. Clarke got it done so quickly, when suddenly the man gasps.

“Kids, we’re going to need more trash cans!” Lucas frowns and looks over his shoulder.

“Holy shit.”

“These are the shelter’s supplies?” Erica asks.

“Guess the military needed a shelter of their own…”

Armor, bullet proof vests, gasoline, tarps, and plenty of other supplies. There aren’t any guns, unfortunately, but there’s enough of the rest for a small army.

“I’ll get more wagons,” Erica volunteers, running down the hall. And as she runs, she imagines Steve’s voice cheering her on.

The Sheriff

“This is a bad idea,” Hopper mumbles as Nancy leads him to the front doors of the police station. He has on a hoodie and baseball cap, which he keeps tugging down to cover his eyes.

“So is going up against Henry unprepared,” Nancy points out, walking straight up to the front desk. The woman clearly recognizes Nancy from the news and her recent overnight stay, but this shock at seeing an ex-murder suspect luckily keeps her distracted, as Hopper strays near the gate leading to the rest of the office.

“Hi, is Chief Powell in?” Nancy asks, using the “nice girl” voice she saves for people she can tell don’t like her. This woman looks like she’s ready to call the police when she’s surrounded by cops. With a nod, Nancy thanks her, taking the shocked silence as an invitation to head on back. When they walk in, Powell is sitting in his chair working on a mountain of paperwork. Nancy closes the door, and it’s the sound of it shutting that seems to wake the man up. He looks up.

“Nancy? What are you doing… here…” he trails off, eyes going straight to Hopper, as the man removes his hood and cap, “Jim?” He stands.

“Hey Cal,” Hopper takes a seat, “long time no see.” Powell looks like he’s toeing the line between reaching for a hug and reaching for his gun. He settles for collapsing right back into his chair with a huff.

“You… I don’t… I don’t understand.” He looks between the two, “Nancy?” He tries. When she was last held overnight, it was during Powell’s shift. The man was working overtime, and Nancy ended up helping him file and organize. She wouldn’t go as far as to call them friends, but they’re closer.

“I think it’s better if Hopper explains.” Nancy pulls out the chair next to hers. Hopper hesitates, looking around his old office. He spots a picture on the shelf of him next to Powell and Callahan. “Is Phil here?” he asks and takes a seat.

“Phil, can you come to my office, please?” Powell says after calling the man through the office phone. Officer Callahan storms into the room a second later, letting the door slam shut behind him.

“I know tuna salads are my go to, chief, but I swear the rotten one you found in the holding cell wasn’t mine! Someone must have snuck it in! And I—” He cuts himself off, eyes widening behind his glasses. He trips on his own two feet, sliding sideways until he slams into the wall to the right of Powell’s desk, “Jim!” He shouts, accidentally knocking down some papers that were previously pinned to a push board.

“Hey, Phil,” Hopper smiles, “You wanna sit down so I can explain?” Callahan, instead of grabbing the last empty chair in the room, slides to the floor. His legs spread out in front of him. “That works.” Hopper looks at Nancy, who smiles. “Alright, well, do you guys remember when Will Byers went missing?”

Nancy doesn’t need to repeat everything Hopper says, though she does chime in to add some details where the old man is fuzzy around the edges. They leave out the part about ghosts, but they don’t undermine Eddie’s involvement and innocence. They also mention Eleven, as describing Henry Creel as both being alive and superpowered proved being more difficult than expected. Powell seems to be keeping up, while Callahan looks on the brink of committing himself to a mental institution. 

“So, you escaped a Russian prison, came here thinking the apocalypse was stopped, was proved wrong, and now need to fight Henry Creel, who is alive and has superpowers,” Powell recaps. Nancy glances at the clock, and an hour has passed.

“Yes, that about covers it,” Hopper responds.

“And you, you come out of hiding and tell us this because…?”

“Because we may have a superhero, but there’s an entire army of monsters we need to face. We need weapons. We have some we were able to put away before they confiscated everything, but it’s not enough. We need more; we need you guys to help us.” Nancy leans forward, using a tone that doesn’t give much room for argument. It’s still nice, but she’s not willing to let these guys get away easily.

“You need us to commit treason, by the sound of it.” Powell doesn’t sound mad, only tired. He shakes his head and pulls open one of the drawers in his office. He pulls out a paper and sets it on top of his desk, “We’ve put this up all over town. I’m guessing this is your girl.”

The wanted poster shows El’s mugshot from California. They’re offering a $5,000 reward for any information. Some peace comes from the fact that they want her alive, but a heavy feeling sets in Nancy’s gut all the same. One glance over at Hopper’s pale expression lets her know he feels just as nauseous. “She’s not a criminal. She saved Hawkins; there’d still be a giant X in the ground if it wasn’t for her.”

“I believe you,” Powell reassures them.

“Me too!” Callahan pipes up, speaking for the first time in an hour, “That Eddie kid was nice, and I remember seeing Billy Hargrove on the fourth of last year. He didn’t seem himself.” Powell nods in agreement.

“You were there?” Nancy asks.

“Briefly,” Powell responds, “why do you think we got first responders there so fast?”

“If I had known there was a monster, I would’ve stayed and fought,” Callahan insists.

“You would’ve run for the hills,” Hopper corrects the man.

“Valiantly!”

The three men laugh together in a way they haven’t in years, and Nancy uses the moment of joy to get everything back on track. “Well, you know why we need weapons, then?” She looks at El’s wanted poster and grabs it, “I know it’s asking a lot. It would put your jobs—your lives at risk, but we have no other options. We need your help. Please.” She folds the page and puts it in her purse.

“I can’t let you guys walk out of here with an arsenal.” Nancy is about to argue their case, but Powell raises his hand, “I can, however, misplace the keys to the Hawkins armory and… and if a power outage happens to happen in, oh…” He glances at his watch, “an hour, and the cameras catch nothing.” He stands and approaches the door, peaking outside, “And I guess if there’s a false sighting of that wanted girl on the other side of town… then no one will be here.” He turns back to his desk and walks towards it, dropping his keys on the ground by Hopper’s chair. The man bends over to pick them up and looks at Powell, who sits back down, “Whatever happens is out of my control after that.” He smiles.

“Thank you, Calvin. Phil,” Hopper looks at Callahan, “thank you both. You’re true friends.”

Powell waves a hand, “I know how much you care about your daughter, chief.” He shrugs, “I hadn’t seen you so happy since before Sara died; I’m not about to let you go dark again.”

Nancy and Hopper leave the station and head to the girl’s car. “Do you know where the armory is?” Nancy asks. Hopper nods and catches the keys when she tosses them his way, “Keep your hood on,” she orders, not that the man needs the advice. They get into the car and begin to drive, with Nancy glancing at the wanted poster in her purse.

“Thank you,” Hopper says, “You’re a good kid.”

“Save the pleasantries for after we get some guns, Hopper,” Nancy responds.

“How about for after Henry dies?”

“Even better.”

The Surferboy

It’s nighttime, there’s a blunt in his hand, it’s raining, and Argyle thinks the sky is the coolest thing he’s ever seen.

It’s not that late. The sun has just set, and everyone’s eaten dinner. It was a long day for all of them. He and Jon hiked all around the woods looking for military dudes. They noted where they were on one of those giant maps the teacher dude has. If he’s being completely honest, Argyle wasn’t completely paying attention. He just knew to point out a military dude when he saw one. Now, he’s on his nightly walk through the woods to smoke and clear his head. Usually, he waits until everyone is asleep, but they’re all collecting supplies and planning things out, which Argyle isn’t a big fan of.

Jonathan is with him, luckily. It had yet to start raining when they left, so neither knew they’d get caught in the storm. Luckily, Jon was smart enough to bring a walkie, leaving Argyle be in charge of bringing their flashlights.

“You got it, dude.” Jon’s flashlight is off and put away, but Argyle keeps his in hand. He points it to the ground to keep from tripping on one of the many gnarly roots sprung from the dense trees around them. The storm has picked up in the last few minutes, so they’re both on their way back to the station, even if the sky, with its heavy clouds and flashes of lightning, still looks pretty sick. Man, Hawkins is nothing like California. No beaches. Not as much sun. The trees aren’t palm but are still soft, like blankets. Man, he loves trees.

The demo-monsters and town curse are pretty wicked too. The only monsters in California are monstrous waves or the rare chupacabra, and the only curse is the vice of a good smoke.

Weed isn’t a curse, though; it’s a blessing. Something beautiful and green rolled tightly like a gift on Christmas morning. They watch PSAs at school on “Reefer Madness”, but weed is, like, Argyle’s superpower! Everything is clearer. The stars in the sky are singing, and only Argyle is powerful enough to hear their song over the static of the rain. Even if the high pitched whining in their voices is barely audible over raindrops hitting leaves.

“Wait a minute,” Argyle snorts, remembering stars don’t sing, “do you hear that?” He asks Jonathan, who shakes his head. Jon may not be high enough to hear it, but there is a song. He abandons his and Jon’s original pathway and follows the source of the song, ignoring his friend’s many protests. “Just trust me, man. I hear something!” In the light of his flashlight, Argyle suddenly sees something stark red against the green of the foliage around him. “Fuck, man…” it’s blood. He may not be as experienced as the rest of his friends, but Argyle has unfortunately seen a lot of blood recently. This is blood. Dark and shiny—fresh, especially if it hasn’t been washed away in the storm yet.

“Fuck,” Jonathan repeats, bending down to wipe at the substance. The red on his finger gets washed away, “We need to follow the trail before we lose it. Come on!” He stands and urges Argyle to lead and be his light.

“We need to?” Argyle tilts his head, “Nah, man, ‘za is a need, Purple Palm Tree Delight is a need. This is a bad idea.” Nonetheless, he follows the trail. The more he walks, the more scattered the blood is. “If we die, I’m so haunting your ass, dude.”

“If we die, we’d both be ghosts.” Jonathan looks off, suddenly, “Wait, did you hear that?”

“I told you I heard something, man!” Argyle smacks Jonathan’s pec, and the boy blanches, “Now you hear it too.” The man waves a hand and tilts his head. Argyle looks around before hearing something much more coherent in the distance: a voice calling out a familiar name.

“There.” Argyle points then walks in that direction, leaving Jonathan in the dust before the man scrambles to catch up. “Hello?” He calls, shining the light into the forest, “Anyone there?” Jonathan comes up next to him and finally turns on his light.

“Eddie…” a voice wheezes. Argyle frowns then shines his light through a gap in the trees. A flash of white and red. A hand reaches towards the source, and Argyle runs forward. Jonathan stays behind, muttering a curse then reaching for his walkie. Argyle pays his friend no mind and focuses on the figure.

“Dude, there’s a guy!” Argyle shouts, collapsing to the ground next to the now unconscious dude. He’s covered in blood, cuts, and bruises, with his back pressed to the leaves. Jonathan curses and trips forward, saying something about the party being on their way. The rain prevents any idea of silence, so Argyle doesn’t notice the way that Jonathan is shocked with his tone. Not until he looks over to see his friend crying, reaching for the unconscious dude.

“Jon? Don’t worry, man. He’ll be okay. He’s breathing, just passed out—” Jonathan mutters something incoherent, “What?”

“Argyle, this isn’t just some dude.”

Argyle looks down at the man with a frown. It’s not a celebrity. He doesn’t watch a lot of movies, but he’s sure of that. Maybe someone from Hawkins, then? An old friend. A coworker?

Jonathan shoves his wallet into Argyle’s hands a moment before stripping off his jacket to cover the unconscious man with it. Argyle frowns and looks down at a polaroid picture of Jon, Nancy, and a man covered in bruises. 

Meanwhile, back at the station, everyone is scrambling for first aid supplies and something to be made into a makeshift gurney, as Dustin continues staring down at his walkie, having just received a message from Jonathan consisting of only four sentences.

“Head into the woods west of the station. Bring a gurney and blanket. We found Steve.”

Then, after a moment of silence, the last part of the message came, “We found him alive.”

Chapter Text

April 13^th, 1986 (Sunday)

Steve knew from a very young age that he was different. Not different in the sense of his mind being too loud. Not different in the sense of having more interests in Han Solo over Princess Leia.  No, Steve was different in a far worse way. See, Steve is cursed.

Born under a bad sign, that’s what they call it, and it’s not based in fact, but Steve is almost certain it’s true. He knows nothing about Zodiac signs or stars, but he thinks a few were crossed in the wrong way on the day he was born. Some people are destined for great things; Steve was always destined to die.

Most kids with obsessions show them off. They show poor crayon drawings to parents, rant about cartoons, and express their desires to be whatever career seems the most exciting to them that week. Well, Steve never had that opportunity. Sure, he had a few brief phases of oversharing as a kid, but his parents worked hard to fix that kind of behavior. He learned quickly what topics were appropriate and inappropriate to discuss. Sports, the weather, and chores: those were appropriate discussion topics. Interests, friends, school, boys, and desires: those were inappropriate discussion topics. More than that, they were unsafe. Steve needn’t be reminded of the feeling of a cigar burn or broken glass in his feet from something thrown across the room.

So, when he suddenly developed an odd interest in all things dead in the second grade, he knew to stay quiet about it.

It was a bird carcass that garnered his attention. Small, frail, and sunken from days of decomposition. There were ants crawling in and out of small holes in patches of feathers, and the thing’s eyes were completely gone — Steve’s first hint that eyes went first. Not that he connected his observations with this conclusion until it was his turn to regrow said organs, but it still stood out in his memory.

Sitting on the edge of the fence line at Hawkins Elementary’s playground, Steve spent an entire week doing nothing at recess but staring at the bird. He brought a book with him, pretending to read it for class when he was actually watching the corpse slowly wither away. Some kids would turn such a fascination into an interest. They’d research everything about the science of decomposition and death, but Steve wasn’t like that. He didn’t want to know why the ants were stripping rotted meat from frail bones or why the bird took only a week to decompose but a deer on the highway took months; he just wanted to watch it disappear. Like watching a movie, Steve liked watching things turn into dirt.

On the weekend, Steve rode his bike to school and put the bird’s bones into a small Tupperware container. His parents were away on business, so he felt no trepidation in cleaning off the bones in the kitchen sink. He hid the clean ivory pieces in a shoebox beneath his bed and brought them out whenever he felt lonely. Nothing in him saw the bird as a friend, but something inside of him felt less empty when holding the clawed foot, curled and frozen, as if forever clutching on air. Forever clutching something that couldn’t be held.

Steve could relate, he supposes. He too, in a way, was like that bird. He too was forgotten, laid at the edge of a fence, meant for nothing but food for ants. Only, no one noticed him. Not really. He was noticeable; it’s why he had to hide his odd hobby behind a classroom book. Otherwise, Tommy would find his secret and give him hell, or worse, tell his parents. Harringtons were noticeable; they were charismatic and sociable, and Steve was athletic and popular. Everyone saw him, but no one knew him. They looked at him, but no one would willingly spend their free time watching, waiting for his bones to show. No one would carefully pick off rotted pieces of flesh and dead bugs to see his ribcage in a clear light. Steve began to wonder if death was a requirement to be fully seen. If he’d have to die and decompose to finally be noticed for who he truly was.

If he had no flesh, he’d have nothing to hide. Everything would be out for the world to see, and everyone would have no options of opinions. What is there to say about bones? White. Hard. Stripped. Bare. All of his secrets out and open, and no one could judge him. Who could judge a corpse for their personality? Who could judge a bird on its ability to fly when it’s been permanently grounded?

By the time Steve had to bury the bones in the backyard to protect them from parental eyes, he had known he would die young. A part of him wanted to die young, he thinks. His fascination with the bird created this idea that, if he too were dead, then people would have no choice but be fascinated by him. They too would be enchanted by his corpse and bones. They too would keep him safe in a shoebox and take him out when they were lonely. They would love him even when the bugs stopped fighting for his flesh. 

To be loved was not in Steve’s book of life, but to die was always written in his story. The belief of that fact persisted throughout his life. It was strongest during his first fight with a demogorgon, again when he fought those demodogs, again when he fought Billy, and again when he first stepped into the Russian base. Each time he thought to himself, ‘This is it. This is the moment I’ve been waiting for my entire life. This is when I finally die’.  During these moments, Steve was smarter than he was as a child. He realized by then that the yearning to die was just a poorly disguised yearning to be loved. To be loved and to be understood. To be stripped down to the bone and still be wanted. He was so lonely that he even wondered if the ants were good friends to the bird during decomposition. If bugs would be his friends too.

Maybe he was just being dramatic. It was just that no matter how he interpreted the emotion, death was his greatest desire. Loneliness could be cured by death. Death could bring love. Death could bring peace. Death could bring his parents back home to see him. He ended up being wrong about that last part, of course. When he died young, just as he knew he always would, no parents came home to see him but Joyce. In fact, he was wrong about most of his concepts of death. No peace, no love, and plenty loneliness came for him in his time of dying. It was the afterlife that provided everything he had desired. Peace. Love. Friends. Family. All he ever wanted in a warm summer sun. Steve knew he would always die young; he knew he was destined for it. Then coming back was proof that the curse was far stranger than he could’ve imagined.

A normal curse is dying young, but it takes something extra fucked up to be written in the stars to come back. It takes even more to die again. Because again, he’s going to die. He’s sure of it. That pounding in his head is back, as is the feeling deep in his gut.

The worst part about it is that he doesn’t know how to feel. A part of him is scared, but he’s been through this before. He knows the grass is greener on the other side, but his body still reacts to the abuse. That stubborn fight or flight instinct doesn’t go away because you die. Steve’s trying to fight it off, so the pain he feels can remain as physical as possible. He can blame his shaking hands on blood loss and the sharp stabbing pain in his heart on broken ribs.

Vecna never seemed like the type of man to beat someone to a pulp, but Steve supposes in his weakened state the villain is conserving his energy for when Eddie arrives. And Eddie is going to arrive, Steve isn’t psychic, but he can feel their connection across the hell dimension.  It almost makes the pain tolerable. Almost.

It’s not the worst pain he’s been in; healing from decomposing takes that cake. That being said, he can do nothing but scream. This villain is sadistic; he doesn’t know how to properly throw a punch but has other means of pain besides fists and powers. The world has changed him too much. He hasn’t been a man in ages; he’s nothing more than a weapon, and Steve is his target practice.

“That’s it, Steven. Call your precious boyfriend.” Vecna says before slashing his claws across Steve’s stomach. Hot blood burns his skin. At least, that’s what it feels like it’s doing when the rest of him is otherwise so cold.

“Fuck you,” Steve spits. Literally, he coughs up blood. It dribbles down his chin and to his bare chest. Vecna’s got him tied to a tree using vines, as the Creel house was destroyed on both sides of the universe. Instead, they’re outside an old cabin down the street from the Creel house. It’s not Hoppers but a similar shape and size. Steve’s glad it’s not his old man’s; he thinks that would make it all worse, as if Hopper’s ghost could see them from the great beyond.

Steve wonders, not for the first time, why Hopper wasn’t there when Steve moved on. Why Eddie’s grandma, a woman Steve never met, greeted him with open arms. Perhaps, they weren’t as close as Steve thought. Still, he will always see the old sheriff like a dad. He wonders if, this time around, Hopper will greet him. Steve misses him terribly, remembering how Hopper insisted he joined the party’s Christmas party back in ‘84. How Hopper showed up to Steve’s games and swim meets, and how the man teared up when he saw Steve’s state, back in that small moment they had in between the final fight and regrouping in Starcourt. A part of him, though he wouldn’t wish such a fate on anyone, hopes the man is a ghost, so that there’s at least an excuse for why Steve didn’t see him.

He thinks of Hopper, then of Robin. The girl’s alive, but Steve will still see her when he’s gone. He’ll check up on everyone, grateful that Eddie kept his secret from them. As long as they think Steve’s still dead, they will have no reason to shed tears when he dies for a second time. They’re safe from heartbreak for another day. It’s the only unfinished business Steve could think of, so he takes the chill in his bones with a peaceful mind. At least he won’t be a ghost.

But a painful death this go around is proof of his curse. It didn’t stick the first time, and now the universe is taking revenge. This is the stars telling him to stay dead, and if it means not having to bleed any more, Steve is more than willing to allow that to happen. Born under a bad sign; he’ll die the right way this time.

Suddenly, Vecna punches the side of Steve’s jaw, as if to break him from his stupor. Steve’s reaction makes him think that he might be going a bit insane. Instead of crying, he laughs, “This isn’t my first time getting punched. Your fists feel like they belong to a toddler.”

“Do they?” Vecna tilts his head like he’s considering something. Then, he whistles, broken and weak. It hasn’t been all that long, but Vecna’s already physically drained. But this place is a hellscape of monsters, and they all listen to their master.

Steve’s blood runs cold as a demogorgan emerges from the woods. Vecna sits on a nearby tree stump, and his eyes squint. “No funny remarks, Steve?” The cursed man helplessly flails his limbs, barely moving more than an inch as the demogorgon stalks forward.

“If you kill me, Eddie will rip you apart,” Steve tries. He may know he’s going to die, but he’d rather not be ripped to shreds. Suddenly, bleeding out doesn’t sound so bad.

“If I kill you, Eddie will come. If I spare you, Eddie will come. What I do now doesn’t matter.” He has one hand raised, controlling the demogorgon with a single thought. The monster storms forward and roars in Steve’s face. It’s hot breath reeks of mold; it takes everything in him not to vomit. He does cough something up when the demogorgon slashes at his arm, adding to his bleeding wounds. He was cut at the bicep, and the entire limb goes numb. “Your best shot is hoping Eddie shows up before I slit your throat. Luckily for you, I want to draw this out.” Vecna sounds bored now, as if Steve’s screams have become as monotonous as a radio station playing the top ten hits over and over again. He’s leaned back against a tree now, spreading his legs and lounging like a man on vacation.

Steve dares to look down in time for the demogorgon to slash his thigh. He can’t see the damage to his arm, only the river of blood coating his forearm and dripping from the tips of his fingers. The wounds on his stomach are in the clearest line of sight, and Steve wishes he were blind.

Anatomy is not his strong suit, but he’s glanced at enough textbooks to know what intestines look like. It looks less like the strange lines of sausage like the ones shown in movies. Instead, they’re like old hoses, all lumpy and swollen. Not much is leaking out, just one single loop that’s stubbornly poking through. Steve stares at it and the surrounding geyser of blood and can only wonder how he’s not passed out. Has his life truly been so painful that this somehow doesn’t measure up?

More proof of the curse.

“Oh my God…” Steve can barely speak through the blood in his mouth. He doesn’t need to speak again, though, not when the demogorgon aims for his head this time. Bits of hair get caught in Steve’s eye, and he focuses on the itch of that instead of the searing pain of the cut in his cheek. The eye without any hair in it is forced shut, protecting itself from a cascade of blood coming from the cut in his hairline. He feels a bit of his lip has split open, tasting blood like he tastes sugar in his coffee. Sugar is not too strong of a flavor when added to coffee, just like blood is nowhere near as strong as the taste of the bile in his throat. He can’t throw up. He can’t. He won’t.

He doesn’t. The demogorgon doesn’t give him a chance before swiping at the other side of his face. There’s a great amount of gratitude on Steve’s part, as the demogorgon didn’t use its claws but its knuckles. Searing pain is momentarily forgotten by the throbbing, swelling pain of a good punch. Steve feels his eye socket crack. It’s a pain he’s felt a million times, and the familiarity is comforting. Familiar pain is something Steve has never been one to mind; it’s when new forms of punishment come into play that he gets bitter. Like how when he was a kid and used to cry over a skinned knee; now, his eye socket is likely broken, but he doesn’t mind it. He still, however, sobs over having his intestines cut apart; he's not used to a knife in his gut. Not feeling it so clearly.

“Enough.” Vecna stands and walks over, waving off the demogorgan. The creature runs back into the woods, while Vecna stands in front of Steve. He hums, and Steve feels the brush of a barbed vine around his throat, like the tails of those demobats that killed Eddie. They feel like chemical burns, scratching and peeling away at skin in small chunks. They’re so small that they don’t go deep, keeping all injuries closer to the surface, which only makes Steve’s neck sting. He whimpers, as the texture of the vines irritate his skin at all points of contact, growing small barbs like steel wool. Skin gets picked off, like ants picking flesh from bone.

Eddie’s almost here. The feeling gets stronger, and some pain deep inside of Steve gets soothed. If he wasn’t dying, he probably would take a moment to think about that. Instead, he can only cry silent tears of relief.

“Don’t jinx yourself,” Vecna warns, and it’s the only warning Steve gets before something inside of him shatters. His vision blacks out, his breath escapes him, but a brief moment of peace gives him a chance to inhale.

He uses it to scream.

Steve’s scream, bloody, pained, and louder than a gunshot, is the first thing Eddie hears when he arrives at a cabin at the end of the Creel house’s street. He sees Steve floating in air, dripping with blood so dark it’s almost black. The shirt he was wearing is nowhere to be found, so the many bruises and cuts on his abdomen and arms are on display for the world to see. His head is pinned back, staring upwards, with his jaw opened unnaturally large. If he weren’t screaming, Eddie would be worried his boyfriend was about to get the same treatment as Vecna’s victims. He supposes the villain wouldn’t be so merciful.

“Let him go,” Eddie speaks dangerously low, abandoning his bike and stalking up to the villain with his axe raised. Vecna smiles, coughs, and lets Steve drop to the ground. Eddie works on instinct, running to Steve’s side and bringing the man into his arms. “Steve…”

“You could save him,” Vecna points out, as Steve’s face turns pale. Eddie feels his heart twist painfully, as he watches the blood pour from every cut in Steve’s body. Vecna was keeping it in, he realizes, saving the blood for when Eddie could watch the love of his life bleed out. So, this is how it happens? This is the fork in the road that determines Eddie’s entire future. His future was so clear, but already it must have changed.

It's nothing like his visions.

Steve is supposed to be frothing from the mouth, spitting up black bile and able to speak. Instead, he can only let out wheezing breathes, eyes staring deep into Eddie’s. Only, his eyes are already dead, glossy and vacant. The fact that they point into Eddie’s eyes is nothing but coincidental.

“What did you do to him?” Eddie knows. He knows Vecna tortured Steve. He just wants to know why his vision has changed. Maybe something else is meant to happen. Maybe Steve isn’t so sick...

As if on cue, black bile leaks from Steve’s parted lips, and the man begins to convulse, choking on it. Without thinking, Eddie pours a bit of his energy into the man in his arms. He feels the warmth of power leaving through his fingertips, where they contact Steve’s back and chest, keeping him pinned close. Eddie watches a golden light appear in Steve’s chest, and his breath hitches.

“The gold…” His mind plays a different pattern of visions, showing the same images as before but in different orders. It shows him an alternative future, one that still results in their success but holds a trickier plan. Eddie tosses his backpack to the side in a feigned movement of frustration, as if the thing is holding him down. While he’s healing Steve, he’s exerting extra energy to write something down on the notepad in the backpack. He uses a broken piece of a pencil, and he has no idea if it works without a visual reference, but he hopes he’s doing something right, as he then dips his hand in some of Steve’s blood. He sneaks the hand hidden by Steve’s body downwards, where he begins to draw something on the man’s bare back.

Steve stops healing the moment Eddie feels his energy deplete. He looks around, searching for carcasses of monsters to take from. There are no traffic lights this far down the street, and the patio lights are shut off at the house, so there is nothing from the outside world for Eddie to absorb energy from. He’s out of options and out of time.

The man in his lap coughs, spitting up blood. Vecna walks over and stands above the two of them. “You know what you must do if you want to save him.” He traces a finger through the air, and the wounds on Steve’s arms and legs reopen. Eddie feels his heart break just a little. He grabs his backpack and ties one of the straps around Steve’s arms then does the same with the other. He tightens them so much that he hopes they look like bad tourniquets. Given the fact that he’s genuinely crying, he doesn’t think Vecna is too suspicious of any of his actions.

“No,” Eddie insists, shaking his head and putting on the performance of his life, “I won’t let it take over.” The Flayer is already taking over. Eddie’s so drained from bringing Steve back from the brink that he knows for a fact that anymore exertion would be the same as rolling over, belly-up, and ready to be sliced open by the beast in his head.

“Well,” Vecna raises his hand, and Eddie gets a sense of Déjà vu, “your choice, Eddie.” His voice vibrates through the air, threateningly spreading his fingers over Steve’s head, “Only you can save his life.”

Fuck, Eddie needs to remember the spell. He needs to make sure he says it right. He needs to make sure Steve will be safe and saved. He needs to do so many things, but he doesn’t have time.

Eddie’s not an idiot. He knows if his plan doesn’t work out then Steve will die either way. He doesn’t let the Flayer in, then Vecna will kill Steve then force Eddie a different way. If Eddie lets the Flayer in, then they’ll kill Steve the moment he’s possessed. They know now how powerful Steve is in Eddie’s eyes.

The anxiety building up in Eddie’s chest helps no one, of course, but there are so many things that can go wrong. But then, he looks down at Steve. He looks into eyes that are a little less glossy but just as pained, and he knows either way, Steve will be okay. Steve’s afterlife is beautiful. If all goes wrong, Eddie will join him, and if all goes right, Eddie will join him again… just in a different setting.

“Tick tock, Eddie.” Eddie looks up at the villain and feels the rest of his power slowly drain away, “Save Steve or save yourself. What will it be?”

“I won’t let you hurt him.” He then leans down and presses a kiss against Steve’s lips, opening the floodgates a moment later. He feels the Flayer take control, watching veins grow on his hands and darken his vision. Steve blinks and frowns. Eddie smiles then whispers the spell he heard only once in his vision, and he can only pray it works when his vision darkens.

“Abi domun, cum amicis.” A simple Latin spell has the most chances of going wrong. Too broad. Too simple, but it’s all Eddie can hope for. It’s all his vision gave him for a verbal spell. Something inside of him flutters, the last of any remaining power is gone, and it’s like a dam has crumbled inside of him, giving the Flayer control. 

He feels a gust of wind then succumbs to the Flayer completely.

The last thing he hears is Steve whispering his name. 

***

Steve’s vision keeps going dark. It’s like the time he drank one too many shots at Carol’s birthday party and spent the entire night watching the world through a slideshow. Fades of black with small bursts of pictures in between. At the party, he’d find himself on the couch, then the bathroom, then Carol’s bed, then the car, and then a different bathroom. Now, he blacks out in the woods and wakes up a few feet away, stumbling through the foliage like a man on a mission. He doesn’t know where he is, but there’s a tug in his chest like a tether he feels comfortable enough to follow. Even if this instinct ends up being wrong, it’s starting to rain, it’s cold, Steve is hurt, and he’s still bleeding. Hell, he’s practically holding hid guts inside himself, as he stumbles and runs into trees and hanging leaves. His body needs rest like a starving man needs food, but he can’t bring himself to stop, not when he knows by the scent of the air that he’s home.

He’s back in Hawkins. 

And he’s not throwing that fact away all because of a little blood loss, a few broken bones, and a migraine. 

His body doesn’t seem to get the memo, as all it takes for Steve to fall and be unable to stand back up is a single twisted root. He falls and lands on his arm. There’s a loud noise like a crack, and he whimpers, barely audible over the rain that’s now steadily trickling down around him. He rolls onto his back and stares up at the sky. The stars are barely visible through rain clouds, but Steve can see their light.

“Don’t let Dustin find me,” he whispers to whatever might be listening, “Anyone but him, please.” There’s a pain in his chest from broken ribs and his arm, as his breath turns shallow. He wonders if Eddie meant for this to happen. To send Steve back home just to die a moment later. Die somewhere where he couldn’t be so easily brought back, but he doubts it. Eddie wouldn’t be so selfish. He wouldn’t abandon Steve, right?

“You’re talking crazy,” Steve mutters to himself, “Eddie’s not…” he swallows, remembering the black veins staining Eddie’s skin, “Eddie.” His eyes widen, and he’s calling the name now, “Eddie!” His voice is scratchy and barely over a normal speaking tone, but it’s suddenly all he can do. Like a record caught on loop, he calls out for the man he loves. 

Somehow, despite the ever worsening pain in his body and his exhaustion, Steve manages to stay conscious until a beam from someone’s flashlight illuminates the trees surrounding him. The last thing he hears is something trying to call out to him, and the last thing he says is, “Eddie!” before falling asleep, unsure if he wants to wake up again. 

***

“Holy shit,” is all Dustin can say. It’s all anyone can say, really. It was an entire army of them marching through the woods to find Steve, even if the man is so thin now that even the weakest of them could’ve probably carried him alone. Still, that job was left to Jonathan and Argyle, who use a makeshift stretcher consisting of a broom, a mop, and some old sheets. Lucas is walking in-line with them, keeping a towel pressed against the open wound on Steve’s side. 

“Holy shit,” Erica comments, having been forced to stand at the edge of the woods with a flashlight in case anything went wrong. To list everyone who went into the woods would take too long; it was only Erica, Joyce, Murray, Wayne, and Mr. Clarke who stayed at the station. Joyce was inside preparing a bed for Steve, while Murray and Clarke were digging through the military medical supplies stolen from the middle school earlier in the day. Nancy eventually arrived before the others, volunteering to do so to give a status report on Steve’s conditions. At least, that’s what she said she’d do.

She’d seen Steve’s corpse fresh after death before and seeing him in the woods felt too familiar. He’s so skinny that his cheeks are hollow, with his ribs sticking out against pale skin, when Steve once looked so sun kissed. There’s blood loss, but the grey tint to his skin tone can only be blamed on whatever hell he’s been through to get to the woods. 

“What’s that?” Nancy jumps when Erica points her flashlight at the bag in Nancy’s arms. 

“It was with Steve.” Nancy doesn’t know how she answers. To be quite honest, nothing feels real right now. It feels like she’s acting on logic alone. Emotionally checked out and ready to call the paramedics just like she’d done the morning Steve died. When everyone else was falling apart, Nancy did the logical thing. It’s what she’s doing now. Collecting evidence and giving status reports. It’s what she’s good at. Not emotions. Not pain. Not grief. She’s good at following her brain, especially when her heart is on fire.

“Is he…?” Erica trails off, shining her light back into the woods, where their friends are getting closer, eerily silent despite normally in competition with each other on who could talk the most and loudest. Nancy looks back at Erica and shrugs. The girl frowns, “Okay, well you better help Joyce and them set up.” 

Inside is calm, and Nancy finds herself exhaling. Joyce has cleared a path through supplies and weaponry to the largest bedroom, where Mr. Clarke is putting mountains of pillows atop the bed and setting up an IV bag. “Do you know how to do an IV?” Nancy asks nervously.

“I do,” Wayne walks past Nancy carrying tubes and needles, “I was a medic in ‘Nam.” 

“He needs stitches,” Nancy warns, the sight of Steve’s injuries a constant picture in her mind.

“I haven’t done this in a while, and there’s a reason I got discharged.” He shows off the tremor in his hand.  

“You’ll have to do.” Joyce flicks the back of Murray’s head when the man mutters something sarcastic, as she sets a collection of medicine onto the bedside table, “Nancy, what’s that?” The girl jumps out of her trance and walks back to the kitchen, where she sets the backpack on top of the table and immediately begins sorting through its contents. She first finds an empty notebook that she sets aside. Then, she finds Eddie’s spell book, a near replica of the one Max had found in Billy’s locker, albeit not part ash, as the boy decided stealing the thing wasn’t a good enough revenge on its own. No, he had to light the thing on fire too! 

There was also a copy of Eddie’s journal, worn down from the Upside Down air, but it still works. More than that, it has fresh entries. All written from Eddie’s time in the Upside Down. It’s opening to the first page dated ‘1986’ instead of ‘1984’ that Nancy realizes Jonathan’s theory of Steve appearing being a fluke accident wasn’t true. Steve was with Eddie in the Upside Down.

And that asshole didn’t tell them! 

Leave it to Eddie Munson to be so stubbornly idiotic that he’d leave out such pertinent information, but Nancy doesn’t have time to get angry. Steve came here—was sent here by Eddie—for a reason, and they have a duty to figure out why. 

And to also figure out how. 

Whatever magic is at hand is far beyond Nancy’s current knowledge level, but she’ll figure it out. She has to. For both Robin and now, for Steve.

Reading doesn’t get her too far when she’s suddenly interrupted by the front door slamming open. A gust of wind from the suddenly growing storm flies inside, “Get some bandages!” Jonathan’s hair is soaking wet and draping over his eyes. 

“He needs stitches!” Hopper adds before taking over for Jonathan and tugging Steve along, while Max takes over for Argyle. “Get some rubbing alcohol; we can’t have him getting infected!” 

“We need to check him for other wounds. There’s way more blood than this gash can give.” Lucas looks at the towel he had pressed to Steve’s side, coated in blood but still white in some parts. He compares it to the giant bloodstain on Steve’s pants, as the rain managed to clean his skin. Well, the front of his skin. His back is covered in mud and blood. 

“Clean him off,” Joyce shoves a wet washcloth into Lucas’s hands and removes the bloody one. Lucas grimaces and wipes at Steve’s chest, trying to avoid staring at one spot too long.

Counting Steve’s ribs or counting Steve’s injuries—either seems like an improper way to pass time when he’s supposed to be helping. He obviously helps, wiping away blood and dirt as soon as Steve is moved to an actual bed from the stretcher.

“We need alcohol!” Murray shouts, holding out a hand. He already told the others that he was never a medic, but he works as Wayne’s assistant, using his own hands if the man shakes too much. Will comes into the room and puts a giant bottle of isopropyl alcohol in the man’s open palm, “Thank you.” Murray uncaps the bottle, takes a swig, shudders and coughs, then pours half of the bottle onto Steve’s abdomen. Blood washes away but continues to trickle from the wound. “Anyone know Steve’s blood type?” Wayne asks while Murray grabs a needle and thread, and Will quickly exits the room, suddenly looking paler than Steve.

“Why the fuck would we know Steve’s blood type?” Dustin asks. 

“It’s B-positive.” Dustin looks at Nancy, “There was a blood drive at school a couple years ago; Steve and I donated.” She looks at Wayne, “But we don’t have any blood bags.” 

“No, but we have more tubes and needles,” Wayne looks around the room, “Anybody have B-positive blood? O-blood?” Murray takes another swig of the medical grade “drink”. Wayne curses him and moves it out of the man’s reach.

“Why the fuck would we know our own blood type?!” Dustin reiterates, looking around. 

“I’m B-positive,” Hopper pulls a chair beside the bed and rolls up his sleeve. Dustin mutters some expletives under his breath. “What do you need?”

“16 to 18 gauge needle, catheter with tubing—two of each!” Murray continues threading the needle for Wayne while Lucas runs out the room to grab the supplies. The entire bedroom is filled to the brim, with everyone working as an audience to the amateur surgery taking place. Lucas runs back inside and cleans his hand off with some alcohol. Mike runs to retrieve more while Lucas rips open the packages and hands each supply off to Wayne, who sets up a blood transfusion between Steve and Hopper. Once that’s done, he gets to fixing Steve up. He messily stitches Steve’s abdomen, then he stitches the arm that also looks broken. There’s a cut on his neck that needs antiseptic and bandages, and it’s smaller injuries like those which get taken care of by Lucas, who works as the man’s helper once Joyce forces Murray into the kitchen. 

Erica is the first to go to bed by her brother’s insistence, and Max has no choice but to follow when the girl asks for her presence. Will leaves next, having already left once to throw up and this time left for good on Joyce’s insistence. Mike goes with the boy, then with them goes Argyle. Joyce heads after them after Jonathan seems conflicted to leave. 

Mr. Clarke goes to make coffee for the remaining few, and those left in the room stay in the room for the rest of the night. Max and Erica end up returning to sleep on the floor, with Lucas curled up next to them, still awake in case someone needs help. Hopper falls asleep in his chair, having given nearly two pints of his blood to save Steve, while Wayne finishes off the last of his first aid duties and leaves to have a cigarette, as his hand begins to shake for reasons other than some nerve damage.

Dustin is slumped besides Nancy, who can’t sleep just as Lucas can’t sleep. Both can tell the other is awake, but neither wants to talk. Lucas hooked up the iv under Wayne’s guidance, and the dripping sound is like a ticking of a clock. Counting down to morning or until their friend dies again or until something happens in the world outside the radio station. When they’ll have to fight a monster or worse, Eddie.

Nancy considers talking about the journal and spell book, but she knows now isn’t the time. That and she imagines Steve is a major component in all that has been written. He can answer any questions, like why his resurrection was kept in the dark even after they knew Eddie came back. 

She hates getting angry, holding grudges like she does, but her mind can’t drop it. How can Eddie be so selfish? How could Steve be so selfish as to not tell them? At one point in the night, she hears Lucas huff and wonders if the boy is mad like she is. 

He isn’t. They’re on opposite sides of a coin. Because while Nancy is angry and wishes not to be, Lucas wishes more than anything he could be angry. He wishes he could be angry, but he can’t. It’s the happy ending he wanted the first go around. His friend is back. Another miracle has happened, proving that Lucas’s naive optimism isn’t so naive after all. He’s so happy that he thinks he could cry, but he shouldn’t be! Eddie is still out there and probably possessed by now; they have to start a war; all of his friends could be dead by this time next week! He shouldn’t be happy; he should be ready! He should be angry and hungry for revenge. 

But then he listens to the sound of Steve breathing. Each inhale weak and wheezing, but the breaths are clear and there. They’re alive, and Lucas can’t bring it in himself to be mad at that. While Nancy can’t bring it in herself to be happy at anything at all.

April 16^th, 1986 (Wednesday)

“Steve hates mushrooms!” Dustin’s hiss trickles from down the hall. 

“Steve has been asleep since Sunday; I don’t think he’ll care that the omelet I’m making for myself has mushrooms!” Max snaps back, “You know how hard it is to get eggs at the shelter? They’re the first ones gone, and I’m not throwing away my best breakfast in weeks because you think our comatose babysitter isn’t going to like it!” 

Steve opens his eyes and feels pain from the top of his head down to the tips of his toes. There’s an especially stabbing pain in his side, and he touches the spot to find thick bandages. He looks down to find exactly what he felt, though now he sees the rest of him has practically been mummified. The only places free of bandages is one of his forearms and his legs, which wear flannel pajamas instead of the sweatpants he’d been attacked in.

Right, attacked… the memories come flooding back in. Vecna. The demogorgon. Eddie. He appeared in the woods; how did he appear in the woods? Eddie must have put him there, but how? And why? Why not send Steve somewhere safer. 

Then again, Steve was found pretty quickly, so he supposed that’s as safe as it gets in a place like Hawkins.

He wonders who found him. He didn’t recognize the person, but now he recognizes Dustin and Max’s voices from far down the hall. The kitchen of whatever building he’s in, he assumes. It’s all concrete, with one window to his left showing a gentle rainfall over the woods in Hawkins. Too weak to sit up, he can only turn his head, feeling his dry mouth, sore throat, and the almost empty IV bag hooked to his arm. He looks to his other side and tries not to sob in relief. 

The bottle of water at his bedside table feels almost as good as the ibuprofen he chases it with. He takes three pills and finishes the entire glass before grabbing a second bottle that was left there and downing that too. He has a distant memory of being forced out of bed to use the restroom and drink juice—of two people at either side of him keeping him propped up to relieve himself, and he scans the room before spotting a closed door to the left of the bed. 

“Ow,” he rasps when he attempts to sit up once more. The ibuprofen clearly hasn’t kicked in, and the two bottles of water haven’t magically cured his scratchy throat. He looks at his arm, which he swore he broke in the woods. Little victories, he supposes. “Hello?” He tries, barely managing to speak above a whisper. Sounds of his very loud friends plays like music, and Steve loves the song, but he really needs to pee and can’t shout, so he’d really like it for Dustin to shut up. 

“Guys?” He coughs and clears his throat, moving his bedsheets first then one leg at a time. His IV isn’t on a rolling stand like in a hospital but instead on a hat stand that Steve picks up and uses as a crutch to stand and limp to the bathroom. It takes way too long to reach the bathroom, but he makes it and clicks the light on. He winces right away.

Fuck, and he thought he looked bad in Upside Down lighting. Under fluorescents and in clean air he looks even worse. He can see just how grey his skin is, how flat his hair has become, and how cracked and bloody his lips are. He can see the effects of starvation and dehydration on his body, and he can see the many injuries faced from Vecna’s torture, not including the few that Eddie healed against Steve’s wishes, not that he could speak when he was dying. 

When he moves to relieve himself. His original plan was to avoid the mirror, but still being shirtless, he gets a glimpse of his back after washing his hands and turns around. It’s difficult to see over his shoulder, but there’s a sigil on his back drawn with… brown paint? 

No, he remembers Eddie drawing something with blood on Steve’s back. This must be it, dried blood. Steve’s not an expert on sigils, but this one looks familiar. Like one of the sigils Eddie had painted in the trailer—a protection against psychic energy. 

“We saw sigils in Eddie’s spell book and didn’t want to wash it off.” Steve jumps at the sudden presence of another person then turns to look at Dustin, who’s standing in the doorway holding a bottle of water. 

“Henderson,” Steve huffs breathlessly, feeling like he’s won the lottery. No, not the lottery. This is much more valuable than money. This isn’t something that can buy a new car or a house; this is an annoying brat named Dustin Henderson, and he’s worth more than all the money in the world. Steve’s best friend. His kid. 

“Steve.” Dustin sounds just as relieved and shocked, and he knocks the wind out of Steve when he suddenly throws his arms around the man. Steve coughs and groans but hugs back with just as much vigor. 

“You’re alive!” The kid sobs. His tears cool against Steve’s skin, and he has his payback by crying into Dustin’s hair. “You’re alive!”

“I’m alive, kid,” Steve whispers, closing his eyes and squeezing tighter, as if Dustin was literally made of dust and could disappear at any moment. As if all of this could disappear. But it stays. He stays. 

Last year, Dustin found Steve’s corpse lying in bed, as cold as the AC. This time, Steve is warm. He’s breathing. He’s alive, and Dustin finds something inside of him break. Something bad inside of him is turning good, like mornings aren’t so bad anymore. Like ice cream is once again a sweet treat, and hairspray is nothing more than a cosmetic tool. 

“Fuck, what are you doing?!” Dustin pulls away, “You should be in bed!” He forces Steve’s arm over his shoulders and forces the man back. 

“What happened to your hand?” Steve grabs Dustin’s cast, admiring the many signatures from their friends and the many doodles from Will or Dustin’s boredom. 

“I broke my thumb,” Dustin explains.

“Henderson, you’ve got to be more careful!” 

“Sorry, dad—“ It’s like a reflex to call Steve that word in such a teasing manner, but at Steve’s funeral Dustin called the man his dad. He wonders if Steve remembers. 

“I’m not your dad,” Dustin feels his heart splinter, “but I’m something better.” Steve smiles.

“Steve—“

“I’m a damn good babysitter, remember? You’re my kid, Henderson. I don’t care if we’re related or not. You’re my kid, and I’ll always take care of you. That’s my job; I’m not quitting this time around.” He groans when Dustin tackles him in a hug once more.

“What’s taking so long…” Max trails off, eyes widening, “Steve!” Dustin barely has time to move out of the way before Max throws herself onto the bed and wraps her arms around Steve’s neck, “Steve!” 

“Steve?” Footsteps storm down the hall, and five more kids appear in the room. They waste no time, and the next thing Steve knows there’s a dog pile on his bed. He’s under a mountain of kids, who all say his name and cry and sob, while he cries and sobs just as hard.

“You asshole!” Erica punches his arm as soon as they’re off him. 

“Erica!” Lucas slaps his sister’s arm.

“Hey, she’s right,” the girl gasps when Steve speaks, “I was an asshole. Also,” he leans over, “I’m way more of a Pinkie Pie than I am Twilight Sparkle.” He’s lying, of course; he just wants to get a reaction from the girl. Only, she’s quiet, “Hey, I’m just joking. Trust me, I’m Twilight Sparkle all the way—“

“I got your voice right.” Steve seems taken aback.

“Yeah,” he furrows his brows but smiles, “you’ll always get me right, Erica. You’re too clever to forget.” She merely hugs him once more, and he holds her back while her brother steps forward.

“I got your number,” he says with a smile, knowing Steve already knows.

“And you made it to varsity… saw you at the championship game man. Fuck you for getting better than me.” 

“Still can’t do a good lay-up.”

“I’ll teach you,” Steve promises, and Lucas hugs the man, shoving his sister away. She grouches and runs out of the room to tell the others. 

Eleven is quiet, at peace with talking to Steve about movies he missed and about how school is. Will chimes in whenever necessary, while Mike compares California to Hawkins in between. The chat is short until Jonathan, Joyce, and Nancy enter the room. 

Joyce goes first, leaving their conversation brief under the insistence that Steve needs to rest. Certainly not because her tears are making it hard for her to speak, nor because she’s so overwhelmed that all she can do is fuss over Steve’s hair and hold his cheeks like a mother would do to a child, as if Steve was her own child. In that moment, he feels like he is. Still, she leaves the room, offering to get Steve more medicine. Jonathan scratches the back of his neck, eyes brimming with. tears. 

“Would it be bad if I started singing More Than a Woman?” Steve asks to break the tension. Jonathan laughs and shakes his head.

“Fuck you, man.” He wraps his arms around Steve’s slender frame, hands shaking as he does so, “Last time I hugged you, I…” it was to try and bring him back. 

“I love you, man.”

“I love you too,” Jonathan pulls back, “and don’t think you coming back is going to change my mind about the Bee Gees. That was fucking traumatizing, dude.”

“More than a woman!” 

“No!” Jonathan leaves the room while Steve continues to sing, trailing off then looking at Nancy. “Hi.” 

“You’re an idiot, Steve Harrington.” No venom. No real bite. No bullshit. It only feels like real love.

“Yeah, well, you dated me, so what does that make you?” He tilts his head. 

“An idiot.” She collapses into his arms. He puts his head on her shoulder, smelling her flowery perfume and deodorant. Nancy Wheeler always managed to smell clean even when covered in dirt, and her hair manages to be perfect even while living in what Mike said is apparently a radio station. “I love you. No bullshit.”

“I love you too.” He pulls away, “How’s Robin?”

“In a coma.” Her voice breaks, and she shakes her head, “How’s Eddie?”

“I think possessed.” 

“Yeah, well, we’ll deal with that later. There are other people who want to say hi.” Nancy looks over her shoulder, obscuring Steve’s view from the door.

“Who else is there?” Nancy merely turns around and walks out. A second later there, in the doorway, appears Hopper. A man who, last time Steve checked, was as dead as he was.

“Dad.” Steve feels like all the oxygen in the world has been used up. He’s never even called Hopper dad before, not on purpose. Once or twice in a slip up that caused awkwardness for the both of them, but this isn’t that. Not when Hopper is crying harder than Steve’s ever seen him cry before.

“Hey, kid.” The man rushes forward. He’s not violent like the children, but he’s not soft either. He hugs in the way all good fathers know how to hug, where he holds Steve like the boy is made of broken glass. The squeeze is gentle enough not to break Steve any further but strong enough to keep him from falling apart. One of them is shaking, or both, either way, there’s nothing still between them. Whether it be their hearts breaking and healing in their chests or tears staining their cheeks and shoulders. Steve doesn’t feel like a kid. There were no hugs fueled by so much love in his childhood, only fists and harsh words. This doesn’t remind him of being a kid; it reminds him of being small. It reminds him of first steps and first words and a time when he could still be loved unconditionally by parents whose love was anything but. He’s never felt so small nor so safe, but here Hopper is. Hugging him like Steve is worth keeping. 

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you,” Hopper whispers. “I should’ve been there for you.”

“I don’t understand.” Steve pulls back, keeping one hand on Hopper’s arm, “How are you…” He trails off. Hopper’s bald and thin. He has a beard and dark circles under his eyes. There’s a scar on his brow. “What happened?” 

Hopper smiles, but it doesn’t meet his eyes, “I didn’t die in the explosion. I almost did, but the Russians got to me when the dust cleared. I’ve been in a prison in Russia for months.” Steve feels the air escape him. Matching wounds shared between them, hearts breaking and healing at once, “I understand what you went through, and you didn’t deserve that, Steve.”

“Neither did you.” Steve was tortured for a few hours and died; he can only imagine the shit Hopper went through. He can only imagine the shit Hopper lived through. Steve had the momentary peace of death, where pain is never physical, but Hopper hasn’t had a moment of peace for months. 

“You’ve been a ghost, kid,” Hopper points out when Steve apologizes, “I don’t think either of us are in position for a pity party. We were both in hell. All that matters is that we’re out of it.” He slaps a hand on Steve’s shoulder. The younger man nods, though he doesn’t feel all that better. Actually, the only thing he really feels is hunger. His stomach grumbles louder than a demogorgon, beating Steve to express the feeling. 

“Come on, let’s get some meat on your bones.” Hopper assists Steve to the kitchen, where he sits with shaking limbs at the table. Nancy grabs a bowl and spoon. Joyce fusses and insists to do it herself. Next thing Steve knows Dustin joins in the argument, all wanting to take care of Steve while Max wraps a blanket around his shivering shoulders. Lucas hands him a shirt. Steve lets them fuss over him, hand him mouthwash, force water into his hands, and check his injuries.

Steve spent eight months stuck in homes. Bouncing from one house to another, forever bonded with his friends and no way to connect. He spent those months so painfully lonely—so homesick. And sitting in a room surrounded by his friends gives him a sudden peace of mind.

This is no house. None of these people are related to him by blood. But he’s done it.

He’s made it back home.

Chapter Text

April 16^th, 1986 (Wednesday)

“No solid food for a while,” Nancy explains, setting a bowl of tomato soup in front of Steve.

“I ate solid foods in the Upside Down,” Steve points out, still grabbing his spoon and digging in without hesitation. He may enjoy complaining but he doesn’t have the privilege of pickiness right now. Not with his stomach sounding like a goddamn Demogorgon choir.

“Canned foods, right?” Will doesn’t wait for an answer, having spent enough time in the Upside Down to know how things work. “It’s not enough. Your body is starved; you haven’t had a proper meal in forever. Take your time. We’ll get you a pizza soon enough.”

“I’ll even slap some extra pineapple on it free of charge, my dude.” Steve glances over at a tall man with long hair and an accent. He swallows a mouthful of soup. 

“Who are you?” He introduces himself as Argyle, and Steve returns to his soup, unsure how to respond to the newest member of the party outside of a thanks for being the one to help track Steve down in the woods. Even if he reeks of weed.

“Where is he?” Wayne asks after bursting in through the front door. Steve turns, and Wayne huffs something heavy.

“Holy hell,” he says then marches up to the table, enveloping Steve in a hug so tight that a stranger would assume they’d known each other for years and not met post-mortem in Eddie’s bedroom. “You had me worried sick there, son. Glad to see you’re doing okay; I’m still shocked your arm wasn’t broken after all.” Wayne pulls back and scans Steve with his eyes then laughs, “The one day I volunteer at the school is the one day you decide to finally wake up, huh?”

“What?”

“Wayne’s been our double agent. He’s volunteering at the school and befriending the military guys,” Dustin explains, sitting next to Steve with his own bowl of tomato soup. Only he gets grilled cheese to go with it. Granted, the cheese is the plastic tasting kind that melts weird, but it still makes Steve’s mouth water.

“They all like the fact that I was in Vietnam,” Wayne adds, dropping a duffle bag Steve hadn’t noticed him holding onto the table. He pulls out some more soup, bread, Spam, flour, and sugar. Then, he tugs at his sweatshirt to untuck it from his jeans and pulls off a microphone pack and a wire. A large microphone appears from beneath his shirt along with a piece of tape.

“You’re a double agent with the world’s most obvious microphone?” Steve steals one of the crusts of Dustin’s grilled cheese when the kid gets distracted helping untangle the wires from beneath Wayne’s shirt.

“They don’t have metal detectors through the back entrance, and this sweatshirt is about three sizes too big.” Wayne finally peels the large article of clothing off to reveal a simple white t-shirt. “Besides, I tried to tell Henderson I could remember on my own, but he insisted on using that recording thing.” Dustin fiddles with the buttons on the tape recorder until a cassette pops out. He pops in what Steve assumes is a fresh one right from his pocket because, of course, Dustin carries fucking cassette tapes in his pocket.

“And why are we spying on the military?” 

“We’re also committing treason,” Nancy unhelpfully adds then slaps Steve’s hand when he tries to reach for the rest of Dustin’s crusts. The kid inhales his food yet always leaves behind a mess. Steve says as such and claims to be cleaning, “Soup only, Steve!” He rolls his eyes and begins drinking his meal straight from the bowl, ignoring Nancy’s scold to slow down.

“We’re spying on the military because we need to figure out how to get them out of town. They’d only be getting in our way come the final battle, and they’re after El,” Max responds, stepping out of one of the many bedrooms carrying a hairbrush. She wordlessly pulls a stool behind Steve’s chair and begins brushing his hair. “We can wash it once the water heater decides to start working again.”

“Yeah, because you used the rest of the hot water,” Mike grouches from where he and Will are helping El stack cans of Coke with her mind. Something about practicing. Lucas mentioned getting weights from his house for her to practice with instead, but Eleven claims it’s not about strength but endurance and concentration.

After all, she has thrown multiple cars.

“Please, as if you ever bathe.” Mike flips the girl off while Steve winces, as the hairbrush snags some tangles. “You stink worse than Steve.”

“I bathed in the Upside Down.” He glances down at himself, “Obviously, it got a bit messy before I came upside.”

“We tried to clean you off with some washcloths but had to focus on disinfecting the wounds. Dustin insisted we keep the painting on your back.” Max taps his spine for emphasis, “Is it really a sigil?”

Steve nods, “Couldn’t get that good of a look at it, but I’m pretty sure it’s a block. It basically shields me from psychic energy. It’s how Eddie hid us from Vecna…” he hesitates, “and from El.” It doesn’t take a genius to know why Eddie painted it before sending Steve on his way. No doubt about it Vecna and the Flayer are already looking for him now.

The rest of his friends aren’t so safe.

Nancy drops a spoon, and Steve looks her way, as she curses and picks it up, “Sorry.” It’s less of a genuine apology and more spiteful by her tone.

“What?”

“I just…” the girl huffs, “Why would Eddie hide you from us? I get hiding himself; he has the Mind Flayer to worry about, and it needed to be far away from us. Why would he hide you?”

Steve looks back at his soup. The bowl’s almost empty, and he pushes it away and leans back, brushing his shoulder against one of Max’s knees, as the girl stays seated in her stool. “Nancy, you have to know that Eddie had no malicious intent—”

“No, no, I know, because Eddie never means to do the wrong thing. He’s just an idiot who keeps fucking up, and it’s nobody’s fault at all.”

“Nancy!”

“Steve!” This time, when the spoon clatters against the ground, it’s purposeful, as Nancy meant to toss it to the counter, but it bounced back and slid to the tiled floor anyway. Wayne picks it up and sets it back in the sink.

“Darling, I think you should choose your words wisely, now. No use in stirring up a fire if you’re already feeling the heat.” Nancy glares at the old man. “My nephew may be strong, but he ain’t perfect.”

“He lied to us. Repeatedly, he has lied to us, and I’m sorry if I’m not willing to forgive and forget him keeping Steve from us!”

“He was scared!” Steve snaps. Nancy looks at him, “We both were! We didn’t know how long we were going to survive, especially if I was going to! Eddie had insurance; you know. If he died, the Flayer would take him over, and you guys would deal with him either way, but if I died, then that’s it. I’m not coming back a second time.”

“Third time, technically.” Steve and Nancy both look Dustin’s way, “Okay, sorry, tough crowd, please continue.”

Steve huffs and shakes his head, “If we told you guys that I was alive, and I died, all it would do is break your hearts again. Eddie didn’t want to do that. I mean, sure, I missed you guys, and frankly, I did want to tell you guys at first, but I understand why Eddie kept you in the dark.” He clenches his jaw, “And getting pissed at him about it isn’t going to help any of us.”

“Yeah, well, keeping secrets doesn’t help us either.”

“Maybe we should all calm down,” Lucas suggests. Nancy looks at the kid, shakes her head, then storms off, coming back a moment later to toss a backpack onto the table. Steve barely has time to move his soup bowl out of the way before it gets knocked over. He looks at Nancy, and she rips open the bag to yank out what Steve instantly recognizes as Eddie’s spell book and journal.

“Now that you’re here, we should get to work.”

“Steve just woke up, and you’re talking about work?” Dustin asks.

“I’m asking him to read Eddie’s writings, not run a goddamn marathon. Eddie’s possessed; Steve said so himself.”

“You did?”

“Yeah, I…” Steve hesitates, “It took a lot out of him to heal me and send me here. Last thing I saw were these black veins spreading to his face. If he’s somehow not possessed, then he’s losing the fight.”

“I have been feeling the Flayer,” Will adds, “I didn’t want to bring it up until Steve was better.” Steve smiles at the kid.

“Alright, uh, Flayer—or whatever—aside, Eddie healed you?” Wayne asks, suddenly sitting across from Steve. “What do you mean?”

Steve opens and shuts his mouth, as Hopper suddenly takes a seat on his other side. “I mean, healed me. Like how he healed Nancy’s hurt leg and healed some of his own injuries. I would’ve died if he hadn’t healed me but completely wiped himself out. It’s why you guys had to stitch me back up; he ran out before he could heal me, like, all the way.” He looks at Wayne, who shakes his head.

“That’s not possible.”

“You read about him healing my leg in his journal, Wayne.” Nancy grabs the Upside’s version of Eddie’s journal. A burnt book gets tossed next to it. Steve’s eyes widen when he recognizes the color of the binding. He saves questions as to why Eddie’s spell book is burnt to a crisp for later, though he does overhear Max mutter something like ‘Billy, you fucking asshole’.

“Yeah, you sprained your ankle. Steve nearly lost his goddamn life, that’s not something that can be healed like that.” The man snaps his fingers, and his eyes widen, “Wait a damn minute,” he looks at Steve, “how are you alive in the first place?”

“Vecna brought him back,” Mike chimes in, “right?” He looks at Steve, who swallows and grabs Eddie’s Upside Down copy of his journal.

“Did anyone read this while I was out?”

“All Eddie wrote in there was that Vecna and the Flayer brought you back,” Hopper answers, “Nancy, Dustin, Max, and I read it. We all read the upside version, but we needed your help filling in some blanks in this version.” He touches the mildew stained cover of the Upside Down copy.

“Well, Eddie left out a shit ton of details.” Steve bites his lip, “Just how powerful do you think Eddie is? Like, do you think it’s all just some party tricks, visions, and ghosts?”

“No,” Eleven’s tone is insistent, “I know it’s not. I told them that Eddie is powerful. I felt it.”

“Then you gotta know it wasn’t Vecna who brought me back. It was Vecna’s idea, and it was the Flayer controlling Eddie, but it was all Eddie’s power. The Flayer and Vecna couldn’t have brought me back, not after so long having spent dead.”

Joyce slides a cup of coffee across the table, and Steve accepts it, looking up at the woman. He hadn’t even notice her walk in, and behind her is Argyle and Jon carrying some spare clothes and notebooks. “Why don’t you tell us exactly what happened in the Upside Down, Steve?”

Steve stares down at his coffee. Light brown, showing Joyce, despite the short supply of most perishables, spared milk so that Steve could have it exactly how he liked it. He takes a drink and, yep, there’s even some cinnamon. “Steve?” There’s some shuffling, and Steve looks up to find all of his friends standing or sitting around him, with only Max out of his view, now braiding his hair.

“I wasn’t used to being alive again. I’m still not used to it. Everything hurts, and I feel aware of things I shouldn’t feel aware to like blinking or the hair on my arms. Eddie was right there though, ready with floating water when I choked on my spit like an idiot…”

*

“Next think I knew I was in the woods. I assumed I was still in the Upside Down; that’s why I called Eddie’s name, but no, I was here. I was home.” Steve sniffs, “Eddie brought me home.”

The silence draws like an arrow in the night sky. There’s an underlying danger that only Steve can sense, as a sharp, metal tip gains closer. He finally looks up from his coffee, now cold, and can see Hopper staring at him in his peripheral.

“You threw up…” the older man struggles to find the words, “You lost a tooth?”

“Maybe it was a tonsil stone?” Mr. Clarke suggests, “They are hard and white and can be mistaken for a tooth.”

“It was a tooth. It had those two sharp…” Steve waves a hand, “thingies that teeth have.” He pulls at his cheek to show proof of his missing molar.

“Eddie can grow back your organs but couldn’t heal your tooth?” Erica asks.

“Did you not listen to a thing he just said, Erica? The Flayer killed people for sacrifice. He didn’t just grow some organs in the fucking garden,” Lucas, eyes wide, scolds his sister, though he looks nauseous just thinking about it.

“You threw up a tooth?!” Hopper repeats much louder, “Are you feeling sick now?” The man touches Steve’s forehead with the back of his hand, “You feel cold.” He frowns and removes the beanie covering his head and forces it onto Steve’s.

“Hey!” Max openly complains about Steve’s braid being covered.

“Shit, we need to get you medicine. Do they have antibiotics at the shelter?”

“I can get some tomorrow, but it’ll be tricky. They’re keeping the meds on lockdown to preserve stock,” Wayne answers, and Steve feels like ramming his head against the wall.

“I’ll get some at the hospital. I’m going there later,” Nancy offers.

“What? Why are you going to the hospital? You promised you’d stay until Steve was better!” Lucas complains.

“I promise I’d stay until Steve was awake. He’s awake, and I haven’t seen Robin in days.”

“You’re kidding?” Nancy doesn’t respond, only tightens her lips, making Lucas scoff, “Ridiculous.” 

“I feel fine!” Steve snaps, interrupting whatever argument was about to ensue, “I mean, outside of the stitches and exhaustion and growing migraine—fuck,” Steve rubs his temples, “Is it too late to go back to being dead? I didn’t get migraines as a ghost!”

“Don’t even joke about that,” Joyce scolds while Max slaps his shoulder.

“Okay, well, jokes aside, I do feel fine. My stomach’s not hurting. I haven’t thrown up. I miss Eddie, obviously, but nothing else…” he swallows, “I think it was the Upside Down air. I mean, I didn’t come back a hundred percent, so whatever rot was left inside of me just kept getting worse.”

“Rot?” Eleven asks carefully.

Steve looks back at his coffee and risks another drink. “Yeah, rot…” he watches specks of cinnamon float at the top of the liquid’s surface. He didn’t talk about healing from being a corpse for a reason, but he didn’t mention being a corpse at all. “I was in the ground for eight months. I was practically a zombie… organs growing back, remember? I’m guessing the Flayer didn’t wait until my battery was back to a hundred before pulling the plug.” He shrugs, “Eddie must’ve healed the rest when he healed the brunt of my injuries.”

“I didn’t see any, uh, rot while I was stitching you up,” Wayne confirms.

“Well, we should still prepare for the worst.” Hopper grabs a spare notebook from the bookbag still sitting on the table. He flips it open, and Steve reaches out. “What?”

There’s a sigil drawn on the first page. Beneath it, “Steve’s eyes only”. Steve’s eyes widen, and he looks at Hopper, who has an eyebrow raised. “Uh, don’t write in this.” Steve pulls to hold it against his chest, “It’s, uh, private.”

“It’s empty,” Nancy points out, eyes squinting in a detective way.

“It’s mine.” Steve knows, under any other circumstance, Nancy would be interrogating him right now, but they’re luckily surrounded by friends. One of whom is Hopper, who is the only person capable of keeping Nancy from starting an investigation over the smallest of things. Even if she has a reason to, like now.

“Alright,” Hopper grabs Eddie’s Upside Down journal, “I’ll make a list of some medications we need and get a to-do list going. Until then, I think you should rest.”

“Hop—”

“I know you want to help. God knows you’re too stubborn to give yourself a moment of healing, but you won’t be useless. You’re getting full reign of the journals and spell books and everything in between. Study, research, take a shower—”

“I can’t wash off the sigil,” Steve insists, “If I do, then Eddie—the Flayer will know exactly where I am. They know I’m Eddie’s weakness—strength—whatever.” He bites his lip, “They want me dead, as I’m probably the only one capable of bringing Eddie back now. They won’t make the same mistake twice, but Eddie will hear me. I’m not strong on my own, but I’m powerful with him.” The gold dust is something Steve also left out, if only because he still doesn’t understand it. Hopefully there will be some answers in the journals, or in the mystery notebook.

“Do the sigils have to be on you?” Lucas asks. Steve looks at the kid, “You said it yourself; Eddie painted them all over his trailer. We could start painting them all over the walls. I mean, none of us are psychic, but sigils still hold some power no matter who draws them, right?”

Nancy answers by grabbing Eddie’s journal, ignoring Hopper’s protest about losing his page, as if each page isn’t marked by multi-colored post its from Nancy’s personal collection. Some people hoard toilet paper in the apocalypse, Nancy Wheeler hoards office supplies. “The act of drawing a sigil in itself is a source of energy, but additional power comes from the ingredients of the paint. Blood is the most powerful media, but other ingredients can be used. Note to self: make recipes in spell book.” Nancy shuts the journal, and Dustin grabs Eddie’s non-burnt spell book before she has a chance. Sigil recipes are luckily near the front.

“We’ll start by putting sigils on the walls of the bathroom and Steve’s room so he can take a shower,” the boy decides.

“Please do, he smells like blood and mold.” Steve looks at Erica, who blanches, “Don’t deny it, nerd. You reek.”

“Are you even old enough to wear deodorant?”

“I’m old enough to shave your head while you sleep.”

“Good point.” Steve turns back around and tugs at the beanie on his head. Erica laughs, while Steve blindly pinches the girl’s arm from around Dustin’s back. “I’ll start studying the journals and spell books…” he trails off after touching the ashy edges of the burnt one, “do I want to know what happened to this one?”

“Billy is petty but not intelligent enough to make an actual clever revenge plot,” Max explains. Steve frowns and looks at her, “I talked to his spirit through a Ouija board. It was actually pretty therapeutic until I remembered what an ass he is.”

“You literally took his sunglasses from his locker. I saw them by your bed, Mayfield.” Dustin stands and grabs Eddie’s

“They’re a nice pair!” Max snaps. Dustin raises a brow, and she scoffs, “They are!”

“You said the same thing about my jacket,” Steve points out with a smile, messing up the girl’s hair on his way back to bed. Hopper stands to help him, only to be waved off, “I feel fine, remember?”

“Just,” Hopper still trails after Steve, “you’ll tell me if you get sick, right?” Steve stops in the doorway leading to the hall. Their friends are staring at him once more, like he’s a monkey in a cage. Then again, he supposes if he were in their shoes he’d stare too. They look like they’ve all seen a ghost; they have. He’s the one haunting these halls, and they’re worried he’ll disappear again.

“I won’t make the same mistake twice, Hopper,” Steve smiles, “If I need help, I’ll ask for it.”

“You better.” He walks the rest of the way down the hall, listening to his friends’ voices trail through the air like smoke. They all split up into their own groups to decide how to spend the rest of the time, whether it be scoping out the perimeter, painting sigils, hunting for supplies, or figuring out a way to help Steve. El, Mike, and Will go back to training. Dustin, Erica, Max, and Lucas begin digging in the cupboards for sigil supplies. Jonathan and Argyle volunteer to search the Winnebago, while Joyce and Hopper clean the kitchen up after lunch.

“Well, I’m going to the hospital.” Nancy decides, tugging on her jacket and grabbing the page Steve luckily remembered to rip out, where the medicines are listed. Instead of bringing the paper, she rewrites the list on the small, calculator sized notepad she carries in her purse, “Wayne, try to grab most of these, and I’ll do the same. Doesn’t hurt to have extra supplies.”

“You got it, Wheeler.” Wayne grabs the list and reads it over. Nancy moves to go past them, and he steps back in front of her, “I know you’re grieving. I know you’re upset over that Robin girl, but you have no place in taking it out on any of us.”

“Wayne, I—”

“And you certainly have no place in taking it out on my nephew. He does stupid shit; I can’t disagree with you there, but he’s not an idiot. He may be older than y’all, but he’s a kid just like the rest of you. Steve don’t blame him for keeping that secret, and I would appreciate you doing the same. The last thing that boy needs now is anymore poison in his heart, not with a demon in his brain. I like you. You remind me a lot of my ma—both headstrong and stubborn as hell, but that anger ain’t helping us. You keep that anger around, and it’ll burn you like a bonfire, kid.”

“Can you please move out of my way?”

“Nancy—”

“No, Mr. Munson, I’m so sorry I’m not acting nice right now. I’m sorry I’m going to the hospital where the girl I love is fucking comatose instead of staying here with a thumb up my ass. I’m sorry I’m taking things seriously when the entire fucking world could end tomorrow. I’m so, so sorry that I’m mad about the fucking psychic keeping secrets!” Nancy snaps, panting. The room goes so quiet, you could hear a pin drop. Both seem to have forgotten that, while their conversation was meant to be private, they were not the only people in the room. Everyone is staring at him, with Mike eyeing his sister the hardest. The siblings exchange expressions, and Mike’s turns sad.

“Don’t tell me how to act,” Nancy sneers and shoves her way past Wayne and past Clarke, who attempted and failed to lower tensions. Murray, who was eating his own lunch, speaks up for the first time that day.

“I don’t think Ms. Wheeler is coping very well.” He takes a large bite of grilled cheese.

“Are any of us?” Max asks, holding a jar of honey and a container of cumin.

“We’re together,” Wayne answers, sighing and glancing at the front door, which Nancy slammed behind her when she left, “nothing good happens to those who battle feelings alone.”

“Anyone know Nancy’s favorite song?” It’s timed and worded as a joke, and Will’s smile indicates humor, but it’s ruined by his shaky voice and frightened eyes.

“Landslide,” Mike answers, “Fleetwood Mac.”

“If I drive you, can you grab a copy of that cassette from y’all’s house?” Wayne asks, and Mike nods, “Alright, well come on,” he pauses and claps his hands at Dustin, “you too, Henderson.”

“What?!” Dustin groans, “Why me? I’m painting sigils!”

“Yeah, well not only do we need way more paint to do that,” they still have extra leftover from painting Argyle’s van, “but I need someone’s help to steal drugs. Mike’s supposed to be in California, and you’ve got a four-leaf clover up your ass. You’re luckier than a lottery winner escaping death row; if anyone can get away with stealing shit, it’s you.”

“I don’t know whether to be flattered or offended.”

“Both?” Mike suggests when he grabs his jacket and shoes, leaving behind Will and El to practice by themselves. Will shrugs it off and grabs a deck of cards so El could build a castle telekinetically. She stops him with an outstretched hand. “What?” He doesn’t feel any itch in his neck, so he knows it’s nothing bad even as she stands and walks away.

Steve is sitting on his bed with the notebook in his lap. It’s old and from the Upside Down, but every entry is new. There are new entries in the Upside Down journal, and from quick skims Steve knows it’s Eddie’s visions. The notebook has a few entries, but they’re all scribbled, rushed, straight ineligible, or all the above. Steve doesn’t get a chance to read it before Eleven walks into the room.

“What is that?” She tilts her head, “Is it for taking notes? Do you need a pencil?”

“I’m not taking notes. I mean, I have a pen, but I’m not…” Steve waves a hand, “I’m reading Eddie’s journal. He updated it.”

“Oh, yeah, Nancy read through it too. She made a plan, but she wanted your feedback. It is written in there.” Steve flips a few pages to find Nancy’s neat cursive written on three pages, front-to-back, “She was very thorough.”

"Yeah, I see that…” Steve swallows, “Hey, uh, did Eddie say anything about ghosts in the Upside Down? Like, is that a thing?”

“The others could see you in the Upside Down, and in there it is mentioned that Will could be seen while in the Upside Down. I do not know about other ghosts.” Eleven sits on the bed, “Why?”

“This notebook.” There’s no use lying to the kid, “At the start of the notebook, there’s a note with a sigil that says it’s for my eyes only.” He looks at the first page, “I think it’s from Eddie.”

“Eddie?” Eleven tilts her head, “Why would he be hiding it from the rest of us?”

“I don’t know.” He answers with a shrug, “Everything that’s written is rushed. There’s some stuff in here about his black ring, his powers, but it’s taking up ten pages. It’ll take hours to make sense of all of it.”

“I can help.”

“You can’t see it.” Steve huffs, tilting his head, “How is Robin? I mean, Nancy said she’s still in a coma, but do you know anything?”

Eleven shakes her head, “I brought her back, but that was only making her heartbeat start. I can’t… I can’t find her, though. I can’t feel her no matter how hard I try. She’s missing.”

Steve lets that sink in for a moment. A part of him likes to think Robin could be a ghost, but then El would find her in the wet place just like she could find Steve. A part of him thinks that Robin could be in the afterlife, but he would’ve seen her. He may not think highly of himself, but he knows she would’ve wanted to appear to him just as much as he would want her to. That, and Eddie would’ve said something.

“Eddie saw her in his visions,” Eleven refers to Eddie’s journal and some of his newest entries, “He spoke to her, and he said he saw her after the battle was over and after we win, but for now, he said…” Eleven trails off and simply points to the page, letting Steve read for himself.

“Robin’s lost. I don’t think she’s a ghost because no ghost could do what she did and know what she knows, but I think she might be untethered. She’s drifting.” Steve remembers the way Eddie warned him about drifting off. The man gave Steve a silver ring just to prevent it. “We need to make Robin wear silver.” He doesn’t know if that would help, but it’s better than nothing.

“Okay,” Eleven nods, “do you want Eddie’s ring?”

“What?”

“You mentioned the black ring Eddie was wearing. Lucas took some of his jewelry, like his necklace and his rings.” She tilts her head, “Hold on.” Steve watches as she exits the room and listens to a muffled conversation between her and Lucas. She comes back holding the ring with an obsidian stone. “Here.” She hands it over, “I will be back; they need my help with testing the sigils.”

Steve looks at the ring. It’s old. The silver is tarnished, and the obsidian stone is cracked. It’s heavy, real, and it fits on his ring finger. He grabs Eddie’s real world journal to try and find more information on it, and he’s so busy flipping through the pages that he doesn’t notice anything wrong in the world around him.

When a hand covers his eyes and the world goes dark, he realizes he probably should’ve read about the ring before putting it on.

*

Steve opens his eyes, and he’s no longer in Hawkins. At least, he doesn’t think he is. Wherever he is consisting of a dark sky, wooden buildings, dirt or stone roads, and horses instead of cars. There are people dressed as pilgrims, and a part of Steve wishes he paid more attention in history class.

“Corey!” Steve flinches and turns around, eyes widening as a mob marches down the road. They all carry torches and are led by a man with a beard and an odd hat. “Giles Corey, we know you are in there! Come out now and find mercy at the hands of God!”

“God cannot save me. You killed my wife!” Steve hears a voice shout from within one of the many houses. He can see houses made of brick and mortar in the distance, so these must belong to lower class citizens in this town, wherever it may be. “You hanged her for everyone to see, and you’ll hang me too!”

“You won’t be hanged if you confess to your sins, Giles! You can be proven innocent, but your wife called ye soulmates. Your wife was a devil’s whore, Giles. We know you served him together!” A different man berates, being shushed by the leader of the group.

“We did no such thing!” Steve approaches the door to the house. It’s small—a single story, and when he reaches the door, he blinks and finds himself inside. The man, Giles, is piling things against his front door to barricade himself inside. “Martha, my darling, this is all my fault,” he mutters, and Steve’s breath hitches when a woman, Martha, appears at his side. She’s a ghost. Steve doesn’t know how he knows, but she is.

“It’s not your fault. You were just trying to keep us safe. Your visions didn’t tell you everything, not even of my death. But my love, you cannot stay here. They will kill you.”

“And you promised to love me for the rest of my life, we’d find each other again. Don’t try to comfort me now. I’d rather join you there then stay trapped here.” The man swallows and continues stacking chairs, “I just need more time. I need to figure out how to push forward. The bloodline needs to continue. My powers can’t end with me,” he huffs.

“Our son has your blood. He will continue your legacy.”

“Our son has no children!” The man snaps, “He’s never coming back, but I am my mama’s only child. I need to find a way to push my powers forward through something beyond just blood. My blood weakens,” he looks at his hands, “My power is delicate.”

“Your power will grow on; our son isn’t dead and can still have a wife. The longer you delay, the more painful your death will be.” The ghost cries out, “If you won’t turn yourself in, at least run! You’re trapping yourself with this foolish attempt at protection! Run!” The man shakes his head.

“I just need to finish a spell first, Martha. I need to figure out a way to pass my power on.”

“Become a spirit like me.”

“I’d only become malevolent with nothing to tether to. I’d be trapped in this town. I need to find a connection. Somehow, I must find a connection. I need a way to pass my knowledge. In the way my grandfather passed his knowledge to me beyond his lectures and books. He gifted me his journal, and I must gift my grandchild something more. Insurance.” The man shakes his head and stumbles, tripping on Martha’s skirt. He falls, and when he lands something falls off the top of a dresser in the bedroom. The house is small enough to where it’s visible from the entryway. In fact, the entire home appears to only be three rooms.

“Thank God!” the man stands, “Of course!” He stumbles over to the firepit, and Steve finds himself biting his nails waiting for the man to find matches. His jaw drops when the man raises a hand, and fire lights the wood without a spark. “Please, guiding spirits, hear me… bless this ring. Bless it with my power. My strength. My spirit. It will be my tether. It will be my means to continue after death.”

“Giles, my love, what are you doing?!” Martha shouts, as the ground begins to shake, and the fire turns blue.

“I am saving us. I am saving our descendants. My bloodline. This ring holds all my knowledge, my powers, my strength, and that of my ancestors. No witch hunters shall hurt them. Not even death can stop them. They will continue on. No matter what happens, my power will continue on.”

Eddie’s grandmother left a piece of herself in the man’s journal. Giles Corey is leaving all of himself in this ring. Steve watches as it happens. A gold dust begins to flow from within the man and enters the ring. Like water to a sponge, and the piece of jewelry glows brighter than the flames. The obsidian stone flashes white and gold until there’s a loud bang at the door. “Corey!” One of the mob members shouts.

“Giles, what have you done?” Martha asks, “Giles?!”

“My life, my love, my soulmate, I know you are still there, but I can’t hear you nor see you anymore.” The man shakily grabs the ring, revealing a crack in the stone. “It is done.” He’s out of breath, “My powers; I’ve given them up. I can live on now.” He swallows and grabs the ring before hiding it in a small, wooden box on the mantlepiece. “This is our son’s. If these men are any good, they will let him collect it if they kill me now.”

“They will kill you!” Martha shouts.

“Perhaps they’ll show me mercy.” Giles, shaking, rambles on, reminding Steve of how Eddie rambles on in a similar fashion, “I’ve gotten rid of my powers. Any proof is gone. Any means of my escape is gone. They will capture me, see me powerless like any other mortal, and I will be saved. All will be fine.” He looks at the door and begins moving furniture away from it, “Martha, I love you, and I will see you again.”

“Giles, no!” The door bursts open, and the angry mob drags Giles away. Steve flinches when the world flashes, and daylight comes from the outside. Night again. Day. Night. Day. Three days total, and there’s a blood curdling scream followed by a squish, like something being crushed beneath the wheel of a car. The next time light flashes, the door opens to reveal a different season outside. A man and woman enter the house.

“I will grab his things,” the man volunteers, leaving a heavily pregnant woman in the doorway.

“Don’t be too long, now.” The woman looks around with a nervous frown, “Your mother wasn’t really a witch, was she?”

“She was a woman of God, Katherine. Those folks don’t know a good woman when they see it.” He hands her that same wooden box from before. The woman takes it and opens it up, and she, without hesitation, puts on the obsidian ring. Suddenly, a golden glow comes from within her, sparkling like starlight.

A few decades later, Steve watches her give the ring to her daughter while on her death bed. Her daughter asks her mother, once the woman is a ghost, where she got it, and the woman says it’s from her parents in law.

The daughter gives it to her son, who gives it to his daughter. Steve watches her give it off to her son, who dies in the civil war. The ring gets sent to his sister, who gives it to her daughter. The daughter gives it to her son. The next child who gets it finds herself in a mental institute receiving a lobotomy to cure her “visions”. She dies a few years later during an electroshock therapy treatment, and the ring is given to her eldest son. That son sells it at a pawn shop and is rebought by the youngest son, who gives it to his daughter, who is Eddie’s grandma.

The ring is buried with the woman despite her leaving it in her will that it was supposed to go to Eddie. Then, with no explanation, the ring appears in the Munson trailer and is found by Wayne. The ring ends up on Eddie’s hand, and Steve watches as it glows bright gold when Eddie falls in a pool of his blood. The demobats fall around him, as if death is contagious.  

He watches himself run up to Eddie as a ghost. He disappears in gold dust just as he remembers, and he watches Eddie die. He watches Lucas, Robin, and Nancy come by and try to bring him back. He was still alive when they came, Steve thinks. Either still alive, or his spirit was lingering for too long. Either way, Steve can feel pain when Lucas tries CPR, and he can feel warm blood deep inside of him. Eventually, their friends disappear, and the gates shut.

Eddie is left for dead, and his ring has been taken.

“No,” a voice hisses. Steve frowns and turns around, spotting Giles standing a few feet away. The man is gold and sparkling, as he runs up to Eddie’s side, “No, no! Wake up, you disgrace!” He shakes Eddie’s shoulders, eyes alit with rage. “I did not sacrifice my power—my only shot at surviving that torture which killed me—just so you could throw it all away, like a damn homosexual!”

“Well, that was uncalled for,” Steve mutters.

“You have to continue the bloodline. You hear me? You can’t just throw it all way! You need to survive! Fuck!” The man shouts and punches the ground, as Eddie’s aura, or whatever, shines blue. Giles shakes his head, crying quietly. Steve and he watches as Eddie begins to move on, going in gold dust. Giles tilts his head up, and he curses. “No,” he shakes his head, “no, I’m not letting you go!”

He dips his fingers into a puddle of Eddie’s blood. Blood magic. “Come on, spirits, don’t fail me now.” He draws a sigil in the dirt using Eddie’s blood as paint. Eddie’s “dust” stops floating towards the sky.

“Take his power. Give him something to return to. Give him means to survive; I don’t care what you do. Spirits, bring him back. Don’t let him go. Don’t let us go!” 

Hundreds of spirits appear around Eddie, each older than Giles, if their clothes are any indication. They all stare at Eddie, each with rage in their eyes and gold dust in their soul, and each one raises a hand towards Eddie’s corpse. Steve watches in muted horror, as Eddie’s wounds start to stitch shut. His blood gets absorbed back in like his body is a sponge, and the dust returns.

“Take his power. Oh, spirits, take our power. God, please, take it all. Give it to this boy so he may live. Give him the means to survive. Give him our strength. Give him our knowledge.”

“But Eddie was brought back by Vecna,” Steve whispers to himself, so confused that his old chemistry class looks more like ABC’s.

Giles flinches and looks up. He looks at Steve, and the younger man gasps and stumbles when the spirit appears inches from him. “You have it.”

“I’ll give it back to Eddie—” Steve reaches for the ring on his finger, and Giles grabs his arm in an iron grasp.

“His power!” The man gasps, “How did you take his power?!”

“What?” Steve looks down at himself and gasps. The gold dust.

“Giles,” one of the many spirits calls, “we are not the only ones fighting for the boy’s spirit!” Steve and Giles both turn and look, and Vecna appears with the Flayer close behind him. The spider towers above them, and the spirits all disappear one by one. Eddie’s gold dust is still in the air, seemingly invisible to the two villains fighting over Eddie’s corpse.

“His injuries are gone,” Vecna observes, “How can that be possible?” He tilts his head and spots the sigil in the dirt. With a growl he kicks through the mud, nearly falling over. “No matter. I’d be too weak to properly heal him. We must bring him back now, while I’m still strong enough to find him.” There’s nothing visually exciting about bringing Eddie back to life, just a few flashes of blue light in Eddie’s aura, and the man is breathing once more.

“How?” Giles asks, “No spells, no blood… how?”

“I think you did most of the work there, if it makes you feel any better.” Steve attempts a smile when Giles looks his way, and the man scowls.

“You’re my grandson’s soulmate, huh,” he observes with a scoff, “If Martha were here, she’d tell me to be nice, but I don’t quite like your kind.”

“Well, I don’t think soulmates are optional,” Steve points out, all too aware of the fight a few feet away from them, as Eddie absorbs the demobats’ spirits and gets possessed a moment later.       

“They’re not,” Giles admits, “and I’m not here to be angry. I was here to bring Eddie back, but all I’m wondering is why, and how, you’re here.”

“I put on the ring and went through a bit of a time warp.”

“A what?” The man frowns.  

“Oh, right, uh, sorry!” Steve scratches the back of his neck, “It’s a movie reference?” He phrases the statement as a question, unsure if Giles knew… anything about the 20^th century.

“A what?”

“I put on Eddie’s ring and appeared in your house! I watched you put a spell on it… give it your powers?” Steve cringes to display is own confusion with the entire situation.

“Is this the first time you’ve put on the ring?” Steve nods, “But you’re dead?”

“I was.”

“Was?”

“Eddie brought me back. He used… he used blood magic. I was dead for eight months.” Giles gasps and takes a staggering step back.

“So, it was broken?” He asks, voice full of hope, “You did it?”

“Excuse me?”

“My curse, it was broken?” Steve’s breath hitched.

“Curse? A curse—I thought it was just a spell!”

“No spell lasts centuries, boy. I put a curse on that ring. It’s to protect the bloodlines. Anything that is a threat to the bloodlines is threatened by that ring.” He points to Steve’s finger, “It’s why it always finds its way back to the bloodline. Even when my descendant—granddaughter, I suppose I could say—was buried with it. Hell, that’s the only reason I knew about Eddie. I lost all my powers when I started the curse; I can’t be summoned nor use any abilities in the afterlife. Hell, I can’t even watch the world from up there, but I sure as hell am connected to that thing. When she was buried, I appeared to take the ring and give it to Eddie.”

“After five years?”

Giles blanches, “Your soulmate’s powerful, but he’s lost that thing more times than a chicken loses its feathers.”

Steve tilts his head and nods. “Yeah, okay, that sounds like Eddie.” He shakes his head, “So, the curse, it’s to protect the bloodline? But what about all that stuff with the knowledge and power?”

“The ring ensures my bloodline continues, yes, but it does more than that. The curse keeps me coming back to protect my bloodline, but in it holds my power. All of my power. Through each generation, they have only had a fraction of power. To protect them and the bloodline, they were forced to hold back. But the curse can be broken, the power and knowledge can be freed.” Giles looks behind him, as the Flayer uses Eddie’s powers to break open the Earth, “My power is not what you have seen. Even Eddie’s most powerful feats don’t match our potential.”

“You lit a fire back at your house without using matches.”

“What are matches?”

“You started a fire,” Steve corrects himself.

“Yes, that is just a small parlor trick compared to everything else. Hell, if that mob weren’t after me and I wasn’t a man of God, I would’ve brought my wife back to life just as Eddie brought you back to life.” He smiles while thinking about Martha, and the smile turns to a sneer, “I could’ve killed that entire mob and survived.”

“But you didn’t.”

“Word of Salem had already spread to the far corners of the colonies. If word got out that the witch hunters all died in one night, then every psychic and witch—hell, everyone—would be in danger. I did what I had to do to protect not just my bloodline but all others with powers.” The man clenches his jaw, “The curse ensures that as well. Keep our powers weakened to not draw attention to ourselves.”

“But breaking the curse gets rid of all of that, and it brings back your… Eddie’s full potential?”

“Aye.”

“Then how do we break the curse? How can I save Eddie?” He takes a single step forward, looking down at the shorter man, who huffs.

He eyes Steve’s ring, “It’s not easy.”

“Is anything in life easy?”

Giles exhales sharply and chuckles, “Maybe I do like you, boy.” He tilts his head, “Well, I reckon you already completed the first step.”

“How?”

“Bring someone back to life. It’s something only a full powerful psychic, like me, could achieve, which has obviously been done already. Eddie brought you back to life, and I believe in doing so, he completed not just the first step, but the second step as well.” He inhales and points at Steve’s chest, “That gold dust. It’s power.” Steve looks at his chest at the golden sparkles, “Did you meet Eddie’s ancestors in the afterlife?”

“His grandmother. She was there, and she taught me a bit about the afterlife and stuff. She tried to save me when Eddie ripped me back to Earth.”

“Yes, she didn’t just save you, she gave you some of her power.” He frowns, glancing at Steve’s chest once more, “A great amount, actually. You and Eddie have likely been trading power without realizing it, but in the times you’ve kept that power, it’s been protecting you. You’ve been getting sick.” It isn’t a question, but Steve nods anyway, “That power is keeping you alive, but it is Eddie’s power. The longer you are away from him, the weaker that power gets. The only reason it’s so strong now is because of that ring. It’s a connection to Eddie, but it won’t last long. You have Eddie’s power but no way to refuel it without his help. When that runs out, you’re in danger, boy.” The vomiting. The sickness. All the times Steve got ill in the Upside Down. It was always within minutes of separating from Eddie.

No, more than that. It was when Eddie was outside the trailer. The sigils blocked more than a psychic signal; they blocked out Eddie’s power! There was no way for Steve to recharge! Then, vomiting after sex, it was because Eddie mistakenly took his own power from Steve. It’s why Steve always needed Eddie.

“Beyond keeping me alive, does the power…” Steve trails off, “Will I get visions o-or speak to ghosts?” He couldn’t hide the excitement in his tone. Even if it was just one skill, superpowers were always cool.

“Not likely,” Steve’s smile drops, “but you could be more sensitive now. Some spirits can sense even the weakest of psychics and can contact them. It would be very difficult to tell, and it would only be with a spirit that was very close to you.”

“Eddie drew sigils all over the trailer to block spirits and psychic energy.” Steve says this with a huff, complaining just in case that’s the reason he’s been unable to contact spirits or be contacted.

“If he opened the door at any moment, a spirit could’ve gotten in.” The man smiles, “That, or a spirit was there the entire time. Eddie isn’t as powerful as he thinks, not with the curse, so I’m betting a lost spirit snuck in there with you two. It could be helping you just like any other spirit guide, which reminds me; I haven’t explained the second step in breaking the curse.”

“Do you need to? If Eddie already completed it, then—”

“Giving a person with no powers the ability of a psychic!” Giles exclaims, making Steve flinch. He shrugs it off with a quiet laugh. A flair for the dramatics seems to run in the family just as much as superpowers. “You’re his soulmate, so giving you some of his powers was likely an accident, even if it was his grandmother who ended up passing it on.” The man chuckles, like he said a joke, “The third task is the hardest.”

“What is it?”

“Find something lost, save that of which you love most, and destroy that ring.”

Steve scoffs, “That’s a third, fourth, and fifth task.”

“Hush, boy,” the man hisses, “Eddie and his grandmother completed the second and the first, and now, before this moon cycle ends, you must complete the last few tasks.”

“Find something lost, save that of which he loves most, and destroy the ring.” Steve curses, “Eddie’s possessed, though. How can he finish the tasks?”

“Were you not listening to a thing I just said?” Giles shakes his head, “You must complete the last three tasks. Anyone with Eddie’s powers can do so; you got his powers now. Not as strong, and they probably won’t even last the next week. Hell, you might not even last the next week,” Steve’s jaw drops, but any attempts at interrupting the man get ignored, “but they’re there. Get close enough to Eddie to refuel, and you can survive and complete the tasks.” He snorts, “Well, after learning a bit about your powers, I guess.”

“Oh, is that all?” Steve huffs a breath and looks away at the distance. He watches Eddie throw Vecna across the Upside Down and wonders just how fast the world moves in the eyes of the fully passed on. He never got the chance to check.

“I’m glad Eddie has you,” the man suddenly says sincerely, “I’m glad he got to save you too. Lord knows I would’ve done anything to save my Martha, but she was hanged, and I was too much of a coward to save her.” Steve frowns.

“Is that why you wanted the curse to be broken by bringing someone back to life? Not just any feat, right?”

“You’re a smart one!” Giles laughs with a nod, “Indeed, I wanted my wife back. Gifting someone your own gifts; I wanted my powers to move on. Find something lost; my son ran away when he was still a boy. Save that of which you love most; well, I’m sure you don’t need me to spell that out for you.”

“And destroying the ring?”

“It’s an ugly ring.” Steve laughs at Giles’s joke. “I apologize for calling you a homosexual.”

“Thank you for helping me.” Steve says with a nod, and he reaches for the ring to take it off, hesitating, “Hey, why did I appear here, anyway? Why did the ring show me all of this?” He bites his lip, “I’m not complaining, but… how?”

Giles shrugs, “It knew you were special, and it knew you could break us all out of here.”

“You’re trapped?”

“Why do you think I want you to smash it?” He asks, spreading his arms out wide in a way that reminded Steve of Eddie, “I miss Martha,” he adds with a sigh. “So, I’m praying for you, my son. Really, I am.”

“Thank you, Giles.” Steve smiles then removes the ring, gasping awake in his bedroom. It’s nighttime, and Eleven rushes back in.

“What is it? What happened?!” She demands, “It felt like I was getting struck by lightning! Did you have a nightmare?”

Steve carefully puts the ring back on, sighing when nothing happens. He looks at the cracked stone and nods to himself. “I know how to save Eddie.” He grabs Eddie’s journal and a pen. Eleven runs out to grab Hopper or someone else who can better keep up with Steve’s notes, as he begins writing his vision down, and when his nose drips black blood, he wipes it away without stopping.

Eddie’s power is disappearing, he knows by the way he grows fatigued quickly, but that’s the best part of being powerless but still capable of breaking the curse. He doesn’t need to be strong.

He just needs to be alive.

Chapter Text

April 17^th, 1986 (Thursday)

 “I feel like somewhere in the world right now, Bob Ross is throwing up.” Steve puts his hands on his hips, as he stared at the sigils his friends spent all day, all night, and all of this morning painting. He tried to help, but Hopper saw him standing with a paintbrush in hand and practically banished him back to his room. In their defense, his little “vision” with Eddie’s great… whatever… grandpa lasted for hours, and they had assumed he was asleep.

He was at least finally allowed to take a shower, if only for everybody else’s sake. Upside Down soap can only go so far. That and he’s also been studying the notebook and journal and spell book like mad, trying to figure out how to break the curse, how to save Eddie, and how to not kill himself in the process. Granted, that last tidbit is honestly far from his top priority, but he figures he should at least try to survive this second go about life.

“They work; that’s all that matters,” Mike says, crossing his arms petulantly. Him and the rest of the kids are sitting in the living room. Steve joins them, sitting in a spare sofa chair, and shrugs. 

“I’m just glad I could finally take an actual shower. I swear, I lost weight from how much dirt I scrubbed off.” He grimaces at the thought of dirt and dust caked on his arms. Eddie and he bathed as much as they could in the Upside Down, but bottled water and old soap could only go so far. 

“Any luck with the journals and mysterious ghost notebook?” Lucas inquires. Steve told everyone about the notebook only he can read, hence the new nickname for it. 

“I’ve been reading the journals, it looks like Eddie got some new visions in the span between me getting captured and him saving me, but he wrote it all down so quickly, it’s barely eligible.” He doesn’t mention how most of the pages are also stained with blood. His blood. “And the burnt spell book is obviously just as bad, but the one from the Upside Down doesn’t have nearly as many entries.” 

“He did write that his grandma didn’t do that many spells, so it’s probably mostly self-taught,” Will suggests. 

“Yeah, well, I think ghost notebook is our best shot, even if I’m the only one able to read it.” Truth be told, he’s already skimmed the first couple of pages this morning before taking a shower, and he probably should’ve read it last night but, as it turns out, time traveling and talking to dead people takes a lot of energy out of you. “It’s not anything important, though. Well, not to the fight. It’s mostly love letters and drawings for me.”

“Who knew Eddie was such a sap?” Dustin asks in a teasing tone. Steve forces a laugh, even as the guilt for lying spreads within him. In his defense, that was the only request Eddie gave him in the notebook. Hell, it was the first sentence. Don’t tell the others, but here’s what you have to do. He’s not risking the plan going wrong when they don’t have much time to prepare. 

In fact, they had a week. 

He had asked Mr. Clarke this morning over coffee when the next full moon was. “Does a full moon last until sunrise?” he continued. 

“I suppose it does. Why?” Clarke asked, taking a long drink from his mug. It was black, as they were running out of milk. 

“If I’m working against the clock, I want to know when the timer ends.” Steve’s grateful Mr. Clarke didn’t press for more information, even if he could tell by the man’s gaze that he wanted to know more. In any case, yeah, Steve doesn’t have a lot of time. 

“In that case, just focus on the journal and spell book for now.” Lucas knows as much as everyone else that they’re working against the clock. Sure, no one else knows about the curse besides Steve and El, even if the girl doesn’t know the full details. That doesn’t mean that they don’t know the severity of their situation. Vecna and the Flayer are on the loose and now have Eddie on their side, and the visions written about in Eddie’s journals may display details of the battle, but the future can always change.

“Don’t push yourself too hard. We can help if it gets too overwhelming,” Hopper advises. Steve smiles his way, and the man hands him applesauce in a bowl. “You can have solids with your dinner, kid,” he says when Steve scowls at the dish. 

“Give me Eddie’s spell book, I want to try out some more sigils,” Max grabs the spell book from Steve’s stack in the living room without waiting for permission, “I think if we draw some of the power ones on El, it could help her from getting fatigued, right?” 

“While we stayed up all night making sigils, Max stayed up all night going over notes she took from Eddie’s journals,” Lucas explains when the girl immediately flips through the pages, going between both the Upside Down copy and the burnt copy from her brother’s locker. Most of the pages are ineligible, but some have little notes barely visible between large spots of black burns and ash. 

“Well, she’s doing good work,” Joyce says, “even if she needs to sleep.” The woman adds a stern glare, and Max waves a hand. 

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead.” She winces, suddenly, “No offense, Steve.”

“None taken. Though, speaking from experience, death is not nearly as restful as people assume.” He adds a genuine yawn, “Exhibit A…” he huffs and rubs one eye, wondering why he is so suddenly tired. “I’m gonna study in my room,” he decides, grabbing the books and his applesauce. It smells like cinnamon. 

Back in his room he sits against the stack of pillows leaning against his bedframe. He huffs, smiling to himself when he notices the new water bottle sitting on his bedside table with a note from Joyce reminding him to stay hydrated. He smiles and takes a sip.

When he was younger, he used to dream of getting sick. He wanted to get sick. Sick enough to be cared for unconditionally, because he couldn’t do it himself. Be it bedridden or feverish, he’d have to have someone there for him, ready to give him water or medicine or comfort him through a hug. When he was five or six, he went to the hospital with a bad case of the flu–had a fever high enough to make him pass out. The nurses played games with him and gave him medicine. They let him stay up late and would talk to him because, even if his parents cared enough to send him to the hospital in the first place–miraculously home just in time for him to have passed out, they didn’t care enough to visit him. It was just him and the nurses and doctors, all taking care of him until it was time for him to leave. A nurse on the first floor who helped escort him to his parents in a wheelchair smiled as he cried, assuming he was happy to finally be going home. Little did she know that Steve wanted nothing more than to stay. 

He may not have had a fever, but in the eyes of his friends, he is sick. He is still just woken up from death. So, of course, they take care of him. Give him medicine and water whenever he asks and comfort him when he needs to be comforted. Selfishly, he hopes the final battle will come with injury so this aid and care could last beyond the full moon and the curse being lifted. How odd it is to only feel loved when dead or dying. 

How odd it is to feel loved at all. 

In par with his obsession with sickness and health, Steve’s in the healing section of Eddie’s journal. It’s mixed with his older entries, so there’s no talk of healing brutal injuries or bringing anyone back from the dead. Instead, it talks about tea (definitely potions) curing sore throats and herbal remedies for certain ailments. There are scribbles of sigils and notes to (check spell book), which Steve can’t do considering one spell book is from 1983 and the other is burnt to a crisp.

“Fucking Billy Hargrove.” He was relieved when the man wasn’t in his makeshift heaven. He figured the man’s slight obsession with Steve would leak into the afterlife, but instead he got Eddie’s family members and a dog, who he already misses. Maybe, when all of this is over, Eddie and he will get a dog.

“Wouldn’t that be something?” He asks, imagining a Pitbull resting in the back of a Winnebago, expression content and relaxed with life on the road. 

To compare with the writings in the journal, Steve grabs the spell book and flips to any pages with ‘health’ spells. There aren’t many. Of course, there aren’t. Eddie wrote in his journal about spells being useful from getting into fights, but the burnt spell book doesn’t give Steve shit, and the copy from the Upside Down doesn’t have much in it.

Eddie’s grandma did spells, but most of her spells were small sigils, ointments, and tea. She didn’t learn much beyond what the ingredients did outside of a magical sense, like lavender helping migraines and honey with sore throats, hence all the tea recipes. Steve asked Eddie and the woman herself about her trepidations with using spells. Witchcraft, according to Grandma, was a sin, and she didn’t want to challenge the laws of nature. That, and magic and spells, while useful, are not the solution for all struggles. There are limitations; when you include natural laws and spells, there are limitations. Maybe it’s different for those like Eddie, who are “infinite”, but Steve and his friends are mostly powerless, so these spells likely aren’t going to be their saving grace but steppingstones to aid them on their way.

As for Eddie, he told Steve that he only got into spells around the time he first saw Steve, as the energy bursts stemming from exposure to his soulmate gave him enough power to excuse exploring that side of his abilities. Later exposure to the Upside Down gave Eddie even more justification. He had to make up incantations himself. He had to create sigils and spells, so it’s no wonder why he let the hobby slip away once he lost his spell book. All that work just for it all to disappear. Now, it’s burnt, and all Steve has is the lackluster spells from the beginning of Eddie’s spellcasting journey.

“Of course, he made a fucking erectile disfunction sigil.” Steve flips the page. He sees a sigil to help with sunburns, not-so-cleverly named “sunscreen spell”. There’s an ointment to help with sunburns after getting burnt and a sigil to help with healing. Steve hums and reads about Eddie’s observations in using such sigils before turning the page. On the next page, he stares down at an incantation for something unrelated to health. Beneath the saying are ingredients and another sigil. “Study spell, huh?”

He grabs his water bottle and takes a drink, cursing when he spills some onto the journal. “Fuck!” Great, he’s been alive for weeks now but still can’t drink properly. With no napkins to his disposal, he uses the corner of a sheet to wipe at the water, but it only works to smudge some ink and spread the water further.

“Fuck, fuck, okay, this is… uh…” Steve pushes the spell book forward, where it lands on top of the burnt one. He ignores this and gets up to go grab some tissue paper from the bathroom. When he gets back, he stops in his tracks, staring down at the book.

The water is gone.

No, it’s not soaked into the pages nor is it a puddle in the spine. It’s all gone. In fact, when Steve touches the pages, the spell book isn’t even wet. He picks the thing up to check the underside just to drop it with a gasp.

The burnt spell book, while still burnt to a crisp at the edges, is… less burnt. Steve grabs the thing and picks it up, confirming his suspicions by opening up to the most recent page. Before, it was half burnt away and ashy, with only the word, “Morning…” etched at the top. Now, it says, “Morning wake…” it isn’t much, but it’s more. He flips to the earlier pages, comparing with the fuller copy that they match, but it’s for certain that the spell book is somehow healed.

“Guys!” Steve runs to the kitchen carrying both spell books. His socks slide on the hardwood floors, and he tosses the books onto the table, “Guys!”

“Who died?” Mike snaps awake from his spot in a recliner, earning a smack from Dustin.

“No one’s dead,” he scolds, trailing into the kitchen.

“You’ll be dead if you steal my spot again,” Erica threatens as she passes.

“God forbid a guy wants to sleep,” the boy mutters just to force himself to his feet.

“What is it, Steve? Are you okay?” Steve dodges Hopper’s hand reaching for his forehead and smacks the top of the spell books.

“I’m fine. I’m not sick, but I think I accidentally did a spell.”

“How is that possible?” Max asks, grabbing the spell book to try and determine what Steve could be talking about, but she leaves the burnt book sitting on the table. Steve grabs it and flips to the last page.

“I don’t know. I was looking at health spells and saw a studying spell, spilled some water on the spell book, and when I got up to get a towel, the water disappeared, and the book was… healed.” He waves his hands.

“You’re not a witch,” Dustin points out, grabbing the burnt spell book to see for himself.

“I know, but—”

“You’re not psychic either,” Max adds, leaning over Dustin’s shoulder.

“Yes, but—”

“Wait, how did water heal the book?” Lucas asks.

“Water didn’t heal it, idiot. Steve must have done something!” Erica snaps.

“I thought Steve didn’t have any powers,” Eleven whispers to Will, who shrugged.

“Maybe Eddie secretly put a spell on the spell book so it wouldn’t get destroyed, and water is the way to heal it?” Will theorizes, and while Steve is too busy floundering to regain the kids’ attention, Erica grabs a glass of water and dumps it onto the burnt spell book.

“Erica!” Lucas shouts at his sister, and she frowns at the now drenched book.

“That didn’t work.” She looks at Steve, who isn’t even looking up at her, too busy rubbing his temples.

“That’s not how it works.” He mutters some added expletives before looking at the puddle of water on the table. Lucas rushes to grab paper towels, but by the time he returns, the puddle is reaching the edges of the surface and dripping to the floor. “The spell book wasn’t closed. I had been reading about health spells, but it was open to a page about a study spell. I had spilled water, and I guess it, like, ran off and poured onto the burnt book. It… it then healed it. I don’t know how to explain it!” He shrugs, trying to express his confusion without ranting on for too long. 

“I do.” Dustin runs into the other room, coming back a second later carrying Eddie’s journal. “Fuck, what page is it?” He thumbs through Nancy’s various, colorful tabs, but he doesn’t know which color, if any, marks spells. “Aha!” 

“What is it?” He hands the journal to Steve and points to a small sentence that someone, probably Nancy, highlighted in pink. Pink, according to Max, means “probably useful but not right now.”

“Making spells is annoying as fuck. I wish Grandma did more. I’m making this shit up as I go along. Hell, most spells are just combinations of others. Maybe I just need to start combining them instead of making entire new ones. Anything to make this shit easier.” Only a small portion was highlighted, but Steve reads out the entire paragraph, setting the journal back down when he’s done. 

“Combining spells?” Mike asks, and Dustin nods eagerly.

“Steve said he was looking at health spells and a studying spell!” Dustin makes grabby hands at Steve, who rolls his eyes and hands over the intact spell book. Dustin opens it up to the pages with healing potions and flips through them until he finds the studying spell, “See, there’s a spell for sunburns and a healing sigil on the other side of this page. Maybe, when he poured water on the pages, the liquid seeped into the page, the ink in multiple sigils mixed with the liquid, and the water became a potion. So, when it dripped onto the burnt book, it healed it!”

“It healed, like, a quarter of an inch,” Max points out, staring at the still crispy pages.

“Well, spells require some kind of intention, don’t they?” The group pauses and looks over at Wayne, who’s leaning against the kitchen counter. “I’ve been here the entire time. I just don’t ramble on like the rest of y’all. I wait my turn like an adult.” He pointedly looks at Dustin and takes a long drink of his coffee. “I lived with Eddie for almost a decade. I’m good at listening,” he adds as an afterthought when everyone stays silent.

“What do you mean intention?” Hopper asks, ignoring Dustin’s obvious urge to argue against Wayne’s comments.

“He means spells require intention. Like, you have to want the outcome of the spell to happen for the spell to work. Like, you do a spell to make money with the intention of making money. Otherwise, it doesn’t work.” Steve pauses and tilts his head, “Which is why I don’t understand why this happened. I wasn’t setting any intentions. I just spilled water.”

“If Dustin is right, which I think he is.” Dustin smiles, while Wayne reaches for the burnt spell book, “The water stole the magic from the sigils, which Eddie drew years ago. While these sigils were drawn to remember, there’s still some intention behind them. Not enough for the spell to work well, and not enough to make the book heal all the way, but it’s enough that a few pages healed. Even if it is only a quarter of an inch.” He smiles at Max, who perks up.

“So, what you’re saying is we could possibly fix the journal with more sigils?” She asks with wide, hopeful eyes.

“I’m saying it’ll take a lot of work. Intention is powerful, but it’s only as powerful as the person behind it. There’s a reason psychics do the more powerful spells. There’s a reason y’all had to paint so many sigils around here.” Wayne motions his finger to the covered walls in the room, where sigils are painted practically on every free space on the wall, “I’m betting all the cash in the world that Eddie didn’t have to paint nearly this many.”

Steve hesitates, not realizing a question had been asked, “He painted about fifteen, including the ones he painted in the bedrooms and bathrooms.”

“Meanwhile y’all spent all yesterday, all night, and some of this morning painting sigils until Eleven confirmed it worked. We could try, and we can hope for it to work, but I’m just saying… don’t get y’all’s hopes up.”

“Wayne’s right,” Hopper says, “We don’t know for sure how these spells work. It’s not like we can draw sigils on water, and we’d have to cover the book front to back in sigils to heal it like that, and we don’t even know if that works in the same capacity considering the sigils were technically mixed.”

“Why don’t we just write multiple sigils on pieces of paper, stick them in a spray bottle of water, then spray the book?” Dustin suggests, frowning slightly and waiting for responses.

“That…” Steve pauses with a frown, “is actually not a bad idea.”

“The day you guys stop forgetting how genius I am is the day hell freezes over,” Dustin claims, crossing his arms with a smirk.

“And you’ve ruined it.” Max hits his arm, making the kid curse, “Don’t act so arrogant. We don’t know if it’ll work or not.”

“We could add some ingredients,” Steve suggests, “Eddie said that spells require intention, but some require energy—psychic energy. It’s not required for sigils, but it makes the spell stronger.”

“None of us are psychic, Steve,” Max reminds him.

“I wasn’t finished. Eddie said that the ingredients work in place of energy. It’s why using blood was so potent when it came to drawing sigils on me. I’m not saying blood, but we can research which ingredients are useful towards healing and, uh, books, and make the spray stronger.”

“Catalysts!” Dustin shouts like he’s cheering on his favorite team. Steve looks at him with a frown, and the kid gapes, “You just graduated high school, how do you not know what catalysts are?!”

“Did someone say catalysts?!” Mr. Clarke shoulders open the front door carrying bags of God knows what. Steve thinks he sees the barrel of a shotgun sticking out of a tote bag with the Muppet, Beaker, on the front, but he can’t be sure. “I love catalysts.”

“We’re making potions.” Dustin bounces on the balls of his feet.

“They’re not potions.” Steve sits down, suddenly feeling a bit nauseous.

“We’re using spells to make water a magic book solvent. I hate to say it, but Dustin’s kind of right.” Lucas shrugs before rushing to help Mr. Clarke with the rest of the bags.

“I’m always right!”

“Except when you’re wrong.” Max messes with Dustin’s hat and takes a bag when one is handed to her, “Thank fuck, you remembered!” She grabs a box of tampons. Apparently, they ran out of them two days ago and Max had to use tissue paper, which is also in short supply. 

“Ew, gross! Put that away, dude!” Mike grimaces.

“They’re tampons, assholes, not porno mags! Get a life!” Max runs off to the bathroom.

“Okay, well, I’ll go get a clean spray bottle from downstairs. You guys start drawing sigils and hunting for catalysts, or whatever you called them.” Hopper leaves the kitchen, taking a moment to touch Steve’s shoulder in a way that Steve thinks is meant to be comforting. He offers a smile just to slouch, blinking heavily.

“You okay, Steve?” It’s Will who asks this, while Mike hunts down paper and the rest begin digging through their walk-in pantry.

“I’m fine…” Steve smiles and nods, but he knows it sounds like bullshit because it feels like bullshit. Will frowns and glances at the spell book. He turns to the kitchen counter, where a mug full of random markers and pens sits near an outlet. A sharpie in hand, Will sits next to Steve and grabs the spell book, which was left open at a healing spell. Wordlessly, the kid draws a sigil on Steve’s arm. The relief comes slow. It’s not instant, and it's not nearly as strong as when Eddie drew sigils on him, but it’s comforting. “Thanks, Byers.”

“Does Hopper know?”

“He knows I’ve been getting sick—”

“Does he know?” Whatever it is Will’s trying to ask about, he’s clearly too afraid to say. The boy bites the inside of his cheek, while Steve hesitates.

“I’ll be okay. I’ve got a plan. You just… you’re going to have to trust me on this one, okay?” Will hesitates but eventually nods. “I’ll tell you everything later.” The rest of the kids file back into the room. Will steps away for a moment just to lean in close.

“You’re not alone, Steve. You don’t have to be alone ever again, so don’t… don’t throw away all you’ve learned these past couple of weeks. I know you want to save the world, but you need to save yourself too. We can help you. Whatever it is, we can help.” His eyes are wide and pleading, and the nausea is back full force, sigil be damned. Something about these kids. Steve swears no matter how old they get they’ll still be eleven years old in his eyes. They’re all too young to know anything—missing teeth, easy schoolwork, and nothing—not even monsters—is there to harm them. So naïve, so young, and so easy to hurt.

“I’ll be okay,” Steve repeats, admittedly sounding less confident this time around. But Will doesn’t stick around to argue. Not as pieces of paper are being put on the table along with markers. Hopper comes back with a spray bottle, and he frowns at the stack of materials being set on the table.

“Honey?” The older man looks at the jar with a frown.

“It says in Eddie’s spell book that honey helps with healing, as does salt.” Max sets an entire box of the substance down. A moment later, a large cardboard box is set on the table. Wayne, a moment after setting it down, reaches inside to pull out a jar of what looks like brown dirt.

“Incense ash. Took all this from Eddie’s altar at home.” He shrugs and reaches inside for bay leaves, small pieces of crystals, and a jar labeled ‘rusty nails’, “Pretty sure I’m breaking some cosmic rules by taking all this shit, but I figure the spirits will forgive me considering our situation.” A jar of grave dirt is next, followed by a box—porcelain and covered with flowers—specifically labeled ‘mom’s grave’. Steve’s grave follows shortly after, but Wayne hands that jar, which is red and antique, directly to Steve. “Figured you’d want this.”

“Why did Eddie have dirt from my grave?” Steve asks, rolling the jar in his hands.

“Does it say nothing about grave dirt in his books?”

“Not that I’ve seen.”

“Wish I could tell you. My son is… well, I won’t call him a freak, but you get the idea.” Wayne shrugs dismissively, making Steve snort and set the jar aside. While the kids argue about the order of “catalysts” to add to the “potion”, Steve starts on drawing sigils. Will gets the idea of painting them on the side of the spray bottle. Erica and Mike cuts the paper into little squares, while Steve and Hopper draw sigils, one per side of the paper. They work in an assembly line, of sorts, where each book they have is open to the sigils or to a page in the journal describing spells, giving them makeshift instructions. Obviously, Eddie’s strategy of “making shit up as he goes along” doesn’t bode well for a group of people who aren’t psychic, but they make do. Eleven does most of the work, sensing the air for changes in energy. They aren’t strong, but they’re there.

“How much energy do you think is required to make a spell like this work on the first try?” Steve asks after an hour of working. They’re done with the spray bottle, and Steve has it in hand with the spell book in front of him. “Like, if Eddie was to do this spell, how much energy would he spend?”

Steve ignores the look Will gives him, doesn’t even look in Eleven’s direction when he feels the girl’s eyes at the back of his head, as Wayne answers, “It’s bringing something back from the ashes, kid. I reckon a lot.”

“Which means we’ll probably have to do this a billion more times,” Erica complains.

It’s dangerous. Steve doesn’t know about the power Eddie’s given him. He knows nothing about how long it will last and how much he needs for the final battle, so it’d be stupid to risk using what little ability he has to bring back a book. He also doesn’t know how to spend only a little energy at a time. He doesn’t know how to not waste it all.

Maybe, it’s like lifting weights. A little strength for something small versus a lot for something bigger. Maybe, Steve can just use a little of his power. So, he holds up the spray bottle and does his best to set an intention—to push forth some energy. “Please work…” he mutters beneath his breath before spraying the spell book from top to bottom, opening up to do the same on every other page.  The water is murky brown from all the ash, spice, and everything not-so-nice they had to put in there, and it smells a bit like a candle factory blew up. When he sets the spray bottle down, he stares at the open book, still waiting and hoping for something to happen.

“Is it working?” Mike asks hesitantly.

“Look.” Lucas points at the edge of the page, where the ashy end of the piece of paper moves outwards, like it’s the top of a growing blade of grass. It moves slowly. So slowly, in fact, that it looks like it’s not moving at all. If not for the writing returning on the page beside the edge of it, Steve would assume it’s not working at all.

“Isn’t magic supposed to be… cool?” Erica frowns. It’s funny she says this, as Dustin and Mr. Clarke are at her sides, both eagerly writing down the results of the spell like it’s an experiment. Erica spots them, and her frown turns into a scowl, “I’m surrounded by nerds.”

“Magic is supposed to be protected. You guys know you can’t, like, show that to anyone, right?” Max asks, leaning forward with a frown. Steve sits down again.

“We know!” Dustin insists, “It’s just… research. It’s for ourselves. Plus, I bet Eddie will find it really helpful when he gets back!”

“Helpful how? We’re a bunch of powerless humans who miraculously did a spell that kind of works.” Mike sits across from Steve, clearly tired of waiting and standing around.

“Eddie’s human!” Dustin flounders.

“Zombie, technically,” Max points out.

“What’s a zombie?” Eleven asks.

“Undead monsters that eat brains.”

“Gross.”

“Eddie’s not a zombie! Steve’s not a zombie; he doesn’t eat brains!” Dustin argues. Steve ignores the kid, too busy being laser focused on the spell book. The process is already slowing down. They’ve got about a quarter of the page left, and that’s only in one small section of the book. To heal the rest, they’d need, like, ten more bottles. While his friends argue about his “zombie status” he grabs the spray bottle and spritz one more time. This time, there’s a small flash of light, and he feels woefully lightheaded.

“Woah, what the fuck was that?!” Dustin silences everyone with a harsh hiss. Steve feels the room tip sideways, while everyone rushes towards the book. There’s something glowing in its pages. Steve can’t tell for sure, as his vision is blurring. “Holy shit, it’s working! Like, it’s actually working!”

Steve Harrington the idiot: what is with him and chasing death? Steve asks himself this, as he leans to the side. Hopper is the first to notice him, and Steve thinks he hears the man calling his name, but there’s too much cotton in his ears. The cotton reaches his eyes too, as either side of his vision turns brighter and brighter, like his astigmatism has gotten ten times worse. All the lights in the room flood his eyesight, though the only light is the dim overhead in the kitchen. Next thing he knows, he’s on the floor. There’s something dripping from his lips. It tastes like iron and rotten food. He spits it all out, feeling the warmth of the liquid on his cheek.

Everything goes blank a moment later, and the last thing he hears is a familiar albeit damaged voice.

“Just one more week.”

One more week until the end of the world. He thinks bitterly, though he hopes that’s not the case. He hopes Eddie’s visions are right. That there will come an ending fit for them. A happily ever after fit with a setting sun. Robin beside them. Their friends around them. A place that feels like home. He thinks it’s real. He thinks he feels it—the sun on his skin. He hears another voice, suddenly clear as a bell. 

“We’re not making it out of this one, Steve.”

April 18^th, 1986 (Friday)

When Steve wakes up, it’s dark outside. The blinds to his room are open, showing off the moon outside. It mocks him, reminding him just how close they are to the next full one. He turns over, and he sees shadows in the doorway. Joyce and Hopper are standing there.

“He's been out since yesterday; needs to go to the hospital,” Hopper insists, tone angry. No, not angry, scared.

“I know, but it’s not safe. Imagine what will happen if we bring a dead kid to the ER? Those goddamn scientists will be at our doorstep in seconds. Steve will be some kind of experiment, Eleven will be taken, and Henry will win. We can’t risk that!” Joyce keeps her voice down but doesn’t hide her stubbornness.

“We can’t risk Steve dying, either. The full moon is, what? Next week? If the kids are right in their theory that Eddie—”

“The Flayer.” Joyce gently corrects him.

“That the Flayer will take advantage of Eddie’s powers and attack on the full moon, then we don’t have much time. Steve needs help. I’m not letting him into battle when he’s on death’s doorstep.”

“If you think you’re gonna be able to stop that boy from fighting, you don’t know him.”

“I’ll lock him in a cell if I have to.” Hopper crosses his arms, and Joyce giggles.

“Honey, he won’t stay.” She presses a hand against Hopper’s chest, “Steve is like you. He will find a way to fight, especially if it means fighting for the ones he loves. You won’t be able to stop him, and he’s certainly not willingly going to no damn hospital. So, the best thing we can do for him is support him. Make him take it easy. I don’t want him fighting, but it’s better he fights with us at his side than fight alone. Isn’t it?”

Steve likes Joyce, even if they never got that close. The woman held a bit of a grudge for Steve putting a demodog corpse in her freezer a couple years back (even though it was Dustin’s idea!), so he never considered the idea that she, like Hopper, sees him as a son. It makes something inside him feel warm. It makes him feel that much less rotten.

“I just don’t want him getting hurt. I’m worried about him.” Hopper shifts where he stands, and Steve closes his eyes when he thinks the man glances his way.

“I am too, but Eddie’s journal says he makes it out, and I’m going to trust that.”

“The future can change.”

“Yes, but if you keep your head up, then you’ll always see light ahead, won’t you?” Joyce hums.

“I see someone has been keeping up with the quote of the day calendar.”

“Hush now, it’s your turn on Steve watch.” Steve opens his eyes just in time to see them kiss. He smiles to himself, unaware the two had even gotten together. In his defense, they always had tension. “Goodnight, Hop.”

“Goodnight, Joy.” Steve shuts his eyes and keeps still, as Hopper walks deeper into the room and sits in a chair by the bed. There’s a sigh, a sniff, and the next thing Steve knows the man is crying.

A part of him wants to sit up, show the man that he’s okay and to give the man a chance for privacy, but the other part of him feels bad. It’s his fault Hopper’s crying, and he can’t help but sit in his guilt and wait for it to be over.

“Fuck,” Hopper curses, “I’m sorry, kid. I don’t… I don’t know why I’m crying. You’ll be fine in the morning; I’m sure of it.” He huffs a humorless laugh, and Steve keeps quiet. “This just reminds me of Sara…”  another sniff, “She’s a lot younger than you. Even if she… she’s five years younger than you, so it’s not you reminding me of her. Just… just this situation, I guess.” If Steve focuses hard enough, he can hear the crickets outside. They’re quiet, as it’s still too early in the season for insects to come out, but he can hear them. The familiar sounds of a midwestern night, it’s the only thing Steve likes about living in Indiana. Besides his friends, of course.

“I used to stay with Sara every night in the hospital,” Hopper continues, though Steve wishes he wouldn’t. “I’d be right by her side, ready if she needed to throw up or had a nightmare. She had cancer, you know. I mean, you do know. I told you, but I never told you in depth what it was like. Watching her fade away like that.” More cries, “She was such a beautiful girl, Steve. She had these big, blue eyes and blonde hair. She loved… she loved to sing and draw. She hated spiders but would yell if I squashed one. No, it didn’t matter how scared she was of them, I had to let the spiders outside. Cause, if… if she was scared of something so small, just imagine how frightened the spiders were of something so big. Us giant humans—it’d be unfair!” The man laughs, and its real laughter this time. “She was so kind… that’s where you come in. You both have good hearts. Both see the good in the world no matter what.”

Steve feels the urge to argue, but he merely wipes the tears from his eyes by turning his head. Hopper pauses. “Steve?” He doesn’t respond. “Right, well, uh… this is reminding me of visiting her. I’m watching you fade away too. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’re getting skinner, Steve. We’ve been feeding you more and more, but you still look sick. You used to be so full of life, and I look at you now, and you look like a corpse. It’s unfair of me to say, and it’s mean, but it’s true. I’m so scared. I’m worried about you, and it’s not your fault. I don’t want you blaming yourself. I’m a father; it’s my job to worry. I worry about you because I care about you. When I was in Russia, you were keeping me going. Every day I thought about three things getting me out of there. I thought about Eleven. I thought about Joyce, and I thought about you. And I… I thought it was stupid because you’re not my kid, but I still thought of you. I saw the way your dad treated you. I saw the way you were alone, and I saw the way you bonded to these kids. You’re not my son, but you’re my kid. You started coming over to the cabin, moved into my shed, and you became my kid.

“When I came back, and they told me you were gone, I…” he swallows, “I didn’t believe it. A kid so full of life. So full of love, how could you be dead? They told me you were sick—mentally sick—and that you got hurt from the Russians, and I swear I wanted to fly back there and kill every last one of those fuckers.” Steve bites the inside of his cheek to not laugh, “I wish I could’ve been there. I wish I could’ve helped you. I would’ve never… I would’ve never let you go home after that. I would’ve dragged you kicking and screaming to the hospital because I’ve lost too many friends and too many kids to not know when something is wrong. It’s a sixth sense us parents get. I mean, those kids joke about you being their mom, but you still got a long way to go kid. You care about them. I know you’d die and kill for them, but you’re not there just yet. That being said, you’re doing a bang up job taking care of them. Way better than my old man ever did; I’ll tell you that much. I’d like to think you’ll someday do better than me too. That’s the thing about parenting. It’s never about being the best; it’s about being better. Though, I imagine you’ll be the best dad someday.”

Steve’s crying, and he hopes Hopper can’t tell. The air is silent for a moment, before the older man sighs.

“Well, I’m rambling now. So, I’ll let you sleep but say this much,” there’s a deep breath, “you’re a damn hero, Steve. You don’t need to prove yourself to anyone. Let us help you. Let us march into battle with you and fight with you, and don’t hide from me because I’ll know. Parents always know.” Steve flinches when Hopper stands and walks to the bed. A hand rests against his shoulder, “Now, go to sleep, kid. You need the rest.”

“How did you know—” Steve attempts to get up just to be gently coaxed back down. Hopper pulls up another blanket when Steve mistakenly messes his stack up.

“A parent always knows, kid.” Hopper smiles, and it’s outlined in the moonlight.

“Hopper, I’m—"

“I love you, kid. Don’t fight your battles alone.”

Steve thinks about continuing his apology, swallows, then says, “I love you too,” instead.

“Goodnight, Steve.”

“Goodnight.” He watches as Hopper leaves the room and looks blankly at the empty chair left behind. In the moonlight, the wood looks gray.

Steve lays there waiting for sleep and thinking about Hopper’s words, the kids, and Eddie’s visions. Of the fight he was told he’d have to fight alone, and he thinks of something else. The possibility of Eddie being wrong—of the happy ending not being so happy. The notebook said it’d have to be him—that he’s the only one capable of saving Eddie and the rest of Hawkins, but does he have to do it alone?

Well, not just that. Steve is used to fighting his own battles. Instead, he supposes, he questions his own courage. Just a couple days ago, the idea of dying again wasn’t scary to him, for he knows what’s waiting for him on the other side. Only now, he wonders if he really doesn’t mind dying, or if he’s only convincing himself he’s okay with it. Afterall, how could he be? Could he really put his friends through that again? Could he risk Hopper losing another kid over his own stubbornness?

Could he really be okay with dying alone again? With Dustin finding him. With Nancy calling 911 and the kids all mourning him.

No, he doesn’t like that idea at all. With that in mind, he not only thinks of the future but begins to entertain the future. Steve spent the entirety of the past eight months dying.

How the fuck is he supposed to spend the next few decades living?

With a scoff and just before rolling over to actually go back to sleep as Hopper advised, Steve shoves the thought to the back of his mind. He just has to make it until next week. Until then, only one thing is for certain.

Steve Harrington doesn’t want to die. 

Chapter Text

April 19^th, 1986 (Saturday)

Saturday morning, Steve’s sitting at the kitchen table with a mostly cured spell book in front of him. The last pages are burnt, but they’re empty, and every other page only has burn marks at the edges. It’s not perfect, but it’s good enough.

And it’s exactly what Steve needs. He wasn’t sure if healing it would be worth it, but upon looking at the recent entries, he’s glad they brought it back. Eddie had said Steve would find the answer in his spell book, and it’s on the very last page. ‘A Place for Everything, and Everything in its Place’ spell. A mouthful of a spell, but it’s exactly what he was looking for, fit with a sigil and incantation to match. A spell for keeping things still; Steve just needs to make sure he has enough power to use it.

“So, are you going to tell us about what the fuck happened to you?” Steve looks up from the spell book at Dustin, who sits across from him with a bowl of oatmeal. Steve miraculously has oatmeal too, finally able to handle solid foods, according to the professional medical opinions of an ex-cop, an ex-science teacher, Joyce Byers, and several children.

“What?” Steve talks with his mouthful. The oatmeal tastes like shit, as the kids spent the entirety of yesterday making potions to cure the rest of the book, thus using up the rest of the cinnamon. It was worth it to get the book back, of course, but Steve’s tastebuds already had to deal with shitty canned food in the Upside Down. Must he suffer on Earth too?

“The glowing shit you did with the book. How the fuck did you do that?” Dustin repeats his question in a much meaner tone.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I passed out, remember?”

“So, you don’t remember doing any extra spell work? No extra power? Nothing that would make you have a seizure, vomit up black goo, and pass out for, like, fifteen hours straight?” The kid crosses his arms, a stern expression painted on his face. Steve looks down at the oatmeal. His is the only one with milk. They can’t spare the perishable, but Steve can’t risk not having the extra calories. Especially after fainting and sleeping for a day.

“Nope.” Steve takes another bite of his breakfast, hoping it will clue to Dustin that he is done with talking.

“Fine,” Dustin responds, taking a big bite of his oatmeal before taking the bowl with him to the basement. He passes by Joyce on his way, as the woman enters the building holding a box of books.

“No food in the basement!” Her voice goes unheard, so she sighs and shakes her head, “And here I thought three kids were difficult. I don’t know how you ever handled all six of them.”

“A lot of cigarettes and a lot less patience than what you have.” He tilts his chin forward while the woman giggles, “What’s in the box?”

“Oh, well,” Joyce reaches inside and pulls out a book, “I asked Nancy to go to the library on her way to the hospital this morning to get us a copy of that newspaper about Henry—oh, um… Vecna?” Steve nods when she sounds unsure, making her pump a fist, “Well, while she was there, she noticed they’re getting rid of a lot of books, including their entire occult section.” She pushes the first book she brings out towards Steve. He looks at the cover.

“It’s Natural: The Biology Behind Homosexuality?” Steve raises a brow and laughs when Joyce snatches it out of his hands.

“Not that! I got that for Will. Or, uh…” her eyes widen.

“I’m gay and know all about Will’s situation, Joyce. You don’t need to feel bad about letting it slip.” The woman sighs in relief while Steve stands and reaches into the box. He grabs a book with a pentagram on its cover, “I’m surprised Hawkins has all of these.” She informs him it’s the only box they have, but it’s still a small town library in Indiana. One gay book is shocking on its own, but there’s at least fifteen occult books in here!

“It’s a good thing they do. Some of those books have sigils in them, Wayne checked when he picked up the box from Nancy’s car at the hospital.” Joyce sorts through the books a bit, pulling some out to eye the title with a confused glint in her eye. 

“Did Wayne check on Robin?”

“Ask me yourself,” Wayne says, as he enters the building carrying another box, “They’re VHS tapes, not books. I figured the kids are getting antsy without some screen time.” He sets the box down, “Robin’s alright. I checked on her while I was there. She’s got… tubes sticking out of her and broken limbs still. I reckon it’ll be a long recovery once we get through this.” Steve huffs and looks down at the first occult book. He frowns.

“Could I…” he looks between the two adults, “Would it be possible to visit Robin myself?”

“Steve—”

“Hopper’s been dead for as long as I have, and you guys let him sneak into the police station!”

“The police station is under its own orders.” Steve flinches when Hopper appears from his bedroom, hair still wet from his shower, “The hospital is under military protection. You wouldn’t be sneaking past a few cops; you’d be sneaking past military personnel trained to report anything suspicious.”  The man looks Steve up and down, “You’re suspicious.”

“We could cause a distraction?” He tilts his head, “Blow something up?” He’s half-joking and smiles when Wayne laughs.

“No.” Hopper’s tone is far from humorous.

“Eleven snuck out to talk to Eddie!”

“Okay, well, last time I checked, it was you to suggest you and her stay inside to avoid being spied on by Henry and Eddie. So, how exactly would sneaking out aid in keeping you safe from them too?” As much as Steve is ashamed to admit, he hadn’t even thought about that. Sure, the sigils on the walls work as stark reminders that they’re practically being spied on 24/7, but Steve kind of forgot he’s being targeted too, not just El.

“Well…”

“Exactly. You’re staying inside, end of discussion.” Hopper walks out the room, grabbing one of the many occult books on his way out.

“Sorry, honey,” Joyce pats the box once, grabbing a book for herself, “he’s just a bit restless is all. We all are. Don’t like being cooped up and forced to do nothing but hide and wait until the full moon.” Mr. Clarke had informed the adults of Steve’s full moon question, and they connected the dots. Not that it wasn’t already suspected with the power that comes from the full moon, according to Eddie’s writings.

“Look on the bright side, kid.” Steve looks at Wayne, “Those two are heavy sleepers.” He winks and grabs two books, leaving one behind before heading to his bedroom. Steve watches him leave and looks at the book left behind. The cover has a blue shadow; it’s a book about astral projection.

“Be careful, Steve,” Wayne warns before closing the door behind him. Steve opens the book, inhaling sharply when he sees the history list for check outs. Eddie’s checked it out of the library before. In fact, he was the last person to do so.

“Fuck me,” Steve mutters. The book’s too long to read in one sitting, so he skims the table of contents for whatever Wayne could be clueing him in for. Why the old man has to be so goddamn mysterious, Steve doesn’t know. Must run in the family, he supposes.

“Astral manipulation, astral realm, time jumping, seriously?” Steve shakes his head, about ready to toss the book aside until he reads the title for one of the last chapters of the book, “Unbound souls?” Steve flips to that page and reads the first few paragraphs, snorting at Eddie’s written notes in the margins. “Have you no respect for library books, Munson?” It doesn’t matter. Eddie wrote a bit about lost, malevolent spirits—even warned Steve about drifting off and becoming one if he wasn’t careful. This dives into that concept in a much deeper way, discussing unbound souls of people still living.

Astral projection, without grounding methods, can cause a soul to disconnect from its body. This leaves the host vulnerable, while the spirit becomes increasingly lost in the astral realm.  

Steve looks down at the obsidian ring bound in silver, and he thinks of Eddie’s jewelry. It was a way to bind the man’s soul to his body and keep him from drifting. A lightbulb goes off in Steve’s mind, and he shuts the book to take with him downstairs.

“No adults allowed!” Eleven immediately pipes up from where she’s on her stomach atop of an air mattress. She’s looking at one of Erica’s comics.

“Steve’s the exception. He’s barely an adult,” Max informs El from her spot beside her. Lucas is on her other side fiddling with what looks like one of Nancy’s guns.

“She gave it to me! I swear!” Lucas raises his hands when Steve sends him a daring look.

“What’s the book?” Will asks from his spot in a beanbag chair. Steve raises the object so the kids can see the title.

“I have an idea on how to find Robin.” Eleven pushes herself up to sit on her knees in an instant, “I have no idea if it’ll work, and it’d require El and I to, well, leave the safe house, but I think it’s our best shot.”

“Well, spit it out already!” Mike snarks. Steve blanches at the boy before showing them the unbound soul’s chapter.

“Obviously, with Robin unconscious, we’d assume her soul is still connected to her body, but that’s not assured with the way she came back. Ghosts without something to tether to float endlessly, and astral projection without some kind of grounding is the same idea. Eleven hasn’t been able to find Robin because she’s searching the wet place, but I think Robin’s on a different plane of existence. She’s hidden herself out of El’s viewpoint, but, if we astral project, we can find her in the astral realm and ground her back to her body and keep her there.” Steve looks at his friends expectantly, and he finds expressions ranging from confused to hesitant. “What?”

“I obviously know why El would have to leave the safe house, but why would you?” Dustin asks this. The kid’s clearly in an investigative mood.

“To help. El has gone to the wet place, but she’s never astral projected before.”

“And you have?”

“I was a ghost for eight months, Henderson. I think that counts for something.” He crosses his arms. Dustin copies the motion.

“Before you guys start a shouting match that lets Hopper and Joyce—and every other adult probably against this idea—know about our plan, maybe we should ask more questions about astral projection?” Steve turns his attention to Max, “None of us are psychic, how are we supposed to astral project.”

“Right, well,” Steve opens the book, “before reading about unbound souls, I did skim the first chapter, and…” he skims the third page, “aha!” he turns the book over and hands it to Max, who frowns.

“Astral projection, while difficult to master, can be done by anyone regardless of psychic ability or strength.” She looks overtop the book with a raised brow, “Let me rephrase; how are we going to master astral projection and how is it going to help us? I mean…” she hesitates, biting her lip, “would having access to Robin change anything? I doubt she’d know more than we do, and she’s too injured to help in the fight.”

“Eddie mentioned Robin in his journal,” Will points out, “He saw her in visions. Maybe she’s like Steve! Once dead but came out the other side with weird abilities.”

“I don’t have weird abilities.” Steve frowns, hoping the kids can’t smell his lies.

“You healed a spell book then passed out,” Dustin points out, raising a brow as if to challenge Steve to argue.

“I didn’t heal the spell book!” Steve laughs ridiculously, “The potion healed the spell—”

“It took us all day and over thirty potions to heal it. The only time you helped us before passing out, the spell book healed a full inch and a half in one go!” Steve flinches, staring at Dustin with wide eyes. His hand is out of the cookie jar, but he can’t hide the crumbs on his shirt.

“Look, Dustin—”

“I know, I know.” The boy waves a hand, “Let me guess, more secrets, right?” He tilts his head, “Eddie kept you from us. Eddie kept his powers from us. You’re keeping that secret notebook from us, and now you’re keeping more secrets. I understand; I get it. You want to protect us, but did you ever think that we don’t like you keeping secrets?!”  

Steve finds himself speechless, looking around the room for help. His eyes, for some reason, land on Mike, who’s sitting next to Erica and seemingly trapped reading her My Little Pony book. He probably misses Holly, not that he’d admit it if Steve were to ask.

“Steve, you kept your head injury from us. You kept the fact that you were struggling from us. Hell, you lied to us about getting help from paramedics after getting tortured!” Mike huffs, sneering for a moment before correcting his expression, though a grimace stays, “We’re worried that you’ll…” he swallows.

“We’re worried you want to die again and aren’t telling us,” Lucas finishes, voice heavy.

“We’re worried you’re playing the hero again,” Max adds for further clarification. Eleven and Will stay silent, though they both look like they’re about to throw up. Steve looks at Erica, and the girl frowns.

“We don’t want to lose you again, Steve. We want to help,” she says, retreating back to her pony book a moment later. Steve feels an anchor in his throat, heavy all the way to his stomach.

“I don’t want to die,” he says first, “and I swear to you I’m not planning on dying anytime soon. I can’t promise I’m not going to die because Eddie’s visions haven’t told me that, and nothing’s for certain, but I…” he inhales, fighting off tears, “I’m not leaving you guys like that again. I don’t… hurting you once is more than enough for me. I don’t want to see you guys suffer a second time around.” He looks to Will, “What I have to do isn’t something you guys can necessarily help me with,” he looks back to the group, “but it’s not suicide. It’s using a power that, yeah, I have now. It’s fixing a curse, it’s talking to ghosts, and it’s praying Eddie doesn’t kill me in the process. It’s something that I have to do on my own. I’m sorry.”

“Bullshit,” he flinches when Mike speaks up, “you don’t have to do it on your own. You can ask for help. You can always ask for help!”

“Not with this, Mike.” Steve shakes his head in defeat, “But this,” he points to the book still in Max’s arms, “this I need your guy’s help with. I need you guys with me. Not only do I need you, but Robin needs us. She needs all of us if we’re going to do this right.”

“Then what do we do?” Dustin sounds exasperated, like he doesn’t even want hear Steve out, let alone help him out.  

“Well, first thing’s first,” Steve puts his hands on his hips, “we need blood.”

“Blood?!” Erica, of all people, perks up, “Why do we need blood?!”

“For sigils,” Steve answers, “leaving the safehouse means Eddie and Vecna will be right on our case. Blood is the most powerful ingredient for sigils, meaning we probably wouldn’t need to draw as much on ourselves to make them work.”

“I’m not painting blood on myself!” Dustin protests.

“It’ll only have to be me and El. Maybe Will, if we think necessary.” He glances at the boy, who grimaces before sighing.

“Ugh, I can ask Argyle.” It’s Steve’s turn to sound astounded.

“Argyle has blood?!”

“No, we…” Will hisses, “we found demodog corpses in the woods—the ones you and Eddie sent to send messages. Well, uh, Argyle may or may not still have the corpses in the Winnebago’s fridge to, uh…” he swallows, “try on pizza?” Steve’s jaw drops, and Will nods, “Yeah, I’ll go, uh, ask him for some jars.” Will stands and leaves the room. Mike quickly trails after him, many questions leaking from his lips. Steve looks at Lucas next.

“You still have Eddie’s jewelry?” The kid nods, “Good,” Steve looks down, twisting the obsidian ring on his finger, “we’re going to need that silver.”

*

“Whatever happened to ‘growing kids need sleep’?” Max asks after failing to fight through another yawn.

"You should’ve taken a nap in between lunch and dinner like the rest of us,” Max punches Mike’s arm for his response, “Ow! What’d you do that for?! I’m right!” he whisper-shouts, as Steve and three of the kids hide out in the bushes near the hospital.

“You may be right, but that doesn’t make you any less of an asshole!”

“Shut up! Look!” Lucas points to the hospital, where Nancy’s walking outside. Visiting hours have officially ended. She glances to the bushes on the other side of the parking lot, where Dustin, Eleven, and Will are hiding out. Erica tried to come with, but Steve shot her down.

“You’re the best at lying, kid,” he pointed out when she tried to insist on coming along. Luckily, flattery works with the girl.

Dustin, once Nancy looks over, shakes the bushes around him. Nancy looks towards Steve’s bush, and he whistles twice.

“When’d you learn how to whistle?” Max whispers while Nancy approaches her car. They had radioed the girl earlier to fill her in on the plan. Well, to helplessly talk in code words about the plan. You never know who’s listening, according to Dustin. Well, according to Dustin’s paranoia.

“Got a lot of free time as a ghost,” Steve whispers back.

“Wait, were you the one who kept waking me up with Whistle While You Work from Snow White?!” Mike snaps.

“You heard that?!” Steve covers his mouth to stop from laughing.

“Heard it?! I hardly slept for days!” Mike punches the man’s arm.

“Now who needs a nap?” Max grumbles before grabbing her radio, “Drew, what’s the hold up?”

“You try planning a distraction for Grandma Steve’s surprise birthday party. She’s very paranoid, you know, and she’s dating that military guy. Did you get her gift? The Robin?” Steve doesn’t even attempt to understand the coded speech, letting Max handle it.

“We’re ready to buy it. We just need you to see if she’d like it. Mention Robin, but don’t make it obvious. In fact, lead her away from robins. If anything, she needs to be as far away from everything to do with Robin!”

There’s a long sigh, “Are you sure?”

“Only way to make this party go well, Drew.” Dustin’s voice cuts in.

“You got it, guys. I’ll distract them until you’re ready to bring the Robin to Stevie.” Nancy starts her car just after the radio turns off.

“What do you think she’s going to do—" Lucas’s question gets cut off as Nancy steps out of her car once more, “What the hell is she doing?” Max covers her boyfriend’s shout when Nancy pulls out her gun and fires blanks towards a dark patch of woods far away from any kids hiding in bushes. She stuffs her gun down her pants, making Steve wince, knowing she probably burned herself doing that. Still, the girl raises her hands and falls to the ground just as soldiers storm outside.

“Help, please! There—there was a man with a gun! He shot at me then ran to the woods shouting about a monster! You’ve gotta help!” Steve has to admit that Nancy’s acting has gotten a lot better over the years.

“Okay, ma’am, we’ll help, just get to your car, and—”

“Oh my God, what is that!” Nancy points to the distance. Moments later, demogorgon roars echo through the night. Max’s eyes widen, and she looks over at Lucas and Steve.

“What the fuck?” She mouths.

“We got a 24-AD, requesting immediate backup.” Multiple roars echo this time, coming from all directions, “Requesting all immediate teams for backup!” One of the soldiers shouts. They usher Nancy inside before a crowd of them run towards the woods behind the hospital. The six members of the party wait for a few minutes before Nancy steps back outside and whistles sharply. Everyone comes out of their hiding spot and walks to a side entrance, where Nancy shoves open the door a few minutes later.

“What the fuck was that?!” Max demands, “The roaring?”

“The surprise party,” Nancy responds breathlessly, wearing a slight smile. Max looks at Dustin, who rolls his eyes.

“I asked Jonathan and Argyle to come out and use the radio station’s equipment to play sounds in the woods. I already had old recordings of demogorgon attacks for… reasons,” Max blanches, “so we used those as playback in the woods. We used small speakers with microphones hooked up that Jonathan and Argyle got on automated loops like alarm bells. Those soldiers will be out there searching for monsters for hours before the loops are set to turn off.”

“What if they find the speakers?” Steve asks, genuinely impressed with the kid’s idea.

Said kid hesitates, “Uh, well…” he tilts his head, and Steve’s smile drops.

“That hesitancy means we’ll have to hurry. Come on!” Nancy tilts her head towards a stairwell. “The building is on lockdown, so all the nurses are locked away and won’t bother us, but” she winces, “the elevators don’t work. Don’t worry, though, she’s only on the tenth floor.”

Steve looks up the shadowy top of the stairwell and remembers how he hasn’t used his body in months, and how moving around as a ghost was more floating than walking.

This is for Robin. He reminds himself before beginning his ascent upstairs.  

April 20^th, 1986 (Sunday)

They reach the tenth floor in… well, Steve wishes he could say no time, but it felt more like ten hours. He stops at the top step and leans against his knees, panting like a dog.

“You were a jock, how are you out of breath and I’m not?” Mike snarks. Steve looks up at him with what he assumes are eyes of despair met with a red face and sweat dripping from his forehead. Mike grimaces.

“I haven’t done so much as walk a few feet or up one flight of stairs in eight months—all of eight months I spent floating!” Steve reaches over and grabs Mike’s sleeve to yank him forward, “If I wasn’t out of breath, I’d be throwing you down these stairs, brat.” The threat doesn’t work as well when he says it between wheezes, but Mike still winces and backs off.

“Point taken,” He mutters. Lucas nudges his arm before grabbing Steve’s hand, letting the man lean on him to continue forward.

“Remind me again why I took your jersey number?” Lucas teases, cursing when Steve uses his unoccupied arm to tug the kid’s hair, “Ow!”

“Scratch what I said earlier…” Steve swallows, “I’m killing myself the second we fight Vecna.” Someone hits the back of his head, and he turns slightly to see Nancy with her hand still raised, “I’m joking!”

“I’m not.” Nancy smiles thinly, “You kill yourself, and I’ll bring you back to life just to kill you twice…” she hesitates, “thrice, got it?”

“Loud and clear, Drew.” Steve salutes the girl, frowning a moment later, “Hey, why is Drew your codename?”

“Because Nancy Drew includes her real name and that’s apparently not allowed,” Dustin responds with a frown. 

“Why was my codename Stevie, then? And why was Robin literally just Robin?”

“You’re still considered dead, and Nancy’s uncreative.” Nancy flips Dustin off, which is pointedly ignored by the boy, “It’s what you deserve! Hell, I’m Bunny!”

“Yeah, cause saying Dusty-Buns includes your name,” Max responds then sticks her tongue out. She dodges Dustin’s thrown punch. The boy chases Max a moment later, and Dustin rushes after her just to run into her suddenly halted frame. Max stands motionless in front of an open door, while Dustin groans on the ground beside her.

“Found Robin,” she says lowly, eyes wide and sad. Steve pushes off Lucas’s shoulder and walks ahead, grasping his still cramping stomach. There, on the bed, pale, bruised, and covered in casts, lies Robin. The lights in her room are red to signal the lockdown, and she looks like she’s still somewhere also often alit red. Still trapped in the Upside Down. Steve swallows.

“Let’s do this.” He reaches out for Dustin’s bag, which the boy quickly hands over. Steve brings out the astral projection book and Eddie’s jewelry. Most of the rings are too big for Robin, so he puts the bracelet on her wrist and a necklace around her neck. She remains motionless, not that Steve expected movement.

“Alright, Eleven, let’s scrub off the sigils.” Steve tosses the girl a rag after wetting it with water from a bottle, stealing a few sips to soothe his dry throat. He then removes his shirt, and Nancy offers to clean the sigil off his back before he has a chance to ask. Lucas, prepared as the rest of them, brings out a small jar of the leftover demodog blood to repaint the sigils as soon as they need to.

“Why are there sigils painted in blood?” Nancy asks with a grimace, and Max merely shakes her head.

“Works better, don’t know why, so don’t ask.”

“It’s blood magic,” Steve responds, “and these sigils block psychic energy, so we need to remove them in order to astral project.”

“Astral project?!” Nancy gapes.

“You didn’t tell her?” Steve asks Dustin, who throws his hands up in surrender.

“Coded messages can only go so far, Harrington!” The kid shouts, “And the sigils block psychic energy from leaving, trapping them, but they also protect them from Vecna and Eddie. Meaning, we’re working against the clock from more than just the military.” The kid smiles, though it looks more like a grimace. Nancy’s eyes dart between Steve and Dustin.

“It’s the only way we can find Robin,” he insists, reaching into his pocket to hand Eleven a delicate silver chain to put around her neck. He may or may not have taken it from Joyce’s small collection at the radio station.

“And astral projecting? Have you done that before, Steve?” Nancy’s challenging him, pleading for something that makes sense. Steve sighs.

“Please, just trust me.” A muscle in the girl’s jaw flexes, and she glances over her shoulder.

“I’ll keep watch. Don’t do anything stupid.” She glances at Robin, “Please, just…” a sigh, “if you find her, tell her I’m here. Tell her… tell her to come back.” There are tears welling up in Nancy’s eyes, and Steve nods.

“I’ll try my best.”

Nancy leaves the room, sparing one moment to squeeze Robin’s cast over where her hand is. The rest of the party members get to work. Lucas turns on his walkie to play static, while Steve lays flat on his back, palms out like the book says. Eleven, well used to traversing outside her body, sits with her back against the wall next to Steve. She grabs one of his hands and takes a deep breath. Steve closes his eyes, letting one of the kids drape a cloth over his forehead to block out the light in the room.

Focus on his breathing, project himself outwards, and open himself up to the world around him; that’s what the book instructed him to do. Eleven is guiding him through it, basically aiding to clear his mind while branching towards Robin, trying to connect them. The plan isn’t foolproof, and if Eddie were here, he’d probably call them all idiots, but they don’t have many other options. It’s this or continue being sitting ducks, and if there’s a chance this—finding Robin—counts towards breaking the curse, Steve is taking it.

That being said, he’s breaking more of his own rules. After worrying everyone about his episode after healing the spell book, he promised himself he wouldn’t spend any more power. He promised himself he would save it until the final battle. Here, however, he’s too stressed on time. He doesn’t fully understand astral projection either, so using his power seems like his best shot at finding Robin in the time crunch they have. 

“How long has it been?” Mike whispers, making Steve roll his eyes from beneath his eyelids. He plays with his ring absent mindedly, wishing the kids would stop talking.

“About twenty minutes,” Dustin responds. What? That doesn’t make any sense. To Steve, it’s been five minutes since he first laid on the ground. He frowns. “Do you think they’re projecting yet?”

“We’d project a lot faster if you two would shut your mouth!” Steve exclaims.

“I hope so. Should one of us go outside to keep an eye out for the military?”

“Nancy said there are windows in the hall for her to look out at the parking lot,” Max responds. Steve huffs loudly then sits up, letting the cloth over his eyes slide off. He looks at the kids.

“Would you guys shut up?!” He snaps, and no one looks over. In fact, they continue their conversation like nothing’s happened. Steve, blood running cold, looks behind him.

He sees his body lying on the ground in the same position as before. Nothing’s changed, but Steve’s outside his body. He feels his heart rate pick up.

He’s obviously never astral projected before, so he didn’t realize it would be like this…

Like being a ghost.

Suddenly, as if all oxygen has disappeared from Earth, he can’t breathe. There’s a stabbing pain in his chest like a knife in his heart. Is he…? He can’t be dead, right? There’s talk about people dying through astral projection. It was mentioned in the book, but Steve’s wearing silver! He has a grounding; he can’t be dead.

“No, it isn’t real. This isn’t real.” He shakes his head, ready to lay back down over himself when a hand grabs his wrist. He jumps and turns, and Eleven is sitting up beside him. Over her shoulder is her body sitting with her eyes closed and blood staining her upper lip. Steve, getting over his shock, takes a deep breath.

“You’re okay. You’re alive,” Eleven reassures him, “We did it.”

Steve looks around the room. Everything looks fairly normal, but there’s a darkness in the corners of his vision, like shadows. Lights are too bright, and anytime someone speaks, it sounds muffled.

“We did it,” Steve repeats breathlessly. Eleven nods, and he repeats the motion, “We need to find Robin.” He looks outside, gasping when he sees a night sky full of stars—galaxies and an endless universe. “Holy…” he shakes his head, trying to regain his train of thought, “Do you sense Robin?”

“No, I don’t.” Eleven tilts her head, “I don’t sense anything, actually.”

“Well, that’s great,” Steve remarks, taking a deep breath a moment later, “but it’s okay. We’re here to look for her. It’s hide and seek, not… seek and find right away.” He shrugs when Eleven frowns. “You know what I mean. Now,” he stands and wipes the imaginary dust from his clothes, “the book says that navigating the astral realm is a bit like navigating a dream. It’s easy to get lost, but you’re practically limitless. So…” he swallows, tilts his head, and walks towards one of the windows.

He can already tell the astral realm is different from Earth—different from being a ghost as well. When he walks, he can feel the Earth beneath him, but it’s like wading through water. He feels partly weightless. “Do you trust me?” Eleven nods in response, and Steve presses his hand against the window. Just as he expected, the limb glides through like mist through a vent.

“Come on.” He pulls on the girl’s arm until she follows. Suddenly, they’re on the other side of the window. The book explained that, without an anchor, they would float up. Instead, Steve feels the weight of his hand, where he has on the ring. He focuses on that, as he takes a step forward just to begin to tip. “Woah, okay!” he curses, when he spins a little. Eleven catches him, and he looks over to see her standing straight.

“I think because of my powers, I can move easier,” she explains. She makes a motion like swimming, moving forward, and Steve copies the motion. Soon, he’s “swimming” through the air. It feels strange, to say the least. There’s no real weight of water to go against his limbs, but the motion works, so he keeps moving like his life depends on it. Well, like Robin’s life depends on it.

“Hopefully, the jewelry we gave her will bring her closer,” Steve mutters out loud, and Eleven hums in response. It’s odd to speak, as each spoken word sounds like echoes in his own ears. When Eleven speaks, she sounds like she’s shouting from the end of a long hallway. It’s the only thing keeping him from yelling out Robin’s name, knowing she probably wouldn’t hear him.

“This will probably go quicker if we separate. Unless you still need my help to move.” Steve looks at the girl after she makes her offer. It’s floating and staring at her in silence that he realizes he can still just barely hear their friends if he focuses hard enough. Though, in doing so, he finds himself drifting a bit back towards his body, so he shakes his head and focuses solely on the girl in front of him.

“I can handle myself, but how are we going to signal each other?” Eleven frowns in thought and looks down at their conjoined hands. She tentatively lets go, and Steve frowns. His expression turns slightly surprised, as he feels Eleven squeeze his hand without any point of contact.

“We’re holding hands in the hospital room. If you squeeze my hand, I’ll feel it.” Steve tests it out, willing his physical body to squeeze their conjoined hands. Eleven smiles and confirms, “I felt that.”

“Squeeze three times when we want to meet back here, twice if we found Robin, and once for a regular check in to make sure we’re still connected.” Eleven nods along to Steve’s instructions, “Be careful, kid.”

“I will!” Eleven promises before turning left. Steve watches her float away with ease and looks down at his slightly transparent body. He was a ghost! He should know how to fly!

He’s seen slugs with more speed.

Speed is a generous word. Steve’s movement is more like a “slow”. He tries to move as fast as he can, he really does, but it’s like moving through molasses. Any attempt at moving faster just leads to him spinning or getting stuck going up and down instead of forward. “Fuck!” he shouts, sighing after shouting only succeeds in making him move right back where he started. For a moment, he considers summoning Eleven to come help him again. Instead, he leans against the wall. Well, he tries to, but he forgets he can’t do that without falling through the material and ends up stuck in between floors of the hospital. With a few grunts and even more expletives, he dislodges himself from the wall only to succeed in sending himself flying.

With a shout, he’s thrown through the air. It feels like he’s flying for eternity, spinning out of control until he focuses on the weight of the silver ring on his finger. That succeeds in slowing him down, and fully pressing his thumb to the spot where the ring sits makes him stand straight.

He’s still close to the hospital but has found himself on the far end of the parking lot, where the cars are barely visible among dark shadows. He thinks he hears voices and ignores them in favor of walking towards where he thinks the hospital is. The outline of the building is barely visible, so he can only hope for the best.

Floating through the parking lot is a slow process, and Steve is forced to hum to himself. He sings random songs he barely knows, as he didn’t get much choice in what songs he got to listen to in the past eight months. Switching between Mike, Max, and Lucas’s music taste until he lands on ‘Here Today’ by Paul McCartney. It’s the song he knows best, as he’s inadvertently listened to it the most through Robin. He likes the song, even if he considers it a bit sad.

Knowing it’s the song that saved Robin from Vecna in that first attack feels like an anchor in Steve’s throat, as he hums along to the lyrics he can’t seem to properly memorize. He knows Robin listens to this song because it reminds her of Steve. Worlds apart but still connected, wishing they could know one another better. Steve feels guilty for it, as while he knows Robin well—knows how she sounds when she snores, what snacks she prefers, and what she writes in her diary all from watching her for months—she doesn’t know him. Not completely, not nearly as well. In that sense, the song becomes even more accurate. Robin doesn’t know Steve, thus making it so that he probably would laugh and say they were worlds apart. Though, he actually wouldn’t. He’d never say that to one of his best friends, not when they’re connected so deeply that distance doesn’t matter.

Afterall, if Robin were here today—here right now—Steve would stop at nothing to tell her everything. He’d tell her what his favorite movie is and the haircare products he uses. He’d tell her his childhood crush and his favorite book. He’d tell her about his dreams and nightmares and about how he once wanted to be an elementary school teacher and now wants to be a librarian. He dreams of what will happen when she wakes up and how much they can tell each other everything. He dreams and thinks and sings, and it takes a lot longer than he’d like to admit for him to realize someone else is singing with him.

It's not gentle humming but the smell of cigarettes that breaks Steve from his thoughts. He jumps and looks over, finding himself suddenly right beside the entrance of the hospital. Robin is somehow leaning against the wall, humming Paul McCartney with an easy smile. She looks tired, not that Steve would say it out loud. Not that he knows what he wants to say. What are you supposed to say to a girl you haven’t talked to in months? To a girl you haunted?

“You look tired.” Steve was never good at keeping his mouth shut.

Robin laughs, shaking her head, “I could say the same thing about you, dingus. You got skinny as hell. I mean, you already had bottom vibes, you didn’t need to physically turn into a twink too.”

“Fuck you!” Steve exclaims through a laugh, grimacing a moment later, “Why do you smell like cigarettes?”

Robin waves a hand, “This is where all the doctors and nurses and soldiers smoke. At least, I think that’s who smokes here. I can always hear them but can’t ever see them, so it’s a bit of a guessing game.” She adds a shrug, “I like the smell of cigarettes. Keeps me from going insane, though I’m kind of always going insane around here.” She smiles, but it doesn’t meet her eyes, “You caught me on a good day.”

“Good day?” 

“Usually, I’m scatterbrained. I think it helps that you’re here. As soon as I heard your voice, I…” she trails off and smiles, “How are you, by the way? I forgot to ask.”

Steve is taken aback, finding himself suddenly a bit speechless. “How am I?” It’s all he can say before clumsily figuring something else out, “Robin, I don’t know how to say this, but you… do you know that you’re in a coma?” 

“I know.”

“You—” Steve’s jaw drops, “You know?!”

Robin nods as if it’s simple. “I know,” she confirms, “I know I’m in a coma. I know Nancy’s been visiting me, and I know where you and Eddie have been. I know…” she tilts her head with a frown, “Not everything, but I know a lot. I’ve gotten good at exploring and listening while here.” She looks around, rubbing her arms a bit. “Fuck, these hospital blankets are thin.”

Steve’s mind races, and he floats forward. Robin watches him patiently. “Robin, you… we’re all worried about you. I mean, Nancy’s not even eating unless she’s seen you first. I mean, you… Eleven’s looked everywhere for you!”

“I know.” Steve feels as though he’s been punched. Robin at least looks guilty, but not guilty enough to stay on topic, as she moves on quickly. “I told Eddie about you, you know. At least, I tried to. I didn’t understand it completely myself, but I can see better in the Upside Down. I saw the gold power inside you and inside Eddie and realized he was the key to keeping you alive. You know that by now, right?”

“I know his power is keeping me from rotting all over again,” Steve confirms, swallowing a moment later, “I know I’m running out of it.”

“That’s good.” Robin hesitates, “Well, it’s not good you might start rotting, but it’s good that you know. You know to save it, then. Don’t waste it. I swear, this better not be taking any energy just visiting me. I mean, it’s not like I’m missing.” She scoffs. Steve frowns.

“You’re missing to us.”

“It’s not like I have to be found, then.”

“Well, like you said, you don’t know everything.” Steve wants to explain the curse, but instead he sighs, “I lost you, and now I’ve found you, and I’m going to take you home.” He reaches for her, and she steps away from his hand. He floats forward and gets stuck in the wall again. Robin laughs and grabs his arm to yank him out, catching him before he can fly off again.

“Nice try, dingus, but I’m not going that easily.” Her smile is sad, “I’m stuck here for a while.”

He can’t help it. He scoffs and shakes his head. “Bullshit, what do you mean stuck?! You can move completely fine.” He motions at the girl, and she shakes her head.

“That doesn’t mean I’m not stuck, Dingus.” She bites her lip and huffs, “I don’t…” she laughs, and her eyes become wet, “I’m not getting out of this that easy, Steve. Don’t you think if I could wake up by simply heading back to my body, I would?” A tear rolls down her cheek, and Steve fights the urge to wipe it away while Robin shakes her head, “I’ve tried. I have tried before, but it doesn’t work! It’s… it’s not like I don’t wake up. Technically speaking, I do wake up, but it’s not real. It’s not waking up and being fine and dandy, not even waking up to be my injured self. It’s waking up and finding myself…” she trails off, eyes widening slightly. Her chest begins to rise and fall at a much quicker pace, and Steve tries to reach for her hand, but she flinches away.

“Rob…” she doesn’t respond, “Freshman?” She blinks. “You flatlined, right?” He tries pointing out, hoping to break her from her stupor.

“Yeah…” she squeaks and swallows, “That’s exactly what I mean.” Steve frowns, and Robin looks at him. “I wake up, and I don’t wake up in the hospital. I wake up in… in Vecna’s trap. I wake up, and I’m right back to fighting him. I almost lost last time. When I flatlined, he was seconds away from finally finishing the job—from taking my eyes, but the nurses revived me. I’m not here because I want to be. I’m here because it’s the only place I’m safe from him!” She’s fully crying now, “And I’m going insane, Steve! Every day I’m either getting lost or listening to people talk around me. I’m lonely. I’m bored, and my mind keeps getting scrambled! The only times I ever feel sane is when I’m accidentally tapping into Eddie’s powers. Sometimes, I feel him reaching out, and I reach back, and even then, it’s like talking through a faulty phone line.”

“Robin—”

“I miss you. I miss everyone so much, and I’d give anything to be back, but I can’t. I won’t! I can’t… I don’t want to die, Steve!” She hiccups, “I thought I did, but I don’t. I don’t want to throw everything away. I want to graduate. I want to go to college. I want to make movies, and I want to date Nancy! I want it all! And… and if being stuck here means giving me a chance to do all that, then I’m staying as long as I need to. Until I know it’s safe.”

Steve wants to beg. He wants to get on his hands and knees and plead for Robin to come back, but if she’s telling the truth, then he knows she’s safer here. It doesn’t make this any less defeating. “Don’t look so down in the dumps, dingus. You thought you’d be the only ghost out of us?”

In the short time he’s been here, Steve can already tell being stuck in a place like this is ten times worse than being a ghost. Still, he smiles, “You always have to be better at me in everything, huh, Freshman?”

Robin sticks her tongue out between her teeth, “I can’t help it when you suck.”

Steve laughs and shakes his head, “Well, we put anchors on you in case you float off.”

“I know. I feel them. They… I think they help. Thank you.” Steve can feel the conversation naturally winding down just as he hears Nancy calling his name, and Eleven squeezes his hand three times. “Get out of here before you draw too much attention to me.” He nods and smiles just to hesitate.

“Wait, Vecna has Eddie now.” He wrings his hands together and grimaces, “What if they figure out that you’re here? What if they come after you?”

Robin shakes her head, “They won’t. Vecna still needs me—my soul, or whatever for his curse, but he doesn’t need me as long as Eddie’s there to open the portals for him.” Steve sighs, while the girl winces, “That, and he needs you more. Eddie’s nothing without you, but you’re also the only thing standing in the way. It’s an odd balancing act. I imagine you’re in for a tough fight. If I reveal myself, he won’t hesitate, but I’ve got until they kill you.”

Steve blanches, “Well, that’s great.”

“Yeah, so, uh, stay alive? For me?”

“Only because you asked so nicely.” He shakes his head just to have the body part forcibly snap to the side, “Ow!” Steve cups his cheek, hearing Dustin shout his name. “Brat!”

Robin laughs and clutches her stomach, “Sounds like it’s time for you to go, Steve.” She approaches the man with a smile.

“But wait,” Steve grabs her shoulders when she grabs his arms, “what about Vecna and Eddie? The final fight? We need you.” 

“I’ll be there.” Robin pulls him into a hug and whispers over his shoulder, “You just focus on your boyfriend.” There’s a teasing tone in her voice, but before Steve can respond she shoves him forward. He falls with a shout and lands back in his body. He gasps awake and reaches out to grab Dustin’s wrist before the kid can slap him again.

“Brat!” He snaps. Dustin rips his arm away with a huff.

“About fucking time! We need to leave now!” Steve barely has any time to recover before he’s suddenly being dragged out of the room. The rest of their friends are missing in action.

“How long was I out?”

“Too long. Eleven and the others left ten minutes ago. Nancy’s distracting the guards, but we need to hurry!” Steve finds himself being led to a supply closet just down the hall. “Put this on!” Dustin shoves a hospital gown into Steve’s arms.

“Uh, Henderson, you do realize I have to be naked for this?” Dustin punches Steve’s arm and turns around. Steve scrambles to strip, handing his clothes off to Dustin’s outstretched hand. Soon enough, Steve has on the backless gown, luckily able to keep his boxers on, and is suddenly shoved into a wheelchair. Dustin gives him a facemask and wraps his head with gauze before covering his lap with a thin, hospital blanket. “You’re asleep!” Dustin urges before pushing him out the supply closet. Steve keeps his eyes shut but opens one slightly, as it’s partially covered with gauze.

The kid rolls him to an elevator, and standing inside the thing is, to Steve’s shock, Mrs. Sinclair, Lucas’s mom. He almost forgot she’s a doctor at this hospital.

“Tell Lucas that he and Erica are grounded for a month for having me sneaking you guys around past curfew.” Dustin inhales, “No, I don’t care if they’re at home; it’s bad enough they gave you the impression I’d agree to lie for you,” she says, and Steve can only imagine what kind of lie Dustin and Lucas cooked up to get her to agree with this. “I’m also telling your mother, Dustin. She’d be so upset if she knew you were getting into all this trouble. It’s bad enough my baby was wanted for murder. No! You guys have to be out here breaking curfew too!”

“I told you, Mrs. Sinclair, we needed to visit a friend—”

“I heard you the first time!” Steve sees her face out the corner of his eye, and she huffs, “I imagine this is the friend you guys are refusing to tell me about?”

“I promise, Lucas will explain everything later. Just please—”

“Don’t worry. Lucky for you, I’ve gotten close to that Nancy girl. I’m doing this for her, not for you. You’re a bad influence.” Dustin grumbles under his breath, “Excuse me?!”

“Yes, ma’am. Sorry, ma’am.”

“Ma’am?!”

“Yes, Dr. Sinclair. Sorry, Dr. Sinclair.”

“Thank you, Mr. Henderson.” The elevator dings, revealing the lobby, where Nancy is flirting with two guards. At least, Steve assumes she’s flirting by the way she’s twirling her hair and playing with the hem of her skirt. Steve has to pinch his thigh to keep from laughing.

“Dr. Sinclair!” Nancy’s voice is all cheery, “Is that my uncle?”

“Yes, it is. Sorry again for keeping him so late, but those stitches were stubborn.” Steve’s got to admit, for a woman who claims to hate lying, Dr. Sinclair is pretty good at it. “Make sure he gets plenty of rest. Oh, uh…” she hesitates, “is it alright if they drive home? I know it’s after curfew, but they’re good kids, and I really don’t want to keep Mr. Wheeler here any longer than he has to be. All the hospital smells are bad for his migraines.”

“Oh, uh…” Nancy adds a smile and bats her eyelids, “sure,” the guard bashfully decides, “not a problem at all. I’ll send out a voice memo to leave Ms. Wheeler’s car alone.”

“Thank you so much!” Nancy touches the guard’s arm, “You’re the sweetest!”

“Just doing my job, ma’am.” He winks, and Steve bites his lip when Nancy momentarily looks nauseous.

Nancy and Dustin wheel him out to the girl’s car. Dr. Sinclair takes the wheelchair back inside as soon as Steve is in the front seat. He looks at the floorboard in front of him until they’re out of the parking lot. He turns around to see everyone piled in the back. Mike and Eleven on the floorboards, Max, Dustin, and Lucas sitting in the seats. Will seems to be in the trunk.

“Everyone comfortable?” Steve smirks.

“Fuck you, Harrington.” Mike grunts from the floor.

They drive home listening to Nancy’s Madonna cassette and loudly complaining about the tight squeeze. Steve, meanwhile, plays with the ring on his finger and thinks about Robin.

It’s obviously not the outcome he wanted, but still, he can tell by the new crack lining the obsidian stone. The curse is one step closer to being broken.

He’d feel a lot better about it if he didn’t look into the rearview mirror and find Eddie staring right back at him.

Chapter Text

April 20 ^th , 1986 (Sunday)

“Nancy, drive faster.” Steve tries his best to keep his voice steady. The car rumbles against the road, Steve’s white knuckling the edges of his seat, and Eddie is smirking. No, he’s not smirking, actually. When Eddie smirks, it’s something sneaky and humorous, like he’s watching something funny. This smirk is cruel, twisted. There’s still that hint of humor but beneath it all is a sadistic urge that Steve can practically taste in the air. He flips the mirror so it’s no longer at eye level and turns around just to make sure the man isn’t in their trunk or some shit.

“What?” Nancy frowns, unfortunately going the speed limit.

“Drive!” Steve shouts, spotting Eddie in the reflection of his own window. Nancy flinches then floors it. Her car jerks, making the kids in the backseat jump. Steve feels one of them slam into the back of his seat.

“Ow!” Mike snaps from the floor, “What the fuck was that for?!”

“I told you to sit in the trunk with me!” Will shouts, albeit white knuckling the seats in front of him for stability. He bounces with a loud, “Shit!” Nancy drove over a pothole.

“What’s going on?” Eleven asks, watching as Steve scans their surroundings.

“Dustin, do you still have that blood?” Dustin doesn’t respond. Doesn’t need to, as Will grabs the kid’s bag from beside him and hands off the jar. Lucas grabs it and passes it along to Steve, while Dustin smacks his forehead.

“Fuck, the sigils!” Dustin curses. Steve looks at Eleven, who lifts the bottom half of her shirt to show a sigil drawn on her stomach. There are two more on each hand. Steve curses.

“He’s just after me then.”

“He?!” Nancy snaps.

“It’s Eddie. He’s here. I saw him.” Steve unscrews the lid, and he can practically hear Nancy’s thoughts telling him not to spill blood in her car. She’s luckily too aware of the severity of the situation to say it out loud. He dips two fingers into the blood and, without any better option, squeezes the jar in between his legs and rips off the hospital gown.

“Gross!” Dustin complains. Steve throws the gown at him. “Hey!”

“Life or death, Henderson!” He snaps and begins drawing the sigils. He’s not the best at drawing from memory, but Max luckily seems to understand his predicament and holds up a piece of paper over the center console. “Mayfield, you’re my favorite.” It’s still difficult to draw Upside Down, with the sigil going on his stomach, but he tries his best. All the while, he feels something like a shadow behind him. It’s Eddie. He knows it is.

“You can recognize me from my presence alone, huh? How romantic.” It’s Eddie’s voice which purrs in Steve’s ear, but it’s not him. It’s too dark. Too twisted. All layered like the world’s worst choir.

“Fuck off…” Steve hisses, dipping his fingers in once more. There’s barely enough blood left, and he’s too sloppy with it. Blood drips everywhere and messes up the shape before he has a chance to get one good stroke. 

“You’re foolish if you think that’s going to stop me. One pathetic sigil. No power used to draw it, just blood. I’m stronger than that, Steve. I’ll hunt you down no matter how much you try to hide.” Steve winces when he feels a sharp pain at the base of his back, “I can smell you, you know. Your blood is like the sweetest candy. I’m so hungry, Stevie. Won’t you feed me?” The man gasps in pain, arching his back away from the source. He spills some blood.

“Fuck!” Nancy looks over, eyes widening, “Steve, you’re bleeding!”

“What?” Steve glances over his shoulder to see blood—blood too bright and too red to belong to a demobat—staining Nancy’s car seat. “Fuck!”

“Give me the jar.” Max crawls forward far enough to lean in between the driver and passenger seat. Steve winces and reaches for the lever to push the seat back. Mike luckily has half a mind to move before he gets crushed. Dustin pulls his legs up to his chest, while Mike finds himself squished next to Eleven, who is squished against the door. “Stay still!” Max snaps, wiping at the mess on Steve’s stomach before dipping her hand into the jar. She paints the sigil on Steve’s chest while he leans against the door to fully face the girl.

“How cute. Your friends are helping. Why don’t I gut them first? Make you watch and save you for last? Would you like that, Stevie? Would you like me to kill you all slowly, painfully. Taste your delicious fear before I consume your soul.” Steve feels something deep in his gut, “That’s right. Keeping your soul free is too dangerous, Stevie. If I consume it—if I take your power,” Eddie clicks his tongue, “there goes sweet Eddie’s only chance of becoming strong enough to break out. I gain your power, and Eddie gains nothing. We’re one now, you know? If I get rid of you, he’ll never take back control. No, he’s dying in here, Stevie. He’ll be dead once I take you, and then I’ll pick up the pieces of his battered soul and take it for my own.” The villain laughs, dark and twisted. Steve keeps having to remind himself it’s the Flayer. Though, he can’t focus on much besides the pain in his back. It feels like someone is cutting into him with a hot knife. Searing pain that throbs in the open air, as blood pours down his spine and drips onto the fabric seat, staining it red.

“Hurry!” He begs, tears running down his cheeks.  

“I’m almost done!” Max responds frantically, pulling back a moment later, “There!” With one final touch, the sigil is complete. Steve feels a rush of warmth, as the freezing entity towering over him finally disappears. At least, that’s what he thinks, but the beast did tell him one sigil wouldn’t be enough. 

Something like fire erupts from Steve’s chest. He looks down just in time for three long slashes to slice through his pecs and sternum. The sigil, already smeared and messy, is washed away by his blood. He gasps and presses against his bleeding chest, but the second he touches warm blood, the world around him flashes like Christmas lights. All colors clouding his vision as the world tips upwards. When his vision clears, he’s no longer in Nancy’s car.

It's not the astral plane nor the afterlife nor the wet place. In fact, if it is some kind of otherworldly plane of existence, Steve has no idea which one it could be. It looks like Eddie’s trailer. The Upside Down version, all destroyed from the attack. He swallows and looks around, eyeing the blood and mold on the walls.

“Nancy!? Max?!” He shouts, and his voice echoes against the close corners of the room. There’s a blurry glare at the edges of his vision, like the entire trailer is sitting atop of a cloud illuminated by the sun. Only the light isn’t gold like the sun but a harsh white. It makes him squint, “Eleven!?”

“Stevie, you’re breaking my heart.” Steve feels a chill run down his spine. He turns slowly, and there stands Eddie. There’s an arrogant sneer etched in his expression and black veins running across his chest and neck.

“I see your fashion sense hasn’t improved since possessing Billy.” Steve pointedly looks at the possessed man’s outfit, which is a leather jacket and jeans with boots. “I get obsessing over exes, but seriously?” He tilts his head and wears a smile that probably looks as fake as it feels.

Eddie hums in response. “Funny,” he smiles, then, “it’s cute that you’re joking when you’re shaking like a leaf.” Steve clenches his jaw and glances at his hands, which are shaking. Fuck, he’s still only in a pair of boxers, not even that old hospital gown. 

“Yeah, well, it’s cute you think I’m scared of you.” He lowers his hands and raises his chin, “I’m not. I’m not scared because you’re not going to win this.”

“Oh, and you are?” Eddie pouts, “Steve, I have the power of the entire universe at my disposal. I can turn you and all your friends into dust. What makes you think you and your little band of freaks could ever win against me?” He enters the living room, and Steve backs away until he hits a wall. The villain smirks and sits on the couch, relaxed with his feet up on the coffee table like he really is Eddie relaxing in his own home. It’s not, though. Steve knows it’s not, and that fact makes the sight painful to watch.

“Eddie took control because you couldn’t handle being a little horny for me. I think I like our chances.” He attempts to look relaxed too, leaning against the wall, but he can’t relax his stone muscles. “I’ll beat you myself.”

“Will you?” Eddie licks his canine, “I look forward to that. It’s been a while since I’ve had some good fun. Like how fun it was to watch you die. I saw it all. You slip away in your sleep. Eddie felt it too—a stab in his heart. How painful it was; it was pathetic. You humans, so fragile, so easy to possess.” He looks at his hand. The black veins are so deep that they turn his fingertips into the color of coal as if they’ve been dipped in ashes. “But your souls are so delicious. All souls are, but there’s something about humans. So emotional, so tortured, it’s addicting. Eddie’s tastes like power, and yours like blood. Eddie’s the body, but you’re the lifeforce. I need you just as I need him, and once I’ve got you, I’ll consume you both. There won’t be an afterlife. There will only be me. The belly of the beast—you’ll have nothing. Not even Eddie will be by your side.”

Steve clenches his jaw, “Fuck you.”

“That’s Eddie’s job.” He laughs softly, “Oh,” he tilts his head, and his voice turns muffled, “would you look at that! Looks like those kids do have some brains.” Steve looks down at himself, and his hands are slightly transparent. “See you soon, Stevie,” the Flayer chuckles. Steve tastes iron on his tongue before he gasps awake in Nancy’s passenger seat. They’re pulled over somewhere surrounded by dense trees. Nancy’s hands are covered in blood. Max has demodog blood on her hands and an empty jar pinned between her knees. When Steve looks down, he sees ten sigils drawn across his arms.

“Holy shit, he’s awake!” Max shouts. Steve’s vision starts to blur.

“Steve?!” Someone shouts his name, but he can’t respond. Not as the world fades to black.

*

“Why do I even bother making rules if you guys don’t listen to me?!” Hopper shouts. Steve can hear him from his bed, where he’s lying on propped up pillows. His torso and stomach are covered in gauze that’s wrapped around him like a mummy. “I mean, am I not speaking English?! Did I spend so much time in Russia that I switched languages without realizing?” Steve winces, as he rises to his feet. “Do you understand me, Joyce?!” 

“I understand you, Hop.” Joyce sounds slightly amused but no less like a disappointed parent. 

“Then I am speaking English!” He confirms. Steve sees the shadow of him pacing back and forth, though the first person he sees is Max. The girl spots him, winces, and shakes her head while moving her hand back and forth in front of her neck. Before Steve can catch on to her warning and retreat, Hopper’s shadow disappears. The man himself stands before Steve looking… well, pissed. 

“Hey, dad,” Steve smiles, still not used to calling Hopper ‘dad’, but he figures touching on the man’s sentimental side could protect him from getting lectured, scolded, shot, or all the above. 

“Kitchen, now.” The man turns back, letting Joyce pass him to assist Steve to his seat. The younger man fidgets with the ring on his finger and avoids Hopper’s gaze, as he sits in his chair silently. “Well?” Steve flinches and looks up at Hopper. 

“Your hair is growing nicely.” Steve smiles, while the other man looks like he’s seconds away from lighting something on fire.

“That’s what I said,” Mike points out, and Steve recognizes it as the warning it is. Even Nancy winces. 

“Explain, now.” Hopper sits across from Steve, spine as straight as an arrow and as hard as his facial expression. When Steve hesitates, a vein bulges in his forehead.

“I found Robin.” The ex-sheriff’s shoulders and jaw drops, while everyone else lets out varying sounds of surprise. “She’s in the astral realm like I predicted. El and I astral projected, and I found Robin just outside the hospital. She knows she’s in a coma but in the astral realm. Somehow, she’s learning a lot there too. She alluded to helping us in the final battle, though I didn’t ask how. Ran out of time.” 

“What?” Nancy yanks a chair from the table and sits down next to Steve. There’s gauze wrapped around her forearm, and Steve’s memory flashes to her arms being covered in blood in the car. She must’ve used her own blood when the jar of demodog blood went empty. The girl, upon noticing Steve’s stare, yanks her sleeves down before regaining the man’s attention, “You found Robin?”

“Well, she wasn’t really hiding.” He shrugs, hesitant to move on, “She was just standing there. She was acting… She's different. Apparently, the astral realm is changing her, making her… well, she said she’s going insane,” 

“Then how do we get her out of there?” Lucas asks.

“We can’t.”

“What?” Nancy frowns, “What do you mean we can't?” 

“She tried to wake up already. It’s how she flatlined. Upon returning to her body, she didn’t wake up in the hospital, she woke up in Vecna’s trap, and he almost killed her. She said she’s safer in the coma because Vecna won’t come after her there or… or can’t, I guess. I mean, with Eddie he could, but Robin insists if she stays under the radar then Vecna will leave her alone. He’s not after her as long as she’s just out of reach. Robin’s there for her own safety.” He bites his lip and looks away. 

“Fuck…” Max curses. Steve looks her way with an equally dreadful expression. Nancy, meanwhile, stares at the table.

“Why isn’t Vecna going after her now that he has Eddie? You found her in the astral realm when you’ve never projected before. Eddie’s a pro: even if Robin’s under the radar, why aren’t they trying?” Obviously, no one wants Robin to be hunted, but they’re important questions to ask. No matter how much Steve dreads answering them.

“Vecna eventually wants to take Robin, but she’s not his top priority.” Steve pauses to swallow, “I am.” 

“What?” Lucas asks carefully. 

“What do you mean you’re his top priority?” Dustin leans forward, while the others stare at Steve expectantly.

“He wants my soul.” He probably shouldn’t have said that so bluntly, but they don’t have time to waste on sugar coating. “If Eddie… if the Flayer gets it, then that’s it. I can’t pass on, I’d stop existing, and Eddie would be gone too. I’m his last chance at getting out of the Flayer’s control, and if I’m gone…” he clenches his jaw.

“That explains the carving,” Jonathan says quietly. When Steve looks at him, he sighs and walks out of the room, ignoring Joyce’s gentle protests. He comes back and hands Steve Eddie’s open journal, where there’s a polaroid on the inside of the page attached with a paperclip. It’s of Steve’s back, and he feels a phantom sting like a knife as he stares at the sigil. He looks at the page in the journal. There’s no matching sigil drawn, but the few shown have writings beside them. ‘Marked for death’. It’s not even a spell; it’s a warning.

“It could mean something else, but the spirals connect in a pentagram, and the shape is broken.” Steve pushes the journal away but keeps the polaroid for himself. He frowns, recognizing the shape.

“Well, then that settles it.” Hopper regains the attention in the room but keeps his on Steve, “You’re not fighting.” 

Steve snaps his head towards the man, keeping the polaroid in his tight grip, “What?” He scoffs, “Fuck that, what do you mean I’m not fighting?”

“I mean I’m not risking your life. If the Flayer needs you, then you’re staying away. We’ll fight Henry and find a different way to get Eddie out.”

“I’m the way to get Eddie out! If I’m not there, we’re all doomed!” He snaps, slamming a hand on the table. He winces and looks down. His wrists are so small that the bone juts out, and it’s already turning red from a forming bruise.

“You’re skin and bones, Steve.” Steve looks back at the man. “How the hell do you think you’re going to fight monsters?” Hop crosses his arms, and Steve puts his hand behind his back, looking at the ground. Wayne walks towards him and forces him to lean back in his chair. Steve goes, slightly breathless. He ignores everyone’s worried stares.

“I can fight—”

“It’s not safe. We’re not losing you—I’m not losing you again.” Hopper leans against the table.

“Like you ever lost me in the first place,” Steve mutters quietly. He didn’t mean for the other man to hear him, wincing when Hopper’s eyes bug out of his head. 

“Excuse me?” The older man sits down, and everyone else scatters. They either stay in the kitchen or in the living room but provide an illusion that Hopper and Steve are having a private conversation. Wayne and Joyce stay at the table, sitting next to Steve and Hopper, respectively.

“You keep treating me like Sara.” Joyce grabs Hopper’s hand, a silent, caring warning to Steve in her gaze. “What? It’s true. It’s either now you’re acting like it because—cause I’m sick and weak. I know I am. I can’t control that, but then you acted like I’ve been gone for years. You act like you lived a lifetime without me, but, Hop, you thought I was dead for, what? A couple weeks? Everyone else spent months without me, and you think just because you thought I was dead for a bit, you get to guilt trip me for dying?”

“Steve, I think you should shut your mouth before you say something you regret,” Hopper advises, voice dangerously low.

“I think you should stop trying to parent me when I’m not your fucking son,” Steve snaps.  

“Maybe we need to calm down,” Wayne suggests, then carefully grabs Steve’s arm, “No one’s guilting you for dying, son.” 

“No, he’s just trying to guilt me into being a coward,” Steve says to Wayne then returns his attention back to Hopper, “You’re trying to make me feel bad for risking my life, but I don’t feel bad. I’m fighting whether you like it or not, and you can either help me or get the fuck out of my way.” He clenches his jaw, and the man across from him unclenches his.

“Are you done?” Steve doesn’t respond, “Good. I hope you got everything off your chest. It’s my turn now.” He folds his hands out in front of him, like this is some business meeting. It’s the closest Hopper has ever been to looking like Steve’s actual dad. “I’ll admit you remind me of Sara. I already told you this, especially now when you’re sick. It’s worrying, and it’s admittedly been hard taking care of you with the memories it brings up, but that’s my job. Whether you like it or not, it’s my job to care for you, and yeah, I lost you for a couple weeks. You weren’t even dead anymore by the time I found out you died, but that didn’t make the pain any less debilitating. I’ve lost one kid already; I know what it feels like to bury your child. I know what it's like to grieve someone who should’ve outlived me. I wore her hair tie on my wrist for years, and when the kids told me what happened to you, all I could think was that I didn’t have anything to remember you by. The shed was destroyed, the kids had all your stuff, and all I had was one or two photos. It wasn’t enough. Not for me and not for everyone, not when you matter so much to me.

“I know you’re not my son, and I’m not your dad, but I’m the closest thing you’ve got.” Steve feels his lip start to tremble, rage still bubbling in his veins even as Hopper begins to tear up, “I know your parents. I know they were never home. I know you would go to school with bruises, and I know you’d sleep in that big house all alone. Why do you think I invited you to babysit El in the first place?”

“W-what?” Steve’s anger disappears like mist.

Hopper laughs humorlessly, “A babysitter, Steve? Seriously?” He shakes his head, “El was wanted by the government, sure, but she knew to stay home. I know Max wasn’t the best role model, and I know El eventually snuck out, but she didn’t need a damn babysitter. She’s a superhero.” Steve glances at the girl, who is sitting next to a very offended looking Max in front of the television. “I didn’t ask you to come over because I needed you; I asked you to come over because I didn’t like the idea of you stuck in that empty house all day. I let you stay in the shed because I knew you would’ve never taken one of my rooms if I had offered. I know you’re not my son, but I’ll be damned if you’re not my kid.”

“Hop…”

“So, yeah, I’m gonna worry. I’m gonna fret, and I’m gonna be scared, and yeah, I’ll probably treat you like Sara. I’ll treat you like Sara, and like El, and like my kid because that’s what you are to me. That’s what you’ll always be to me.” 

Steve can’t look up, too worried he’ll break apart if he does. “You can’t stop me from fighting,” he tries.

“You can’t stop me from trying.” He finally looks back up, and Hopper’s stare is as hard as stone, even as tears drip down his cheeks. Steve doesn’t know what to say, so he looks back down. Joyce, sensing the conversation is at an end, claps her hands.

“How about I start making us some lunch, huh?” She smiles thinly and gets up.

“I’ll help,” Wayne volunteers, clearly just as urgent to escape the awkward silence. The two wander to the kitchen, where Will and Mike have busied themselves with the dishes. They all bring out stale bread, spam, and bologna. Steve watches them and feels something bubble up to the surface. 

“I’m dying, Hopper.” He hadn’t meant to say it so loudly, but it slipped out like boiling spilling overtop a pan. “It’s not just being sick or losing weight; I’m rotting from the inside out. There are many ways this could end, but the best shot—the only shot I have at surviving is Eddie. He’s been what’s keeping me alive, so it’s up to me to beat him.” He bites his tongue, as if his own words have finally caught up to him.

“What?” He flinches and looks over at Dustin, who’s sitting up over the couch to stare at him. “You’re dying?” 

“I…” he swallows, “Yes.” The cat’s already out of the bag; no use going back now. “Yes, but it’s not like before. Okay? I don’t… I don’t want to die this time around. I want to live, and I’m going to do everything in my power to live, but…” he looks back at Hopper, who has tears in his eyes, “If you don’t let me fight, then you’re just signing my death certificate.” 

“Fuck…” Dustin collapses back to the couch, “Fucking Harrington!” His middle finger peaks above the edge. It’s humorous coming from the kid, but the boy’s voice breaks painfully even as he curses the man out.

“Idiot…” Nancy adds quietly, sneering when Steve looks her way. Wayne is leaning against the counter, meanwhile, and he looks the calmest out of everyone in the room. Steve, finding comfort in that fact, keeps his attention on him. The man, in response, sighs. 

“Well, then you’re not gonna fight,” he starts, and before Steve can argue, Wayne raises his hand, “not without some training.” The man tilts his head. “You don’t know magic, you’re a twig, I’m betting you can’t shoot a gun, and we’ve only got four days to get you prepared. You need help.” 

Steve sits up, “You’re serious?” 

“As a sinner in confession.” The man crosses his arms, “I know nothing about death or ghosts or the afterlife, but I believe you. I’m not risking my son’s life, so I’m not risking yours either.” Steve feels his shoulders drop in relief. The man smiles before returning to his stern expression, “Nancy?” The girl, still mad with her arms crossed, looks at the man, “You and Hopper teach him how to shoot. You’ll do it in the basement so we don’t have to gamble with sigils—“

“Hey, we sleep down there!” Mike protests, dropping a plate back into the sink. Will splashes him with water in retaliation. 

“I’ll help with sigils.” Max raises her hand. “I’ve gotten really good at them. Get me some blood, and I’ll get him outside for proper target practice.” She tilts her head, and Wayne points at the girl.

“Mayfield, you’re my favorite.” The girl smiles proudly. 

“I thought I was your favorite!” Steve complains, and the man shakes his head.

“You’re my boy’s favorite; you’re family. You don’t count in the ranks.” He waves a dismissive hand, rolling his eyes when Steve beams. 

“Sap,” Dustin comments with a frown.

“Henderson, you’re my least favorite,” Max says with a thin smile. The boy sticks his tongue out at her. “Don’t be jealous because you’re not good at anything,” she smiles, and the boy flips her off.

“On that note,” Wayne claps his hands to stop an argument before it begins, “Eleven and I will help you with magic. Don’t act like you don’t got some; we all saw what you did with that spell book. There are ways to conserve your energy, so you don’t get sick and ways to use it for good.” He talks with his hands in a way similar to Eddie. “We’ll get you some actual medicine too. Something to help the symptoms even if the cause is, well, death.” He grimaces at the thought. 

“I’ll feed you as much as I can, but we can’t make you magically gain all that weight back in four days,” Joyce comments, putting her hands on her hips. There’s an assembly line behind her consisting of Mike and Will. 

“What about all the armor we found at the high school?” Erica asks, “It might be big on him, but Lucas can sew.” She points at her brother, who scoffs at her tone. 

“Hey, it’s a useful skill!” He defends. 

“It’s a nerd skill,” Erica corrects, “and as much as I love helping Steve do the bare minimum of not dying!” She squints Steve’s way, “We have four days until we fight the Upside Down, and in case you haven’t noticed, we have a lot more to do than training him.” 

“Erica’s right,” Steve finally speaks up, though he does so hesitantly, “I need help, but there’s more to be done. We still need to somehow get the military out of here, we need to figure out how to fight Vecna, we need to figure out how to subdue the Flayer after saving Eddie, and there’s still the demo-army. Dogs, bats, gorgons—we’ll be outnumbered 100 to, like…” he begins counting the party members in his head, “We’ll be outnumbered.” He coughs and shrugs when Erica blanches. 

He looks at Wayne, knowing the man’s been talking to the soldiers. The man merely sighs and shakes his head, “I’m not sure getting the military to leave is our best solution,” he admits. 

“They’re after El. If they hear she’s here, we lose our biggest defense.” Mike leans against the counter with a jar of mayonnaise in hand. He’s fidgeting with the twisting lid.   

“But if they’re gone, who defends the civilians?” Wayne asks. The kid opens then closes his mouth. “They took all the guns, and the cops of this town may have the right interests in mind, but we don’t exactly have the best arsenal… what with most of the arsenal being stolen.” He looks at Hopper then Nancy. 

“We needed guns,” Nancy says while Hopper mutters about it not being his idea.  

Wayne tilts his head. “Maybe it wasn’t your idea, but you still took part in it.” Hopper blanches but doesn’t argue. “I’m just saying we can’t get rid of the military entirely, not when they’re the only good defense most the townsfolk have.” He shrugs, “Might be good to have them on our side, I mean.”

“No way, we’re not telling them shit!” Dustin snaps. 

“I’m not saying we tell them anything; I’m saying we get them on our side. Somehow, we get them ready for the full moon. Everyone’s already either in the school or the hospital for shelters, so the military will have no choice but to protect them no matter what. We need to keep them from the main battle while still keeping them in the fight.” He grabs a finished sandwich from the slowly growing collection. Steve’s stomach growls. 

“We could mimic seismic activity.” To be completely honest, Steve hadn’t even realized Mr. Clarke had walked into the room. He was working on the radio show as he always does, especially recently with tensions rising and supplies getting low in town. “I’m willing to bet that’s what they’re looking for. If we can recreate the type of activity shown in Upside Down occurrences, then we could lure the military away from us. They’ll be set up somewhere else so by the time the real center of activity makes itself known; they’ll be completely distracted.” He grabs a sandwich with many words of gratitude. 

“And if real seismic activity makes itself known on the battlefield?” Nancy asks. 

The man shrugs, “Well, while I don’t necessarily condone violence–”

“You literally taught us how to make chemical bombs–”

“The Starcourt ruins still have everything the Russians made trapped beneath the rubble. If we make a large enough catalyst, we could… well…” 

“We’re not nuking Starcourt!” Hopper shouts. 

“It’s not nuking, it’s creating a large enough chemical spill to garner their attention further away from the battle, and it’s only a worst case scenario plan! I’m more than open to other suggestions.” He smiles, and Steve can’t help but wonder if the man has possibly been spending too much time with sci-fi obsessed children. 

“Seriously, why couldn’t you have waited to be my teacher to quit!?” Erica complains, “You’re so much cooler than Mrs. Crabapple!” The girl dramatically collapses to the couch, and Steve determines that she’s definitely been spending too much time around sci-fi obsessed children. Or nerds, as she puts it.

“Sorry to interrupt, but how exactly are we supposed to recreate seismic activity?” Nancy gets the conversation back on topic. 

“Uh, well…” The man tugs at his collar and holds up a finger. He rushes to the basement and comes back with a map of Hawkins and a blue marker. “Eddie’s, uh, visions displayed our final battle to be in town center. As we know, this was the center of the large X of opened gates, correct?” He marks the areas with the marker and pins the map with his lunch plate.

“Yeah, they connected all the different victims.” Steve leans forward, sighing in relief when Joyce sets down an extra packed bologna sandwich in front of him. She lingers at his side to follow along with Mr. Clarke. 

“Well, with the final battle in the center, we want to keep them as far away as possible. With the magnitude of Upside Down activity, we’ll require open space. Open fields, abandoned buildings, tunnels–anywhere we can dig into the ground and build, uh…” he glances at Hoppers with a wince.

“Bombs?” The man sounds so dreadful that he may as well be at a funeral. 

“Deep enough to not disrupt the surface but still strong enough to trigger any recording devices they have. I recommend four locations in total–keep them spread out.” He marks a diameter around the map and makes four stars. 

“What if we put them near the victim sites?” Steve suggests after Clarke marks the old quarry, “I mean, it might be too close to the battle, but the mega-gate will likely open again. If monsters come out of the four points of the X, then the military will be further distracted fighting them.” He pauses and laughs, “No more need for a chemical bomb, right?” 

“Then the seismic activity also wouldn’t look out of place. If it’s close to the victim sites, then seismic activity is probably expected!” Dustin laughs, appearing at the table to point to the sites marked with red exes. Mr. Clarke smiles at him with a nod. 

“The sites are surrounded,” Jonathan chimes in, “Argyle and I saw soldiers around Benny’s; they have entire labs set up to guard them. It’d be impossible to get to them without getting shot.” 

“Not if you go from underneath the labs,” Argyle points out with an easy smile. Jonathan blanches, while Dustin waves his hands. 

“That’s it!” He shouts so loudly that Steve flinches. Dustin continues without so much as blinking. “What if instead of infiltrating all sites, we infiltrate only one?” 

“We need four–”

“I know that!” The kid hits Steve’s shoulder, and he raises his hands in surrender before taking another large bite of his lunch. “I’m not saying we hit one and ignore the other four. I’m saying we go inside one, then…” he trails off. 

“No fucking way, Dustin,” Nancy says, always the one to connect the dots before everyone else. 

“Come on!” Dustin groans. 

“I’m so confused,” Steve expresses. 

The younger girl looks at him then huffs, “Dustin wants us to go into the Upside Down.” He scoffs. 

“No way,” he waves his hand, “no fucking way, are you insane, Henderson?!” 

“Think about it! We’ll infiltrate one site, go into the Upside Down, set off a bunch of mini explosives near the gates, then sneak back to Hawkins. Easy!” He smiles, and Steve drops his sandwich to rub his temples. 

“I don’t even know where to start in explaining why that idea is horrible.” 

“Allow me,” Nancy offers, pressing a hand to her heart in false sincerity, “Well, let’s see, there’s a possessed psychic after us,” she counts on her fingers, “tons of demobats, dogs, and gorgons after us, we’d have to traverse the Upside Down with explosives without accidentally blowing ourselves up or giving our position away, and how the hell are we supposed to sneak back to Hawkins without alerting all the soldiers or, again, blowing ourselves up?!” 

“We could always open another portal,” Will suggests hesitantly, careful to not be on the receiving end of Nancy’s lecture. 

“What?” 

“Another portal. Eleven could open one inside the radio station.” He’s holding his own sandwich. 

“Can’t do it inside. It’d expose us; it’d have to be outside our sigil lines,” Wayne points out. 

“Then we do it outside,” Will says through a mouthful of bread, 

“While I’m not too experienced with the Upside Down, there’s another issue with this plan, kiddos,” Mr. Clarke says, “We’re working with explosives–homemade explosives, mind you. Now, with long distance explosives, we use fuses, like with dynamite. If we wanted to get out of the Upside Down before the detonations, we’d need…” he glances at the map, “well, miles of fuse lines. We don’t have that much.” 

“Could we make more?” Mike asks. 

“With our time crunch and our lack of supplies, not enough.” 

“So, we’d need four people to be in the Upside down to detonate the explosives on their own,” Dustin says before cursing. “I don’t suppose you could make four gates?” Eleven shakes her head before the kid even finishes asking.

“One is fine, but if I open more, I’d be using too much of my energy. I need to save it for One,” she answers, frowning at her bologna sandwich, “What is this meat?” 

“Steve got here without a portal,” Jonathan points out, ignoring Eleven’s question, and Steve looks at the man, “You did, right? I mean, we didn’t see any signs of a gate where we found you.”

“I think considering Steve was half dead, he probably doesn’t remember,” Max points out. 

“Do you remember?” Lucas asks. He looks at the kid and frowns. 

“I remember…” he huffs, “I heard Eddie say something, but I couldn’t understand it, and the next thing I knew I was here.” He tilts his head, eyes widening, “Wait, that’s right! That’s right, Eddie made a spell! I mean, he made a sigil that sent stuff here, but he must’ve turned it into an incantation.” He mentally curses when Dustin gasps, a wide smile on his face. He shouldn’t have said anything.

“The demodog corpse!” The kid turns to Argyle, “The corpse; it had a sigil carved into its chest!” 

“The what?” Argyle tilts his head. Jonathan rubs a hand over his face then leans over to whisper in the other man’s ear, “Oh, the demo-roni! Yeah, I still got that thing. I mean, it’s cut up a bit, but I think the chest should still be intact.” He nods easily. 

“Great, now all we need is at least four volunteers to risk their lives and possibly get stuck in the Upside Down since, oh yeah, no one has powers! It took ten sigils just to block me from Eddie, so, let’s organize our thoughts. We have to use sigils to hide from Eddie, use explosives, survive demos, and then use more sigils to escape the Upside Down. It’s suicide!” Steve throws his hands up. 

“Unless you wait it out,” Murray drawls. Steve’s head snaps towards the man, “Try the sigils, and if they don’t work, you wait. The mega-gate is going to open anyway. Just make sure you go with weapons.” He shrugs. “Besides, wouldn’t it help to have players in the Upside Down? Fight whatever’s threatening to come to this side?” 

“You’re can’t actually be entertaining this idea, Murray.” Nancy adds a scoff at the end of her statement. The man shrugs. 

“Oh, I think this entire plan is stupid, but I can’t say I am not entertained.” He raises his mug, and Nancy rolls her eyes. With a sneer, she opens her mouth. Then, she stops and tilts her head 

“Wait a minute,” the girl pauses to bite her lip, “that’s… that’s not an entirely bad idea.” 

“What?!” Steve snaps. 

“If we’re in the Upside Down when the gates open. I mean, it’s all a hivemind, what if we torch the place? We destroy the Upside Down, we destroy the hivemind, and Henry and the Flayer are weakened.” She motions towards Hopper, “That’s what they did in Russia.” 

“Can we backtrack so I can figure out how we got from distracting the government to nuking the Upside Down?” Lucas asks. 

“I lost track forever ago,” Max admits. 

“We can use gasoline,” Hopper plots, “Use those chemical bombs, gasoline, steal some grenades. We destroy the place…” he tilts his head, “It could work.” 

“We’re all gonna die,” Steve mutters into his hands, wondering when and how he ended up in The Twilight Zone. 

“You have a better idea?” Dustin asks. 

“Not commit war crimes against our own town?” 

“War crimes against the Upside Down, actually.” The kid smiles, and Steve wonders if it’s too late to try suicide. “Steve, it’s our best shot. If Vecna and Eddie are coming here, then we need to attack their home base.”

“And when hoards of monsters get signaled by the explosives? When they come after you?” 

“Then we lead them to the soldiers,” Nancy suggests, “They have guns, explosives, and we know where they’ll be.” She snaps her fingers with a smile, “In fact, if we focus all the explosives near the victim sites, we weaken the Upside Down, distract the soldiers, and we keep the demos away from the fight. It’s risky as hell, but it’d cover all our bases.” She stares into Steve’s very soul, and he wants to keep rejecting the plan. In fact, he wants to grab each person by the shoulders to try and shake some sense into them, but Eddie’s visions never mention an army. Just Vecna and the Flayer against the party. If the demos aren’t supposed to be there… 

“Think the Warzone is still open?” He asks in place of admitting defeat, and Dustin is the first to smile. The kid cheers, “Hey, don’t get your hopes too high. You’re crazy if you think I’m letting you be in the Upside Down team.” 

“I’ll go to the Upside Down,” Nancy immediately volunteers.

“Like hell you will!” Mike snaps, “You almost killed Vecna last time; we need you on this side!” 

Nancy shakes her head, “If I see Henry, I won’t hesitate, and that’s not good for the fight. I need to be able to control myself, and if that means burning down the Upside Down, so be it. Besides, I’m better with a Molotov than I am with magic.” Mike makes a face that the girl challenges with a glare.

“I’ll go too,” Hopper raises a hand, “It’ll be me, Nancy, Murray, Scott, Wayne, and whoever else wants to join us.” Dustin opens his mouth. “Whoever is a legal adult and wants to join us.” The man corrects himself. Dustin deflates with a pout. 

“I’ll go,” Jonathan volunteers. 

“Jonathan,” Joyce warns.

“Trust me, mom. You’ll stay here and keep an eye on Will. The Flayer may be possessing Eddie, but Will can still sense him. He’s our beacon, and you can help him better than I can.” He hesitates, “Just make sure he stays far away from the Flayer.” 

“Hell, if Jon’s going then I am too. Surfer boys forever, right?” Argyle raises a hand, and Jonathan huffs a laugh before slapping it with his own. Joyce seems to look even more nervous than before. 

“So that’s it?” Steve asks, “That’s our plan?” 

“Well,” Wayne tilts his head, “they’re parts of a plan. We still got a lot to figure out, but we know how to divide and conquer.” He puts his hands on his hips, “What else do you expect from a ragtag group of outcasts and undeads, huh?” 

Steve attempts a smile, but all he can think of is Eddie and the final battle. He shifts where he sits and hisses at the pain in his back from the carving. The polaroid is still sitting right in front of him, and he eyes it with a frown. A warning, huh? Why would the Flayer even give Steve a warning when he already threatened him?

Before he can think too much on it, Wayne stands above Steve with Eddie’s journal in hand. The man smiles, and Steve exhales harshly through his nose. Looks like lunchtime is over.

“You ready, Steve?”

Steve still hates this plan, but what choice does he have? “As I’ll ever be,” he answers with a huff.

“That a boy!” Wayne claps a hand on his shoulder.

Some kids Steve’s age go to college. Steve has to go to fucking magic school. 

Chapter Text

April 21^st, 1986 (Monday)

As it turns out, “magic school”, just like all other schools, is incredibly boring. Since Steve can’t use too much energy outside of drawing strength sigils and healing sigils on his arm every five seconds, most of his lessons have been lectures. With Eddie’s book and those occult library books open in a large circle around him, as he sits on the floor atop a throw pillow. Wayne is drawing on a blackboard, clearly not experienced with teaching magic or using magic but seemingly comfortable with simply using whatever Eddie has said in his undoubtedly countless rants to the man to teach Steve. Most of it is just regurgitating what the books say then asking Steve for a demonstration. So far, he's made a paper slide across the floor, astral projected to the other side of the room, then made and chugged a potion that was meant to give him energy but ended up making his left arm go numb.

The full hour spent convinced he was having a stroke was probably the worst part about this experience.

Even then, the potion experiment had to be done. The biggest and most important ability, as both Wayne and Steve have agreed on, is somehow gaining more energy beyond sigils, sleeping, and eating. Those aren’t enough.

Steve knows they aren’t enough. After his first magic lesson yesterday, he threw up. A black, moving pile of vomit in the pristine toilet. Okay, the toilet was never really pristine, but the vitriol he spit up almost made him puke once more. It makes him nauseous just thinking about it.

“And you can’t talk to spirits, obviously,” the old man continues, “but I reckon you can try to contact your own spirit guides.” He uses a stick he found in the woods to point at his chalkboard, which is barely legible with Wayne’s chicken scratch handwriting. Now Steve knows where Eddie gets it from.

Wayne shows a sigil that is meant to aid Steve in connecting with his spirit guides, and it looks like all the other scribbles. He has yet to find what the one carved into his back is. Everyone is insisting it means death, and even Steve can admit it has some similarities to death omens in a few of his books and Eddie’s notebook. It just… it feels wrong. Something in his gut tells him it’s not some kind of death omen or threat. Hell, even a warning feels farfetched.

The Flayer scratched him to disrupt the blocking sigil and, obviously, to hurt him. Why would it draw a sigil? Why not hurt Steve without a sigil or by using a specified pain spell. If it’s an omen, why even bother verbally threatening him?

“How does Eddie even make all these sigils?” While Eddie touches upon making them in his book, there aren’t any written instructions. “Like, is there a technique?”

Wayne stops pointing at the board, “Heck if I know, kid.” He motions to the many drawings of different sigils they already have, “The only things I know about sigils comes from that book. Well, that and Eddie’s ramblings. He never really talked about sigils outside of telling me which ones were hidden in his tattoos.”

“So, nothing? Not even with your mom?”

“She didn’t like sigils or tattoos. She said the only symbol she needed was the cross. Besides, she always hid her powers from me and my brother.” He frowns, “Though, I reckon you could try to find some information in his other stuff. If he memorized how to make sigils, then he’s got to have it written down somewhere.”

“What other stuff?” This morning, Wayne went back to the trailer to get more of Eddie’s books. Steve already expected and dreaded the answer.

“His books. He’s got doodles and notes in a lot of them.” Steve gives the man a withering stare, “You asked, kid. Trust me, I wish we had more information, but beggars can’t be choosers.”

“I know.” Steve runs his hand through his hair, “Is it alright if we stop for the day?” They don’t have time to not keep working; the full moon is only three days away. That being said, Steve needs to figure out the mark on his back. If not for his own peace of mind, then to get some insight on the Flayer’s goal. Well, its goal besides killing everyone and taking over the world.

Wayne smiles and nudges the box of Eddie’s books. Steve’s not going to look through all of them. Not only does he not have the physical energy, but he feels like that’s a one way ticket to a migraine. Instead, he picks up the ones he figures Eddie uses the most, like his dnd books and school binders.

There’s no use in listing out all the boring details of Eddie’s unique mind. There are doodles of strange creatures, random lyrics scribbled into margins, and written complaints of boring class lectures. All that Steve really gains in his first hour of reading is knowledge of Eddie’s personality. Knowledge which he already had: Eddie hates school; Eddie hates classes; Eddie cannot keep a single train of thought for longer than five minutes.

“Hey, Murray made pasta for dinner.” He looks up at Dustin, who stands at the top of the basement’s staircase. The kid is covered with paint and, for some reason, ash.

“Do I even want to know?” Steve looks the boy up and down.

“We were testing out explosions and trying to use sigils to make them more powerful.”

“So, I actually didn’t want to know.” Dustin rolls his eyes and holds out a hand when Steve reaches the top of the staircase. The smell of garlic permeates the air, and Steve has half a mind to ask where the fuck they found garlic when he’s forced into a chair. A large plate of spaghetti is set in front of him. “You guys do realize that being starved means having less stomach capacity. You do understand that, right?” His stomach already hurts from staring at the massive portion.

“Eat, you used powers,” Hopper, sounding as exhausted as everyone else, points his fork at the younger man. “Someone will have your leftovers.” He mutters something incoherent, “Got more guns, by the way. Powell snuck them over. I think we should start your shooting lessons tomorrow. Nothing too strong, though; don’t want you getting blast away by something you can’t hand.”

“Thanks…” Steve blanches then turns to his meal, grimacing to himself. The spaghetti looks fine, but the sauce looks like blood. “I can take a gun, but do I really need to practice? I really want to figure out what the sigil on my back means.” Hopper raises a brow but doesn’t have the chance to speak before someone else beats him to it.

“Death, right?” Jonathan, who’s sitting across from Steve, asks through a mouthful of buttered toast that he supposes is meant to be garlic bread. They must’ve run out while making the pasta.

“I don’t think so.” He shakes his head, “I mean, it would make sense given the threats, but I just don’t think it makes sense in the context of the attack as a whole. It’s weird for the Flayer to give me a death omen when he already made it perfectly clear they want me dead. Even if it may be similar, it doesn’t completely match any of the sigils in Eddie’s journal or any of the death omens in those mythology books from the library. It’s different.” He frowns, sighing through his nose.

“Well, did you find anything in Eddie’s other books?” Wayne’s leaning against the kitchen counter over sitting in an actual chair. Steve shakes his head. “Well, then I reckon you should go ahead with the gun training. That sigil, whatever it means, isn’t going to help us prepare. Sometimes, we gotta let things go. Hell, if you’re so desperate to know, you can wait. You can ask Eddie once we’re on the other side of all this shit, right?”

He wants to disagree, but he realizes quickly that this is probably an argument he can’t win. “Right.” He stabs at his pasta before twirling, eyeing the sauce once more as a bite sits on his fork. “Hey, uh, Murray?” The man turns away from making a plate for Nancy to look at Steve, “Where’d you get this stuff anyway?”

“You don’t want to know.” Murray looks up with blood shot eyes; they ran out of vodka. Steve frowns and looks down at the dish, taking a bite despite the silent warnings.

It’s ketchup. The spaghetti sauce is ketchup with a shit ton of garlic and what tastes like apple juice and olives mixed in. Steve swallows with a full bodied shudder, and Murray smiles in an ‘I told you so’ way. Nancy stares at her own plate and sets it down, announcing she’ll just eat the toast.

*

After finishing a meal that would make Steve’s ancestors from Italy throw pots and pans at his head, he heads back down to the basement to continue his mission of searching through Eddie’s books. He’s on to the man’s math notebook, which has so many boredom-induced scribbles and doodles that it’s barely legible. He’s about to toss it back into a pile when he turns the page to see ‘sigil’ written among the scribbles.

‘I am not bored’ is written, and below it is a circle made up of the alphabet. Steve grabs Eddie’s notebook and a pencil, copying the circle and the single sentence. Eddie has unfortunately nothing else written on the paper, so Steve has to stare at the wheel and sentence with furrowed brows. “What the fuck?” He asks himself.

He grabs Eddie’s spell book and flips to a sigil. There’s a sigil for the morning, and Steve puts the spell book page and what he’s written down side-by-side. He rewrites the sigil on his page then, in an ‘aha!’ moment, draws it inside the circle of letters.

“It connects…” he mutters to himself, as the sigil goes to each letter in every turn or edge of a line. “Wake up.” He reads in the sigil lined up with the letters. “Holy shit!” With a laugh, he gets up from his seat and sprints upstairs. Dustin nearly drops a stack of empty water bottles when he passes.

“Watch it!”

“I figured it out!” Steve calls over his shoulder, running into his room to grab the polaroid he keeps on his bedside table. Last night, he found himself staring at it until Hopper shined a flashlight into his room to tell him to go to sleep. Now, he carries the thing back downstairs, actually running into Lucas on his way down. “Sorry!”

He collapses back to the floor and immediately rewrites the circle of letters. He has to use up a full page, as the sigil on his back is much bigger than the one in the notebook. He connects the dots, writing down each letter as it gets added to the sequence. At first, he feels like Sherlock Holmes, but the more he writes down, the more his joy and pride diminishes.

“S, N, V, R, Y, A, E. E, A, Y, R, V, N… what the fuck?!” It’s gibberish. None of it makes any sense. Steve quickly redraws another circle of letters and tries a sigil from Eddie’s book, wondering where he might have gone wrong.

‘I, A, V, T, K, N, O, W, L, D, G.” Steve frowns. It’s supposed to be a studying sigil, apparently. “I av, t know…” Knowledge? “I av to knowledge? I have the knowledge?” He rereads the sentence, and a lightbulb does go off in his head, but it’s dim and hopeless. Every other letter is missing. No, the repeating letters are missing. That’s how sigils are made, connecting the none repeating letters.

Which means the sigil on Steve’s back is nothing but gibberish unless he can determine the repeating letters. Which means that he’s done all this for nothing. “Shit…” he sighs, checking the watch on his wrist. Nancy offered to give back his old one that she wears, but Hopper just gave him his old one. Apparently, there was a giant warehouse in Russia that had a crate full of watches, so the man got an upgrade.

“What did you figure out?” Eleven asks, as he passes her on the couch on his way to his bedroom. They’re all watching Day of the Dead. Only these kids would willingly watch a zombie movie around their undead friend. Not that he’s offended; he just doesn’t like zombie movies that much—most horror movies, actually.

“That sigils are impossible to decipher, and Eddie draws them like a kindergartener with a broken hand.” He tosses the spell book with his scribblings bookmarking a sigil page. “I’m gonna go to bed and learn how to use a gun in the morning. Don’t blow anything up while I’m gone.” He pointedly looks at Dustin.

“They weren’t big ones! They were practically firecrackers! Even weaker than that!” Steve blanches at the kid then continues the rest of the way down the hall. He passes by the bedroom a few of the adults share together, and he sees Hopper sitting on the bed with a revolver in his hand. He’s cleaning the thing.

“Sigil was a bust; I’m training with you tomorrow.” The older man looks up from his weapon at Steve, and he frowns.

“Couldn’t find it in Eddie’s notebooks?” He sets the gun aside then pats the space on the bed next to him. Steve goes without complaint and sits on the mattress.

“I found a way to make sigils, but it’s impossible to use it to decipher sigils already made. It’s like solving an acronym but most of the letters are missing, and you don’t speak English, and you don’t even know what an acronym is!” He throws his hands up with a huff, wincing when it pulls on some of his deeper scabs. “And Wayne’s right, I should cut my losses, but I keep having this gut feeling that the sigil is telling me more! Like…” he sighs, “I sound crazy. I don’t know.”

“You’re not crazy, and you do know,” Hopper corrects him, “Why don’t you tell me? There’s nothing you could say that I’d judge you for.” Steve bites the inside of his cheek and looks down at his hands. He’s been picking at the skin around his nails—a nervous habit from when he was younger. He picks at them some more, ripping up dry skin until it hurts. Hopper grabs his wrist, “Steve?”

“I feel like it’s not a threat from the Flayer or Vecna but a message from Eddie.” It feels odd admitting it out loud. “The Flayer wanted to hurt me sure, and the sigil frankly looks mostly like random scratches, but I know it’s saying something. I don’t know if it’s Eddie trying to protect me, and I don’t know how he could even manage controlling his body enough to draw a full sigil. Hell, I don’t know how he could make the sigil when he’s supposed to be locked away, but it has to mean something. I know it does.”

“Will had some control when he was possessed.” Steve flinches and looks to the doorway, where Joyce is leaning against the wooden frame with her arms crossed. “When the Flayer had gotten to him, he managed to send us a message by tapping on his chair in morse code. It was only SOS, but he was still able to break the Flayer’s control, if only for a bit. Will’s strong, but he doesn’t have powers like Eddie. Your boy probably could break out if he wanted to, even if for a few minutes and for something small like sending a message. If you truly believe that sigil is from Eddie, then it probably is.”

“But I still can’t understand it.” Joyce enters the room and sets behind the two men on the bed.

“Can I look?” She asks. Steve takes off his shirt, covering his front with crossed arms. His fingers automatically find the places between his ribs. If his mother were here, she’d be ecstatic he was “finally skinny”, but he just misses not feeling so weak and cold all the time.

He jumps when Joyce’s gentle fingers traces the edge of a scab. Her hands are cold, and she mutters an apology before speaking in a clearer tone, “What made everyone assume death?”

“There’s a pentagram shape, but the overall drawing is broken up. A lot of death sigils look like that. Broken up, I mean. Pentagram means safety, so if one is broken apart—”

“It means danger,” Joyce collects. “But this isn’t a pentagram.”

“Yeah it is.”

“It connects like one, yes, but it’s not a pentagram. These lines here,” he shivers when she traces the cuts, “they connect in a figure eight, and this line here trails off a bit, so it looks like one point, but it’s two small points. It’s a hexagram, not a pentagram.”

“What?!” Steve grabs the polaroid of his back and squints, holding the picture up to the end of his nose. Sure enough, there’s a small point that crosses like a figure eight, making two pointed peaks instead of one. It’s barely visible in the photo but clear as day once you know it’s there. “How did I not see that?” Not that it would help with his gibberish interpretation, but it’s still a big deal. “So, it’s not a broken pentagram?”

“Not that I can tell. In fact, it looks like multiple sigils overlapping. It would explain why there are so many disrupted or broken segments. It’s not one sigil breaking but multiple being made and finished.” Steve looks over his shoulder at the woman, who smiles.

“Like using multiple sigils for that, uh, notebook potion thing,” Hopper points out.

“Exactly, so this is multiple sigils. I mean, I doubt it would help you decipher it by the sound of things, but that means it doesn’t mean death. In fact, with an infinity sign and this circle shape here—”

“Why are your hands so cold?!” He arches his back away when she circles over his spine.

“I’d argue it means infinity. Long lasting, not dying.” Steve frowns, but it quickly changes into a smile. He huffs a soft laugh.

“It’s not a warning. It’s not a message, it’s a spell,” he mutters, “Eddie did a spell.”

“What do you mean?”

“Longevity. Eddie must know I’m losing energy, so he gave me this sigil to keep up my strength. To make me last longer or at least until the battle. He’s doing this to help me!” He looks between the two older adults, and Hopper shakes his head.

“About damn time that kid uses his powers to help us.” Steve blanches, “You know what I mean, son. I’m joking, but this is good. This means you’ve got a better shot in using those, uh, powers and spells of yours.” He huffs a laugh, “God, never thought I’d say something like that in my life.”

“Zombies, witches, and ghosts, Hopper.” Steve pats the man on the back before standing, throwing his shirt on before he shivers himself to death, “In Hawkins, that’s as normal as it gets.” The man rolls his eyes but quickly stands to hug the younger kid goodnight. Joyce escorts him to his room, giving him an extra blanket for his shivering.

“I know I’m not much of a parental figure to you like Hop, but I still care about you, Steve. Longevity sigil or not, be safe, okay? We don’t know what it means for sure, and I don’t want you throwing yourself into danger. I don’t need to lose you a second time, got that?” She speaks in the loving yet stern tone all mothers seem to know how to use. Steve nods. She smiles and messes with his hair, “Goodnight, Steve.” She stands, but before she can leave, Steve speaks up. He doesn’t know why he does—maybe just a habit from being a ghost. Unfinished businesses and closure, or maybe he just doesn’t want the woman to leave him just yet.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” She turns back to him, head tilted to the side, “At my funeral, I mean. You didn’t say anything.”

The first thing Joyce does is look to the ground. When she looks back up, her eyes are wet. “I couldn’t…” she shrugs, “It’s a poor excuse, I know, but I just…” She hesitantly re-enters the room, sitting at Steve’s feet. “At Will’s funeral, I was heartbroken. Of course, I was. I knew in my heart he was still alive, but it was still my boy in a casket. It was still his name on a gravestone. I didn’t say anything then. I couldn’t.”

“Why?”

She smiles, “Being a mother means a lot of things, Steve. It means sacrificing yourself. It means being selfless and putting your kids first. It means doing everything in your power to make them the best version of themselves, and it means supporting them through each of their dreams.” Her smile drops, and she starts picking at the skin around her nails, “All that stuff comes naturally. You just love your kid so much that it becomes second nature to care for them, but being a mother also means something else. It means you have signed up for something to last for the rest of your life. Becoming a parent, no matter what, comes with an expectation that you will get to see your child grow and flourish but never see them grow old. A kid is supposed to watch the parent grow old. A kid is supposed to eventually lose their mother; it’s the way life goes.

“With the way life goes, a mother isn’t supposed to lose her child. No, her child is supposed to be with her for the rest of her life. It’s supposed to be life’s greatest lesson to lose their parent, but with it comes the form of love we cling to the hardest. With it comes grief—a beautifully tragic emotion. When you died, I felt grief I hadn’t felt since I saw Will in a casket. Even if I knew it wasn’t him, there was still that pain. At your funeral, that pain came back. Only, I couldn’t hide behind denial. I knew Will was alive, but you… you died, Steve. I’d lost you and Hopper in the same 24 hours, and it was like the entire world went quiet My mind did too.”

“Did you talk at Hopper’s funeral?” Steve asks. He wasn’t there, having been too busy tethered to his own corpse in a funeral home’s morgue.

She shakes her head, “I’d just realized I loved Hop only to lose him.” There’s a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, “There wasn’t anything I could’ve said that could’ve made that better—that could’ve soothed the pain I felt. It was the same at your funeral. Son or not, I was burying a kid that I cared for, and it felt like I failed. I’m supposed to die before you, but I failed. There wasn’t anything to say but an apology but saying sorry isn’t for funerals. Not in front of the kids who were so much closer to you and deserved closure much more than I did.”

“You didn’t fail me, Joyce.”

“It’s part of being a mom, kid.” She stands and pats the covers over his leg, “No matter how good we do, it isn’t enough. You died; how the hell am I supposed to feel like a winner after that? Why else would I run away? If not to leave the place where my heart hurt the most.” Steve wishes he never asked now. A seed of guilt heavy in his gut. Before it can take root, he swallows.

“You’re a great mom, Joyce.”

“You’re a good son, Steve.” He’s not her son. He considers himself Hopper’s son because the man doesn’t have one. Joyce has two sons; she doesn’t need anymore, but in that moment, he truly feels like her kid. It’s the closest he’s felt to experiencing motherly love in a long time. Maybe in forever. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Joyce.”

He doesn’t fall asleep for a few more hours, too busy staring at the window and ignoring the itch in his back.

For a moment, he wonders if her own pain really is what Joyce was running from or if she did it for the sake of her children. To save El from grief of losing her father, even if the man was loved by Joyce too. He wonders if she looked mournfully in the rearview mirror or never looked back, and he wonders what else she left behind, if not only pain, rotting corpses, grief, and bad memories.

He wonders if leaving is equal to the freedom of death. If all it takes to reach freedom is to leave town. Not that Joyce got freedom, not with the Upside Down rearing its ugly head and the Russians having Hopper, but how does it feel to escape? To leave a town you were rooted in for so long.

When Steve imagines it, he feels wind in his hair and a hot sun against his skin. He hears Eddie singing along to the radio and the soft rumble of a Winnebago. The open road with nothing to tie him down but gravity and his seatbelt. He’d be free. He would escape.

It’s the phantom feeling of the sun which lets him drift off to sleep, swearing he can still hear Eddie’s faint singing in the back of his mind. He dreams of the road and the smell of the sea and hopes he makes it long enough to find the freedom he hopes for.

April 22^nd, 1986 (Tuesday)

The next morning, Steve throws up. Unfortunately, it isn’t in his toilet, where he can flush it away and act like nothing’s wrong. Instead, he takes a single bite of stale cereal and almost immediately finds himself hunched over the kitchen sink, having unfortunately spilled some black bile to the floor on his way.

“Gross, we’re eating!” Mike complains, earning a punch from his sister, as she rushes to Steve’s side.

“He can’t help it, asshole,” she scolds the boy then rubs Steve’s back. According to Hopper, she’s supposed to help him learn to shoot today. Though, Steve imagines using a gun while puking your guts up isn’t the best strategy in a fight. “Are you okay?” The girl asks, while Mr. Clarke forces a water bottle into his hand. He drinks it without complaint but a heavy groan from the burning sensation in his throat. He coughs and spits one more time before forcing a nod.

“I’m fine.” His voice sounds like he gargled with sandpaper in place of mouthwash. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing.” Wayne approaches the sink, looking into the chasm with a grimace. “No teeth, but there’s blood.” He grabs a paper towel and dips one corner into the mess. There are several sounds of disgusted protest, but when he shows the towel to the room, there’s a deep red mixed in with the black bile. Like something that’s been tie dyed. Steve looks at it and feels nauseous all over again. “Have you been using your energy, Steve?”

He shakes his head, ignoring the fact that the motion gives him vertigo. “I haven’t, I swear. All I did was sleep.” He’s telling the truth but feels exhausted just saying it. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Maybe we were wrong about the longevity sigil,” Joyce comments to Hopper, gaining the others’ attention.

“Longevity sigil?” Nancy asks.

“The sigil drawn on his back. It’s not a pentagram, it has six points, so Hopper and I believe that it’s not a disrupted pentagram to signal death but multiple layered sigils to mean a lot of things. With the circle and the infinity sign mixed in there, I figured it could mean infinity,” the older woman responds, looking worriedly at Steve.

“I thought maybe it meant Eddie was helping me, breaking through control to put a sigil like how Will used morse code.” Steve takes another large gulp of water, “I guess I was wrong. I feel like shit.”

“You said you felt like it wasn’t a warning, threat, or omen, right?” He looks at Max when she asks the question and nods. “It could still be a sigil from Eddie, but maybe it doesn’t necessarily mean protecting you from losing your power. You’re sick no matter what, and the only way to change that is to gain energy. Unless Eddie directly gives you energy, you’ll stay sick. So, maybe the sigil means something else, but if it does mean longevity, then it doesn’t necessarily mean you’re making your power last longer.”

“What else could it mean?” Will asks.

Max shrugs, but Wayne speaks up, “Maybe it means not dying.” He looks at Steve, “Better sick than dead.”

“I’d beg to differ,” Steve mutters, hissing when Nancy smacks his head, “Hey!”

“Yeah, yeah, make another joke about you dying, and the next thing to hit your head will be a brick.” She turns on the sink and grabs a handful of paper towels. “Go drink water and eat some crackers.”

He does as he’s told, sitting next to Mike, who grimaces but slides over his glass of water. “You smell like nickels and old meat.”

“Thanks, Wheeler. Always love our talks.” Steve doesn’t look at the kid, staring forward as he drinks his water. “When are we shooting?” He asks Hopper, who looks at him like he’s grown three heads.

“Steve, you just threw up. We’re not shooting.”

“The full moon is in two days, Hopper. I need to get ready.” Steve has half a mind to punch the table. “I need to do this alone, remember? That means I need to be prepared in case something goes wrong.”

“Nothing will go wrong,” Nancy interrupts Hopper’s response, “Because I’m gonna be there with you.”

“What part about doing this alone do you not understand?” Steve doesn’t mean to sound so rude, but he’s tired of constantly having to defend himself. Sure, they all have a right to be worried, but if anything goes wrong—if he doesn’t follow Eddie’s plan down to the smallest detail—who knows what would happen?

“I’ll leave you alone, Steve,” the girl swears, “but I’m not leaving you to fend for yourself. I’ll be there with my shotgun to keep watch and make sure you’re safe. I won’t interfere with your magic or spells, but you need protection in case Henry sends something else besides the Flayer your way. What if there’s a dog or some bats? You can’t risk using any more power than absolutely necessary.” He doesn’t like this one bit, but she’s right. Eddie’s instructions didn’t say anything about demos, but it’s a risk as great as every other.

“You can’t shoot Eddie,” Steve insists, “No matter what happens, you can’t shoot Eddie.”

Nancy’s jaw clenches, “I won’t.”

“I’m serious, Nance. He’s the most vital step in this entire process, interfering with him or me in anyway could be detrimental.”

“I got it, Steve!” She crosses her arms, “I’m not an idiot.”

“I’ll go to the Upside Down in her place,” Lucas volunteers. Hopper is already shaking his head by the time the kid speaks up again, “I can shoot a gun, and I’m the fastest runner here.”

“You’re also still a kid,” Joyce reminds him, “I’ll go.”

“Who’s gonna watch Will?” The boy asks.

“I can,” Mike volunteers, “I’ll make sure nothing happens to him. I promise.” Lucas clenches his jaw, and Max nudges his arm.

“We’re fighting on the upside, remember? Who else is gonna defend El?” She smiles, knowing he’d go insane if he feels even an ounce of uselessness. Steve can relate, and he wonders if he accidentally rubbed off on the kid. He does remind him a lot of himself, always trying to measure up to some impossible standards but doing so with a smile.

“Will, Erica, and Mike will stay at the station, while Eleven, Lucas, Dustin, and Max go somewhere closer to the center of the megagate when it eventually reforms.” They’ve talked about this plans a billion times, so Steve lets himself zone out, as Nancy continues, “The basement of the library should be locked out, and it’s accessible by a cellar door. Since I’m no longer going to the Upside Down, I’ll pick the lock for you.”

“Wait, you can pick locks?” Joyce asks.

“You can pick locks?” Hopper repeats in a much more serious tone.

“Hopper, I’ve been accused of murder and spent three separate nights in a jail cell the past few weeks alone. Are you really that surprised?” The man doesn’t respond, only shakes his head and rubs the bridge of his nose. “Good, now, let’s clean up the mess, have breakfast, and continue preparing, yes?” Mr. Clarke’s been cleaning the mess Steve left in the sink, but he still goes as far as to salute the girl when she looks his way.

Steve glances over his shoulder at the man and frowns, “Are you putting my vomit in a water bottle?” He gags a moment later.

“Well, I figure it might help if we do some observations through a microscope. Determine what it’s made out of and why it looks the way it does.” He looks at the water bottle, holding it up to the light, “I think I see something moving.”

“Nope,” Steve stands, “I’m going to go vomit somewhere else. Wake me up when it’s lunchtime and I don’t have to deal with anymore science experiments.” He grimaces, feeling his stomach turn despite only having water in the otherwise empty cavern. He imagines his stomach lining is rotting, and even the water is beginning to burn his flesh like fire.

He glances at the polaroid of his back. It’s like a tattoo to him, something to constantly think of, as if he had any say in it. He wonders if it will scar but finds that he doesn’t care. Whatever it is, it isn’t helping him. He keeps feeling worse, and the fight is in two days. What the hell is he supposed to do?

Wait it out, according to Joyce, Nancy, Hopper, Max, Lucas, and everyone else who would rather have him “not die before the battle”. The only one who doesn’t want him in bed is Dustin, as the boy insists the best way to fight off sickness is through making another potion. Steve didn’t even respond to that suggestion.

“Go back to bed, Steve.” He doesn’t even manage one foot in the kitchen before Max is already ordering him around. She isn’t even looking at him, too busy restacking empty soup cans for Eleven to practice with. Apparently, the girl’s already crushed all the coke cans and empty water bottles.

“I’m grabbing water. Is that allowed? Can I grab a water?” He points to the fridge, and the girl finally looks his way with a blanched expression. Lucas at least looks apologetic when he too glances Steve’s way.

“Sorry, Steve, but we know how stir crazy you get when you can’t do anything. Hey, how about you join us in here? You can sit on the couch and watch Eleven practice!” Max hits his arm, and he gives her a look, knowing he’s not wrong. To them, as long as Steve isn’t standing, moving, or breathing too heavily, he’s probably fine.

“It’s actually a lot more exciting than you think. Like watching someone use the force!” Will adds with a smile. Steve can say no to Max and Lucas. Well, he can say no to Lucas and usually say no to Max, albeit bruised. He’s never been able to say no to Will, nor has he been able to say no to El, so when the girl looks at him with wide, hopeful eyes, he huffs then grabs a water bottle. He finds himself on the couch a few moments later. Mike is next to him, flipping through one of the books from the library. It’s one about energy transmissions, whatever that means.

“I think it might help El, but it’s kind of boring,” he admits, letting Steve take it from his grasp. The first pages are diagrams showing the “levels of auras” humans seem to have. Energy fields and manipulation—theories on telekinesis. It feels a bit ironic reading it with Eleven moving soup cans with her mind just a few feet away. There’s not much in it that seems useful to Steve, so he hands it back and observes the super girl.

“So, what are you even doing?” Despite his newfound psychic abilities, he still doesn’t have powers, especially not like El’s. He shouldn’t be one to ask or judge about techniques, but everyday El’s been working with small cans or building houses of cards. “Shouldn’t you be, like, throwing cars in the junkyard or something?”

Eleven sets down the last of the soup cans on a small pyramid before looking at him. “I’m sorry. I’m not allowed to leave the station,” she reminds him with a nearly sarcastic tone. Steve mentally reminds himself to lecture whoever taught her sarcasm. She could probably end the world with a snap of her fingers; sarcasm is much more dangerous. This party does not need another sarcastic brat.

“That, and we’re focusing on endurance. Eleven’s beaten One before, but he’s stronger. With his kills and with his connection to the Upside Down, he’s been able to build his power. Therefore, all Eleven needs to do is last longer than him in battle. She can hold her own against him; whoever gets tired first loses,” Dustin explains from his seat on the floor. He has a large notebook in front of him and a stopwatch in hand, “So far, she’s been able to use telekinesis for sixty minutes straight without getting a bloody nose. Telepathic abilities are up to thirty-five minutes depending on how deep she goes with them. She can mind walk but having a mind fight takes a bit more energy.”

“We’ve been testing different sigils to combat that,” Max adds before squinting, “Though, it’s been difficult to use different sigils when someone’s been hogging the spell book.”

“Aren’t you the one that bragged about being really good with sigils?” Steve asks her. She waves a hand, and the motion quickly turns into her flipping him the bird. He laughs and knocks her hand away with his foot. Mike snorts next to him. “I’m surprised you guys haven’t just suggested we make El watch Star Wars to train.”

Mike nearly drops his book to the floor, and Dustin does let his notebook slide out of his lap. Everyone looks at Steve like he’s solved the DaVinci code. “What?”

“Steve, you’re a genius!” Dustin shouts before scrambling to his feet. Lucas chases after him, as if determined to beat him in an imaginary race to the VHS box.

“I was joking!” Steve shouts back just to stuff his face into his palms.

He swears the last time they saved the world didn’t come with this many headaches.  

Chapter Text

Eddie doesn’t know what day it is. He doesn’t know the time, the phase of the moon, or what’s going on beyond his little cage. The Flayer, in par with his previous taunts of learning from past mistakes, has Eddie in a much cleverer trap. No longer is he a tether outside of his own body but something trapped in the back of his own mind. He imagines it’s the same cage he had the Flayer in. Only, it’s a cage with no bars. There’s no bed or toilet, not that he’d need either. All he has is darkness all around him.

Sometimes he hears voices. It’s sometimes Vecna’s growling tone, but most of the time, it’s the Flayer talking itself through its own learning process. Eddie can feel something like a headache every time the thing uses some of his powers. With Eddie’s consciousness trapped inside his mind—an odd paradox to find himself in—the Flayer can’t learn as much through his memories. Each time it looks inside to search Eddie’s knowledge, he brings the man closer to the surface. It can’t risk taking advantage of Eddie’s brain, so it has to learn his powers through the small bit of experience it already has and trial and error. Mostly trial and error.

For a thing the kids call the Mind Flayer, it’s pretty stupid. Powerful and on par with its dnd counterpart, but stupid all the same.

Eddie shouts that fact every chance he gets, and he gets many chances. If not being drawn to the surface, there isn’t a lot to do in a dark, empty prison. Singing, shouting, and giving false advice on power usage were his activities involving annoying the Flayer. Besides that, and contrary to what most would assume, he does use his time wisely.

Meditation is a simple act with countless possibilities. If he wants visions during the day, he meditates. If he wants to remember something, he meditates. If he wants to do an astral project or dream walk, he meditates. It’s the best way for him to focus and the best way for the universe to reach him in his time of need. This is obviously a time of need.

He isn’t stupid. He knows even with the Flayer’s lack of experience with his powers, it would still sense a “disturbance in the force”. Therefore, meditation has to be done when the Flayer is distracted or in small increments. More than once, he considers timing an astral projection for when he gets pulled to the surface, but if he gets trapped outside of his own possessed body, he’d only be losing the battle before it even properly starts. No, something like that would have to be a last resort.

“Hey mind fucker, you busy?!” He shouts one day, especially bored. No answer comes; one rarely does. Sometimes he’d get the satisfying response of an annoyed shout or a sharp pain by the Flayer punching itself (and Eddie), but this time, nothing comes. He strains his ear and hears talking. It’s distracted.

The floor is less of a floor and more of a piece of stretched fabric. It’s as dark as everywhere else and so black that no light shines around him. Yet, he can see his own hand as if he were out in the bright sun. Anyone else would probably be driven insane. Admittedly, maybe Eddie has gone insane without realizing it. Either way, he finds the space surprisingly calming. There’s nothing to distract him, so slipping into the deepest corners of his spirit is as easy as slipping into a pair of slippers.

Except for the fact that it actually isn’t. Most of the time, he listens to music while he meditates or has a movie playing in the background. Anything to keep his racing thoughts from disrupting his process. As it goes, the silence isn’t good, and the Flayer’s stopped talking to themself, so Eddie has a long haul ahead of him. His grandma once said, if the world is too quiet, just repeat the same thought over and over until something happens.

“Steve’s ass.” It’s the first thing that comes to his head and, so far, the biggest indication of his descent into madness. In fact, just muttering it to himself sends him into a fit of giggles, laughing at his own ridiculousness. He thinks the phrase to himself over and over, stopping only when he hears the annoyed sigh of the Flayer.

“Always obsessing over a powerless mortal,” it sneers, and Eddie stops meditating, smiling. He’d pat himself on the back if he didn’t think it would draw attention to himself. Of course, the Flayer would be annoyed if all he thought about was Steve’s ass. Meaning, it’s the perfect cover. If he strictly uses thoughts of Steve through his mediation, then he wouldn’t have to worry about the Flayer being distracted; it would already be ignoring him.

“Once again, Steve’s ass is saving mine,” he thinks to himself, though sometimes he can’t tell when he’s thinking and when he’s speaking. Either way, it echoes in his mind all the same, like he’s trapped in the world’s most annoying cave.

Well, he is trapped in his mind.

Either way, it’s the best shot he has at using what little power he can without the Flayer punishing him for it. He already knows they’ll ultimately kill him—steal his soul, so this is his final countdown. Survive until the fight, hope that Steve follows his plans, then take back control once and for all. Kill the Flayer, save Hawkins, and get the girl. Well, get Steve.

Most happy endings like that are only found in movies, but Eddie isn’t willing to even think that something could go wrong. The plan is going to work. But he only believes that up until he has his first vision from the safety of his prisoned mind.

In his previous visions of the aftermath of the battle, Steve was there and alive. Dustin forced the two soulmates into a group hug, and Nancy left for the hospital to check on Robin, but this time it’s different. This time, when Dustin pulls away from the hug, Steve collapses. He spits on the ground, and his spit is…

If it were black, Eddie wouldn’t be worried, knowing that is how the man’s ailment in dying presented itself. If it was black, then all Eddie would have to do was heal him with his powers. When Steve spits on the ground, he spits up blood. He’s on his hands and knees, spraying crimson to the ground with each shuddering exhale. Eddie crouches at his side and grabs the man’s waist. “Steve?” His soulmate falls sideways, tilting into Eddie’s arms. He holds the man’s head in his lap and lowers himself to sit cross legged on the ground. Dustin sits across from him, and they stare down at Steve, who is looking paler by the second.

“What’s wrong with him?!” The kid asks, hands shaking, as he forces Steve’s head to the side. Blood continues to spill from Steve’s lips, and Eddie shakes his head.

“I… I don’t know,” he pants, frowning before he raises his hand. He blinks, and his vision changes. It’s a bit like looking through a thermal lens, but instead of heat he sees Steve’s spirit. Eddie assumes Steve wouldn’t have any psychic power left after the fight, and he looks within the man to see the only gold within him is directly connected to Eddie. He’s free from the Flayer and can share, but Steve isn’t rotting. That isn’t what’s happening to him. This isn’t something supernatural, this is…

“We need to get him to a hospital,” Eddie decides out loud. Dustin repeats the words in a shout, and Lucas runs over. The younger kid grabs Steve’s feet, while Eddie grabs his arms. “Do we have any more cars?”

“It’s just Wayne’s truck and the Winnebago. Nancy took the truck since El wanted to go to the hospital too,” Lucas responds, grunting as he struggles to keep a tight grip on Steve’s legs.

“We’ll take the Winnebago, then. I’ll drive.”

“We’re not the ones with magic healing powers, Eddie. You should be with Steve,” Dustin argues. Before Eddie could respond, Max runs up to them.

“I’ll drive. Nancy already left with El, but I can drive the Winnebago.” Eddie stares at the girl, remembering Steve’s stories of Max’s driving “skills”. “Don’t give me that look. I’m not offering, I’m telling. Just like I’m telling you to save Steve’s ass because, I swear, if I have to bury him a second time, I’ll bury you too!”

She reaches into Steve’s pocket and comes out with the Winnebago keys, dashing away a second later. By the time they reach the now running vehicle, Steve starts wheezing. Lucas sets him down then joins Max in the front seat. Dustin waits patiently at Eddie’s side, staring at him as if waiting for instructions, even if he looks just as pale as Steve.

“Did Erica answer the walkie?” Lucas asks quietly, as Eddie presses the back of his hand to Steve’s forehead. He’s freezing to the touch, like a corpse.

“As soon as Mr. Clarke’s team is back, they’ll all come to the hospital,” Max confirms. Rain begins to fall from the heavy clouds above them. It’s not a downpour but something still harsh and heavy. Each time a drop of water bangs against the metal walls around them, Eddie feels his heart painfully skip a beat. Then again, everything hurts. It’s the type of pain of knowing something bad is going to happen but being helpless to prevent it. That’s how it feels, as Steve looks less and less alive with each passing second. If not for the fact that Eddie’s heart doesn’t feel like there’s a knife pressed inside and the weak pulse from Steve’s wrist, he’d assume the man was already dead. 

“Why isn’t he healing?” Dustin asks, looking at Eddie, who shakes his head.

“I don’t know.” He truly doesn’t. He has both hands pressed against Steve’s chest with a steady gold trail traveling to his core, but nothing’s happening. In fact, the spot where gold energy should be filling like water in the bowl remains empty as if being drained as it’s filled. There’s not even any sign of an aura, as if Steve’s never had a spirit at all. But his heart is still beating. His heart is beating. He’s breathing. Why would his spirit be gone?

“Eddie?” 

He closes his eyes. When he was younger, and whenever his parents fought, he always shut his eyes. He hid beneath the covers to see nothing but darkness and dampen the noises. He could never silence the world, but he could make it go dark–a bit less overwhelming. When he hears Steve’s voice in his ear–a tone broken and defeated, he shuts his eyes. Maybe, if he doesn’t look, then it isn’t real. 

The hand on his shoulder–too large and cold to be Dustin’s–lets him know it’s real. With a trembling lip, he looks over. Steve smiles, face slightly transparent. There are tears streaming down his cheeks, and they’re gold. 

“Robin’s awake!” Lucas shouts from the front seat, holding a walkie in his hand. Dustin leaves Eddie’s side to listen in on the conversation, and all Eddie can do is stare at Steve. 

“Don’t do this to me, Steve.” Eddie’s voice is hushed, and even though he doesn’t want the kids to find out and ruin the good news, it isn’t purposeful. Suddenly, as if he’s gargled sandpaper, he’s unable to speak above a hushed tone. It hurts too much. “Don’t leave me,” he pleads, face twisting slowly. He feels tears on his cheeks–wet and burning. It’s all too hot. “You can still come back. I can help you. Just go into your body. Just come back. Please, come back.” He grabs the hand on his shoulder and one of the cold hands of Steve’s body. “Please.” 

“I can’t.” To prove his point, Steve reaches a hand for his own chest. There’s a flash of light, and he’s pushed back, falling over with a weak groan. He turns that much more transparent. Eddie’s eyes widen, and he looks between Steve’s ghost and body. Never has he heard of something like this happening. Some rumors about comatose patients, but nothing like this.

“What happened?” Eddie asks, and Steve hesitates, “Steve?”

“It wasn’t your fault, Eddie. You didn’t know; you couldn’t have stopped it.” 

“Don’t sugar coat this now, sweetheart. What happened?” Steve looks away guiltily, throat working around the anchor in his throat. He swallows and sniffs. 

“It was the only way to save her, Eddie.” Steve glances over at the kids, “To save everyone. I didn’t think it would end like this. I thought I had enough power.” He looks angry now, face twisting up in frustration. “I thought it would work!” 

“You thought what would work?” Eddie, though under a time crunch, did direct Steve through simple spells in his written instructions. They were advanced, sure, but nowhere near strong enough to have this result. Or, at the very least, Eddie should be able to heal him from any ailments a spell could’ve caused. Psychic exhaustion rarely leads to such a quick and incurable (through magic) decline in health, even with someone as already weak as Steve. 

“The spell to save Robin.” Eddie feels a chill run down his spine. He never told Steve about a spell to save Robin. “I heard it, Eddie. Robin–she… I don’t know. I couldn’t risk her dying like that. I couldn’t risk all of us losing her.” 

“What was the spell, Steve?” Again, Steve looks guilty. “What was the fucking spell, Steve?!” He snaps, grabbing both of Steve’s hands now. The man flinches. 

“A soul bind.” Eddie lets go of Steve’s hands with wide eyes. He doesn’t know whether to call the man an idiot or cry, and before he can ask how, the other man lifts up his shirt to reveal red scabs along his side next to some already deep cuts. The only clear space on his upper body, in fact, is his back outside of three long scratches from God knows what. “I used your old spells to make a potion and cut myself with a dipped knife where no one would see.” It isn’t just a random carving; he carved a sigil. Eddie can tell by the harsh bends in corners, connecting letters in a secret code. 

“Steve, do you have any idea what you’ve done!?” Eddie reaches forward to touch the scab. Soul binds aren’t meant for the living. They’re meant for a psychic with a spirit, either to create a spiritual partnership or to bring back any lost soul fragments. If Eddie were split in two, for instance, he could use a soul bind to make him whole again. 

Steve opens and closes his mouth, “I did what I had to do.” He puts his shirt back down, and Eddie curses to himself. “Dustin once said, ‘if you die, I die’. I had assumed the whole, you live, I live aspect was a given. If I bound my soul to Robin’s, then I could guarantee she’d survive.” He glances over at the kids, as Nancy continues rambling on about Robin’s state, all while Robin interrupts tirelessly–bemused by all the commotion. “She’s okay, but I’m not. The sigil didn’t work.” He shakes his head. 

“Don’t you understand, Steve?” Eddie grabs Steve’s wrist, thumbing the slow but still beating pulse. “The sigil did work!” He snaps angrily, “Soul binds aren’t meant for the living! If you bind a soul to yours, you…” he looks down. Honestly, he’s unsure of exactly what happens. He doesn’t know much about soul binds beyond how dangerous they are. He’s never had to do one, so it’s all up in the air. “You kill yourself, Steve.” Steve inhales sharply. 

“No,” he shakes his head with a disbelieving smile, “No, I’m alive because Robin is,” he theorizes, and Eddie shakes his head, “That was my intention! That would mean the sigil worked, right?!” He grabs Eddie’s shoulders desperately, “Eddie, why can’t I go back into my body?” His voice is like a prayer. Eddie opens his mouth, but he doesn’t get a chance to speak. He supposes something in his expression matches his cracking heart. “No, I…” Steve shakes his head, “Don’t tell me I… don’t tell me I’ve done it again.” His expression twists up, as Eddie tries his best not to cry. Steve’s lower lip wobbles, as he pleads, “Don’t tell me I killed myself again.” 

Eddie doesn’t know what to say, not when Steve throws himself into his arms or when the sobs get so loud, they bang against his eardrums. Not when they arrive at the hospital, and Eddie carries Steve into the emergency room. The nurses don’t recognize him. Obviously, they wouldn’t, but when Lucas’s mom is brought forth for Steve’s x-rays, she drops her clipboards. Her dark skin manages to appear pale—almost grey, as her jaw drops. 

“Steve Harrington?” Her voice is shaking, “But he…” 

“Please help him,” Eddie says, not answering any of her unspoken questions. She, with some hesitation, nods and summons a stretcher. She shines a light in both of Steve’s eyes, and Max grabs Eddie’s hand with a sharp exhale. One pupil is larger than the other. 

Bleeding on the brain, a collapsed lung, broken ribs, and all the rot still leftover in his gut. They have to do a thoracic surgery first to keep him from suffocating, or something like that. Eddie’s not a doctor. Steve’s face is covered with bruises, and Eddie, after receiving his own treatment, doesn’t leave his side. Dustin joins, then Lucas, Max, Nancy, Jon, and everyone else. Even Robin joins, sitting in the corner of the room in a wheelchair until the nurses force her back to her own room. Erica sleeps in a small bean bag in the corner of the room. Mrs. Sinclair–Dr. Sinclair pulled some strings to get Steve into a bigger room so a few of them can get a bed, including Robin. A month passes, and Eleven and Hopper join in on the “fun”, now free from a manhunt by the government and healed of their own injuries. 

Steve sits next to Eddie the entire time. They talk, avoiding the topic of Steve’s surgeries and time spent under. He has another surgery scheduled, and the sigil on his side is almost completely healed. Despite being a curse, it really is the only thing keeping Steve alive at this point. In fact, Eddie goes as far as to sneak a knife into the hospital, but Steve won’t let him redo the sigil—perhaps to tie Steve to himself instead of Robin. “I’m not waking up, Eddie. You’d only be keeping me trapped here for longer.” 

Eddie sobs every night, waiting until everyone else sleeps to cry in Steve’s arms. Once or twice, Wayne or Hopper wakes up and comforts him, but there’s nothing that can help him now. Nothing that can save him. 

Steve’s dying, and Eddie, with all his power, can’t do anything to help him. 

Well, he could do something. He could kill someone. Eddie could use their blood to heal the man properly and then use the sigil to bring him back, but then he’d never be forgiven, not by himself or by Steve. He could use his own blood, but he’d have to bleed himself dry. He could… he could…

No, there really isn’t anything he could do. He’s weaker now with all that has happened. With Steve disappearing, he’s weaker. 

The day comes when Steve has his brain surgery, as it’s gotten bad enough that the doctors are finally willing to take the risk. First it was Steve’s lungs needing to heal, but then other things in his body kept having issues. Apparently, it’s something to do with his heart that holds the most risk, of all things, so they’ve been hesitant to put him back under. Well, is it still called going under if he’s already unconscious? The thought would make Eddie giggle, but all he can do is sit in the waiting room, as minutes turn to hours. Steve isn’t here. The way it works with this kind of haunting, he’s tethered to his body, unable to stray far enough to wait with him. Eddie paces and chews his nails down to the skin, which he then picks away. Everyone else sleeps, but Eddie can barely shut his eyes. He bounces both legs, keeping himself nourished through sodas, coffee, and various snacks from the many vending machines on their level. One of the nurses takes pity on him and gives him half of their sandwich. He eats it through his nausea, knowing that if Steve were there, he’d tear Eddie a new one for not eating real food. M&M’s and chips won’t cut it in Steve’s eyes.

The surgery takes about six hours due to… complications. Eddie only knows the doctors are done because he overhears one nurse talking to another. They say in shocked tones that Steve lived, but Eddie can’t tell if they’re referring to his surgery or the fact that the man’s back after being dead for ten months. 

“I’m sorry.” Dr. Sinclair breaks the news to them, focusing on her son when she does so. Her own eyes are tearing up, but it’s no match for the party’s reactions. Nancy leaves, offering to tell Robin the news. She chokes up as she walks down the hallway, falling down quickly. Her brother rushes to her side, but she can’t stand. Stuck on her hands and knees, Mike grabs her hand. Dustin begins wailing, throwing himself into Wayne’s arms, as that’s who he was sitting beside. Lucas collapses into his mom’s arms. Erica joins. Hopper is silently crying, putting on a brave face as he holds Eleven in his arms. Joyce is beside them hugging Will, and Jonathan is hugging no one. He sits unmoving, staring at the ground with an almost angry expression. Argyle puts his hand on Jon’s back, and that’s when the younger man hunches over to cry into his hands.

“Is it supposed to hurt this much the second time around?” Max asks Eddie, purposefully moving to sit beside him. He puts his arm around her, unable to answer just as he is unable to think. Well, he has many thoughts, but he can’t make sense of any of them. He’s simply too confused, stuck trying to solve an impossible puzzle. Steve can’t be dead. If he were dead, Eddie would feel it, but he doesn’t feel any pain. He looks to Wayne and can tell his old man is wondering the same thing. 

“What happened?” Wayne asks for his son. Dr. Sinclair is busy comforting her kids, so the neurosurgeon, having been there to help break the news, answers. 

“He’s brain dead,” she responds carefully. 

“Brain dead?” Will asks. 

“It’s when the brain loses function completely. This makes it so the body ceases to sustain life. We can keep him alive for a short while; he’s on life support now. With brain dead patients, they will remain in this state until a next of kin gives us an all clear to either keep them alive or…” she trails off, though there’s no need to tell anyone what is already clear. 

“Who is the next of kin?” 

“His parents,” Joyce answers, and the doctor nods but has an odd—almost constipated—expression. “What is it?”

“Steve Harrington was declared dead last year, including a full autopsy. We’ve been… we’ve been informed that we are to…” she glances around the room hesitantly, “This is a sensitive case, and I am not at liberty to say what has been ordered—“

“Spit it out,” Max demands, voice breaking from crying so much. The doctor flinches and looks at the girl with a sorry frown. 

“You have to pull the plug,” Hopper realizes out loud, interrupting the woman’s response, “It’s the government, isn’t it? Easier to let him die than make a cover story, right?” His expression is hard as stone, bleeding anger and sadness. Eddie has to look away to provide his own glare. 

“Why waste time saving his life if you were just going to let him die?” He asks, barely hiding his anger through gritted teeth. 

The doctor tears up and looks at Dr. Sinclair, who answers for her, “I wanted you guys to have a chance to say goodbye.” 

So, they do that. Steve has part of his head shaved and bruises on his face. There’s a tube down his throat and a large number of beeping machines and IVs. He looks…

“I’m sorry.” Steve’s detached spirit grabs Eddie’s hand, making him stop in his tracks on the way to the man’s room. “I’m so sorry.” Eddie feels something inside him break. 

The rest of his vision goes by in a blur. He hears only a little bit of what the kids say, assuming the rest using context clues. Lucas promises to keep up with basketball, and Erica promises to keep being like him and not let anyone bring her down. Nancy returns the man’s watch. Max ties a friendship bracelet from her wrist to his. Dustin cries about losing him again, while Mike can barely speak. Will thanks the man for being a hero. Hopper hugs him through sobs, and Joyce does the same. Jonathan does nothing but hold his hand for a while. Robin speaks the most, apologizing for losing him again. Her dad comes to pick her up. The day Steve dies is the same day Robin gets discharged. “Thank you for being there for her. I’m sorry we had to meet this way,” the girl’s dad says. He doesn’t hear much after that. Through it all is an ongoing ache inside his chest. It lasts until the sun goes down and he’s the last one in the room. 

“There are so many soulmates in the world, Steve,” he says, voice weak from dehydration. He’d been crying this entire time. “You know how many stay for psychics?” He looks at Steve’s spirit—at his golden face from all his crying. “Can’t you do that? Can’t you love me for the rest of my life? Can’t you stay?” It’s the most selfish question to ask, and he is in no way surprised when Steve shakes his head.

“I will love you until the heavens, sun, and Earth all die,” he promises, “but I can’t be your ghost, Eds.” 

When the doctors pull the plug, Eddie has Steve’s hand in his. The ghost hugs him, smiling as he starts to disappear. “I love you,” he says. 

“I love you too.” The pain is the worst Eddie’s ever felt, as his soulmate dies again. Max was right; it hurts just as much the second time around.  

When Eddie breaks out of the vision, he’s sobbing. It’s the longest and most vivid vision he’s had—a warning if he ever saw one. Someone out there has their eye on him and has gifted them these nightmarish pictures. Never have they gone beyond the point of them winning, and never had he seen Steve beyond their reunion. It’s clear as ever that this was always going to be how it would end. If they want to win, Steve will have to die. 

But Eddie’s not going to let that happen.

Things that are dead are supposed to stay dead, sure, but if Eddie can live on, then so can Steve. He just needs to figure out how to prevent the man’s death. 

***

Eddie, for obvious reasons, doesn’t have any papers or pens in this hellscape of his mind. When he writes campaigns or songs, he fills up binders and notebooks that become thicker than his arm. When he has to make a spell or a sigil—or when he has to brainstorm, like in this instance—he writes things down to keep his thoughts organized. Otherwise, most of his thoughts would become lost in the cosmos. He writes things down to keep them down, but with nothing to write on, he has to improvise a bit. 

Unfortunately, opportunity comes knocking much sooner than Eddie was hoping for. Once again, he’s unsure of the date, though he can tell it’s night by the natural pull of the moon. It’s almost full, he reckons. The energy is high, but all he can focus on is Steve. Fuck, why would he remove his sigils?!

“He’s visiting his little friend. How pathetic,” the flayer laughs to itself. A small window of sight opens. Of course. The beast isn’t astral projecting but something similar—walking one of the many planes of existence. He’s basically in the spirit realm. It’s something Eddie’s never even tried before, too afraid of the risk. Walking the spirit realm holds a world of possibilities, including attacks from malevolent spirits, getting lost, and even getting trapped. There’s only one main distinction between astral projecting and walking the spirit realm as a psychic.

You can’t touch anything when astral projecting.

It’s possible, but it takes a great amount of energy and rarely creates tangible results—nothing more than a breeze. 

They find Steve quickly. He’s on the floor in Robin’s hospital room, but he isn't there—not completely. One look at his aura, which is dimmed in color but still present, lets Eddie know Steve’s consciousness is disconnected. A part of him is proud of the man for astral projecting, but most of him is worried, glancing at Robin’s body. Her aura is equally dimmed. Of course. The astral realm is likely the best place to hide. It also explains why Vecna, a while ago, was suddenly so adamant on being healed a bit more to use his abilities once more. Robin must’ve been caught; Eddie was trapped but able to hear Vecna cursing about the girl being revived. Eddie had sighed in relief. Now, he’s holding his breath again. He’s not worried about Robin; she’s not the priority. Steve is.

The oddest part of being trapped in his mind is that, distantly, he can feel his body. He can feel each step and each breath, and he hates it. It’s not as hellish as experiencing nothing at all. That is, it isn’t so hellish until Steve and their friends are in the car. All the others in the party are hidden, but Steve doesn’t have any sigils drawn on him. He tries, drawing a single sigil that makes him blurry. Eddie feels his nails turn into claws—it’s painful. He feels them rip into flesh, the blood and tissue digging beneath his nails. 

His entire being wants nothing more than to ignore the feeling. Ignore the warmth of blood and the knowledge that it belongs to Steve. He wants to hide away, but he knows something the Flayer doesn’t. He knows the story of Will Byers’s possession. The kid used morse code; he broke out of the Flayer’s control, and if a kid with no psychic capabilities can do it, then so can Eddie. 

He can’t control or prevent the Flayer’s desire for blood shed, but he can control what can be drawn. Sigils in blood; he has to do it all with pure intention. He does symbols he knows can translate to what he wants—something long-lasting, eternal, and permanent. Something to prevent Steve’s soul bind from taking place. More than that, he does something a bit hypocritical. He doesn’t do a soul bind, but it’s something similar. It’s what Steve thought he was doing. More tangible than soulmates. Stronger than any tether formed. All done in the spur of the moment. In quick slashes of claws deep into Steve’s skin. He has no idea if it will work, but he pushes past any doubt while pleading and repeating each intention in his mind. Steve will live. Steve has to live. 

If I die, Steve dies. If I live, Steve lives. When we win, Steve gets to walk away. Steve gets to survive. Steve gets to heal. Steve gets to live. Steve will live. Steve lives. Steve lives. Steve lives. 

He can only die when I do. 

It has to be done. It might be selfish. Hell, it might be damn mad, but what else is he supposed to do? He can’t let Steve die. 

When he’s done and just before the Flayer forces Steve to pass out, he gets a look at his work. The sigil. Eddie thinks someone could be given an entire year and all spell books in the world and be unable to decipher it. It’s all either sigils he’s memorized, or ones made up on the spot, and it’s messy. That’s good; he doesn’t need Steve discovering its meaning. He doesn’t need Steve to try and change up whatever plan he has. With how self-sacrificing Steve is, he needs to remain in the dark. He needs to not do anything through his blind yet heroic hope. Eddie won’t let him. 

April 22^nd, 1986 (Tuesday)

Steve starts hallucinating while watching Return of the Jedi during breakfast. The hallucinations have absolutely nothing to do with Star Wars nor the force nor anything of the sort. It was like someone else thought it for him–a voice in the back of his mind. Not anything dangerous. It’s not the Flayer, Eddie, or even Vecna but a voice he doesn’t recognize. “Thank you for being there for her. I’m sorry we had to meet this way.”

It’s vague, and it could admittedly all be a part of his imagination, but he still has Eddie’s power flowing through him. Hearing the strange voice, he can’t help but wonder if it’s some kind of pseudo vision. Eddie had written down each of his visions in his journal, and not all of them involved visuals. In fact, he’s had multiple that were just auditory or feeling based. If this is a vision, then it’s nothing good. 

Steve has never met anyone in Robin’s family but knows the girl has a brother and a dad. If it’s what he suspects…

What he suspects is that Robin is going to die. This voice he heard is the girl’s dad speaking to him. It may be an extreme leap to take, but is it so far-fetched? 

Steve’s the top priority, sure; Eddie needs him to escape the possession. That doesn’t automatically mean Robin’s off the board, does it? The final battle is just that–a battle, but who’s to say what happens when the battle is won. Who’s to say Robin isn’t Vecna’s last attempt at revenge for losing. 

Maybe Robin isn’t as safe in the astral realm as they thought. 

Maybe she isn’t safe at all. 

“Steve, you okay?” He must’ve zoned out, as by the time Dustin finally snaps him back into reality, the movie’s over. Credits are running in reverse, as Lucas takes the time to rewind the VHS. 

“I’m fine. Just a bit tired,” he answers. It’s not entirely a lie. He is tired. His back has been aching from the sigil, and his front is aching from all the scratches. He’s bruised and beaten all over, really. Though, when is he not? The only break he ever got from being beat up was as a ghost, and even then, he spent the entire time looking like Rocky. 

“You should take a nap. There isn’t much to do besides making some more weapons, planning, training, practicing with shooting, studying the spells, studying sigils, getting–hmmph!” Max covers Dustin’s mouth with her hand.

“You should take a nap,” she repeats without the rest. Dustin shoves her arm away. 

“I literally just said that!” 

“Yeah, and then you proceeded to list every single reason why Steve shouldn’t take a nap and everything that could stress him out!” She snaps back. Steve, as they begin to argue, shakes his head fondly, stands, and walks to the kitchen to grab some water and one of the beef jerky bags Wayne brought back from the shelter. 

“Looking to practice some shooting?” Hopper asks, as he steps out of the hallway bathroom with his hair wet and a towel in hand. 

“Looking to take a nap, actually, but we can practice after lunch.”

Hopper isn’t one to argue about Steve sleeping. It’d be hypocritical considering he asks Steve to take it easy every five seconds, but he does huff. “Fight’s coming soon; I don’t want you getting hurt.” 

“I know, Hop. I won’t.” He smiles, and Hopper pats his shoulder on his way to the living room. Steve hears him distantly break up the argument before continuing to his room. He sits on the bed and rips open his bag of jerky. Fuck, he missed meat outside of the chicken bits in all the soup they’ve been having. He’d do just about anything for a cheeseburger. 

At the thought, his stomach growls; he eats more jerky. 

As he eats, he flips through a book. Not a spell book or Eddie’s journal but an actual book–one of the spiritual ones from the library. It’s more of a book on mythology, but it has some bits of spiritual practices here and there. Steve’s mostly reading it because he’s tired of reading the same paragraphs over and over, willing the pages to provide him with something new. Willing for some kind of hidden message from Eddie to arise in the ink. 

He soon reaches a section about Shamans–spiritual healers. There’s a lot about healing, but then there’s a single paragraph about a different kind of ritual. A soul binding ritual. 

Soul binding is not mentioned in any of Eddie’s journals. Soulmates are, and soul connections are, but soul binding isn’t written about anywhere. He would know; he’s read the journals a billion times. He’d check again but isn’t in the mood to go cross eyed. Instead, he reads the rest of the shamanism section of his current book then flips through the rest to gain any new information. Apparently, it’s something that was done specifically to bind the shaman to spirits, not to anyone living. 

But could Steve not be an exception? Sure, he’s alive–beating heart and everything, but he was dead for 8 months. Surely, that’s got to create some leeway in the universe, right? Robin and he are also platonic soulmates. They have a connection; doing something like this probably isn’t exhausting to his powers. It’s risky, of course, but he quickly decides the reward is worth the risk. If Robin really is in danger, and if doing the soul bind works, then he can save her life. If she isn’t really in danger, then all the soul bind does is provide a safety net. No harm, no foul, right?

The book claims that the shamans had different methods of soul bindings, but Steve’s not exactly in a position to have a full ritual. Instead, he focuses on the simpler ones, like making soul marks that bind specific souls depending on the mark. It’s basically a sigil, Steve concludes based on the illustrations of blood markings and carvings in wood on the page. The ritual describes using certain herbs and ingredients to put in protection for the spirit and the shaman alike. 

Steve gives up on pretending to nap to head to the kitchen. They have salt, honey, and some ingredients still saved up from Eddie’s own collection, even Steve’s grave dirt. He quickly plans in his mind on how to create a proper sigil to bind his soul to Robin’s. All he has to do is make sure no one catches him; he’s still on magical house arrest due to the entire fiasco at the hospital. 

He spends the rest of the day helping out with the planning and preparing. He lets Nancy and Hopper teach him how to shoot outside, with a large sigil painted on his stomach. It’s the perfect size for his own sigil later on, he notes. While he’s building weapons in the basement with some of the kids, he pockets a folding knife that he hides beneath his mattress after dinner. 

April 23^rd, 1986 (Wednesday)

When Steve’s positive everyone is asleep, he sneaks out of bed into the kitchen. Murray is snoring on the couch, but the empty bottle in his hand lets Steve know the man likely isn’t waking up any time soon. He grabs the essentials, like his grave dirt, salt, honey, and oil. If Wayne were awake and could see Steve now, he would probably smack him over the head. Steve’s well aware that putting such things into wounds is not exactly safe, but frankly, an infection is the least of his worries right now. 

“Fuck!” He hisses after stubbing his toe on a stool. He nearly drops his bowl of supplies but manages to keep it clutched to his chest. Back in his room, he hides in the bathroom. He uses a lamp stolen from his bedside instead of the overhead and mixes his makeshift potion in the bowl, using water from the sink. He stirs with intention like Eddie instructs in his spell book, and when he’s done, he sets the bowl on the countertop, puts a black towel on the ground, and grabs the knife. 

His pain tolerance is something to be reckoned with at this point, but he still stuffs a rag in his mouth to bite down on, as he dips the blade of his knife into the bowl. He holds it in while thinking over his intentions then lets any excess liquid drip off. He has Eddie’s journal open to a sigil he had designed before shooting practice. It’s not that advanced and much simpler than most of the sigils he’s seen, but it’s difficult to draw in the mirror’s reflection. He glances down as much as he can, wincing and biting on the rag in pain. Blood drips to the black towel on the floor. His hand begins to shake, but he can’t stop. It isn’t until the sigil is finished that he finally drops the knife and steps back. 

Outside of the pain in his stomach from the fresh wound, Steve does feel an odd ache in his heart. It’s like a gut feeling but more emotional, like guilt. He doesn’t feel guilty, though. All he’s done is provide some insurance for the worst case scenario. That’s what he tells himself, as the feeling gets worse and as he cleans up his mess. He hides the bowl and knife under his bed but puts all the ingredients back in the kitchen. When Eleven appears at the top of the basement steps in her pajamas, asking what Steve’s up to, he waves a water bottle with a thin smile. She goes back to bed but not before giving him an odd look. Her head is tilted, and her face is set in a deep frown. He feels as though she can read his mind. The feeling in his chest gets impossibly tighter, as he quickly turns around to go back to bed. As he lies down, he ignores the tightness of the gauze he wrapped around his torso. Yes, that’s it. The tightness in his chest is just due to his bindings, not any emotion. He’s fine. 

He’s doing the right thing. 

Chapter Text

April 23rd, 1986 (Wednesday)

After going to bed, Steve had a nightmare. It wasn’t a bad nightmare, yet it left his heart racing and his sheets wet with sweat. He must’ve only had a few hours of sleep. Granted, that was his average amount pre-death, but considering he’s likely not sleeping tonight, it’s not ideal. 

At around 7 AM, after failing to fall back asleep, he stumbles into the kitchen like a zombie and heads straight for the coffee maker. There’s already a pot freshly brewed, and he wonders which of the adults started it up. He glances at a colorful mug lying in the sink and decides it must’ve been Wayne. The man specifically brought mugs from his trailer, even if only a few survived the apocalypse. “These other mugs just feel damn wrong,” he explained when Joyce asked if he wanted a mug without a chip on the handle, “A chip is just a chip; it’s not the end of the damn world.” 

“Isn’t it?” Murray asked in return. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” Steve jumps and turns around to find Eleven sitting on the couch, “I couldn’t sleep,” she adds. 

“Uh, yeah, I…” he pauses to take a large drink, wincing at the taste. They’re officially out of milk and creamer, “I had a nightmare.” 

“Me too.” 

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks, offering her some juice. Hopper doesn’t let her drink coffee.

She accepts the juice but shakes her head, “It was about the fight–the first fight with Henry. I was too late to save Robin. I brought her back, and now she’s trapped.”

“You did your best.” 

“It wasn’t good enough.” 

“Our best rarely is.” She looks at him with wide, quizzical eyes. “But we do it anyway cause it’s better than dying having given up.” He looks away for a second. “Trust me, I’d know.” 

Eleven frowns at that, “You gave up?”

“Got tired of trying my best.” He shrugged and stared down at his coffee. He shouldn’t be having this conversation, especially not with Eleven.

“I tried my best and failed,” the girl says carefully, “Maybe you tried your best and failed too.” He looks up at her, and it’s her turn to shrug, “Sometimes, maybe our best means failing after going too far.” 

Steve swallows, there’s a click in his throat, “You’re a smart kid, El.” 

“I’m just trying my best.” She smiles before tilting her head, “What was your nightmare about?” 

“Dying.” He leaves it at that, and Eleven doesn’t pry. She’s curious by nature but always seems to know when to stop. Dustin could learn a lot from her. If he was here, it’d be a full interrogation. Instead, Steve offers to prepare them some cereal, which he makes with water instead of milk for a soggy, bland concoction. They soon sit at the table across from each other, talking about anything but nightmares and tomorrow.

“I took your movie, you know,” Eleven says while chewing stale Honeycomb. “The one we watched when you died.” 

Steve feels a bit taken aback, “The Fox and the Hound?” The girl nods, “I assumed you guys got rid of it.” He knows they got rid of it. He watched Nancy throw it in a trash bag while sorting through his stuff. A few of them ended up getting their own copies, like Max stealing one from Family Video to never return; he assumed his original copy was never recovered. 

“I dug it out of the trash. I watch it when I’m sad.” The girl smiles, as if telling a secret, “I found the book at the school library. Took that too.” Steve’s ashamed to admit he never owned a copy of the book; he also thinks that Hopper, if the man were in the kitchen, would be scolding the girl right now for stealing. He considers doing so, but he doesn’t think it’d do much.  

Not to mention, for a girl who has murdered several people, theft is probably nothing. Still, the concept makes him laugh. “You’re a rebel.” 

“Is that a good thing?”

Eddie comes to his mind, “In this world? It’s one of the best things you can be.” He winces, glances to Hopper and Joyce’s bedroom, then leans forward, “Maybe lay off committing crimes, though.” Eleven smiles and zips her lips. Steve wonders if she learned that motion while he was dead or alive, but he dispels the thought to zip his own. 

The act of throwing away the invisible key makes him wince. The sigil in his side pulls. He put three layers of bandages over top of it, not wanting to risk blood seeping out and worrying everyone. They’d only yell at him or call him an idiot, but after last night’s nightmare, he’s glad he’s done it. 

His nightmare featured Eddie covered in blood crying over a grave, and Robin was beside him, trying her best not to cry along. More happened, but that part seemed to be the most vivid and most important. It solidified one important fact in his mind.

He can’t become another stone for his friends to cry on.

“Ya’ll are up early,” Wayne comments when he walks into the station with Nancy in tow. The old man has on a hat and a jacket today, and the lower half of his blue jeans are coated in a layer of dirt. “We were digging some trenches near where we’ll be triggering the bombs.” 

“Trenches?” Steve smirks, “Are we fighting in Vietnam?” Wayne blanches while Nancy heads to the coffee maker. 

“That’d probably be easier,” she mutters before grabbing the pot of coffee. “This tastes like dirt.” She grimaces after pouring herself a mug and taking a long drink. She takes another despite her complaint. “Where’s Mike?” 

“Asleep.” Steve lets his spoon stir through his own watery, breakfast disaster. “No runs to the shelter today?”

“Only preparation for today, son,” Wayne glances at the boot tracks leading to the door, “Don’t tell Scott these were from me.” 

“I’ll blame Dustin.” 

“Blame me for what?” Dustin rushes upstairs with a stack of papers, eyes peaking up over the edge. “I didn’t even do anything this time! Blame me for what?” 

“Keeping us awake all night with your insane scribbles,” Erica answers, as she quickly comes up from behind the boy. 

“What’d you write?” Steve tilts his head to the stack of papers that quickly get spilled across the tabletop. 

“Ideas to help in the battle. Max helped me come up with more sigils, Lucas and I are going to make some potions later, and I think we can come up with a way to protect ourselves from curses too!” He drops his bag onto the table, and a pile of those metaphysical books spill out. Steve moves his bowl before it can be knocked off the table and chews silently. 

“Did you sleep?” 

“I had a good two hours.” His expression is proud, as if sleeping two whole hours is worthy of celebration. Though, Steve supposes in times like these, any amount of sleep is worthy of some pride and praise.

“Just what we need for a fight against a wizard and an all-powerful psychic…” Nancy mutters into her bowl of dry cereal, “a bunch of exhausted teens, a zombie, an ex-science teacher, an ex-sheriff, an alcoholic, a stoner, Wayne, and Joyce.” 

“I like those odds,” Wayne says and cracks a smile. Nancy, for the first time in a while, manages to crack one back. 

***

“You want to see Robin?” Nancy asks this right before lunch. Steve was somewhat banished to his room to rest as always, and Nancy entered the bedroom under the guise of needing to borrow Eddie’s journal. “If we leave during lunch, we can slip into the hospital unnoticed. I figured you’d want to see her in case…” she trails off, “I figured you’d want to see her before tomorrow.” 

Steve drops his book–something about the spirituality of trees. It reminds him of all those old news stories about tree-huggers his dad used to spit at. “What about the doctors? Robin’s parents?”

“I convinced Robin’s parents to volunteer today to get their mind off of things. As for the doctors, you’re dead to the world, not some fugitive. If they see you, they won’t think much. I’ll still sneak you in through a back stairwell like last time, but we don’t need some intricate plan. Just a few sigils.” Steve glances at his covered torso, suddenly ultra aware of the sigil carved into his side. 

“Last time the sigils weren’t exactly failproof…” He points out wearily. Nancy smiles and reaches into the backpack she brought with her. She pulls out a bright green vest similar to the kind crossing guards wear. It’s covered in several sigils painted with what Steve assumes is blood. “Eleven hunted a demodog for us; the vest was Dustin’s idea.” 

Steve’s eyes momentarily widen, as he grabs the vest. “A demodog?” 

“Don’t ask. You can wear it under a sweatshirt. Hopper can’t know, obviously. I asked the kids to distract him while we head out.” 

“Won’t he notice us missing?”

“Yeah, but he won’t be able to yell at us until we get back.” She smiles, and Steve can’t help but copy the expression. It soon turns into a full-toothed grin, as he throws his arms around the girl. Nancy huffs a laugh and hugs him back. 

“Thank you,” he says sincerely. 

“Just promise me one thing?” He nods and motions for her to continue, “Don’t tell her about tomorrow. I mean, by the sound of it, she might know already. Just, don’t tell her, alright? I don’t want her worrying anymore than she needs to. And, uh… if she knows already, tell her to be safe, yeah?” 

“You don’t want to try and talk to her yourself?” Steve asks. 

“I’m not good at magic,” the girl insists, “I’ll talk to her when I see her again. All of her, I mean.” She smiles and looks away, glances at the hallway, “Put on the vest, and I’ll tell Eleven to double check that it works. We’ll sneak out after everyone goes into the basement.” Before Steve can ask any questions, the girl leaves the room, smiling to herself. It’s the happiest Steve’s seen her in a while, even if the rest of them are full of dread. 

He wonders if Nancy and Robin somehow got closer without him noticing–back when he was a ghost, he means. Nancy’s not one to grow so attached so easily, and he wonders what pieces of the puzzle he’s missing. Not that it matters, he supposes. After all, he and Eddie practically confessed their love for one another after having just met. Maybe Robin and Nancy are soulmates too, and maybe they’re destined for such close connection just as Steve and Eddie are. The thought makes Steve smile. Those two deserve to be happy. They deserve the kind of love Steve’s found with Eddie. 

The man puts on the vest over his undershirt then covers both with a large sweatshirt from Hopper’s collection. He practically drowns in the material, so it covers up the neon vest and doesn’t show any suspicious bumps. He smooths it down twice before heading out to the kitchen. Eleven is sitting in the living room. The girl nods carefully, nose bleeding, when he sends her a questioning stare. The vest works. Nancy sends him a thumbs up, and he sits at the table to eat his… 

“What is this?” He pokes at the substance in his bowl. It’s gray and hard… dry. 

“Oatmeal,” Max answers. Her voice is weak, and there are circles beneath her eyes so dark that she might as well have been wearing eyeliner. “Dustin made it.” 

“Cooking is much more of an art than a science,” the boy claims, pouring water into his bowl to break the concrete up. Steve copies the motion and eats. Each bite settles heavy in his stomach. 

“Where’s Joyce?” 

“Helping Mr. Clarke make chemical bombs,” Erica responds, tone petulant. Steve doesn’t need to ask why, as he sends her an amused smirk, “I should be allowed to at least watch! I’m the one who was most interested in the bombs!” 

“You were also the one who suggested adding nails into the jars for more lethality,” Lucas points out, though his voice is muffled through the oatmeal in his mouth. 

“Exactly! I should be in there!” Lucas flips his sister off, and she sticks her tongue out in return. The rest of the adults are circled around the kitchen counter, drinking coffee and discussing tomorrow’s game plans with the bombs and the split up. Steve wonders when he’ll get to leave, but soon enough, Nancy looks over at Mike. The boy nods after a silent conversation commences between the two of them. 

Distantly, Steve wonders what the plan could be for getting the adults distracted. With Joyce and Mr. Clarke outside, there’s a wonder whether they accounted for them or if it’s only the unattended adults. Maybe they’ll pretend they need help carrying something. Maybe someone will fake an injury. 

Soon, Mike excuses himself from the table. He heads downstairs, and Steve frowns. He turns to Nancy, ready to ask about the plan, but the girl is covering her mouth with her hand. He follows her gaze to Eleven, who is focusing down at her oatmeal. A sudden crash sounds from downstairs, and Eleven wipes her nose when the adults instantly look to the basement door. 

“Fire!” Mike shouts, and smoke trails from the stairway. Steve’s eyes widen, and he looks to Eleven, who is laughing to herself. Everyone else is either covering their mouth or fully has their head down to conceal their laughter. Nancy grabs Steve’s hand, and they’re out the door and heading to Nancy’s car. 

“What the hell was that?!” 

“Mike set a blanket on fire, and Eleven made it bigger than it actually is. Don’t worry, there’s a fire extinguisher.” She gets into her car quickly after Steve, pausing before turning on the car, “I think.” Steve opens his mouth but is quickly cut off with a yelp, as Nancy starts the car and puts it in reverse in a single second. He swears, in another life, this girl is a racecar driver. That, or some kind of getaway driver. He says as such. 

“Please, as if I’d be anything but the leader of a criminal organization.” He doesn’t argue against the girl’s point, deciding to put on his seatbelt with a shaky hand. 

They get to the hospital and park in the back. Nancy leads them to a side stairwell as promised, using an actual key instead of picking the lock. “I befriended one of the nursing students, and he gave me a copy of his key.” Nancy holds the door open for Steve, who snorts when he walks inside. 

“Is there a single male nurse or soldier in this hospital you haven’t flirted with to get what you want?” Nancy punches Steve’s arm in response, making him laugh before rubbing the forming bruise. They head upstairs, and once again, Steve finds himself out of breath at the top. He nearly collapses, and Nancy catches him. They still lower enough for him to sit on the ground. “What’s so wrong about elevators, huh?” He swallows the sandpaper in his throat. 

“Water?” Nancy pulls a bottle from her bag, and Steve chugs half of it before getting back to his feet. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea…” she attempts to check Steve’s temperature, and he bats her hand away. 

“I’m fine,” he insists, though his limbs are shaking, and there are stars dotting his vision, “I’m not dying.” It feels like he is, “I just have an iron deficiency." Nancy looks doubtful but still leads Steve to Robin’s room. It’s different in the daytime. The lights don’t feel so harsh, and everything looks less artificial. It’s as if there’s a bit more life in the room, like Robin isn’t hurt at all, and nothing is wrong. 

“Have the doctors said anything new?” 

Nancy shakes her head. “It’s the same thing everyday. There’s brain activity, the vitals are fine, but there’s just… no waking up.” The smile she gives is thin and worried. Steve even swears her eyes are tearing up, but Nancy shakes her head before he can confirm. “But we know better, right?” 

“Right.” He nods, and she looks grateful for the confirmation. 

Steve takes off his sweatshirt to remove his vest, and there’s a sound of static right after he undoes the velcro. Nancy grabs the walkie in her backpack. Sneaking out or not, Nancy Wheeler’s never one to go anywhere unprepared for an emergency. The girl turns it on before Hopper immediately shouts through, “You guys better get your asses back to the station!” Steve bites his lip and sheepishly smiles. 

“We’re fine. We’re at the hospital visiting Robin. We’ll be back before sundown,” Nancy answers, voice much calmer compared to the man’s thunderous shout. 

“Sun–no, no, you won’t be back before sundown. You’ll be back now. I’m sorry. Was it not clear that we’re literally fighting two giant villains tomorr–” His voice cuts off as the girl turns off the walkie. 

“You know he’s going to kill you, right?” 

Nancy shrugs then nudges the man’s shoulder, “If he does, I can just haunt his ass.” Steve shakes his head with a fond smile before removing his vest. He instantly gets to the floor to lay flat on his back, wondering if he’ll be able to astral project without Eleven there to guide him. He touches the silver ring on his finger– not the one Nancy forced onto him on their way to the hospital. It’s the cursed one–the one he has to destroy. Closing his eyes and touching the ring, he already feels himself drifting away.

“Ever hear of knocking?” Robin’s voice echoes through his mind, and Steve opens his eyes and sits up to find her sitting across from him in her hospital room. “It’s an invasion of privacy to intrude on a girl’s astral realm, dingus.” 

“Says the girl spying on all the doctors in the hospital,” Steve responds and sits up, “I bet you know all their secrets.” 

Robin snorts, “Yeah, it’s just like watching St. Elsewhere in here.” 

“Saint what?” 

“You seriously need to expand your cultural horizon, man.” The girl shakes her head disappointedly, “It’s a hospital drama show, dingus!” She adds when Steve continues to stare with a deep frown. 

“Okay, I’m sorry I don’t watch your dumb soap operas.” Robin rolls her eyes, though she smiles his way. Steve returns the expression, hesitating a moment before asking, “Are you okay?”

“Today’s been a good day. I have bad days, but today is good. I’m less pulled thin. I feel less… insane.” She huffs a laugh, but it’s in no way happy. She bites her lip, “I’m scared, Steve.” 

“Me too.” He attempts a comforting smile, but Robin doesn’t return it. He tries a different method of comfort, “Eleven told me she took my copy of The Fox and the Hound.” 

“That doesn’t surprise me.” Robin shakes her head, “She was the only one who didn’t cry at the end. Instead, she was, like, smiling and shit.” Steve smiles at that, “Out of all the things I’ve heard from that girl’s past, I think that has been the only true indication that she’s traumatized.” 

Steve rolls his eyes, “You’re so dramatic; I love that ending!” 

“Oh my God, is your brain still rotted? That ending is depressing as fuck! It’s so sad!” 

“Alright, well, agree to disagree.” Before he can say anything else, the girl across from him quickly mentions her favorite animated movie, Fantastic Planet, claiming it’s actually good because it ends with peace and coexistence and not depression, whatever that means. Steve makes the mistake of saying he’s never seen it. They talk about movies for a while, and it’s one of the best conversations he’s ever had. 

“Well, when we get out of here, we’ll have movie nights.” Steve promises, wondering how long it’s been outside the realm. Nancy isn’t shouting his name yet, so he thinks they’re good. After his promise for movie nights, there’s a break in conversation. The silence stretches for a few seconds, but Robin’s never been good with silence when Steve was around. 

“I know tomorrow’s the day,” she says. Steve’s breath hitches, “Don’t act so surprised, dingus. I’m the brain, remember?” She looks down at her hand and picks at her nails, “I can feel it. I can feel the energy shifting. I can only assume the big fight is coming up, right?” 

Steve nods, “The full moon is tomorrow. That’s where the energy’s coming from.” 

“Well, obviously. I mean, it’s more than the full moon, right?” Robin’s smile fades when Steve tilts his head, “Wait, you don’t know?” He shakes his head, “It’s a lunar eclipse, Steve.” 

“A lunar eclipse?” 

Robin nods, “Yeah, I overheard one of the doctor’s talking about it. Why do you think all this energy is shifting? Hell, why do you think you’ve lasted this long spending all your powers on astral projecting?” 

“I don’t know. Hell, what are you even saying?”

The expression Robin uses to talk about the lunar eclipse is one Steve’s used to seeing on other people’s faces. A sort of amused expression as they explain something that should be obvious but rarely is to Steve. Now, as Steve asks for clarification, Robin’s expression drops. Her eyes widen, and she curses. “Fuck, you seriously don’t know? Eddie didn’t write anything about lunar eclipses?" 

“He wrote about eclipses, but it wasn’t really mentioned in detail.” 

“Not even in his visions?”

“How do you know about his visions?” Robin doesn’t answer. Instead, she looks off into the distance. Her mouth moves subtlety, as her eyes dart back and forth. “Robin?” 

“Oh my God… he doesn’t know.” Robin’s eyes are like two saucers, and she even goes as far as to grab at her hair, “Oh my God, he doesn’t fucking know!” She grabs Steve’s shoulders, and he takes a moment to feel jealous about her ease in the astral realm. Seriously, he was a ghost for eight months! You’d think he’d be an expert or something. “Steve, you need to be careful.”

Steve frowns, “Am I allowed to ask for more details, or are you going to stick with veiled warnings?” Robin blanches and lets go of his shoulders, “Use your words, freshman!” 

“Okay, well, my guess is that Eddie genuinely didn’t know about the lunar eclipse. I mean, I don’t know if maybe the Flayer was hiding it from him–well, I mean, you’d think a psychic would have that shit memorized. Then again, it is Eddie Munson. You know, he was in my history class freshman year, and I swear to God, he forgot who Thomas Jefferson was–”

“Robin!” As refreshing as it is to see the girl act more like herself, they’re in too much of a time crunch to deal with her habitual ramblings. Especially after she spent more than enough time rambling about movies just a few minutes ago, “Focus!” 

“Right!” Robin clears her throat, “Okay, well, I obviously have no frame of reference, but I think the lunar eclipse is, like, a supercharge for psychic energy. Like I said, I’ve been feeling it, and I’m betting you’ve been feeling it too. It’s like, I’m obviously weak, but I’ve been restless and, like, stronger. I mean, think of you today! Last time you astral projected, it took you way longer. This time, you were able to get here in seconds.” 

“I did a sigil last night and felt fine despite barely sleeping,” Steve mutters mostly to himself. 

“Exactly,” the girl huffs, “and this eclipse has to mean something. If there’s anything we’ve learned in this past month, it’s that things in the universe don’t just happen for nothing.”

“So, if you’re right, and if our energies are getting stronger–”

“Then so is Eddie’s,” the girl finishes. 

He wonders if that’s how Eddie was able to carve a sigil into his back; all that high energy is likely fueling both him and the Flayer. If Eddie could break through, then he can fight to take back control in the battle. That being said, “The fight’s going to be more intense.” Robin nods, and Steve bites his lip, “We can’t change the plan now. There are too many variables.” He runs a hand through his hair, “Hell, what could we even change?” 

“Alright, I might be learning a lot while I’m in here, but I’m not omnipotent, dingus.” 

Steve blanches before explaining the plan, and Robin sighs at the end of his long explanation. “Well, you need to remember that you’re getting energy from the moon too.” The girl tilts her head, “Maybe, you learn a bit more about that. How to take energy as you spend it. Research stuff about the lunar eclipse. Try your best to gain some kind of upper hand.” She bites her lip, “Try your best not to die either, yeah?” 

“Glad to know your expectations for me are so high.” He blanches, and the girl rolls her eyes. 

“You know what I mean!” She hits his arm, “You and your tendency to, like, sacrifice yourself. Don’t make the hero move, dingus. Don’t put yourself in that kind of situation because you think it’s the only way to win. There’s always another way.” 

He ignores the urge to argue, “I’m not suicidal, Robs.” 

“Tell that to your grave, Steve.” Her expression is grave–thoughtful and caring, but it’s dark in a way that makes Steve slightly uncomfortable. It feels like she knows more than what she lets on. 

“I won’t die if you don’t.” The sigil in his side burns, and he ignores the pain to hold up his pinkie. 

“You’re such a dork.” She crosses her pinkie with his, “Don’t die.” 

“Don’t die.” She winks and lets go, and once again, Steve gets an abrupt awakening, as he sits up sharply with a gasp. The noon sun has now reached the treeline outside, and Nancy’s sitting in a plastic chair with a book in her hand. Steve tilts his head to find out it’s The Art of War, and with all the bent pages, he assumes it’s far from her first time reading it. 

“How’s Robin?” The girl shuts her book and stuffs it back into her purse, sitting up at attention. 

“She’s good. Apparently, she hated The Fox and the Hound.” Nancy snorts in response, and her following silence cues him to continue, "Tomorrow is a lunar eclipse, not just a full moon.” 

“Really?” Steve nods, “Does that change anything?”

“It’s just a theory, but Robin’s pretty sure it means that whatever energy a regular full moon gives off will be multiplied. My power will increase, but Eddie’s power will probably be doubled.” 

“Fuck…” 

“Yeah, so…” So, what? So, they’re in a lot more danger than they thought. So, Steve isn’t ready at all. So, he’s scared. He’s terrified. He spent all this time building up the courage to want to live again, and now he’s doomed again. How is he going to survive against someone so powerful? He doesn’t understand these powers, and he doesn’t know how much energy he has left. Even if the lunar eclipse can help, how is he supposed to use it? How is he going to live with everything wanting him dead?

Nancy sneaks him back through the side door, giving him a cane and a face mask to blend in with the hospital setting. He adds a limp, though his slowness isn’t faked. 

“I fucking hate those stairs,” he expresses breathlessly. 

“Now you know how it feels to not be a jock.” 

“Don’t be jealous because you’re a nerd, Nance.” 

The girl rolls her eyes and unlocks the car doors, “You’re an idiot, Steve Harrington.” She smirks. 

“Don’t I know it.” The rest of the drive is fairly quiet outside of pop songs cycling through the radio. Nancy lets him read her copy of The Art of War, and he quickly puts it back down. “How do you even read that stuff? It’s so boring.” 

“Okay, 1) it’s helping me strategize for tomorrow, and 2) just because you can’t read books that don’t have pictures doesn’t mean all others are boring.” He wordlessly flips her off, making her laugh and shake her head. 

Wayne and Hopper are both sitting outside in a lawn chair when they pull up. Nancy huffs, while Steve nervously swallows. He was expecting Hopper, but seeing Wayne somehow makes him more nervous. The man wouldn’t hurt a fly, but that doesn’t mean he’s incapable of enough “tough love” to kill a horse. 

“Told you we’d be back before sundown,” Nancy smirks, and Steve glances up at the golden sky. 

“It’s sundown.” Hopper crosses his arms. 

“It’s not even dusk. The sun’s still out.” The man clenches his jaw. He follows Nancy when she ends it at that. The last thing he says before the door shuts behind him is a booming, “Nancy Wheeler!” Steve and Wayne are left outside alone. 

“How’s Robin?” Despite his sternness, Wayne manages to appear sincere. Steve accepts the man’s invite to sit next to him. “What is it?” 

“Tomorrow’s more than a full moon; it’s a lunar eclipse.” Steve rests his elbows on his knees. 

“I know; Scott told me about it a while ago.” Wayne frowns, “Ed’s the only psychic genius of us two; I didn’t think it was important.” 

“To be honest, I didn’t think it was either. At first, I didn’t, but Robin…” he swallows, “Robin thinks the lunar eclipse means the psychic energy will be, like, multiplied. Mine, Rob’s, and… and Eddie’s.” 

The older man inhales slowly, “Eddie might’ve talked about eclipses a few times, but not damn well enough for me to have remembered. Did he mention it in his journal any?” 

“I remember a few tidbits, but I don’t remember all of what they said. I’ll check tonight, but…” he rubs his hand down his face, “I can’t believe I missed something so obvious. I mean, I should’ve… I should’ve known, or–”

“Someone should’ve told you,” Wayne instantly corrects him, “All these meetings we had when y’all were resting. I assumed someone told you, and I was wrong. But, kid, you can’t beat yourself up. You didn’t know, but now you do. You can prepare ahead of time.” 

Steve wants to argue how it isn’t as easy as it sounds, but Wayne likely already knows. Even if he somehow didn’t, even as his expression is one of empathy, Steve can’t tell him anything. He’s hiding too much. The curse. The sigil. His visions. His nightmares. It’s better not to let anyone worry more than they already are. Nancy’s probably already worrying everyone inside by telling them about the eclipse, so Steve keeps his pocket of peace beside Hopper. “How do I prepare?” 

“Is that a question you should be asking me or asking yourself?” Wayne returns, and Steve looks over at him. 

“If I could see the future and know the answer, I’d ask myself. I can’t see the future, so I’m asking you.” His lower lips wobble, “Can’t you just tell me what to do? Can’t you help me?” 

“You don’t want my help,” the old man chuckles, “because the only advice I want to give you is to sit tomorrow out.” Steve frowns, “Yeah, that’s what I thought. So, you want to hear something else?” Steve nods, “Eddie loves you, and if he’s stronger, then he can break free. You’ve helped him break free before, just do it again. Do what needs to be done, and if it becomes too much, then get the hell out of there. Your life is more important.” 

“More important than the world?” 

“To my son…” he hesitates before continuing, “and to me, it is.” Steve is physically taken aback, but Wayne doesn’t budge, “So, stay alive. That’s my advice.” 

They share a hug and a few minutes of silence before going inside for dinner. It’s not concrete oatmeal or soup but, to Steve’s shock, burgers and fries. “I’d been growing potatoes outside, and they just got ready,” Wayne explains. 

“We may or may not have robbed the Wendy’s in town for burgers.” Dustin has a mouthful of beef and bread when he says this. “We have nothing else, so it’s kind of dry, but we found some old ketchup packets.” He points to a large pile in the center of the table. Meanwhile, his plate is surrounded by the wrappers of at least ten packets. 

“Holy shit…” Steve laughs and takes a seat at the table across from Erica, who is stuffing her own face just like everyone else. His own burger has two patties and a mountain of ketchup. He has twice as many fries. 

“Figured you’d need your energy,” Joyce mutters from beside him. She manages to speak without stuffing her face, but Mike, who is on his other side, is practically snorting like a pig. 

“What?” Steve ignores the kid and turns his attention to his own burger. It’s dry, a bit overcooked, smothered in ketchup, and the buns are stale. 

It’s the best meal he’s had in ages. 

April 24th, 1986 (Thursday)

“Where the hell is my revolver?! I know one of you has it!” Mike shouts in the kitchen. 

“Nancy probably has it.” Joyce sounds much calmer compared to the boy, “It is her gun.” 

“Yeah, but she gave it to me to have in the battle. Why would she take it back?!” 

“Probably because you left it on the bathroom sink, dumbass,” Max snarks. 

“That was one time!” 

“That was yesterday!” 

“And this morning.” Along with Nancy’s voice comes the opening and closing of the front door, “This is why Hopper gave you that old holster, Mike.” There’s a sound like plastic being dropped, and Mike groans. 

“It’s not like I lost it! It was right where I left it!” 

Despite the loud conversations trailing into his room, Steve’s slow to get up. He resounds himself to eavesdropping with his hands folded over his stomach, as he lays on his back. The ceiling is white, with a few orange or gray stains from water damage. There’s a ceiling fan, though he knows for a fact it and its lights don’t work. At most, they’ll hum and flicker in orange, but the bedside lamp is plenty for him. He’s surrounded by a mass of books, and his sheets aren’t even on him. He fell asleep in yesterday’s clothes; it’s a bit reminiscent of a time he’d like to forget. Still, he learned a lot. 

Lunar eclipses do make psychic abilities stronger, but it’s more than that. They’re supposed to represent changes. Much more than that, it means an ending. 

Change isn’t a bad thing; Steve’s grown enough to learn that. Endings, now, those are a bit worrisome. Sometimes, something ending is simply going from one era to the next. Childhood ends when you turn eighteen. High school ends when you graduate. But, life ends when you die, and that’s the scariest type ending of all. Heaven, or whatever, may exist, but the prospect of hurting his friends hurts more than anything else. All that happened, it happened because of him. Hell, Robin wouldn’t be cursed; Eddie wouldn’t have died; and, who knows? Maybe none of this would’ve happened at all if he had just been a little bit stronger. 

“Do you want any breakfast?” He looks over at the doorway to see Will standing there with a plate in his hands, “The bread is stale and a bit burnt, but there’s toast, some leftover burger meat, and oatmeal with the texture of eggs.” He smiles in an apologetic way, “There’s plenty of salt, pepper, and sugar to make it palatable.” 

“Sugar?” 

“Trust me, it needs sugar.” Steve’s eyes widen, as Will squints from his added wince.

“Alright, fine, hand it over.” He properly sits up to accept the impromptu breakfast in bed. The toast has jam; it has a long enough shelf life. There was a packet of sugar and the salt and pepper shakers. Will sits on his bed instead of leaving, “How are you?” 

Steve bites into his toast, chews, and then answers after a moment, “Worried.” 

Will looks to the floor, “It’s because of the lunar eclipse, isn’t it?” 

The eclipse, the curse, change, endings, and the prospect of someone dying. “Worried one of you will get hurt.” 

“And yourself?” 

“Dying once, shame on me; dying twice, shame on that asshole, Vecna.” The kid snorts. 

“I like that.” He gently slaps Steve’s bent knee with the back of his hand, “We’re the only ones who have died, you know? Well, you, me, Robin, and technically Hopper.” 

“Shame on us.” Steve frowns at the flavorless oatmeal he takes a bite of and hesitantly adds sugar. Will was right; it is better. “Don’t die, kid.” 

“I won’t.” 

After breakfast and getting ready, Steve joins the others in the kitchen. Mr. Clarke is standing with a coffee mug in hand. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the eclipse, kid. It was irresponsible of me to assume you already knew. More than that, it was foolish of me to assume it wouldn’t change anything in our plan.” 

“I tried to tell him!” Dustin exclaims from the dining table. He has a spear in front of him, and he’s wrapping duct tape around the knife handle to keep it attached. “Nobody listens to me even though I’m right!” 

“Maybe we’d listen if you weren’t always such a butthead about it,” Erica responds, carefully cleaning a trash can shield containing nails. Steve wonders who managed to convince her to wear gloves. 

“Fuck off, you’re always a butthead!” 

“Yeah, but I’m smarter than you.” Dustin flips her off, and Erica sticks out her tongue. Steve takes a seat next to her and grabs the other shield to clean. He works until lunchtime, taking a long enough break to eat before returning to work. He cleans off his nail bat, smiling as he does so. 

“I need a smoke,” Hopper huffs and stands with a groan, dropping Wayne’s newly sawed off shotgun. 

“Can I come?” Steve asks. 

“You’re not smoking.” 

“I could die tonight.” 

“You’re not smoking.” Steve blanches but accepts the rules. He grabs his sigil covered vest–a new one Max made for him. Instead of that old traffic vest, it’s Eddie’s battle vest. “Eddie’ll kill you when he finds out you painted this thing with blood,” he had said when the girl gave it to him that morning. 

“Yeah, well, Eddie would kill me twice if I didn’t at least try to protect your ass.” Steve rolled his eyes. Now, he throws the thing over his shoulders as he joins Hopper outside. It’s colder than usual, with a growing chill in the air. 

Something wicked this way comes; Steve supposes. 

“Here, don’t tell Joyce.” Hopper hands Steve a cigarette, and the younger man smiles up at him in an amused way. “Don’t look at me like that. You’re about to have the fight of your life; you deserve a damn cigarette.” 

“I haven’t smoked since the fourth of July.” 

Hopper hums, “Did you know it was gonna be your last?” 

Steve snorts, “I assumed it would be my last pack.” The older man frowns, “I just couldn’t stop shaking, you know?” He smiles, and it feels forced, “I just… I smoked through all of them and it didn’t help.” He looks at the cigarette in his hand; it tastes rotten, “I suppose nothing can help you when you’re heading to the end of your story.” He flicks the thing to the ground, even if only a fourth of it had been smoked. He watches the embers splash against the ground like drops of water. 

“Jane never liked me smoking–hated the smell. I stopped for her, but… the guys in Kamchatka used to sneak in cigarettes all the time. It was the only thing the guards let slide. Got back into the habit and haven’t been able to stop.” He flexes the hand not holding the cigarette, and Steve watches as it trembles, “I smoked because it was the only time I ever felt normal out there. The only stress relief we were ever allowed to have. I just haven’t been able to let go of that relief. I chase it.” 

“Do you have it? The relief?” 

“Sometimes.” He smiles and puts his hand down, “I feel relieved when I’m tucking Jane into bed. I feel relief when I fall asleep and wake up at Joyce’s side. I feel relieved eating warm food and sleeping in a warm bed. I feel relief when I’m with all you guys. I felt relief when I found out you were alive. I feel relief now, talking to you. I don’t feel true relief with a cigarette.” He frowns at the thing, as if realizing he was holding it the entire time. Just as Steve had done, he flicks it to the ground. “I guess it’s just a bad habit.” 

“Dying is a pretty bad habit, huh?” Robin used to get on Steve’s ass about smoking in the beginning of them working together. Whenever he took a smoke break, she’d dramatically hold her nose and spray him with disinfectant. She’d directly quote all those medical journals about lung cancer then tell Steve how “gross” he is. He’d honestly stopped smoking for a while after the fifth time she’d done this. The only reason he had a pack with him at Starcourt that faithful night is because he had grabbed the pack he left in his work locker just before the fight, knowing a cigarette, in the past, was his usual technique of calming down after an Upside Down fight. That, or drinking, but cigarettes were more available. 

“Yes it is, kid.” Hopper wraps an arm around Steve’s shoulder, taking a moment to mess up his hair, “Yes, it is.” Steve bats his arm away with a laugh, and instead of smoking, they end up watching the sky turn from orange into an inky black. One by one, their friends join them. They sit around the porch as if sitting around a bonfire. They laugh. Jonathan puts on some music. The kids tell bad horror stories, and just like before their last fight with Vecna, everything is at peace. There’s no talk of doom or gloom, but as soon as Dustin’s watch begins to beep, displaying a time of 8:30, the relief dissipates. 

“We better get going.” Nancy stands from her seat next to Jonathan. Steve stands next, almost sitting back down as his vision flashes white. No, not white–gold. Hopper grabs his arm to pull it back up. He lets it go a moment later, “Steve…”

“What?” Steve swallows and blinks away the sharp pain in his head. He feels almost nauseous, though at the same time, he feels like he could run a marathon. “What is it?” 

“Your eyes…” Dustin speaks up, “They’re gold.” 

“The full moon,” Lucas starts, “it’s fueling you too.” 

Everyone smiles at the prospect of Steve being more powerful. Nancy, however, looks at Steve with a heavy expression. They both know the same thing; Robin was right. If Steve is getting a power rush, then so is Eddie’s. 

And there’s no doubt that Eddie is at least twice as strong. Looking at Wayne, as the man begins to walk past Steve, he knows Eddie’s uncle thinks the same thing. He goes as far as to pat Steve’s shoulder, “Do whatever you need to do to survive, kid.” There are tears in his eyes, as Steve carefully nods. He soon flinches when a shout rings out. 

“Let’s kill that son of a bitch!” Dustin raises his fist, ignoring Joyce’s scold to run inside and get ready. 

Steve looks down at his sigil covered vest and, as soon as everyone runs inside, carefully takes it off. He won’t be needing it anymore. The Flayer already knows where he’s going, and as he looks to the stars, he takes a deep breath. “I don’t know who’s listening. I guess it’s my spirits or–or the universe, or whatever. I just… please don’t let me die. Don’t let Eddie die. Don’t let any of us die. Please? I can’t handle another heartbreak.” The only response Steve receives is a chilling breeze that makes him shiver. It feels as heavy as a rejection. As heavy as an ending. As heavy as the bad kind of change. 

As heavy as knowing that he’s going to die, and there’s nothing he can do to stop it. It’s the rule of the universe; things that die have to stay dead. Maybe that’s Steve’s fate, and he finds no motivation to fight it anymore. As long as his friends are okay, why does he need to fight? Why, when he can’t stop shaking?

Chapter Text

April 24th, 1986 (Thursday)

“Ready?” Wayne’s voice is barely audible through the walkie, as it’s most static breaking through. Scott is next to him with his hands on a box of matches. The teams are in four corners of Hawkins near the other four, already existing gates. There are explosives and a fuse in each of their hands. Hopper has his lighter at the read, as Joyce speaks into their own walkie, “Ready.”

“Ready to fly, dude,” Argyle responds, giving a thumbs up to his teammate, Jonathan, who sends a weary thumbs up back.

“Remind me again why I’m the only solo team?” Murray asks, though it barely comes through. 

“You have a flamethrower,” Jonathan points out, eyeing his own weapon, which is just a shotgun. Argyle has an axe.

“Focus, guys,” Wayne cuts in, “On the count of three, alright?” He glances at Scott, who holds up three fingers, “Three… two…” It’s not in sync because it doesn’t have to be, but one by one, four explosions go off. There are shouts of monsters in the distance and the ground shakes, as fire begins to spread across the dry landscape. Each team begins to grab gasoline, as across the terrain, a different kind of explosion happens. 

***

Eddie feels it the moment the hivemind gets impacted. He feels it because it’s the closest he’s gotten to regaining control of his own body. He manages to take a single step before the Mindflayer shoves him back, albeit weakly. 

“What the hell was that?” It asks Vecna, who growls. 

“That would be the cockroaches working with Eleven.” He looks at the clock in the dirt, “Looks like we’ll have to attack sooner. How badly are you weakened?” 

Eddie gets a bad feeling deep in his gut, as Vecna and The Flayer stand in front of the ruins of the Creel house. “Weak. We need exposure to the moon.” No matter how many times it’s happened, Eddie thinks he’ll never get over the sound of his own voice under The Flayer’s control. It just doesn’t sound like him. It sounds cruel. It sounds mean. His vocal chords are dry, as the Flayer’s been strictly fueling itself with spirits and lights from the real world instead of eating or drinking anything. It somehow hurts Eddie’s throat, even though he has no physical form in this hellscape of his mind. 

“I can open a small gate if you share some power,” Vecna offers. 

“I can do it,” the Flayer snaps, “I can start it, but you need to make it bigger. Then, I’ll go to the other side to be fueled by the moon. It’s full, and it’s an eclipse. The energy will be stronger; I’ll be better in no time.” 

Once more, there’s a physical sensation Eddie shouldn’t feel. By that, he means his stomach drops so low that if he were in control of his body, he would’ve thrown up. An eclipse?! How could he have forgotten?! Then again, when he found out he was gonna die on March 27th, he kind of stopped looking at anything beyond the date. Still, he should’ve sensed it in his visions. How could he have been so stupid?! 

“I hid it from you, you idiotic mortal,” the Flayer answers his many unspoken questions. “You knew, trust me in that, but I erased the thought whenever it came. I couldn’t have you warning your precious friends, could I?” 

“Fuck you, you ugly son of a bitch!” Eddie bites out, though he can’t help the burning shame that slips out. He can feel it deep in his chest. It’s all his fault. Everything is all his fault. If he hadn’t been such a coward and interacted with Steve sooner. If after Steve’s death, he hadn't been isolated so much to miss so many people’s auras go dark. If he had just listened to the universe’s warnings and followed his gut. If he hadn’t accepted his fate to die in the first place. 

“Ain’t no use in dwelling in the past, kid. No use in dwelling on the future either. Yeah, yeah, I know; you see the future, but that don’t mean you gotta think about it all the damn time. Focus on the present. Focus on today. Focus on how you feel right now,” Wayne always said this whenever Eddie was feeling overwhelmed. It wasn’t always due to dwelling on a time different than the present, but the last bit. Focusing on the feeling of right now always helped Eddie. It grounded him in a way similar to how music grounds him. How Steve grounds him and meditation. Right now, he feels angry and scared. 

He feels strong too. 

Something buzzing deep in his core. Something like a sugar rush mixed with the burn of well worked muscles. It gets stronger, as the Flayer raises his hand to open a small gate against the side of a tree. Vecna stretches it a big more until it’s about the length of the door. Eddie squeezes through, and on the other side, the moon has already begun peaking over the horizon. The streets are empty. Even the bugs seemed to have stopped singing their nighttime songs. 

“Can you feel that, Eddie? All the energy you ignored. All your wasted potential. Aren’t you glad these powers can finally be used by one who knows what they’re doing?” Eddie can see in his small window into the outside world a trail leading from the moon to his core. There are other trails coming from the powerlines. The trees. The Earth. The stars. It’s all so overwhelming. “Now watch as I use this power to destroy your world.” 

The ground shakes as it splits open. The sky as black as ink is tinted red like a deep lake of blood. The megagate that splits open the Earth adds a red shine that stretches above the trees, making any stars melt away with its bright glow. 

“What the fuck?” He and the Flayer say this at the same time, as a distinctly orange hue joins the red. 

“Oh my God…” Eddie mutters on his own, as a smile stretches across his face. He’s pushed closer to the surface, and he feels it. He feels the Flayer in pain, as the four corners of the megagate begin to burn. There are monsters being slain, vines being burnt, and all the Flayer can do is fall to its knees in Eddie’s body. “Fuck!” Eddie shouts, seeing a bright light. It’s almost blinding, and he blinks a few times…

Holy shit…

He blinks. He breathes. He feels the weight of his jeans and the dirt against his palms, as he sits on all fours on the woods floor. He broke out. 

The Flayer is in the back of his mind weakly trying to claw at its cage, but Eddie’s already running.

He’s not an idiot. He saw fire and brimstone in his visions just as clearly as he saw a happy ending. This, while unexpected, changes nothing. There’s still going to be a fight. Steve will be in danger, but Eddie can help his friends first.

Whatever is happening with the fires and the upside down, he pays it no mind. Instead, he races to the center of town through the woods, following the giant gate as his guide. It’s a miracle that he doesn’t trip on any roots and an even bigger miracle that the moon works in his favor. In true intention, he uses his powers as they were meant to be used. With all the strength he has, Eddie appears in the center of town in just a few minutes, even though he was miles away.

Nancy and Steve are in town square hiding from the nearby gates. They’ve created a large barricade like a collaseum, with a large platform in the center from an old stage. Eddie wonders how long they’ve been working and just how stable it is.

“Steve!” He runs forth, waving with both hands. Nancy instantly raises her sawed off shotgun, and Eddie halts with both hands now raised in surrender, “Woah! Wheeler, it’s me!” He doesn’t blame her for her cautiousness but would rather not get shot in the face. 

“Prove it…” her face is stern, “I’m not afraid to shoot off your goddamn leg if it means freeing my friend.” 

“Jesus Christ! How the fuck are you in the goddamn school newspaper?! You’re like G.I. Joe!” Eddie gapes at the girl, whose sneer drops along with her arms. 

With a roll of her eyes, she says, “Yeah, okay, it’s you.” She puts her hand on her hop, as Steve runs forward to throw his arms around Eddie’s frame. Eddie hugs him back, pressing his nose against the man’s neck. He smells like cheap shampoo, soup, fire, and home. Also a bit like blood and sweat. “I’ve missed you, sweetheart.”

“Eddie…” Steve mutters before pulling away, hands moving to grab at Eddie’s face, “I don’t understand. All your visions said you’d be under the Flayer’s control until the end of the battle!” 

“Whatever you guys did with the Upside Down weakened the hive mind enough to let me escape. The Flayer’s still weak, but the future’s not so easy to change.” He swallows and glances at their odd construction. It’s made of old ruins and chain link fences. There are roars all around. Any monsters are too weak to attack, yet they scream all the same. “We need to finish that trap now.” 

“Trap?” Nancy glances between the two. Steve looks over at her, a guilty expression on his face.

“There were some parts of the plan I couldn’t tell you, Nance.” Before the girl can ask, Steve throws Nancy’s bag as a distraction, grabs Eddie’s hand, then drags him over to the fountain in the center of town. It’s beyond the barricade and out in the open. Nancy shouts before quickly following, though Steve quickly tied a chainlink fence piece to the small opening he and Eddie had to crawl through. Eddie can just barely hear Nancy shout their names along with several insults from the other side. They approach the fountain, and Eddie can feel the small buzzing of magic. 

“The sigil’s finished but probably not perfect. I had to do it while everyone was distracted.” There, at the bottom of the large, circle fountain, is a painted sigil. The landmark was destroyed in the quakes and lies right beside a gate. Its bottom is flat with only some water spouts interrupting its design. “It’s perfect, baby.” Steve smiles, “And you made sure the water was cut off?” Eddie adds.

“Checked it myself.” Steve nods. Eddie smiles and presses a kiss to his lips. “I painted it like you said, I just need to add the blood and say the incantation.”

“We’re doing it a bit different,” Eddie says, making Steve frown, “There’s a way to make it stronger. It… it’s risky as hell but from the shit I’ve been seeing, we’ll need all the help we can get.” And maybe, just maybe, it’ll help him save Steve.

“What do we need to do?”

“Just follow my lead. First, we still need blood… not just yours anymore. “Eddie glances at the ground before finding an old nail. Steve frowns. “Dude, we’re about to fight monsters, a warlock, and a towering spider-demon. Tetanus is the least of our worries right now.” He cuts his forearm from the wrist to the inside of his elbow with a hiss. The blood immediately begins to pour out, as he hands the nail over to Steve, who stares at the object with a frown. 

“I had a knife…” he mutters, patting his empty pockets before taking the nail to his arm with a deep hiss. Eddie gives him a comforting smile before grabbing the man’s bloody hand with his own. 

“You have to say it, babe. You did the sigil.” 

It’s frankly the worst Latin pronunciation Eddie’s ever heard in his life. But magic is mostly intention anyway. Though, Steve must sense his stare behind his closed eyes, because as soon as he’s finished, he mutters out, “Shut up.” 

“I didn’t even say anything!” Eddie insists, raising the hand not grasping Steve’s up in surrender. Steve opens his eyes to blanch. “As long as it worked, your awful Latin doesn’t matter, babe.”

“How do we know if it worked?” Steve asks. Eddie smiles before letting go of Steve’s hand. His lover frowns, while he simply backs away slowly. Eventually, his back hits an invisible wall. Steve exhales sharply, and he turns towards the closest edge of the fountain to himself and approaches with his hand raised. Eddie waits for him to pass through the barrier without any issue, but instead, Steve’s palm presses flat against the edge like pushing against glass. Eddie feels his heart drop. 

“What the fuck?” He’s breathless when he asks. Steve turns around, eyebrows furrowed and eyes narrowed. “What the fuck was that? The spell is only supposed to stop me, Steve.” 

“What?” The man looks around briefly before grabbing Eddie’s notebook from beneath an overhanging lip on the fountain’s edge. He flips a few pages, “It…” he trails off, “It’s only supposed to trap you. Cause…” he stumbles a bit, “Fuck…” his eyes are wide and for good reason. 

The plan was to trap Eddie and give him enough time to break free of the Flayer’s control and overthrow him for good. Use its energy to close the gates and give Eleven enough time and strength to kill Vecna. Steve was supposed to be on the outside of the trap as Eddie’s anchor – something to focus on and keep himself from drifting away and succumbing to the Flayer’s control. It was the plan Eddie saw in his visions. 

Instead, they’ve trapped themselves in a lion’s den. 

“Can we break the spell?” Steve asks. Eddie shakes his head. 

“The only way to break the spell is to break the sigil, but if we did that, we’d have to start all over again.” Eddie’s begun pacing back and forth, biting at his thumbnail. Mentally, he calls himself an idiot over and over, stopping for a moment, “How the hell are you trapped? The spell only works for psychics!” He can’t help but sound angry. The Flayer’s energy bleeds into his own, though he feels bad for snapping. Steve appropriately responds with a guilty expression. 

“I don’t know, Ed! I…” he trails off, having tossed his hands up during his response. There’s a black ring on his finger that Eddie instantly recognizes. Steve stares at the thing, “I have psychic energy.” He says it like a curse, and Eddie frowns, “It’s a long story, it…” his lower lip wobbles, and he shakes his head, “When I… that’s the gold shit you kept seeing. When I came back to life, something happened. I gained some power, and you kept fuelling me. It’s why I kept getting sick. It was either I ran out of power or–or you were too far away to keep replenishing me.” He scoffs, “I got all the curses without the superpowers, but it’s true. I have some of your energy. That’s why the spell is working for me.” 

“How…” Eddie trails off, gently grabbing Steve’s hand to look at the ring.. 

“It’s a long story.” He sniffs then, and Eddie looks up and feels his heart drop. He’s seen Steve look worried, sad, and nervous. Never has he seen him look so scared. He’s shaking all over, “Steve…” 

“I’m fine.” The man snatches his hand back. “I’m just thinking. There–there has to be some kind of solution, okay?” It’s his turn to start pacing, and it’s by the time he runs into the barrier that Nancy finally breaks through their impromptu barricade. 

“What the hell was that, you ass–” she cuts herself off when she runs into the barrier, “What the hell?” She presses a hand against the invisible wall, expression twisting into something impossibly angrier, “What the hell did you idiots do?!” 

“Yeah, yeah, we have two brain cells total in the party, and you and Joyce share them. Thank you, Captain Obvious! Now help us!” Steve shouts. 

“Break the spell!” 

“We can’t!” Steve runs a hand through his hair and shakes his head, “We can’t break the spell without releasing the Flayer, and we can’t stay in here without risking both our lives. This just turned into a cage match, so if you have any ideas on how to win, feel free to share with the class!” He splays his arms wide. Nancy’s anger, while still clear by her burning glare, dissipates into a simple frown. 

“Do you have your vest?” 

“I left it at the station.” 

“Would it even help?” Eddie asks. 

“If the Flayer wants to attack him psychically, it might. Block it out, right?” The girl picks at a loose string on her tactical vest. 

“Yeah, then all the Flayer would have to do is beat me to death,” Steve drawls, voice uneasy. Eddie tugs on his hair, wincing and willing himself to think. It’s when one of the strands loosens from his skull that a lightbulb pops into his head.

“Not if we’re astral projecting,” he mutters.

“What?” Steve turns towards Eddie.

“If the Flayer is astral projecting, it becomes blocked by those sigils. It’s the same as this barrier. It can’t get in or out.” 

“Yeah, and how the hell are we supposed to get the Flayer to astral project?” 

“I take him with me,” Eddie responds, “I’ll force us both to leave my body, Steve paints a sigil on my chest, and the Flayer and I battle it out in the astral realm. Steve’s safe. The Flayer can’t get back in my body, and it buys us all some time.” 

“That’s the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard.” He blanches and looks over at Nancy, “How are we supposed to know who’s winning? What if something happens, and you get trapped in the realm? Hell, you’re talking about voluntarily trapping yourself outside of your body! No way, okay?! We’re not doing it!”

“You got a better idea, Wheeler?”

“Yeah, not go on a suicide mission! We’d have no way of checking if you were safe, Ed! We’d be sitting ducks!” 

“What if someone was watching?” Steve pipes up. Nancy looks at him, frowns, then instantly begins to shake her head.

“No way—“

“I can return to my body whenever I want—“

“You’re not risking your life, Steve!” Nancy snaps, voice shaking, “I’m not fucking losing you again!” 

“Steve, what are you talking about?” Eddie asks. Steve bites his lip.

“He wants to go into the astral realm.” It’d be more accurate to describe Nancy’s response as a seething hiss than a simple spoken word.

“Nope, no…” Eddie waves his hands and shakes his head, “Out of the question, okay?” Steve sighs, standing his ground. “No, Steve! I’m saying no! Did you forget that the Flayer wants you dead? Did you forget that it’ll use you to get to me? We’re not doing that. End of story. This is my fight. That’s why we made this trap in the first place.” 

“You’re my soulmate, Eddie. Your fights are my fights too.” Steve clenches his jaw, eyes boring into Eddie’s soul, “Either we do this together or not at all.”  

“This isn’t some fists thrown at a party, Steve. Either we win, or we die. Losing isn’t an option. Don’t you get that?” 

Steve swallows, “Together or not at all, Munson.” Eddie is about to deny the man further, but there’s a sudden shout that echoes through the air. The three friends turn their heads and look out into the distance. 

There’s a water tower in town. It’s tall and spray painted–admittedly some of Eddie’s doing. Atop of the thing is a dark figure. Vecna, it has to be. The villain throws a hand, and the tower splits open. Water rushes out and splashes against the gates. It’s not enough to completely extinguish the fires but enough to let out a few crowds of monsters. There are distant gunshots from the military. Nancy’s walkie crackles to life, “Vecna’s loose!” 

“No shit…” Nancy mutters then grabs the device, “He’s on top of the water tower. I’m gonna need back up near town center.” She readies her gun, glancing at the nearby gate. There’s hesitance in her expression, as she glances between the approaching shadows and the two men. 

“Get out of here. Get behind the barricade and to the library. It’s safer with the others in the hideout.” 

“Steve, I’m not leaving you–”

“The barricade will hold,” Eddie interrupts. The girl looks at him, “Trust me, get out of here.” He’s had enough changes in his future in the past hour alone. He’s not willing to add a casualty to that list. 

“Don’t be an idiot, Steve.” She frowns, tilting her head. “Good luck… I’ll see you later.” Steve tilts his head, “I’m not making this a goodbye, Harrington.” She upturns a side of her mouth into a half-smile. 

“See you later, Nance.” Then, Steve presses a kiss to his fingers and holds his hand against the barricade. Nancy blushes, shakes her head, then does the same, pressing her hand opposite of Steve’s.

“Don’t die.” She says this to Eddie before running off, hiding behind the barricade once more. There’s a large explosion, and Eddie looks over just as a flume of fire and smoke flies through the air. The moon is covered from the eclipse; he can sense Eleven; the Flayer is clawing at its enclosure; the battle’s finally begun. 

Steve and him flinch when a demobat flies into their barrier. At least Eddie was telling the truth about that. When Steve looks over to say as such, he finds Eddie shirtless. “Woah…” he eyes the man’s torso. 

“Get your head out of the gutter, Steve.” Eddie winces when he picks at his forearm, making the blood drip faster once more, “I need you to draw the sigil on my back.” 

“On your back?” 

“I’m drawing one on my front. You draw on my back.” He turns around, holding out his arm for Steve to dip his fingers into, like his blood is paint. “Steve?” 

“When all this is over, you owe me a vacation, Munson.” Steve smears blood on his fingers and uses it to draw the sigil. He sees Eddie’s other arm moving, “Why are we doing two? Shouldn’t the eclipse help with the energy?” He feels his arm tingling as he draws, as if he’s the one giving blood. And no, he’s not using the same arm he cut open to finish the sigil. His entire body is buzzing, really. Not just his limbs. 

“We’re leaving them unfinished. I’m going to astral project and bring the Flayer with me, and as soon as that happens, you’re finishing one of them.” 

“Why one? Why on your front or back?” 

“Because I’m going to be standing and will collapse as soon as I’ve projected. Whichever side is facing up is the sigil you’re going to finish.” Steve’s eyes widen and stay that way until Eddie turns around, “What? How else am I supposed to signal that I’ve projected?” 

“This is a horrible idea,” Steve decides.

“The world has gone to hell, Steve. What else is there to do but make horrible ideas?” Eddie smirks, making the other man roll his eyes. He opens his mouth, ready to make another horrible joke but interrupts himself with a groan. He presses a hand to the side of his head, “Fuck!”

“Eddie!” Steve catches the man before he can fall, “Eddie?” 

“Vecna and El are fighting. The Flayer… fuck, the Flayer’s trying to get out. It’s… fuck!” He groans once more, clutching his head with both hands, “I need to project. I need to fight back. You… get ready, Steve.” 

“Ready for what?” Eddie gently pushes him away after he asks, and Steve repeats, “Ready for what?!” 

“Finish the sigil…” Eddie stands straight, “Don’t follow me. This is my fight, Steve. Not ours.” He huffs a harsh breath, “I love you.” With that, he closes his eyes. Less than a few seconds pass before he suddenly collapses, falling backwards. Steve, after a few seconds of shock, jumps into action. He smears blood on his fingers and uses it to finish the sigil on Eddie’s chest. “Come on, please work.” He sits back, feeling something like a static shock as soon as he finishes the design. “Eddie?” 

The air is eerily still, as Steve sits and basks in the silence. There are screams around him. Monsters shouting. People. Buildings crashing and glass breaking. It’s like Apocalypse Now, but Steve can’t turn off the television. All he can do is stare and listen, as the world around him goes to hell. The monsters, having run into their barrier one too many times, finally seemed to learn not to bother them. They run around the two men’s trap, following the scent of blood or the sound of voices. Steve stands on his tip toes, as if he could check on their friends by peeking over the barricade that towers at least three times his height. It’s no use. 

He looks down at his ring. Well, Eddie’s ring. The black one. The one he needs to break by the end of the full moon. He just has to wait until the fight is over. As soon as Eleven defeats Vecna, that is. As much as Steve hates to admit it, Eddie’s right. It’s still risky as hell, but it’s not an entirely idiotic plan. All Steve has to do is wait until Eleven defeats Vecna. Then, after she’s shut the gates, and after it’s safe to come out, Steve will destroy the barrier and remove Eddie’s vigil. After all, the gates won’t shut if the Flayer’s on this side. At least, that’s what Eddie wrote down in his notebook. 

It’s not the perfect plan, but it’s the best chance they’ve got. All Steve has to do is be patient. 

Though, Steve was never good at being patient. He hates waiting. He spent eight months waiting. Doing nothing but floating around and walking through walls. Why does he have to wait now?

The closest he can get as an answer to his question comes in the form of a gunshot that’s much closer than the rest. He flinches and looks over just as Jonathan runs up to the fountain. “Wait, wait!” Steve raises both hands, but Jonathan still runs into the barrier. Steve winces.

“God, what the fuck?” Jonathan groans and clutches his bleeding nose. Argyle quickly forces the man to his feet, taking the role of fighting off a stray demodog while Jonathan stares at Steve then at Eddie, “What the hell?” 

“It’s a long story. Nancy and the others are behind the barricade hiding out near the library. Just go help them with defence until the fight’s over.” He says this, though there honestly hasn’t been that many monsters. Just a few stray demobats and one or two demodogs. The latter includes the demodog Argyle’s just decapitated with his axe. “How’s Eleven doing?”

“What?” Jonathan frowns, having been silent for the entirety of Steve’s short spiel. Though, he’s been wearing that same, odd look in his eyes. 

“Eddie said that Eleven is fighting Vecna,” Steve answers, giving Jonathan an equally confused stare. The man opens and closes his mouth. 

“Steve, the fight’s over,” the man says carefully, holding up his walkie, “Hopper just radioed it in. Destroying the hivemind worked like we thought. Henry was weakened so much that he could barely stand. Eleven was able to subdue him, and my mom, like,” Jonathan huffs a disbelieving laugh, “Shit, she chopped his head clean off.” 

“Badass Mrs. Byers!” Argyle adds, seemingly sober by the clarity in his tone yet behaving otherwise. “Seriously, though, El’s a bit under the weather. Can’t close the gates on her own.” 

“She sent us out here to ask Eddie for help. She said he can shut the gates with the eclipse.” He points to the sky, but Steve looks at Eddie. 

Well, there goes his patience. All this preparation, and the battle’s over in only forty-five minutes. Figures. “Alright, I’ll let Eddie…” he hesitates when he reaches for his jacket to help wipe off the blood. “Time moves slower in the astral realm,” he comments. 

“What?” Jonathan tilts his head.

“Uh, radio Eleven and the others. Get them here as soon as possible, okay? I’ll… I’ll be back as soon as possible.” Jonathan’s already reaching for his walkie, while Argyle readies his axe for whatever may come. 

Eddie can warn him all he wants, but it’s a stupid idea to leave him in the dark while fighting in the astral realm. The only way to escape that realm is to return to one’s body, and Eddie can’t do that without Steve’s help. And Steve… well, dying tends to make a man cautious.