Chapter Text
They make it out of the Upside Down like dominos, tumbling one by one. Steve doesn’t bother to dust himself off or even pause to catch his breath. Instead, he extends his hand and pulls Nancy up off the floor, and reaches for Robin right when her back collides with the ground. He wants to check them both over for injuries, his concern flaring when he notices the wince that’s causing Robin’s brow to crease, but his instinct to find, count, and care for the kids overrides that desire. He looks around and realizes that they’re in Vecna/One/Henry’s house—or at least one-half of the house as it’s been split clean in two. His eyes survey what’s left, seeking a quick but somewhat safe exit. He needs to get to the kids, he needs to check on Max and Lucas and Erica. He needs to find Dustin and Eddie. He swallows his worry down and zeros in on a split staircase and points it out to the girls. They exchange quick but shaky nods. Steve’s the first to go down the steps, one by one, until the stairs just end, leaving a straight drop to the ground.
“My knees are getting too old for this shit,” he mumbles before launching himself down. He lets out an audible grunt and stands upright—far too soon, according to his back—to guide Nancy and Robin down. Once the three of them make it to not solid but right-side-up ground, Steve searches frantically for the Sinclairs and Max.
“Look,” Nancy says, pointing down the road. The lights of an ambulance fade into the night sky, heading toward what he assumes is Hawkins General Hospital.
“Shit,” he exclaims. “It’s gotta be them, right? Maybe Max is still alive?” He wants to think he’s reassuring the girls when in reality, he’s bargaining with himself as the clock’s chimes echo in his ears.
It’s Robin’s voice that breaks the spiral happening in his head. “The hospital is in the opposite direction of Eddie’s trailer. We should split up.” Nancy nods. Steve wants to argue because if working at Family Video has taught him anything, it’s that you don’t split up in the face of an ax murderer or when a veiny, nose-less demon wizard from the underworld is on the loose.
“No—”
“Yes, Steve. We’ll be fine,” Nancy tells him firmly. “I’m not going to make you choose which kid to care for. I’m making that decision for you.”
Steve considers protesting but remains silent, eagerly waiting to be told which direction to head in.
“Robin and I will head to the hospital, you go check on Dustin and Eddie.”
Steve exhales and a small wave of relief washes over him that leaves twinges of guilt in its path. He cares about all of the kids, but Dustin… Dustin is annoyingly special. And really wants to make sure he and Eddie weren’t dumb enough to go rogue.
He offers a small smile to Nancy and squeezes Robin’s arm. “Thanks,” he says before taking off down the street in a winded jog.
“Radio when you can!” Robin calls. The radio, right. He gives a thumbs up and reaches into his vest for the currently powered-down walkie-talkie. Somehow, his legs keep moving while his hands operate the walkie-talkie and his head reels with the many possible outcomes that could have transpired.
“Dustin! Eddie! Come in.” Static fills the air. “Dustin! Eddie! Answer me.” He gazes at the radio trying to will it to make a sound. He feels like a struggling Jedi and groans. I really need to stop hanging out with those brats. With a frustrated sigh, he pockets the walkie-talkie and forces his strides to go longer and faster.
After what feels simultaneously like seconds and hours, Steve makes it to the trailer park. His eyes dart around but his ears pick up on a familiar sound.
“Eddie! Eddie! Wake up! Eddie!” It’s Henderson’s panicked voice. Steve’s stomach drops when he spots Dustin kneeling next to a seemingly lifeless body. Eddie’s body.
“Dustin, Dustin—what happened?”
“Steve!” Henderson is sobbing and wraps his arms around Steve’s torso in what might be the most heartbreaking and desperate hug. “Steve, you gotta help. It’s Eddie… The bats… They got Eddie. Please, Steve!”
Once he’s able to pry Dustin’s limbs from his body, Steve rushes to Eddie’s side and grabs for the other boy’s wrist. His eyes land on the blood dripping from Eddie’s parted lips for a moment and then he pulls his fear-laced gaze to his chest, watching and waiting and pleading for it to rise. He swears a light pulse thumps against his fingers and, although it’s shallow, there’s air being exchanged in his lungs.
“Hang in there, man,” Steve whispers as he lifts Eddie’s form off the ground and staggers toward the trailer with Dustin at his heels.
“He-he's still alive?” cries Henderson.
Steve nods. “For now. We need to stop the bleeding and get him cleaned up.”
While Dustin frantically searches the bathroom vanity for supplies, Steve lays Eddie on the couch. When his hand falls limp at his side, Steve reaches for it on instinct to stop it from colliding with the carpeted floor. He squeezes the slender fingers in his sweaty palm before releasing his hold into a more delicate one. As things crash and fly around the bathroom, Steve's thumb swipes over the rings that decorate Eddie’s fingers. The cold metal bites in contrast to the warmth of the older boy’s skin. Another flickering sign of life. He’s alive. He’s alive. He’s alive.
Munson and Steve weren’t friends before this. They weren’t even acquaintances. Steve kept his distance, perhaps not by choice but certainly by design. Up until a couple of years ago, Steve was nothing but a jock. The preppy rich kid who dated the prettiest girl, captained every team, and got by on skill and charm rather than smarts in the classroom. Eddie, on the other hand, was not-so-endearingly known as “The Freak.” The kid who supposedly conned dweebs into joining a satanic cult, sold drugs to minors, and swung the other way. None of those things truly mattered to Steve then and they definitely didn’t now. They were different, anyone could see that, but Steve was different now, too. The Upside Down in all its unforgiving and nightmare-ish depths sure did have a way of forging sturdy and loyal bonds amongst a band of misfits. And that’s why Steve isn’t bothering to question his very sudden and very real concern and care for another curly-haired nerd.
“Son of a bitch, Eddie! Don’t you have anything aside from bottles of alcohol in this place?!” Dustin shrieks from the hallway.
Steve perks up. “Dude, alcohol will work. Give it here.”
“Oh,” the flustered boy squeaks, making a mad dash to Steve’s side and opening the bottle.
As Steve uses his free hand to strip away the clothing that’s stuck to Eddie’s sides to reveal weeping wounds, Dustin shrinks back and cringes. “Gross—but so metal.”
Steve can’t help the way his eyes roll. At this point, it’s involuntary. “Give me that,” he mutters, snatching the alcohol from Dustin. With the uncapped bottle of clear liquid in hand, Steve tilts his wrist slightly, “If this doesn’t wake him up, I don’t know what will—”
“Perhaps a true love’s kiss?” Dustin quips with a giggle, pointing at Eddie’s hand resting in Steve’s.
“Why do you talk?”
“Why do you listen?”
“Touche,” answers Steve, returning his focus to the task at hand. “Sorry in advance, Munson,” he says as the alcohol makes contact with the red and angry bites.
In mere seconds, deep brown orbs are staring back at Steve in confusion and horror. Eddie screams in pain. “Fuck!” he hollers and starts to thrash on the couch.
“Hold him down, Dustin! Now!”
Dustin struggles against Eddie’s strength but manages to keep him on the couch so Steve can continue. In an act of sympathy, Steve squeezes Eddie’s trembling hand that’s still in his grasp. Eddie’s pleading and wet eyes lock with his. They’re animated as usual and clearly begging for the pain to subside. “I know,” Steve explains, “But I gotta clean them. It’ll be over soon. I promise.”
Once Eddie’s grimace gives way to a nod, Steve pours alcohol onto another bite.
“Fuck you, Harrington!” yells Eddie with more piss and vinegar than Steve’s ever seen.
“Why am I always the one to blame, huh?” Dustin shrugs at the rhetorical question.
By the time Steve’s flushing out the last of the wounds, Eddie’s hand is no longer clutching Steve’s because it’s now gripping the front of his vest and yanking him down toward his twisted face. “I’m going to put a hex on you. One where you lose your perfect hair and your dick falls off. I. Swear. It.”
Steve forces a laugh, jerks back, and whispers to Dustin, “He can’t actually do that, can he?”
Once again, Dustin shrugs.
“Great,” Steve grumbles and sits back on his heels, taking a swig from the half-empty bottle.
“I’ll have some of that,” Eddie snaps, grabbing hold of Steve’s wrist and forcing him to bring the bottle over to meet the older boy’s lips. Steve feels his face heat as Eddie swallows—or rather chugs—the alcohol down.
It’s Dustin who manages to break his impolite staring. “Can I have a sip?”
“Absolutely not!” yell both Steve and Eddie.
While Dustin fawns over his new best friend Eddie, Steve radios Robin and Nancy. He’s relieved to know that Lucas and Erica are safe, but his eyes well up when he finds out Max’s fate. “She’s alive—somehow—but they’re not sure if she’ll wake up,” Nancy explains in a hushed tone. When she asks about Dustin and Eddie, Steve is quick to tell her that they’re going to be all right but leaves out the way his face flooded with warmth when he found himself basically hand-feeding Eddie Munson cheap liquor. His lack of details evidently leaves her searching and she asks, “What happened to the decoy plan? They shouldn’t have been out in the open.”
Steve scoffs. “That’s a great question, Nance. Just a second.”
Eddie’s beginning to doze, but Steve suddenly doesn’t care about maintaining a good bedside manner. “Hey! Either of you want to tell me what the hell happened out there?” Steve crosses his arms and taps his foot without knowing it. “Huh? Did you dipshit decoys forget the plan?” Dustin looks at Eddie, visibly struggling to keep his mouth shut. “Dustin, tell me—”
“It wasn’t Dustin’s fault. It was my idea,” Eddie explains. “I bought us more time, man. It’s fine.”
Steve huffs and his eyes go wild. “Fine? Does this,” he exclaims, pointing to where the gaping holes reside beneath makeshift bandages bred from supposedly clean band t-shirts, “look fine to you?”
Eddie’s face falls in shocked surprise at Steve’s display but it’s soon replaced by that legendary fire. Dustin must sense this too because he yells, “That’s enough! We just fought in the battle of our lives and the last thing we need is for you two morons to have a pissing contest over who’s the hero of the group.”
Steve sighs and Eddie flops back on the couch dramatically.
At the request of Dustin, Steve gathers blankets and pillows from Eddie’s bedroom and creates a mini sleepover haven in the cramped living room. Although he wants to toss a blanket at Eddie’s head, he can’t find it in his heart to actually do it, so he tries his best to casually drape the material across the other boy’s body.
Eddie mutters a tight, “Thanks,” and Dustin presses play on the VCR.
Halfway through The Goonies, Dustin is snoring next to Steve on the floor and from behind, Eddie talks quietly over the movie. “Honestly, Steve. Why do you care about what happened to me? You never did before.”
There’s suspicion in the older boy’s accusatory tone and Steve tries to ignore the way his heart aches. Tries to ignore how that suspicion makes his long-drawn-out feelings of guilt for being an asshole in high school resurface. But Steve’s tired. So tired of convincing people he’s changed, that he’s not “that guy” anymore and never really was. It was all a show. It was all, as Nancy famously declared, bullshit.
“I care about the kid, okay?”
“Thought so,” mumbles Eddie coldly, attention returning to the TV.
Steve sighs, heavy and defeated. The worst part, Steve thinks as he settles in and turns away from Dustin’s sleeping form, is that he does care about Dustin and Eddie—maybe too much.