Chapter Text
The ticking gradually got louder over time, and Dustin tried to ignore it, but it was hard, and it was increasingly more difficult when he found a note from Eddie that told him to keep going and that he would be okay. He had gone into the Upside Down knowing he was going to die.
He still reflected on it, wondering if there was a chance that he could have saved him. He knew as well as anyone that Eddie wouldn’t have budged on sacrificing himself, but maybe, just maybe, if he had told him that it wouldn’t have mattered in the end, there could have been a chance.
Dustin pulled the crumpled paper out of the drawer, ripped at the edges and taped back together after he had shredded it into pieces with his own hands.
Dustin,
I know what’s going to happen, I’m gonna end up dead, but you’re gonna get out alive, aren’t you? And when you do, I want you to take care of the kids for me.
I wasn’t the greatest dad. I had a lot of faults, hell, I sold drugs out of my uncle’s trailer, but you loved me anyway, and I’ve never had someone who’s done that.
I need you to take care of everyone else, but you come first. Take care of yourself, too, man.
When you get out of there, take my guitar, okay? Learn how to play it for me. Play something that’ll make me live on.
Even in death, people will still call me a freak, but that’s okay. I am, in the best way possible, a freak. You are too.
I love you, man.
Dustin read over that last sentence again, and his chest ached. “Of course those were his last words in the letter, they were when he…” He couldn’t even bring himself to say it before the tears welled up.
It still hurt worse than anything in the world, and he didn’t even know how to handle it. It hurt worse than when he saw Max and Lucas kiss (and maybe the burn in his throat and the jealousy welling up like acid in his lungs wasn’t towards Max at all), and it hurt worse than when he almost died in the Upside Down.
It wasn’t like he could go get therapy; boys didn’t get therapy. They didn’t need therapy. He was fine, he didn’t need help or medication.
He was just Dustin.
Sometimes, the ticking was too hard to ignore, and Dustin was thrown back into the Upside Down, the same familiar, ripped-up face swimming in front of him through tears. Eddie always told him that he could have saved him, even though he knew he couldn’t have.
It hurt so badly, and Dustin couldn’t tell anyone… except one person.
It became a routine for him to knock on Will’s door and go into his room and talk through their problems, and Will always listened to him. He appreciated it, and of course he did the same for him.
He just wished that everyone else would do the same. It would never happen, and he would never get the relief he wanted (which was a hug from his best friend who was dead.)
Dustin had started doing stupid shit, sneaking out at night and going to Steve’s, and when he didn’t, maybe he stole some money from his mom’s wallet and begged someone on the side of the road for a hit of weed. It was the only way he could cope with Eddie being gone.
He knew that it wasn’t what Eddie would have wanted, but what could he do? The only other option was crying himself to sleep every night, and when he was high he didn’t.
He wasn’t addicted, but it helped to some degree, so he ignored when Will told him not to.
Suzie was long gone; he had fallen out of love with her and their breakup hadn’t gone very well. (He was too in love with someone else to try and date her, and of course he was still dealing with getting over Eddie.)
He had become a lot quieter, and it felt like no one had noticed, so he ignored the world and listened to the chimes of the clock counting down his death.