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//
The scar of the gate throbs like an angry wound. It’s the only one of its kind that Dustin has ever seen, yet he can still tell that it’s wrong – that it’s infected.
It pulses a deep red, like it’s alive, and the unnatural glow bleeds tall shadows against the wreckage of the Munsons’ trailer, painting the walls in a gruesome palette of black and maroon. The gate looks like it should be a source of warmth, but it’s not. It’s cold – a rift between worlds, allowing the damp chill of the Upside Down to seep into Hawkins, turning the living room of the trailer into some kind of interdimensional estuary.
“The air feels wrong,” Steve observes from behind him, and Dustin hums.
“It’s brackish,” he says.
Steve makes a questioning noise but doesn’t ask Dustin to elaborate. Instead, he puts a hand on Dustin’s shoulder and gives him a gentle nudge. “C’mon,” he says, “we need to get moving.”
Dustin does, slowly stepping around the spot where the gateway originated – where Chrissy died – and doesn’t voice any protest because that is the deal he and Steve struck: quick in, and quick out. That doesn’t mean he can’t help but look at the far end of what used to be the Munsons’ living room, where the gate tore through the ceiling and wall of the trailer like both were made of tissue paper. Through the tear he can see the rift stretch into the distance, like a red serpent slithering its way towards downtown Hawkins, seeking to converge with others of its kind.
It’s mesmerizing, in a horrifying, sickening kind of way, and Dustin could have kept looking at it for far longer, only Steve steps between him and the gateway, effectively blocking the view.
“Henderson,” he murmurs, ducking his head to look at Dustin, and his eyes are dark and worried.
Dustin takes a deep breath. “Right,” he says. “Let’s do this.”
There’s a slight give to the floor as they move further inside – a subtle shift of wood beneath their feet that Dustin can’t remember being there before the gates opened. Apart from this, the opposite end of the trailer from the living room, where Eddie’s bedroom is located, appears strangely untouched by the carnage. The walls might still fall in on themselves of course, appearances being deceptive and all that, but that’s why they’re going to be quick.
He allows himself a moment of hesitation before he steps through the doorway and into Eddie’s room. The blinds in the window are lowered, cloaking the room in shadow, but Dustin’s cheap flashlight is more than enough to illuminate the small space. It looks like it did when Dustin last saw it, during their desperate attempt to find something that might save Nancy; band flags and posters still pinned to the walls, the bed stripped of its mattress, tapes strewn across the floor. It’s a messy, lived-in room, and everything about it breathes Eddie.
“You alright?” Steve asks from where he’s hovering in the doorway. He’d refused to let Dustin do this on his own, and while Dustin had put up token protests that he didn’t need someone to come with him, he’s glad that Steve had stuck to his guns and insisted.
Dustin doesn’t necessarily need someone to watch his back – Steve’s main concern seems to be centered on the gateway, though Dustin doesn’t know what kind of trouble he’s expecting, seeing as how it’s been days and nothing’s come crawling through yet – but it’s nice to simply have someone here with him. He sometimes wonders if Steve’s even aware of how much strength Dustin is able to draw from him – how much courage he can summon simply due to Steve’s steady presence by his side in situations like these.
“I’m good,” he tells Steve and lets the beam of his flashlight sweep across the room.
The desk and dresser opposite the bed are covered mostly in comics and tapes and magazines. There are dirty dishes too – some of which have toppled onto the floor and shattered – and Dustin gingerly makes his way further into the room, mindful of where he sets his feet.
“What is it we’re looking for again?” Steve asks from where he’s taken up his post in the hallway as Dustin stoops to look under the bed.
“His notes,” Dustin says.
“Right. His dungeon notes.”
Steve’s using that familiar tone of voice that means that he doesn’t necessarily get it, but since it’s important to Dustin, he’s going to try to be as supportive as possible. It makes something in Dustin’s chest ache, and he wipes at his eyes with the back of his hands because it’s dusty where he’s kneeling on the floor.
The space beneath the bed yields little; it contains mostly dust bunnies and a few pieces of clothing that Eddie must’ve accidentally kicked under there. In the corner, next to the wall, there’s a beat-up old shoe box which Dustin reaches in to fish out, but its contents are things only Eddie could’ve explained the significance of – a seashell, a plastic toy soldier missing its head, a beaded bracelet. There are a few Polaroids too, most of them featuring a smiling woman with dark eyes whom Dustin thinks might have been Eddie’s mother; in some of the pictures she’s holding a chubby baby who kinda looks like Eddie, but it’s difficult to tell for sure.
He closes the lid of the box and slides it back into the shadow beneath the bed, and then starts picking his way through the rest of the room. In the corner, next to the small bookcase, he finds a bag. It looks like the one that Eddie would have lying by his feet in the theater room on game nights – and sure enough, when Dustin unzips it and peers inside he finds what he’s been looking for; the D-ring binders with the campaign notes, the DM guides and screen, the handbooks, the miniatures, and, at the very bottom, buried beneath the folded-up flag of the Hellfire Club, are Eddie’s dice.
“Found it,” he says, closing the bag and hoisting it onto his shoulder, grunting in surprise at how heavy it is.
“You need me to take it?” Steve asks, and it’s probably a good idea; Dustin’s ankle is still a bit messed up, even if the limp’s getting better by the day, but—
“No,” Dustin says. “Thanks, but I got it.”
This is his burden to carry now.
//
Before he died, Eddie gave Dustin the task of looking after the sheep.
Dustin had promised he would, but he’s coming to realize that it might be easier said than done because the flock’s not what it used to be.
Gareth, Jeff, and Mark have all bailed, scared off by the new and sinister reputation of the Hellfire Club. And Dustin gets it, except he doesn’t, because by the time Eddie went on the run Dustin had known him for all of seven months, and he doesn’t understand why no one else believed in his innocence enough to go after him – why that fell on Dustin when Eddie had older and surely closer friends.
Dustin can fully appreciate the way some friendships are like lightning in a bottle; the first day he spent in Steve’s company had left him hooked for life, and while his first meeting with Eddie hadn’t been anything like that, he thinks that they might have been on their way to building something like what he and Steve have – a slow burn this time, instead of the instant, almost overwhelming fixation Dustin had experienced when he’d set out to look for Dart all those years ago.
It would have been good, he thinks. If Eddie had lived he would have fit in well among the Party – would have gotten along fine even with Steve, because Dustin would have put in the work; would have made sure that Eddie understood that Steve was so much more than whatever Eddie might have heard about him, and would have shown Steve that Dustin wasn’t out to replace him – would have made him realize that the mere thought is so ludicrous that Dustin sometimes wants to grab Steve by the shoulders and give him a shake because how could he ever think—
But it doesn’t matter. Eddie’s dead, and whatever friendships he had fostered – whatever family of outcasts he had gathered into his fold through Hellfire – they hadn’t been as strong as Dustin expected.
In hindsight, it’s a surprisingly tough realization to swallow. He wonders if Eddie realized it too – if the reason he ran without reaching out to anybody was that he knew that the Hellfire Club had been a party in name only.
Dustin’s friends would give their life for him. The sad truth is that in the end, the same couldn’t be said about Eddie’s.
//
Two days after Wayne Munson leaves Hawkins – six days after the gates open – someone sets fire to the trailer.
Very few of the journalists who have set up camp in town care enough to report on it, and the ones that do call it an accident – a fire brought on by a damaged gas line – but Dustin knows better.
Eddie’s name is worth less than dirt these days, and even if Hawkins as a whole seems relieved to give up the witch-hunt and accept that he died when the earthquake struck – a theory supported by the fact that the murders have since stopped happening – some still manage to hold on to their anger even in the wake of the far greater devastation that has since struck the town.
Eddie’s uncle was the only one who ever bothered searching for him. Now that he too is gone, no one else is going to pick up that torch – except, it seems, to make sure that the last physical reminder of Eddie Munson goes up in flames.
And so it comes to be that the only thing that still remains of Eddie is what little Dustin had the forethought to scavenge; his notes, his dice, and the Hellfire flag – which is carefully hidden away in a box beneath Dustin’s bed along with his Hellfire shirt.
It pains him not to wear that shirt.
He wants to show his support for Eddie; wants to keep him in the forefront of people’s minds, to make them realize that they were wrong, that Eddie was as innocent as any of them – that he was good — and that even though he knew how much they hated him – that they wanted him dead – he still willingly gave his life to save them.
But what good would it do? Dustin has nothing to back up his claims with, apart from physically bringing every single resident of Hawkins into the Upside Down to show them where Eddie’s body lies – and even then he doesn’t think they’d believe him.
The legend around Eddie Munson seems to have grown larger since the gates opened. Few people speak his name, but when they do it’s on par with speaking about Charles Manson; ritual murders with satanic influences, a teenager toying with forces evil enough to summon an earthquake if not the Devil himself.
The people of Hawkins have turned their backs on Eddie, refocusing all of their attention on rebuilding what was lost, and Dustin’s left in the dust, wondering if he’ll ever be able to clear Eddie’s name.
There’s nowhere to channel his anger and grief but into rebuilding something of his own, because Hellfire is broken.
There’s only Dustin, Mike, and Lucas left now, and it’ll be difficult to recruit new members under the Hellfire banner when the name itself is taboo to even utter, forever associated with the murders – and with Eddie, too, though that’s something Dustin will not give up.
There will be no rebranding. The Hellfire Club is Eddie’s legacy, and Dustin will fight to keep it so.
//
Like any self-respecting Dungeon Master, Eddie kept meticulous track of his campaigns – both ongoing ones as well as future ideas.
Dustin feels a bit lost in the face of it all; the binders full of outlines, the diagrams, the scribbles in the margins of the D&D handbooks – notes that must once have meant something to Eddie but which now only leave Dustin scratching his head.
He’s tried to make sense of it, but he’s beginning to fear that he simply cannot pick up right where Eddie left off – at least not yet – and this is where Steve finds him; an hour into sorting through the papers Eddie left behind, notes scattered across his bedspread in an attempt to create some kind of order out of the chaos.
“Looks complicated,” Steve says, breaking Dustin’s frustrated silence as he leans against the door frame of Dustin’s bedroom.
He’s taken to dropping by at least once a day under the pretense of hanging out, and Dustin would call them wellness checks if not for the fact that he thinks Steve might take as much comfort from the visits as Dustin does.
“Yeah,” Dustin sighs, setting the DM guide aside. “It can be.”
“I thought Mike was the head dungeon guy,” Steve says and steps into the room. He walks over to the foot of the bed and reaches out to touch one of the papers, hesitating at the last moment, as if he’s expecting Dustin to tell him no.
“He wants to spend more time with El,” Dustin explains, and then says, “You can check it out if you want.”
Steve hums, picking up one of the diagrams.
“I think I understand the point of that one,” Dustin says, “but there’s a lot of stuff here I haven’t been able to make sense of yet.”
“You’ll figure it out,” Steve murmurs, looking utterly bewildered as he tries to interpret Eddie’s scribbles, yet sounding so sincere that it makes Dustin want to cry – and not out of frustration, this time. “How’s the recruitment going?”
“Will wants to join if they end up staying. Maybe El and— and Max, too. When she wakes up.”
“When she wakes up,” Steve agrees. He sets the paper back on the bed. “Do you, uh, still need more people?”
Dustin shrugs. “Four or five players is ideal, so technically—” He looks up at Steve. “Wait, do you mean—”
“Just show me how it works before I change my mind,” Steve says.
“Oh,” Dustin says, hoping he doesn’t look as dumbfounded as he feels. “Yeah! Yes, let me just—”
He quickly clears a space for Steve to sit on the mattress, stacking the papers into a somewhat orderly pile, because he is not about to lose this chance – he’s been badgering Steve to join them on a campaign for years, yet Steve’s never once taken him up on the offer. It might be a bit pathetic, but Dustin doesn’t even care if Steve only wants to join out of pity now or as an easy way to cheer Dustin up; the mere fact that he’s making the effort means more than anything.
“You’re gonna love it,” he says, and almost bites his tongue in excitement when Steve doesn’t immediately argue the opposite. “Okay, I’m gonna walk you through the basics. So, each player has a player character—”
“Like the, uh, fighter, right?”
“You’ve been listening when I talk!” Dustin can’t help his delighted gasp. “I knew you were listening! I knew it!”
Steve ducks his head, but not before Dustin has time to catch his smile. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t let it get to your head, Henderson.”
“I would never,” Dustin lies. He fumbles for Eddie’s copy of Players Handbook, grabbing it and scooting closer to Steve. “Alright,” he says, cracking the book open and turning the pages until he lands on the section detailing character creation. “Here are the rules, because there are rules. Except for Max. She’s gonna be a zoomer. I’m gonna make her a zoomer character when she wakes up.”
Steve’s shoulder brushes against Dustin’s as he leans closer, peering down at the template for the character sheet. There’s a look of concentration on his face.
“I’ll help you,” Dustin says. “You can be a fighter if you want. Or a paladin. Or something else – you choose whatever you want to be.”
“Yeah?” Steve says. He’s smiling again, that slight upturn of the lips that Dustin’s come to learn means that he’s comfortable and at ease. “Sounds good.”
And Dustin thinks there might be hope for them all yet.
//