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Eddie had his perfect death speech. He was too wounded to survive, deep wounds that stung in the sickly wind of the upside down. He remembered vaguely thinking that this was like a page from any fantasy book, a mentor dying in the arms of a hero, and what a hero Dustin was. Eddie always knew that kid would do great things, he just never thought they'd involve interdimensional monster hunting. He hated that Dustin had to see him like this. He'd tried to stop it. He'd tried to keep the kid safe and sound on the other side. It was almost funny, in a sick, sad sort of way— all his efforts and everything he tried to do still fell flat. It seemed he was doomed to die the same way he'd lived: a failure.
He couldn't talk, couldn't move a muscle, and though his eyes were open he was unseeing. He was vaguely aware of Dustin's sobbing, wailing, his efforts to drag his body, and all he could think was why isn't it over?. The searing pain hadn't subsided, there were no pearly gates or eager demons to meet him. He was trapped in his body, consciousness getting further and further away from his senses until finally, after hours, days, years, everything stopped.
Hadn't he died? Hadn't he had enough? Why did the universe find amusement in dragging out his suffering? It was too loud for him to rest easy. Garbage noise echoed through his aching skull, and when he tried to gasp for air, he found no satisfaction. His body, he could still feel it, feel the aches and stings, he could feel a touch on his hand, but everything felt so far away. Suddenly, the touch disappeared, the garbage noise grew louder, more chaotic, and then things quieted, an uncomfortable silence, a sharp beeping every second or two, and he wanted to reach out, get that grounding touch back.
His consciousness felt like it was moving in slow motion. When he was younger, he'd gone to a concert, and the flashing lights made him feel like everything was moving frame by frame, and that's what death felt like. Fading in and out, these short bursts of dreams or dream-like consciousness. Sitting atop a grassy hill and watching the leaves fall, a sword by his side. A voice rang out, familiar, warm, soft— King Steve. His confidant, his friend. "Just this, my dear old Frodo: you are miserable, because
you don’t know how to say good-bye. You meant to leave the
Shire, of course. But danger has come on you sooner than you
expected, and now you are making up your mind to go at once.
And you don’t want to. We are very sorry for you."
"My liege," he tried to respond, but found no words could escape his throat. The king sat down with him, and he felt the soft touch to his hand once again.
" I thought you would go after him sooner
or later; indeed I expected you to go sooner, and lately we
have been very anxious. We have been terrified that you
might give us the slip, and go off suddenly, all on your own
like he did."
As things faded, he cursed his solitude.
In the movies he'd seen and in the daytime soaps he'd caught, people woke up from comas almost politely. They'd bat their eyes open and smile at the family and friends around them.
Eddie woke up kicking and screaming and sobbing. His chest was heaving and he didn't understand that the noises he was hearing were coming from his own throat. He didn't know where he was, or why he was there. Something was blocking his face, and he tried to rip it off only to find it was strapped on. "I need to get out," he managed, not sure where "out" was or where he had to get to. "I need— where is he?" He wasn't quite sure who "he" was, either, but he had to see him.
"We need a doctor! A doctor!"
The "he" in question seemed to be right there, at the edge of his bed, screaming for a doctor. His bravest knight, Dustin Henderson. The kid clasped his arm, eyes wide in panic.
Eddie coughed out as the room filled up with doctors, checking his vitals and moving his oxygen mask back to his face. "You're okay, Mr. Munson. Deep breaths, there we go..." Dustin was glued to his side, getting in the way of every single doctor who needed to get to him, hugging him tightly and basically sobbing in to his shoulder. It hurt. But Eddie didn't care. He hugged the kid close, the both of them crying at each other until Eddie finally managed to speak. "I'm so sorry."
Dustin sniffled, carefully punching Eddie's arm. He had it coming, and a lot more, but he guessed Dustin didn't have it in him to beat the shit out of him yet. "You— you—"
"I know, man, I know..." He gave him a gentle squeeze, blinking slowly at him. "Is everyone okay..?"
Dustin gave a little sob as he buried his face right back in to Eddie's shoulder, taking a second to gather himself before quietly offering, "they're all alive, Hawkins is safe..." Alive. That was a good start. But he couldn't shake the feeling he was missing some of the story. He didn't think he could handle the full story. He took a second as he tried to gather the energy to reply, but someone cut in before he could, another figure entering the room, a man with perfect hair and bags under his eyes. Steve. "They're all outta the caramel shit you like, so I just grabbed you a hot chocolate, and I — Holy shit, Eddie!" the styrofoam cup he held fell to the ground with a squeak, instantly forgotten as Steve basically tackled him in a hug. The guy probably would have broken his bones if he didn't let out a quiet wince like a squeaky toy, Steve immediately loosening his grip. "Shit, dude, I thought you were a goner." He lifted a gentle hand to brush Eddie's hair out of his face, like he was well accustomed to doing it by now— the guy seemed to be holding back tears."
Eddie forced a little smile. He didn't think he'd ever actually smile again. "I lived, bitch."
He was alive. And loved. He wasn't alone. And he thought maybe things would be alright in the end, after all.