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His leg fucking hurt.
His best friend is fucking dead.
He was fucking 15 years old.
And it was his fucking fault.
Dustin Henderson died and it was Eddie’s fucking fault.
And now he has to tell Steve, the kid’s mom, that Dustin’s dead and it’s the town freak’s fault.
So here he is, in the Hawkins High gym, building up the confidence. Steve’s folding clothes for those affected in the earthquake, smiling at Robin and Vicki like a proud mother. He assumed Dustin’s just resting and healing after the battle against Vecna.
Eddie sighed and went up to Steve.
“H-Hey man?”
“Oh, hi Munson, you alright? You seem kinda… I don’t know… weird? Coping alright with everything?” He drops the shirt he was folding, a pink polo shirt, probably Steve’s, the sweetheart.
“Uh yeah, I’m fine… I just wanna talk to you… about… Dustin.” His voice trailed off on the last word.
“Oh cool, is he alright?”
He sighed.
“You can do it, Eddie.” He thinks.
“He’s… He’s dead.” He mumbles hesitantly.
“Hm? Sorry I couldn’t hear you?”
Dustin had mentioned Steve struggled hearing after all the head injuries he’d obtained over the years.
Just thinking about Dustin hurt like a bitch.
“He died… in the fight against Vecna… got torn apart by bats… should’ve been me.” He felt tears prick at his chocolate brown eyes.
Steve stood there frozen for a sec, processing what the metalhead said.
“He- He’s dead?- Like- not breathing, not alive dead?”
Eddie nods.
“I wish it was me, he had so much going for him…”
Steve hugged him tight and cried into his shoulder.
“It should’ve been me.”
“It should’ve been me…”