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I didn’t know what to do so I ... I ran away.
I left her there.
I did the thing that I do now, apparently, I ran.
I am no hero.
I guess I was a little jealous, Steve.
Eddie Munson’s words have been weighing heavy in Steve’s mind for hours. He couldn’t stop thinking about how defeated the guy sounded anytime he even came within the realm of broaching a discussion about the things he had witnessed, and in Steve’s experience that sort of mindset is a recipe for disaster. Can cause a person to act without thinking—and get themselves killed in the process.
The thought of Eddie dying is strangely abhorrent to Steve—his whole consciousness recoils from it—and beyond that inherently human feeling of not wanting to see another person get hurt, he’s not entirely sure of the reason why. He barely even knows the guy, for God’s sake, and aside from his freak status in high school, then becoming the replacement cool older friend for the majority of Steve’s kids, Eddie should mean nothing to him at all. But it’s been days now since they’d met in that boathouse and Eddie Munson has yet to leave his mind alone; it’s like he’s taken up permanent residence there, and the sheer terror that something might happen to him is clinging bewilderingly to Steve’s conscience.
Because up until very recently, the only emotion Steve could really conjure up when thinking about the guy was a singularly intense jealousy of his relationship with Dustin and mild disgust over his outlandish behaviour and appearance.
Which makes him feel a little nauseous with guilt, because really—how is he any different from Jason Carver or Andy Johnson or any of the other assholes in this town who grabbed up their metaphorical pitchforks to hunt down an innocent man at the slightest whiff of ‘satanic panic’?
The Eddie Steve had come to know in the days that followed after finding him scared and alone in a run-down shed is nothing short of fucking charming. Odd certainly, eccentric definitely; loud and abrasive and hyper and so goddamn endearing it makes Steve feel a little dizzy.
And all of this so clearly a front put up in an effort to deflect from something very very not good simmering just below the surface. Steve can see it, hear it, feel it. It sits heavy in the air every time Eddie blurts out a self-deprecating speech, or the way his eyes go hollow when he thinks no one is looking.
Steve is though—he’s always looking. Because he spends any and all downtime between battling hell monsters, watching and cataloguing and checking in on everyone. It’s what he brings to this group—besides his car—and he’s always wondered if it’s maybe some sort of residual habit left over from his time playing so many team sorts in high school. While Dustin talks strategy with Nancy, or Robin and Max make a list of the supplies they might need, Steve watches for any changes in their demeanour, no matter how insignificant. An eye twitch here, a vacant expression there, anything that could hint to someone’s head not being firmly in the game.
Not that he would blame anyone. Shit, they’re all overdue for about four mental breakdowns at this point—but Steve knows that losing focus can mean losing your life in this particular game of horror they seem to play on a yearly basis, and he’ll be fucking damned if he lets that happen to any of his makeshift family.
Eddie Munson included, apparently.
Steve just keeps getting caught up on how Eddie had attempted to soothe his own fears and insecurities with fumbling, but ultimately endearing compliments—closely followed up with his genuinely misguided but no less well-intentioned attempts to hurl Steve back into the path of Nancy Wheeler—and decides it’s about time he returns the favour.
Or tries to, at the very least.
“You gotta stop, man.” Steve states plainly, leaning heavily against the counter in the small kitchenette of the stolen RV. He’s trying to look casual, but in reality, the wounds on his abdomen are making it hard to continue standing upright, now the adrenaline of the last few hours is slowly ebbing from his system.
They’re parked outside WarZone, tucked as close to the entrance as they could get, in case of needing a quick getaway, and Eddie and Steve are completely, totally alone for the first time since all this began.
The others have been gone for the last ten minutes, Nancy insisting that Steve stay behind, with Robin’s staunch agreement.
“No offence Dingus, but she’s right. You’re not exactly inconspicuous right now.” She’d murmured with a pointed look at his battered bare feet and half naked torso, still adorned with Eddie’s borrowed vest now mottled with bloodstains and a smattering of undefined other worldly ooze.
He’d tried to sputter out an excuse regardless—something about how rednecks are pretty damn unlikely to care about his appearance—but she’d simply patted his cheek and promised to pick him up some less gore covered clothes and a pair of shoes, Harrington, Jesus, reminding him that she knew his size anyway so really what was even the point of him going inside with them in the first place? She had flounced after the others with nothing more than a “you can keep Eddie company, big boy,” tossed over her shoulder alongside another coy smile and suggestive wink.
Steve had flipped her off, much to her delight if the laughter that filtered through the closing door behind her was any indication and turned to face the metalhead.
Eddie, who has been sprawled sullenly against the built in couch ever since the rest of them left. It had taken Steve this long to build up the courage to actually speak to the guy. He’s not sure why, but every interaction Steve’s had with Eddie Munson over the last few days has set him firmly off-kilter. Being shoved up against a wall with a broken bottle jammed against your jugular would do that to a person, apparently.
“What?” The other man asks now, pulling himself up onto his elbows and shifting his eyes in Steve’s direction, looking perplexed.
“Blaming yourself. For running. You gotta stop.” Steve explains with a small shrug.
Eddie snorts dismissively and flops back down on the couch cushions.
“I’m serious, dude. Give yourself a break.” Steve tries again. His words echoing back to that not so long ago conversation as they had picked their way through the familiar yet oh so alien terrain of Upside Down Hawkins. Steve hadn’t tried hard enough then, to ease the self-loathing Eddie wears so clearly on his leather clad sleeves. He won’t delay having this conversation any longer; if he can—at least in some small way—help Eddie see just how non-existent the blame on him is for all of this.
“Am I supposed to believe that the great Steve Harrington, badass extraordinaire —bat shredding maniac—would have run away too?” Eddie asks, clearly making sure to pack as much sarcasm into the question as possible as he hauls himself back onto his elbows to stare Steve down again with another expression riddled with disbelief.
The question is clearly rhetorical, probably intended to dissuade Steve from pushing this line of conversation any further. He decides to answer it anyway.
“Honestly? I don’t know.” He counters simply, shrugging once more. “I don’t know what I would have done. Because I wasn’t there. I didn’t see the shit you saw, man. I can’t even imagine—" Steve cuts himself off. Thinks of Max suspended in the air over Billy’s grave like some awful stringless puppet and feels sick.
He runs an unsteady hand through his hair with a trembling sigh.
“Look, you ran. It happened. And it probably saved your life. With Chrissy you were scared; with Patrick, you weren’t just scared but you were being fucking hunted. We left you to deal with Jason and those assholes alone, man. That’s on us, Eddie. It’s on me, not on you. I should never have left you in that boat house.”
‘Where else were you supposed to leave me?” The metalhead asks, muttering the words as if still not expecting an answer and focusing his eyes firmly back on the ceiling above him. His jaw is flexing, and there’s a tension in him that Steve wants to figure some way to dispel. Finds his fingers itching with the inexplicable desire to comfort him; to work out the knots in his untamed, matted hair with gentle touches until all the wound up energy that’s rolling from the other man in waves dissolves completely.
The realisation makes Steve feel a little winded.
Something about Eddie Munson causes his protective instincts to rise up so quickly and it just keeps throwing him through a loop after loop.
“Fuck if I know.” Steve mutters, aiming to sound a lot more casual that he truly feels.
“My house, maybe? Who’d even think to look for you there?”
It’s a thought that won’t leave Steve alone; that if he’d just thought about it for any length of time, he could have sheltered Eddie from witnessing Patrick’s murder. Hell—he could have provided him with an alibi, at least. Steve may feel apathetic toward his family name most of the time, but there’s no denying the sway it holds within the community of Hawkins.
He has no doubt that one word from him confirming Eddie’s whereabouts would have persuaded Hawkins PD into dropping their case. But he hadn’t, and then Patrick had died and there had been witnesses this time. Eddie had been seen and now he was tied to these murders in the eyes of this community forever. Steve feels like punching something whenever he thinks about it. His own inaction had allowed this situation to spiral out of control and now, there’s absolutely nothing he can do about it.
“Point is we can’t change any of the shit that’s happened.” He shakes off the guilt as best he can, isn’t sure whether his words are meant more for Eddie, or himself. “So, stop beating yourself up over something that—objectively? Kept you safe. That way madness lies, man, trust me.”
Eddie’s eyes cut back to Steve again, this time with amusement creasing the corners.
“Did you just quote Shakespeare at me, Stevie?” He asks, trying to suppress a grin.
Despite everything, the nickname strikes Steve like lightening and suddenly he’s not sure which caused more of a reaction in him—Stevie or Big Boy. Eddie’s casual use of pet names is more than a little jarring for someone like Steve, who’s male friends either called him Harrington exclusively, or dude, man, or some other derivative placed firmly in the bro ballpark.
“Hey! I read, asshole.” He gripes, instead of doing something embarrassing like begging Eddie to call him that again.
“You’ve heard Henderson say it before, haven’t you?” Eddie asks and a knowing smirk spreads across his face in earnest this time.
Steve pauses. Dammit.
“…Robin.” He admits sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his neck. He can’t keep his hands still; doesn’t know why he continues to feel so constantly adrift around this guy.
Eddie cackles with delight at Steve’s admission, then bounces up to sit criss cross in the middle of the couch to face Steve proper. His demeanour is a million miles away from the sulking, irritable person he’d been not five minutes prior. Now, he’s downright joyful—almost puppy-like, with his big wide eyes and open expression. Steve sort of feels like he has whiplash from how swiftly the guy’s mood can change.
“Okay. Okay, Harrington. You win. No more wallowing in self-pity.” Eddie promises.
“Eddie. I’m serious.” Steve says, moving stiffly to perch on the edge of the couch cushion furthest from the other boy; trying to keep distance between them, because being close to Eddie keeps making him goddamn dizzy and he has enough problems with that from repeated head trauma, thank you very much.
“So am I.” Eddie says—and he looks it, there’s no sarcasm or irony in his features this time. Just open honest agreement: it’s maybe the most serious Steve has ever seen him.
Steve pauses for a moment, deciding how to properly phrase next what he so desperately needs Eddie to understand.
“If something happened to you, Henderson would lose his mind.” He settles on because it’s the truth. It doesn’t feel like the whole truth, but it’s a start. Steve’s not sure he knows exactly what the whole truth is anyway. He’s pretty sure that admitting he thinks a fundamental part of himself would be broken beyond repair if something happened to the older man is a little too intense for the sort of barely there, all too brief relationship they have. For months, all that had existed between them was begrudging joint custody of a group of ungrateful teens, and an apparent mutual jealousy that had festered into a mutual—albeit misdirected—dislike.
Eddie scoffs, disbelieving.
“He would, man. You think you’re the only one who was jealous? I’ve been avoiding Dustin for weeks because I thought he’d replaced me. Seriously, you’re all he can talk about most days.” Steve makes sure to smile softly at that last statement, to take any unintended sting out of the words.
Eddie blinks, clearly taken aback.
“You fucking with me, Steve?” He asks quietly, expression flashing between vulnerable and incredulous.
“You’re kidding, right? He doesn’t shut up about you. What was it you said—It’s kind of annoying?” Steve smirks and is delighted to find he’s finally starting to feel slightly bolder, more comfortable with every passing second as Eddie’s demeanour shifts once again into something pensive and stoic. All at once it hits him; just how much he’s enjoying giving Eddie a little bit of shit back.
The other man looks quietly pleased for a moment, before he seems to mull something over.
“Shared custody?” He asks eventually, an impish grin spreading over his face as he extends a hand toward Steve to shake.
“Fine. I get to be the dad though.” Steve agrees, grasping Eddie’s hand in his own. It’s warm and dry and a little calloused at the fingertips. His rings push pleasantly against Steve’s skin. Steve tries very hard to focus on literally anything but the realisation that he sort of never wants to let go.
“Yeah, you wish, Stevie. You have, like, the biggest mom vibes of anyone I’ve ever met.”
Eddie shifts a little closer as Steve snorts out a startled laugh (once again trying not to blush at that all too precious nickname) and pretty soon both of them are chortling side by side on the threadbare couch with their shoulders brushing against each other, exchanging teasing quips about the kid like old friends. Or maybe more accurately—a married couple, Steve supposes. He’s a little surprised to find he doesn’t balk away from the thought like he maybe should.
“Oh god, please don’t tell Henderson any of this.” Steve says with a chuckle a few minutes later, “You think he’s insufferable now? Imagine what he’ll be like when he sees us getting on.”
Eddie shudders dramatically, and mimes locking his lips closed with an imaginary key.
It’s comfortably quiet between them for a little while longer.
“You ever notice, he like, sort of collects people?” Eddie pipes up a moment later, voice soft and thoughtful.
Steve scoffs, “not just people.” He admits, voice dipping into fond exasperation.
“What does that mean?” Eddie’s eyes are wide on Steve’s face, and Steve gets a little lost in them for a moment. There are flecks of gold around the pupil, he realises. The effect is like sunlight filtering through a bottle of whiskey.
Jesus, get a fucking grip, Harrington.
Steve coughs once and blinks a few times to clear the fuzz from his mind before explaining.
“Couple years ago, he adopted a baby Demogorgon. Fed it nougat. Three Musketeers bars to be totally precise. Named it Dart.”
“As in D’artagnan?” Eddie asks, cocking his head to the side, puppy-like again. The move is endearing and entirely too cute for a twenty year old man to pull off. Eddie manages it, though. In fact - Steve’s pretty sure everything Eddie does falls under varying degrees of adorable.
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
“The very same.” Steve says, smiling and shaking his head in mock dismay.
Eddie blinks at him owlishly (Adorable, so fucking adorable). Then cackles like a maniac.
“Cute.” He says when he’s calmed down some, bewildered amusement glittering in his eyes. Those eyes. Fuck.
There’s another brief pause, then: “Man, that kid’s fucking mental.” Eddie’s voice is soft and exasperated but oh so fond. He says the words like they’re the highest compliment, and Steve knows right there in that moment, sitting shoulder to shoulder in a stolen RV, that Eddie Munson loves Dustin Henderson just as much as he does. Understands Dustin in a way few people really do. Steve is slammed with the realisation all at once; that there is no competition, that they never had to vie for affection from the kid—that they will love him and look after him as equals for however long Dustin will allow it, and beyond that.
“Yeah. Completely mental.” Steve agrees with another small head sake, “And worships the ground you stand on dude, I’m serious. The only reason any of us came looking for you in the first place is because of him. He’s a stubborn little shit.”
“That he is.” Eddie agrees with a smirk. The open affection on his face makes Steve’s insides feel practically gooey.
Because Dustin is important to him, and that’s all that really matters. The little shit deserves all the love in the world and Steve can’t believe he ever begrudged him that. When he has more time to truly reflect on it, he’ll probably hate himself a little. In the meantime, he’s just desperate to ensure that everyone around his is okay enough to face what they need to.
The rest—all of it, can come later.
They’re silent again for another little while, and it’s easy as breathing. Slowly, as the minutes tick by, Steve finds he really does like Eddie’s company—and not just for the sake of Dustin Henderson. They’re on common ground now for the first time since they’d entered each other’s orbit all those months ago when Steve’s kids had piled into his car after their first day of high school, filled with excitable tales of the nerdy metalhead senior who headed up the DND club.
When the attention is off him, Eddie is so much more grounded and calmer than Steve ever thought to give him credit for. Sure—he still makes Steve feel all kinds of on edge, but it’s a nice sort of feeling; like that one time his mother took him to a theme park a few towns over and he got to ride on a rollercoaster for the first time ever. He remembers sitting at the top, and he could see for miles, and his stomach fizzed with anticipation and excitement for the drop. Being around Eddie sort of felt like that, exhilarating. Free.
The thought makes him feel a little bolder, and he turns to face Eddie again, with now last parting statement before the others return.
“No heroics, Munson. I’m not kidding.” He let’s his voice drop into a tone that brooks no argument.
“Scouts honour.” Eddie holds up his hand in salute and Steve chuckles, registering the slight flush that glows on the metal head’s cheeks at Steve’s command.
“Yeah, as if you were ever a scout.” He mutters, heavy on sarcasm and affection in equal measure.
Eddie winks with a grin, and it’s a wild, untamed thing. He doesn’t know why (okay, maybe he does a little—that’s a problem for another day, though), but it sets Steve’s pulse racing.
Steve’s words are ringing in Eddie’s ears as the bats descend on the fucked up, topsy turvy version of his uncle’s trailer while he and Dustin scramble back inside it’s flimsy walls to relative (okay—questionable) safety.
Give yourself a break, man.
No heroics, Munson. I’m not kidding.
Don’t try to be cute or be a hero.
If something happened to you, Henderson would lose his mind.
They’re playing on a loop in his head when the creatures break through the vents in the ceiling, and it’s like a broken fucking record. Eddie’s brain helpfully repeating over and over his words of warning, words of care.
He and Dustin hustle back toward the gate in the ceiling, and Steve’s remembered—but oh so precious—words still sound in stark contrast to the vicious little beasts trying to break through his bedroom door.
He ensures Dustin goes ahead of him, watching as the kid clambers back to the relative safety of their own world.
Eddie grabs the makeshift rope himself, intending to follow straight after. Then he pauses midway through hauling himself up and glances back at the door separating them from literal creatures of hell, contemplating what the fuck to do next.
Because they need more fucking time.
Steve needs more time.
They were never really sure what would happen once the distraction ended; if the bats would follow them through the gate or give up and find a new quarry.
It’s laughable really—just add it to the list of things none of them had any clue about when thrusting themselves into this utterly ridiculous, fucking suicidal plan.
Eddie knows the kid is screaming at him to hurry up, to keep climbing. But all he can really comprehend are the echoes of Steve Harrington’s voice telling him not to be a goddamn hero.
Well fuck that.
He may not know much about the other man, but he does know that Steve would absolutely—no questions asked—kill Eddie himself if anything happened to Dustin. Dustin who is standing underneath a gaping portal to another world with nothing but a homemade spear to protect him from hundreds of flesh shredding monsters.
It’s an easy decision in the end.
Eddie won’t run away, but he won’t blindly run toward either. No, this time—this time he’ll make a fucking stand.
For Dustin. For Steve. For his hometown—full of people who hate him, who want him dead. For Chrissy. For himself.
Eddie hastily scrambles up the rope of bedsheets; the swooping, disorienting sensation filling his gut like acid as he tumbles through the gate after Dustin and when his feet land firmly on right side up ground, he prays the bats won’t follow after them—they never have before.
Even if he’s right, even if they don’t breech the gate, there’s still the fundamental issue that they need more time. That Steve needs more time to end this whole fucking nightmare.
Eddie casts his eye around the familiar surroundings of his childhood home, frantically searching for something, anything that can gift them even a fraction of the extra time they so desperately need.
Then he remembers something mentioned in passing a lifetime ago, (was it only that afternoon?) as Steve and Robin made Molotov cocktails up against the side of the stolen RV.
Something about fire being the only weakness that fucking place seems to have.
An instant later, Eddie is running to the kitchen; flinging open the cupboard under the sink; grabbing any aerosol canisters he can find and finally a nearly full bottle of lighter fluid. He hastily thrusts them all at a perplexed looking Dustin—who’s hovering anxiously at his shoulder—then snatches up a couple of Zippos from a nearby drawer. He’s never been more thankful for his uncle’s (and his own) prolific smoking habits and overall reluctance to throw out clutter, despite the cramped size of their dwelling.
He runs back to the living room—ignoring Dustin’s indignant squawks about what the hell is Eddie doing as he follows behind hot on his heels—and grabs the lighter fluid back from the kid. He reaches up and wordlessly douses the vines that writhe around the gate with the stuff. The smell of the gas is acrid as it splashes across the ceiling, and Eddie can practically taste it at the back of his throat. He just prays none of it made its way onto his, onto Dustin’s skin.
Then, with an expert flick of his wrist—he strikes one of the lighters against his jeans, hoists a can of bug spray up behind it, aims the nozzle at the gate and sets the whole fucking thing ablaze.
An instant later, he hears the bats crash through the door on the other side of the gate—but just as Eddie predicted, they don’t attempt to swarm through the burning gap in the ceiling, instead they screech and snap and shriek at the flames, circling in an angry frenzy. He doesn’t know if it’s the flames, or some freaky instinct that prevents them from entering this dimension, and right now Eddie couldn’t give less of a fuck. All he needs to do is keep their interest on him, keep Dustin safe, and hopefully kill enough of the little bastards that Steve and the others remain relatively out of harm’s way. At least from this particular threat. He just hopes that Vecna doesn’t have any other nasty surprises up his slimy sleeve. Because the thought of Steve being in danger makes Eddie feel like hives are bubbling up on his skin and—
Not the time Munson, so not the time.
He can pine over his hopeless crush later, right now Eddie has to save him.
Eddie quickly tosses the other lighter to Dustin, raises the can of bug spray again, and torches anything that moves too close to the entrance. Beside him, he vaguely registers Dustin doing the same.
They fall into an easy rhythm, Dustin and Eddie side by side, working in total synchronised tandem. Eddie empties a can first, grabs a new one and begins torching the little fuckers again just as Dustin’s can sputters out. Rinse and Repeat. Again, and again. Over and over until sweat is dripping down both their brows from the ferocious heat of the inferno above them.
And then Eddie figures the others must have finally managed to get to Vecna because not ten minutes later—just when the last aerosol can gives one final pitiful spurt of flame in Eddie’s shaking fingers—any creature that had managed to avoid the worst of his and Dustin’s attack, falls to the floor of the Other Trailer in a smouldering heap of ruins.
Dustin swings around to face him, a manic grin of delight and relief splitting across his features, one Eddie returns with an elated whoop as he grasps the kid’s shoulder and brings him against his side in a fierce one armed hug.
Over their heads, the gate keeps on burning. Flames now licking along the stained panelling of the ceiling with vigour.
Wordlessly, Eddie grabs a coughing Dustin by the collar of his jacket and hauls him bodily toward the front door of the now fully engulfed single wide. The kid stumbles along beside him blindly—the smoke so thick that neither of them can see much beyond a few inches in front of their faces. When they finally burst into the fresh, cool air outside, Eddie takes a shallow, choking breath and radios to the others that the demo-bats are dead, but they’ll need to use another gate to get out, if they can.
“We’ll head straight to Watergate.” Steve responds in the affirmative, and Eddie feels Dustin deflate a little beside him, letting out a relieved sigh at the sound of the other boy’s voice. There’s a heavy pause, then: “Vecna is dead. Over.” He confirms, his words crackling through the radio clasped in Eddie’s other shaking hand, staticky and distant but so very real.
Eddie doesn’t have the wherewithal to even attempt to figure out the logistics of the three of them getting back through to Lovers Lake, but the sound of Steve’s voice releases a tension in him that he didn’t even know he was holding on to.
There’s another brief moment of silence, before the walkie crackles to life again.
“Everyone else okay?” Steve asks, and his voice is lined with trepidation, a hesitant fear so deep that it cuts Eddie right to the bone—flaying him wide open.
“Yes.” Erica’s voice fills the silence around them, small and scared but there’s determination there too.
“Jason turned up and attacked Lucas, but he’s okay!” She rushes to explain, and Eddie can practically hear Steve’s worry filtering through the silence. “He knocked Jason out and got to Max just in time. She has a broken leg but she’s awake. We’re waiting for an ambulance.”
Eddie squeezes his eyes shut. Relief flooding through his veins despite the pain Red must be in. Because it could have been worse, Jesus Christ it could have been so much worse.
“El and Will helped her. I don’t know how but they did.” Erica’s voice crackles through once again, shaky and awed like she can't believe their luck. Eddie agrees with that sentiment.
“Okay. Stay with Max and Lucas, Erica. We’ll meet you at the hospital. Eddie, we’ll head straight to you first. Over and out.”
Steve’s voice is shaky with relief as he signs off, and Eddie wraps an arm around a trembling Dustin.
“I thought for sure there was a moment back there when you weren’t going to follow me through the gate...” Dustin mumbles from beside him, voice distant and strained. As if the memory is painful to recall. Guilt slices through Eddie like a dull knife.
“Who me? Don’t be ridiculous, Henderson. I plan on sticking around and annoying you for years to come.”
Dustin's eyes squeeze shut, relief pouring of his frame in palpable waves.
“Good. That’s good.”
“I love you, man.” Eddie says, simply. Watching as the words make their mark.
Dustin’s face swivels to meet his gaze, and there’s tears in his eyes. Tears of relief and exhaustion and joy.
“I love you too.” He mutters, just as the first of his tears begin to fall.
Eddie bundles the kid even closer to his side, holding him upright and ruffling his hair. As he does so, he marvels at the sheer dumb luck of it all.
Dustin is warm and alive beside him. Max is relatively whole but ultimately safe. They’re okay. Steve is okay. Vecna defeated. Everything else they could work out later; the murder charges, Jason. All of it.
Eddie’s been around this group of people long enough to know there’s nothing they can’t do. He’s pretty confident that at least one of them has the government connections to effectively wave away any criminal charges. Hell, they’ve been covering up portals to another dimension for years at this point. What’s a couple of false murder charges to these people? Maybe this super girl from California can put a good word in for him—who knows? Eddie’s not really able to comprehend much beyond getting through the next few hours.
For now, it’s simply enough to know that Steve is existing somewhere. Hell, a whole dimension away, but he’s alive and uninjured enough to speak and that’s enough for Eddie. That’s enough for right now.
He collapses fully onto the grass as he watches as the only home he’s ever truly known goes up in smoke; Dustin kneeling beside him with his head resting on the Eddie’s shoulder.
He vaguely wonders how the fuck he’s going to explain all this to Wayne.
And Eddie sighs.
And Eddie lives.