Work Text:
“Pliers, please?”
You hold out one hand as you use the other to adjust the overhead lamp, bringing the light closer to your workspace. The tool lands in your palm; you mutter a thank you and reposition to carefully insert the pliers into the back of the radio.
Nancy leans over and watches as you begin working, her arms pressing into the edge of the desk. The components are so small that she can barely see what you’re fiddling with.
“Any idea what it could be?” Nancy asks as she tries to get a closer look. She glances between the walkie talkie and you, and is barely able to stifle a giggle. The magnified goggles you’re wearing make you look like you’re in a science fiction movie.
You’re silent for a few seconds before grabbing something with the pliers, “Yep, a wire disconnected from the speaker. No wonder you couldn’t hear anything.”
Nancy breathes a sigh of relief, thankful that it’s a simple fix. With an unexpected crawl in just a couple of hours, there wouldn’t have been enough time to secure a new walkie talkie. The group has already arrived and begun gathering the supplies stashed at the station. Everyone has their part to play in trying to find Vecna; you’ve done this enough times that it’s down to a science. But crawls always make you nervous. You never know which night Hopper will finally find something that could bring you closer to ending all this, and it sets your teeth on edge. Living in Hawkins makes you constantly switch between two emotional extremes — incredibly anxious or completely numb.
You finish connecting the loose wire before carefully putting the rest of the radio back together. Once the correct frequency has been selected, you extend the antenna and press down on the button, “Testing, testing, can you hear me okay?”
A response comes back through immediately, “Loud and clear. How’s it sound on your end?”
You and Nancy exchange a reassuring glance at hearing Jonathan’s voice through the speaker. You answer quickly, “Sounds perfect.”
You pass the radio to Nancy as Jonathan replies, “You’re a genius, Henderson. You’re not our technical director for nothing.”
His sarcastic tone quirks your lips into a small smirk — your ‘day job’. Truth be told, you don’t mind fixing things up around the radio station; it helps to distract your mind. Unfortunately, there’s not enough work to be done so you can completely forget, but the small reprieves are still appreciated.
“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” Nancy quips as she gets up from her chair, placing a steady and reassuring hand onto your shoulder. You force a smile in her direction while pulling off your goggles. In moments like these, you often wonder how successful you’ve been in hiding the dread that tugs at your heart. You’ve tried your best to keep up the facade around the others, but sometimes it feels like Nancy can see right through you. Outside of family, the pair of you have known each other the longest out of the group — you suppose it makes sense she would pick up on the stormy skies in your brain.
Before you can finish tidying up, two sets of footsteps come thundering down the staircase. They make a b-line straight for your workbench, tucked away in the back of the room beneath the stairs. Mike’s head turns the corner, followed closely by the only person who might truly know the depth of your sadness.
It is not uncommon for you and Lucas to cross paths at the hospital. You both tend to find yourselves sharing the space beside Max’s bed — Lucas brings a fresh bouquet once a week, and you re-braid her hair. One late night visit in particular, Lucas arrived to witness tears pouring down your face as you sobbed, distraught over the guilt of being unable to protect the redhead from her fate. He stared for several seconds before entering the room, shocked at the sight of your emotions so visibly on display. That night, you shared everything about how you had been feeling, and Lucas found comfort in knowing that he wasn’t the only one who was trying to put on a brave face. It was a weight off both your shoulders.
“Have you talked to Dustin today?” Mike asks.
You shake your head as you continue tidying up the contents of your toolkit, “No, why?”
The answer received is an annoyed sigh and a worried glance shared between the two boys. You pause to focus on their reactions — you can’t make out the low words they exchange, but there’s a hint of concern. You’re inclined to just roll your eyes and go back to work, leaving them to whisper amongst themselves, until Steve’s words from this morning echo in your head. The shame and guilt of failing to support your brother flocks to the forefront of your mind, blurring your vision.
If something’s happening with your brother, you should know about it.
You force a stern tone into your voice, “What’s going on, Michael?”
Mike’s head snaps to you and his posture shrinks slightly; your glare could piece right through him.
He swallows harshly, “Dustin hasn’t shown up yet.”
“What?” Your brows immediately pinch together as you raise your wrist to check your watch, “That’s not possible, he’s—”
“Half hour late, I know,” Mike continues, looking back at Lucas, “We’re trying to track him down, but no luck.”
Suddenly, your stomach feels like it’s full of rocks. While Dustin’s become more distant as he battles with his grief, there are many things about him that have never changed. Something’s not right.
The chair squeaks as you stand abruptly, immediately disregarding the mess in front of you as you quickly get to your feet. You push past the boys, “You’ve tried radioing him?”
“For the past fifteen minutes,” Lucas replies, dragging Mike by the shirt to follow closely behind, “No answer.”
You curse under your breath, taking the stairs two at a time as you race to the top. Your hand grabs your jacket off the coat rack and you slip one arm through, “Did he say anything to either of you today?”
“He… was acting kind of weird,” Mike replies, exchanging another glance with Lucas, “Like he wasn’t totally himself.”
You turn abruptly to face the boys behind you; your confused expression silently prompts them to continue with their explanation. Mike complies with a sigh, “He’s been talking about starting up Hellfire again.”
You sigh as well, bringing your fingers up to massage your furrowed brow. Hopper was explicit in his instructions to lay low so the group could fly under the military’s radar. Restarting the Hellfire Club definitely doesn’t qualify as laying low; Dustin knows what wearing that shirt means and how the rest of Hawkins is going to interpret it. Your brother is getting reckless.
“But maybe he’ll show, y’know? There’s still time,” Lucas says in an attempt to comfort you. You shake your head, mouth pressed into a firm line before you answer, “That kid believes you’re late if you show up later than five minutes early. Something’s definitely wrong.”
A jingling noise steals your attention away from Lucas and Mike. Your gaze lands on Steve as he steps out of the sound booth, his car keys in hand and a stern look over his face. He must’ve overheard. As he locks eyes with you, he tilts his head towards the door, gesturing for you to follow. Another deep breath passes your lips — you suppose you can put aside your pride for this.
“Thirty minutes, okay?” You say to the boys while backing out of the room, “Give me thirty minutes to try and track him down.”
Lucas shakes his head, “Hopper’s not gonna be happy about this!”
“Thirty minutes!” You shout back, already halfway out the door.
You can’t help but admire the sunset as you step outside, relieved to get some fresh air as you take in the brilliant oranges and pinks. There’s always a dreadful haze that hangs over the group prior to a crawl, and today it feels particularly stifling. Maybe it’s because the anniversary is approaching, but everyone seems more on edge this time. While you’re not sure what could be affecting the others, you definitely know what has Steve in a bad mood.
You two haven’t had a chance to properly reconnect since this morning. With the last minute news from Murray, the only words you’ve exchanged have been related to Nancy’s plan, which sets Steve’s teeth on edge. When it comes to an argument, he prefers to talk about these things sooner rather than later. He doesn’t like stewing in anger regarding your relationship, but the crawl threw a pretty large wrench into that idea. Any conversation you two have will need to wait until afterwards, and he has a feeling it’s not going to be a quick one.
Despite it all, Steve still swings the passenger’s side door open for you.
The air grows heavier as soon as Steve slides into the driver’s seat. There’s so many unspoken words that hang between you that the tension is almost tangible, so thick that it fills up the rest of the car and suffocates you. Your arms brush on the armrest and with that small, minuscule touch, Steve nearly gives in. Dozens of apologies almost come pouring out of his mouth and his hands, itching to touch you, to press his pleas for forgiveness into your skin. It’s pathetic how much he craves it.
With the close proximity, the only thing you can think of is your fight — how angry you both were, the words that just tumbled out of your mouth with little thought of consequence. Embarrassment overwhelms you as you get an awful sense of déjà vu. How do you and Steve always seem to find a way back to this?
You wish you could tell if this is normal or not; it’s hard to determine what’s typical when the crux of your entire relationship was a supernatural kidnapping. Without Will’s disappearance, you and Steve know that you never would’ve found each other. At times, you and Steve are so different that it’s comical — nothing about your interests overlap, you don’t have the same taste in movies, your childhoods were dramatically different. It’s obvious that the shared trauma you’ve sustained from the Upside Down is what’s bonded you, but is it enough to keep you together? The thread of your relationship always finds a way to fray, what happens to it when there’s no longer danger around every corner?
“Any ideas?” Steve asks gruffly, briefly shooting a glance in your direction; his voice brings you back to the task at hand. You blink a few times as you get out of your head, “Right, um…”
You think hard for a moment to brainstorm places your brother might be. With the additional context provided to you by Mike and Lucas, an idea immediately pops into your brain. You bite down on your lip before reciprocating Steve’s glance, meeting his eyes across the car as he turns the key in the ignition.
“Eddie.”
The engine thrums to life as Steve exhales, “God damn it.”
-
You rub the red substance between your fingers, swallowing harshly as you realize what’s across the tombstone. The metallic scent is undeniable. Your only comfort is the snake carcass at the foot of the grave, likely the source, but that doesn’t do much to quell your anxiety. Luckily the damp rag you’re using to clean and polish the marble is working quickly.
Burn in hell written in snake’s blood is far too ominous for your liking. There have been several instances of Eddie’s grave being defaced over the last year; it’s been sprayed with graffiti, egged, toilet papered, but never anything like this. Since it’s such a common occurrence, you wouldn’t think much of it being vandalized again, but knowing that Dustin’s been poking the bear makes this feel personal.
An odd combination of feelings always falls over you when you visit Eddie. Without his sacrifice, you know that you’d be dead. Steve, Nancy, and Robin too. He bought you more time and it ended up being in vain. You failed — you were unable to kill Vecna when it mattered most and now you’re suffering with the consequences. Your brother lost a mentor, and the weight of the loss is destroying him. Although you didn’t know Eddie for longer than a week, you like to think you could’ve become good friends if you’d had the chance. From time to time, you still think of the monster-free D&D campaign he promised you.
You grimace as you finish cleaning up the mess, your nose wrinkling at the stench, “Who would do this?”
“Who do you think?” Steve says, his tone curt. He pans the beam of his flashlight to you as he continues, “There’s only one group in Hawkins who have it out for both Eddie and Dustin.”
Your eyes pinch shut as you get to your feet. Andy and the rest of the basketball team didn’t handle Jason’s death very well; they made it their mission to eradicate any mention of the Hellfire Club, even convincing the school to ban the group after last year. It didn’t take much to rally the rest of the local community to their cause. Your brother has been creating trouble for the team since then. While you desperately wish Steve’s theory wasn’t correct, deep down you know it is. No one else cares enough to take it this far.
“There’s more.”
Steve draws your attention to a spot on the ground about ten feet from the gravestone. The fallen leaves are disturbed, like an animal was digging around in the dirt. At first, you don’t see anything else, and then his flashlight catches the reflection on a puddle of crimson. More blood — fresh blood. Your heart sinks like an anchor to the pit of your stomach as your brain puts the pieces together. On the night of a crawl, your brother goes and gets himself into a fist fight. You know that you should be worried, and you certainly are, but the initial emotion that hits you is frustration.
“God, tonight, seriously?” You scoff, annoyance obvious in your tone, “Of all the days he had to get into trouble, he picked a hell of a good one!”
“This might not be his blood, okay? We can’t just assume what happened here,” Steve retorts back, tucking the flashlight into his back pocket, “And if it did, maybe he put up a good fight! He’s seen you deal out a few good hits.”
Steve does make a good point — your brother’s smart, and he’s seen you kick monster ass before. He’s likely picked up a thing or two from watching you and the rest of the team over the years. You’re probably not giving Dustin enough credit. That being said, there’s only so much strategy can do against pure strength. Even though they’re not known for their brains, the basketball team would not be easy targets; Jason was relentless in his search for answers last year.
You shake your head, “Even so, Steve, you know their type. They won’t stop until Dustin’s learned his lesson.”
As the words leave your mouth, a chill rolls up your spine — the faded scar on the back of your hand begins to prickle. Instinctively, your other hand goes to meet it, your thumb gently massaging the divot in your skin that never quite healed. Steve recognizes the motion immediately, a coping mechanism that you’ve developed over the years when you’re trying to soothe yourself. His eyes dart back up to your face, brow twisted in fear like you’re reliving a memory. He’s unable to resist the urge to comfort you; Steve’s fingers reach out to grasp onto your bicep, firmly squeezing the muscle in reassurance. He’s here, he’s not going anywhere.
“Hey, you alright? What is it?” He whispers, gaze roving over your face until you snap from your trance, eyes blinking rapidly. Relief floods through him as you clear your throat — dissociation is common for you, and it’s not often you snap out of it this easily.
Before you get an opportunity to answer, Steve interrupts, “I swear to god baby, if you tell me one more time today that nothing’s wrong when you’re obviously thinking about something, I’m gonna lose my damn mind.”
He says it with a bit of a laugh, trying to poke fun and lighten the mood. It works; he manages to get a small chuckle from you, the corner of your lips curling into a smile. Maybe there’s still hope for the two of you. It doesn’t last long, for your expression grows grim once more as you’re reminded of the situation at hand. You swallow harshly, taking a moment to relish in the comforting pressure his touch provides.
“I hoped he would never end up like you,” You mutter, “I won’t be able to take it if he shows up with a bloody nose and a black eye, Steve. I just… I just can’t do it again.”
Steve’s heart shatters upon hearing the sadness in your voice, almost like you’ve given up. Your face contorts into a frown, his ribs aching as the weight of your words hit him. It’s unfair that you’ve been a victim of acts of violence that are so cruel, so personal that the outcome is all the more devastating.
Years have passed, and your brain continues to thrive on the guilt from that night. You are still adamant that there was more you should’ve done to protect Steve from Billy’s wrath. No matter how many times Steve has tried to persuade you otherwise, nothing has been able to break through. Billy attempted to ruin your life on more than one occasion, and your anxiety stems from Steve’s safety, not your own. You’d take another punch to the face or gunshot to the arm if it meant your love was out of harm’s way.
Steve recalls one time where he had been particularly worked up, furious that Hargrove continued to torment you as if fracturing your hand wasn’t enough. He was halfway into convincing himself he needed to drive over and settle it, somehow get him to leave you the hell alone because Steve couldn’t take it anymore. But you knew that if Steve confronted Billy that night, there was a possibility that Billy would’ve finished the job. You refused to let your boyfriend take that chance, pleading with him to not fuel the flames anymore than he already had. In your mind, ignoring it was the only way through.
“I can’t do it again,” You had said with tears brimming in your eyes. That same look was on your face tonight — anger, frustration, and worry all rolled into one. Just thinking about it now makes Steve’s chest ache, and it had been enough to convince him to stay.
Out of all the trauma you’ve endured over the last four years, Billy’s actions that night at the Byers’ home has affected you the most. The scariest part is that it wasn't something supernatural, it was human — fury fueled by a bruised ego that sunk its claws into your skin and never let go. You haven’t known true peace since that night.
And now, your baby brother is the target. The cycle persists.
“We should be getting back,” You mumble. As much as you want to keep looking for Dustin, you have an obligation to fill. You and your brother are the only two who know how to search for the signal on Hopper’s telemetry tracker; you’ll have to set aside your concern for the rest of the night to ensure a successful crawl. There’s no room for screwing up on nights like these — you only get one shot.
Steve glances down to his watch to find your thirty minutes are indeed almost up. It doesn’t feel right to stop the search now, but the decision is out of his hands. He swallows the lump that formed in his throat before speaking, “Once the crawl’s over, we’ll come back out here and keep looking for him.”
You nod, sniffling slightly; your eyes are glassy from tears that never fell. Steve momentarily tightens his grip on your arm, focusing all his attention onto you, “You good?”
You nod again, more confident this time, “Yeah. You?”
“I’m good,” Steve replies. He finally removes his touch from you and goes to pull his keys from his pocket. As you silently watch him, an overwhelming rush of gratitude spreads through your veins. You’re so unbelievably lucky to have someone as strong and generous as Steve to guide you through tough times, and you’ve been taking advantage of his kindness. Relationships are not a one way exchange, and you’ve been neglecting your part in it. As lonely as you’ve felt, he must be feeling the same way. You can’t stand that thought. You would not have handled your brother’s disappearance as well if you didn’t have Steve by your side. He deserves to know that.
Your fingers brush the back of his hand, and Steve’s wrist instinctively twists to make room for your palms to touch. Without another thought, he’s lacing your fingers together, warmth spreading up his arm from where your skin presses into his. You squeeze his hand, glancing over to watch his stern expression soften into something more gentle. Relief.
“Thank you for coming with me.”
He squeezes back, savoring this quiet moment between the two of you for just a bit longer. He wishes he could take you home, forget about the crawl, about all of it and just enjoy time together like a normal couple could. He prays that this nightmare is over soon. He’d like a chance for you both to just live for once — no Upside Down, no Vecna, no secret codes, none of it. It’s going to be a long night.
“Always,” Steve mutters. This time, he says it loud enough for you to hear.