Chapter Text
Vecna continued feeding on people, hunting in silence, choosing his victims as if he had all the time in the world. The group gathered fragments, incomplete clues—anything that might lead them to a way to end that monster once and for all. People started locking their doors and windows again, lights left on all night long, as if that could keep away whatever was coming from the other side. As if fear obeyed locks.
And now, there were dead. Many of them.
The town was holding its breath.
But this time, there was a name whispered through every clue the group managed to piece together: Jonathan Byers.
The pattern was far too clear to ignore. The hallucinations, the behavior… everything pointed to him being Vecna’s next chosen victim.
And all of Hawkins had no idea.
But Steve knew.
And it was destroying him.
Over the past few days, Jonathan had been quieter than ever. Always with his headphones pressed into his ears, the music loud enough to drown out even his own thoughts. He spoke little, ate little, slept even less.
And Steve… Steve hovered around him like someone watching a fire about to spread.
Sometimes he’d get close just to touch Jonathan’s shoulder, tell stupid jokes just to see if he could pull a smile out of him, stare from a distance, hiding the fear tightening in his chest. He couldn’t stand the idea—couldn’t stand the possibility of losing Jonathan, not after everything they’d been through. Not after finally admitting to himself how much he loved that boy. And that terrified him too: loving someone so much that it felt like his own life was hanging by the same thread.
They were in the Wheeler’s basement when it happened.
The group was arguing over strategies, hypotheses, wild theories, while Jonathan sat in the corner, back against the wall, eyes fixed on nothing.
Steve watched him from across the room, restless, hands shaking as if he were waiting for the worst—even without wanting to admit it—and then, without warning, the world slowed down.
Jonathan’s eyes went vacant, rolling white, his body completely frozen.
“No, no, no, JONATHAN!” Steve screamed, his voice breaking.
The group froze. Lucas stopped breathing. Dustin dropped the walkie-talkie. Max took an unsteady step back.
But Steve moved toward him as if nothing else existed. His heart stopped—there was a second when Steve didn’t know whether Jonathan was the one about to die, or if it was going to be him.
Because the moment he saw Jonathan’s eyes turn white in a trance, an entire reel played through his mind: the nights hidden in the car listening to music, the stupid arguments, hands finding each other under the blankets, the first time Jonathan rested his forehead against his, the calm, shy, absurdly gentle way he was. Their love—the kind no one ever imagined, but that burned strong and quiet, just the two of them. And Steve thought, with a raw, primitive desperation: I can’t lose you. I can’t. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I will save you, even if it’s the last thing I do.
Jonathan’s eyes were already rolling back. His fingers twisting. Veins standing out.
It was the beginning of the ritual. The beginning of the end. Steve Harrington trembled—but he didn’t step back. Because if Vecna wanted Jonathan, he would have to go through him first, and Steve was willing to do anything. Absolutely anything.
Jonathan’s body started to rise—slow, terrifying, relentless.
Steve panicked. He nearly tripped as he crouched down and yanked the Walkman from the backpack, his hands shaking so badly he could barely open the zipper.
“Where are the tapes?” he muttered, rummaging frantically. “They’re not here…”
“They’re here!” Dustin said, pulling a handful of tapes from his own backpack and scattering them on the floor.
Dustin grabbed at them without really looking, his heart racing.
“What’s his song?!” Dustin shouted, his voice breaking with panic. “WHAT’S JONATHAN’S SONG?!”
Steve lifted his head, gasping, barely able to breathe.
“There Is a Light That Never Goes Out” he said.
“By The Smiths!” Max added quickly.
“That’s it, that’s it, that’s it…” Steve kept repeating, breathless, like a mantra, like someone clinging to the very last thread left.
Jonathan’s body start rising.
Steve shoved the tape in with trembling fingers, nearly snapping the plastic, and forced the headphones onto Jonathan’s head—or as close as he could manage.
The music started.
The soft, melancholic, unmistakable riffs filled the air—and nothing happened. Nothing. No sudden fall, no breath returning, no sign that Jonathan was hearing it.
Steve froze. For a second, he simply didn’t understand. His heart plunged into absolute panic. He cranked the volume all the way up, nearly blowing out the Walkman.
He shook Jonathan’s leg, called his name—first firm, then breaking, then begging in a way he had never begged for anything in his life.
“Jonathan, for the love of God, listen to the music!”
Dustin, Lucas, and Max could only watch—small, terrified, not knowing how to react.
They had never seen Steve like that.
They had never seen Steve Harrington break.
And when he started crying—not just tears, but uncontrolled, almost animal sobs—the despair swallowed the basement whole.
“He’s not coming back” Max whispered, breathless.
Lucas swallowed hard, trying to stay strong.
Dustin started to shake.
Because if even Steve—the strongest one, the one who always grabbed the bat and charged at giant monsters, the one who put himself in front of everyone, the one who never let anyone be afraid—if even he was crying and saying please, come back to me, then maybe this was a battle they couldn’t win.