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[This must be the place]
The reason Steve remains in Hawkins is because he doesn’t want to and can’t move away from Eddie.
When his friends ask and prod him he talks about the view, the quarry, the quiet life, about his job and the boring everyday nothings; he finds every other excuse for why none of his relationships work and lets them joke about it because it’s easier than admitting he’d stopped trying a long time ago; he mentions his house in Forest Hills and hopes that none of them read too much into it. The lies, the omissions, all of it, is because he doesn’t know how to tell them the truth; because they wouldn’t really understand, and he wouldn’t know how to explain that he doesn’t need their pity, that while it might not be happiness, he is truly content and wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.
Maybe one day they’ll be able to hear him.
Maybe one day, he’ll be ready to say it.
He can’t leave Hawkins. He won’t. He can’t leave Eddie behind. Can’t let his name turn into a cheap bedtime story for unruly kids, or a drinking tale for rebel teenagers in parking lots.
So he stays to keep him company, he stays for the only kind of company he craves, for the kind of conversations that settle him even in the absence of answers. He stays so that Eddie doesn’t disappear from the town’s memory like a bad stain, he stays to make sure he’s not forgotten, he stays so that Hawkins won’t repeat its mistakes. He chooses to stay so that kids like Eddie can have someone who believes in them on their side through the pains of growing up in a small, backwards town in Indiana.
The soles of his snickers push against the gravel when he stands up. With a raspy sigh, he clears his voice as his hand goes for the sunglasses hanging on the collar of his shirt.
“I won’t be around for the next two weeks. Taking Dustin for a trip to South Dakota this time. We’ll go through Iowa, Nebraska, and make our way up to Deadwood.” His eyes linger on the thin plastic arms he’s folding and unfolding, skipping only so often up to the gray surface of the stone. It's clean now. Been like that for the past year. He’s made sure of it. ”Might get Susie with us for a couple of days. You remember her? Dustin’s girlfriend from 8th grade? They met again last semester and they’re back together. Sort of…” He grins and stretches. “Will tell you all about it once we’re back.”
The smell of cut grass is still in the air and the fresh chrysanthemums placed at the base of the grave catch the midday sun. “We’ll stop by Wayne's on the way back; Dustin’s already making a roadmap with all the places where we could get him souvenir mugs for this trip. He’s building a collection again.” The weight of that thought is swallowed down, leaving just the gentle smile on his face. He was looking forward to having some beers and catching up with the old man. Maybe watch a game together if they time the visit right.
He puts on the sunglasses and pats the keys of the car in the back pocket of his jeans.
”Don’t miss me too much while I’m gone.” It still hurts, but it’s a comforting kind of hurt. “And don’t get into too much trouble.”
It was time to go. He was supposed to leave Hawkins an hour ago. Well, nothing he can’t recuperate on the road.
With one last nod, Steve makes his way through the rows, down the hill where he'd parked his car with the trailer. He hops in and, just for a moment, he doesn’t move, doesn’t go for the seatbelt, doesn’t put the keys in the ignition. Just grips the wheel, maybe a bit too tightly, and looks up through the window, through the gravestones in the grass, to the one that’s supposed to mark Eddie’s resting place, and at all the promises he’d made in the last years. He knows there’s no body buried under; he knows he could speak his thoughts anywhere and it would mean the same, but that blasted stone has his name on it and it’s stupid how less alone it makes him feel just by reading it. Those who knew found it sad that Eddie couldn’t even get a proper burial, but in a fucked up way, it’s what kept Steve hopeful. He could pretend that somehow, inexplicably, his story was not done. People had found ways of coming back from the dead before. El had vanished into smoke and ash and she'd found her way back once. Hopper survived an explosion and returned from Russia, of all places. Why couldn’t Steve leave a door ajar for the idea that Eddie could still be out there? Nothing he could share with the rest, just a selfish thing to keep for himself.
He lets out a sigh and drops his gaze to the passenger seat, looking for his discarded pack of cigarettes. He’s not idiot enough to believe it, but… it’s a nice story to toy with during gloomier days.
It is a ridiculous thought to entertain. Ridiculous enough that it sends him into a short, breathy fit of laughter. With that he grabs one cigarette and shoves it past his lips before rolling down the window.
“So yeah Munson, any time you feel like coming back home, give a sign. Don’t go all shy on me now.” It's just a joke, no need to sound bitter about it. But it’s alright because knowing Eddie, he would have probably only been encouraged by the tone.
The lighter flicks once, twice before the cigarette lights up. He’s getting ready to release the first puff of smoke when it gets stuck in his throat by the dashboard coming to life. The radio crackles and blasts momentarily into his ears only to throw him back immediately into a deafening silence. The headlights are still on.
Steve frowns and he can feel his blood run cold and the hairs at the back of his neck stand up. His heart is beating out of his chest because his entire body knows it before his mind has the chance to process it.
The car keys are still in his hand.