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If there is something to miss about Hawkins then it’s definitely the simplicity. You know what awaits you around each corner and the details of every sight, down to the strange squarish patterns the sun draws on the walls of brick houses when it’s setting. Down to the reason for why one of the bike racks outside of Hawkins High School looks just a little bit awkward (Mike hit it with his bike one spring).
There is none of that now. Of course, anywhere is sharply unfamiliar once you leave the place where you’ve lived very nearly your whole life, but it’s a different story when you are going even further away. The seemingly endless squiggly line of rocks, cliffs and tree tops is altogether new and doesn’t provide anything that would let you say ‘ah yes, I know exactly what comes next’. You might be right about the terrain, but not the specifics. You still have to figure out where to go, find your path.
Much like in life in general, Dustin thinks, walking through the campsite with a toothbrush case in hands.
Unexpected turns. Unexpected places. About a year ago he was getting stressed out of his mind by college options, now he occasionally leaves his campus behind without even thinking about his grades very much, even in the subjects that he’d never thought he’d enjoy. Managed to surprise himself, in a way, past him would be impressed.
So, yeah. Life changes.
And some things stay no matter what, by the looks of it.
Phone calls with mom, of course. Some habits, memories, scars. Tattoos. The existence of Hawkins, despite all odds. He still visits.
Or take their road trips, for example. A relatively new tradition that surprisingly fast weaselled its way into some of the most consistent things in Dustin’s life. The starting date of each trip glows bright on the wall calendar, he can't wait for every new one.
It’s a bit counterintuitive, as far as consistent things go, since a road trip very much embodies unfamiliarity and adventure. But both the trailer and the truck offer some of the simplicity Hawkins provided. And it’s not because he knows history behind every scratch on each surface.
He is not even sure if the trips themselves are a constant in his life.
Steve, on the other hand, definitely is.
Yes, the trailer surfaces and corners get more and more familiar, but it’s more about the near total lack of mental effort that the trip days require. It’s a different kind of simplicity. One that’s manifested by the presence of a person who once was only adding unnecessary (and deeply uninteresting) difficulties into the life of his friend’s older sister.
Again, life changes.
As it turns out, having saved the world multiple times together comes with side effects.
Such include: near-total absence of awkward silences, ability to reach compromises at a groundbreaking speed, even if both of you should have gold medals in the art of arguing. Occasional borderline telepathy. Probably something else they are yet to discover.
You just don’t have to think very hard when you got all this. Add shared near-death experiences and countless hours spent together, and you reach a level of communication that’s a little bit hard to explain to an outsider.
Not that Dustin cares about explaining anything at all, particularly not when he catches a bundled up kitchen towel hurled right at his head upon barely opening the trailer door.
Constant doesn’t mean wholly predictable, does it?
“Good morning to you too, asshole.”
“Morning. Welcome. Enjoy your turn on the dishes.”
“It is not my turn!”
“Yes, it is,” Steve’s head appears from behind the kitchen counter. He looks well-rested, hair barely styled.
The bunk bed is fully folded into a couch, Steve’s on the said couch, the blinds are open and letting in the sun, the radio is muttering some incoherent upbeat nonsense in the background. Good morning all, good morning America.
“Steve!”
“Yes? We need plates for breakfast! It’s hardly my fault we fell asleep yesterday, the count’s still on.”
“You know you’re ridiculous for dozing off when talking about Back to The Future of all things, right?”
“Well, man, so are you! And I’m the one driving, you don’t even have an excuse.”
Unfortunately, that’s a valid point. Dustin chucks the toothbrush case in the general direction of his backpack. He has to assess the damage first; orderly life can wait.
He takes a step towards the sink clutching the kitchen towel.
The damage is high.
He looks at Steve. Steve stares back at him, expectantly and unimpressed.
It’s a stare-off, okay. Maybe his sense of dignity can take a break too. Big problems call for big guns, and he’s got those.
“Steve, you know I love you, right?”
“Right, piss off with that,” Steve raises whatever local journal he’s pretending to read up to his face.
“You’re like family to me.”
“That I am.”
“Just— dearest brother figure.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Why don’t we talk it out?”
“No! Because,” Steve puts the journal back down. “You can’t ‘talk it out’ every other time, we both live here—“
This keeps going for about five more minutes, mainly because most of the days in the trailer can’t really start without a thoroughly silly conversation. It’s an extended “good morning”, of sorts, there is no bite to it.
The argument eventually ends with Steve getting up, ruffling Dustin’s hair (“Ugh, it’s wet!” “What did you expect, I went to the showers, literally where else would I go in a campsite this early—“) and them dividing the dishes pile in half. That’s how it was meant to end, really, and how it almost always does. On the occasions when one of them is actually out of service, the other usually gets in the mood to do everything. That’s the predictable part.
It’s a bit of a symbiotic life, and Dustin secretly wishes residents of his dorm were just a tiny bit more like that.
In other words, their co-existence is easy.
***
Sometimes their evenings are almost entirely silent. Contrary to what Dustin himself expected, when Steve first mentioned the camping idea.
Watching the passing cars from the truck, absorbing the sunset-lit landscape from wherever their foldable chairs land. Dustin, curled up next to Steve, who’s busy reading one of Dustin’s comic books. Steve, zoning out by the campfire, while Dustin fusses over marshmallows and sausages, trying to create some toasted amalgamation. Both of them, eventually abandoning their activities in favour of stargazing.
Quiet is fairly frequent now, but for all the right reasons. The first couple of times they did the trips, Dustin felt restless and tried to fill the silence whenever there was one, worried they wouldn’t have enough time to discuss everything he wanted.
That worry is gone now, though.
“Maybe we should make a list of things we want to see and do,” Steve said once, driving them through the middle of some Illinois nowhere. “For each state, just to have a structure.”
“And then what?” Dustin clarified.
“And then we follow it,” Steve made a grabby gesture from the driver’s seat until Dustin held up the Pringles can. “We’ve been kinda going with the flow so far, but what if we— I don’t know— Cross some things off once they are done?”
Dustin stared down the crisps can.
“And then?”
“We just keep going. Or you don’t like it? Secret agenda against list-making or something?”
He could tell Steve glanced at him then. First sign of concern already, despite the light tone.
“Crossing things out… Eventually we’ll be done with every state. Even Alaska.”
“I guess? Will take ages though. Unless—”
“—we get ambushed and tragically killed along the way…”
“…exactly. But let’s hope it would just take us a real long time, no deaths included.”
“Yeah, but after that—“
Always easier to just say it.
“Do we stop going then? Once we’re done?”
Steve didn’t answer at first. The truck slowed down a little, and for a second Dustin thought Steve was going to pull over. Surely, it’s not that serious.
“Then we start over? Probably?” Steve suggested.
“You’d do that?” Dustin asked.
Steve really did pull over then.
“Of course I would. Look at me, bud.”
Dustin turned his head.
“Once we’re done with the country,” Steve said. “There is always Canada.”
“And after that?” Dustin pried.
“I don’t know. Mexico.”
“And then?”
“Then? Hell, by that time I might as well have enough money to fly us somewhere. I bet your ass has not been to Europe.”
“Yeah, okay, nor has yours—“
“Correct! My point is,” Steve looked at him softly. “The list wouldn’t be for us to have less trips, it’d be to have more of them. Or screw the list, forget the list. I’m not bored of you, bud, so, as long as you aren’t bored of me either, we can just keep going places.“
And it was such a perfect moment for a playful jab or some cynical remark, but Dustin just smiled.
“I doubt I’ll get bored of you.”
A smile back, a pat on the shoulder, swiftly turned into a tight hug over the gearbox.
Later Steve tells him that the only danger they face is that at some point they might be occasionally joined by someone (or multiple someones) chanting ‘uncle Dustin’ all the time. And that a truly big family holiday — with their respective partners and kids — would probably make him ugly cry, albeit happy tears, so Dustin would have to deal with that too. The prospect of both is still a faraway fantasy, but their meet-ups will keep a sacred status either way, he’ll make sure of it.
And it’s promises, hopes, words. Big ones, especially in the face of something ruthless as time. But Dustin knows Steve isn’t lying about intending to try his hardest to make it all happen.
Makes two of them. As far he’s concerned, this is for life. They have a separate agreement for whatever comes next.
Not much left but to enjoy the present.
So yeah, time isn’t much of a worry for Dustin anymore.
***
There is also something to be said about physical comfort. Another thing that Dustin would never bother explaining to strangers, and the one that also seems to fall directly into the “post-world-saving side effects” pile. To be fair, Dustin does not bother explaining this one to himself either.
It just feels nice. Always good to have your best friend nearby, no?
(What’s also great to have is a confirmation of that friend being alright, especially when the aforementioned friend used to not be alright on an overly frequent basis. Close enough to check for injuries, for oddities in the pulse. It feels safe, rational.)
He doesn’t really know if their behaviour is unusual unless someone lets him know. Not that it changes very much. He’s pretty sure Steve’s the same.
His roommate once saw them greet each other and then told Dustin he envied him, because ‘his brother is never that happy to see him’. He also asked him if they were close as kids. Dustin didn’t bother correcting him.
He suspects that it goes beyond greeting hugs, though. He can only hope it will never get anywhere as bad as the case of Robin and Steve’s physical boundaries. Or the lack of thereof. Best not to think about it, honestly.
One evening some guy gives them an annoyed side-eye when they are studying a menu in a diner. It’s their first stop after a 6-hour drive and an improvised hike in the woods, and Dustin only becomes aware of the way they are sitting because of the pointed eye contact: Steve is plastered on the diner couch while holding the menu and Dustin is practically draped over him to see the pages better. What else are they supposed to do?
“What’s up with him? He stared,” Dustin asks as soon as the door shuts behind the man.
“Dunno,” Steve says, still transfixed on the menu.
“You didn’t even look.”
“No, and I don’t know why you bother,” Steve responds. He grabs Dustin’s head and turns it back to the menu. “See, there is a double deal. If we order two of the same stuff before six, then we only have to pay for one portion.”
Dustin takes Steve’s hand off his head and holds the wrist up. They both look at Steve’s watch. Suddenly the staring guy doesn’t matter to Dustin at all.
“We need to pick the best option on the menu, now,” he declares, turning so fast they nearly bump heads.
“Get thinking then!”
They make it about 90 seconds before the deadline, wasting half of the time on bickering.
There must be many more moments like this, and Dustin just doesn’t notice. A bunch of tiny ‘you’re alive, I’m alive’-s.
The point is, touch is not laced with fear anymore. It’s not them clutching each other while surrounded by shouting soldiers, not one shielding the other from almost certain and very supernatural death. Instead it’s regular shoulder bumps, high fives, using each other as a reluctant footrest, leaning against the other person when exhausted or just because you want to. It’s hugs that say ‘hi, I missed you’ or ‘you’re important to me’ or simply ‘hug break’, instead of ‘we are about to die, this might be a goodbye’.
There is no panic gripping his neck, just warmth.
It’s not reserved for something terrifying anymore.
***
And then there are words.
Dustin has never really been too nervous about those. Talking is fun. Sometimes gets you into trouble, most of the times serves as the main provider of whimsy and quality communication. Maybe serious, sincere talking is a bit less fun and more complicated, perhaps even severely overcomplicated at times, but that’s just human nature.
Steve was there when talking was at its most difficult, so now there isn’t really anything to hide. They meet up, and it’s an endless back and forth: they talk and talk and talk; by the campfire, in the truck, in the trailer, in motels, anywhere and about anything at all.
“Aren’t you two ever worried you gonna run out of things to babble on about?” Murray asked them one day in a sugary voice, during their big Hawkins meet-up. He was just trying to get them to shut up, of course, but, after Nancy fended him off, Dustin did consider the question for about twenty seconds. And realised then that he really isn’t.
They know too well what it’s like to not say things until it’s almost too late. Why not use the second (or is it fifth? tenth?) chance life gave them to the fullest? They have their past and made plans for the future, but there is still the present.
Tell me your thoughts and opinions on that one movie, even if they are entirely wrong. Tell me what nightmare woke you up last night. Tell me anything. Let me tell you too. Can I?
Steve has migraines.
Dustin’s limp still comes back on a bad day.
No lengthy explanation needed for the origins of their scars, physical or mental (although sometimes their composure upon discovering the origins of some leaves a lot to be desired). It’s not a stress-free life, but it sure is a safe environment.
On the second day of travelling, they are, as usual, still not that far from civilization, but the road is already half-empty, and Steve tells him about one of the jobs he got after the radio but before getting the coaching gig. He isn’t sparing the details of how the boss was not taking his or Robin’s paranoia seriously and kept pranking them, even though it was just six months after the Abyss bullshit and it was genuinely distressing, and, like, what the fuck, it’s a small town and Robin is an ex-radio host, no one’s just going to work for him anymore, also, Dustin, buddy, never get a job at a place where they say ‘we’re like a family here’, you are really not missing out on anything, man.
It’s definitely the reunion sappiness hitting him, but Dustin listens to Steve talking and suddenly thinks about how great it is that Steve is here. That they still have each other, that he can sit in Steve’s truck with miles upon miles of road ahead and listen about Steve’s stupid ex-boss. Instead of whatever other timelines had to offer.
And he can just let Steve know that he’s a fan of what’s happening.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Dustin says once Steve pauses to take a breath.
“I swear I was listening,” he adds quickly.
Steve blinks. Then seems to decipher the mood shift and smiles.
“That happy I called Mr Jones on his bullshit, huh?”
“Oh yeah,” Dustin grins. “Ecstatic.“
“Did end up getting fired two days before Robin though. Add that to the list of things you’re happy about.”
“Yeah, I know, I just said I was listening!”
“I’m glad you’re here too, bud.”
Steve’s hand lands on his forearm and holds it tight. Dustin grips back with his other hand, until the road swerves and Steve grabs the wheel again. There is an easy, kind silence.
“Screw Mr Jones into oblivion, he sounds extraordinarily stupid,” Dustin announces after a beat. He gets a little laugh from the driver’s seat in response. “Unless you wanna shit-talk him for a bit more, tell me about what you did to the trailer, because I saw the reframed window, and I wanna know. Down to shit-talk too, though.”
“Uh, yeah, I’ll take the trailer option, thank you,” Steve makes a face.
“Yea, I bet, you look like someone who’s been dying to talk about his car for the last two hours instead of the actual relevant life updates.”
“Okay, first of all, you mean the trailer, we’re literally sitting in the car part right now, second of all—“
The landscape keeps moving behind the window. The tree tops form a squiggly line that is hard to predict, and sooner or later the trees will be swapped out for cliffs, rocks and horizons above bodies of water. Maybe it won’t be rocks, maybe it will be something else entirely, Dustin doesn’t know, the map is folded and hidden in the glovebox.
He also doesn’t know what will come after college or what the future holds, and there is no map for that. But there was a time when he wasn’t even sure there would be a future.
It doesn’t seem like it will be a lonely journey anyway. He has a feeling it will be alright.
But he should really check the literal map before they pass a turn.