Chapter Text
Steve could remember how he felt his soul drop when they found Dustin sobbing, how the tears that just stopped began rolling again after he asked the boy where Eddie was. He definitely remembered the way he passed out from exhaustion and grief the second there was nothing more he could do to help anyone. Their town was gone, recovering minimally with the help of those left, and their friends were killed or injured in what felt like vain. He’d wished to himself that he could go back and save all his friends from injury.
He could pray all he wanted, but that wasn't how things worked. They had lost, whether they wanted to admit it or not.
Yet somehow when he rolled over this morning, that familiar messy mop of hair he drifted off thinking about was next to him once again. It seemed impossible, but watching Eddie stare straight ahead as he nibbled on his nails was so very unbelievably real . They made eye contact, the discomfort of which sunk into his drowsy bones.
“Sleep well, sweetheart?” He turned to Steve with his usual trace of mockery, unslept eyes crinkling upon the realization that another person was awake. Steve rubbed the sleep from his eyes quickly, tense and frantic as he looked around.
“Woah Harrington, you alright?” Eddie leaned over with concern, placing a burning hand on the other’s shoulder. He flinched and the guitarist pulled away with wide eyes.
“No–yeah, uh… must’ve–shit, it must’ve just been a bad dream,” Steve cleared his throat, almost allowing his body to relax.
“Aw, little Stevey’s still having nightmares?” Munson teased with a chuckle while Steve glanced back.
“Shut up, dude. Where, uh– where are we?” The reply was uncharacteristically soft as he turned back, letting out a relieved sigh when he spotted the rest of their ragtag family still resting. It must have been a dream, because while Eddie Munson haunting him could’ve been normal any other day of the week, Dustin and Max were getting in a well-deserved snooze—and most importantly, without injury.
“Are you that out of it? We’re taking shifts, getting as much rest as possible before the war,” Eddie spoke exaggeratedly, as if speaking of fantasy. Steve stood, bones popping as he stretched and motioned for the other man to move from the driver’s seat. The metalhead obliged, bowing a fake offer.
“I bid you adieu, my fair lady!” Eddie whistled at him with a laugh as he returned to the rear of the vehicle, Steve barely restraining a shudder of familiarity. He’d heard Eddie say that before, but his brain wouldn’t tell him when or how.
His afternoon went with a sense of deja vu, actions feeling slow and repetitive even though logically, he knew they shouldn’t. Every conversation felt rehearsed, each word that fell from his lips pre-written. Nausea built in his chest the further he went through the day and suspicion pricked up his spine. He grew more irritable the closer they got to enacting their plan, having snapped at the kids more than one regrettable time through their practice sessions. He could barely remember his dream anymore, instead, the memories were replaced with fuzz and aftermath.
Eventually, Steve sat down next to Robin, exhausted from the turmoil in his mind and recent events. She offered a small (and slightly awkward) smile as she held the Molotov supplies towards him. He took his side and they fell into a rhythm of pouring, stuffing, and setting the bottles aside.
“What's up?” Robin asked and Steve looked at her, a sigh escaping his lips.
“I—Well, it's nothing, but…” Steve trailed off, breaking their eye contact.
“Steve, ‘but’ means there’s something . You can tell me, promise I won't judge—I mean honestly I probably can’t judge, so,” she took a deep breath to stop herself from rambling again before continuing, “You can tell me, even if you think it's not important.”
She elbowed him with a roll of her eyes and Steve nodded.
“Something feels… Wrong.”
“Might be the fact that we’re about to go into a death trap–”
“No, no – it's not that, trust me. It's different,” he paused, Robin patiently waiting despite him interrupting her. After a moment to collect himself, Steve spoke up again, voice weak for the second time that day, “Do you ever feel like you’re repeating a day?”
Robin opened her mouth to answer but closed it again, brows furrowing. She stared with a pitying expression and licked her lips nervously.
“Oh, Steve…”
“I don't mean it that way, Jesus, Robin!” Her mood fell to confusion.
“Nevermind, forget it.” Steve stood, Robin instinctively reaching out to pull him back but stopping herself. “We should get going now that everyone’s done. Run through the plan again, drop the Sinclairs and Max off.”
+
Going back in the Upside Down willingly was something Steve never thought he’d do, and this week he’d done it twice. Each step in the monochrome felt eerily similar to his murky memories of his nightmare, and he silently cursed the fact he couldn't remember it clearly. His mind was far away as they left the house, his attention drawn back to reality when he spotted Eddie and Dustin out of the corner of his eye. Something about the scene in front of him reminded him of something unplaceable—all he knew was that it was bad . His brain was screaming so, blaring alarms seeing the smirk plastered on Munson’s face.
“Something’s… Wrong,” Steve stumbled, losing his grip on his weapons for a second. He’d taken note of Robin’s worried glances before, but now that they were to his face, he felt sick. He looked at Eddie, whose sarcasm covered his anxiety, and saw a flash of a bloodied and mangled version of the man.
“Holy hell Harrington, you look like you're about to hurl.”
“Not seeming too great yourself, now do me a favor and don't play the hero this time.” Steve dismissed easily, instead opting to walk ahead. The comment flowed naturally, and finally, he felt in a little more control of the day. A signature Steve quip—something normal and familiar and safe. Yet a sudden silence emerged, and with it, eyes that burned holes through his back.
“This time?” Munson cleared his throat with a raised brow and Steve stopped. He met each puzzled stare with his own mimic, gears turning mentally for an answer.
“I guess there wouldn't be another time, huh? Don't know— don't know why I said that ,” he excused, the last part of his sentence a stuttered mumble of an afterthought. Robin pulled him aside hurriedly, pupils flicking between the team and Steve.
“Seriously Steve, what is wrong with you? I'm worried, Nancy’s worried—for God’s sake even Eddie has noticed it! The guy’s barely known you for a day!” She spoke with her hands as she usually did, this time the endearing qualities replaced with an infectious panic that Steve couldn't shake.
“Look, I'm sorry, okay!? Let's just…” he hesitated, looking back toward Eddie. His thoughts offered him a lifeline of recognition, a distant promise he hadn't fulfilled tugging at him.
“Make him pay.” Eddie tensed, like Steve had read a private thought of his—something he was going to leave unsaid. Nancy, Robin, and Steve began walking off, leaving Eddie and Dustin with their thoughts and shabby shields.
Their flashlights scouted the forest, and Robin’s stress bubbled to its breaking point.
“Uh, I don't mean to freak anyone out, but I swear we've seen this tree before,” she stopped, light scanning the life in question.
“No way Robin, we’re going the right way. Don't worry about it,” Steve yelled, but she just chuckled nervously and jogged forward until she was out of sight. Nancy got closer to Steve, her earlier focus breaking.
“Watch the vines,” he gave one last pitiful attempt at crowding her back, earning nothing but rushed gratitude as a result.
“Hey, you alright?” Nancy asked, and Steve sighed. He was really getting tired of hearing that.
“I’m fine, Nance,” was all he offered, eyes turning to look straight ahead instead of at his ex-girlfriend. He couldn't bear eye contact, not right now.
“You seem shaken up, somehow more than normal,” Nancy hummed, and Steve looked at the ground with a grin. They smiled at each other and the air felt a little lighter. It was nice, it was safe. It wasn't—
It wasn't about broken dreams, or thumps on heads, or conversations he swore he had before.
“Hey, guys! You guys, awesome news!” Robin hollered, sprinting back to the duo. While Steve looked at Nancy, Nancy looked ahead.
And that's when he knew she'd never love him that way again.
“Looks like we weren't going the wrong way after all,” she lit up, still catching her breath as she ushered them to follow, always a pace faster than the rest of them. Nancy caught up without a glance back, so Steve followed suit.
“Rob—Nancy, Robin, slow down!” Steve watched the ground carefully, concentrating on chasing after the girls, always one pace behind. After a few moments, they were out of the woods and across from Victor Creel’s house. Bats still circled it, but to the side, they could spot the light they were looking for on the playground. The trio raced towards it, more than ready to apply their plan. Robin set Erica into motion, and her light began blinking as Lucas’ signal.
“Okay, the lovebirds have copied,” the young girl’s voice came through, and they all let out a breath they didn't realize they'd been holding. “Max is moving into phase two: distracting Vecna.”
“So far, so smooth,” Robin commented.
“The worst is yet to come,” Steve shot back, and the other two eyed him oddly. Internal sirens flashed at him again, but this time Steve suppressed them. He watched the house intently, entranced with the bats as he zoned out. He could hear the others commence phase three, but he couldn't process it. The guitar—he could think of that briefly, of the bats screeching. He snapped to attention when Nancy shook his shoulder, and suddenly he realized the bats were leaving. As they crossed the street, blood pumped in Steve’s ears, a beat developing ever quicker.
When they saw the upstairs, Steve froze. He saw glimpses of things . Things he'd seen before, things he couldn't remember. He saw dead bats, he saw Eddie, he saw Dustin, he saw blood and Eddie and—
Steve spun around so fast that he stumbled. He was suffocating, too much coming back to him too fast and too vividly. Max, Eddie, Dustin, the town, he couldn't take it, he—
He had to make a choice. He could either stay and try to help the girls, or he could save the kids.
Nancy and Robin called after him as he took off running, he only contributed an apologetic glimpse to their direction. He couldn't help Robin or Nancy now. He returned through the dark and lengthy woods, ducking between the trees—a constant thrum of adrenaline was under his skin, and somehow just knowing it was there comforted him. His legs burned from exhilaration (not the fact that he hadn't been active since high school, okay?) and the rush. The wind howled past him, whipping his face harshly as he pressed onward. The ten minutes or so it took to get through before felt like an eternity. Then he saw it: Bats dropping like flies in the distance. He knew that wasn’t a good sign.
“Munson!” He shouted, drawing in sharp breaths as he continued. He rounded the corner, catching his breath for a moment before he took in the view in front of him.
Eddie, in a pool of his own blood, with Dustin by his side. His stomach dropped and his blood ran cold. He failed to save one, but that didn't mean there wasn't time for Max, he could still…
Suddenly, Steve was falling backwards into darkness.
Then it all faded to black.