Archive of Our Own

I.

Eddie's mostly grown out of feeling awkward. He's reached that 'fuck everything, anyway' point in his life – he finally managed to get his ass out of high school, he's, technically, king of the nerds, and he figures he's full grown at 19; his limbs aren't going to get any longer, and he's mastered all the ways to use them for maximum back the fuck off effect. Andy Johnson not withstanding, but that dude’s honestly a fucking psycho, even without Carver egging him on.

Mainly, though, he's badass.

He's upped his coolness factor by a million, according to Henderson. Maybe not the most reliable source for coolness, but surviving a monster apocalypse by smashing bats with his guitar has got to be pretty rad by anyone's standards.

He was a hero for ten solid minutes, is what he's saying, and that has to count for something.

He just doesn't get how that doesn't translate to, like, being chill around Harrington.

"I'm sorry—"

"Fuck off."

"No, no, I mean." Husky laughter. "Did you fucking curtsey, Munson?"

"Fuck off," Eddie says again. He might have fucking curtsied. He never knows what to do with his hands. Or the rest of his body.

"At Harrington?"

The thing is, Eddie's pretty sure Harrington thought it was funny, so it's a win anyway, and the darkness probably covered his flush.

The beamer's backlights disappear down the street, and Eddie squares his shoulders, shuts the door and turns to face the cross he's had to bear since basically coming back from the dead. He only died a little tiny bit; he doesn't get how this is fair.

Leaning up against the kitchen counter, Billy Hargrove is laughing at him. The weird thing is that it's not, like, a mean kind of laughter. The really weird thing is that Billy Hargrove isn't totally corporeal.

Eddie rolls with it. He’s been rolling with it for weeks.  

“No, but, like, he’s…” Eddie trails off, unsure if he should be coming out to a motherfucking ghost or not.

But Hargrove just looks contemplative, a single eyebrow arched, and offers, “Hot?”

Eddie drops his head into his hands and groans. “But why? He wears sweaters with tiny alligators on them! He cuffs the bottom of his pleated khakis. He’s so uncool, Hargrove. So uncool.”

Hargrove says, “Aren’t popped collars, like, the definition of cool now?”

Eddie peeks at him through his fingers. Hargrove seems a mix of amused, bored and sad, but that’s basically been his default. “How are you okay with this?”

“I dunno if you’ve noticed this,” Hargrove says, slow, and with a little bit of bite, “but I’m no longer among the living. I don’t give a fuck about anything.”

Which isn’t exactly true, Eddie knows, because he definitely gives a fuck about Mayfield.  Mayfield, who kind of, sort of also came back from the dead. It’s the elephant in the room they haven’t been talking about, ever since Max had said–

“Hey, Munson, who’s your friend?” trying to see around him past the front door when she’d come to check on him, which really meant bum a ride off him to the arcade.

Eddie had jerked around just in time to see Hargrove panic-duck behind the sagging living room couch.

“Um,” Eddie had said. “Wayne’s at work. There’s no one else here, Max.”

She’d narrowed her eyes and snapped her gum like she knew he was lying.

–So now Mayfield thinks he’s hiding boys, probably, which she better keep her mouth shut about, and Hargrove is pretending that his sister can’t trauma-see him.

“I could help you,” Hargrove says.

Eddie snorts. “No offense, Hargrove, but I’m pretty sure you died a virgin.” No one who postures that hard has any idea what they’re actually doing.

In a normal world, one where Hargrove is either still alive or, at the very least, not haunting Eddie’s ass, that probably would’ve ticked Hargrove off. Instead he just shrugs and says, “Technical virgin. Don’t have to get my dick wet to get a girl off.”

“Steve’s not a girl.” Also, Eddie’s super skeptical Hargrove even got that far - his entire persona vacillated between rage-filled monster and half-naked gigolo. Eddie’s been to a lot of parties, strictly as a purveyor of party favors; he can’t be the only one to think Hargrove’s all talk.

Hargrove sighs. “Look, you wanna make out with him or not?”

Unfortunately, Eddie doesn‘t have a lot of options for love gurus, considering the fact that he apparently hangs out with a bunch of fifteen and fourteen year olds now, and everyone else in Hellfire is genuinely afraid of girls.

“Yes,” Eddie says, because fuck does he want to. “Yes, I do.”

*

Living with Hargrove is weird in the way that Eddie’s absolutely sure he watches him sleep. It should keep him up at night, but honestly it feels kinda good to have a lookout – the walls of the trailer are flimsy, and coyote howls sound even more ominous when you know there’s monsters in the woods.

Steve asks him how he’s sleeping during a 2 AM phone call, and Eddie would complain except for the fact that a) the gravel-soft timber of Steve’s voice in the middle of the night makes his heart turn over, and b) he realizes the only reason he’s getting any sleep at all is because Hargrove sometimes still smells like cigarettes and bad cologne, and he can hug his pillow and pretend he isn’t actually alone.

Eddie says, “Are you sleeping?” because… it’s 2 AM.

Steve huffs a strained laugh and says, “Couldn’t you tell, man?”

Eddie doesn’t mind getting woken up by Steve, is the thing, but he doesn’t know how to help steady Steve’s uneven breaths. He’s not good at, like,… this. He rubs a hand over his face and says, “Sorry.”

Hargrove, leaning up against the back of the couch, arms crossed, says, “Invite him over.” 

Eddie squints his eyes in a sleepy glare from where he’s in a pile on the floor of the kitchen, headset pressed between his shoulder and cheek. He mouths what the fuck at him.

“He can’t sleep, moron,” Hargrove says, like Eddie’s the dumbest person alive. “Invite him over.”

Eddie flips him off.

Steve says, “Eddie? You still there?”

“No, I’m, yeah. Yeah, I’m here.” He swallows hard. “Do you want to come over? Or, like, do you want me to… come over there?”

Steve sucks in a noisy breath, says, “Are you sure? I don’t want to, like…”

“Please,” Eddie says.

“Okay, yeah, I’ll come over,” Steve says softly. “Thanks, Eddie.”

Eddie knocks his head with the receiver, dial tone humming after Steve hangs up. “What the fuck, Hargrove,” he says.

“You’ll need to take off your shirt.”

“Hell, no.” Eddie slowly gets to his feet, hangs up the phone. Controlled movements. He takes deep breaths and ignores the tingling in his chest. He has to be normal about this. Steve’s his friend. Who probably needs comforting.

“You’re skinny, but you’ve got nice arms. C’mon. I’d put you in something with buttons, but I already know you don’t own one.” He eyes Eddie up and down, making Eddie want to cover up even more. “Harrington’s a nerd-lover, you’re gonna do great.”

“Can you hear yourself?”

“Can you hear me?” He almost looks panicked for half a second, and Eddie immediately feels like shit.

He says, “I’m not getting naked, Hargrove.”

“You’re gonna have to if you want to fuck him.”

“Oh my god.” He’d almost forgotten how much of an ass Hargrove is. 

Hargrove smirks. “You wanted my help, Munson.”

“And I’m seriously regretting that.” He definitely doesn’t want Hargrove hanging around when Steve gets there. “Can’t you, like, go creep on Red?”

Hargrove makes a disgusted face.

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Max doesn’t want to see me,” Hargrove says.

Eddie says, “Well, I don’t want to see you–”

“Tough titties, man–”

“--because,” he holds up a finger, “Steve’s gonna be here in, like, ten minutes. And I’m not taking my fucking shirt off.”

Hargrove curls a hand into a fist and rubs it along the side of his jaw. After a long moment, he says, “He’s not going to fucking care about the scars–”

“Shut the fuck up.” Eddie presses fingers into the space between his eyes. 

“Harrington gets naked all the time, dude, you think I don’t see his?”

Eddie is shelving that, he’s placing that in the back of his mind, and he’s not going to think about all the times Steve’s heroically torn off his shirt to, like, battle otherworldly monsters, scrub the upside-down shit off the trailer, or, like, help wash Eddie’s van.

“How are you around, like, all the fucking time?” Eddie wants to tear his hair out. “Why do you fucking even care?”

The thing is, Billy Hargrove is a ghost. He’s a ghost with a lot of fucking issues, honestly, and while he hasn’t stooped to poltergeist level damages, he’s been known to throw a mug or two when he’s feeling it. 

In that moment, the entire trailer seems to drop at least twenty degrees.

“I don’t,” Hargrove says, deep and ominous, and then the front door bursts open, like he’s going to stalk off. Like he’s having a temper tantrum.  

Billy Hargrove cares too fucking much, and it’s really starting to get on Eddie’s nerves.

His hair whips up around his face in a building preternatural wind, starting with a low howl that ends up roaring in his ears. The air crackles, electric, a plate falls off the counter by the sink, shattering porcelain across grimy linoleum the floor. Hargrove’s eye-holes glow, like a demon, and Eddie gets the tiniest little inkling of oh shit. This may be a big fucking deal. He has no clue, but he’s never actually been scared of ghost Hargrove before.

Steve’s car’s headlights cut across the straggly patch of overgrown grass they’re calling a front lawn.

And then just like that, everything stops – wind dies, the windows stop rattling, the heat levels out. When Eddie looks around at the absolute mess his trailer’s become, Hargrove’s gone. Relief pours through him, he’s super fucking thirsty, but Hargrove’s gone. Fuck. He kind of feels bad about that.

Should he feel bad about that?

Hargrove is the biggest piece of shit Eddie’s ever known, but he’s grown unbelievably fond of the fucker. Christ.

He definitely feels bad.

“Fuck, Eddie, what happened?” Steve’s framed by the front door, hands in the pockets of his jeans.

Eddie says, “Nothing, man, just, uh, watch your feet,” and goes to find the dustpan and broom.

*

Later, when Eddie is laying stiffly next to a softly snoring Steve, trying to figure out how to just calm the fuck down, Hargrove shimmers back into shape. 

Hargrove stares at them like a creeper, blank-faced, and Eddie sighs and says, “Sorry.”

Blank face morphs into a silent snarl, and Eddie bites back a laugh. It means he used too much energy to fully manifest. It means he shouldn’t be manifesting at all, to save up, and it means he just came to be seen, his only little fuck you, I’m still here and also fuck you, I’m sorry.

Hargrove rolls his eyes and disappears, and Eddie wonders what the fuck he’s doing there, trying not to let any of his body touch Steve – agonizing over what it’ll mean, if Steve startles or shifts away.

He breathes in deep, lets it seep out slow, and forces his body to relax into his shitty, thin mattress. There’s a groove he’s carved out, after all these years, and Steve sinks right into him.

*

Hargrove had shown up at Eddie’s trailer three days after he’d gotten home from the hospital and scared the ever loving shit out of him. It took him two solid days to figure out he wasn’t flat-out hallucinating.

Since then it’s been like having an asshole imaginary friend follow him around. He’s pretty sure Wayne thinks he’s started talking to himself, but is too relieved that he’s alive to call him out on it. Eddie’s glad, because he has no idea what he’d actually tell him. There’s still a possibility that he’s crazy, but he has no idea why his mind would come up with Billy Hargrove to torture him with. The totality of his contact with living Hargrove was, like, once when he came with Hagan to buy weed. The freaks of Hawkin’s High didn’t rub elbows with the jocks, and Eddie was useful enough to avoid, instead of beat up.

So, like, he’s accepted now that he’s been cursed to live the rest of his life with Hargrove, but he’s not sure he’s ever going to understand why.

He’s on the trailer roof, which is some kind of desensitization shit Owens has him doing, and exactly why he’s also got copious amounts of weed. He’s as relaxed as he’s gonna get, sitting crossed-legged and staunchly ignoring that weird light the sky gets when it’s nighttime, but the clouds defuse the full moon. 

Hargrove’s crouched like a weirdo, refusing to sit. Maybe they teach that in ghost school.

“I didn’t go to ghost school, Munson, what the fuck.”

“Okay, but you’ve been dead for a while, Hargrove, and Max’s been through some spectacular shit,” which, to be honest, is all rooted in what a fucking asshole Hargrove was before he up and died on them.

“She doesn’t want to see me, man,” Hargrove says, and he looks tragic and not tragic all at the same time. Soft scowl, tense shoulders, tragic eyes.   “She’s already said all she needed to say.”

And that’s when Eddie gets it. “Oh my god.” Oh shit. “You’ve been haunting her ass this whole time, haven’t you?” It makes total sense. “That’s why you’re in the fucking trailer park to begin with.”

“Fuck off,” Hargrove says, but it doesn’t have any heat.

Eddie jabs a finger at him. “You ran away.”

Hargrove growls. “Yeah, well. How about you spend eight months trying to shout some sense at a morose fourteen year old only to find out they feel totally guilty that they’re glad you’re dead.” He seems more resigned than hurt, but that’s probably because he tried to kill all her friends multiple times, as far as Eddie knows.

After a long, heavy pause, Eddie says, “She’d still want to see you.”  

“She really wouldn’t,” Hargrove says, but there’s a small smile on his face when he adds, “but thanks.”

It’s been a hot, dry summer so far, and the sky crackles occasionally with lightning from a far-off storm. It’s not the greatest on Eddie’s nerves, and the weed only helps so much. He forces himself to stay up there, counting endless Mississippis between strikes that never bloom into thunder. There’s four lines of trailers between theirs and the forest, but he still feels like he’s too close.

What mellow he’d gained tips over into paranoia too easily. He flicks the roach over the side of the trailer and says, “Forty-five minutes, man, it’s a record.”

“Pretty sure it’s been more like fifteen, Munson.”

“Na-uh.” Eddie shakes his head as he stumbles to his feet. “You’re a ghost, you’ve got no concept of time.”

He stalks to the edge and sits down, contemplating a jump instead of using the rickety ladder he used to climb up. 

Hargrove says, “If you fall off, I’m not going to catch you.”

“Like you could anyway. And I’m impaired, not drunk.” The difference being, probably, that he’d have less of a chance of twisting his ankle if he actually managed to loosen up his muscles. He fucking hates being on top of the trailer. He sighs and heaves himself onto the ladder instead.

*

Eddie lights another joint, and starfishes out on his bed. There’s a fluorescent street lamp that shines bright between his blinds, striping across his bedroom ceiling. He stares up at them and says, “What about Will?”

The long silence makes Eddie think maybe Hargrove’s left, but eventually he says, “Zombie boy? What about him?”

Eddie rolls his head to the side, spots Hargrove lurking in the corner. He should probably find that more creepy than reassuring, but Eddie’s long since resigned himself to being completely fucked up. “Can’t he see you?”

Hargrove shrugs. “Don’t know, Munson. Maybe?”

Eddie snaps his fingers. “And Hopper, oh man, do you think Hopper can see you?”

Hargrove sighs and murmurs, “I really wish I could still get high.”

“I mean, I don’t think he technically died, everyone just thought he did.” Eddie hmmms. “That probably doesn't count. Fuck,” he scrubs his hands ove his face, feeling exhausted for no discernable reason; it’s not like he ever does anything, “you should try spooking somebody else.”

Eddie doesn’t mean it, what would he actually do without Hargrove now? 

Hargrove’s arched eyebrow shows he knows that, too. 

*

Eddie doesn’t tell anyone about Hargrove because a) no one but maybe Max would believe him, and Hargrove doesn’t want her to know – would probably never forgive him for telling – so that’s a complete wash. And b) he’s sort of selfishly hoarding him to himself, like some kind of fucked up security blanket.

“You haven’t done your little nerd game in weeks,” Hargrove says, like he’s Eddie’s therapist. It’s supremely unfunny, considering Eddie has an actual government sanctioned therapist now, along with Dr. Owens. Apparently he isn’t ‘dealing well’ and needs ‘better coping strategies’ and other voodoo bullshit.

“Will the Wise is DMing for them.” Will’s awesome, Eddie loves Will. Dustin hasn’t hounded him in days. He doesn’t feel abandoned by that at all.

It’s his own damn fault, of course, for pushing Dustin away, and Steve’s sad puppy-eyes whenever he sees him confirms it.

Hargrove says, “You’re depressed,” and uses some of his ghostly strength to yank open his blinds, pouring sunlight directly into his face.

He jerks his arms over his eyes and says, “Shit.”

“You don’t even talk about Harrington anymore.”

He doesn’t talk about Steve because there isn’t anything to talk about. Steve’s straight – Dustin says he’s seeing Tina, “from the bakery, dude, she gives Steve these cookies that make me wanna die” – and also not a complete fucking mess, like Eddie, so whatever. “Why do you care?”

“I don’t,” Hargrove says, which is a blatant bald lie. “Listen, Munson, you’re the only thing I’ve got right now, and while watching you fall apart was, like, amusing for a hot second, this is getting pathetic. And boring.”

“You don’t have to be here, you know,” Eddie says, very carefully not looking at him. The absolute last thing Eddie wants is for Hargrove to leave him alone. Pathetically, Hargrove’s the only thing he’s got right now, too.

Hargrove doesn’t say anything. 

And Eddie knows he should get up. He should go see Dustin. He should call Jeff. He should blast music or talk to Wayne, instead of a fucking dead psychopathic asshole, but–

“Can I ask you something, Billy?”

Hargrove snorts. Says, “When have you ever asked permission to say something stupid?”

Eddie ignores him, swallows hard. “Didn’t you see, like, a light or something?” Isn’t that what’s supposed to happen? Death, bright light, eternal peace? All Eddie remembers is the dark. If Eddie hadn’t woken up – that’s what Eleven had called it, waking up, like she’d woken up Max – would he be stuck haunting this trailer too?

“I dunno.” Hargrove shrugs, then straightens up from his slouch, rolls back and forth on the balls of his feet. “I dunno, Munson. Maybe fuck ups like me don’t get to see lights.”

And Eddie thinks maybe.  Maybe he’s right.

II.

The weirdest part of his doorbell ringing is that he’s surrounded by heathens, so no one waits for permission to come into his house anymore. The second weirdest part of his doorbell ringing is that he kinda knows the guys on the other side of his door, but he has no idea why they’d ever be there.

“Uh. Hi?”

Jeff says, “Harrington, hey,” and then stands there with a pained look on his face. “Can we talk?”

“Sure, man.” Steve steps aside and lets Jeff and the other two guys inside the front hallway. He fidgets on his feet for a second before committing to the kitchen, jerking his head for them to follow him.

None of them look like they actually want to be there; one looks downright sour. Steve briefly debates offering them drinks, but ends up leaning back against the sink with his arms crossed. Jeff and his buddies mill awkwardly around the kitchen table.

Finally, Jeff heaves a sigh and says, “We’re worried about Eddie.” 

Steve bobs his head. “Ok.” He’s worried about him, too, honestly, but the last time he saw Eddie he’d told him to get out, so, like… He doesn’t know what they want him to do about it. His cheeks feel warm and his chest hurts when he thinks of Eddie’s twisted up mouth, his, “Why can’t you just fuck off and leave me alone, man?” and the way he’d slammed the door in Steve’s face.

“Jesus, Harrington, I’m pretty sure you got Eddie into this mess–”

“Doug,” Jeff says.

“No, Doug’s right,” the other guy says, swinging his arms like he’s warming up for a fight. “We don’t know what went on, but we know Harrington was involved and we know Eddie’s fucked, so like–”

“Gareth–”

“Shut the fuck up, Jeff!” Gareth shouts, but his face falls immediately, eyes watery.  He shoves his hands in his mop of hair and says, “Sorry. Fuck.”

“We’re worried,” Jeff says again, measured and calm. “He hasn’t been out of his trailer in weeks, man. Do you – I mean. Have you talked to him lately?”

“I wish I could help you–”

Doug snorts.

“--but he hangs up when I call.”

“He hangs up when I call,” Gareth says, dejected. “He won’t answer the door. He locked his windows.”

“Look,” Jeff says, hands out placatingly, “we don’t need to know what happened. We just figured maybe you had some, uh, insight on what the hell’s going on with him.”

Steve curls his fingers into his arms – he feels bad. He’d thought. Well. He’s not exactly sure what he’d thought. Maybe that it was just him. That Eddie’d gotten sick of his face, or whatever, because god knows Steve can be a clingy asshole, but he should’ve known that it wasn’t personal. Or wasn’t, like, only personal. Like there was something more going on. He says, “I’ll, uh. I can try going over there, but I can’t guarantee he’ll want to see me.”

“He absolutely won’t want to see you,” Doug says, overly vicious, really, and Jeff slaps his arm.

“Thank you,” Jeff says. “We figured maybe, like, someone who actually knows what he went through? I don’t know, man, we’re just…”

“Really worried about him,” Gareth says. 

“Do you want to,” Steve takes a deep breath. “Do you want to leave your number? I can call. If I talk to him.”

Jeff nods. “Sure, yes. Please.”

There’s an awkward silence while Jeff jots down his number on the pad of paper by the kitchen phone.  Doug really doesn’t like him, Steve thinks, but Gareth just looks forlorn, and Jeff seems determined, and it doesn’t hit Steve until they’re almost all the way out the front door again–

“Oh, hey, you’re all in Eddie’s band, right?”

Doug stares at him like he’s grown another head. “Yes.”

“It’s just, Eddie really fucked up his guitar. Did he tell you that? It’s, uh,” he slices his hands through the air, “dust to dust, honestly. Do you guys know where we can get him a new one?”

*

Steve calls Robin and says, “I may have gotten my feelings hurt and ignored something important.”

“Happens to the best of us,” Robin says.

Steve sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I mean, is Eddie being a dickbag to everybody?”

There’s a long pause. Then, “I don’t know,” Robin says slowly. “I haven’t really seen Eddie since graduation. Have you?”

“Sure. You know.” Steve clears his throat, crosses his free arm over his chest defensively, even though Robin can’t see him. “Occasionally.”

“Okay,” Robin says. “But why?” 

They’re not exactly friends, Steve knows, and Steve’s summer has been full of work and driving Dustin around and panicking about Robin going to college.

“Do you remember those two weeks you went to your aunt’s at the beginning of the month?” Steve says. He’s got a bad habit of sneaking in Robin’s window when he gets nightmares, and vice versa, so. “I spent some nights there. At Eddie’s.”

“You did,” Robin says, full judgment.

Steve’s chest feels tight. “And I thought I totally weirded him out, and he very obviously didn’t want me around, right–”

“Steve.”

“But it turns out maybe it wasn’t him being weirded out, but being a dickbag to everyone. And Eddie’s friends showed up here earlier, because Jeff thinks there’s something wrong, and Gareth and Doug think it’s my fault–”

“You know their names?”

“Yes, Robin,” he says, and refuses to admit he just found out their names today.

“So we’re gonna circle back to all that later,” Robin says, in a tone of voice that means there’s no getting out of that one. “Because there’s something wrong with Eddie.”

“Yes.”

“Something that’s different than that week Dustin thought Eddie was going to turn into a vampire.” It was a miracle Eddie survived the bat thing, Dustin was absolutely sure.

Steve wrinkles his nose up. “I mean. I guess we shouldn’t rule that completely out?”

“What? Steve!” Robin says. “Eddie’s not a vampire.”

“We should probably get Dustin to make sure.”

“I’m coming over.” 

“Okay,” Steve says. He’s never going to say no to some Robin time. “Why?”

“Steve,” Robin says. “ Why would you think you freaked Eddie out?”

Steve twirls the phone cord around a finger and squints into the bright afternoon sun pouring in the window over the kitchen sink. Thinks about curling up against Eddie in a too-small bed, the fan’s loud humming following him into sleep. Thinks about the light falling across pillows, illuminating Eddie’s face in the morning. Thinks about the way Eddie smiled at him, before he realized Steve had an arm tucked over his waist. “No reason.”

“I’m coming over,” she says again. “We’ll figure it out.”

*

Robin ends up in front of the tv, flipping through channels aimlessly in a loop, while Steve orders pizza.

She says, “I mean, I don’t think you freaked him out if he’s being a bitch to everyone,” and, “Did you accidentally hump him or something?” before settling on a rerun of Hogan’s Heroes. 

And Steve doesn’t know, but the thing is, he absolutely could have. That is a thing his body probably would have done.

She leans back on her hands and narrows her eyes at him.  “You’re being suspiciously quiet, Steven.”

Steve sighs. “You know how we went through a traumatizing experience together and now we live in each other’s pockets?”

Robin nods slowly.

“Well, not everyone responds too good to that,” Steve says, definitely not thinking about Nancy, “so I thought, you know, maybe Eddie doesn’t want me in his pants.”

“Pockets.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Robin squints at him for a long moment, then straightens up and says, “No, wait, oh my god, you really do mean pants!”

Steve doesn’t really want to talk about it. Or, well, he does want to talk about it, but he figures the whole something is wrong with Eddie thing is more important at this juncture. He says, “Don’t you think Dustin should have noticed?”

“What, that you want into Eddie’s pants?”

Steve gives her a look. 

Robin throws up her hands and says, “Absolutely, okay? Yes, he should have noticed, but more importantly, since when are you gay?”

“I’m not gay,” Steve says, “I’m just…” he spreads his hands out, “open to all feelings.”

“You talk about boobs all the time!”

“Because boobs are great and you like them, too! What, you want me to talk about dicks instead?” 

Robin huffs, because she knows he’s right, and he says, “Let’s just… put that in a box under the bed for the moment, and talk about how, according to Jeff, no one’s actually seen or talked to Eddie in weeks.”

Robin falls all the way back on the rug and folds her hands over her chest. “Don’t they have their nerd game every Saturday though?”

Steve bites his lip, plops down on the floor next to her. He mirrors her position, their elbows touching. “He must not be going.”

“But Dustin would notice.”

“Right. But he hasn’t.”

“He’s only been back from camp and Susie’s for… eight days. And Will’s visiting.”

And it’s a week out from the fourth of July. And even Erica has been showing up at his house more. And Steve has been trying not to think about it, but even with all the shit that went down with Vecna, Starcourt was still pretty fucking terrifying. You’d think they’d be all out of fucks to give, at this point, but PTSD is a tricky thing.

When the doorbell rings, Steve rolls up to his feet and tugs out his wallet as he walks to the front door. But instead of pizza on the other side, it’s… Will. Alone.

The doorbell is probably a very Will-by-himself kind of thing to do, if he thinks about it, and Steve definitely doesn’t mind – he likes Will, despite the unfortunate hair. But Will, understandably, hasn’t done anything alone since ‘83.

“Does Dustin know you’re riding your bike around at 5 P.M.?” 

Will scowls. “Dustin’s not my mom.” 

Steve arches an unimpressed eyebrow. “Does your mom know you’re riding your bike around alone at 5 P.M.?”

“Can I come in or not?” Will says, fidgeting on the front step. He glances behind him nervously, which is worrying, Steve’s not going to lie.

“Shouldn’t you be using your walkie in an emergency,” Steve says, only half-joking, and tugs Will inside by his arm. He shoves him behind him to lean out and scan the treeline. He doesn’t see anything, but that means absolutely nothing, really.

“Hey!” Will says, and Steve shoves him further back with an elbow.

“You’re the one that’s acting squirrely here, Byers, please tell me this isn’t a code red.”

Code red is for Upside Down horrors. They haven’t had a code red in months, despite the gaping landscape wounds across town. Code reds are also for the walkies or for phones, and definitely not for biking, so…

Steve closes the door, leans back against it and stares Will down as judgingly as possible. “Spill.”

Will opens and closes his mouth like a fish. He, inexplicably, scowls at the wall and says, “Quit it,” and then, “Who’s Tina Horseface?” to the wall and something small and panicky lodges in the bottom of Steve’s throat.

“Will,” Steve says slowly, “who are you talking to?” Will’s been basically possessed before, technically not even that long ago – Steve mentally takes stock of his available weaponry and curses his habit of leaving the nail bat in his trunk.

“Oh, uh.” Will flinches slightly. “Nobody?”

The whoosh of air makes him yelp, he can’t help it, and then something totally invisible smashes his mom’s antique hall table to the ground.

*

Robin’s the calm one, somehow, while Steve paces and flinches at sudden movements and is totally freaked out.

She says, “So Billy’s here now.”

“Not now now,” Will says, like a crazy person. “I think the temper tantrum wore him out. I don’t know how it works, but when I mentioned Max before he flipped out and punched a wall. It took him, like,” Will wrinkles his nose, “twenty minutes to come back after that.”

“And he’s dead,” Robin says, as if making sure. 

He better be fucking dead, Steve thinks, although it’s also really fucking alarming that he can destroy furniture in his current state.

“This isn’t making me happy either,” Will says, folding his arms over his chest. He sinks down into the couch, looking much more sullen than he usually does. Steve would be concerned that there’s something else going on there, something other than California, and the Vecna bullshit and the anniversary of Starcourt, except there’s Billy fucking Hargrove’s ghost.

Billy, who tried to kill pretty much all of them, and did, in fact, kill dozens of others – under the influence, sure, but he hadn’t exactly been not a psychopath before he’d gotten mindflayed either. And all that shit with Vecna and Max and– 

“Oh shit. Max,” Steve says. Max has, like, barely come to terms with the fact that it’s okay to be relieved that her asshole brother who made her life a living hell isn’t around anymore. Only apparently he’s not actually gone. Fuck.

“She can see him,” Will says. “Probably. Both of us technically died at some point, so, you know. I can infer by his violent reaction that he’s not so fine about that.”

“ You can see him because you died,” Robin says, tapping a thinking finger against her lower lip, eyes squinting into the middle distance. “And Max can probably see him because she died. Which means–”

“He’s worried about Eddie.”

Steve shoves his hands in his hair and groans.

*

Will technically still lives in California, although Hopper and Joyce are working out what to do about that. Will and Jonathan finished out their school year there, while Hopper and El fixed up the cabin to the point where they realized all five of them wouldn’t actually fit. 

And then they all thought about staying in California, since Hopper isn’t the chief anymore, and tried that out for the first couple weeks of summer before answering the siren call of beautiful Hawkins again.

Steve isn’t sure if they’re staying or not, but Jonathan is signed up for a San Francisco community college and planning on shacking up with Argyle and Steve isn’t sure Joyce is willing to be that far away from either of her boys for an extended amount of time. It’s a tough call – sun, sand and fun versus gaping hell wounds and the threat of psychic monsters?

El’s the sticking point.

Steve takes a massive bite of pizza and chews thoughtfully and says, “Does El know about him?” How can she not know about him? She brought Eddie and Max back from wherever they were – death, apparently. Shouldn't she be able to see Hargrove too?

Will shrugs. “Billy doesn’t know.”

Not that it actually matters, but the whole thing is weird and Steve’s trying not to think about how his kitchen light is turning on and off. Not even a flicker – it’s a deliberate on and off, like Billy is fucking with him.

“Look.” Will leans forward on the couch and clasps his hands together. “I get that this is super weird, but I don’t think Billy’s the problem here.”

“Right.” Steve nods a lot. Ghost Billy. Not a problem. Makes sense.

Will stares over at the kitchen doorway and says, “I know,” and, “Will you – quit it! I can’t tell them anything if you don’t shut up!” He flinches, there’s a flash of fear over his face that makes Steve really uncomfortable, before he squares his shoulders and says, “I’m helping you, asshole,” which is… Steve can count on one hand the amount of times he’s heard Will actually curse.

Robin leans into Steve’s side and says, “This is so fucking bizarre.”

Will’s expression agrees with her.  “Billy thinks Eddie’s depressed.”

It’s been a long day, Steve thinks, that’s probably why his eyes sting. He drops the rest of his slice of pizza on the coffee table and says, “How come you’re telling us and not Dustin and Mike?”

Will waves a hand, like he’s batting something away from him. “Billy hates Dustin and Mike.”

Steve snorts. “And he’s so fond of me?”

Will goes bright red, covers his face with both hands, and says, “Stop. Oh god, stop.” 

“You know what, I don’t want to know,” Steve says.

Robin says, “I do!”

Will hangs his head and says, “I hate everyone,” which is a lie, but Steve takes the point. Will wasn’t even here for Vecna, met Eddie a couple times before going back to California, and is now somehow tasked with his mental health care of Billy fucking Hargrove.

He wants to ask, why does Billy even fucking care, but he’s never understood why Billy does fucking anything. He never figured out what made Hargrove tick, besides angst, hair rock and pure, unadulterated rage.

He definitely doesn’t want to think about the fact that Billy’s probably been hanging around since last summer, that he’d most likely witnessed Max and Vecna, and that’s how he even knows who the hell Eddie Munson is.

Steve says, “This stays between us, okay?” He gestures toward Will and Robin with a finger. “Nobody tells anybody anything, because this can’t get back to Max. Got it?”

Robin makes a face. “What, Eddie?”

“He means Billy,” Will says, scooting to the edge of his seat on the couch, linking his hands together. “Right?”

Steve nods. He gets that Billy doesn’t want to see Max, doesn’t want Max to see him, but he’s absolutely certain that if Max knew…she’d want to torture herself with his presence anyhow. So Max can’t know. He doesn’t know what this would do to her.

“We’re gonna call Dustin about Eddie, though, right?” Robin asks.

Dustin’s a shithead, but he’d never forgive them if they didn’t.

Will says, “Well, tough luck, Hargrove, we aren’t leaving this to just Steve,” He makes a face. “Sorry, Steve.”

“No,” Steve says, “that’s fair.”

Will gestures to his right. “Billy says direct confrontation doesn’t seem to work with him, but he has an idea. He says–” Will stops, scowls, cheeks flushing. “I’m not telling him to do that.” He shakes his head, says, “But how do you know that’ll–” 

It’s kind of fascinating, watching him basically talk to himself.

Will throws up his hands and says, “You can’t know what for sure, Billy!” 

Steve says, “What’s going on?”

Will says, “It doesn’t matter. I can’t.” And Steve isn’t exactly sure if he’s talking to him or Hargrove.

*

It’s not until later, after he’s driven both Robin and Will home, when the stupid light keeps going on and off – which means he’s probably not really alone, and how freaky is that? – that he sits at the kitchen table and says, quietly, feeling supremely stupid, “You remember Eleven, that girl at the mall, the one you – the mindflayer–?”  

The lights flick off, and stay that way. 

Steve palms his forehead, leans heavily onto the worn wood, and says, “El saved us. I mean, she always saves us. You saved her, right? I always thought maybe she saved you, too.”

He doesn’t know if Billy’s still there, if he heard anything he said. He’s not sure it matters. The light stays off, and everything is silent.

III. 

Eddie hasn’t seen Billy in three days. It’s not a big deal. Maybe he’s finally fucked off to the afterlife and left Eddie to deal with his pathetic malaise alone. He’s not upset about it.

He’s a little upset about it.

Someone graffitied ‘murderer’ on the side of his van - Billy would probably be mad, if he were here to see it.

Wayne was definitely mad, but he hadn’t had any time to do anything about it before he left for work. He just pulled Eddie in for a rough hug that made Eddie’s eyes itch and told him not to worry about it.

The hug alone made Eddie want to get it off before Wayne got home, just so he doesn’t have to deal with even more disappointment and sadness. He bets Wayne wishes this never happened.  That Eddie could’ve kept his nose clean - if he hadn’t been dealing, Chrissy wouldn’t have been at the trailer to begin with.

So for the first time in what feels like forever, Eddie pulls on a t-shirt and forces himself to go outside and look at the damage up close. It spans the entire driver side panel in red, and it’s only a small consolation that whoever did it left out the last ‘e’. Murderr . 

He’s not actually sure how to get it off, and he’s thinking about just painting over it when he hears a car pull into the dirt and gravel drive.

“You fucker,” Dustin yells, throwing himself out of Steve’s car and slamming into Eddie’s side hard enough to almost take him down. His, “Why didn’t you tell me?” is muffled by Eddie’s shirt.

Tentatively, Eddie wraps his arms around Dustin’s back, staring bemusedly down at the top of his head.

A car door shuts and Eddie glances up at Steve. Steve gives him a tense smile and wave - Eddie probably deserves it. The last time he saw Steve, he slammed the door in his face, mad about Tina the donut girl and the fact that they won’t even serve him at the diner anymore. It’s not Steve’s fault he’s a pariah.

Steve says, “Hey,” and stares way too intently at him. He jerks his head toward the van and says, “Need some help?”

Eddie wants to say no, but he’s so fucking tired, and Steve is kind of half-smiling at him, and Dustin still hasn’t let go.  “Sure,” he says, “thanks.”

*

Dustin says, “I’m sorry,” when he’s finally let Eddie go. He says, “I’m sorry I wasn’t paying more attention.”

Eddie swallows hard and doesn't want to talk about it. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” Dustin says, a complete human bulldozer, making sure to keep eye contact. He holds onto Eddie’s arms. “It was a shitty thing for me to do.” He takes a deep breath. “You’re my best friend. I should have noticed.”

Eddie glances at Steve, but Steve isn’t paying them any attention, using a rag to scrub at the graffiti, frowning - it’s doing absolutely nothing, but he just scrubs harder. Eddie tries not to find that endearing.

Dustin says, “Eddie.”

Eddie looks back at him and feels his shoulders slump. He doesn’t want to be like this. He says, “Why can’t I just get over it?”

Dustin shakes him a little, drops his hands, says, “What the fuck, Eddie, none of us are ever going to get over it. It’s three days till July 4th, man. I mean.” He waves his arms over his head. “That’s the whole reason – fuck. Eddie. This kind of stuff doesn’t go away, right? We just kind of all help each other along.” Dustin grimaces. “You weren’t at Starcourt, so I… I forgot, Eddie. I’m sorry.”

“Starcourt,” Eddie says, slowly. “Where Hargrove died. On July 4th.”

“I don’t know how much Steve and Robin told you–”

“He knows about the Russian torture,” Steve shouts. 

Eddie nods. “I know about the Russian torture.” Kind of. He knows it happened, but nobody likes talking about Starcourt. Nobody likes bringing it up. And it doesn’t help that he’s lost track of days – they’re all hot and it’s still summer, and that’s all Eddie can remember, most of the time.

“Starcourt was bad, and everyone’s dreading the 4th, but that doesn’t mean it’s okay that I didn’t check in with you. Okay?” Dustin looks like he wants to hug him again.

“Okay.”  His chest feels tight and his eyes are burning, but he’s not going to cry. Really. “Do you know how to get spray paint off the van? Because I don’t think whatever Steve’s doing is working.”

“Hey!” Steve’s got his hands on his waist, rag hanging. The paint hasn’t even come off a little bit, but he’s sweaty and his hair’s sticking up, like he’s run damp hands through it.

Dustin says, “Got any nail polish remover?”

*

Dustin goes and gets Max, who’s still on a crutch, but no longer has a cast on her arm. She orders Dustin and Steve around and Eddie sits on his front stoop and watches the two Rs slowly disappear, and the M, as they start on different ends. It’s imperfect, but Eddie doesn’t care so long as he can’t read the word.

When Steve finishes up the U, he wipes his hands on his jeans and wanders over to sit next to Eddie. He knocks their knees together, then stretches out his legs in front of them.

Eddie doesn’t know what to say to him, so he doesn’t say anything.

*

A voice behind him says, “You’re welcome,” and Eddie definitely doesn’t yelp and jump nearly a foot in the air and clutch at his chest.

“Dude.” He’s hiding in his room, because he doesn’t know what to do with Steve, and Max and Dustin are yelling at each other out front, but it’s, like, happy yelling, and Eddie doesn’t want to admit how nice that is.

Billy gives him a look so smug that Eddie’d smack it off of him if he was, you know, able to touch him at all. 

Eddie wants to yell, Where have you been? But he doesn’t want to let on how much he missed him. Billy would never let him live it down. Instead, he says, “What did you do, man?”

“What do you think?” He twirls a finger in the air. “I got Zombie Boy to get Harrington, and now you have a guy on your couch.”  

He makes it sound smarmy, even though Steve’s just flipping through an old copy of Metal Edge and waiting for Dustin.

Eddie says, “You sound like a moron,” because he can’t think of anything else. He peeks out into the living room through his cracked bedroom door. “Wait, so Steve knows?”

“He knows you’re a pussy.”

“Fuck off,” Eddie says. “Will he tell Max?”

Eddie expects a quip, a threat, something distinctly Billy, but all he gets is a surprisingly earnest, “He’s not going to tell Max.” And then, “Now take off your shirt.”

“I’m not going to take off my shirt!” he says in a whisper-shout. “Will you let up about that?”

“You’re prettier than Tina Donuts,” Billy says, but not like it’s a compliment.  “All you have to do is go out there and sit in his lap.”

Eddie wants to cry. Or, well, he doesn’t want to cry, but his eyes are burning again, and he’s really getting sick of that. He probably could go out there and sit on Steve’s lap. Steve’s never shied away from him. Steve’s slept in his bed. “I’m a fucking mess, Hargrove.”

“Hey, cool of you to finally admit it out loud,” Billy says. “Good thing Harrington’s not bad at cleaning up messes.”

Steve’s pretty good at taking care of people, that’s honestly one of the things Eddie likes best about him. Doesn’t mean he should have to take care of Eddie, too.

“Go get ‘em, tiger,” Billy says, and uses a little bit of his ghost strength to knock him on the shoulder.

“I hate you,” Eddie says.

“Naw, Munson. You missed me. You’d be lost without me.” Billy Hargrove sucks, but he’s also standing kind of defensively, shoulders squared, smile just a little tight, like he’s waiting for Eddie to tell him to get lost and mean it.

Eddie’s never going to mean it.

“Shit, man,” he says. “Yeah.”

*

Eddie doesn’t see a lot of Steve the next couple days, but Dustin’s given him a walkie, and he’s included in their 4th of July plans - which, from what he can gather, are mainly hanging around Steve’s house - and he sees a lot more of Max, who’s apparently been designated his babysitter because of proximity. 

Eddie doesn’t mind. He doesn’t even think Billy minds, even though he has to skulk around in the shadows if he doesn’t want Max to see him - he’s never going to, he’s sure, but he also thinks Billy needs Eddie to remind he still can, anyway.

It helps that Eddie isn’t as alone. Even the crackle of the walkie every night, before everyone goes to sleep. Just their voices help. He’s going to tell Dr. Owens and his therapist all about it.

He starts picking up the phone again when it rings, and talking to Gareth, and he lets Jeff come over with magazines full of guitars and they talk shit about getting him a new one, because he’ll never actually be able to afford it. It’s nice , and only a little horrible, and Doug starts planning drives to pawn shops in Indianapolis. It feels productive in a way that he hasn’t been in forever. 

And then Steve shows up on July 3rd, car idling in his driveway. 

Eddie stands on his stoop, hands in his pockets. 

Steve rolls down his window and says, “Get in,” with a determined look on his face that Eddie finds just a tiny bit intimidating.

“Where are we going?” Eddie says, sliding into the passenger seat.

Steve just shrugs, and Eddie clams up, and then they end up parked on a hill overlooking a giant crater. It looks too black to be earth, like a fathomless hole, and it gives Eddie the creeps. Some half-hearted fencing is surrounding it, but the Vecna-made earthquakes didn’t do it any favors, and the town isn’t going to get around to fixing it anytime soon.

Finally, Steve says, hands loose in his lap, staring out the front windshield. “This feels like the worst of it, you know? Like… I know Vecna was bad. And those times with Will. Just. I didn’t think we were going to make it out of this one. I’m still not sure how we did.”

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says. He reaches out to touch Steve’s shoulder, aborts the movement, and then Steve just… grabs his hand. Links their fingers together. Eddie’s too stunned to do anything but let him.

Steve sighs, rests their now joined hands on the console between them. “I wanted to see it, but I didn’t want to see it alone.”

Eddie’s hand is sweating. His mouth is dry. It takes him a couple tries to say, “Billy doesn’t talk about it.”

Steve snorts an unfunny laugh. “No shit. Hargrove was a huge asshole, but. That - what happened - wasn’t his fault.”

“That hurt to say, didn’t it?”

Steve actually smiles at him. “Once upon a time,” he says, “an evil doctor decided to experiment on a psycho killer with telekinetic powers. And now Hawkins is the most fucked up place in the entire universe.”

“Sounds like a Grimm fairytale,” Eddie says.

Steve nods. “The grimmest.” He squeezes Eddie’s hand, then lets him go in favor of starting the engine again. 

Eddie smoothes his palm on his thigh and only feels a little weird about it. 

“Anyway. Thanks for coming out here with me,” Steve says.

“I didn’t think I had a choice.” He’s joking, but Steve’s face is serious.

“Well. I didn’t want to make Dustin do it.”

Dustin, who confessed to Eddie he freaks out if Erica skips nightly check-ins, because he keeps having nightmares about the endless tunnels under Starcourt. 

Steve puts the car in reverse and spins the wheel into a three point turn.

And then Eddie sees Hargrove out of the corner of his eye, walking down the grassy field toward the crumbling parking lot.

“Crap, stop,” Eddie says, grabbing the dash when Steve slams on his brakes.

“What?”

“Billy,” Eddie says, popping open the door. “He’s going… hang on, will you?” He looks at Steve. “I’ll be right back.”

*

He calls after Billy, but Billy doesn’t slow down.

He says, “What the fuck are you doing, Hargrove?” but Billy ignores him.

He looks weird, ethereal, the sun so bright it’s making him seem even more transparent than normal. Eddie can see the black hole through his back, the crumbling, dead ground through his thighs. The whole mall was sucked in. Eddie doesn’t realize how strange that is until he’s at the twisted metal fence, watching Billy move right through it.

“Where are you going?” Eddie shouts after him.

Billy turns, walks backwards, finally acknowledges Eddie. “Down,” he says, grin scary. 

“Fuck.” Eddie tests the metal. It’s a good bet the hospital got him up to date on tetanus, right? 

He hears Steve yell, “Eddie!” from somewhere behind him, but Eddie scrambles over the fence anyhow.

His jeans catch and he half-falls, one knee down, palms scraping the asphalt that used to be a parking lot. He says, “Billy, don’t be a dick! What do you think is down there?”

Eddie stands up, rubs his knee. He limps toward where Billy’s finally stopped, arms crossed, watching him. 

They’re still a distance from the epicenter, but there’s rubble everywhere. Jagged cracks in the concrete. Rebar arching up like rusty teeth.

Billy shrugs. He says, “Hell?”

Eddie’s short laugh is twisted and slightly hysterical. “What doesn’t go up, must go down?” 

“Maybe.” He looks belligerent and ridiculous, and… the ground underneath him doesn’t feel all that stable right now, rumbling through the thin rubber of his sneaks.

He says, “You heard Steve, asshole. It wasn’t your fault.”

Metal rattles behind him. “Munson!” Steve yells. “What the fuck!!” 

Eddie glances back at Steve, face pale and panting as he jumps the fence and jogs over to him.

“Billy–”

“Billy’s dead! He can,” Steve waves a hand, “fly out of here if he wants. You can’t save a ghost.”

“Listen to your boyfriend, Munson,” Billy says with a smirk.

“Shut up, Billy,” Eddie says. “Look,” he flicks his gaze between Steve and Billy, “I get that this is, uh, metaphysical or whatever, but–” He cuts himself off, unsure how to say that Billy’s probably as emotionally fragile as he is. Everything fucking sucks right now, and he doesn’t need Billy to fuck off to whatever is in the bottom of that pit, even if he can fly out of there.

Steve says, “I’m more concerned with the fact that we’re fifty feet from a giant sinkhole and I can feel the earth moving under my feet.”

The ground trembles and Eddie wavers, takes Steve’s hand, when he offers it, and Billy’s smirk grows wider as he walks away.

*

In the car, halfway home, Steve finally says, “What was he going to do?”

Eddie shifts in the seat, uncomfortable. It sounds stupid now. What was Eddie going to do, that’s the real question. He’d been working on pure instinct, unwilling to give Billy up again. But it’s none of his business. Billy can, honestly, do whatever the fuck he likes. Even disappear. Still, he says to Steve, “Nothing good.”

Steve nods. Opens his mouth to say something, then stops.

“What?” Eddie says.

“Nothing, just,” Steve shakes his head, “he was really worried about you, you know? And, like, I know this sounds pretty crappy, but I didn’t actually believe that until, uh, now.” Staring out the windshield, the corners of his mouth tighten. “Hargrove was a real piece of shit when he was alive, it’s hard not to believe he’s got a nasty angle or ulterior motive.”

Eddie grins. “What, me willing to almost fall to my death for a fucking ghost convinces you he’s genuine?”

Steve shrugs. “He could’ve asked you to come with him, couldn’t he? The way you ran after him…” he flicks him a glance, “I almost think you would have.”

Eddie tilts his head, considering. Watches Steve’s fingers fidget on the steering wheel, tighten and release methodically. His chest feels heavy, and he can’t say for certain that Steve’s wrong. “You got some twisted thoughts there, Harrington.”

Steve sighs. “It’s not out of the realm, man. It fucking sucks.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says. Yeah, it does.

*

Eddie says goodbye to Steve from his door, because Steve insists on walking him up, almost like he’s reluctant to let him out of his sight.

“You’re coming tomorrow, right?” Steve asks, surprisingly earnest.

“Sure,” Eddie says. What else is he going to do? Except when he really thinks about it, he wants to go, and that’s, uh. Probably a good thing to feel. 

“Okay, so, uh.” Steve ducks his head, palm on his neck. “Feel free to kick me out and slam the door in my face again–”

“Steve–”

“--but you kind of scared the shit out of me today–”

“I’m not going to kick you out,” Eddie says, bemused.

“--and Will mentioned something Hargrove said, and I just…”

Steve laughs, short and nervous, says, “Fuck it,” and pushes Eddie just inside the doorway, grabbing his arms before he stumbles back too far.

“Harrington, what–”

The kiss doesn’t last that long, honestly. Just a press of lips and a sweep of tongue, gone before Eddie can really register it actually happening.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Steve says, flushed and still too serious.

Stunned, Eddie rubs fingers over his mouth and says, “Yeah, okay.”

*

The stars are out in full force. There’re small booms in the distance, a warm up for tomorrow’s festivities. He’s pretty sure fireworks in this town, in this shape, is a recipe for disaster, but he doesn’t think anyone cares. 

Tomorrow is the anniversary of Hargrove’s death. His death day? Should he get him a cake?

“Hey,” Eddie says, sprawled out on his back on the top of the trailer. “Hey, do you want a cake?”

When no one answers, he tilts his head up. When he doesn’t see anyone, he flicks the spent blunt and leverages up on his elbows. Blows his hair off his face. He thinks, oh.

Oh .

He climbed up there alone, didn’t he? Hargrove never came back. He never saw Steve kiss him. He never made a face and talked about Steve’s tongue. Never taunted him about taking off his fucking shirt. Shit.

It’s the anniversary of Billy’s death, and maybe he really is gone.

*

He smokes another spliff and dozes off and wakes up stiff and weirdly chilly in the predawn hour. The sun’s barely a thought on the horizon, just enough to silhouette a stand of trees. The moon is low and fuzzy. 

He stretches into a sitting position with a groan, back sore from where a ridge was digging into his spleen.

“You fuck Harrington yet?”

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie yelps. He twists with a wince, heart pounding, to see Billy smirking at him, just his head popped up over the edge of the trailer roof. “You fucking asshole.”

Billy makes his way all the way up and crouches on the top of the ladder. He says, “He finally grow a pair?”

“You are, like, weirdly obsessed with my love life, you know that?” Eddie’s smiling, though. His limbs feel light, all of a sudden, the rush of adrenalin not only because Billy startled him. “I wasn’t sure you were gonna be back.”

Billy shrugs. “Stared into the abyss awhile. Turns out it’s not really my thing.”

“You’d miss me too much,” Eddie says. They’d miss each other, he thinks. That’s probably the least fucked up thing about his whole life, post Upside Down. And then, “It’s the fourth of July.”

“Oh yeah?” He licks his teeth. “You gonna bake me a cake?”

“Were you here all fucking night?” Eddie doesn’t have it in him to be outraged. His therapist would tell him Billy’s terrible for his mental health, but his therapist would be wrong.

Billy just grins at him, the orange glow of the sunrise making him nearly disappear.