Chapter Text
1973, summer
Steve has been collecting lots of bugs this summer. He’s got a few in his pocket right now. They keep trying to escape so he fills the pocket with dirt to make sure they don’t get homesick. Bugs get homesick, yes they do. Steve has tried to pick bugs that look similar to each other because they might be family and family bugs should get to stay together.
Like how Steve can sometimes sneak into his mom’s bed when his dad goes to work and snuggle up real close and warm and fall back asleep before school time. That’s really nice. That’s family.
Steve did accidentally kill one of the bugs. So then he had to kill two more that looked just like it. Just in case they were family. No one wants to go to heaven alone. That would be scary. Probably lonely too, because your heaven house would have no one in it.
Steve’s mom says that Steve is definitely going to heaven because he’s a good kid and washes his hands after using the toilet.
“Steven? Are you out there? Come in for lunch, sweetie.” That’s his nanny.
If his nanny sees the bugs she’s gonna freak out like crazy.
Steve finds his sand castle bucket and chucks all the bugs in.
“You guys stay there, I’ll be back,” he promises.
1980, summer
Steve’s dad keeps saying he doesn’t know where they went wrong. ‘They’ being his parents. The thing that went ‘wrong’ being Steve, obviously. His mom isn’t saying much about it, but she’s got a hand over her eyes like she can’t bear to look at him.
This is all because Steve got caught behind Hawkins Middle with some weed. Steve thinks his parents need to grow up a little—it was weed. Not, like, drugs. He wants to say, you should see what the other guys in my class are up to. Or, I didn’t even get that high. Or, you’re both alcoholics, so who are you to judge? But his dad just keeps talking and talking and Steve realises that his dad doesn’t actually want to hear what Steve has to say. About anything.
Steve rolls his eyes.
“Sorry, Steven, am I boring you?” His dad asks.
“Kind of, yeah.”
It’s a good thing his dad’s never been much of a fighter—he’s always preferred a verbal beat down, which is annoying but not painfully annoying.
Right now, his dad looks like he wants to hit him.
“Steven,” his mom says. “Apologise to your father.”
“Sorry,” Steve says.
His dad doesn’t acknowledge it. “You’re behaving like a sinner, Steven. Are you a sinner?”
Aren’t we all? Steve wants to question. That’s why we’re here, right?
“Maybe,” Steve says.
1986, early spring
“Steve, Josie—look at me, hey, no, look at me. Look at me.”
Steve is looking. Steve breathes in and out. “I’m here,” he says.
Eddie’s hands are on his shoulders, his eyes keep darting around Steve’s face.
“Steve,” Eddie says. He can’t keep his eyes steady. He still looks scared. “You have to tell me what’s going on with you, man. I can’t keep…” Eddie trails off, his hands slip from Steve’s shoulders to his arms, giving them a squeeze. “You’re shutting us out.”
“Yeah,” Steve agrees because he’s run out of pretences. He feels tired. “Yeah, sorry.”
Eddie ducks his head to keep eye contact. “You said it never leaves. What never leaves? The Mind Flayer?”
Steve feels like a child now. A really stupid child. He doesn’t want to be held anymore and he wants Eddie to stop asking questions in that voice like one wrong word will set him off. Steve hates that one wrong word will set him off. It is setting him off.
Steve moves, shrugging Eddie’s hands off of him to reach for an apple from the fruit basket. He picks the apple up and turns it around like he’s contemplating the perfect spot for a bite.
“I don’t know.” Steve shakes his head before taking a chunk out of the unwashed apple front teeth first. It’s too sour. He speaks around the meat of it. “Don’t even know why I said that,” he backtracks with a little shrug, chews some more.
“Steve.” Eddie has somehow shaped his name into a plea. “Don’t do this.”
“I’m taking Mayfield to War Zone with me,” Steve tells him. “Any supplies you can think of? Did Robin end up using all the Molotovs?”
Eddie stares at him for a beat before running a hand down his face, sighing into the palm of it. He lifts his shoulders in a big shrug. “I dunno, you’ll have to ask her, man.”
“If I can find her,” Steve mutters.
“Mmmm. Yeah. Hey, Steve?”
“Yeah?” Steve puts the half eaten apple under the tap to wash it.
“Let’s just… stop.”
Steve turns off the tap. “Stop what?”
“I don’t know. All of it? I just—I can’t keep—I don’t want to be Eddie Munson the ‘Steve Harrington Whisperer’ anymore.”
Steve shakes out the apple, jaw clenching. “Who told you to be that in the first place?”
“Yeah, well. It’s kinda how you act—”
Steve turns around to face him. “How I act—”
“Stop, this isn’t—It doesn’t matter, okay? All I’m saying is I’m not doing it anymore. I’m done with the whole you look at me and I look at you and you lie to me and I’m supposed to be fine with it because oh, I knew you were lying anyway. I don’t—that’s not fair, Steve. That’s not fair. I can’t do it anymore.” Eddie raises his arms high in surrender, fingers splayed. “I, Eddie the ‘freak’ Munson, am no longer a part of whatever this is, alright? If you wanna go out there and get yourself killed then—then I can’t stop you. But stop lying to everyone about it. Stop lying to me about it. ‘Cause it fucking sucks and I’m going to blame myself when it happens because I saw the goddamn signs and didn’t do anything. But what can I do with goddamn signs, Steve?”
Steve stares back, lifting his arm robotically to take a bite of watery apple. “Okay,” he says.
Eddie nods once, then twice, thrice. Says, “okay” back and leaves the kitchen. He leaves his half-finished toast too. Steve tears it apart into crumbled pieces and then feels stupid. He gathers those crumbs up into his palms and carries them to the bin.
The guy behind the counter looks down at what Steve and Max have accumulated and nods. “Good to be prepared in times like these.”
Steve nods back. “Yeah, that freak is still on the loose, huh?”
“Killed two guys and a young girl last night. I don’t know what kind of sick bastard he is, but he ain’t no normal killer. Mmm—mmm.” The man shakes his bald head. “The bodies don’t look right.”
Steve swallows, exchanges a look with Max. “Sorry, he’s killed someone else?”
“Three teenagers. The girl wasn’t even sixteen.” The man rubs at his beard, deep lines on his forehead. “What is this world coming to? You keep safe now, alright?” He looks at Max when he says this. Max nods.
Steve settles back into the driver’s seat, turning the keys but doesn’t start the car. It’s Robin’s dad’s car. Some old sixties model Mustang with a gear stick that has to be pulled a certain way.
“It’s the Mind Flayer,” Max says.
“Yeah,” Steve agrees.
“Three people. What is it—what d’you think it’s trying to do?”
“Warn us.” Steve says.
“Warn us about what—I mean.” She’s getting worked up. “If it can kill three people in one night why doesn’t it just end Hawkins right now? What’s stopping it?”
Steve swallows. “It wants Eleven.”
“For what, though? She doesn’t even have her powers, Steve.”
“Revenge.” Steve shrugs. “I don’t know how its mind works, Mayfield.”
“Right,” Max says, but not like she agrees. “But—you’ve been in its mind, right?”
Steve runs a hand through his hair. “It was in my mind, not the other way around.”
“But isn’t that basically the same thing? Didn’t you… feel what it wanted? What it was like?”
“It wants to kill everyone. That’s literally it, Max. It’s not some—genius thing—it’s just.” Steve stops, shrugs again. Angry. Resentful. Greedy. Evil. Sad. Jealous. Insane. Scared. “I don’t know. It doesn’t think like us.”
“Right,” Max says.
Steve starts the car.
No one knows what to do. That’s the truth of it. They keep throwing ideas into the air but each one of them ends with casualties. Go back into the Upside Down and they’re swarmed on sight. Try to close the gates with fire but that still leaves the Watergate open—and what’s the point of closing the gates if the Mind Flayer is already in Hawkins? They have no idea what they’re doing but every second wasted is another life taken. It’s getting stronger. Or maybe, Steve thinks, it’s just playing with its food.
Steve knows what he has to do.
“Look,” Steve says, and he knows. He knows that they all hate when he starts talking, knows that they’ve already written him off as a liability. Steve also knows that he is the only one that can stop this.
Nancy glares at him. “If the next words out of your mouth have anything to do with—”
“Jesus Christ—just listen.” Steve raises both hands not in surrender but frustration. “It killed three kids last night. It’s not going to stop, it’s just—going to up its numbers. Maybe tonight it’s six. By the end of the week it’s thirty.”
“Wow, really boosting morale, Harrington," Robin says.
“I’m not trying to boost anything. I’m just saying it like it is. The Mind Flayer is playing with us. It’s been playing with us since the start, okay? The only reason you were able to shoot Vecna is because it let you,” Steve tells Nancy. “Because it told me it would let you. Because…” Steve runs a hand through his hair, closing his eyes.
Okay, he’s doing this.
“Because Vecna isn’t dead.”
The room is silent.
Lucas laughs. “What are you saying?”
Steve opens his eyes. Looks directly at Max, whose expression goes straight to his chest. “He’s not dead. Vecna, Henry.” Steve waves hand. “One, or whatever. He was never—that’s not how it works.”
“I don’t understand.” Max is shaking her head.
“Steve,” Lucas says.” What are you saying?”
Steve’s leg starts bouncing, He rests elbows on his knees, head bowed. “Nancy never killed Vecna because Vecna isn’t—that’s not how the hivemind works. It’s like,” he pauses. “It’s like cutting off the head of that three-headed dog thing called, uh.” Steve shrugs. “I dunno, that Greek thing.”
“Cerebus?” It’s Dustin’s voice, quiet but certain.
Steve snaps a finger. “That—that thing. Yes. You can cut off one head but it won’t die, you know? But it’s not even—it’s more like what if two of the three heads were made of smoke, you know? So you’ve got to cut the third head or nothing at all. That’s—that’s how it works. I think.” Steve swallows.
“I don’t understand,” Max repeats. “You said—I told you I could still feel him and you said—”
“Yeah. Yeah, fuck—I know. Sorry.”
“Sorry?”
“You’ve known this whole time that Vecna—”
“Yeah—”
“What the fuck—”
“Why didn’t you—”
“What was the goddamn point—”
“So we’re double fucked and—”
“It got me!” Steve shouts.
Silence.
“It fucking.” Steve tries to run a shaking hand through his hair and ends up pulling it, snagging strands and wincing and he can’t sit like this. He stands but there’s nowhere to move. Robin’s room is too small and everyone is everywhere and it got him. It fucking got him.
Steve swallows, nodding his head. Yeah, it got him. “I…” He swallows again, lets go of his hair to straighten out his shirt. He doesn’t look at them but ahead at nothing specific—the way his dad had taught him to do when giving a speech. You don’t look at them, Steve, it’ll throw you off. Just find a spot of wall and focus. “It got me. When I woke up it had already taken—it doesn’t work how we thought it did. When—when it gets inside it.” He clenches a fist. Un-clenches. “It found me. Then it… split me, I guess. Like it did with Vecna. It takes the bad parts. The—the stuff you hate, the stuff that makes people hate you—I don’t know. It just. It split me. It told me it would—” Steve shakes his head, squeezes his eyes shut.
INT. THE VOID—NOWHERE, SOMEWHERE, WHERE?
STEVE
I don’t understand.
STEVE/HENRY/MIND FLAYER
You do.
STEVE
I don’t. What have you done?
STEVE/HENRY/MIND FLAYER
You mean what have we done.
STEVE
No.
STEVE/HENRY/MIND FLAYER
You won’t survive.
STEVE
What?
STEVE/HENRY/ MIND FLAYER
We’ve taken you. The useful you. The disgusting you. The filth of you. That is what you are good for.
The jealousy. The anger. The hypocrisy. The sadness.
STEVE
Stop.
STEVE/HENRY/MIND FLAYER
Do you know what was left? When we had taken the filth of you?
STEVE
…
STEVE/HENRY/MIND FLAYER
That’s right. Nothing. Some small uselessness. Weakness.
STEVE
…
STEVE/HENRY/MIND FLAYER
We will let you keep that.
STEVE
…
STEVE/HENRY/MIND FLAYER
When you return, know this: we have taken the good of you.
STEVE
…
STEVE/HENRY/MIND FLAYER
And the good of you was the worst of you.
1986, early spring
“What I’m saying is,” Steve gathers what’s left of him together. “That I’m basically already dead.” He shrugs. “I can feel it. I’m… losing time. I feel tired. Like, weirdly tired. Whatever it did—it’s slowly killing me. This me, anyway. So,” Steve swallows, nodding. “I think I’m the best bet at being the shield. For all of you. Not because I’m some—martyr with a death wish or whatever the hell you think I am—but because I’m as good as gone. I can feel it and I’m not lying this time. Not about this. And since I woke up I’ve been thinking of how to trick it but—it knows me right? It’s been playing games for months, maybe longer so I don’t think—I can’t stab it in the back. But—it likes games. I struck a deal with it before. Maybe I can strike another.”
“Steve—”
“It got me,” Steve repeats because he’s not sure they get it. “So—so whatever is out there killing fucking teenagers is me, do you get that? I’m inside that thing and I’m goddamn fuelling it. I’m literally—it’s using me. Or I’m using it. I don’t know. But it took me and now that part of me is going to destroy Hawkins, do you get that?” He asks. “I’m a goddamn murderer, do you get that?”
“You’re not—”
“No. I am. I am!” They’re not getting it. “It did the same thing to Vecna. It’s doing it to me. And I can’t—I won’t live with this. This isn’t about sacrifice or—or whatever you guys think—I have to stop it. I have to end it. Before it finds Eleven and does the same to her,” Steve warns. “Just—help me do the right thing. Please.”
Steve takes his eyes off of the wall to look at Nancy.
Nancy’s face is wet but determined. “Okay,” she says.
No one else speaks, but no one else disagrees either.
They come up with the deal together. Everyone is subdued, quiet. Not defeated, exactly, but more resigned. Nancy helps the most with the finer details because she’s the most clear-eyed. Dustin speaks in one word sentences. Robin has stopped talking altogether, but she’s present. Listening. Eddie is somewhere else, staring above their heads. Max won’t look at him. Steve understands. Lucas keeps looking at him, which Steve understands a little less.
The deal itself is risky but Steve assures them that the Mind Flayer likes to play. That it enjoys the chase. Steve just hopes he can run long enough for it to count.
They agree that Steve will make the deal tonight.
They have ten hours to prepare.
Ten hours to say goodbye.
Steve finds Lucas at the bottom of the stairs and takes a seat beside him.
“So.” Steve slaps his knees. “High school, huh?”
Lucas looks at him like he’s insane. Which, yeah okay.
“I mean.” Steve waves a hand. “Not sure how easy it’s gonna be. Getting back on the team.”
Lucas’ expression turns disbelieving. “You think I’m gonna stay on the basketball team? After everything that’s happened? The same team that’s on a murder-hunt for Eddie?”
“Well,” Steve pauses, realising he’s made an error. “No, man. ‘Course not. I’m just saying it won’t be easy with y’know, any of it. Going back to school after all this.” If there’s a school to go back to.
“Least of my worries right now, dude. Seriously.”
Steve nods. “Right, right. ‘Course. Just—I’m just saying you guys need to stick together.”
“Uh, yeah.” Lucas frowns at him. “We will.”
“Just—you got good friends. I kinda.” Steve rubs at his neck. “I fucked up in the friends department, man. I mean—it took me finishing high school as a goddamn loser to get my head on straight and I just—think.” He shrugs. “What if I’d met Robin earlier y’know? Even Eddie? I dunno. Senior year was shit is what I’m saying—and not because I wasn’t basketball captain.”
“I got it,” Lucas says because Lucas is good like that. “We’ll stick together. Promise.”
Steve holds out his fist. Lucas bumps it.
They’re silent for a bit, sitting on the steps.
“I keep wishing I was smarter,” Lucas says.
Steve frowns at him, tilting his head.
“No, I mean,” Lucas huffs, resting his chin on his palm. “Like genius levels smart. Einstein levels smart. Because there has to be another way—a way that doesn’t—there’s got to be something we haven’t thought of yet.”
“Maybe,” Steve concedes with a nod. “But we’re running out of time and this is the best we’ve got.”
“I know,” Lucas says.
“I used to think my life was a movie,” Steve confesses.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, man. Some kind of rom-com.”
Lucas snorts.
“Then a Demogorgon tried to kill me and I was like, okay—action, then. Adventure or something.”
Lucas smiles but it falls flat. “What about now?”
Steve hums. “No clue. This no movie I’ve ever seen.”
“Yeah, me too.”
“Look after Mayfield, alright?”
“‘Course,” Lucas says because Lucas is good like that.
Steve slaps his knees before standing. “I’m gonna raid Robin’s fridge. Want anything?”
“Nah. Hey, Steve?”
Steve looks at him.
“You said I have good friends. You’re one of them, right?”
Steve stares. “I’m your babysitter, Sinclair.”
Lucas shakes his head. “I’m too old for a babysitter. So, friends?”
Steve laughs a little, nodding his head. “Sure, friends.”
Eddie is looking through Mr Buckley's tapes in the office. Steve raps on the open door. Eddie doesn’t look up from where he’s hunched over the desk.
“His music’s not really your taste, man.”
“Yeah, well, good thing I’m not looking for me.”
Steve walks into the room. “I don’t need it.”
Eddie ignores him, throwing another tape to the floor.
“The music never actually…” Steve sighs. “It never did anything. I just put on the headphones to keep everyone happy.”
Eddie pauses. “What’d you mean?”
Steve shrugs. “Exactly what I said. It was just noise, man.”
Eddie looks at him. “So you lied.”
“Yeah.”
Eddie nods, almost to himself. Starts shuffling through the tapes again. “What is it then?”
Steve frowns. “What is what?”
“Your favourite song. Keep up, Harrington.”
“Eddie,” Steve says. “I don’t have a favourite song.”
“Steve, we could literally all die tonight so just—”
“I’m serious. I don’t have a favourite song.”
“Everyone has a favourite song. That’s like, a law of the goddamn universe. What, is it embarrassing? You’ve shared my toothbrush—I think we’re past that.”
“That was my toothbrush.” Steve can’t resist the old argument. “I’m not lying. I dunno, I just—I’m not into music like that.”
“You’re always blasting shit in my van.”
“Yeah, because it annoys you.” Steve rolls his eyes.
“You can sing the Super Trouper album off the dome, Harrington.”
“Because I like it.”
“Yes, obviously. So you have a favourite song. Just tell me.”
“I don’t. Seriously.”
“I know when you’re lying.”
“Thought you said you weren’t doing that anymore. What was it? Being the ‘Steve Harrington Whisperer’,” Steve raises his fingers in quotation marks. “That’s what you said, right?”
Eddie’s jaw clenches. “Steve.”
“What, Eddie?”
“One thing. That’s all I’m asking for. I’m not—I’m not telling you to give up the plan because you’re probably going to die. I’m not even telling you to be careful. I just want to know this. Just…” Eddie’s eyes squeeze shut. “Tell me this. Please.”
Steve swallows. “You already know.”
“Say it anyway.”
Steve exhales, runs a hand through his hair. “‘Lay All Your Love on Me’,” he confesses. “By Eddie Rupert Munson.”
Eddie nods, eyes still closed. “Thank you.”
Steve nudges his shoulder against Eddie’s. They stand there for a while, looking down at the mountain of tapes. Hundreds of songs. None of them powerful enough to bring Steve back. None of them come close to the man by Steve’s side.
“What I said earlier,” Eddie starts.
Steve shakes his head. “No, it’s fine.”
“Steve.”
“Eddie, it’s fine. I think,” Steve pauses. “I mean I know I’ve been treating you like shit.”
“No, you haven’t.”
“I have.”
“No, you—I just wish that you—I dunno.”
“I’m not like Chrissy.”
“Never said you were.”
“Whatever happens, it’ll never be your fault, Eddie.”
“Steve.”
“You want me to be honest? I’m being honest. This is on me. Not you.”
“Steve, you’re not alone.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Do you know that we’d do anything to save you?”
Steve stares at him. “That’s not realistic, man.”
“Well, it’s true.”
“You can’t speak for everyone.”
“Okay, then I’m speaking for me. I’d do anything to save you.”
Steve looks away. There’s something he wants to ask but can’t put into words. “You don’t have to.”
“You’re not a murderer, Steve.”
Steve laughs a little. “Actually, I kinda am, man. It took half of my fucking soul or whatever and then it killed three people. Pretty sure I’m a murderer. Hey, I’m stealing your title, Munson. Steve the Satanist even rhymes better.”
“Okay, you’re a murderer then. So what?”
Steve turns back to Eddie, unable to control his face. “What?”
“You, Steve Harrington, are a murderer. So,” Eddie slaps the desk. “What?”
“So everything?” Steve scrunches up his face in utter disbelief. “That’s—what is your point right now?”
“People do shitty things all the time—”
“Killing three people is more than goddamned shitty—”
“And they still get to live! They still go on to rot or whatever in prison, Steve!”
Steve’s frown deepens. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that you’re calling it quits too early! You’re not even—you’re not even fighting for yourself.”
“Dude, Hawkins could literally—”
Eddie throws both arms up into the air, almost whacking Steve. “Fuck Hawkins!”
Steve stares at him.
“FUCK HAWKINS!”
So, Eddie has lost his mind.
“Alright, bud.” Steve gives him a little pat. “Are you hungry? Let’s just—”
Eddie takes hold of Steve’s wrist. His eyes are wide but steady. “Steve, listen to me.”
Steve tries to move away but Eddie tightens his grip. “Jesus, chill. I’m listening.”
“My old man was the biggest piece of shit I’ve ever met. He still is. He did terrible shit, man. I’m talking beating your wife and kid shit, okay?”
Steve nods. “Okay,” he says, voice quiet.
“But you know what?” Eddie moves in closer. “You know what he did when my mom finally called the cops on him? He ran—like all Munsons do. And when they caught him he fought, Steve. He goddamned had the fight of his life because he was so convinced he was worth it. Because he was so sure he deserved better than a life in a fucking cell. And he’s escaped, again and again because he doesn’t fucking give up. I’ll bet you my life that he’ll be out again by Christmas because that’s just what he does. He runs, he fights, he escapes.”
Steve doesn’t speak. He’s listening.
“I never.” Eddie squeezes his shut for a moment before opening them. “I never thought that would be a good thing. The running. The fighting. There was no one I wanted to see rot in prison more than him, Steve, believe me. But—the one.” Eddie stops again but doesn’t stop looking at him. “The one time I want someone to run, to fight, to escape—the one goddamned time I’m begging for someone to adopt my dad’s shitty Munson ways and they won’t. You won’t. Steve, you don’t have to be good.”
Steve blinks, then blinks again. He can’t stop. He tries to back up, look away but Eddie just follows. Always following.
“I don’t care how fucking shitty you think you are. I’ve been called a Satanist since middle school. You’re a murderer? Fine then. I’ll be your goddamn accomplice.” He’s joking, obviously. He has to be. “You told us it took the bad parts of you. That’s what you said, right? The stuff that you hate. That makes people hate you.”
Steve nods, still blinking.
“Well I don’t fucking care. You’re going to get him back.”
“Eddie—”
“No.” Eddie shakes his head, eyes blazing or shining or something in-between—something liquid and molten and anguished. “You’re going to get him back, Steve. Because he’s you. And I want you here. All of you here. Got it? I want Steve Josephine Harrington and I want all of him, so you’re going to bring him back.”
Steve squeezes his eyes shut, shakes his head.
“Steve, promise me.”
“Eddie, it’s not that—”
“It is. Just promise me. You’re going to get him back. Promise me.”
“Eddie.”
“Steve, promise me.”
Steve’s head shakes but then he’s nodding and nodding and nodding. “Okay,” he mumbles.
“You’ve got to say it. Please say it.”
Steve can’t—
“Steve.”
“Josie,” Steve whispers. “I’ll get Josie back.”
Eddie pulls him into a hug but it’s less of a pull and more of a nudge. Steve is already falling into him. Eddie holds him tight, palm to head like he’s one of the kids. The way Steve held Max. “Yeah,” he hums into Steve’s hair, voice wet. “Yeah, you’re bringing Josie back. Promise me.”
“Promise,” Steve says.
A curfew has been put on the town. They all have to squeeze into Mr Buckley’s car. Max on Lucas’s lap. Nancy on Robin, Dustin in the middle. Eddie up front. Steve drives fast. The roads are deserted. He can hear the metal of guns rattling against glass and stone and whatever else they’ve chucked in there.
As predicted, the woods are empty. Only the insane would venture into the woods in the dead of night when a serial killer is loose.
Steve straightens out his battle jacket. Mr Buckley’s, of course.
“Alright,” Nancy says. “Everyone stick to the plan.”
They all nod.
Dustin helps Steve with unloading the trunk.
“Remember when we were looking for Tews?” Steve asks, tries. “Swear we found her right here,” he gestures to the clearing.
“Guess so.”
Steve grimaces a little. “Look, can we just—shit’s about to go down and—”
“Save it, Steve.”
“I’m sorry, alright?”
“Alright.”
“Henderson. Talk to me, man.”
“You die, I die,” Dustin says, slamming the trunk shut to look at him. He looks so much older in the gear. Like a soldier. It makes Steve’s stomach roll. “What happened to that?”
“What?”
“You die. I die. What happened to that, Steve?”
Steve rolls his eyes. “Henderson, are you seriously—”
Dustin walks away.
Steve grimaces.
There’s a slow clap behind him. Steve turns to face Robin.
“There’s that Harrington charm, ladies and gentlemen.”
“Har-har. What’s his goddamn deal?”
Robin stares at him, disbelieving before her expression shifts into something resigned. Defeated. She pulls Steve into a hug too brief for him to hold her back.
“You’re going to die a dingus,” she tells him before walking away.
Steve stares after her then turns to where Eddie is leaning against the car door. Steve raises both his hands in a ‘what did I do way?’ way. Eddie just shakes his head.
“No time, Josie. Let’s just get through this, yeah?” Eddie’s smiling but the way he tilts his head means he wants a real answer. An honest answer.
“Yeah, okay,” Steve agrees, keeping eye contact.
Eddie pats him on the shoulder.
They walk further into the woods together.
The gate is easy to find.
“Look alive, soldiers!” Eddie shouts, all bright-eyed and buzzing with fear.
Dustin and Lucas mock salute which makes them all laugh. It breaks the tension, or maybe extends it. Something shifts in the air. This is it, they all seem to realise at once.
“Stick to the plan,” Nancy orders, looking around at all of them. Her eyes linger on Steve. He nods.
“No heroes. This ain’t a campaign.” Eddie tells them, looking hard at Dustin and Lucas. “If you need to run. Run.” He looks at Steve now. “There’s no shame in running.” They all nod.
“Kill the Mind Flayer!” Dustin roars.
“Kill the Mind Flayer!” Lucas chimes in.
Then they all start cheering like this isn’t an end but a beginning—like there’s something worth cheering for. There’s a group hug, like they’re in a movie. It’s big and stupid and they’re all really scared, Steve thinks. Scared stupid.
“On my mark,” Nancy announces and starts the countdown on her fingers.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
INT. THE VOID—NOWHERE, SOMEWHERE, WHERE?
STEVE
Hey, asshole.
STEVE/HENRY/MIND FLAYER
?
STEVE
I want to play a game.
STEVE/HENRY/MIND FLAYER
What kind of game?
STEVE
The kind where you have to find me.
STEVE/HENRY/MIND FLAYER
Explain.
STEVE
It’s simple. I run, you try to find me. In here.
STEVE gestures to the barren void.
STEVE/HENRY/MINDFLAYER
Hmm. When you lose?
STEVE
I’ll help you. Really help you.
STEVE/HENRY/MIND FLAYER
Don’t need.
STEVE
I’ll help you trick my friends. I’ll help you find Eleven.
STEVE/HENRY/MIND FLAYER
If you win?
STEVE
You close the gates. You leave Hawkins alone.
STEVE/HENRY/MIND FLAYER
Pest. Very stupid pest.
STEVE
Are you playing?
STEVE/HENRY/MIND FLAYER
…
STEVE
Well?
STEVE/HENRY/MIND FLAYER
Playing. Pest has thirty seconds.
STEVE
That’s not a fair game. I need more time.
STEVE/HENRY/MIND FLAYER
Ten minutes.
STEVE
C’mon, man. Half an hour. That’s fair.
STEVE/HENRY/MIND FLAYER
Prolonging failure. Thirty minutes.
STEVE
Okay. Thirty minutes.
STEVE/HENRY/MIND FLAYER
Start now.
1986, early spring
Three things happen at once.
Steve’s eyes snap open and he shouts. “Thirty minutes! Go!”
The party jumps through the gate one by one.
The earth starts to shake.
INT. THE VOID—NOWHERE, SOMEWHERE, WHERE?
STEVE runs.