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Steve is dying.
Steve is dying, and his blood is dripping onto Dustin’s arms, and Dustin doesn’t even know where it’s coming from.
“You can’t,” Dustin mutters frantically, pressing at Steve’s head and arms and chest, trying to cover up a wound he can’t find. “You can’t. You have to be okay, Steve, you’re okay.”
Steve smiles, and there’s blood on his teeth, and Dustin can’t do this, he can’t do this, not again.
“Don’t fucking smile,” Dustin snaps, blinking furiously at the tears obscuring his vision. “Fuck you. You can’t do this to me. You die, I die, remember? Remember, Steve?”
Steve’s hand closes around Dustin’s wrist, and Dustin bats him away—he won’t accept this. He can’t accept this.
“You’ll be okay, Henderson,” Steve whispers. His voice is ragged.
“No, I won’t,” Dustin insists, and there are tears in his voice, even though he shouldn’t be crying, because this is not happening. “I’ll jump into the fucking quarry, I swear to god, Steve.”
Then Steve mutters something, and Dustin almost can’t make it out, but somehow his brain fills in the blanks.
“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”
Dustin’s heart drops.
“What are you talking about?” Dustin hisses. This isn’t what he fucking wanted. This is never what he fucking wanted.
“Me, instead of Eddie,” Steve whispers. He coughs up a spatter of blood before he continues. “Me not bothering you anymore.”
“Shut up,” Dustin snaps, and the world is tilting, and Steve is going to die thinking that’s what Dustin wanted, and Steve is going to die, and Dustin is going to be left here all alone again. “Shut up. You know that’s not true. Y-you know I would never think that.”
Steve doesn’t respond—just looks at Dustin. He has the same circles under his eyes he always does, these days, the ones that make Dustin feel that pang of guilt in his chest.
“You don’t think that,” Dustin says, reeling forward with dizziness and nausea. “It was—it was me, I was supposed to die. Not you. Fuck, you can’t do this, Steve.”
But the rise and fall of Steve’s chest is slowing down, and his coughs are getting weaker, and the sky is bloody orange, and Dustin knows, now, what it looks like when someone is near the end.
He grabs Steve’s arm, wipes sticky blood away from his forehead with his own sleeve, tries to breathe even though there’s no real reason to anymore.
“You’re okay,” Dustin repeats, and when he can’t believe that, “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. Please, I’m sorry.”
His words dissolve into painful, wracking sobs, and Steve’s hand is limp in his, and his eyes are glazed, and it can’t be real, this can’t be fucking happening.
“I’m sorry,” Dustin repeats between gasps for air. This is his fault, somehow, just like Eddie was his fault, and he’s the reason both of them got roped into this in the first place, and he’s the reason they’re both dead.
Steve is dead.
It’s hitting Dustin, now, that the body he’s kneeling against is a corpse, and he pushes himself back, stomach roiling. The ground is rough—he’s outside; he doesn’t know where. He startles when his back hits against something soft.
“No,” Dustin mutters, because that can’t be Eddie’s corpse—it wouldn't still be recognizable, by now, and it's certainly been too long for his skin to still be warm.
But it is—it’s Eddie, only feet away from Steve, the two people who tried to keep Dustin safe, the two who died for it.
And the sky is blood orange, with those thick clouds and weird flecks of dust or maybe ash.
And the trailer is just over there, just where it was when Eddie died.
And Dustin doesn’t know how he got here.
Dustin exhales.
“You at least showed up for Max,” Dustin mutters, voice rough, as he looks up from the two false corpses.
He scans the horizon, alighting on movement, closer than expected.
Vecna shrugs, strolling towards Dustin. “You’re easier,” he says calmly. “You don’t have as many people left to keep you there.”
“Bullshit,” Dustin argues, still working to catch his breath. “I have the Party.”
Vecna cocks his head—it’s a bizarre movement, for such an inhuman creature. “You think they want you? You, as you are right now?”
Dustin hesitates.
“I didn’t think so.”
“I have Steve,” Dustin insists. Steve won’t give up on him, no matter how much he fucking should.
Vecna’s eyes alight on Steve’s corpse. “You have Steve? Are you sure?”
Dustin shakes his head, refusing to look back. “That’s one of your shitty illusions. He’s alive.”
“Just like Eddie,” Vecna prompts.
Dustin scowls, but his confidence falters a bit.
“You think I can’t kill a teenage boy with a baseball bat?” Vecna scoffs. “Is that why you forced them both into this?”
Dustin looks down at his fingers. He can’t count them.
“Or did you just think it was worth it?” Vecna asks, voice getting louder as he steps forward. “Their lives for yours?”
No. Never. Steve has to know that. (Eddie has to have known that).
“Maybe you’d sacrifice more?” Vecna prompts, stepping closer. “Maybe you’d sacrifice Lucas, too—that works for me. Kill two birds with one stone, you know?”
Lucas is screaming, somewhere, and Dustin puts his hands over his ears. “No,” Dustin insists. “Never.”
“While I’m at it, might as well finish off Max,” Vecna continues, voice supernaturally loud. “I’ve just been biding my time, really, on that one. I wonder how Lucas would feel, knowing you’re the reason she’s dead in her hospital bed.”
“You’re in my head,” Dustin snaps, but his voice is shaking. “You know I wouldn’t trade a single fucking life for mine.”
“Seems like you already have.”
Dustin’s sure there are more corpses around him, now—Max and Lucas and who knows who else. He refuses to look up, though, keeping his eyes on the ground beneath him as he crawls back towards Steve’s body.
He presses his face against Steve’s lifeless chest.
“You’re not dead,” he mutters. “You’re not fucking dead.”
“Look around you,” Vecna orders. “Look at what you’ve done.”
“I’ve never wanted you to die,” Dustin continues desperately. “I’ve never wanted you to stop bothering me, even if I was a fucking dick sometimes. I’m sorry.”
He can almost hear Steve’s voice, somehow, somewhere, but he can’t make out the words.
He can feel Vecna’s spindly fingers pressing against his skull, and he closes his eyes, gripping Steve’s body like it’ll keep Vecna from pulling him away.
“Thank you for everything,” Dustin mutters, letting the tears rise in his eyes and roll down his cheeks. “I’m sorry I acted like I wanted to die. I don’t think I do. Not yet.”
“Dustin,” the voice is saying, and Vecna’s fingers are digging into Dustin’s skull, and he doesn’t know what’s real anymore. “Dustin. Please, kid, please. You’re okay, c’mon, you’re okay.”
Vecna is pulling him back, away from Steve, and Dustin fights, clawing at Vecna’s arms and kicking back at his legs. It’s pointless.
He throws himself against Vecna’s coily body, using Vecna’s momentary surprise to push himself back onto his knees beside Steve.
“You’re okay,” Dustin mutters desperately, even as vines find their way around his limbs. “I know you’re okay. I don’t want to die, Steve, please. J-just get me out of this. One more time.”
Vecna is dragging him away roughly across the dirt, and Dustin claws desperately towards Steve, the Steve he knows is alive, somewhere, towards his voice and the faint music playing behind it.
And then Dustin falls forward, gasping, still grasping at dirt that isn’t there.
“Dustin,” Steve is saying, but his voice is louder, now, much louder. “Jesus, fuck, kid, are you—Jesus, you’re okay, you’re okay.”
Steve is right there, right in front of him, still, but alive, crouching down in front of Dustin, breathing heavily. There’s a crackly Slayer song playing out of the comms radio Steve has clutched in his hand.
Dustin grabs at Steve’s arms, trying to prove to himself that this Steve is the real one, that that corpse in the fake-upside down was nothing but a mirage.
“I’m right here,” Steve says quickly. “Look at me. I’m right here with you. You’re okay. Wh-whatever you saw, it doesn’t matter, okay? I’m right here.”
“You’re here,” Dustin repeats shakily, touching Steve’s shoulder and poking his cheek. He doesn’t bother to blink away the tears. “Fuck. Okay. You’re right here.”
Steve nods, brushing a curl out of Dustin’s face and putting his hand firmly on Dustin’s shoulder. Steve’s eyes are just as tired as they were in Dustin’s vision, but they’re teary, now, with fear or relief, Dustin doesn’t know. “Right here.”
“You were dead,” Dustin mutters. “You were—you can’t do that—”
Steve smiles, a little, in that sad way he sometimes does. “I’m sorry, kid. I’ll try to stay alive next time. Can you try to keep your eyes from rolling back like that?”
Dustin laughs, even though nothing is funny. “You’re alive. You asshole. Fuck.”
“An update would be nice,” Lucas’s voice crackles from the radio, a little hard to make out over the clashing intensity of Fight Till Death. “Like, if our best friend is dead.”
Steve looks at the radio, and then at Dustin. “Maybe it’s not worth risking stopping the music?”
Dustin shrugs. “I’m not sure if it was even the music that got me out,” he says. “I hate this song.”
“Oh, fuck off, you listen to this shit all the time,” Steve says, rolling his eyes.
“I’m onto rock now,” Dustin says loftily.
“That’s just different screaming,” Steve points out, but he passes Dustin the radio. “If you start to get quiet, we’re going straight back to music.”
Dustin clicks the button, ignoring how Steve tenses when the music stops.
“This is Dustin. I’m alive, mostly. Can you turn down the music? Over.”
The response is immediate—Mike, this time. “Fuck you, dude. Jesus fucking Christ. Never do that again.”
“Get attacked by Vecna? No promises.”
“The metal worked?” Erica asks skeptically. “I voted for Never Ending Story.”
“Fuck you,” Dustin says, grinning. “You guys are all okay?”
“So far,” Lucas confirms. “No news yet on the others. Steve didn’t have a heart attack over there? Do you know why Vecna went for you?”
“His heart hasn’t given up yet,” Dustin says, glancing up at Steve. He tries not to think about the fact that he knows what Steve would look like lifeless in his arms. “No fuckin’ clue why Vecna chose me. The suicidal energy?”
“Not funny,” Lucas says firmly, and Dustin sees Steve’s jaw tense a little.
Dustin rolls his eyes. “Jesus, I’m joking.”
“It would be a better joke if it wasn’t true,” Mike says flatly. “No noble self-sacrifices, dude. We need you around.”
“Alright,” Dustin says quickly, and he can’t really explain the weird feeling in his chest. “Alright, I hear you. I’ll try to avoid noble self-sacrifices. Promise. You all do too.”
“I’m not self-sacrificing for anybody,” Erica says. “The world needs me.”
Dustin laughs, swaying forward a little with exhaustion and relief. “God, I’m glad you guys are okay.”
“You’re glad we're okay?” Lucas says. “Don't even start.”
“I’m sorry,” Dustin says genuinely, glancing up at Steve. He’s tense, like he still can’t quite believe Dustin’s eyes aren’t going to roll back in his head again. “Listen, I think Steve and I have to get moving, okay? Check in soon?”
“Alright,” Mike says. “We’ll keep the music on in the meantime. Stay on this channel. Don't die on us.”
“You better not, either,” Dustin says. “Over and out.”
The quiet screaming of Slayer is back, and Dustin looks up again at Steve, who still looks as rattled as Dustin feels. “Can you help me up?”
Steve stands up, offering Dustin his hand and steadying Dustin’s arms as Dustin shakes a little pushing himself off the ground.
“I’m sorry,” Dustin says again, to Steve this time. “For—for fucking everything.”
“Nothing to apologize for,” Steve says quickly, taking the radio from Dustin. There’s an unmistakable tremor in his wrist. “You’re alive. Fucking hell.”
“Seriously,” Dustin insists. “The fighting, and— and being an asshole, and fucking everything. I don’t wish you died instead. I don’t wish you would stop bothering me.”
“I know,” Steve says gently, pulling Dustin into his chest. His trembling fingers twist their way into Dustin’s shirt. “Of course I know.”
“I don’t want to die,” Dustin says quietly into Steve’s chest. “I just don’t want anyone else to get hurt.”
Steve nods against the top of Dustin’s head.
“Okay,” he whispers. “Okay. That’s good, kid.”
“I’m sorry,” Dustin repeats.
“You’re okay,” Steve says softly. “I promise.”
They stand like that, for a minute, Steve breathing softly into Dustin’s hair. It’s hard to forget how young Steve is, when he’s shaking against Dustin like this. A teenage boy with a baseball bat. Dustin curls his arms around Steve’s back more tightly. He doesn’t ever want to move.
“You were dead,” Dustin mumbles eventually. “Whatever ends up happening, you can’t die, Steve.”
“Neither can you,” Steve says, ruffling Dustin’s hair as he steps back. “Okay? You live, I live. Deal?”
Dustin nods. You live, I live. He thinks he can try that.