Work Text:
Operator: 911 what’s your emergency?
Caller: There’s been a crash on, er, on the straight at old road. I-I don’t think. The cars are on fire. I don't think, I think they’re dead.
*
It’s been a hard couple of days for Hawking, Indiana but especially for Steve and Eddie.
They’ve been to four funerals in three days and nothing is as it should be.
Wayne Munson's funeral was first. He’d died when Hawkins was ripped in four. They didn't have much money for the kind of service Eddie had wanted -Wayne wasn’t supposed to die this young so his funeral plan wasn’t the best- there was only a wake after he’s been cremated. (Eddie wouldn't take the money Steve offered to help him with the extra costs) The only people that show up are Eddie himself, Steve and what’s left of the party. None of Wayne’s ‘ friends’ could ‘make it’ .
The second was Dustin Henderson’s. That was one of the hardest things for both Eddie and Steve to go to. The kid had just made it back through the damn gate, they both had, he and Eddie, when one of those things flung itself into the right-side-up and… Eddie can't even think about it, it makes his stomach churn, and well you can guess the rest.
Watching Mrs Henderson weep as her son was lowered into the ground hurt so much more than any ugly venomous bite from a creature not of this world. Watching everyone else sob was like someone digging their thumb into the fresh wound.
Max Mayfield’s funeral was a small affair and to rub salt in the wound it was on the same afternoon as Dustin’s. Max’s mum was alone by her picture when Steve and Eddie arrived. She was looking at it like she wished Max would come back to her, they all wished that but they all saw her body.
Robin Buckley’s was the next day. She’d hardly even made it up the stairs to Vecna’s lair when the vines had gotten them all. The vines that held her must have been tighter than on Steve and Nancy because when they let go Robin fell to the floor limp and pale.
Steve could hardly see through the stream of tears. they wouldn’t stop as he sobbed against Eddie and watched his best friend descend into her final resting place. Eddie squeezed too tight as he cried alongside him; it was grounding in a way.
Steve couldn’t bring himself to go to the wake, he couldn't watch Robin’s family anymore, it just made everything worse.
It’s been days since then and neither Steve nor Eddie have left the apartment the government had rented for Eddie. It’s meant to be some kind of apology, they think, the apartment, but it feels more like somewhere to put the broken pieces of who they once were.
It’s a tiny place with only two rooms, a bathroom and one room that is everything else. They sit on the only piece of furniture that Eddie has, a bed, and stare at the off white ceiling.
Numb is the only thing that they are now. They’re too exhausted to feel anything but.
They’ve tried everything to make it go away, to make them feel again. drugs didn’t help one bit, weed just made them sleep and sleep brought nightmares, ketamine made Steve feel like he couldn’t move - he hated that. They gave up trying anything else after Steve sob in his frozen state in Eddie’s bed.
They drank that first night thinking that they might be able to forget it had ever happened, to no avail. They just found themselves curled into one cohesive ball on the floor of Eddie’s apartment, bottles and bottles strewn about, and thinking of everything .
Steve was the one to suggest that sex might help. It didn’t, not really. And sure Steve had never had sex with a guy before but Eddie had, he knows what to do, mostly. It went as smoothly as grief sex could go. Awkward at first, intense throughout and the crash and burn that was the after. Crying afterwards isn’t so uncommon but both of you crying so hard you have to heave in breath means it’s not to be tried again.
So they’re lying there side by side in Eddie’s twin bed saying and doing nothing until Steve turns and looks at Eddie.
“I hate this.” He sighs.
Eddie turns too so he’s facing Steve, “the being in my bed or that feeling?” Eddie jokes but it’s dry and clear he feels just how Steve does.
“I don’t think it counts as a feeling if there aren’t any.” Steve counters, ignoring the joke Eddie made because he knows it’s just how he tries to make himself feel something.
“Hum I guess not.” Eddie shrugs. “You know, I don’t think I was this bad last time.” Eddie says breaking eye contact Steve’s determined to hold.
“When your mom died?”
“Yeah. I guess I was only ten and she wasn’t really around too much anyway but this I…,” Eddie takes a deep breath.
“Don’t wanna do this anymore?” Steve finishes for him.
“I don’t know if I can do it anymore, Steve.” Eddie blinks, looking back into Steve’s now ever damp eyes.
“Maybe we don’t have to.”