Archive of Our Own

Steve Harrington has not had a great few years. In fact, most years since and including 1983 have, frankly, blown. Now it's " the festive season " that's supposed to be full of " joy and laughter " and he has to pretend to be " happy " and he'd really rather not.

He used to love Christmas. Love it. His parents thought the bragging rights a well lit-up house entitled them to were worth every penny, and little Steve had loved the way the lights shone on his skin, reflected in his eyes, filled everything full of twinkles and a sense of magic, casting a warm glow on the coldest of nights. As he grew, the decorations, the food, the movies, hell, even the weather – so perfect for getting cozy in, all wrapped up with your loved ones, watching it happen like your window is some huge TV screen built to entertain – remained a huge bonus, making him feel that little kid level of excitement every single year. 

Now, though? In 1991? He'd rather give it a miss. 1983 brought a real downer on the whole holiday season itself – it was a whole business, he'd really rather never see Christmas lights ever again, thanks – and 1986 was a whole new level of shitshow of its own, finally polishing off his lack of interest in enjoying the festivities . Now, 5 years later, after this particularly shitty Christmas Eve, he's pretty sure his disinterest couldn't actually get any stronger.

That's how he found himself sitting right here – hovering on the edge of the quarry, gazing down at his own dangling legs, trying not to think about how silly and insignificant it all looks from up here or how scarily easy it would be to lean just that little bit too far forward – drinking a beer and just thinking. That's all they are, really. Just thoughts. Ideas, he supposes.

He just sort of, kind of, might have maybe lost everything. Everything he was entrusted with. People put too much faith in him, yet again, and then, yet again, he lets them down. Merry fucking Christmas.

It's been a bad week already. Storms all across the country, no kids making it back for the holidays, no Robin, no Nancy, no Jonathan, no Argyle. Everybody left one by one over the years and not one of them could make it back. He doesn't mean to be dramatic but it's like Mother Nature herself is trying to further ruin Christmas for him personally.

Robin's absence hits him hardest, of course. They talk on the phone almost every day, no matter how brief, channelling their inner teenage girls to gossip and cackle and fall into their usual rhythm, but it's not the same. The last time he saw her in person was July for his birthday and here he is, tail-end of the year, nothing and no one.

Steve doesn't like being alone, never really had been able to cope with it. Never really able to cover that fact up, either. So, when everyone had called him one by one to inform him of cancelled flights and trains and impassable roads he knows they know how he feels. He knows because his phone doesn't stop ringing off the hook, echoing off the walls like some mockery, hammering home just how quiet his house is now. Or, at least, it didn't stop ringing until he got fed up and took the phone off, left it hanging in midair, suspended over nothing just like he is right now.

He doesn't mean to worry them, isn't setting out to do that. He just can't listen to their pity, their desperate apologies, their probably false promises to make it through before work or college starts up again. Especially not now.

He's losing the last thing of them all he still had. He's losing their home.

After The Disaster of 1986, after everything was done, after they suffered their losses, five of them had pooled together and made an offer on an old three bedroom home, priced as low as could be since it was precariously close to one of those mysterious cracks with the very strange light seeping through , moving in within days of acceptance and making it entirely their own.

Robin and Nancy had fallen for each other fast and hard, perfect for each other in every way, complimenting the other at every turn, really. Their room was all splashes of colour, nothing that should really go but perfectly them all the same. Camouflage and pastels, pink and green, records and posters.

Jonathan and Argyle had burned slower, their relationship stretching back to California, just as perfect for each other if not a stranger match to outside viewers. Their room was a paint-splattered affair that seemed to look different every time Steve stuck his head in, like they were constantly building on it and making it anew, brushes and fingertips and love set to the walls.

When they'd left one by one – or, rather, two by two – it was with a promise of return. ' After college' and 'When this job is finished' and ' When we're finished travelling' echoing behind them. He'd rolled his eyes, not believing them, but they'd kept visiting as often as they could, paying their shares, wiring him the money with all their trust.

All that trust and he'd gone and lost it. He'd picked it up as usual, put it down, gone away and left it. Overstimulated, overloaded, migraine throbbing. No matter the excuse, he'd left it.

No payment. No payment, no house. No house, nowhere to go, no one to share it with. Nothing.

He'd spent all of the past couple days since it happened begging for a chance, just one extension, to let him scrape the money together. He thought maybe it was a good thing no one was gonna make it back, give him time to fix it before anyone knew what he'd done. Today had been the last chance, a last ditch effort to sort it all straight. 

Needless to say, banks aren't interested in keeping a roof over the head of a 24 year old broke guy with absentee housemates. No go. No amount of begging had helped.

Turns out trying to drive home when you've been crying harder than you have in years is a bad idea. He finds that out the hard way when he clips the verge, spins out and slams sideways into a tree. He'd say that luckily he wasn't injured but, honestly, he thinks there's nothing lucky about him right now. He'd cursed the sky, whoever might be listening up there, and all he got in return was more snowfall.

So, in full dramatic fashion, he'd ditched the car, grabbed himself a couple six-packs, got himself up high, sat on the edge, dangled his legs off, drank his beers, and thought about how he screwed everything up. Again. How everyone would be better if he was never around.

"That's a little dramatic, Harrington, don't you think?" he hears a voice say, familiar but unknown. He turns to follow the sound, to find who's disturbing his spiralling time, and is confronted with possibly the last person he ever thought he'd see.

Eddie Munson.

He's not sure what's more surprising; the fact that his drunk, fucked up mind would summon Eddie of all people, or the fact that his brain had such a flawless image of Eddie still so readily available. Everything looks perfect, no giveaway flaws to clue him in that it's not real. Except his clothes.

If the real Eddie Munson ever had to wear a tailored white suit, Steve certainly never saw it. It's not that he doesn't look good – this is probably some gift his brain is giving him, a way to appreciate broad shoulders and slight waist that the clothes Eddie always wore never gave him – but it's so not Eddie that he can't help but look him up and down and laugh. Even his shoes are white.

"You tell me, Munson. You being here's gotta be all in my brain, too, so you should know if it's too dramatic or not," he tells not-Eddie, looking away again, not wanting to face him head-on, thinking he might just fall apart if he does.

"Huh. I'm all in your brain? Funny, it seems like I'm out here , walking around, doing my business." 

"And what business is that?"

"Saving you."

Eddie saving Steve? They've been here before, haven't they? Didn't work out so well last time. Not for either of them, really, but especially not for Eddie. Dead for nearly six years, still haunting Steve. He misses Eddie an actually pretty alarming amount to this day. The kind of longing that keeps him dreaming, keeps him wondering, and, apparently, keeps him hallucinating when he's cold and pissed off and tired and drunk.

A hallucination is better than nothing.

"Christ, Munson, now who's dramatic? I'm not gonna jump, if that's what you're worried about. I'm just…thinking."

"Hey, man, can't blame a guy for worrying. You've been sitting on the edge for an hour. And, from what I hear, it's been a rough few weeks."

It's gotta be a pretty low moment when your own subconscious is so worried about you it has to send a hallucination of your dead crush to check on you. Might as well be honest with yourself. If you can't do that, who can you be honest with?

"It's been a rough few years . I keep fucking everything up. I always do. I'm not here to kill myself, I just like being up high. It helps me think. I don't want to die , I just wish I was never here to begin with. I think everyone would have been better off that way," he's being brutally honest with himself. With this Eddie-shaped part of himself that his mind conjured up to give himself a talking to. Or someone to talk to.

"Man. That's dark," comes not-Eddie's simple, blunt response. Steve's not looking directly at his face, too afraid that it'll be too real. Too genuine. Too accurate. Afraid he might lose himself in it like he's lost himself in the dreams so many times before. It's always beautiful in the moment, drinking in soft curls and dark eyes and mischievous grins all over again, but it just hurts more when he wakes up to an empty bed and has to readjust to a world where Eddie's been gone for half a decade.

"Yeah. That's real sympathetic, thanks."

"Well, according to you, I'm just you. So you're being sarcastic to yourself right now. Pretty sure that's a sign of madness."

"Ha ha," he huffs, completely humourless.

"I could show you, y'know. What it'd be like if you were never born."

"What is this? My own personal It's A Wonderful Life? " he laughs through it, the very idea ridiculous to him.

"I mean, I guess? I do love that movie. Something wrong with that?" not-Eddie asks him, completely authentic in his questioning, like if Steve really hates the idea he won't go ahead with it.

"I like A Christmas Carol better, I guess I thought if I was gonna learn some Christmas Eve lesson my subconscious would have gone that way instead, y'know?"

"Nah. Christmas Carol is for assholes, man, and you, Steve Harrington, are no asshole. You're a good guy. A great guy, actually. A real George Bailey," Eddie chuckles, leaning into Steve the way he used to years ago. Back when he was still really here and pressing his way into Steve's orbit again and again, making Steve's very bones quiver in their frame. He quivers even now and he can't quite say it's just the cold. It's all just memories.

"Cut the crap. If you're gonna haunt me, just haunt me. Let's get it over with. What do we do first? The Charleston? Sing Buffalo Gals?"

"Here I thought I was supposed to be your Clarence? Now I'm Mary? You make a guy's head spin, Steve, which is it? Am I your kind of fruity angelic saviour or your lady love?" Now his own mind is flirting with him? Yet another low point reached today. A new record, really.

"Don't think it really matters, you know, on account of you not being real."

"Oh, yeah. How could I forget," he replies, this cruel hallucination, this last attempt from his brain to make him reconsider his thoughts. He looks so sad, so hurt, that it makes Steve consider that maybe, just maybe, this is the real deal. The real Eddie, here somehow just for Steve. It's almost worse than if it wasn't convincing at all. "Well, I can't dance and my singing's rusty so I suppose I just have to show you why it is a great thing that you're here."

"Alright. Work your angel magic, Clarence. I'm ready," he declares, raising his bottle in a mocking cheers and taking another swig from his dwindling beer supply.

"I'm not an angel, Steve. Nothing quite so biblical. I don't really know what I am. I'm not in your head and I'm not an angel. I guess you can think of me as angel-adjacent if you wanna?"

"Well, work that angel-adjacent magic then," he sways a little as he speaks now, a slur creeping into his speech as he turns and finally makes direct eye contact with this false Eddie. He's tried his best to not think about Eddie since 1986 – always trying his best not to – to put his feelings aside and move on. Nearly six years spent trying to forget those big round eyes only to meet them face to face again. Something inside of him fractures.

"Alright, one life-altering journey through your own past to make you appreciate life and living and all that shit coming right up," not-Eddie announces, clapping his hands together theatrically and freezing in complete silence with his eyes closed after for effect. So perfectly Eddie, really.

Ab-so- lute -ly nothing happens.

"Well, this was fun. Big thank you to my brain for making me look at you head-on again. Can't wait to spend even more years trying to forget this. I'm gonna get going now, I guess. Take advantage of my home while I still have one," he tells not-Eddie, standing slowly so he doesn't topple over the edge of the damn quarry and make a liar of himself. When he feels a hand slide under his bicep to help him up he just sighs into it. Cruel.

"You don't have a home, Steve. You never did. You don't exist, remember?" the false Eddie tells him, eyes deadly serious, one eyebrow quirked high just daring him to argue.

"Whatever, man. Snow's finally stopped now so I'm heading out," and so he does, aimed straight into town, not-Eddie following silently behind him, doing his best impression of an actual ghost now. Silent and stoic. Not very Eddie at all.

It's not a far walk, really. The house is just a bit outside of town, closer to dense woodland than stores. Not that long a walk usually but it might as well be a 5 day hike when every time he turns around there's a ghost silently following him, looking at him like he's waiting for something to happen. Eddie Munson was never a quiet guy in life which only further unsettles Steve.

If that unsettles him then what he finds when he reaches home is enough to throw him off-kilter for the rest of his life. 

What he finds when he reaches home is that it's not his home. Not one part of it is the same. He and Nancy painted the outside of the home a soft terracotta, the home in front of him is willow green. The front door they had to replace is, instead, the same as the day they moved in. He watches a man walk from room to room, none of the rooms decorated the way Steve left them, tailed by a little girl with hair so big it rivals his own in his prime Steve "The Hair" Harrington days.

"Ok, what the fuck? I know I'm drunk but I'm not this drunk, how'd I end up on a completely different street?"

Eddie finally speaks up again. "Oh, yeah. You're not. Check the street sign. Check the door number. Check the tree in the yard with the RB hearts SC carved in it."

Steve does just that. Just all of that. Everything checks out. This is the house. 

"What the fuck…"

"Well, Steve, you can't buy a house with people when you don't exist," totally-not-Eddie tells him, like it's such an obvious statement he should have known it all along.

"Fuck. Shit. This is- This is crazy. I'm more drunk than I thought. I'm gonna just go sleep this off," he holds a finger up as if to say one minute, please to the absolutely-not-Eddie who's standing, hands in his pockets, like he's just waiting around for something.

"You can't just sleep this off in some shitty motel, Steve," one-hundred-percent-absolutely-not-Eddie tries to tell him, not that Steve is interested in hearing it anymore.

"Sure I can. The Bijou always has rooms these days," he says over his shoulder as he speed walks back towards town.

"Well, alright. See for yourself," not-at-all-Eddie calls after him, half sighing out the words.

He doesn't even make it close to main street before he notices something very, very wrong. The cracks that had split the town in quarters were still there, still unmissable landmarks, still unavoidable. They're just deeper, wider, more branches, splits off of splits, more and more veering off of each other, like the town was completely shattered not just cracked in halves. 

Instantly he's swallowing down a wave of panic, running into town to assess the damage, see who needs help, to see what he can do, to find out what's going on. He finds nothing. The new cracks look as old as the original splits. No ash spilling out, no red glow, no energy humming out of them and across his skin like all those years ago. 

No people. Every building looks empty, every street is empty. A complete ghost town.

"What the fuck?" 

"Well, Stevie, looks like you must have been pretty important, huh?"

"What the fuck?" he asks again, twisting so fast to look at Eddie that he's afraid he might topple over. He's not sure any amount of alcohol would make him hallucinate like this. He's starting to think that maybe the ghost of someone he failed to keep safe all those years ago haunting him isn't such a crazy idea.

"Told you, Steve. You were never born. Nancy never brought Barb to your house, no one died in your pool, Nancy never became a gun-toting investigator. You weren't there to throw yourself into danger for the kids all the far too many times you did. No Nancy and Robin team up to tell the kids who were left how to save Vecna victims. Jon never moved to Cali, never met Argyle. So on and so forth. Butterfly effect and all that crap, now the town is empty. Surrounding towns are mostly empty too, by the way. Just to save you the journey. Only stragglers left behind now. Like that lovely squatter in your home and his cute as a button little kid."

"What the fuck." he says yet again, a statement this time rather than a question. "This is real, isn't it? I'm not just drunk and crazy? You're really here?"

"Yeah, I'm really here. One Night Only. A limited engagement. In the flesh, kind of," not -not-Eddie tells him, chuckling as Steve tries to throw them into an embrace and slips right through him. "I said kind of! I have to concentrate if you want to do that."

"Then concentrate, please, I need to check you're actually really here right now, Eddie," he's barely finished with the sentence before he feels warmth wrap around him, one arm around his waist, the other's fingers finding their way through his hair, a firm and very real shoulder for him to rest his chin on. "Wait, what do you mean One Night Only?"

"I wish I could stay, Steve, but me, here, helping you? It's just for tonight. I do this, I get my reward , I do whatever's next. I know that much, even if I don't know what's actually next for me."

"But, how can it be you?" he breathes into the crook of Eddie's neck. Real Eddie. Eddie who is actually here, in his arms. "You died, Eddie. And you know things that you shouldn't know. How would you know what car I drive now or what's carved in the tree in our yard?"

"Angel-adjacent, remember? I did a little crash course on what I missed, watched the full Mr Steve Harrington presentation" the ghost of Eddie Munson tells him, that real voice coming through those real lips. Real and really here.

"How did you know something was even the matter?"

"I could hear everyone. More than usual. Most days I can just catch the odd word or hear you guys when you speak about me. Or to me. But everyone's been worried about you, Steve. Everyone. Nance, Robs, the kids, Jon, Argyle. Everybody, man. It's been constant. I couldn't even hear myself think, so much for resting in peace," it's said with a smile, not an irritated bone in his body, big doe eyes all sincere and filled with concern and something else Steve's not quite sure he wants to believe he sees.

"Well, I'm sorry. Sorry that all I do is make people worry," that seems like it's really all he can do recently and he feels like kicking himself. He frowns. "You left the afterlife because of me?"

"Well, kind of. It was more of a limbo situation than the real afterlife, I think? But something told me you needed someone. I was scared you were gonna jump into the quarry or something. I was just watching and I never- I really never wanted to be with you more than right now. Something told me I could just…be here. And that I could help you. And that there was something in it for me too. Not that I wouldn't have helped without a reward but, you know, perks. So here I am, your own personal Clarence."

Steve's a little bit lost for words at first. Sure, a lot of that is because this whole limbo-afterlife-ghost-angel-adjacent thing is a lot to take in but probably even more of it is because he's really missed Eddie's rambling way of speaking. He can't help but smile his first real smile in days. Maybe weeks. Maybe longer.

He does have one question, though.

"Why are you dressed like that? You look like Randall."

"Oh, I knew you were gonna have something to say about this," he says, tugging on the lapel of his jacket. "Look, man, I didn't pick it. And it's Hopkirk."

"Huh?"

"Hopkirk was the dead one. It's Randall and Hopkirk (Deceased). I think I look pretty good." 

He kind of likes when Eddie corrects him. He always had that way of clarifying things for Steve without making him feel stupid for messing up a reference or not understanding something. He really likes just watching Eddie light up as he speaks. He absolutely agrees that he looks pretty good.

"Well, Clarence, what next? I think I've had enough of this shit now."

"Depends. Do you still think the world would be better off without you?"

He knows he shouldn't pause for so long, that that's practically an answer in itself. He also knows he can't lie to Eddie.

"That's what I thought, Steve. George?" Eddie muses, drawing another smile out of Steve.

"You're not calling me George," he laughs as he says it, knowing he won't really stop Eddie from calling him whatever he wants to. "I just…this looks bad but there aren't monsters running around. The cracks look dormant. And just because my friends don't all live together anymore doesn't mean they're not happy and fine without me. The kids always had each other, too."

"There's gotta be an easier way for me to get my wings. You're a tough customer, Steve," Eddie tells him with a voice that just oozes affection, the kind of deep care that Steve would be too embarrassed to admit out loud that he craves. He doesn't want to hope for too much but it's the kind of tone that has Steve thinking that hey, maybe this is mutual. Or, he supposes, maybe it could have been.

"Yeah, sorry. Not the first time someone's told me how stubborn I am. I guess I can be pretty frustrating," he's finding himself being as honest as he was when he thought he was just talking to himself. Eddie just exudes a sense of safety and comfort that has him wanting to lean in close and let it fill his lungs and Steve has a funny feeling this whole angel-adjacent business isn't permanent. He has to really make the most of it right now, the least he can do is be honest. "Pretty sure that's why everyone's gone. Even before whatever you did."

"Do I look frustrated?"

"Huh?"

"Look at my face," Eddie tells him, cupping Steve's cheeks oh so gently and turning his head to face him. He feels something inside of him crumble just that little bit more when their eyes meet, something that was already little and broken and barely hanging on. Eddie's eye's are truly twinkling – Steve always thought that that whole idea was stupid, how can eyes twinkle? They just reflect he'd always said but now he has to concede that some people really do just sparkle – searching his own, imploring him to search right back. "Stephen Harrington, do I look frustrated?"

He has no idea where the hell his words have gone, completely unable to grab hold of them to produce any semblance of an answer for this beautiful man standing in front of him, despite all odds, and holding him together so he doesn't just break apart under the pressure of a simple question.

He never does find those words, just does his best to shake his head while being cradled by the man he- well, the man he wanted to…y'know. Eddie, God-adjacent love him, seems to intuitively know that's the best he's gonna get and just rubs his thumb gently across Steve's face, gliding softly across his chilled skin, chills upon chills.

"Alright, Stevie, where to next? What's gonna convince you to trust me when I say the world needs you in it? What can I show you now?"

Steve is firm in his belief that, really, he doesn't think the world needs him. He still tells Eddie, "My parents' house."

He's pretty sure Eddie's using some of whatever magic he's all made up of now – not that he wasn't made of magic before, a glowing smile, taking your worries with sleight of hand and making them disappear – because he knows damn fine it how long it takes to walk this town and he knows damn fine it doesn't take five minutes to cross it entirely.

"Impatient, Munson?"

Eddie has that little mischievous, lopsided grin on his face – that same one he'd thrown at Steve when he was about to steal an RV for them, that same one he wore on his last day on Earth. Well, second last now, Steve supposes – like he knows he's been caught out. "Hey, sue me. Can't blame a guy like little old me for wanting to get this show on the road. I confess I'm not super sure if I have a heart right now or not but it's pretty broken up over you wherever it is. Hurts seeing you think so little of yourself when you're one of the best people I ever knew."

Heat spreads across his face and he hopes it looks like it's just because of the cold and not because Eddie gave him a compliment. It's not like Steve's never been complimented before – living with Argyle is like living in a compliment factory and Robin knows him well enough now to know when she needs to tell him how much she loves him instead of calling him dingus or buttface – but there's something extra special about the sincere way Eddie just lays it all out there, not shy in the least about giving high praise to someone he hasn't seen, nevermind talked to, in nearly 6 years. It feels extra special, anyway.

The Harrington house appears before him and, honestly, he doesn't know what he thought he'd be looking for here. It stands as lonely as ever, dark windows staring down at him, looking right through him like they did most nights once he turned sixteen and they decided he could be the man of the house while they "finally lived their lives". It looks the same as always and he doesn't know if that's good or bad or anything at all.

It's not until he's in front of the door reaching for the handle that he realises that, well, no matter what happened here when Eddie worked his magic he has no key. He turns to tell him as much, finger raised like he has a point to make, mouth already open to make it known, and Eddie just looks at him with a smile that's just a little bit too smug – or, at least, it would be if Steve wasn't so damn happy just to see Eddie making any kind of smile with that perfect face of his but as it stands, no smile of his can be too much of anything – and snaps his fingers. Steve briefly finds himself searching for where that other hand of his had gotten to and realises that, hey, they walked this whole way here with Eddie holding his wrist, softly tugging on the fabric of his jacket. He's a little more than comforted when the hand finds it's way back to him, around his shoulders.

He's a little more than impressed when the door just swings wide open, with a ring of the stupid old-fashioned bell on the door frame inside. It rings a few more times than it should have and he knows exactly what Eddie's doing with that. Dork.

He turns to Eddie cause he just has to see whatever expression the guy's wearing right now – staring at the door all self-congratulatory probably? – and instead he's a little more than pleased to find that Eddie's staring right at him instead, the way he's wrapped around Steve's shoulders pulling them together all close. Steve thinks if he moves just a little bit forward their noses might brush. He thinks if he doesn't move a little bit backward he's gonna plant his lips on the guy's own at long last, if he can stop himself staring at them long enough.

"Hey, just checking. Every time a bell rings , and all that shit," he leans in closer to Steve again, always finding his way in. "Do I amaze you?"

"Show off."

"Perks of the job, Steve." And there's that smug smile again after all, though he's pretty sure he's a little more smug that he's got Steve so close and caught him looking at his lips. He's very sure neither of them really give a shit about going through the door anymore.

He's extremely sure that kissing Eddie right now would be an extremely bad idea. One Night Only is plastered across billboards on every part of his brain every time he looks inward. It'll hurt so goddamn much if he has to spend the rest of his life knowing what those lips feel like and knowing he'll never be able to touch them again. He does the hardest thing he's done in a long time; he looks away, takes a deep breath, brings his own hand up to tap the one that Eddie draped over him and walks forward out of the embrace.

He still looks back at him, though. If there's one thing Steve Harrington is always gonna do it's look back at Eddie Munson. He hates what he sees there. Of course if there's one person who could disappoint their guardian angel it's him.

The house is empty.

It's not empty like it was before, back when he lived here and wandered the hall just to make noise to hear against the walls. It's empty. Doesn't look like it was abandoned, either. Nothing left behind.

"I don't-"

"Well, Steve, you don't exist which means your parents never tried to make it work, never went to therapy, never got over that rough patch. Poof . Relationship was dust. Mama goes east, Papa goes west. Of course, that means the real estate market in town crashed hard. A lot more empty houses while everybody slummed it out in crummy apartments and the trailer park. Or they just flat out left town."

It's a little bit ridiculous to him, the whole idea that he's been important in any way. He figures it kind of defeats the purpose of being angel-adjacent if Eddie lies about it or shows him some made up crap but he's still not really buying it.

They're his parents, though, he guesses. Makes sense he's a little more important in their lives, even if it rarely ever felt that way.

"That enough for ya, Mister Harrington?" 

"I- This was a stupid idea. They're my parents, of course never having any kids changed shit for them."

"Alright, wise guy, what next, then?"

"Nancy. I wanna see what happened to her. Barb wasn't here that night so she didn't die, right? So Nancy probably has a normal life, right? Or- or Robin! Robin didn't get sucked into all of this shit, she's probably travelling Europe just being a genius by now. One of them next, please?"

"Pretty easy for me to do both, Stevie. They're in the same place."

He feels a little vindicated at that, like, yeah, see? Things are fine. Robin and Nancy are still together, didn't even need him to find each other. He wonders how they met, hopes Eddie will be able to tell him.

He turns his head all smooth to look at Eddie with his own smug smile – see? – and he just looks…sad. He guesses this really isn't going the way Eddie had hoped, that he probably thought the second Steve saw the state of the cracks he'd tap out and buy into it.

Eddie just takes the fabric of his jacket again, a little more noticeable this time. More pressure, a firmness to the grip this time. Steve still finds himself wishing that he'd just take his hand but given that he just ducked out of an embrace with the guy he can't blame him for not doing it.

He thinks they must be moving faster again, every time he blinks he's further down the road than he thinks he should be. He's used to the feeling, though, really, if he thinks about it. He does wish that Eddie would stop rushing. Wishes they had more time.

He's always wishing they had more time.

And then they're in the graveyard.

His heart is sinking down deep through his rib cage, down, down, so far he worries he might step on it if he keeps moving.

"Not funny, Eddie. This isn't the damn movie, I said I wanted to see Robin and Nancy. I know they went to the graveyard in the movie but this isn't the goddamn movie, man. I want to see them. I want- I need to see them."

"They're here, Steve. Both of them. I told you, they're both together here."

Yeah, that's not real. This has to be some kind of sick joke. Eddie wouldn't joke like that but maybe 5 plus years being dead is enough to warp your sense of humour. There's just no goddamn way they're both just gone.

He has to see for himself.

He takes himself out of Eddie's hands once again and takes off stumbling through the rows of final resting places, stone after stone of names he never knew, just searching for those names he knows intricately, hoping he won't find them.

He finds her first.

Nancy Wheeler

Beloved daughter and sister, devoted friend. Gone too soon but always with us.

He's on his knees before he's even finished reading, the ground soaking into him and leaving him cold in ways he doesn't think he's ever felt before. There's a ringed hand in his hair. He's wanted to feel that a thousand times. 

He never wanted any of this.

"I'm sorry, Steve."

"I thought-"

"I know. Uh, Barb still died. Some people are just…meant to die, I guess. Different place, different day, but still dead. Nancy died trying to find her."

"This is Barb's grave. This is where Barb is…back before this."

"Cruel, right? No Nancy to search for her and fight for the truth so she's just missing . To this day. No funeral, no grave, so there was space. For Nancy, I mean."

He wants to worm his fingers into the ground and pull up fistfuls of dirt and tear this grave that never should have existed apart. The ground is too cold and too hard, though, and all he can do is scrape his fingernails across it, feel them give just a little too much like they might come undone. He knows that feeling well.

"Where's Rob?"

Eddie bends and silently holds out his hand, just that little touch transparent now, that cold hard ground just barely visible through it. Like he's fading away the longer this is drawn out. Steve is almost scared to take it, like if his hand slides right through Eddie and he has to think about One Night Only again right now he'll never recover. It's a strange moment for him, realising that he doesn't want to break apart and never get put back together anymore. What he wants, though, he still can't have. Eddie's hand becomes opaque as he reaches for it and solidifies in his grasp. He has to fight every urge not to bring it to his face and press it into his cheek so instead he lets the strong hand pull him to his unsteady feet. He lets it lead him where he needs to go but never wants to.

Robin Buckley

A life unlived is the saddest of passings. You couldn't see the world but the world saw you, if only for a moment.

"Eddie I didn't want this."

"I know."

"It's not right."

"I know, Steve. She, uh, died at Starcourt. Not the Russians, the monster. She didn't know what any of it meant but it was quick."

He's not sure if the fact that it was quick was supposed to be comforting. All he can think about is her laugh and her displeased expressions at his terrible jokes and the way she puts extra sugar in her tea when Nancy isn't looking and the way her hair sticks out at her temples if she lets it dry itself. There's no comfort in a world where Robin Buckley doesn't get to live.

"Please take me somewhere else? Anywhere else? Please?" He's not ashamed to sound desperate. He knows Eddie understands because Eddie always understood, even back when he was just human, before he was made of magic and hope.

He just blinks and they're back at the quarry in an instant. He thinks that, hey, maybe Eddie really wasn't in such a rush earlier. He could have just brought them where they were going in a second but chose to walk with him and hold his arm and be in his space so fully.

"I think I learned my lesson, Eds. If all I ever did was save people then that's worth it. Even if I fucked up big this time, it was worth it. Even if they never forgive me, it's all worth it."

"I hope you don't still really think they won't forgive you, Stevie. They all will. I don't know if I'm really meant to tell you this or not but, uh, Joyce and Hopper have savings just for this kind of thing. Emergencies with the kids, y'know? Suck up that pride and call them. You've done so much good, you are so good. Just ask for help from your little found family, man. They love you so much."

Steve smiles. It's lopsided and he doesn't really feel like smiling right now, no matter how genuinely he wishes he did. There's more to smile about than he thought there was, even a couple hours ago, but there's one big thing that's holding him back. He knows Eddie has to go now.

Eddie turns to him, again, as he speaks and cups Steve's face in his hands, again, and Steve has the thought that maybe Eddie just always wanted to do that. Just like Steve always wanted to touch Eddie's hair – so he does – and always wanted to kiss him – so he does.

He's not at all surprised now when Eddie parts his lips oh so eagerly and meets him halfway and it's somehow everything he ever expected and better than he ever imagined. A soft and warm kiss above hard snow-covered ground. He wants to stay in this moment forever, comforted and soothed by meaningful words and leaning into the lips of Eddie Munson.

But they don't have forever. They don't even have another day. One Night Only flashes through his mind yet again and he thinks he just might have found some more tears to cry because it's just so damn unfair that he's finally here with Eddie's hair twisted through his fingers and his hands on his skin and it can't ever happen again. 

He thinks maybe it was stupid to do this, that he was right to resist, that this is going to hurt so much more this way. He absolutely doesn't care anymore. They both deserve to have this moment before Eddie gets his wings or whatever the hell and moves on out of limbo or wherever the hell and Steve goes back to a world where Eddie is just gone forever.

Eddie breaks them apart with a hum that Steve swallows just in time, happy to feel that noise vibrate across his lips, devastated at the loss.

"One last thing," Eddie tells him and snaps his fingers all dramatic like a dork again and Steve watches a snowflake waltz its way down and land on Eddie's nose. He watches Eddie look up into the sky as more and more flakes drift down and catch in those long eyelashes of his, settle into his hair, land on his lips, all kissed-pink. "I love snow. I wanted it to snow when I- well, you know. Isn't it beautiful?"

Steve watches the way Eddie's eyes water, all big and brown like a doe. He watches the way his throat bobs as he speaks and his lips stretch and pout as the words escape him. He watches the way the corner of Eddie's eye crinkle and his dimple makes itself apparent when he smiles and he watches the way Eddie's hair sways in the light breeze that came with the snow. "Yeah. Yeah, it's beautiful."

He has a feeling that One Night Only is just about to become One Minute Only.

"I don't want you to go," he tells him, voice cracking despite his best efforts.

"I don't want to go. I think I have to, though." At least Steve isn't the only one whose voice is breaking.

"Have a wonderful life, Steve," he says with a wink, like a dork. Like Steve's dork. His favourite dork who he's missed for all this years and will miss forever more.

And then he's gone.

Eddie Munson is gone again.

Steve lets himself cry again, perfect little droplets leaving his eyes in orderly lines and joining the melting snow on his skin. It really is beautiful.

It's like no time has passed at all. Still Christmas Eve. So he walks home through the snow, slowly and without any of that Munson magic this time, and he does what Eddie told him to do. He sucks up his pride and he asks for help.

Eddie was right. Eddie was right about a lot of things, it seems. Joyce tells him she loves him and that things happen and that's what you have family for and he thinks he just might cry again. She tells him she'll send Hopper to pick him up tomorrow for dinner because there's no way you're rattling around the house all alone on Christmas day . They wish each other a happy Christmas and he thinks, despite a new loss, he actually is happy. He does cry again in the end. He guesses he's just a crier now.

He's definitely a crier because it hits midnight, actual Christmas Day and the door bursts open and in walks…all four of his housemates. Something about how peculiar it was, that the roads to Hawkins just cleared right up for Nancy and Robin, that the flight Jonathan and Argyle had been booked on got strangely uncancelled because the weather weirdly cleared right up in time and they could take those same mysteriously clear roads back to Hawkins too.

One last gift from Eddie Munson, reaching just that little bit back in time to make a miracle happen. A gift of a man in every way. The gift that keeps on giving.

He's still riding the high of everything coming up Steve for a change when the doorbell rings. Every time a bell rings, an angel gets its wings, he thinks to himself, half-laughing while his eyes water just that little bit. Surely even their crappy old doorbell can count.

He takes a look at Argyle mixing some pancake batter and wiping it across Jonathan's face who just laughs, wipes his thumb across it, and shoves it back in Argyle's mouth. He watches Nancy brew tea while Robin sits on the countertop and swings her legs. He thinks it actually is a wonderful life. Maybe he's the dork.

He pulls open the door thinking maybe Hopper is here, maybe Joyce heard the quiver in his voice and told him to come check on him. He doesn't think for a second that mister One Night Only himself, Eddie Munson will be standing there.

And yet. There he is with the biggest grin Steve has ever seen on a person's face, eyes all filled with tears that Steve doesn't think are just from the cold. 

"Oh my God, Eddie?" comes Nancy's voice from behind him and oh my God how is Steve going to explain this? He turns to give it his best shot anyway but he's interrupted by her continuing with, "I thought you were working? I didn't think you were going to make it either!"

Steve looks back at Eddie and thinks he must look ridiculous right now, knows his mouth is hanging open and his eyebrows are meeting in the middle, hanging low across the bridge of his nose. Eddie just winks at him. It's their little secret now, he guesses.

"Nah, I finished up that job. You have my full undivided Christmas day attention!" He tries to swoop himself into a dorky bow but Nancy catches him in a one armed hug first, tells him she's so glad he's here, and heads back to the kitchen to tell everyone the wonderful news.

Steve has about a thousand questions. He's not holding them back right now. "Eddie? What the hell? How are you- you're here? Not that I'm- you know, just. What the hell? Are you still…? What happened to One Night Only? What about your wings or your reward or whatever?"

"Woah, woah, it's ok," Eddie tells him and he realises that, of course, he'd burst into tears again. Didn't even notice this time. He really is a crier now. "You are my reward. I'm not going anywhere ever again. Who needs wings when I've got the whole angel right here?"

Steve feels a blush creep up slowly across his face because as absolutely mind-blowingly corny as that was, it was Eddie Munson who was saying it. In the entrance to their house, now, looking at Steve like he hung the stars and he's here forever. No One Night Only, no limited engagement. Just here.

"What does my face look like right now? I don't know how to close my jaw anymore."

"It's a good face. I like it," Eddie says, grins into him. It isn't fair how much power Eddie has over him. Nearly six years on and all it takes is a simple statement, a stupid movie quote, to light Steve up again. "I like Steve Harrington."

He doesn't waste another moment, not one more single second, before he pulls Eddie in by the collar of his black leather jacket for another kiss. This one can go on longer, forever, even, if they choose, and he deepens it, like his tongue has to just make sure that this is really happening. He ignores the sound of Robin making her way through to welcome Eddie home, ignores her ugh, gross , at least close the door first and the sound of her padding away again. He can't, however, ignore the sound of Eddie snapping his damn fingers and the door closing itself behind him, finally shutting out the cold. He pulls away, just for a little bit, just to tell him, with love and reverence and just a little touch of exasperation,

"Show off."