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It had been sixty-four years since he’d properly met Steve. Sixty-four years of taking care of those stupid kids, even while they had gotten old, too. It had been sixty-four years of learning just how perfect and kind he was, of learning that he loved the guy he used to despise in high school and that he loved him, too.
It had been sixty-three years since they had started dating. Sixty-one years of secretly searching and finding a surrogate to have kids. Forty-eight years since they had started adopting kids of their own. Thirty-six years of them being married.
And yet Eddie had never aged.
After the final battle with Vecna and the world nearly splitting in two, Eddie had somehow never been cured of his vampirism. He had waited years after they had won. It had been painstaking, looking every day in the mirror and hoping—just hoping—that his eyes would turn back to their chocolate brown and his skin would no longer be as pale as paper.
That day never came. He had hoped, wished, and even prayed that it would. He had hoped for a normal life, for a normal body and a normal appetite.
It never came.
Steve had been persistent, though. Steve, the charmer he was, held Eddie up with his arms and cradled him when he cried. He loved him, coddled him, gave him what he needed.
Eddie, in return, gave Steve everything he wanted. He gave him a family, a home with a white picket fence, and everything he could have ever needed.
And yet the one thing Eddie wanted?
He would never get.
The year was now 2050.
Steven Harrington was eighty-four years old, gray, and as handsome as ever. Eddie was eighty-five, his curly hair still its deep brown color.
Steven Harrington was the only one dying.
Eddie held Steve’s hand as he watched him take quiet, slow breaths. He watched his husband as he lay there, eyes closed and quiet.
He was too weak to stand, too weak to stay awake. Eddie had always had to pretend he was Steve’s grandson while hospice was there. He’d always have to say “my grandpa” or “pops”. He’d never get to call him “my husband” or “the love of my life” around those who didn’t know, those who didn’t quite understand.
He hated it. Eddie hated all of it.
And now Steve Harrington, old and gray, was dying. Here, in this bed, in their fifty-seven-year-old home. He was dying.
Eddie wished he was dying, too.
“I’m here, sweetheart,” he whispered in the quiet room, rubbing his thumb over the wrinkly knuckles of those hard-worked hands.
Eddie wasn’t ready for this, but he knew he had to be. He was the only one who was going to live. Out of everyone. So he knew he had to be.
“You don’t-.. you don’t have to hold on. Not for the kids, not for the gang.. not for me.”
He could feel his throat start to hurt and tears well up in his eyes. He could feel his lips start to automatically pull into a frown.
He forced it all down and gave a shaky sigh.
“It’s okay.. you can go. Everything will be okay.”
While saying all of this to Steve, Eddie could hear his six kids crying in the other room. He could hear Dustin, Max, Mike, Lucas, Eleven, Erica, and Will. He could hear Nancy and Robin, Johnathan and Argyle. He could hear all of them, none of them ready to see him go.
No one was strong enough to watch, either. Not Nancy Wheeler or Maxine Mayfield, the strongest people of them all. Not Bobby or Teddy, their flesh and blood. None of them.
Only Eddie could.
“You’ve always had to be the strong one, Stevie.. ‘s time for you to take a break. What d’ya say, huh..?”
Steve’s breathing became a little quieter. Eddie could hear it, could hear the slight change.
It made his heart squeeze in his chest, but he continued.
“There’s nothing to worry about anymore, baby.. get some rest. You can go.. it’s okay.”
Eddie reached up to gently cup Steve’s cheek, brushing his thumb over the soft, thin skin.
Even after all these years, he had somehow stayed perfect. It was the one thing Eddie would always secretly hate him for.
“Everything’ll be okay.. we’ll all be okay.”
Those last four words seemed to be Steve’s cue to finally let go.
Steve’s breathing slowed and quieted faster now, his eyes never opening as he lay in that bed. His hand was limp as Eddie held it, his body the same.
Slowly but surely, Steve’s breath came to a full and complete stop. It was slow, it was painless.
Steven Harrington died at 6:47 pm on November seventh. The year was 2050.
He had been eighty-four.
Eddie would forever remain twenty years old.