Chapter Text
Replaceable.
That’s the word Kevin throws around a lot at Family Video. Mostly at Steve. Okay, always at Steve. He doesn’t believe that Kevin would fire him, though, knowing that the manager is too gone on Robin (poor guy) to ever do anything to upset her. But still, the word had stuck to Steve like a tack in a bulletin board. Sticks to him like every other painful word he’s been called.
Exchangeable. High school basketball where he’d been benched most of his senior year, his coach upset that he’d gotten “slow” after his fight with Billy.
Embarrassing. His father had casually tossed this word out over a family dinner of Caesar salad after Steve had received a rejection letter to the only college he’d applied to. Said that he should have applied himself more in his studies and used his head.
Worthless, expendable, inadequate, stupid.
Useless. This one he calls himself, the word pinned deep inside his ribcage. He half-carries Max Mayfield to his car, legs not moving fast enough. Helps her in as the other teens clamor around him and scuttle into the vehicle afterwards. He wishes someone more helpful had been there instead of him. If it had been someone else, maybe Max wouldn’t have had to go through that. Maybe they could have stopped it sooner because all Steve had thought to do was shout the girl’s name. He looks at her in the rearview mirror as the car bumps down the cemetery road; she’s curled in on herself, not looking anything like the spitfire she usually is. Useless . He bites his cheek as the words swell inside him. Doesn’t let it show, pushes it all behind the big wall he’s built inside himself. Hands grip the steering wheel tightly as he drives, he and his passengers quiet from trauma and terror. No need to bring up his little pity party when the end of the world is constantly at their feet. When the kids have it so much worse than him.
*
Steve passes out shortly after flopping to a seat in the under-stuffed cushions of one of the chairs in the Wheelers’ basement. It’s not a deep, heavy sleep. He’s on-alert, nerves stretched thin and, at first, he jolts awake at any sound. Dustin messing with the walkie, Max turning up the volume of her headphones, Nancy and Robin’s hushed whispers. He wakes up, half-ready to run or drive or fight for all of that. But eventually, when everyone else passes out and the basement goes quiet, he sinks into a heavy slumber as well. His mind throws random images at him in the form of a dream, everything swirling into a weird and trippy nightmare. Red, manicured nails grasping a bottle, demogorgon teeth, white high-top Reeboks, and the Upside Down slime. His dream is infiltrated by the staticky sound of Dustin’s giant walkie-talkie coming to life followed by muffled words he can’t decipher. He thinks it’s Eddie’s voice and he thinks Eddie is saying something about being banished; part of his brain knows that the sounds of the walkie is coming from the real world outside of his slumbers, but the other part is too happy to have Eddie’s voice incorporated into the swirling, frantic mess of what had previously been a nightmare. Sure, the guy had almost sliced him with a broken glass bottle when they first met, but after that, Eddie seemed pretty alright. Super weird. But who in this ragtag group wasn't their own flavor of strange? Nancy’s voice enters his dream now and, at first it’s light and pleasant but suddenly it’s sharp and agitated. Steve scrunches his brow, Nancy’s—and Dustin’s now—voice slowly pulling him from his deep sleep. He rubs at his eyes harshly with the heels of his hands after a minute, Eddie’s pleading voice coming through the walkie causing Steve to rise from his seat in the chair. He walks groggily over to where the walkie was abandoned by Nancy and picks it up with a yawn, holds down the button and croaks out, “Relax, Munson. You okay?”
“Uh, Steve…? Oh! Yeah! I was talking to Nancy, but she just hung up on me?” Eddie’s voice comes through the line after a beat. “Where’d she go?”
Steve coughs a little to clear his throat and then, holds down the button of his own walkie, responding, “I dunno. I just woke up. Probably went to check on…” he looks around and sees Max and Dustin are also not in the basement, but figures if something was really wrong, Nancy would have woken everyone up. “…Max and Dustin, make sure they eat or something.”
“So, what I’m hearing is that you were slacking on your babysitter duties, huh?”
Steve rolls his eyes but can’t help the breathy chuckle that escapes his lips. Dustin, that little shit, had mentioned that Steve is the group's certified babysitter-slash-big-brother-slash-jock. Of course, Eddie only remembers the babysitter label, but he can’t deny that it isn’t nice to hear Eddie joking around after his devil-may-care attitude had been dislodged by everything that is the Upside Down. Even if the joke is a little shaky and at his expense. “It’s my lunch break, alright?” he responds, trying to sound annoyed and keep it light and cool. Wait, why does he want to sound cool? He shakes his head, talking into the walkie again, “Whatever, so what’s up?”
“Maybe I called because I wanted to hear your voice?”
Steve’s cheeks color and he thinks he probably looks like a fish out of water the way his mouth opens and closes, unable to come up with a response to that. He hears Robin snort quietly behind him and jumps, face going even redder. “Geez, Robin!” he exclaims as he faces her. She’s just woken up and is still laying on the couch, hair looking like a rat’s nest, laughing. “What’s so funny?”
“Harrington, you still there?” Eddie’s voice comes through.
“Sorry, man. Uh, you wanted—what were you saying? I mean,” Steve uses his free hand to point a finger sharply at Robin to get her to stop her laughing. She makes the zipping motion over her lips, but the amused smirk is still all over her face, so Steve has to turn away from her. He swipes his hand down his burning face, asking, “Are you okay? Or is something wrong, do you need something?”
“No, man, I told you I’m good. Nothing’s happened. I’m okay.” Steve feels the tension in his shoulders ease up a fraction upon hearing Eddie say that, taking note of how soft Munson’s voice had gotten when he had answered. But just like that, Eddie’s voice is a little louder and a little more animated as he says, “I just was wondering if you guys could bring me some supplies, ya’know? Food? Beverages? I’m on Rick’s last can of Spaghetti-Os right now and I’m pretty sure they expired two months ago.”
“Okay, uh, I’ll round up everyone and we can do a supply run for you.” Steve says. “Just stay put.”
“Yeah, that’s kinda the point, Harrington,” Eddie chuckles over the line.
“Don’t be a wise-ass, Munson.” Steve says, but he knows Eddie (and Robin, damn her for waking up) can hear the lack of bite in the words. “We’ll be there in maybe an hour or two.
“Roger that! Eddie the Banished, over and out!”
Steve walks, replacing the walkie-talkie where it belongs on the small coffee table before turning to Robin. She’s sat up now, hands raking through her mussed hair, trying to reign it in a bit. Buts she’s still smiling at him with a playful I-Know-Something-You-Don’t glint in her eyes. He raises an eyebrow, extending his forearms slightly, hands palms up.
“What’s that look for?” he asks point-blank.
“Whatever do you mean?” Robin feigns ignorance before her smile grows a little more.
“No, see? That look! What’s with that look?” He points at her face, leaning forward.
“Maybe that’s just my face, maybe it’s the face I make when I wake up to you being such a dingus.” She replies with her signature tell-it-like-it-is dry humor. He’s missing something and opens his mouth to ask her what he’s missing. Robin’s smile turns sincere when she says, “You know you’re my best friend, right? And that you can tell me anything?”
The statement makes Steve pause. “Of course I know that, Robin, wh—where is this coming from?”
The sound of 3 pairs of feet hustling down the wooden stars of the basement ends the conversation. Nancy, Dustin, and Max pile into the room. Dustin animatedly talking about coloring books and Vecna while Max is shaking Lucas awake, talking about being possessed, and interrupting Dustin to correct him on things he’s getting wrong. Nancy shushes them and explains to Robin, Lucas, and Steve what she and the two young teens had figured out at breakfast: That Max had been in Vecna’s lair in the Upside Down. And that Vecna’s lair is the Creel house where, supposedly, Victor Creel was framed by a demon (aka: Vecna) for murdering his whole family. Because of course it has to be the creepiest house in Hawkins.
“Why couldn’t his lair be somewhere normal, like, the grocery store?” Robin groans, voicing what Steve had also been thinking.
Nancy powers on, “So, come on. We have to go.”
“Where? To the Creel’s murder house?” Steve looks up from re-tying his shoe.
“Yes, Steve.” Nancy’s voice sounds like a big “duh” and Steve frowns a bit. “We need to know what the connection is between Vecna and the Creels and everything else and this house is the common denominator.”
“Well, what about Eddie?” Robin says, stopping Nancy halfway through her march towards the stairs, causing Lucas and Max, who were following the older girl, to skid to a stop to avoid running into her.
Nancy furrows her brows. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, he’s got no food and he needs, you know, food. And I think, since he’s part of the team now, that we should at least keep him fed and informed on the whole mission and details and stuff.” Robin supplies, ignoring the questioning looks Steve is trying to shoot her.
“So, what do you want to do, Robin?” Nancy is asking with a huff. “You think we should go to the store and then go see Eddie before we go to the house? Because I’d really rather get to the Creel house as soon as possible so we have time to look around before it gets dark out.”
“Yeah, I second that.” Dustin pipes up, raising a hand.
“Me, too. Eddie can wait.” Lucas sounds off.
Robin shakes her head, hair bobbing with the movement as she smiles at Nancy, “Yeah, and I totally agree! But not everyone has to go to see Eddie. It’s more of a one man job.” She sidles up to Steve and pats his shoulder. “I was thinking we send Steve on the supply run for Eddie.” Ignores Steve’s “What? Me?” and plows on, “It makes sense cuz he’s the only other person with a-a car and a license and because you and I—” she gestures between Nancy and herself “—have all the firsthand Creel knowledge from the asylum and newspapers to go off of.”
“But the kids—” Steve starts, but Nancy is already nodding and saying, “That’s… a good point, Robin. Okay, Steve, we’ll drop you off at your car on the way to the Creel house. We’ll take this walkie and you just get the supplies and get to the hideout as soon as you can that way you and Eddie can just share that walkie. We have to all be able to stay in contact, okay?”
And they’ve been in too many life-or-death situations together that by now, Steve knows Nancy’s no-nonsense, this-is-the-plan voice all too well to even think about arguing. He rolls his neck a bit to get the kinks out and sighs. “Yeah, sure, alright. But you all had better stick together and stay safe.” He points specifically at the three freshmen. “And listen to Robin and Nance, got it?”
“Sure thing, mom ,” Dustin sarcastically says with a roll of his eyes.
“Okay, we got it. Now are we done here? Let’s go.” Max leads the charge up the stairs and out of the Wheelers’ basement.
Steve rolls up to Eddie’s house with three grocery bags full of assorted food and snacks. He’d tried to grab “real food” options like peanut butter, jelly, and bread as well as sliced meat and cheese, but had mainly grabbed random canned goods and snack foods he likes. He parks his car a few houses down at a small lake house with a realtor’s sign hanging in the yard to… be cautious? He really didn’t know, it just didn’t seem smart for Steve “The Hair” Harrington’s car to be parked at Reefer Rick’s house. He walks down the side of the road, ready to jump into the bushes or behind a tree if he hears a car coming or the sound of a Demogorgon stomping behind him. He gets to the house after a few anxious minutes and tries the front door, but it’s locked. Sighs and knocks a couple times, but no one comes. He shuffles in place for a few seconds before walking around to the side of the house, attempting to peek through the blinds to see if he could wave down Munson, but they’re closed tight. Walks to the back door and twists the knob and the door opens to both his relief and disappointment.
“Hey, Muns—” he barely calls out when Eddie is sliding into the room, eyes wide and steak knife in-hand. Once Eddie realizes it’s him and drops his defensive pose, Steve waggles his fingers in a wave with a sideways grin. “Delivery,” he jokes, lifting the bags of food a bit to emphasize the point.
“You scared the shit outta me, Harrington.” He says, walking up and taking two of the sacks from where they hang on Steve’s right forearm.
Steve follows the other man’s lead, setting the remaining two bags onto the countertop of the kitchen alongside where Eddie just placed the others before leaning one hip against the counter. “Well, I tried to knock on the front door, but you didn’t answer.”
“Of course I didn’t answer, I’m in hiding,” Eddie says with a shake of his head. Steve is slightly mesmerized by the way his long, frizzy curls sway with the movement. “What the hell is this?”
Steve looks to where the other had been digging through the grocery sacks and sees Eddie is holding up a box of Peanut Butter Boppers. “What? You’ve never had those?” Steve asks, raising an eyebrow.
“No, no, I have, but why would you pick honey crisp?”
“Because it’s good.” Steve crosses his arms over his chest.
“Sure, I guess they’re good to some people,” Eddie rifles through the other bags, saying, “And you didn’t get any of the chocolate ones? Are you a one-flavor guy, Harrington?”
For some reason, the question feels loaded. And when Eddie’s deep brown eyes lock with his, Steve can feel his ears heat up a little. “Uh, no, I—I like other flavors.” he replies. “I just didn’t know if you… wanted to try the other flavors, I guess? I don’t know.”
Eddie scrunches his nose and smiles at Steve over the bag of meat, cheese, and jelly in his hand. “Well, thank you, King Steve for bringing me rations. I greatly appreciate your servitude towards your loyal subjects.” He does a little bow and walks to the fridge, unceremoniously tossing the bag inside. Pauses, looks around. “Wait, where’s everyone else?”
Pushing off the counter, Steve wanders into the living room, saying, “Well, good news is we have a lead on Vecna. Bad news is, it’s in a creepy murder house. They all went to, I don’t know, look for clues.” He flops onto the couch, grimacing as it gives a bit under him. “I’m here to give you the details and watch out for Demogorgons or basketball players or cops.”
Eddie follows him into the living area, sitting alongside him, one leg up so that he’s facing Steve. “My hero,” he teases, fluttering his eyelashes playfully. Steve’s brain stalls, only kickstarted when Eddie asks, “So, what’s the deal with Vecna?”
Steve pulls one of his legs up onto the couch to face Eddie more, one hand loosely holding his own ankle as the other waves in the air as he relays the details of Max’s almost-possession, the music saving her, and the possible ties between Victor Creel and Vecna. Eddie, to his credit, listens in silence as Steve relays the information, only piping up to ask quick questions. Doesn't mention the way Steve’s hand tremors and his voice shakes a bit at certain points. By the end of it, Steve and Eddie and both leaned sideways against the back of the couch. Eddie’s face resting in his palm and he whistles lowly.
“Damn, and all this time I thought Hawkins was boring,” he jokes, eyes kind of wide.
Steve can almost see the cogs in Eddie’s mind working overtime with all the new information. “Yeah, and I didn’t even tell you about the Russians.” He jokes, repositioning to lay against the couch and let his head loll backwards on top of the sofa’s cushions.
“Excuse me, Harrington? You fought the Russians?!” Eddie’s voice is excited and Steve lets his left eye open to look over at the other, taking in the wide, sparkling brown eyes.
“Yeah, I knocked a Russian soldier out cold.”
“Liar, you did not.”
“Ask Henderson.” Steve laughs, backtracking, “Actually, don’t. He’ll just end up telling you about all the fights I lost.”
Eddie let’s out a small laugh and it makes Steve feel a little lighter so he turns his head to face Eddie, opening his eyes only to see that the other has leaned forward to listen and their faces are now only about a foot apart. His ears burn and he fumbles to start the next sentence, eyes drifting from Eddie’s brown eyes to his merlot lips, watching as the tip of Eddie’s tongue pokes out and moistens them before blinking hard and sitting upright, looking at his own hands as he stammers out, “Yeah. Yup, the Russians were in the basement of Starcourt.”
Eddie’s got a bemused look on his face, but upon hearing about the mall, his jaw drops before he says, “I knew that mall was evil!”
Steve snorts, rolling his eyes. “How did you know it was evil?”
“Well, for one, malls are symbols of the evils of capitalism.” Eddie raises a finger in the air before continuing, “ And two, working there sucked,” Eddie joked, tilting his head and giving a half-hearted shrug of his shoulders.
“You worked there? So did I!” Steve exclaims.
“Yeah, I know,” Eddie says, raising an eyebrow. “You literally worked across from me at the ice-cream place.”
Steve wracks his brain, but cannot remember much about the layout of the mall aside from the places he hid from monsters and got the shit beat out of him.
“I worked at the record store,” Eddie says helpfully, looking a little crestfallen. But before Steve can analyze the look more, Eddie is covering it up with a goofy smile. “My hair wasn’t as luxurious, so that’s probably why you don’t recognize me. Plus, you were probably too busy knocking out Russians to pay much attention to lil ol’ me.”
Steve stares at Eddie for a minute, picturing his hair shorter and a fuzzy memory is scrounged up from his mind. He snaps, pointing at the other, practically shouting, “Butter pecan with caramel!”
Eddie’s eyes go wide for a second before he sits up a little, holding his hands out, palms facing Steve. “Guilty!” he laughs.
“Yeah, you were the only person besides, like, grandpas who ate butter pecan,” Steve says, his memory becoming clearer now.
“Butter pecan is a good flavor, it’s popular enough that you guys kept it stocked! It's not like I liked rum raisin!” Eddie stands and walks over to the small kitchen area, asking, “Want a sandwich?”
“Yeah, thanks. I don’t know how I remembered that,” Steve admits. “That whole summer was… a lot.”
“Well, you probably remember because I was,” Eddie leans around the partition and lifts one finger, “one, the only person who orders butter pecan 'besides grandpas.' And two,” he lifts a second finger, “I was always there to see Steve The Hair Harrington in that sailor outfit.”
“Yeah, yeah, I get it. Oh, how the mighty fall,” Steve says, raising his eyebrows with a self-deprecating smile.
“Hey, no no no, that’s not–” Eddie stumbles over his words, setting the piece of bread down and stepping into the living room. His face looks flushed. “I just—”
There’s three sudden, consecutive slams of car doors from out front. Steve jumps to his feet, motioning for Eddie to stay where he is while Steve bends down low and carefully leans over the couch to peek out the blinds of the window behind it. He backs up a step when he sees Jason, Patrick, and a third member of the basketball team grabbing crowbars and bats from the trunk of their car, the items in odd juxtaposition to their black suits. “Shit,” Steve whispers under his breath, staying low and running towards Eddie.
“What is it?” Eddie’s eyes are wide as he sets the peanut butter-covered knife on the countertop.
“Jason and his goonies are here. Listen, I used to play with these guys. You sneak out to the boat house and I can try to… talk to them, distract them if they try to snoop around.” Steve says, grabbing the walkie and cramming it into Eddie’s hand.
“Dude, fuck no! I can’t leave you to the wolves,” Eddie protests under his breath, eyes searching Steve’s for something.
“Hey, they’re looking for you not me,” Steve offers what he hopes is a cocky smile and says, “I’m expendable here. Plus, I was practically their idol. Just go. Stay hidden and stay quiet, okay? We can’t have them finding you. Dustin’ll kill me.”
Eddie pauses for a second, but there’s a creak of the boards on the front porch and Steve shoves him towards the backdoor before heading to the front. He watches Eddie sneak out the back before swinging the front door open suddenly, catching Jason and Patrick off-guard. He tries for a playful smile and says, “What the hell, Jason? You buy from Rick, too?”
Jason and Patrick stare at Steve like he’s grown a second head for a beat before Jason bristles and snaps, “The hell are you doing here, Harrington?”
Steve laughs uncomfortably, peering around for the third teen and saying, “I told you, I’m buying weed from Rick. Stuff’s incredible. Best weed in Hawkins.”
“We aren't here for drugs." Jason all but snarls before seeming to remember himself, face shifting back into his golden boy mask so smoothly that it sends chills down Steve's spine. "We’re looking for that Munson freak. You seen him?”
“Why would I be with Eddie Munson?” Steve scoffs, eyes flitting down to where Jason is twirling the crowbar in his hand.
“Yeah, man, maybe we missed him or—” Patrick is saying, voice subdued.
“Harrington, listen, I know those little Hellfire punks are your friends or whatever,” Jason’s voice is understanding and compassion covering up the sticky sweet venom underneath. “But that freak killed Chrissy. You’re sure he isn’t here?”
Steve’s eyes look from the crowbar back to Jason then Patrick. “Nope, just me here. All by myself.”
“I thought you said you were here with Rick.” Patrick catches the lie and Steve flinches at being caught. This is enough for Jason and he angrily pushes past Steve into the small lake home. Patrick follows the blonde boy and Steve curses under his breath again.
“Right, yeah, I meant that I was here alone waiting here for Rick. He’s out and—”
“You making yourself two sandwiches?” Jason asks from the kitchen. He suddenly is stalking up to Steve, eyes flashing and so sure of himself. For a brief moment, Steve wonders if this is what he looked like in Jonathan’s eyes all those years ago. "Or are you playing housewife for Rick who… stepped out?"
“No, I was hungry.” He states, backing up a step, looking at Patrick before refocusing on Jason. The sound of the third boy’s footsteps on the front porch make Steve spin around to face him.
“Harrington?” the guy sputters, dumbfounded, before he looks to Jason.
“I think that Munson’s in this house, isn’t he, Steve?” Jason asks, taking one step closer. “And I think that, for some reason, you’re hiding him. Now tell me,” he jabs Steve in the chest with the crowbar, “why would you be here, all alone, with that freak?”
“Maybe he really doesn’t kno—” Patrick starts, clearly trying to deescalate his friend, but is cut off.
“No, he knows something. You two search the house. I’ll make sure Harrington stays put.”
Steve frowns, watching the two younger boys wander further into the house. He looks back to Jason who is eyeing him inquisitively. The icy gaze of Jason burns through Steve’s skin like fire, seemingly peeling back layers of him, trying to see inside. Steve tries not to squirm under it, crossing his arms and shifting his weight to one foot, giving Jason his most bored look.
“This is fucking stupid, man,” Steve says, forcing a light laugh. “Look, I’m just here to buy some weed. I’m sure Rick’ll be back any second and—”
“Shut up.” Jason’s voice is deadly calm.
Steve rolls his eyes, drumming his fingers on his bicep. “You don’t even know that Eddie has anything to do with Chrissy’s death. You’re just making assum—”
The crowbar is at his throat as Jason eyes burn. “ Don’t talk about Chrissy.”
The third boy—Steve thinks he remembers the guy’s name is Tyler—returns to the living room at the same time as Patrick, saying, “I didn’t find Munson anywhere in here.”
“Yeah, let’s just go, Jay. It’s getting dark out.” Patrick says to Jason, shifting on his feet. The guy looks petrified.
“We could check the boat house?” Tyler asks.
Steve stiffens. Jason’s eyes gleam as he nods and, in that moment, Steve lunges for the crowbar. His fingers start to close around the cool metal, but Coach must still be running those brutal drills because Jason’s reflexes are faster. He rips the crowbar back before Steve’s hand can fully close around it and suddenly, it’s being swung down. Metal cracks against the side of his skull above his ear and Steve’s knees give out and his vision goes white with pain for a second, falling sideways onto the hardwood floor. He hisses through his teeth, on his hands and knees on the floor, squeezing his eyes shut as his head pounds like it’s been split open. He hears Patrick yelling in a panicked, almost distorted voice.
“He’s fine. C’mon, Harrington, you’re coming with us.” The blonde’s free hand wraps around Steve’s bicep and yanks him to his feet.
The three boys surround Steve, Jason and Patrick on either side and Tyler behind as they make their way towards the boat house in the fading dregs of light of the setting sun. Steve prays that Eddie had enough sense to book it while he was stalling the three basketball players inside. Sees movement in the corner of one of the small windows and sighs. Of course not. Of course, Munson is still in the damn boat house. Steve weighs his options. Jason is… slightly unhinged and does not need to be anywhere near Eddie, but Steve’s track record of fighting is miserable and he doubts he’ll last more than four seconds in a three-on-one scuffle. Although, Patrick has been lagging behind and seems jumpy and out-of-it so maybe it’ll be a two-on-one fight?
So, that’s what Steve decides to do.
He turns on his heel and brings a fist up into Tyler’s jaw before he can think too hard about this decision. The teen instantly drops and Steve almost whoops because he’d knocked him out in one blow like the Russian soldier back at Starcourt. But there’s no time for celebrating because Jason is suddenly yanking him by the back of the shirt and slamming him on the ground, knocking all the air from his lungs. Steve gasps in air and tries to get up but Jason’s swinging the crowbar down. Steve rolls out of the way, tries to scramble to his feet again, but Jason gets a handful of the front of his shirt and slams him back into the ground. He pins either of Steve’s arms under his knees, lifts his fist, and sends a blow to Steve’s right eye, sending his world spinning. Steve curses up at the teenager, hips wriggling and body jerking, trying to throw him off. But Jason is in peak physical condition and Steve’s workouts are his occasional one-mile runs before days of slacking at Family Video.
“I know you’re in there, freak!” Jason yells at the boat house. “The game’s over!”
“Are you stupid? He’s not here,” Steve says with a groan. “Besides, don’t you think your little witch hunt is a tad insane?”
“Shut up.” Jason growls before turning back to the boat house.
Steve uses Jason’s momentary distraction to try to break out of his hold. Jason tips backwards at the sudden intense thrashing and Steve yanks his arms free, hands connecting with Jason’s chest to push him back farther, tries to knock him off-balance. Jason tips back and Steve grabs for the crowbar. He takes a moment to toss it haphazardly into the night before trying to shimmy his body from underneath the blonde’s, but Jason is right back, grabbing Steve’s left wrist. Steve rears back his right arm and punches Jason in the ear. They scuffle for a few seconds before, not surprisingly, Steve finds himself pinned again. Jason sitting atop his stomach and holding his arms to the ground.
Steve can see the manic energy in Jason’s wide eyes and kicks his legs, trying to break free again. He’s half-convinced Vecna is using this guy as a vessel like how it had used Billy. But there’s a self-righteousness in Jason that rings different and almost makes him equally as frightening as the monsters in the Upside Down.
“You better get out here, Munson! Come get your little lapdog!” Jason’s voice is incensed and booming, cutting through the quiet lakefront lot.
Steve bucks his hips, trying to throw Jason off him, but the other just anchors himself and releases Steve’s right hand to send another solid hit to the left side of his face. Steve's head whips to the side with the hit and he groans, what he’d said earlier coming back to him, “Oh, how the mighty fall." And Steve lies there, as the newest Golden Boy of Hawkins High draws back for another blow.
Steve hears “Get the hell off him!” and a blunt thwack and suddenly all the weight falls off his body. He blinks, but his eye is watering and stinging and his head is throbbing from the blow Jason landed as someone else’s hands grab him, trying to scrabble to lift him up.
“C’mon, Steve, get up, get up, get up!” Eddie’s voice pleads as Steve’s eyes finally come into focus.
He wheezes, staggering to his feet with Eddie’s help. Eddie’s brow is creased and his eyes constantly are yoyo-ing between Steve and Jason behind them. There’s an oar in Eddie’s hand and Steve can only assume Eddie used it to knock the other teen out. He absently wonders why Patrick isn’t jumping on them but doesn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth. Eddie is practically dragging him the distance to the boat house, Steve’s head throbbing all across the left side and his center of gravity seems off. He’s gained his bearings a little more when Eddie suddenly scoops him up with a strained grunt ("Hey! Put me down, Munson!") and then plops him in a little, metal skiff boat, tossing the walkie talkie in after him. He grips the side tightly as the boat heaves and sways in the water when Eddie jumps in alongside him. Watches as Eddie unties the boat and pushes off. He can hear Jason yelling at Patrick and watches as Eddie tries and fails to start the boat’s motor.
“C’mon, you piece! Of! Shit! We gotta get outta here!” The other man curses over and over, pulling the chord futilely and listening to the sad puttering of the useless motor.
Steve sits up quickly, picks up an oar from where it sits in the small boat’s hull, and starts paddling. Eddie looks back to see what Steve’s doing before seeming to remember he has the other oar in his hand in a death grip. He follows Steve’s lead and falls to a seat, plunging his oar into the water. The two start paddling as fast as they can. Eddie’s lack of skill and Steve’s third or fourth possible concussion make them a pretty even match and, by the time Jason and Patrick burst into the small boat house, they’ve gotten the boat out a little ways onto Lover’s Lake.
Jason dives into the water after urging Patrick to follow suit and Eddie’s voice is high-pitched and frantic, “Why doesn’t he just give up?!”
Adrenaline has been keeping Steve paddling and he huffs, “Chrissy must have been one hell of a girlfriend.”
“Yeah, or this guy’s just a bloodthirsty psychopath !”
Jason is slowly gaining on them, pausing only to encourage his friend Patrick to swim faster. Steve wants to scream out in frustration, but just pushes his tired body to keep going. A hand rises from the water and grabs Eddie’s side of the boat, tilting it as Jason reaches them. It’s like the climax of every horror movie Steve has ever seen, except instead of a masked man or muck monster, it’s America’s Sweetheart rising from the inky depths to kill them. Until a dingy, white shoe kicks the blonde in the face. Eddie is on his butt, screaming and stomping at Jason as if he’s a giant bug he’s trying to squash. If Steve wasn’t so worried about Eddie’s swimming abilities and-or having to possibly try and fistfight Jason while in the water, it would be almost comical.
Jason releases his grip, looking back to Patrick for help and that’s when Steve notices that Patrick has stopped pursuing them about two feet back. It’s dark and he can barely make out the other boy even at such a close distance, but even though Jason is calling out to him, he seems to be looking off in another direction. He hears Eddie’s breath hitch in his throat when suddenly, Patrick is dragged under. Disappearing into the lake.
And then, like a missile, Patrick’s body is shooting out of the water only to hover five feet above it, hoisted up by some invisible force that Steve knows is Vecna.
“Holy shit! Shit!” Steve exclaims at the same time Eddie jumps backwards, legs smacking the edge of the boat and sending him falling into the water. “Shit! Eddie!” Steve calls, scrambling to the edge of the boat, the tilting and rocking making his head swim.
Eddie gasps as he breaks surface and Steve is reaching out for him when the chilling sound of a bone snapping echoes over the water. He forces himself to not look. To focus on Eddie as he grabs Eddie’s outstretched arms, Eddie’s big hands, cold from the unexpected swim, wrapping around his forearms tightly. He grunts, pulling Eddie into the boat as the first snap of bone is followed by the sound of twenty more. When Eddie collapses into his chest, safely in the skiff boat, Steve looks up and feels the blood drain from his face as he sees Patrick’s mangled body floating in the air. Like a broken marionette. Arms and legs at unnatural angles. And then, just like that, his distorted body falls like a rock into the lake, the splash the only sound breaking the silence of the night.