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Here For A Reason

Summary:

A story about what happens after...
After your life is torn down to the studs, when you’re forced to rebuild, to reframe, to reconsider now that you know monsters are real and jocks could kiss you and your little life is worth something after all...
After the world you thought you knew shifts focus and the path you thought was right diverges and you realize that the one thing making you happy is not who you expected...
A story about Eddie and Steve realizing that maybe, against all odds, they're each other's reasons for still being here.

Chapter 1: The Biggest American Shitshow

Chapter Text

EDDIE

Eddie woke up in the hospital three days after they brought him back.

The transition from a pleasant, fuzzy nothingness to all too much all at once was jarring; like he suddenly rose from the dead.

He felt it in his gut first – literally and figuratively. A deep, dull throbbing all around his middle, pinching his nerves, needles and a tightness that was too unfamiliar – and then the sense that he wasn’t supposed to be here.

The flashes came back to him: red lightning, a bone deep cold, screeches and hordes of black leather bodies, their stink and talons surrounding him. And then pain, so much pain. And everything slowing, seeping away. Dustin’s face above him, crying. Eddie’s heart slowing, a resistant peace descending.

And then quicker, briefer bursts: hands pulling him, dragging a scream from his unconsciousness as the force opened the gashes and gapes at his side. A sling around his middle, under his neck, pulling at his hair, soaking his blood, lifting him slowly, hands cradling him up, and up and up, and then a crash. Pain. So much pain. And cries, that he thought were his own, but also enveloping him.

And now this. Pain, yes, but it was quiet. The calm and clean of a hospital room, sunlight shining through the windows, birds chirping eagerly, a scent of flowers.

Could they have pulled it off? Did it work?

They. He remembered suddenly. If he was here, where were they?

Eddie jerked up, gasping out at the motion, eyes swinging around the room, looking for one of their faces, any face.

And that’s when he felt it. That’s when he felt the cold cuff around his wrist, the dinging of the metal against the bed railing bringing him crashing back to reality.

***

The first person who deigned to address him after his return to consciousness was a doctor. An old, white, round man who reminded Eddie too much of Mr. Carlson, his third-grade teacher who ignored the classroom bullies flicking staples, rocks, gum at Eddie all year long and was present for one of his most public humiliations involving a denied bathroom pass after three sodas on a school field trip. Eddie didn’t know if the bile in his throat was from that memory or his present shitty reality.

‘Frankly, you’re lucky to be alive, Mr. Munson. The blood loss was severe, and the recovery will be slow and painful, but we got you patched up,’ he said, not making eye contact with Eddie at all but instead addressing the clipboard in his hand. When he did look up, his eyes were scanning Eddie’s pillow, the flowers on his nightstand, the silver cuff on his wrist – anywhere but Eddie’s face.

‘You’ll understand the additional precautions we’re taking, given the… circumstances.’ At this, the doctor glanced at the uniformed officer at the door. ‘We understand there are some people waiting to speak with you. Their patience has run thin, I’m afraid, but waking from the kind of surgery you had takes time, I told them. Not that they were listening,’ the doctor grimaced slightly and then finally looked at Eddie. ‘Son, I’d advise you to get a lawyer as soon as possible. I wouldn’t… you’re not… there’s no obligation to speak with them while you’re under our care and you’re on pain medication. Do you understand what I’m saying?’

The doctor’s eye contact was now increased from barely there to almost too intense. His voice had gotten softer and quieter as he spoke, and another quick glance at the officer told Eddie that maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe this doctor was nothing like that asshole teacher. Maybe he wasn’t ignoring the injustices coming Eddie’s way.

‘Yes, sir,’ Eddie replied softly. He appreciated the doctor’s advice, but his old habit of sticking it to the man and mantra of ‘deny, deny, deny’ were his go-to moves in any case.

‘Good,’ the doctor coughed out slightly. ‘That’s good.’

The doctor’s warning was timely, as moments later, Chief Powell and a few suited men strode in. They’d barely got a breath out before Eddie stated clearly: ‘Lawyer.’

‘Now, Munson, we just want to clear the air…’

‘Lawyer.’

‘When we get lawyers involved…’

‘Lawyer.’

Eddie was a broken record for the next five go-rounds, and they finally relented, slinking out, throwing disgusted looks over their shoulders. ‘Slimeball’ he thought he heard one say. Eddie couldn’t help but smirk. Better than ‘murderer’.

The doctor had remained in the room while the brief exchange had taken place. He coughed slightly and drew Eddie’s gaze.

‘You do have a few other visitors who are waiting to see you. Are you up for it?’

Fuck. He knew this doctor had likely literally seen inside of him, but Eddie was still immediately embarrassed by the tears springing to his eyes as he nodded yes.

***

‘Eddie!’ Dustin screeched into the room, hobbling over on a single crutch, and coming to an abrupt halt about a foot from the bed as he met Eddie’s eyes. And Eddie didn’t need a mirror to see how he looked – Dustin’s face said it all. From joy, to horror, to sadness, as his eyes moved from Eddie’s face to his bruises, the cuff and… his hair?

‘Don’t tell me I’m having a bad hair day, Henderson?’ Eddie attempted a joke, weakened by a cough at the longest sentence he’d uttered in days.

‘Nah, man, looking good as ever,’ Dustin smirked back, but something in his eyes was guarded. ‘I’m just… oh god, Eddie.’ And that was all the restraint he had, rushing toward Eddie and enveloping his head in a hug.

Those tears again. Eddie hadn’t cried this much in years. Weakness wasn’t always a luxury he was afforded being who he was, where he was, when he was.

‘Munson.’ Another voice at the door. Eddie craned his neck slightly around Dustin’s embrace to see Steve, sheepishly standing by the door, looking bruised and battered, scarred but alive. Eddie raised his eyebrows in hello, limited in his options by Dustin’s continued embrace.

‘I do have to breathe eventually, Dustin,’ Eddie mumbled into a sweaty corner of Dustin’s neck.

‘No touching!’ a deep voice sounded from the door, the officer leaning into the room, glaring at Dustin’s back.

‘Sorry, sorry.’ Dustin sprung away, rubbing tears from his eyes. ‘Fucking asshole,’ he mumbled to Eddie under his breath. Eddie smirked but missed Dustin’s warmth immediately. Dustin was here, Steve was here, they were safe…

‘What the fuck happened?’ Eddie couldn’t take it anymore. Dustin and Steve glanced at each other quickly, then back at the guard. Steve’s brows twitched twice, Dustin’s twitched back, in some unspoken communication.

‘Well,’ Steve started with a cough. ‘After we found you, in the woods, after your attack,’ he started, punctuating the words found, woods, and attack, seemingly for the guard’s benefit, ‘we rushed you here as fast as we could. We thought you were dead, man.’ That last part was softer, quivering, genuine, meant just for Eddie.

Eddie nodded, but the confusion must have shown on his face, so Dustin continued.

‘Someone must have attacked you because of the vicious, unfounded manhunt,’ those last three words almost yelled over his shoulder at the officer outside, ‘and left you for dead.’

‘Someone?’ Eddie asked, not totally following.

‘Yeah, man,’ Steve laughed outlandishly, ‘what else but some crazy person,’ emphasis person, ‘could have caused injuries like that? Not like, monsters from another dimension, am I right?’

Eddie thought maybe his painkillers were up too high. His nodding head turned to shaking back and forth, eyebrows drawn together right, a desperate look on his face, hoping to convey his true thoughts: what the fuck is going on. Dustin finally took pity and mumbled out quickly, quietly: ‘It’s a cover story, don’t blow it, you have no memory of what happened, got it?’

Eddie’s head continued to shake. ‘I definitely have no memory of any of that happening,’ Eddie stated slowly and clearly. Dustin tapped his nose twice, as if Eddie was playing along; Steve rolled his eyes at Dustin’s back.

‘And what about… the… attack?’ Eddie asked slowly. What fucking code was he supposed to use here to ask his ultimate question. ‘Did I… win?’

At this, Dustin and Steve’s immediate eye contact and matching grins gave Eddie the answer he needed. No words required.

‘Fuck,’ Eddie breathed out, tears yet again springing to his eyes, as his head dropped back onto the pillow in genuine relief. ‘Fucking shit. We won.’

‘We won, man. He’s gone,’ Dustin replied, grinning from ear to ear, any pretense of a code gone. A relieved laugh bubbled out of Eddie, and he apparently couldn’t hold anything in today.

‘And everyone’s okay?’ Eddie laughed, sighed, cried back at them. And the mood in the room shifted immediately.

‘Max…’ Dustin started, swallowing, continuing with his eyes downcast, ‘…she was hurt. Attacked like… Chrissy.’

Chrissy. Still as a statue. White eyes. Hovering. Cracking. Falling, a lifeless form crashing into the dull carpet of Eddie’s living room. The memory was right there, at the surface, springing forward; would it always be so close? Eddie didn’t realize that he’d moaned out loud until both Dustin and Steve took a step forward, Steve’s hand finding Eddie’s ankle, Dustin’s his wrist.

‘She’s alive, Eddie. She’s in a coma, broken bones, but… alive.’ Steve whispered.

That helped, a bit of relief flowing in.

‘You obviously couldn’t have hurt her,’ Steve continued, ‘since you were practically dead at the time.’ What a fucking silver lining. His ideal alibi was Max’s also near-death experience.

Eddie squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head again. ‘What the fuck… what the fuck…’ his breathing coming fast and quick. Flashes in his mind of Chrissy’s white eyes, Max’s red hair, bones cracking, red lighting, his flesh tearing... ‘What….’ He clutched his chest with his one free hand, eyes flinging open, scanning the room, trying to find something to ground him here, not in those nightmare flashes – landing on Steve’s worried gaze, Dustin running out of the room screaming for help.

‘It’s okay, Eddie, breathe, okay, just breathe,’ Steve scrambled to take Eddie’s hanging, mimicking deep breaths, eyes wide and worried. ‘Can we get some fucking help?!’ he screamed over his shoulder.

Eddie continued to clutch at his chest, vision going blurry.

‘Fuck, Eddie, stay with us, stay here! Oh, fuck off! Help him!’ Steve was yelling at the guard, who now was trying to pull him away from Eddie. ‘Help!’

The last thing Eddie saw before fading away was Steve’s frantic eyes on him, mouth wide and yelling for help, fighting to hang onto Eddie’s hand as he was being pulled away.

***

Eddie woke some time later. The room was dark, a monitor beeping steadily. There was something over his mouth and a renewed dullness but a new pain now, somewhere on his chest. He twitched his wrist; the cuffs were still there. He felt the morphine button in his hand, and he pressed it. Repeatedly. It wasn’t helping. The pain was growing too much, and he started to moan.

After a few minutes of the pitiful sound, a nurse came in, not turning on the lights. He looked at her desperately, trying to catch her, motioning to his chest, moans growing louder.

‘Shut your crying mouth, murdering son of a bitch,’ she whispered into his ear, knocking the morphine button out of his hand and silencing the monitor. ‘You deserve all this and more. The good lord will get you. We’ll get you.’ Even in the dark, Eddie could see the hate in her eyes. The fear he felt in that moment, vulnerable, at her mercy, was more immediate and urgent than anything he’d felt in the Upside Down. At least then, he’d had a plan and a weapon. Here… one click of a button and that was it. She could end him.

The irony of that thought – surviving a literal hell dimension to die at the hands of a god-fearing Hoosier – caused Eddie’s lip to twitch in an almost laugh.

The nurse didn’t see it that way, interpreting his dark humor thought as some sort of threat. ‘Demon…’ she hissed at him, glaring, backing out of the room. ‘You deserve this suffering.’ She spat on the floor, crossed herself and slammed the door behind her.

A gurgled laugh escaped Eddie, and the waves of pain soon lulled him into complacency.

***

Eddie’s next waking was easier – someone must have turned the necessary meds back on, and Eddie loopily hoped it was the devil-fearing nurse, maybe after a moment of regret and remembering that Eddie was also a child of god and innocent until proven guilty… or more likely the new shift nurse.

‘Hey Eddie,’ an unfamiliar voice spoke to him from a chair by the window. He looked over, not recognizing the face but knowing that he was familiar somehow. ‘You had a blood clot, but it’s all fixed now. Do you remember?’

Eddie remembered the pain in his chest and Steve’s frantic eyes. He nodded yes, still not sure what was going on and his voice hard to find. He croaked out: ‘Doctor?’

The stranger had a moment of confusion, but it cleared quickly as he smiled and introduced himself: ‘No. I’m Jim Hopper.’

Hopper. Right. The dead Chief of Police. The dead Chief of Police? Did that mean Eddie was dead? Was he meant to spend the afterlife with a guy who’d pulled Eddie over once for a broken taillight and confiscated an unopened six pack from his passenger seat?

The confusion must have shown on Eddie’s face.

‘Your friends… Dustin, Nancy, that Harrington kid?’ Hopper started, Eddie relaxing a bit at the familiar names. ‘They came to me, told me what you did.’ The confusion was back; what Eddie actually did or what their damn code and cover story said?

‘In the Upside Down,’ Hopper continued. ‘I’m so sorry that this all landed on you, kid. I was in there for 20 minutes with a gun just one time and I still have nightmares so… all this…’ he gestured vaguely at Eddie’s general form and puffed out a long breath. ‘And what you did in there? That’s some fucking hero shit, you know that right?’ he asked with a smirk. Eddie was still too confused, too doped up, too nervous to acknowledge it. Hopper tracked it and continued more slowly.

‘We’re working on getting you out of here. It might take some time but, there are people who are trying to help you. It’s not easy but it’ll get done so… don’t lose hope, okay?’

Eddie nodded back at Hopper, still unsure what was going on.

‘Your uncle’s right outside, pretty pissed at me for getting the first turn, but I pulled the former cop card on him. You okay to see him?’

Eddie nodded again. Uncle Wayne. He hadn’t thought he’d see him again, their last moment together some inconsequential everyday domestic thing that Eddie barely registered it. How long had it been? Just a week?

‘Okay, kiddo. Like, I said, it’ll take time, okay? And keep doing what you’ve been doing: shutting the hell up.’ Hopper said with finality and something like pride.

After Hopper left, the visit with Uncle Wayne felt more normal but more surreal. Eddie cried for what felt like the millionth time since his return, and after a dry spell of decade before that, it was overwhelming to him, just how much he was feeling and how it was spilling out of him without his permission.

Eddie still couldn’t bring himself to say much, content to let Uncle Wayne hold his hand and cry, apologizing for something but Eddie didn’t know what. He caught bits of what Wayne was saying: he never believed it, knew Eddie was innocent, the damn town. Something about broken windows in the trailer. Graffiti on his van. A manhunt, satanism, vigilantes.

It was too much, and Eddie closed his eyes to this reality, Wayne tapering off his updates as he saw what must have been grief or pain or just damned disappointment on Eddie’s face.

‘I’m so sorry, Eddie,’ Wayne continued, as Eddie drifted off to sleep.

***

It was a long process, like Hopper had predicted.

A long stay in the hospital, thankfully without further complications after his blood clot, but his wounds were tricky, the doctors said, not healing the right way, not as they predicted, did he remember what had made them? It looked like a small bear or maybe a large dog or maybe a knife (or a few knives)? Did he know what was causing the infections, the slow healing, the fever?

Eddie barely knew what day it was.

But time must have been passing, because he slowly got better. But the cuffs stayed on, the officer stayed outside, and visitations were halted, except for his regular doctor (Dr. Mason, Eddie learned – and would never forget due to a recurring Mason-Munson bit that the doc loved) and Uncle Wayne on what seemed like an every-other-day schedule.

Eventually, he was released – into the care of the state. From the nice, clean solo hospital room to an overcrowded, shared rehabilitation space for convicts, felons, losers, whoever they needed to keep off the safe streets of the county but who needed a daily regimen of something to not be a menace to themselves or society.

Again, time had no meaning here; whenever Eddie perked up too much or started paying too much attention, the horror of his current reality set it and so he retreated back inside of himself. He took his medicine – antibiotics, something for the pain, something for his nerves, and who knows how many other somethings – allowed them to change his bandages, did his physical therapy of a few laps around the floor with his feet cuffed, all under the watchful eye of apathetic orderlies and twitchy guards.

Fewer visitors now, just Uncle Wayne a few times (maybe weekly? Who knows.), in a shared room, no privacy, no comfort, and little conversation beyond a quick hello and quick how-are-you-doing and continued defeated apologies that the bail was too high, I’m sorry, I’m trying, I don’t know if I can, Eddie, I’m so sorry.

No word from the rest of them, no Dustin, no Steve, nobody who had been through that hell with him – but Eddie wasn’t sure what he would say to them even if they were right there. He was going through a new hell all on his own.

The cops still came by regularly. The FBI a few times. His court appointed lawyer who seemed more scared of Eddie than he should have been, given Eddie’s bandaged and medicated state.

And once, some suited government agent in a cheap suit and a good haircut, making Eddie sign document after document signing his memories of the Upside Down away, promising not to talk on fear of death or imprisonment or whatever. Eddie signed. Not a problem, Eddie thought. Don't want to remember anyway. 

A few times Eddie thought back to that first moment waking up in the hospital, that feeling of safety and cleanliness and hope; to Dustin squeezing his head in happiness, his tears falling onto Eddie’s forehead; of Steve’s hands in his, his desperation to keep Eddie, screaming for help; at that fucking euphoric high at hearing that they had done it, they had killed Vecna, they had saved the world.

But realizing that those few shining minutes were far outshadowed by the rest of his time back in the real-world broke Eddie’s heart. And so, he stopped thinking of them. And he tried to stop thinking, generally. Even when a rare glance in the mirror showed that at some point someone had cut half his hair off (the god-fearing nurse, he bet); his long mane now uneven, bangs at a slant, one section cut up so short it was sticking out while the one right next to it still fell to his shoulder, others somewhere in between. He could barely muster a response and instead tied it back with a length of string that he pulled from his drab prison scrubs.

So, it was a real shock to his system when one day he was led not to the communal visiting area but instead the small, stained private room reserved for his lawyer’s visits – only to find himself seated across from a stranger.

By the time Eddie had registered that this wasn’t his lawyer, what was he doing here, who was this, and started looking towards the now closed door, guard facing away from him, he was stuck – and frozen in terror.

‘No need for the horrified stare, Mr. Munson – believe it or not, I’m here to help you,’ the stranger smiled a toothy smile, a melodic enunciation making his sentence seem like the beginning of a joke. ‘Murray Bauman, and today, I’m your lawyer.’

‘You’re not my lawyer,’ Eddie replied slowly, mouth and brain foggy from disuse.

The stranger called Murray smirked at him, ‘No shit. But for the sake of you and me and all the finagling I had to do to get in here, I am your lawyer. Stare at me with a dumb look on your face if you agree.’

Eddie wrinkled his nose and scoffed, just to be contrary. ‘Fine. You’re my fucking lawyer.’

‘And they said you couldn’t graduate high school,’ Murray cooed at him. Eddie flicked him off, that one motion and its associated muscle memory bringing a bit of him back. And for the first time in a long time, Eddie didn’t hate that flicker of recognition of the old him.

‘Now then: I’m going to tell you a story, and you’re going to listen carefully and then do whatever mental gymnastics you have to do to commit it to memory – are you with me so far?’ Murray nodded his head slowly as he spoke, as if to a toddler.

‘Oh, I’m hooked already,’ Eddie replied with a sarcastic grin.

‘Good boy,’ Murray said and opened a file folder on the table in front of him. ‘You lived in a shithole, Mr. Munson.’

Eddie started to growl and sit forward, Uncle Wayne had worked hard for that (admitted) shithole, some of that old spark again coming out, but Murray held up a hand without looking up and continued.

‘There were maybe some gas lines and wells and things dug around the trailer park that shouldn’t have been. Something crazy must have happened and that night when dear Chrissy Cunningham was visiting her very nice friend Eddie Munson for some late-night tutoring,’ Murray was in the flow now, gesticulating as he talked, as Eddie’s nerves spiked at the mention of Chrissy’s name. ‘Well, wouldn’t you know it, there’s a naturally occurring toxic gas that was somehow in the air called…’ Murray looked down at the paper and attempted to sound something out silently, ‘…called a long scientific name that the judge and DA will love, that causes among other things, sudden blindness, constriction of the vessels and muscles, and a bunch of other convenient symptoms that match the causes of death of three individuals in and around the Hawkins area. Oh, and somehow might grow black mold instantly and cause spontaneous combustion, too.’

At this, Murray paused and looked directly at Eddie, all bravado gone.

‘You have got to be shitting me,’ Eddie replied dully.

‘Oh, I would never dream of making something like this up, only to save your so-far-useless life, Mr. Munson,’ Murray replied in a way that made it clear that was exactly what he was doing. ‘Why would a very reputable government agency and three independent environmental researchers sign off on something like this if it wasn’t completely real?’

Eddie shook his head, understanding but not comprehending. ‘Are people really going to believe that? They’re not stupid,’ though a slideshow of Mr. Carlson, Jason Carver, the nurse, and so many others all flashed quickly through his mind.

‘Oh, the lack of proper scientific education in the American school system will work in our favor, and Hawkins has a long history of unusual incidents causing unexplainable deaths… though going to the toxins well again was a little lazy, if you ask me,’ Murray grumbled the last part more to himself. ‘But comfort in the familiar, am I right?’ he grinned.

Murray continued: ‘Mr. Munson, you miraculously somehow weren’t exposed to that same gas even though you were like two feet away from her at the time… let’s hope they don’t look too closely at that one. But you were disoriented and of course traumatized, so you fled the scene, your secondary exposure to the gas somehow making you not immediately seek help because you were likely almost blinded too or something, so you know, dig into your own motivations to fill in the blanks there, mmkay?’

Eddie was still starting at Murray in disbelief, trying to process. ‘What the hell is going on and who the hell are you?’

‘Dingus, I’m the damn cavalry – Hopper sent me,’ Murray softening a bit at Eddie’s moment of clarity.

‘This is the… help that’s coming? That was going to take a long time but was definitely coming?’ Eddie asked quietly.

‘Yep,’ Murray answered cheerily. ‘I am the help.’ He paused. ‘Scratch that – cavalry’s better.’

‘Listen, kid,’ he continued, ‘I know it’s not great, but it fills everything in as cleanly as we can. Believe it or not, you adolescents aren’t the only ones who know about dimensions and portals and monsters. Maybe a few reputable government agencies do, too, you follow? And maybe all of them are pulling strings they wouldn’t normally be pulling because everyone’s just so fucking thrilled that it seems to be – finally and actually – over. And since you played a part in it…’

Eddie could not believe what he was hearing. Yes, he literally traveled to another dimension and fought demons, but the idea of a coordinated government cover-up and conspiracy theories was making his head spin in a way that he couldn’t help but ask…

‘Does this mean Area 51 is real?’

It’s like a lightbulb went off in Murray, who leaned in immediately, eagerly, ‘Oh, Mr. Munson, you find me when you’re finally free of this horror show and boy, do I have some information you would love…’

He caught himself and reeled it back in. ‘I digress. But seriously, it’s so good,’ he whispered eagerly, mind still clearly on the hidden alien bunker. ‘You got it? Questions, thoughts, feelings?’

‘This is a fucking trip, man. Is this going to work? No offense, but I created campaigns with more logic than this when I was 10.’

‘It’s working – just very fucking slowly. For some reason, the DA does not want to give up his perfectly gift-wrapped, satan-worshipping, at-the-scene-of-the-crime sacrificial lamb to this bullshit. And neither did the government at first, but let’s say they were convinced. They’ll all be convinced. You can’t argue with the government,’ Murray sighed wickedly, ‘But oh boy is it fun.’

‘When do I get out of here?’ Eddie recognized that the old Eddie would love to sit down with this crazy fucker and let the conversation flow, but he had more immediate concerns.

‘Soon,’ Murray answered. ‘Eventually. I have no idea. But you will – that’s what all this is for. There’s a very persistent group of teenyboppers out there that won’t let this go.’

Eddie’s heart surged at that – ‘How are they? How’s Max? Are they okay?’

Murray deflated a bit, ‘Max is hanging on. Still in a coma. Her body’s healing but her mind is… nobody knows if she’ll wake up.’ Eddie’s heart skipped a beat at that, the echo of his last attack after the last Max update.

‘The rest of them… I mean, where to start. Physically healthy, emotionally traumatized, but somehow still determined and obnoxious,’ Murray grumbled but almost with some affection, ‘You had the worst of it, Eddie. In every way.’ As if Eddie didn’t know that.

‘Why…’ Eddie started, knowing he was begging for a mocking response from Murray, or those treacherous tears to return. He realized he was rubbing at his knuckles, where his rings used to be, mimicking turning them, an old familiar habit, comforting him even without them there, ‘Why… where have they been?’ Fucking hell, Eddie thought, as he felt a lone tear roll down his cheek. But the sight of it seemed to declaw Murray for the moment.

‘Oh, kid,’ Murray started, shaking his head slowly, with a deep sigh, ‘They’ve tried. Believe me.’ Eddie did. ‘You’re a high-profile, regionally-televised murder suspect, the biggest American shitshow since New Coke.’ Eddie couldn’t help the laugh that sputtered out at that.

‘Nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me, Murray,’ Eddie smirked at him, Murray returning a grin.

‘You’re hard to get to, is my point. Hence, the ‘I’m your lawyer’ play we’re currently performing.’

‘Got it,’ Eddie said with a sad smile, arms crossed tightly, mind already wanting to retreat to the calming disassociation from before this insane visit. Murray seemed to sense this, and continued, still gently.

‘Don’t give up hope now, okay kid? You’ve been through a lot, I know, and I can’t imagine what the fuck this place is like but, I’m the cavalry, and help is coming. Light at the end of the tunnel. Just hang on a little longer. You’re a monster killer, remember? You can handle this.’ The genuine look in Murray’s eyes looked so out of place that Eddie couldn’t help but be shocked into hearing every word, feeling them deep in his core.

‘I didn’t kill the monster, you know. A bunch of them almost killed me.’

‘Okay, well, we won’t tell the government that, just in case they void these nice, fabricated lies, okay?’ Murray nodded; eyes narrowed at Eddie. Eddie mimed his lips zipped, with a smile.

***

And so, he waited. And sure enough, slowly, so slowly, too slowly, Murray proved himself right.

Eddie appeared in court, in an old smelly suit recovered from somewhere, crazy hair tied and slicked back as best possible. He let his real lawyer – still nervous but relatively competent, it seemed – speak to the judge, Eddie not really listening, his nerves buzzing in his ears instead.

He stood up when he was told, sat down when he was told. He kept his face as neutral as he could, tamping down those old instincts to smirk and fight back when those bullies on the other side of the bench started talking the same old shit people had been saying for years; Hopper’s voice in his head, ‘shut the fuck up.’ And so, he did.

He wasn’t sure how it happened but the angry look on the DA’s face, his lawyer’s relieved bug eyes, and a judge’s banging gavel brought him back to reality: he was going to be free. As they led him back out of court, he thought he caught a glimpse of faces through the window in the chamber door; faces he hadn’t seen in weeks (months?). A flash of a ballcap, an oversized flop of hair, a pair of big blue eyes, nothing registering clearly but overall giving the effect of a sudden burst of joy, that flared quickly but disappeared just as fast.

***

Uncle Wayne picked Eddie up the next day, relieved tears in his eyes, but something guarded, nervous, still not the old Wayne who had ruffled Eddie’s hair every day he got home without fail, made him a special concoction of tea, honey, mystery spices whenever he was sick, had struggled through reading Lord of the Rings for months (months!) just to have something to share with Eddie.

As they pulled up to the trailer, Eddie soon realized why. He slowly stepped out of the truck, eyes wide and scared. ‘What happened?’

‘Oh son, it’s been a long summer,’ Wayne sighed. Half the trailer looked like it had erupted in flames, scorch marks extending into the ground around it, the wall non-existent, melted into itself. Graffiti covered almost every available surface, mostly combinations of the words murderer, devil, hell, burn, a few pentacles and crosses tossed in seemingly at random. Police tape still hung from the sides of the door; glass scattered from where windows had been smashed.

‘People were real riled up, you know,’ Wayne nodded at the damaged trailer. ‘Took their anger out where they could. I’ve been staying up at Jordie’s, he’s got that spare room. But uh, then that gas report came out, folks got real spooked. Toxic environment and all that. Trailer park was shut down almost the next day, everybody left in a hurry.’

Eddie finally registered the eerie silence all around them, as he scanned the neighboring homes, most of them reeking of the coldness of abandonment, a few windows boarded up, some now empty lots, trash cans overflowing, a few forgotten pieces of laundry still flapping on a line across the street. ‘What does this mean? What are we doing here?’

‘That’s um… that’s what we need to talk about, son.’ And Wayne continued: the trailer was worth nothing, their belongings were worth nothing, and between Eddie’s medical bills, lawyer fees, the costs to get him to be standing here free – there was nothing left. ‘The plant shut down, too. It was just up the road from the Creel house, that’s where that sweet Max girl got exposed. Threat of sudden combustion and black mold wasn’t too good for business. It’s been, uh, it’s been tough, Eddie.’

Wayne sighed deeply, the final wall coming down. ‘There’s nothing left for us here, Eddie. I got a job, it’s just driving, trucking, but it’s not bad, it should get us back up on our feet. But it’s a six-month stint. On the road. The pay’s okay, should be enough to get us another place maybe a few towns over, or really, uh, wherever you want to go.’

From no mental stimulation in months, to standing here, taking all of this in – the destroyed trailer, Wayne’s news – Eddie was not keeping up. ‘Go where?’

‘You don’t want to stay here, do you?’

A simple question. Should have been obvious. And Eddie knew from the look on Wayne’s face, he was assuming Eddie’s answer was ‘no’. But if the answer was ‘no’, what had it all been for? It was to keep the world from changing. It was to save the world as it had been, to return to their lives. And frankly, he didn’t think he had the energy to move from this very spot.

Eddie had to believe he was still here for a reason.

‘I don’t know,’ he responded instead.

‘Hm, yeah, I know, Eddie. Big world out there. Big decision to make. I can try to get you a job on the crew with me, instead. You’re not the best driver, but I know you can follow a map,’ Wayne tried to joke. Eddie just shook his head, eyes downcast. He couldn’t know which life was worse: in the cab of a truck, alone with his thoughts for months at a time; starting in a new place, infecting it with the trauma he dragged with him and rebuilding on shaky ground; or staying right here, where yes, maybe some thought him a murderer, but others thought him a friend worthy enough to fight for.

‘Hm. Right. Okay, well, listen, here’s this,’ Wayne quietly handed a big bundle of cash, answering Eddie’s questioning gaze. ‘It’s not much but what I could scrape together. Should be able to get you set up somewhere for a few months, tide you over. Had to sell your van. Don’t give me that,’ he wagged a finger tersely at Eddie’s flinch, ‘It was already… well, it matched the house, so Jordie took it more for the parts than anything. You can have my truck when I leave, I obviously won’t need it on the road.’

Eddie quietly took the cash, stuffing it inside the small canvas bag that contained his things from the hospital, from the prison. ‘Thanks, Uncle Wayne.’

Wayne smiled, then coughed, looking down again: ‘I have to leave tonight.’ Eddie’s head jerked up in shock. ‘Tonight?’

‘I’ve been pushing back the start, seeing you were so close to release. I wanted to be here for this, but um, I think they’re already pissed at me for the delay, so… why don’t you go inside, pack up what you want, and I’ll drop you by that motel on State Street. Jordie’ll grab me later, take me to the job.’

And so, in shock, in silence, processing another trauma he didn’t expect – because he did, deep down, envision more movie nights on that old couch in the living room, more head ruffles, more microwaveable dinners in companionable silence with Wayne as part of the light at the other end of the tunnel – he slowly entered the trailer.

It was fairly empty, Wayne having cleared out most of their things, whatever had been left in the kitchen or living room likely already sold and now existing as the wad of cash in Eddie’s bag. When he saw his room, he let out a quick, defeated moan.

It looked like it had been ransacked. He remembered Wayne saying something about cops collecting evidence – and they must have taken anything that vaguely connected to what they saw as satanism or proof that Eddie was capable of a vicious murder.

And unfortunately, it seemed like that was a majority of what he owned.

Eddie’s books, posters, clothes, much of it missing, some of it destroyed, scattered around the room. He grabbed a trash bag and started shoving whatever he could find in it, without looking. And when he turned around, his heart broken again, noticing the empty space on the wall where his guitar used to be. He wondered where it was now, if it had been taken by the police or pawned; if its twin was still lying somewhere in the Upside Down, wondering if the Upside Down even existed anymore. His heart twinged again, thinking back to everything he’d sacrificed to get her, that beauty. At least it had been a worthy sacrifice. ‘She saved the world, after all,’ Eddie grimaced, touching the empty space.

As promised, Wayne dropped him at the motel, with a big hug that went on longer than maybe any other they’ve shared. Wayne pressed into his hand a piece of paper with a phone number, an answering service so Eddie can get in touch with him if needed. Promises of postcards and calls from the road when Eddie was settled. Reassurances that Eddie was strong, look at him, he’s healed up, free, he made it through, he can make it through this too, it wouldn’t be for long. And a few final apologies.

‘It’s okay, Uncle Wayne. I get it. I really do,’ Eddie tried to make the smile reach his eyes, not wanting to add more to Wayne’s guilt. ‘I’m sorry I caused this. The bills, lawyers. I’m so sorry.’

‘Oh, son, you can’t apologize for an act of nature.’ Of course, an unpredictable gas leak was the true cause of all their problems in Wayne’s eyes.

Wayne handed over the keys to the truck, as his old pal Jordie pulls up in his own, waving a hello to Eddie thru the glass. And just like that, Eddie was alone.

***

It took him about two minutes of standing in front of the motel to realize it was going to be a waste of money. He had counted the small wad of cash – it wouldn’t last him long. And for the life of him, Eddie couldn’t figure out where he would get more once it was out. That he wasn’t the most employable person in town was the understatement of the century. And any income from his drug stash was not a possibility, perfectly decent drugs wasting away in an evidence locker somewhere.

So, Eddie returned to the only real home he’d ever known. Stashing the truck in the tree line so nobody would know he was there, Eddie scrambled back to the decrepit trailer, crawled into a pile of pillows (his old, stained mattress in the molten mess in the newly open-air end of the trailer) in a corner of his room and fell asleep.

When he awoke, he was starving, sweaty, disoriented. It was dark out again – had he slept through a whole day?

He quickly rinsed himself off with a hose that was thankfully working, then drove maybe a few more miles than necessary just to buy himself some essentials at a gas station a few towns over: chips, soda, cereal, cigarettes. And yes, maybe a small bag of weed from a guy behind the store, but Eddie thought he deserved a treat, all things considered.

Driving back to the trailer, Eddie saw the turnoff that would take him towards school, and his mind continued, that it was only a few turns beyond that to Henderson’s house, and a little further on, Gareth’s and his garage, where Eddie had spent so many hours hanging out, playing, laughing, drinking. It felt like a scene from a movie he’d seen years ago and could barely remember.

He couldn’t imagine making that turn. It felt like a life that belonged to somebody else. And so, he continued to drive, straight ahead, straight home.