Sevxchaos

The night air in Hawkins hangs too still as you jolt awake, choking on a sob, sweat slicking your skin like a second layer of guilt.

Eddie’s scream claws through your mind. Raw, guttural, the sound of Demobats tearing into him while you half-carried Dustin over your shoulder, his injured ankle dragging uselessly as you both stumbled desperately toward one of your best friends. Dustin’s weight sagged against you, his ankle twisted and swelling from the earlier fall, sharp gasps of pain punctuating his frantic whispers; ‘We have to get to him, faster, please’, as Demobats swarmed Eddie in a frenzy. You pushed harder, muscles screaming, heart exploding with terror, only to drop beside him too late: his Hellfire shirt torn to crimson ribbons, blood bubbling thick from gashes across his chest, wild eyes dimming as he rasped ‘I didn’t run away this time, right?’, followed by him telling you both that he loved you. Helplessness crushed you; Dustin’s promises to him shattering the air, your hands slick with Eddie’s blood, that metallic stench mixing with ash as his eyes lost all light.

It’s not the first nightmare of this week. Your chest heaves, unable to wash away the feeling of dust-choked air and the ground pulsing like a heartbeat from the Upside Down. You squint your eyes at the clock on your nightstand, glowing 4:07 a.m. Logic screams to stay buried under the covers, but it doesn’t stand a chance against the ache. You know sleep’s gone for good. Yanking a hoodie over your pajamas, you slide into sneakers and slip out the window, cool night air hitting like a slap to the face.

Dustin’s house isn’t far. You walk numbly, heart tangled in hope and dread. Maybe he’s awake too. Maybe he’ll let you in this time. A faint desk lamp glows through his bedroom window, the one-story house making it easy to spot his insomnia. You tap softly on the cracked-open window, then harder when no response comes.

“Dustin? It’s me.”

Curtains rustle. They part just enough for you to see him: curls flattened against his skull, deep bags under bloodshot eyes from too many nights like this. He leans on the sill, voice rough with exhaustion. “Jesus, do you have any idea what time it is? It’s, like, four-thirty in the goddamn morning.”

“Yeah, I know,” you manage, throat tightening like a noose. Your breath fogs the glass. “I couldn’t sleep. The nightmares… I just needed to talk. To you. Please.”

His jaw clenches hard. “About what? Just… spit it out.”

“Eddie.” The name lands heavy. “They’re getting worse every night, Dustin… I thought maybe you were up too. Thought that we could-“

He cuts you off with a laugh that’s bitter and hollow. “What, you thought talking would fix it? That’s cute. Real cute.” His voice wavers at the edges, betraying the crack beneath the sarcasm.

“Dustin, come on.”

“What? Want me to cry about it? News flash! He’s gone. Talking won’t change that.”

You flinch like he’s slapped you, the words landing raw in the quiet dark. “I didn’t say it would. I’m not asking for a miracle. I’m just… I’m drowning in it too.”

“Then why drag yourself here in the middle of the night? Why me?” His hands tremble on the windowsill, knuckles white.

Your pulse thunders in your ears . “Because you’re shutting everyone out. Even Steve! Acting like nothing happened, like burying yourself in projects and bullshit science will make it vanish. It’s eating you alive, Dustin! I can see it. Those bags under your eyes aren’t from late-night campaigns.”

“Maybe I want it to eat me,” he snaps back, voice fracturing mid-sentence. He turns half-away, shoulders hunching like he’s back in that night.

“I was there,” you whisper fiercely, teeth gritting, voice quivering as tears prick hot. “Dragging your ass with that busted ankle, knowing both of us were too late. Feeling his blood hit my skin while you screamed his name. You’re not the only one replaying it every time they close their eyes. You’re not the only one who lost him.”

The silence stretches brutal, louder than any scream, thick with unsaid I knows and it hurts. He drags a shaking hand over his face, smearing exhaustion from his forehead to his chin. “If I remember even a second… I won’t stop.”

“Then let me in,” you plead softly, leaning closer to the window, close enough to see tears glinting unshed in his eyes. “We could sit with it. Just for tonight. Please.”

His bottom lip trembles, eyes glassy and vulnerable for one shattering heartbeat. But the wall slams back up. “No. Go home. Please. Just… go.”

“Dustin…”

“Go!” It cracks wide open, raw, exhausted, more of a plea than a command, his voice breaking on the edge of sobs.

Tears burn tracks down your cheeks as you nod, stepping back. “You’re not the only one who misses him every fucking second.”

The curtains snap shut like a door slammed in your face. You turn sharply on your heel, wind kicking up through the trees like Hawkins itself sighing out grief. Neither of you sleeps again that night.

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Sunlight stabs through your curtains in the morning. You wipe tears you didn’t realize fell as your alarm clock blared, your chest hallow. The thought of school turns your stomach, but skipping feels like surrender to the grief chewing through you. You trudge up your street toward Hawkins High, backpack heavy as lead.

Dustin bikes past on Cherry Lane, curls whipping in the wind, the only thing taming them is the radio headset over his ears. He doesn’t glance back or slow down, just pedals harder, like he can outrun years of friendship.

By third period, the cafeteria hums with forced normalcy. You spot the party clustered at your usual table and head over, sitting in between Will and Lucas. Dustin slams his tray down across from them, apple rolling free.

“Watch it, man,” Lucas mutters, grabbing the fruit before it hits the floor.

Dustin snorts, sarcastic. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

Lucas blinks. “Dude, chill.”

“Yeah, *chill*,” Dustin mocks, ripping open a milk carton, white splashing the tray. “That’s what you all keep saying. Like burying your heads will just make it all go away.”

Mike looks up, frowning. “We’re not burying anything. We’re just trying to-“

“Trying to what? Pretend Eddie didn’t get fucking eaten alive while you sat on your ass in California?” Dustin’s voice rises, drawing stares from nearby tables. His eyes are wild, bags deeper than last night, hands trembling as he stabs a spork into his eggs like they’ve personally offended him.

You freeze halfway to the table, stomach dropping. Max shoots you a look, half-warning, half-exhaustion.

“Dustin, lower your voice,” she says flatly, no room for argument. “You’re not the only one who remembers.”

He wheels on her, laugh brittle as cracked ice. “Oh, great, Mad Max weighs in her two cents worth. I always enjoy getting comments from the peanut gallery!”

Max flinches, but her jaw sets. “Fuck off, Henderson. At least I’m not acting like a pissed-off toddler every time someone breathes.”

Lucas stands halfway, palms out. “Hey, enough. We get it, you’re hurting. We all-“

“You don’t!” Dustin slams his tray edge, sending jello wobbling. “None of you dragged his dying ass with a busted ankle or heard him scream while bats ate him alive. You didn’t watch his eyes go empty. So spare me the ‘we all’ bullshit.”

The table goes dead silent. You narrow your eyes, leaning forward as grief and frustration boil over. “And who dragged your ass to him, Henderson? Why do you keep forgetting that? I was right there. Don’t you dare act like I sat it out.”

Dustin’s gaze flicks to you, raw and haunted, flickering with a flash of guilt that twists into fresh anger. His mouth opens and then closes before he shoves back his chair with a screech. “Whatever. I’m out.” He storms off, tray abandoned, shoulders rigid as he barrels through the doors.

Lucas exhales slow. “He’s... getting worse.”

“No shit,” Max mutters, sinking into a seat. “He’s acting like we’re the enemy.”

The bell rings, shrill as a warning. Outside, Dustin’s bike is already gone. You look at the rest of the group in defeat.

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Days have blurred since that cafeteria ordeal, each one grinding deeper into the raw wound of your grief. You've kept your distance from Dustin after his storm-off, but the nightmares haven't let up and they twist sharper now. Eddie's blood hot on your hands, him saying ‘it should’ve been you’, it only gotten worse. You've thrown yourself into routine of sketching maps alone at night, your pencil trembling over the cursed connection line of gates. Yet the ache festers, Dustin's hollowed eyes haunting you as much as Eddie's final grin. It felt like you were losing your best friend all over again.

It's night four without a wink of real sleep. Rain lashes your window, lightning illuminating the sky. Anger surges hot over the grief this time: at Dustin for pushing you away at 4 a.m., at yourself for letting his walls win, at Hawkins for refusing to let you breathe. You can't spiral alone anymore, not with the earth faintly trembling under your bed like it's alive and hungry. Dustin's the only one who gets it, even if he's armored in denial. You grab your bike from the backyard, hoodie zipped against the downpour, and pedal into the gale of wind, tires hydroplaning on slick streets.

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Dustin’s garage light glows defiant through the downpour as you glance at the door of the garage. It’s a sure sign he’s buried in there, hunched over blueprints with that fix-everything grimace, pretending science can solder shut the holes grief ripped open. You knock hard, fist pounding wet wood over the thunder.

The door creaks open slow. He stands there, hair tousled, oil smudges on his cheek, eyes wary as they rake over your drenched form, water dripping from your hair, clothes plastered cold to your skin. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Trying again,” you snap, breathless and defiant, rain streaming down your face like furious tears. “I’m not letting you push everyone away until nothing’s left. I’m done watching you self-destruct.”

His mouth works silently, eyes flashing with anger, grief pooling deep, guilt flickering like a shorted wire. “You don’t get it,” he says finally, voice breaking raw. “Every time I think of him all I can see is him dying. It’s always there.”

Rain drips heavy between you, pooling at your feet. You feel like you’re back to where you started a week ago. “Then stop drowning in it alone like a coward!” Your voice rises sharp over the storm, anger exploding after days of swallowing it. “Let it hurt! Do you think you’re the only one breaking? Acting like none of us lost him? Honestly fuck you for making it all about your pain!”

He flinches hard, color draining, but you barrel on, chest heaving. “who dragged you to Eddie with your ankle busted? Me! And you keep storming off like I’m the enemy too. If you wanna rot in this garage with your blueprints pretending you can fix grief, fine, go right ahead! But don’t pretend we don’t see you falling apart. I miss you, Dustin! I need you. We all do.”

He shakes his head, stepping back into the shadows, jaw trembling. “Just… go home.”

“You don’t have to do this alone, but you’re choosing to. Your call.”

“Maybe I do.” His voice comes soft, nearly lost to the rain.

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It’s well past midnight on a Friday when the first pebble pings against your bedroom window, a sharp tick that yanks you from a restless half-sleep. Your heart slams into your ribs like it’s trying to escape, every nerve firing with the instinctive terror of Hawkins’ nights. You bolt upright, sheets tangling around your legs, and creep to the window on silent feet, peeling back the blinds just enough to peer into the backyard.

Dustin stands there in the faint glow of the porch light, his faded Hellfire Club shirt clinging damply to his shoulders from the misty night air. His face is ghostly pale, etched with exhaustion and something deeper, like unspoken fear, that makes your stomach twist. He doesn’t wave or call out; he just tilts his head back, curls disheveled and wild, his eyes locking onto yours with a silent, desperate plea that says more than words ever could. For a long moment, you hesitate, fingers clenched on the windowsill, with the urge to drop the blinds and pretend you never saw him just to prevent yourself from getting shut out again.

But your body decides before your mind can catch up. You slip into sneakers without lacing them properly, tug on a hoodie over your pajamas, and ease your bedroom door open, tiptoeing down the creaky stairs past your parents’ room, holding your breath as the floorboard under the third step groans faintly. The back door clicks unlocked with agonizing slowness, and you step out into the heavy night air, thick with the hum of cicadas and a subtle, unsettling tremor vibrating up through the grass from somewhere deep underground, like the earth itself is restless.

Up close, Dustin looks even worse than from the window, his hands trembling faintly as he shoves them deeper into his pockets. He shifts his weight awkwardly, avoiding your gaze at first, like he’s rehearsing what to say.

“What’s going on?” you ask, your voice guarded and low, arms crossing tightly over your chest as a barrier. “You’ve been pushing me away for weeks and now you show up at one in the morning?”

He winces visibly, the expression carving fresh lines into his already strained face. “I know. God, I know. That’s exactly why I’m here.” He pauses, swallowing hard. “I’m so sorry. I’ve been a total asshole, an absolute jerk, and you didn’t deserve any of it. Every time I saw you, it was like… like staring straight at him. At Eddie. The memories hit too hard, and if I let myself feel even a fraction of it, I knew I’d break wide open. So I pushed. Hard. At Steve, at everyone, but especially at you, because you were the one who kept trying to reach me.”

Your throat tightens like a vice, the old hurt surging back fresh and raw. “You think you’re the only one who sees him dying every time they close their eyes? We were there together, Dustin, I felt his blood soaking through my shirt. And then you made me feel like I was weak, like I was some- some burden, for needing to say it out loud, for needing you.”

“I never thought you were weak,” he says quickly, voice cracking with urgency, his eyes finally meeting yours and shimmering with unshed tears. “Not for a second. I was terrified! Terrified of losing him all over again in my head, and even more terrified of losing you next. If I let you in, if I admitted how much it was destroying me… what if that made it real? What if something happened to you too, because of me, because I dragged you deeper into this nightmare?”

You can see it now, clear as the moonlight slicing through the trees, the way he’s weaponized his fear into biting anger, burying his grief under layers of sarcasm, and that rigid hunch in his shoulders that screams he’s been carrying the world alone. It doesn’t excuse him, but it explains the sharp edges, the distance.

“You don’t get to decide that for me,” you say, your voice shaking despite your effort to keep it steady, the words spilling out like they’ve been bottled too long. “You don’t get to push me away just because you’re scared I might get hurt. I’m scared too! Terrified, every damn day. But shutting me out like that? Telling me to go home on multiple occasions? That hurt worse than any nightmare, worse than the Upside Down itself.”

“I know,” he whispers, and the dam finally breaks. Tears spill freely down his cheeks. “I know, and I hate myself for it. Every single day. I kept telling myself if I just kept moving, if I buried myself in trying to fix everything, building better sensors, mapping the gates, maybe I could numb it out, make it stop hurting so much. But it doesn’t. It’s so much worse. I hear him constantly: his laugh echoing in empty rooms, him bragging it was ‘his year’ with that stupid grin. And then the screams. Him telling us he loved us. His last breath. I can’t make it stop, no matter how hard I try.”

Seeing Dustin like this—the boy who stares down monsters without flinching—completely unraveling before you breaks something open inside your own chest. Your anger doesn’t vanish entirely, but it softens, melting into the shared ache that’s been gnawing at you both since that trailer park night.

“Then stop trying to fight it alone,” you say softly, taking a tentative step closer across the dewy grass.

He stares at you for a heartbeat, eyes wide and vulnerable, like he’s been waiting for permission. Then the sobs rip free. They’re deep, wrenching sounds that echo into the night. “What if I can’t fix this? What if I’m not enough, not smart enough, not strong enough to make it right?”

“You don’t have to fix it,” you reply, closing the gap fully now, your hand finding his arm in a firm grip that grounds you both. “You don’t have to be anything more than here, right now, with me. We’ll face the rifts together, the Upside Down, whatever comes next. But not like this. Not by yourself, not by shutting everyone out.”

That’s all it takes. Dustin surges forward, crashing into you with desperate force, his arms wrapping around your waist in a crushing hold as his face buries into your shoulder. The sobs come messy and unrestrained, snotty and gasping, shaking his whole body against yours; your own tears fall hot and silent, soaking into the collar of his Hellfire shirt as you hold him just as tightly. One hand threads into his damp curls, cradling the back of his head, while the other rubs slow, steady circles across his back, feeling the tension unravel knot by knot under your touch.

“I should’ve let you in,” he mumbles eventually, his voice hoarse and muffled against your hoodie, breath hitching between words. “I wanted to pull you inside so badly. I just couldn’t let myself.”

“I know,” you whisper back, your lips brushing his hair. “But you’re here now. That’s what matters.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes puffy and red-rimmed but sparking with that familiar Dustin light flickering back to life amid the wreckage. “I don’t deserve you sticking around after how awful I’ve been towards you, and everyone.”

“Probably not,” you say, managing a watery smile through your own tears. “But I’m not going anywhere.”

Relief floods his face as you both make your way to the porch steps, sinking down onto the cold wood, shoulders pressed firmly side by side, your breaths gradually syncing in the quiet, his ragged inhales evening out to match your steadier ones.

“I still miss him every single second,” Dustin rasps after a long silence, his voice raw as gravel. “I don’t think that ever goes away.”

“Me too,” you murmur, leaning your head against his shoulder, the warmth of him seeping through your hoodie. “Every breath. But he’d kick our asses if we let it destroy us.”

A broken laugh bubbles out of him, shaky but genuine, cutting through the grief like a small light. His fingers find yours then, lacing together tightly, a quiet anchor in the dark.

“Next time you even think about shutting me out,” you murmur, squeezing his fingers, “I’m chaining myself to your bike and making you drag me everywhere.”

“Noted,” he replies with a shaky laugh, turning his head to rest his temple against yours. “And… thanks. For not quitting on me. For seeing through all the bullshit.”