#ghost!eddie

It’d been over a month, and you couldn’t bear it any longer. You threw yourself head first into Eddie’s world, unearthing everything you could find about him. You were obsessed with the idea of him and how to help him. 

As a junior detective, snooping for clues shouldn’t be a problem, especially with the chief of police’s fondness of you. You loved your job and rather than only using it to your advantage, you reopened Eddie’s cold case and started putting the pieces together. Then when the first free weekend arrived, you decided to take the plunge and call out to Eddie. 

Steve’s timing couldn’t have been worse. He knew his luck had changed since high school, but he never imagined it could keep fluctuating like this. Struggling to find his place in adulthood – skipping college and taking odd jobs – and then meeting you, a wanderer in the bleakest town of Indiana. What a cruel irony it was. A positive in a negative. Life seemed to revel in his misfortune, and now things were becoming even stranger. 

“Really? I thought you were done with this,” Steve says, when he sees the Ouija board on the coffee table, his hands on his hips. 

He was ready to pick up wherever of whatever you two were, starting with a date, but the universe decided to put another roadblock in his path. Now, here you were trying to coax him into reaching out to the dead. 

“I’m not sure,” he hesitated, looking at the board then back to you. “I still think this is wrong.” 

After that night, you were eager to confirm your suspicions to Steve, save for the explicit details, the next day when you visited him at his workplace. You had told him there was in fact a ghost in your trailer and it was Eddie. The mention of Eddie’s name was enough to turn Steve as white as a ghost himself. Memories of Eddie and his tragic story flooded back, leaving Steve feeling guilty for withholding this history, including how much of an asshole he and his friends were to people like Eddie, from you as you began piecing things together.  

“Please, Steve,” you pleaded gently. “He’s harmless. Maybe we can help him.” 

“How do you even know he’s still here?” Steve asked, noting your absence of recent complaints about any oddities occurring. 

“Well, then there’s nothing to be scared of, right?” you countered his question. 

“I’m not scared,” he huffed, to which you raised your eyes in response, silently challenging him to prove it. 

“Fine,” he relented with a sigh, rolling his eyes before joining you on the couch. 

As you lit the strategically placed candles around the living room and dimmed the lights, Steve attempted to make light of the situation, “Candles, really?” he joked, attempting to mask his discomfort. “Isn’t that a bit cliche?” His forced chuckle faltered when he saw the serious expression on your face, and he quickly apologized under his breath. 

Instead of sitting next to him, you settled across on the floor. Instructing Steve to place his hands on the planchette with you, you closed your eyes, he mimicked, and called out into the void. 

“Is there someone here with us?” you asked, allowing a moment for a response, filled with patience and hope. 

Steve, on the other hand, cautiously peeked one eye to ensure your safety, then quickly shut it again, bracing himself for whatever might materialize out of thin air. He waits for the next move, only that next move didn’t come from you. 

To your surprise, both of your hands suddenly jerked to the word YES on the Ouija board. 

“Holy Shit!” Steve exclaimed, pulling away from the planchette and scooting far from the Ouija board. 

“Steve!” you scolded, annoyed that he broke the connection. 

“It moved!” he cried out, pointing to the pieces on the table. “The thing fucking moved!” 

“Yes, that’s what happens when you use a Ouija board to talk to the dead,” you replied. 

“You’re not fucking with me, right?” He asks, eyes wild and scared. 

“No! Why would I do that? I have better things to do than a thing like that!” you responded appalled by that kind of accusation. 

“I think we should stop before this gets dangerous,” Steve cautioned, slowly regaining his composure. 

“What danger? Nothing happened,” you asked, puzzled. 

“Nothing yet!” Steve retorted, his voice overwhelming you. Seeing you visibly flinch made him feel terrible. He sighed deeply, ran his hands over his face, and then apologized. The topic of this ghost was a touchy subject and continued to stress him out. He hadn’t planned on entertaining the idea until tonight. 

“Look,” he began again, adopting a calmer tone. “All I’m saying is, we don’t know who we’re talking to or what we’re dealing with, and that is dangerous,” he reasoned. 

“Eddie,” you corrected him, but he was confused. “It’s Eddie. We’re talking to Eddie.” 

“Okay, how do we even know that? We could be talking to another lost soul,” Steve countered skeptically. 

“Again, there’s only one way to find out,” you replied, nodding in the direction of the table again, urging him to continue communication. 

He sighed once more, “You just don’t give up, do you?” 

“Nope! Now come on,” resuming your position, knowing you roped him back in. 

You posed your initial question again, receiving the same affirmative response. The light gasp from Steve confirmed he was still internally spooked by the unfolding events. Resisting the urge to wrap your arms around him and run your fingers through his thick hair the way he liked just to provide comfort, you stayed focused on the task at hand. 

“Who is with us?” you asked, instructing Steve to open his eyes as your hands guided the planchette to spell out Eddie’s name. 

“Son of a bitch, Munson,” Steve muttered to himself. There was no malice in his voice, only profound shock. Steve is terrible at concealing his emotions, and you could see him struggling to grasp the reality of the situation. He was talking to someone who he used to know, and that someone was dead. He didn’t know what to believe anymore.

Lost in your own thoughts, you began to wonder if involving Steve was the right decision. You had been so determined to make someone believe you that you hadn’t considered how he would react. Not everyone shared your enthusiasm for the supernatural. Moreover, what exactly were you planning to do to help Eddie pass on? 

Suddenly, the trailer began to rumble and vibrate, as if caught in an earthquake. The lights flickered, interrupting your thoughts, alerting you both on your feet and deciding the next move would be to safety. Steve looked around anxiously for an area of the trailer to seek refuge. The tension in the air escalated, leaving you frozen in place, uncertain of what was happening. A sharp pain shot through you, your head immediately started to pound, but when you tried to let out a scream, nothing came out. It was only when the rumbling ceased that a loud thud echoed through the room, snapping Steve’s attention. 

“No,” Steve cursed under his breath, realizing where the noise came from. “No, no no, no, no. Fuck!” He exclaimed, nearly leaping over the table to attend to your unconscious body off the floor. 

Something felt different. 

Though it was hard to articulate, you felt lighter. A sense of ease and freedom from worries – it felt good. 

Confusion sets in as you recall the last memory of sitting in your living room with the Ouija board laid out and Steve in front of you. Panic gripped as you scanned the room, you discovered that you were alone.

Had Steve left?

Had he finally grown tired of your bullshit? 

You picked yourself up from the ground and it was then you noticed your surroundings. It was your living room, but only it wasn’t. The furniture, decoration and accents were not yours. 

Your mind is wrecked with uncertainty. Where do you go from here? You’re ready to run back to Steve and admit he was right – maybe you were nuts. The dead were better off left alone. Not only did you spook Eddie, now Steve. 

Your thoughts are broken by a voice calling out your name – an unfamiliar yet strangely comforting voice. Turning towards the source, you were shocked by who you saw. 

It was Eddie Munson. 

He stood a few feet away, partially hidden by the doorway to a room, looking slightly apprehensive. You, on the other hand, are perplexed by the situation. He said multiple times he couldn’t show himself to you. Yet, here he is and you could also hear him. 

“Eddie?” you managed to croak out, your voice hoarse and strained. Attempting to clear your throat only resulted in a fit of dry coughs.  

“Whoa,” Eddie cautioned as he hurried to assist you. “Take it easy, sweetheart. You’ve been out for a few days.” Seeing you wince as you struggled to swallow your own spit in an attempt to soothe your throat, he swiftly moved to the kitchen area to fetch a glass of water. 

You nearly choked on the water as you gulped it down greedily, shocked by his admission of you being unconscious for days. 

“Days?!” you exclaimed, setting the glass down and wiping your mouth. How many days had it been? “You just let me lie there?” Your voice boomed incredulously, causing Eddie to flinch slightly.  

“Well, I couldn’t exactly take you anywhere,” he replied, trying to keep up with your barrage of questions.  

“Why not?” you demanded, your mind racing. 

“We’re not in Hawkins,” he responded, but none of it made sense to you because you’re in your trailer, which as far as you knew was located in Hawkins.  

“What? Where are we then?” you asked, feeling disoriented and confused. You must’ve hit your head harder than you thought.   

“You’re sort of in between…like purgatory”, Eddie began to explain, carefully choosing his words. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you scoffed, unwilling to accept his answer. 

“Look, I was just as skeptical of this as you were, but after a while, it was clear I wasn’t going anywhere,” he replied, and you could tell he was growing frustrated at your stubbornness. “Whether you believe it or not, sweetheart, you’re stuck here.” 

You try to ignore the stirring feeling of the harmless pet name he kept using. It almost feels the same way when Steve calls you honey… 

“Okay, but how?” That was the burning question. And why were you here? “How did I get here? Why am I here?” you asked. Did you die?

“Beats me,” Eddie shrugs, unsure himself. “One second you and pretty boy were asking me questions, and the next, it was like the world turned upside down.” Well, that explains the earthquake at least. 

“Steve,” you muttered his name to yourself, feeling a wave of panic again. “Where’s Steve?” you asked desperately, locking eyes with Eddie. Was he stuck here too? He seemed to be wrestling with himself on how to answer you. 

“He’s at the hospital,” he replied, rubbing the back of his neck. Before you could start worrying, he quickly added, “He’s fine…you passed out and he took you to the hospital.” 

Relief temporarily washed over you knowing you didn’t in fact die and that Steve was alive and okay, but Eddie was still not making any sense. “Eddie, how is that possible when I’m right here?” 

“No, you-you, is at the hospital in Hawkins…on the other side,” he finally revealed with a grave expression. 

Steve didn’t waste any time. 

He scoops up your body and rushes straight to the nearest emergency room. To his surprise, there was no evidence of an earthquake or any natural disaster. The medical staff looked at him confused, questioning if he had checked the weather report for the day. One even had the audacity to ask if he sustained a head injury himself. It only infuriated him because he didn’t need them attending to him, he needed them to focus on you. You weren’t waking up. 

After stabilizing you and conducting necessary tests that provided little reassurance to Steve beyond the fact that you would recover once you woke up, albeit with uncertainty about when that would be.  

“Shit,” Steve muttered, biting his knuckle in frustration as he stared at your unconscious figure. “I knew we shouldn’t have messed with that stupid board.” He mentally berated himself for not being persistent enough to dissuade you.  

Steve rarely left your room. The incessant beeping noise from the machine could have been maddening, but he blocked it out, patiently waiting for you to awaken from your coma. He managed to take a few days off from work and informed his friend, Robin, on his whereabouts. Robin, knowing how much Steve adored you, understood that he needed support and solace at this moment. 

Having met you several times at gatherings with Steve, Robin grew fond of you, particularly because you brought happiness to her friend. She convinced Steve not to neglect his own life though. While he could afford a few days away from work, he still needed to take care of himself. 

Steve reluctantly agreed with Robin and decided that one night away wouldn’t hurt. She argued that a few hours of rest would benefit him. So, he returned home, showered, ate something other than cafeteria food, and slept in his own bed instead of the uncomfortable chair in your hospital room – though “slept” was hardly the right word. 

His mind was consumed with thoughts about what transpired with the Ouija board. Where have you gone? Why was this experience different from the first time you used it? Was it Eddie’s doing or something worse? Would you ever awaken? Frustrated and determined, Steve resolved to seek answers himself. 

Returning to your trailer, he found the Ouija board exactly where you had left it. He felt somewhat foolish as he re-lit the candles around the room and picked up the planchette that had fallen during the commotion. Taking a deep breath, he called out to the first person who could help. Eddie. 

If you could pass out again, you would.

Was it even possible to lose consciousness when you were already untethered from your body? Where would you go next? Hell? An empty void?

The realization deflated you. You plopped down on the couch, looking over at Eddie, who stood a few feet away, almost scared, unsure of your next move.

“Well, make yourself at home,” you say, patting the seat next to you. “It is yours, technically.”

He hesitated, then carefully made his way over. He sat with a tentative lightness, afraid he might slip right through the furniture. The silence that followed was suffocating. Eddie rubbed his hands over the denim of his dark, ripped jeans to soothe himself. A sudden, dry laugh cut through the thick air, making him jump slightly.

“This is all my fault.” At least you felt like it was as you reclined against the back of the sofa, tossing your head back and covering your eyes with your arm. 

Eddie opened his mouth to speak, but the words died in his throat. You didn't expect a response anyway. The truth was just spewing out of you now, a dam breaking after months of haunting. 

“I wanted to see you again so bad, Eddie. I spent every night going through your records and looking for a sign, anything...but you never gave me one. I got so obsessed that I almost killed myself just to find you.”

“You wanted to see me… again?” he asked. His voice was small, cracked with vulnerability. The admission hit Eddie like a ton of bricks. 

Your eyes snapped open. The weight of what you’d just admitted out loud settled in your chest. You pushed yourself upright, turning to face him fully. His eyes were wide, dark, and searching yours for a lie you weren't telling.

“Yeah,” you confirmed, nodding slowly. “I thought I’d scared you away. You weren’t around anymore, and I thought maybe you’d moved on...or that I crossed a line when we-”

“I never left,” he interrupts, his voice barely a whisper. He looked away, a faint, spectral flush creeping up his neck. “I thought I’d gone too far. That night...in your bed. I figured the best thing I could do for you was stay in the walls. Let you have your life back.”

“No, Eddie,” you said. You reached out, your hand hovering just above his. “I wanted it. I wanted you there.” You could feel the static pull and you wondered. Could you actually feel him here? You let your hand drop and a wave of relief coursed through you as the warmth of his hand seeped into your cold palm. You could actually touch him. “I wanted more.”

Eddie looked down at where your hands met—the living and the dead, together. He turned his palm up, his fingers curling around yours, squeezing lightly.

“I want more, too,” he rasped.

“You do?” The question barely poses as one. You just needed to hear him say it.

“Yeah,” he admits, "You have no idea how many times I've tried to imagine it. How many times I-“ he doesn’t get to finish his confession because that was all the opening you needed before colliding into him.

The kiss was desperate, a mess of teeth and tongue with the sense of chasing something that felt long overdue. Your hands were everywhere at once – along the column of his neck, the firm planes of his chest, the dips of his ribs and down the narrow line of his waist just above his belt.

Eddie on the other hand was aching but hesitant to touch you, hands still planted behind him keeping him steady from when you launched yourself at him, but you weren’t having none of it. Grabbing his wrists, you forced his ring-clad fingers to your waist, digging them into your skin. The groan that slipped past your lips into his mouth sent a violent vibration through him, making his blood rush. You needed him to know you weren't going anywhere and that you really wanted this. It seemed to do the trick as his hands wandered between the valley of your breasts, the reluctance now replaced by unashamed urgency.

You push Eddie into a reclining position to settle on top of him, legs caging his hips, your fingers tangling in his wild curls and lips tracing a feverish path from the sharp line of his jaw down to the pulse of his neck until you’re slowly sinking to your knees between his legs.

"You don’t…” his eyes searched for any sign of doubt.

"No, I want to..." you insisted, voice low but steady with pulsing intent.

The click of the buckle gave way, loud in the small trailer. You huff in frustration, your fingers at the waistband, unable to pull down his jeans because of his dead weight. Sensing your struggle, he lifts his hips to help you strip the layers of denim and cotton from his body, hissing at the rush of cool air that hits his skin.

Your gaze lingers and mouth watering as his cock twitches with the sudden exposure. Eddie let out a long, shaky sigh – half-relief and half-surrender – as you wrap one hand, then the other around him. Fuck, he really is that big. He lets out a low groan when you start to stroke his length, his fingers digging into the cushion.

"I’ve thought long about how I wanted to return the favor...from that night” you murmur, pumping slowly, lost in the softness of him under your hands. Eddie’s head hits the back of the couch, eyes fluttering shut. You watch in a daze as his precum oozes out of his slit and trickles down, the slick gathering in your messy hands. You wanted a taste so badly. You stop momentarily, which causes him to pick his head back up only to see you resting your head against the meat of his thigh, eyes big and mouth parted. 

"The night you made me feel so good, Eddie," you whisper against his skin and plant open mouth kisses to his thigh before picking up the pace of your strokes once more. He swears under his breath when you lean in, poking your tongue out at his slit, the taste sending a burst of flavor onto your tastebuds. You trace the rim of his tip before sealing your lips around the head, easing into a slow steady rhythm up and down. You pull back just enough to savor his taste for a moment, hands sliding along his shaft, spreading the slick as you pause to catch your breath.

"Shit, sweetheart," he chokes as you take more of him in, enjoying the way it feels when his abdominal muscles ripple and tighten under your touch. His hands thread into your hair, holding you there as he watches, the shape of him pressing boldly against the inside of your cheek and basking in the warmth of your mouth closing around him.

“If I wasn’t already dead, you’d be the death of me.” You now move at an agonizing pace, reducing him to mindless babbling, especially when you cup and knead his balls. 

It’s when he feels your throat contract around the tip of his cock, he quickly reaches out for you. The sensation threatened to undo him completely. You reluctantly agree to pull away, a drooling mess, after hearing his incessant pleas to release him.

He’s quick to remove his leather jacket but just before he can fully rid himself of it, he pauses, seeing you reach for the hem of your shirt. The mounds of our breasts, restrained by your bra, out on display, gaze darkening with renowned lust. Your movements felt slow and deliberate especially when you moved them to unhook the garment, and Eddie was eager to see more skin.

The fabric of your bottoms pools at your ankles until you kick them away, leaving you almost completely exposed but still vulnerable in the dimly lit room.

His hands reach for your waist, pulling them close to face level, so he can press soft kisses to either side of your hips while his eyes are looking up at you through his shaggy bangs. He wasn’t just looking at you; he was worshiping you. His fingers hook into the thin, delicate material of your underwear, knuckles grazing the skin of your hips as they begin the slow descent of your legs.  

You gently push him back so you could reclaim your seat on his lap once more. The scent of leather and smoke invades your nostrils as you peel away the heavy jacket from his frame, his Hellfire baseball tee following suit.

Gawking at the ink that litters his pale skin, your fingers feel like ice against him as you messily trace the outline of the design. Seeing Eddie like this, branded by his own rebellion was turning you on, and made you bite your lip hard to ground yourself. A fleeting thought of Steve crossed your mind - unmarked and devoid of a dangerous edge - and the contrast to Eddie made the air in the room much thicker. 

The friction of your bodies made your heads spin as you grind against his cock. Every shift of your weight causes him to involuntarily thrust upwards where you met. Eddie was a blur when he suddenly had you on your back, his body instantly hovering over yours. 

His mouth seeking yours in a frantic kiss, dark curls falling like a curtain around your face. One hand braced beside your head while the other slid around your waist, pulling you flush against him. You swallow his moans as his hips roll, dragging out the friction until it’s almost unbearable. 

“God” he breathes, pulling back just a fraction, lips slick and swollen, dark eyes blown wide. Pulling back he searches your eyes for that final, silent permission. 

“Please,” you nod eagerly, guiding his cock to your entrance, rubbing the tip through your wet folds for easy entry. When he finally pushes forward, the crown breaching, a sharp gasp escapes you both - finding relief in something that’s been far too long denied. 

Rhythm comes naturally to Eddie as he soon begins to move, unhurried, savoring every moment inside of you. Each thrust builds toward that white-hot intensity you crave. You feel the fullness of him consume you, the initial sting of each thrust eased into a deep, satisfying pleasure. 

He finds your hands and intertwines his fingers with yours, pinning them above your head with a possessive grip, like he’s afraid you might vanish. 

“I can’t-I need to cum, Eddie.” you choke, voice wrecked as the pressure coils tight in your belly.

“Look at me,” he rasps, forcing your gaze to his dark eyes blown wide, glossy with need.

He needed to see it, the moment before the dam breaks - when you shatter for him. 

"I’m close,” you whimper, your back arching off the cushions, as tiny sparks race through you, ready to explode. 

“Yeah?” he asks, mouth hot against your neck. His grip tightens, hips slowing as he drags himself through you inch by agonizing inch, each deeper than the previous.   

“Eddie, please” your head thrashing back against the cushion, fingers digging between his as the tension in your core twisted into an aching knot. 

“Go ahead, sweetheart,” his lips brushing the shell of your ear, voice low with a primal rumble. “Let go,” he instructs while refocusing his attention on you.   

That was it. Your release tears through you with a sharp, visceral gasp. You cry out as it hits you hard - like an old guitar string snapping and white-hot shock waves that momentarily blind you. 

Eddie’s struggling to keep it together as he watches the tears track down your face. You don’t want him to hold on any longer, desperate to see him cum. 

“Inside,” you breathed, “Do it, inside me,” you repeat the broken. 

His release crashes into him with a rush, your name tearing from his lips. You barely have time to catch your breath before his face starts to crack, he dips his head, but you catch his jaw. It’s your turn to watch him. You force his eyes to stay on yours - you want to watch him come undone. He’s not far long, not with the way your pussy pulses around him, before he goes rigid.

“Fuck,” you groan, feeling him spill deep inside, his body wrecked with tremors as his climax rippled through him. Your name falls repeatedly from his lips followed by a low, guttural moan after the last spurt. 

When he finally pulls out, he hisses softly, catching the mess as it spills freely, staining the couch—thankfully, no one here to care.

He rolls onto his side next to you, the small space keeping you close. One arm slips around your waist, thumb tracing lazy circles as you both breathe through the last of it. The world feels distant now, quiet, soft. He presses a gentle kiss to your temple and pulls you closer, giving you all the time you need to catch your breath.

Free.

You felt free here, wherever or whatever here was, you still weren’t sure. 

"I could stay like this forever," you whispered, closing your eyes. "I could just forget about everything. I could die happy…here with you."

The reason you didn't want to go back wasn't just about Eddie; it was about the crushing weight of a world that felt too demanding. And here? There were no expectations. There were no stressors and no more searching for answers that were impossible or would take a lifetime to find. Here you were free. 

As much as Eddie wanted to hear that, he knew it wasn’t appropriate. "Don't say that,” he responds, his breath fanning your lips. 

"Why not?" You ask as you trace the black orb of the lone ring he wore on his right hand.  

"Because I know what forever looks like for a guy like me," his voice dipping into vulnerable territory. "It’s a void. And you... you're a brightness with a future ahead." He looks down at you and pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around you with an almost desperate grip. You tucked your head into the crook of his neck, breathing in his comforting scent.

You didn’t have an answer to that, so you both lied there in the silence, holding onto a lie because the truth was too heavy to carry.

The room suddenly started to grow cold and vibrate. 

It was a low-frequency hum that was all too familiar for Eddie that it made the hair on the back of his neck stand. He’d been through this before. Twice with you when you tried to reach out to him via the Ouija board. He was in the middle of putting his clothes back on, when he lost his balance sliding on his boots. 

You reached out, steadying him, "Eddie? What’s happening?" your eyes wide with fear and concern. 

"I don't know," he gritted out, his form flickering like a bad television signal. "It feels like... someone is trying to talk to me…through the Ouija board.” The hum grew louder. 

The veil between this world and yours was thinning, and through the static, a voice bled through. It was faint, desperate, and unmistakably familiar.

"Is it Steve?" you asked instantly, your voice rising with a frantic sort of hope. "Is he using the board to find us?"

The name hit Eddie harder than the invisible force pulling at his soul. He saw the way your expression shifted, the spark of light in your eyes at the mere mention of him. It caused a sharp pang in his chest that had nothing to do with the supernatural. Even here, in this hollowed-out version of reality, Steve was the anchor you were looking for. 

Eddie wanted to say something witty to mask his jealousy, but he didn't have time to process it as he started to slowly disappear. Only he could hear Steve’s voice clearly because it was him being summoned, not you. 

"Eddie, wait!" You lunged for him, but your fingers passed right through. He didn’t even get to answer you because he suddenly vanished. 

The silence that followed was absolute. The humming stopped, the vibrations ceased, and you were left standing there alone. And for the first time since arriving, the shadows of this purgatory began to weigh in on you.

Steve had to do this. 

He was internally arguing with himself as he sat in front of the Ouija board again. His knuckles were white as he gripped the planchette, his brows furrowed in deep concentration.

“Come on, I know you’re lurking around here, Munson,” Steve called out, almost unsure. Was Eddie still here? His voice was steady, but there was a flicker of fear in his eyes - the fear of a man who was running out of options.

Eddie watched from the corner of the room. He’d been trying to stay hidden, fighting the pull of the board, but as amusing as it was watching "King Steve" fumble with the occult, it was almost too painful to watch.

Steve was beginning to grow frustrated until finally the planchette jerked under his hands.

“There you are!” Steve exhaled, his head snapping up to the empty air where Eddie stood. He hadn’t revealed himself yet, so he was looking at an empty room, but by God was he proud of himself for getting this to work. 

Ever since your energy intertwined with Eddie, he found it easier to appear where he wanted. The board would take longer, so he allowed himself to materialize in front of Steve.  “What the hell do you want, Harrington?”

“Oh, good. You remember me,” Steve said, a dry, nervous laugh trailing behind.

“The fuck? Of course, I remember you. You don't exactly forget the guy who spent four years being the biggest douche to you in high school.”

“Come on. I’m sorry. Really, but that’s not me anymore,” Steve pleaded. He looked at the board, then back at Eddie. “Would I be here fucking with a Ouija board, talking to a ghost, if I hadn't changed? I’m doing this for her.”

Eddie’s posture stiffened. The sarcasm drained out of him, replaced by a dark, protective cloak. “You know where she is, don’t you?” Steve pressed.

He could see Eddie fighting an internal battle, his spectral form flickering with the intensity of it. “Eddie, if you know where she is, you can bring her back. You have to.” Steve begged. 

“What if she doesn’t want to come back,” Eddie said, his voice dropping to a whisper.

The words hit Steve like a physical blow. “What?” he asked, his voice cracking. “Did she tell you that?”

Eddie went silent, staring at the floor. You had mentioned it, but you never confirmed it. You didn’t know what you wanted. The silence was an answer in itself, and it gutted Steve. He shook his head, refusing to accept it. “Look, Eddie, you’ve gotten some time to know her. You know how she is…how she gets when she’s scared or overwhelmed-”

“She’s not scared or overwhelmed, Harrington. Maybe she’s tired of living in a world that doesn't care. She deserves better. She’s special.”

“I know she is,” Steve agreed. “But you know she has to come back. This isn't her time. I’m sorry this happened to you. I’m sorry you’re stuck here, but you can’t let her stay just because you’re lonely. You have to let her live.” As harsh as it sounded, Eddie knew he was right. “Bring her back, please.”

“I don’t know how!” Eddie yelled, the trailer shook with his frustration.

“What?”

“I said I don’t know how! I’m a ghost, Harrington, not a god! I can’t even leave this trailer, let alone cross to the other side. You think if I had that kind of power, I’d still be in Hawkins? Even when I was alive, all I wanted to do was get the hell out of this town.”

Steve stared at him, the gravity of the situation sinking in. “So, she’s stuck? Until her body just… gives up?” He looked down at the board, a desperate idea forming…and like a lightbulb going off, he came up with one. “The board. Can I use it to reach her?”

“I don’t know. She isn't dead,” Eddie said skeptically.

“But you’re in the same place, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Then if I can reach you, I can reach her too.” Steve’s eyes lit up with hope. He wasn’t wrong. You did hear him after all, but whether you could reveal yourself to Steve through the Ouija board was a different thing. 

Deciding on his next move, Steve frantically began setting up the planchette on the Ouija board again. “Alright, good talk. I guess you can go back to doing whatever ghost stuff it is that you do. I need to focus on bringing her back.”

Eddie blinked, a dry smirk returning to his face. “Rude.”

“Hey, Munson,” Steve called out just as Eddie began to fade into the shadows. Steve looked at him with wholehearted sincerity. “I really am sorry. For everything. For high school, for the way things ended… all of it. Even for now.”

Eddie paused, his form slowly evaporating. Now. He was even apologizing for you. He looked at Steve and finally saw the man he had become. The one that you were so fond of. 

“Whatever, Harrington,” Eddie murmured. “Just make sure, whatever she decides on… she’s happy.”

As Eddie vanished, he felt a strange weightlessness. For the first time since he’d died, the bitterness didn't feel so heavy. 

Your voice is fragile as you materialize in front of him. 

“Steve?”

"Oh, thank God! It worked—it actually worked!" Steve said letting out a huge sigh of relief, the crushing pressure of his plan gone now that you’re here. 

The sound of his voice anchored you. You turned toward the source, your feet moving before your brain could even process the reality of him. You collided in the center of the room, Steve’s arms wrapping around you tightly. 

You pulled back just enough to look at him, his face pale and etched with exhaustion. "What are you doing? Are you using the Ouija board?" 

A million questions spiraled through your mind. Steve hated that board; he was a man of logic and tangible things. 

"I got desperate," he admitted, his breath hitching. "I needed to find you. I couldn't just sit there while you slipped away... to wherever you've been." He paused, his expression flickered with the pain he’s been put through the last few days. "I got to Eddie before I found you."

The name hit you like a physical blow. "You talked to Eddie?"

The way your voice cracked was all the confirmation Steve needed. In that silent, heavy beat of air between you, the truth settled. He knew. He knew about how you’d developed feelings for the boy the rest of the world had branded a monster.

"Oh," you whispered, dropping your gaze. 

"Honey, I need you to come back," Steve pleaded, his grip tightening on your shoulders. He wouldn’t allow himself to give up now. He would fight for you. 

"I don't know how. Steve, I think... I think I’m tied to him. To Eddie."

Steve’s brow furrowed in confusion. "What? What does that mean?"

"I don’t know if it’ll work but I think I know who did it. I know who killed him," you said, the words tumbling out of your mouth. "I think if we can get the rest of Hawkins to see the truth, then maybe I can come back and Eddie can move on…” This had to be the solution, right? At least that’s what you tried to convince yourself when you were alone earlier. “But unless I can wake up, I need you to be my hands, Steve. I need you to prove it."

"How? I don't even know where to start."

"My desk," you frantically said gaze moving towards the corner of the room. "The stack of papers next to my computer.” You both race the short distance to the tiny table. 

You saw his eyes scan the chaotic landscape of your desk until they landed on the folder labeled E. Munson. As he flipped it open, the silence stretched. He hadn't realized how far down the rabbit hole you went.

"I know it’s pathetic," you murmured, watching his stunned face. "I’ve been living in Eddie’s case files for weeks. You probably think I’ve lost my mind, but Hopper let me reopen the case." 

"No," Steve said, his head snapping up to meet your eyes. “This is what you do. You help people. It’s not pathetic. This is incredible. I just didn't realize..."

"I know where the murderer is, Steve. He’s in Hawkins’ Correctional Facility."

Steve blinked, the gears turning. "Okay. He’s in jail already. Who am I looking for? Some drifter? An out-of-towner?"

"Jason Carver."

The name hung in the air like a curse. "Carver? Whoa. Wait. You’re saying Jason Carver killed Eddie Munson?"

"Why is that so hard to believe? It makes perfect sense, Steve. He had a motive."

"No, you’re right," Steve conceded, his voice dropping an octave. "It’s just... how has nobody seen this? How is he sitting in a cell for something else while this stays buried?"

"Because no one can prove it and because no one cares about a freak, right?," you said bitterly. "Who else in this godforsaken town was going to get Eddie justice? His uncle? A few 'freaks' from the Hellfire Club? No one was going to take them seriously. They need a voice."

Steve looked at you, a new kind of warmth, and a trace of something like jealousy, shining in his eyes. He admired the passion you had for your work and advocacy for victims, but he was also annoyed at the amount of attention you put into and gave Eddie. You barely knew him. "You. You are going to do it, Detective."

"Steve, don't—"

"I’m not mocking you," he interrupted softly. "I think it’s pretty badass. You solved a cold case from a hospital bed or in another dimension technically. You almost got yourself killed doing it, but you solved it." He looked away for a second, his jaw tight. "I’m going to bring you back. And then we’re going to finish this."

“I don’t know if this is going to actually work, Steve, but I want to try everything we can to help Eddie pass on,” you whispered.

"It will work and he will. Because of you." Steve assures you, bringing you into his arms again before his time with you is up. 

"So, Steve? Will you go to prison?" You ask, looking at him while resting your chin against his chest. 

Eddie grew restless as he awaited your return.

“Oh, cool. You’re back!” he said, taking a few strides to you. While he was relieved you were back, the heavy expression on your face couldn’t keep him from asking what was wrong.

“I know who did it,” you whispered. You didn’t need to elaborate. He knew who you were talking about. 

“It?” Eddie tilted his head, his dark curls falling over his face.

You reached up to brush the strands away and nodded slowly. “Who?” he asked.

“Jason.”

Eddie’s expression shifted from confusion to a cold realization. “Son of a bitch,” he breathed, a bitter laugh escaping him. He looked away, in disbelief of not putting it together himself years ago. 

“I’m sorry, Eddie.”

“No.” He shook his head sharply. “It should’ve been obvious, right?”

“This town treated you so horribly,” you said, reaching your hand out to place it on his arm as a sign of comfort, although it was you who probably needed the comfort with your eyes beginning to swell up with tears for Eddie. “He got away with it.”

“Hey, sweetheart. None of that.” Eddie said, referring to your tears and stepped closer, voice softening. “I’m fine. You’re here with me now. I’m fine.”

You took a shaky breath, the reality of what you had to do pressing against your chest. “Eddie, I can’t stay here.”

“What? Yes, you can. You said it yourself. You’re here now. You can do whatever you want.”

“I want to go home, Eddie.”

His face contorted, a flash of hurt crossing his features then anger. The words just flowed as he spoke, “It’s Steve, huh?” 

“Please don’t bring him into this,” you pleaded.

“But he’s got a role in all this, doesn’t he?” Eddie paced the small space, his movements jagged. He knew letting Steve talk to you would make you change your mind. “King Steve, coming to the rescue of the damsel in distress.”

“He’s not who you thought he was, Eddie. He’s changed.”

“Sure, that’s rich,” Eddie snapped, his voice echoing against the walls. “I’ve known him my whole life and he’s done nothing but made my life a living hell. Why is he the one you're choosing?” The rage just took over him. It was like high school all over again - guys like Steve always won. 

“Because he’s out there helping get justice for you!” You stood your ground, your voice rising to match his. “I asked him to go to the prison. I asked him to get the truth out of Jason. He’s the key, Eddie. He’s the one who can help you finally move on.”

Eddie froze. The anger drained out of him, leaving him looking smaller. “I don’t want to move on.”

“Why? Aren’t you tired of being stuck in this trailer?”

“I was,” Eddie said, his voice barely a whisper. He looked around the room, then back at you. “I was so tired of it… until you moved in. You gave me a reason to stay.”

The honesty in his voice broke something inside you. You stepped into his space, reaching out to take his hands. They felt like mist and ice, but you held on anyway.

“Eddie,” you said softly. “I know I didn't know you when you were alive. And yeah, you absolutely terrorized me when I first moved in. But you’re so special to me. You hit me harder than anyone I’ve ever known.” You felt tears prickling your eyes. “I would love to stay here. My heart hurts for the life you didn't get to live. Maybe in another world, we would've had a chance. But it was wrong of me to give you false hope and stay here when you know I still have my own life to live.”

Eddie looked down at your joined hands, accepting your decision, “I do. I know.”

You leaned in, closing the gap between your lips, a goodbye disguised as a promise.

“I’ll never forget you, Eddie Munson.”

A thick pane of plexiglass separated the two former kings of Hawkins High, but the tension between them was enough to shatter it.

Jason Carver looked different. Prison did a number on him since he last remembered the Golden Boy. The varsity jacket was gone, replaced by a drab orange jumpsuit, but the self-righteous fire in his eyes hadn't dimmed. He sat down, the phone receiver clattering as he picked it up.

“Harrington?”

“Carver,” Steve replied, his voice flat, devoid of the warmth he usually carried.

“What an unusual surprise.” Jason leaned back, a smug smile on his face. “Still hanging around Hawkins, huh? Love this shithole that much?”

“I’m not here for small talk, Carver.” Steve gripped the receiver tight. He could feel the slight itch of the wire taped to his chest - a wire that led directly to Hopper, who was sitting in a surveillance van just outside the gates. It took a while to get him to agree to this, but with proof of your findings and one mention of your name, the Chief of Police knew he couldn’t turn away. 

“Okay, so what do I owe this lovely visit? Come to talk about the good old days? Back when people actually respected us?”

Steve fought the urge to roll his eyes but instead narrowed them as he leaned in. He needed to push the right buttons. He needed Jason to feel superior. “I’m going to get straight to it. I can help you, but I need you to be honest with what I’m about to ask you. Can you do that?”

Jason sat there for a few seconds, seemingly contemplating this whole interaction. Why does Steve care? Then again, he’s been here a few years and he can confidently say he hates prison, so he takes the bait on a faster ticket out. He lost his glory days, his girlfriend, his freedom. What else does he have left? 

“Did you really kill Chrissy? People are talking again, Jason. They say you snapped.”

Jason went stone cold. The smugness vanished, replaced by an  anger that made his knuckles turn white as he gripped the phone. “Of course not, you asshole. I loved her.”

“It was just a question,” Steve said, raising a hand dismissively. “If you didn’t do it, then why are you here? Why take the fall?”

“I didn’t. This town is corrupt!” Jason hissed, his voice dropping to a dangerous, vibrating pitch. “Hopper and his goons weren’t doing a damn thing to get Chrissy justice. We all know who really killed her. They wanted to prolong it with useless trials and bullshit. They were going to let a monster walk free.”

Steve felt his heart gallop. This was it. “The actual murderer? You know who actually killed Chrissy? Come on, Jason. Everyone knows you’re just in here because you couldn't prove it was anyone else.” Steve pushed. 

Steve wasn’t wrong. Jason was found guilty of Chrissy’s murder. He knew he couldn’t control her anymore and the closer they approached graduation, he knew she’d be leaving him and he couldn’t take that. His male ego wouldn’t let him have it. Him believing he could pin her murder on someone else, someone like Eddie Munson, showed the type of God complex he possessed. He didn’t expect the town to give the freak a fair trial. He believed Eddie was guilty of corrupting his girlfriend and he was outraged. 

Jason slammed his free hand against the table, the sound echoing like a gunshot. “I had to take care of him myself.”

“You were found to be Chrissy’s murderer by the court, Jason,” Steve prodded, his voice smooth and doubting. “What do you mean you 'took care' of him?”

“Someone had to take Munson out and I knew it had to be me! He corrupted her!” Jason barked, the confession spilling out of him like venom. He leaned in close to the glass, his eyes manic. “I cornered that freak. I watched the light go out of his eyes, Steve. I gave Chrissy the peace the police wouldn't. I killed Eddie Munson, and I’d do it again a thousand times over.”

A heavy silence followed. Jason looked triumphant, as if he expected Steve to nod in solemn, comraderic approval.

Instead, Steve cracked a slight smirk. It wasn't a friendly smile; it was the look of a man who had just won a game the other person didn't even know they were playing. He reached up and lightly scratched at his chest, right over the hidden microphone.

“Thanks, Jason,” Steve said, his voice now chillingly calm. “That’s exactly what the Chief needed to hear.”

Jason’s face drained of color. He looked at Steve’s chest, then back at his eyes, the realization hitting him like a physical blow. Before he could scream or lunge at the glass, the heavy steel doors at the back of the room swung open. Two guards marching toward him.

“Eddie’s name will officially be cleared,” Steve said, standing up but not before leaving him with parting words, “And you? You’re never seeing the sun again,” then hanging the receiver back on the hook. 

As the guards hauled a shouting, struggling Jason Carver away, Steve walked out of the prison. Before he meets up with Hopper, he looks up at the bright, afternoon sky. 

“We got him, Honey,” he whispered. “You did it.”

There was a moment where the urgency to return to the hospital, to the beeping monitors and Steve’s worried face vanished. 

The "other side" didn't matter anymore. When the trailer didn't feel like a cage or a crime scene, but a sanctuary. 

The stress of the real world didn’t exist here. The endless bills and late payments you could barely scrap up the money for. The late nights at the station that made you feel your aspirations to become a detective seemed far away. The guilt you felt for blowing people off because you were exhausted. The confusing feelings you had towards Steve. None of those were here. The world had a way of wishing you’d just disappear. Perhaps, this is what you were looking for when you left home and set out to Hawkins. Maybe you needed to encounter Eddie to find solace. But did you have to be dead? Almost dead. 

A few days had passed, and you thought more and more about the plan you and Steve concocted. Was it worth trying? What if it failed? What would be your next move? How long could you afford to be hooked up at the hospital? The damning thoughts earlier were going persistent each time. It had to work. 

You gasped, clutching your arm. The warmth of Eddie’s body, still encapsulating you, suddenly felt fleeting. 

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Eddie’s eyes widened with immediate concern.

“My arm,” you whispered, the pain making your vision swim. “It’s… it’s like I’m being pulled. I think-“ the pain was so intense you couldn’t finish your sentence, but you both knew what was beginning to happen. You just didn’t think it would be soon. Your body was calling you. Your life, your future was tugging you away from this suspended reality.

You leaned your forehead against his chest, the faint chill of his form a stark contrast to the burning pain in your arm. “I don’t want to leave you yet.”

He squeezed his arms around you, holding you tighter than he ever had before. “I know, sweetheart. God, I know. But you said it yourself. You have a life to live. And I… I’ve lived mine.” He pulled back, holding your face in his hands and leaning in to kiss your lips. His touch was cold, but tender. 

“Eddie,” you whisper against his lips, his image beginning to blur as you reach out for him, only for your hand to pass through him again. You could faintly hear him thank you for everything before the darkness of his world imploded around you, replaced by a blinding white light and the sudden, overwhelming sensation of falling.

To everyone else, "waking up" was a miracle. To you, it felt bittersweet.

The dull ache of your arm was a reminder of a reality you had grown to dread. 

Living was exhausting. Living meant waking up every day in a world where justice was a fairy tale. Living in the trailer park, people looked at you with pity. This town judged you harshly and you were stuck in it. The reality check was more than just physical pain; it was the realization that life required a bravery you weren't sure you had. And you were scared of the silence that would follow when you finally couldn't feel him anymore.

Coming back to your body felt like putting on a heavy dress. The silence of the "in-between" was shattered by the harsh, rhythmic beep... beep... beep... of the heart monitor. Loud and mechanical, it pulsed in time with the throbbing ache behind your eyes. The clinical smell of bleach and antiseptic replaced the woodsy scent you were growing accustomed to.

For a split second, you felt a phantom pressure on your hand - the lingering sensation of Eddie’s fingers you yearned for before the cold reality of a hospital bedsheet took its place. You gripped the rough, white sheets to ground yourself.

Your eyelids felt glued shut. A groan catching in your dry throat as you fought the heaviness.

"Steve?" you croaked.

Beside the bed, there was a frantic rustle of fabric and the sound of a chair scraping harshly against the floor. A hand, warm, solid, and shaking, grabbed one of yours. 

"I'm here. I'm right here," Steve’s voice cracked. He sounded like he hadn't slept in a week. "Don't go back. Stay here with me, please.” He pleads noticing your eyes struggling to stay open. 

When you finally forced your eyes open. The fluorescent lights were blinding, making you wince, but as your vision cleared, you saw him. Steve was leaning over you, his hair a mess, dark circles under his eyes, looking exactly like the man who had just used an Ouija board to talk to you from another dimension, went to prison to extract a confession from a murderer - all for you.

"Did you...?" you whispered, your heart hammering against your ribs. 

Steve let out a breath that was half-sob, half-laugh. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper—the top sheet from your E.Munson file.

You closed your eyes for a moment, a single tear slipping out. You were back. But as you felt the warmth of Steve’s hand, a small, hollow part of your chest ached for Eddie. Not only could you still feel the faint, ghostly echo of his kiss on your lips, but as your other hand untwisted itself from the sheets, your palm revealed something hard in it - something obsidian. 

Some days have passed as you eased back into the real world. 

Ever since you returned, there was an air of delicacy around you. Especially now, as you carefully sit on the edge of the couch, your hands fidgeting with the ends of the blanket that Steve fetched for you. Steve, who had been with you all through physical therapy and staying with you in the trailer the last few days. He hasn’t left your side since being discharged. 

"I thought I lost you," he choked out, his voice shaky. While it has been a few days, you both haven’t had the time to really talk about everything. "Honey, I would’ve spent every second of the rest of my life looking. I’d go through wherever it was you were…hell, I’d go through hell too. I’d buy every Ouija board on this planet and scream your name into the void to find you.” 

Taking your hands in his, gripping them with enough pressure to convey his emotion, “I’d do it all over if it meant you ended up back here with me. I love you. I love you so much." Your heart skips as he repeated it. You’d never said it to each other until now. Somehow, you knew he always did though.

When you looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time without the fog of your own pride or the walls you’d built to protect your heart, you noticed that the thing, the person, you’d been searching when you left home was in front of you, looking at you the entire time you’ve been in Hawkins.

Love wasn't a destination you had to earn, it was the man in front of you. Steve had fought through another realm and an evil of this one for you. You could now confidently allow yourself to be loved by him, and more importantly, finally love him back with everything you had - what he deserved. 

The realization hit you hard, your first instinct was, pushing your lips against his in a bruising kiss. His lips reciprocated instantly. His hands let yours go to cup your face as he kisses you with the same sense of urgency. "I love you, too, Steve," you mumble against his lips. "I think I always knew.” 

A smile spreads across Steve’s face as he lets out a breathless sob, the relief of knowing the feeling was mutual. 

“Hey, wait right here” he says, suddenly remembering the bag he placed on your counter. 

He retrieves a small cardboard box from it and takes his seat next to you once more, “I got you something.” 

"What’s this?" You asked curiously.

"Just a little something," Steve muttered, a faint pink tinting his cheeks. He always got nervous when you opened any of his gifts even though you liked every one of them. He put a lot of thought into them and they never missed because he paid attention.  

You pulled back the flaps of the box and out with the layers of tissue paper. When you see the ceramic item, your breath hitches. It was the same mug that Eddie had knocked over due to his jealousy of Steve. You still remembered the sound of it shattering.

You stare at it the same way you had the original. In awe and flutter, the familiar weight in your palm, it wasn't just dishware; it was a piece of Steve. You and Steve.

"Steve," you said lightly, thumb tracing the vinyl of the silly words on it. 

"I figured I’d replace the broken one." He said almost nervously, as if afraid you’d hate it. You could even hear his heart beating.  

You turn to him and smile assuring. “I love it,” you say, planting another kiss on his lips. “Thank you.” You realize there was no sense in mourning the broken pieces of your old life...because like a broken mug, you could pick up the pieces and start new. 

The wind at Hawkins Cemetery always seemed to blow a little colder than anywhere else in town. 

Eddie’s grave had once been a site of vandalism, but today was different. The news of Jason’s confession had hit the Hawkins Post that morning. Eddie Munson was no longer a murderer; he was a victim.

"Looks like someone got here first," Steve noted, gesturing toward the now clean headstone and fresh batch of flowers in the center. 

"We did it," you whispered, the words catching in your throat as you clutch the lone ring in your jacket pocket. 

Steve stepped closer, looking down at the grave. "I'm sorry I didn't see it sooner, Munson," his voice was low and sincere. "I spent years being a dick to guys like you just because I thought I had to. Rest easy, man." 

You reach out to take Steve’s hand in yours - the same hand that had held yours while you were drifting in the dark, the one that saved you.

"You're not a ghost anymore, Eddie," you murmured, “I hope you’re happy.”

A sudden, sharp gust of wind swept through the trees. It didn't feel like the chilling, spectral kind from the trailer. It felt cool and calming. And you could’ve sworn that for a fleeting second, the faint familiar scent that once comforted you, wafted by, giving you all the assurance that you needed. 

Life had moved fast after the trial. 

A couple of years later, Steve now wielded a whistle and a chalkboard, finding peace and fulfillment in helping kids navigate the same hallways and field he once had. 

You, on the other hand, had traded your amateur sleuth files for a badge. Your hard work and time had proven you worthy by Hopper, who aided & guided you in the direction to officially becoming a detective for the Hawkins PD. It wasn't always easy, especially with how deep you went in, treating every victim like Eddie, save for using the Ouija board, and every time you cleared a case, you felt the weight of it drift away, reminding you of the purpose. To make sure no one else ended up forgotten like Eddie was.

You’d finally managed and were convinced to move in with Steve into a new house. The dirt at the trailer park had always felt like it was clinging to something dead compared to suburbs that smelled of freshly cut grass. Right now, it smelled of a faintly sweet scent of cedar from the nursery you had spent all weekend painting, staring intently at the designs you had free handed. 

"Hey, detective. You’re overthinking again. I can hear the gears turning from the hallway."

Steve teased and leaned against the doorframe, still wearing his Hawkins Baseball pullover. A whistle hung around his neck, and his hair was windblown from a long afternoon on the diamond. 

"Are they crooked? I’ve been staring at them so long, you’d think I was trying to solve a case,” you ask, referring to the stars you drew on the wall, a hand resting on the gentle curve of your stomach, "Old habits die hard, I guess."

Steve walked over, wrapped his arms around you, his expression turning serious but infinitely tender. He reached up, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "The only thing you need to solve is this little one’s name,” his hand resting over yours on your bump, “...and maybe what’s for dinner.” That last bit earned him a light slap. His expression softens instantly as you look up at him, dipping his head to give you a quick kiss.

“They look just fine, Picasso.” He assures you, squeezing the embrace lightly. "Think they’re going to be a shortstop or a cop?"

"I don’t know, but I hope they have your hair," you laughed, a hand reaching over so you could run your fingers through his floppy hair. 

“And your spirit,” he adds, resting his chin between the crook of your neck as you lean back into him, the pair of you stare at the drawings on the wall. 

You sigh gently, swaying side-to-side. "Whatever they want to do, I just hope they’ll be happy.” 

His shirt collar dug into his throat, closing off his airway as she grabbed him by it to yank him back. The car sped past, brakes screeching in tune with Eddie’s mom screeching his name. She caught him in her arms, clutching him to her chest, her nails still digging into the nape of his neck, their groceries dropped to the concrete. He coughed and choked and sputtered, trying to catch his breath with his face smothered in her sweater.

Crying just because she was crying.

“I’m sorry, baby, I’m so sorry,” she croaked through her panic, smoothing her hand over the top of his unruly mop. “But you can’t do that, you can’t ever, ever—”

He whimpered his apology to her sleeve, leaving behind shiny trails of salt and snot as he peeked back over his shoulder. Through the blur of tears, he saw the little orange packet lying on the ground where he had just stood.

Smushed flat by the car tire. A smear of chocolate and peanut butter on the asphalt.

It was tough to recall any other details about that day. He couldn’t tell you what they had gone to buy or even what kind of car it was that almost hit him. But he remembered that sharp pressure on his windpipe and the feeling of abruptly being dragged backwards. He remembered the pain in his neck that spiked down his back as his head whipped forward and how his chest seized.

It was the exact same feeling as when he died.

There was no light for him to walk into, no familiar voices calling him back home. He didn’t really feel anything at all until he felt himself being jerked backwards, his body hurtling so fast he couldn't see or hear or feel or do anything at all. He just had to let himself be wrenched away.

Except when he opened his eyes, he didn’t find himself safe in the arms of someone who loved him. Instead, he was standing over you, staring down at you crying over his lifeless body.

“Steve, you have to swear on your life that you will never reveal this information to anyone,” Eddie had said sternly.

Steve held back a laugh that threatened to burst out hearing the tone in Eddie’s voice, but he went along with it, sarcastically saying, “I’ll take it to my grave.”

“Uh uh,” Eddie tuts, “even after that. There’s a lot of loose-lips in this fucking place. So, swear you’ll never reveal this to anyone,” Eddie finishes.

Steve rolls his eyes, but still takes a finger, crosses it over his heart like he did in grade school, and holds his hand palm up. “I swear.”

Eddie lets out an unnecessary long breath. “I bought a Wham! tape once.”

Steve’s jaw drops. “You’re fucking with me.”

“Why would I lie about that?” Eddie asks incredulously.

Steve beams at the thought of Eddie Munson listening to Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go in his van.

“Now do you believe it’s really me?”

“If you sing Careless Whisper to me, sure,” Steve says with a laugh.

And that was that.

Since Robin and the kids all moved away for college, Eddie had become Steve’s only remaining friend in Hawkins. It should make him feel pathetic, his only friend in town is someone he can’t even see, and some days he does feel that way. That thought doesn’t put a damper on the fact that he has Eddie again. Even if it’s just a fraction of him.

It's fine.

It's fine as long as he can come here every day.

It’s fine as long as Eddie isn’t just a bloodstained memory he revisits in his nightmares and daydreams.

------------------------------------------

“Hey, Harrington, wanna play 20 questions?”

Steve wipes the sweat from his brows. The heat from the ninety-nine degree day is still lingering, even with the sun far past setting. “Sure.”

“Okay, cats or dogs?” Eddie starts.

“Both,” Steve answers, still scrubbing away and cursing the assholes that keep vandalizing.

“You swing both ways, eh?”

Steve chuckles and shrugs. “I guess.”

Eddie hums to himself. “Favorite ghostie here?” Steve can practically see the wide, shit eating grin Eddie would undoubtedly have if he could see him.

“Oh, that’s easy. Phyllis. She promised me her banana bread recipe.” Coldness hits his shoulder, like someone smacked him playfully.

“Hardy har har, you’re fucking hilarious. Then Gary is my favorite groundskeeper, so screw you.”

Steve laughs. “Gary retired, like, two months ago.”

“But he’ll live in my heart forever,” Eddie says, ending with a wistful, dramatic sigh that makes Steve snort. “First relationship?”

“Oh god. Uh, I was in seventh grade, and Linda Albright and I dated for a single day,” Steve says, turning his head towards Eddie’s voice with a smile. “She said I was too clingy when I asked to hold her hand, like, five times.”

Eddie chuckles. “I’m sure Linda Albright is kicking herself to this very day.”

Steve snorts again and shrugs.

“Have you ever been in love?” Eddie asks next.

Steve hesitates a moment, and tries to keep his voice neutral when he answers, “Yeah…a couple times.”

“What happened?”

“Well, you know about Nancy.”

“Yeah.”

“And for a minute, there was Robin.”

“Who is gay,” Eddie says matter-of-factly with a chuckle.

Steve laughs. “Who is very gay, yep.”

“Anyone else?”

Steve pauses for a moment, thinking about the week from hell and the man that unwittingly changed his life. His mind supplies him the image of a wide grin, dark curls, and deep, brown eyes that made Steve feel like they could swallow him whole if he looked at them too deeply. His stomach twists the way it normally does when he thinks about the possibility of what could have been, but what ended along with Eddie’s heart beat.

“Almost,” Steve whispers. They’re both quiet for a moment, and he starts scrubbing the slur in red spray paint with vigor. “What about you?” he asks.

“What about me?” Eddie replies, voice lower, and with a twinge of sadness that makes Steve’s heart ache.

“You ever been in love?”

Eddie’s quiet for a while, and Steve thinks he might have left, gone to wherever they go when they’re not hanging around him. A coldness slowly moves closer to him, like Eddie is sitting right next to him now. Steve imagines Eddie twisting his rings, eyebrows furrowed.

“Yeah,” Eddie says, voice as close as Steve expected.

He wishes he could reach out to him, to comfort him in the ways he’s most familiar with. Since he can’t, Steve asks, “Wanna tell me about it?”

A dry chuckle, and Eddie says, “As long as you promise not to punch me in the face.”

“Little hard to do considering I can’t even see your face, dude.”

“Touché.” Steve waits, letting Eddie take his time. If he can give Eddie anything, it’s time.

“I guess I should start by saying it’s a guy. Kind of an important fact,” Eddie states, clearing his throat despite not having a need to. “Probably the straightest guy I’ve ever met. Or, at least I thought so.”

“What makes you think he’s not?”

Eddie sighs. “I don’t know. There were some moments between us, like, in the 24 hours before I… y’know, became bat food and all that,” he chuckles. Steve doesn’t. He sits there at attention, hand stilled and gripping the brush.

“I had always had a crush on this guy, and always hated the fact that I did. What really sealed the deal though was finding out he was actually… a pretty good dude,” Eddie pauses, and Steve feels that wave of comfort wash over him. “And then this guy kept looking at me like…like maybe he felt the same way. I don’t know, it’s stupid. It doesn’t matter.”

“Eddie —”

“Hey, it doesn’t matter. He’s got a full life waiting for him, and I have the afterlife,” Eddie says with a forced laugh. “Que sera sera. Or whatever Doris Day sang about.”

Before Steve can respond, the coldness and comfort are gone, and he’s left with a hollow ache in his chest where his heart should be.

In the weeks after, Eddie acts like it never happened, and Steve doesn’t know what he can say. In his mind, there’s no happy ending here. No possibility that what he wants, what they both want, can come to be.

So, Steve does what he knows. He shows up, he upkeeps the grounds, and he spends precious time with the man that could have been more.

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