Chapter Text
Eddie knew he was going to die young.
Not consciously, maybe, but you can't watch your mother die the way he did without internalizing some of that. Without, on some level, understanding that you're destined for the same.
He just never thought it would happen like this.
He thought, at some point, that the body was supposed to go numb. That it can only handle so much before all those nerves decide to give up, but Eddie can attest to the fact that he feels every tear in his skin and every wound underneath until it all converges into one horrible thrum, all-consuming.
Something clogs his throat. Warm and wet and thick. He can't breathe.
He coughs, spluttering, gravity keeping it in place and he when he turns his head to the side he feels wetness leak down his neck.
He coughs again, and watches as thick globs of blood splatter the dirt in front of his face.
He's running out of time.
He wishes he could've said goodbye. Properly. Had time to tell Dustin how much he loves him. Time to tell Wayne. To tell Steve--
Steve.
Tears prick at his eyes. His throat feels thick again, and he coughs, the puddle in front of him blooming.
Steve will blame himself. He'll carry it forever.
He hears something, distant and faint, and hopes it isn't Henderson. He doesn't want him to see him like this. To watch him die. To hold him as he does.
Eddie tries to look, to see, but he has no energy left.
But they won. They had to've. His death will mean something, after all of this. Henderson will be safe. So will Wayne. Gareth and Jeff and Dougie and all his little sheepies, they'll be safe.
Steve will be safe.
A sense of calm envelopes him.
He's dying.
There's nothing left to do.
The sounds get closer. Something rustles to his left and he can't pick his head up to see.
Something touches his face. It's warm and careful and familiar, and the hands move him, so gently he barely feels it at all.
Steve looks down at him. There are tears in his eyes. He's saying something that Eddie can't hear, like there's cotton stuck in his ears.
He wants to--needs to--hear him. Understand him. He'll never get the chance again.
He tries to focus, but his mind feels like an hourglass, his consciousness dripping through.
He only has minutes.
"Eddie," he hears, finally, "stay with me. Baby, you're gonna be okay. We'll get you out of here."
Steve's hands move. To the wounds at Eddie's sides, but even Steve's broad palms aren't big enough to stop all the blood, and he feels Steve's hands slip on his slick skin.
"No," he rasps, and it feels Herculean, getting his lips and tongue and throat to all move together to produce just that word. "Sweetheart, you won't."
His boyfriend's gaze tears back to him, red and tear-streaked, that horrible wound around his throat angry and swollen. "Yes," Steve says, all defiance, brave and honorable and stubborn, and Eddie is overcome, again, as he is always, that he had the privilege to be loved by him. "We will," Steve goes on, and the hands on Eddie's stomach move, try to slip under him, to lift him up, but there's so much blood.
The jostling makes him cough, wet and thick and spitting, and when he opens his eyes Steve is staring at the fresh clots of blood next to him.
"You're not leaving me like this." Steve's voice has lost its edge, his tone now pleading, and Eddie's hourglass is almost out of sand.
His hand twitches. He wants to hold Steve's, to press him close, to promise him he'll be okay. He'll find someone else. That Eddie wants him to. "I would never leave you."
He would never.
Steve's tears come faster, dripping down his cheeks. They fall onto Eddie's chest.
The numbness they talk about is finally settling in. The pain is gone.
"I love you," he promises, and Steve shakes his head, desperate and terrified. He can see Steve take his hand, can see him squeeze it. "This isn't your fault."
"No," Steve pleads, his head turns away from him. "Robin!" Steve's crying in earnest now, his voice cracking, "Nancy! Help me!"
His head turns back to him, and Eddie doesn't have any words left.
Save a few.
"Take it," he rasps, and he glances down to the necklace strung around his neck. "It's yours." He swallows a final mouthful of blood. "I'm yours."
Steve says something else, but Eddie's ears have begun to ring, cottony and vibrating.
His lungs won't expand.
His consciousness slips.
The last thing he feels, as the final parts of him fall, is a hand, small, against his chest.