Part Two: Comfort Ending.
Summary: Vecna prayed on the vulnerable, and that made you the perfect target — But, Eddie wasn’t going to let anything happen to you, even if that meant running toward the danger himself. The aftermath of his sacrifice let everyone with wounds too large to lick clean and guilt that was suffocating — And blame that was directed at you. After the argument with Dustin, Steve finds you tucked away somewhere outside — away from the stares that lingered inside. The two of you never spoke about what happened, or in general — until now, where he shares something, a promise between him and Eddie before everything fell apart.
Featuring: Mentions of Eddie Munson & Fem Reader, and Steve Harrington.
Tags: Heavy Dialogue, Angst, Comfort, Survivor’s Guilt, Blindness, Grief, Character Death, Depression, Anxiety, Denial.
Part One | Part Three (Angst Ending) | S.T Masterlist
Nancy’s voice cuts through the aftermath like a blade wrapped in pink silk, pulling everyone’s attention away from the tension.
“Alright, five minutes everyone.” She says, firm but gentle. “Get some air, take a breather then we'll finish going over the plan.”
No one argues, and no one dares to look at you because the silence left after Dustin’s confession is heavier than the dark sky outside. It clings to the walls of the radio station, sinking into the static humming through the equipment as it presses into your lungs until breathing feels like a conscious decision.
You don’t trust your voice enough to speak, so you just leave, moving past the cluttered desks and tangled wires. Your boots echo too loudly against the linoleum floor, every step feeling like something fragile, like you’re walking across glass instead of tile.
You push open the back door of the station, the cold air slamming against you like a weighted blanket. The air tastes metallic and dry, carrying the distant scent of smoke from the guarded center of downtown. You wrap your arms around yourself, trying to shield yourself from the wind, your left side feeling wrong, as it always has since the fracture.
You step down off the concrete ledge and carefully walk toward the side of the building, where an old picnic table sits half-rotted and splintered from years of usage. The wood creaks under your weight as you sit down, and for a moment, you just breathe the fresh air.
You try to ignore it, but Dustin’s voice replays in your head on some sickening loop. Maybe you would’ve died instead — you get to squeeze your eyes shut, try to block out the tears because you would have, if it meant Eddie would still be here.
The thought comes too easily, and that's why it scares you. Your throat tightens as you rest your head against the table, hair falling in front of your face as the night air brushes against you, tangling the strands of hair as they sway with the breeze.
Your mind drifts to Eddie in the way it always does whenever things get too loud, focusing on the small things instead of the last memory you have with him. It focuses on the way he’d knock twice on your bedroom window even though you’d told him a million times to just climb in. Or the way he’d dramatically clutch his chest and gasp about how lucky he was to have a girlfriend with good music taste whenever you wore that old band tee he liked.
On the days when things are louder than life itself, you think about the way he’d tilt his head slightly, eyes widened with affection as he listened to you talk about horror films, like every word mattered because every moment spent with you meant the world to him.
You swallow hard, choking down the lump of unshed emotions in your throat as your thoughts drift to the night before everything went wrong, the night everyone was gathered in the Wheelers’ basement. The air was thick with tension that night, you remember falling asleep on the couch at some point, physically exhausted and emotionally distant. You remember how his hand felt in yours before you drifted off, the old calluses from playing guitar nearly burned into the flesh of your hand like a memory you couldn’t forget, even if you tried.
The guilt sits heavy tonight, rotting in your chest like a disease without a cure. It almost feels different, somehow it felt sharper after Dustin’s words, because part of you already believed it before anyone could put a face to the blame.
Maybe you were too fragile.
Maybe you were too damaged.
Maybe if you hadn’t been so broken from your parents’ divorce, from your mother’s venomous words, from your father leaving like you were something disposable.
Maybe if you were stronger Vecna wouldn’t have latched onto you so easily, and Eddie wouldn’t have needed to play the hero.
Your vision blurs with tears, throat swelling with that familiar aching sensation that you’ve grown to hate because you’re so tired or crying. You quickly try to blink away the tears, lifting your head from the table, because maybe the breeze will freeze them over.
The door behind you creaks open again, but you don’t turn around to see who it is. You expect Nancy or Robin, maybe even Dustin if the guilt finally settled in his stomach enough to push him outside.
Instead, you hear the familiar pair of measured footsteps that belong to Steve. He doesn’t say anything at first, but you can feel the way he hovers a few feet away to give you space. The wind shifts, carrying the faint scent of his cologne and something warmer.
“You always pick the dramatic spots,” Steve says quietly, and your lips twitch despite yourself.
“Didn’t know the side of a radio station counted as dramatic.” You reply, flatly.
“Everything’s dramatic now,” Steve replies, stepping a couple of inches closer.
Silence falls between you again, but this one is different. It’s not sharp, or suffocating, it’s just shared silence between two people who are struggling with their own skin.
You finally look at him, and you notice how he looks older than he should. There are faint bags underneath his eyes that weren’t there a year ago, along with a permanent tension in his jaw that never fades. His hair is still perfect, annoyingly so, but even that feels like armor now.
It’s such a simple question, but it feels like such a complication you can’t answer.
“Define okay.” You say, letting out a humorless breath.
Steve nods slightly, like that’s fair because he understands that being okay doesn’t hold the same meaning as it did before. He moves to sit beside you on the table, the wood creaking again with his weight but holding steadily. Steve doesn’t try to crowd you, he just sits there with his elbows resting on his knees, copying your action by watching the dusty sky.
For a while, the silence stretches on and neither of you can find the words to break it. You both just sit there, staring at the sky, one with unfocused eyes and the other staring with a focus that gives them a headache.
Finally, Steve speaks up, clearing his throat slightly. “Y’know, he would’ve punched Dustin for that.” He said, still glaring at the sky like it held all the answers.
You glance at him sharply, eyebrows cringing together in confusion that makes him huff softly through his nose. “Not hard. Just enough to make a point.” He explained.
“I don’t blame Dustin.” You manage to whisper, feeling your throat tightening with the same tears you forced away.
Steve turns his head, finally glancing over at you with a softened expression. “Yeah. Well, I do.”
You shake your head, like the blame wasn’t justified enough. “He’s hurting, Steve.”
“So are you.” He said flatly, and that made you pause.
The words landed gently from the sound of his voice, but firm enough to make them dig deeper into your chest. You didn’t respond, because you don’t know how to explain the way the guilt coils inside you like barbed wire, nearly ripping you apart.
Steve exhales slowly, glancing down at the ground, watching the way your foot bounced anxiously. “There’s something I never told you.” He says after a moment.
Your stomach twists, but you can’t bring yourself to look at him again. “What?”
He hesitates for a second, like he’s deciding whether this is the right time or not before he settles on continuing. “That night at the Wheeler house, when we were all camped out. Before everything.” He starts off, and you can practically feel your heart pounding against your ribcage.
You remember that night all too well, the exhaustion that was clinging to everyone like a virus, the fear and the uncertainty that left everyone on edge until sunrise but between it all, you remember how you fell asleep with Eddie by your side.
“I woke up around three? Maybe four in the morning.” Steve continues, a nostalgic smile barely curving at his expression. “Couldn’t sleep, the house was too quiet. It was weird.”
You finally turned to face him, just enough to notice the way his eyes seemed a little watery as you continued to listen.
“I sat up to grab some water, and he was already awake.”
Your breath catches in your chest, and the anxious leg bouncing suddenly stops. “Eddie?”
“He was sitting on the floor, leaning against the armchair across from where you were sleeping.” He said, nodding lightly.
“He wasn’t sleeping?” You asked, chest aching with something heavy.
“No. He was just… watching you.” Steve explained, his words soft and gentle, like the memory made his chest ache with it.
You blink rapidly, feeling the tears glossing over your eyes again, that traitorous ache swelling in your throat. “Why?” You barely manage to say, voice cracking with the slightest hint of pain.
“He looked terrified,” Steve admits, and your vision blurs again. “Not in a there’s monsters in the attic way. He looked scared in a I don’t know how to protect her from something I can’t see way.” He clarifies.
“I asked him what he was doing, and he told me to shut up.” Steve continues, shaking his head at the memory of it.
“Sounds like Eddie.” You admit, a broken laugh escaping you.
“Yeah, it does.” Steve smiles slightly, a humorless laugh joining his voice. “After that, he told me something. He said, if something goes wrong tomorrow, you gotta look after her.” He continues, his voice lowering slightly.
Your vision blurs even more, tears spilling over before you can stop them. “He said that?” You questioned, voice trembling with conflicted emotions.
“He made me promise,” Steve said, nodding slowly. “He said that you’d pretend you were fine, act tough, and try to carry it alone.” He continued, shifting his body to look at you fully, heart breaking at the way your shoulders started to shake.
“He told me that if he didn’t make it back, I had to make sure you didn’t blame yourself.”
Those words shatter you completely, a gasp of pain spilling over before you could press your hand against your mouth to muffle any more sounds that tried to escape. You look at Steve, eyes swollen and red with tears, shaking your head at his words like you didn’t want to accept it.
Steve didn’t say anything at first, he simply reached out and placed his hand over your shoulder, gently rubbing your back. “You weren’t weak, this wasn’t your fault.” He said firmly.
You shake your head again, chest rising unsteadily as you inhale. “I was targeted, Steve.” You counter, stubbornly and blinded by emotion.
“That’s not the same thing.”
“I was broken.” You whispered.
“You were hurting, that’s different.” He said, voice gentle but firm.
You stare down at your hands, chest aching with the effort to breathe as you focus on the teardrops staining your palm. “It is, really?”
Steve inhaled softly, expression softening even further as he watched you slip into yourself. “He chose. You know that, right?” He said quietly.
“He didn’t hesitate,” Steve’s voice cracks slightly at the edges. “He didn’t stay because you were helpless. He stayed because he loved you, and because for once in his life, he didn’t want to run.”
The wind suddenly picks up, the breeze drowning out the pained cry that threatened to spill just as you pressed your hand over your mouth again.
“You didn’t make him do that,” Steve continues. “He wanted to be brave for you.”
You look at him through your tear-blurred vision, a saddened expression etched across your face. “I would’ve done the same.” You whisper, smiling through the ache.
“And if I had died instead—”
“Don’t,” Steve says sharply.
He notices the way you flinch at the sharpness, and softens immediately. “Don’t go there.”
“Sometimes I think it would’ve been easier.” You admit, voice trembling.
Steve’s hand slips from your shoulder blades to your upper arm, steadying you. “Easier for who?” He asks gently.
When you don’t answer, he exhales slowly. “You think he’d be okay with that? You think he’d want you under that dirt next to him?”
You almost smile through the tears, knowing he absolutely would be furious. “Yeah, I guess he would.”
“He loved you like you were something sacred, not fragile or scared.” He said quietly, squeezing your arm one more time before letting go.
The word settles deep inside you.
“You’re allowed to grieve. You’re allowed to be a mess, but you don’t get to rewrite what he felt because it hurts.” Steve adds.
You wipe at your cheeks roughly, the sleeves of your worn sweater becoming damp. “I don’t know how to do this without him.” You admit, shrugging lightly in defeat.
Steve looks out at the field again, briefly glancing up at the sky as if it would offer him support. “Yeah, me neither.”
Another quiet stretch passes, but it doesn’t feel suffocating anymore. The silence still carries that weight of heaviness, but this time it feels shared, like the weight is becoming manageable.
“I’m gonna keep my promise to him,” Steve says after a moment, eyes still studying the sky as the stars slowly peek out. “Even if you push me away and say you don’t need it.”
You glance over at him, feeling your chest tightening. “You don’t have to.”
“I know.” He said, standing slowly and offering you his hand.
For once, you take it and accept the help. His grip is warm, solid, and grounding as he pulls you to your feet. “You’re not alone, even if it might feel like you are.” He says to you.
The words don’t erase the grief, but that wasn’t his intention. He knows they won’t bring Eddie back, or muffle the guilt, even undo Dustin’s anger. Instead, they make things feel manageable, just slightly.
You looked back at the darkened sky one last time before heading inside, the grief is still there and the ache is still lingering but beneath it, there’s something steadier.
Eddie chose, and maybe surviving without him isn’t a crime. Maybe it’s a responsibility, and this time, you won’t carry it alone.
A/N: sigh… i don’t know if i can handle writing the angst ending even this one maybe me sad. UGH, i’m such crybaby when it comes to angst and my emotional support character because this really isn’t emotionally supporting me LMAO.
anyway, i hope you enjoyed this even thought it ruined me!!! 🤍
