A/N: This was originally a five-hundred-words epilogue, and then it somehow grew to six times its size and turned into this, so... I hope you enjoy the completely unintended chapter 2 :)
Steve closes the book.
He stares at the back cover for a while.
Then he heaves a great sigh.
Okay.
Now what?
Now get up and actually do something, his brain says. Steve stretches on the couch and closes his eyes, feeling a stupid mix of happy and sad.
It's been several days since he's been desperate enough to try reading as a form of self-therapy. Completely assured he was just wasting his time – but hey, The Hobbit might at least be boring enough to make him fall asleep – he began reading the book that Dustin had sneaked into his mom's bag of food. It was going to be some crap about dungeons and dragons, Steve thought, and it'd be a success if he made it past page one.
He was shocked to discover that this kind of therapy actually worked. Sort of. You can't really have nightmares if you're not even sleeping due to the fact that you can't put the stupid book down. He lies on the living room couch and doesn't notice the hours gliding past until the first rays of sun shine in through the window, or until he wakes up groggy and disoriented from an uncomfortable sleep, mercifully free of any dreams except for those vaguely filled with beards.
Sometimes Steve wonders if this is what the kids do, just run away into imagined worlds when things get too difficult to handle, and if that's the reason they all seem to be coping so well. Well, if it is, it doesn't sound half bad. He could do that, he thinks. He's always been good at running away.
Other times, though, he can't help but wonder how healthy it actually is. It'd be great to find out if people his age and above do it, but then he realizes he has no one to ask. One time he tries to imagine his dad settling down with a cigar and The Hobbit after a bad day at work, but in addition to making him laugh, the image feels faintly disturbing, so he abandons all similar thought and returns to the story. It's a good thing his parents aren't home, because seeing their son on the couch with his hands glued to a nerdy book would probably be just as disturbing.
He's in luck, though, since they're away so often. Come to think of it, he's probably been spending more time with Mrs. Henderson than his own mom lately… which feels a bit weird, and also somehow okay.
Because Steve loves his mom. She's his mom. She's warm childhood memories and lectures about his grades, expensive dinner parties and complaining about his dad, immaculate dresses and the scent of hairspray that they share. She's many things.
Steve and his mom haven't been close for a long time. He isn't sure whose fault is it more: his, hers, or his dad's.
Mrs. Henderson is warm memories right now, hugs every time he arrives and even bigger ones when he leaves, bags of enough food to last him a week being shoved into his arms and the invitation to come to dinner whenever he wants.
Steve loves his mom. He'd do anything for her.
He'd do anything for Mrs. Henderson, too.
So when she calls him that morning asking if he'd be free to help Dustin clean out the garage for the yard sale (which she'd pay him for, of course), he immediately says yes (he'd say no to the money later) and grabs the keys to his car, banishing the fuzziness of four hours of sleep from his mind. Because really, who cares about sleep. The important thing is that he managed to finish the book before she called.
He drives to the Wheelers place first, because where else would Dustin be on Saturday morning. Mrs. Wheeler lets him in and returns to the kitchen, and Steve waits alone in front of the basement, drumming his fingers on a table with sudden nervousness. He hasn't talked to Dustin since having a breakdown at his house, and knowing the kid, he probably isn't going to do the nice thing and pretend it never happened.
Soon, Dustin climbs up the stairs. Steve braces himself.
"So?" Dustin says by way of greeting.
"So what?"
"Did you read it?" Dustin clarifies, almost bouncing on his heels.
Steve exhales inwardly. The book was another thing altogether.
"I didn't read it, okay?" he says, attempting nonchalance. "I… I skimmed through."
"You skimmed through?" Dustin repeats in dismay.
Steve nods. For several moments Dustin seems too horror-struck to speak, then he lights up again.
"So, what did you think about Murgatroyd the Brown?"
"What? There's no character called Murgatroyd, what are you –"
The familiar grin makes Steve realize he's just made a grave mistake.
"You read it," Dustin says, quietly gleeful. "I knew it." He turns in the direction of the basement and cups a hand around his mouth.
"HEY GUYS! STEVE LOVED THE HOBBIT!"
Steve leans against the wall and groans, covering his face with his hands. The kids thunder up the stairs like a herd of elephants, delight bouncing off the walls, and gather around him talking all at the same time:
"Really, Steve?"
"That's so great!"
"Who's your favorite character? Mine used to be Thorin, now I'm more of a Balin sort of guy."
"Did you like Gandalf, Steve? He's so cool, he always gets everyone out of trouble –"
"What did you think about Smaug? The way he obliterates half the town, like whoosh –"
"What about Gollum, Steve? Did you know he's also a hobbit?"
"Shhh, don't spoil it for him, he hasn't read Lord of the Rings yet –"
"Alright, alright, alright!" Steve shouts, throwing his hands up in front of him. He glances at his watch. "Uh, Dustin, we have to go, we're gonna be late, your mom said to be there by one, so let's just…" He makes a shooing motion towards the door.
There they are. Those looks again.
Feeling like a lame grown-up, and annoyed with himself for feeling like a lame grown-up, Steve ushers Dustin from the house, a chorus of "Bye, Steve!" following him out.
The Henderson garage is full of endless kinds of shit, and as he takes in the piles upon piles upon piles of boxes, Steve distinctly regrets agreeing to do this.
And then he notices the cookies and lemonade Mrs. Henderson has laid out.
He sighs and reaches for a box from the top, and the two of them start working.
They were originally meant to sort the things into 'keep,' 'sell' and 'throw away' piles, but this system quickly deteriorates. Steve soon realizes the most difficult job would be to Dustin focused on the task at hand, as the kid keeps finding old books and toys that make him temporarily deaf to his surroundings. Explaining the item's history to Steve while bubbling with excitement is apparently the highlight of the process.
After some discussion during which Steve is made to feel like a lame grown-up again, they settle into going through the boxes in a kind of slow, lazy rhythm, punctuated by occasional breaks for refreshments that Mrs. Henderson regularly supplies.
She and Dustin beam at each other every time she appears, and after a while, Steve stops finding this completely bizarre. He has no idea how they manage to be so close. Maybe it's because it's just the two of them, he thinks. Or maybe it's an age thing. Maybe, in a few years, Dustin and his mom won't be so close either. The thought makes strangely sad.
And also, somehow, doesn't seem likely at all.
Having exchanged the empty tray for a full one, Mrs. Henderson goes back inside, and after another cookie break, they continue working.
"So, how are you?" Dustin asks after a while. He's going through a box of old clothes and isn't looking at Steve, but his tone is that careful mix of casual and neutral that Steve has been dreading. He shrugs.
"I'm fine."
Dustin snorts, flinging an old sweater at the 'throw away' pile.
"Seriously. How are you?"
"I'm… fine enough," Steve says.
There's no reply.
And that's it, Steve thinks hopefully. He's done the polite thing and asked, now we don't have to talk about it anymore.
"Has it… happened again?" Dustin asks.
Damn it.
"Have any more of your pets almost killed me, you mean?" Steve jokes, aiming to steer the conversation into lighter waters. "No, not recently."
Dustin scoffs.
"Dart did not almost kill you. Those were the other Demodogs. I'm pretty sure he'd never have killed you."
"Yeah, no. I mean, Tews is the one to watch out for, with those tiny claws and baby teeth."
"Hey, don't get between her and the food bowl, that's all I'm saying," Dustin replies, grinning. "And don't stand near a lamp," he adds seriously. "She hates lamps."
Steve chuckles. "Got it." He discretely pushes a box full of books towards Dustin's part of the garage.
This is fine. This is great. Just talking about nothing, just chatting, joking around, now let's look at the pretty books –
"I meant the other thing," Dustin continues. He seems uncomfortable. He draws the books closer, but to Steve's disappointment, there's no reaction whatsoever. "The… freaking out thing."
Steve's stomach flips. He continues going through a box of kitchen appliances mechanically.
"Hasn't happened," he says. But he knows he paused too long before answering.
"And now you're just lying to me," Dustin says. He goes through the books with suspicious uninterest, almost like he's just pretending. Like this conversation is all he cares about.
"I'm not lying to you," Steve mumbles.
"Yeah, right. What the hell, dude? I told you to call me."
"And what'd that accomplish?"
Dustin hauls the entire box of books towards the 'keep' pile and shrugs.
"You'd feel better."
"No, I'd feel worse, knowing that I burdened you with my problems –"
"You can't know that's how you'd feel until you do it, which you really should –"
"Shit, man, I don't know what the hell you expect me to do," Steve says, throwing a broken toaster onto the pile of clothes. "Wake you up in the middle of the night to cry about how scary it is? There's no –"
"Is that what this is about?" Dustin interrupts, scoffing. "You're embarrassed?"
"No, that's not – there's just – there's no point," he says. He stops going through the box and takes a deep breath. "There's no point, okay? And it's so stupid. Barbara Holland died, and Bob Newby and all those other people, Will got possessed, I got out of it without a scratch except for what that maniac did and I'm not supposed to be freaking out. It's…" He sighs. "It's just stupid."
There's no sound of objects being moved. Steve stares at his box, not really seeing it, not daring to look at Dustin.
"I can't sleep without the lights on," Dustin says after a while. "Is that stupid?"
Steve shakes his head. "That's different. You're a kid."
"So are you."
"I'm not. I'm eighteen, a mature adult –"
"Yeah, tell that to your brain."
"Hey, shut up."
"Do you want me to call you first? Will that make it less embarrassing for you?"
"Shit, don't –" Steve turns towards him and looks him in the eyes. "Don't do that," he orders. "Understand? Don't even think about doing that."
Dustin gives him a strange look, then turns around. He starts going through a box with unusual force.
He's pissed. Well, tough, Steve thinks, in spite of the rising guilt. He returns to his box.
"So then, what are you going to do about it?" Dustin asks, and the anger mixed with something else in his voice makes Steve flinch. He can't remember hearing him like this before.
"Just… wait until it stops, I guess," he says.
"Oh, that must be the mature adult speaking," Dustin says maliciously. "I'm sorry, I didn't recognize you –"
"Look, that's enough, okay?" Steve says. "Like it or not, I am older than you, which means I'm not going to talk to you about this shit –"
Dustin turns around and throws a toy truck on the ground.
"Yeah, and who else are you gonna talk to, Steve?" he yells. "Your parents? Your school counselor? We are the only ones who know what happened, and we gotta talk about it so we don't go crazy!"
There is silence.
Steve stands there, caught between two breaths, unable to do anything but stare at Dustin as a terrible thought occurs:
Maybe Dustin needs to talk about it as much as he's trying to get Steve to do it.
Maybe more.
The realization makes his legs go numb.
Can he be more self-absorbed?
I am the worst person in the world, he thinks. I am the actual worst –
He opens his mouth, but no words come. The kid just shakes his head and turns around.
Steve feels like he can't move. Shit he sucks at comforting people, he's already lost the only girl he's ever been in love with and now he's losing this kid too, this stupid, shithead, amazing kid –
He takes a tentative step towards Dustin, who still has his back turned. From the side, Steve can see that he's holding an old, weathered-looking teddy bear, stroking it gently with the tips of his fingers.
"I'm sorry, okay?" Steve says quietly. "What I said… I didn't mean… I didn't mean that you can't call me. I just meant… I don't want you to call me just because you think that I need help. But if you…" He runs a hand through his hair. "Look, just call me any time, day or night. Don't think for one second that you can't, because you can, and you should. Okay?
Dustin is still quiet. Steve is getting desperate.
"… Do you wanna talk about it?" he pleads.
"No," Dustin says irritably. Then he sighs. "Not right now. But sometimes… Maybe."
Steve takes a deep breath. Slowly, he returns to his box, barely registering what he's doing. The relief makes his hands shake.
"What has all of this been like for you?" he asks. He can't believe he's never asked before. "Do you ever… freak out?"
There's a small pause.
"It's mostly just… the lights thing," Dustin says, looking at the teddy bear. "I can't fall asleep in the dark. And… sometimes I have bad dreams. And like… Sometimes I start thinking about what happened, and I can't stop. It's like it's always in my head. And even if I forget about it for a minute it always comes back. Then it stops for like no reason and it doesn't even cross my mind for days. And then I remember and it's in my head all over again. It's weird."
"And what do you do when it's like that?" he asks. He tries very hard to just sound concerned and not as if he's fishing for suggestions.
Dustin shrugs. "Read, mostly. Play with Tews. Hang out with my mom. She doesn't know anything, but she just has this thing, like, she makes you feel better just by being there. Or I hang out with the guys, that kind of stuff."
Steve nods.
"Right."
Well, he thinks, he has no books, pets or friends, and hanging out with his mom seems like a brilliant recipe for feeling even worse. He sighs inwardly.
"You and the guys talk about what happened?"
"Not really," Dustin says. "Will doesn't want to. Everyone else is making him talk about it and he's so sick of it, which I totally understand. Mike doesn't want to because of Will, and if Will's not there he just goes on about El anyway. I talked with Lucas a bit, but ultimately I think he just wants to forget about it. But like, how can we ever forget about this? How?"
At that moment, Steve realizes something else:
Despite not being lonely, Dustin Henderson doesn't really have anyone to talk to either.
And Steve wants to say something important so bad. He wants to lie, make a joke, give advice or some comforting garbage that will be meaningful and make it all better, that will make the kid forget that they've almost died and let him have at least some peace of mind in the chaos of the memories haunting every moment of his life. He wants to say anything other than what he says.
But he can't.
"I don't know."
Dustin looks at him. Steve holds the gaze.
There's nothing else to say.
After a few seconds, Dustin reverts to the box of toys and starts sorting through them.
Steve stands there for a while, then he picks up another box from the top and continues with the work.
The atmosphere quietly settles.
"Seriously though, what did you think of The Hobbit?" Dustin asks after a few minutes.
The most awesome thing I've ever –
"It was… Not bad. It was okay."
Dustin looks impressed.
"High praise from King Steve," he teases, but there's no malice in it this time, and it's great. "You do know that's an actual book you read, right, not just like, the back of a Farrah Fawcett spray –"
"Shut up. It was surprisingly okay, actually. I thought it'd be really boring, but it wasn't."
"Who's your favorite character?"
Steve scoffs.
"Are you kidding me? Bilbo."
"Bilbo?" Dustin asks, smiling.
"Of course. Come on, the dude's just minding his own business, eating all this great food, drinking beer, smoking his pipe… And a bunch of dwarves barge into his house and drag him away on some stupid life-threatening adventure. You gotta feel for the guy."
Dustin laughs. "He did get something out of it, though."
"Yeah, a shitload of gold he didn't need, and probably a lifetime of nightmares about that dragon."
"No, I mean… he made all these friends, and they're friends forever. They'll always be there for him. That's kind of cool, right?"
Steve thinks about this.
"Yeah… that's kind of cool."
A/N: Thank you for reading, I would love to hear your impressions 3