Eddie had always called himself a coward.

Not when it came to girls—he could talk circles around them with that grin, that charm that never quite masked the nerves. Not when it came to the idiotic dares his friends threw his way either—he’d always do them, laughing the loudest, pretending not to care.

No. The truth was uglier. Eddie was a coward when it came to danger.

In every D&D campaign, he was the one who begged his party to flee, to live to fight another day. Better a retreat than a massacre. He was the one with his eyes wide open to what could be lost, too afraid to gamble.

And when Chrissy died in front of him, when the horror of it shredded the world he thought he knew, he ran. He hid.

But not now.

You knew it the second he turned to you, fingers gripping the rope of torn sheets, the escape route that could have carried him back to safety, back to his trailer, back to life. All he had to do was climb. Just climb.

But there was something in his eyes you had never seen before. A glint. A stubbornness. A choice.

He wasn’t going to run this time. He wasn’t going to let anyone else die while he lived.

He let go.

The rope swung free as Eddie grabbed the bike, pedaling hard into the endless dark of the Upside Down, his wild hair flying, his face set in a grim smile as the swarm of demo-bats followed, drawn by his noise, his sacrifice.

By the time you scrambled back down into the choked, rotting air of that place, he was gone. The silence was deafening—until you heard it.

The shrieks. His voice.

You followed it, stumbling over debris, lungs burning, and then you saw.

A storm of wings, black and endless, tore around him, the air vibrating with their hunger. Eddie stood in the center, a broken knight with his nail-studded trashcan shield, the spear you had made together clutched in his bloody hands. He swung, struck, fought, teeth bared, laughter spilling out like he could trick himself into believing this wasn’t the end.

For a moment, he looked unstoppable. For a moment, he looked like a hero.

But all heroes fall.

They came from every side, claws ripping, teeth tearing, and the boy who had always been afraid finally disappeared beneath them. His scream cut through you, raw and jagged, a sound you knew would never leave you.

And then, too quickly, it was quiet again.

The bats scattered, leaving only what was left of him.

You stumbled to his side, your hands shaking as you reached for him. Blood was everywhere, slick and warm, bubbling at his lips, seeping from his fingers, chest, stomach, legs—every part of him carved open. His body shuddered, broken and small beneath the weight of his pain.

But when his eyes found yours, there were no tears. No fear.

He smiled.

It was faint, cracked and red at the edges, his teeth stained with blood, but it was brighter than you had ever seen it. Like he had finally done something right.

“I didn’t run away this time, right?”

He whispered, voice thin, trembling on the edge of silence.

He looked so peaceful, like he could die right there in your arms if you only told him he was enough. That he had been brave. That he hadn’t failed.