And let’s not forget Eddie Munson. He dies in the final season playing a metal guitar on a rickety trailer roof, sacrificing himself to distract demon bats. It’s so epic that you almost forget he’s gone. That’s the show’s trick: it wraps death in a sparkly 80s mixtape of nostalgia and heroic moments. You walk away thinking, “Yeah, that was sad, but what a way to go.” It’s like getting fired from a job you hate but with a standing ovation and a guitar solo.
The villains die too. The Demogorgon? Dead. Vecna? Kinda dead, then not, then maybe dead. It’s like trying to kill a cockroach in your kitchen—you think you got it, but it’s probably hiding under the fridge, plotting revenge. The show treats villain deaths the way you treat a bad roommate: you hope they’re gone for good, but you’re always a little suspicious when you hear a noise in the basement.
What’s the Deal with the Kids? The Real Emotional Damage
Now, you might notice the core kids—Mike, Eleven, Lucas, Dustin, and Will—never die. Not really, anyway. They have near-death experiences like they’re collecting them as souvenirs. “Oh, I got choked by a demodog. Just another Tuesday.” It’s like when you trip on a sidewalk but your coffee stays perfectly balanced—close call, but no real spill. The show knows that if a kid died, we’d burn down Hawkins ourselves. So they save the gut punches for the adults and the side characters.
Slideshow: Who Will Die In Stranger Things Season 5?
This creates a weird dynamic. You worry about the kids like they’re your own kids at a school play. “Don’t go into that dark tunnel, sweetie!” But then an adult like Dr. Brenner dies—and you feel nothing. Or worse, you cheer. It’s like your neighbor’s loud lawnmower finally breaks down. No tears, just relief.
