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The air in the Upside Down didn't just feel cold; it felt heavy, like breathing in wet ash. Steve adjusted his grip on the spiked bat, his knuckles white. He was alone—separated from the kids, separated from Nance—and the silence of the scorched forest was louder than any scream.
"You’re tired, Steven."
The voice didn't come from the trees. It echoed from the inside of his skull, smooth and chillingly melodic. Steve spun around, his heart hammering against his ribs.
Standing near a jagged gate of vines was Henry. He didn't look like the monster they’d fought in
the attic. He looked human—the orderly from the lab—wearing a pristine white uniform that felt blinding against the gray decay of the realm. He moved with a predatory grace, closing the distance until he was inches away from the end of Steve’s bat.
"I’m fine," Steve spat, though his hands shook.
Henry reached out, not to strike, but to gently brush a stray lock of hair from Steve’s forehead. His touch was unnervingly cold. "Always the protector. Always the sacrifice. You bleed for people who will eventually move on and leave you behind in this little town."
Henry leaned in closer, his blue eyes searching Steve’s with a terrifying intensity. "Why fight for a world that sees you as a footnote? You have a spark, Steven. A resilience I haven’t seen since... well, in a very long time."
Steve felt the urge to pull away, but his boots felt rooted to the vine-covered ground. Henry’s presence was magnetic, a dark gravity that pulled at the parts of Steve that felt lonely, the parts that felt like he wasn't enough.
"Stay," Henry whispered, his hand sliding down to rest over Steve’s racing heart. "Stop running. Let me show you what it’s like to finally be the one in control."
Henry’s hand didn't move from Steve’s chest. Instead, the pressure increased slightly, and the gray, ash-choked forest began to bleed into something else. The smell of rot was replaced by the scent of fresh-cut grass and expensive cologne.
"Look at them, Steven," Henry murmured in his ear.
Steve blinked, and suddenly he wasn't in the Upside Down. He was standing in a sun-drenched
kitchen. It was the house he’d always imagined—not his parents' cold, empty mansion, but a home. Nance was there, laughing as she poured wine, and a brood of kids played in the backyard. It was the "six little nuggets" dream, rendered in perfect, vivid detail.
"This is what you want, isn't it?" Henry appeared beside him, still in his white orderly uniform, looking utterly out of place in the domestic bliss. "The simple life. The girl. The legacy."
Steve reached out toward the vision of Nance, his fingers trembling. "It’s not real."
"It could be," Henry countered, stepping behind Steve, his voice dropping to a seductive crawl. "The others... they see you as a shield. A tool to be used until it breaks. But I see the strength it takes to hold that shield. Why settle for a life of babysitting and bandages when you could have ‘everything’?"
Henry leaned over Steve’s shoulder, his breath cold against Steve's skin. The vision shifted. Nancy’s face blurred, her laughter turning into a distorted scream, and the sunlight turned a sickly, bruised purple.
"You fight so hard to be 'Good Steve,'" Henry hissed, his fingers digging into Steve’s shoulders. "But look at the anger you hide. The resentment. You’re more like me than you dare admit. Stop being their martyr. Join me, and we will rewrite the ending of this pathetic story together."
Steve’s breath hitched. For a second, the temptation was a physical weight. The idea of no longer having to carry the burden of everyone’s safety, of finally being ‘seen’ by someone as powerful as Henry, was intoxicating.
"I'm nothing like you," Steve choked out, though his eyes remained fixed on the crumbling
dream of his future.
"Then why," Henry whispered, his grip tightening as the world began to shake and crack, "is your heart beating so fast for me?"
"This is what you want, isn't it?" Henry appeared beside him, his white orderly uniform a stark, clinical blot against the warm sunlight of the kitchen. "The simple life. The girl. The legacy."
Steve watched the vision of Nance. She looked perfect, but as he stared, the image felt... hollow. Like a movie he’d seen a thousand times but didn't actually want to star in. He felt a bead of sweat roll down his neck.
"Is it?" Henry asked, his voice tilting with a cruel sort of curiosity. "Or is this just the script you were taught to read?"
With a flick of Henry’s wrist, the scene blurred. The kitchen walls expanded and darkened, transforming into a cozy wood-paneled living room. The "nuggets" were still there, older now, playing D&D on the floor with Dustin and Mike. But Nance was gone.
In her place, leaning against the doorframe, was the silhouette of a man. His face was a shifting blur of shadows—sometimes the sharp jawline of a rebel, sometimes the soft smile of a friend—but the way Steve looked at the figure in the vision was different. It wasn't the performative "boyfriend" look he use to give Nance; No, it was a look of raw, unshielded adoration.
Steve’s stomach dropped. "What is this? Who is that?"
"He is whoever you want him to be," Henry whispered, gliding behind Steve. He placed his hands on Steve’s shoulders, his touch cold enough to sting through the fabric of Steve's denim vest. "You spend so much time pretending, Steven. Acting the part of the jock, the hero, the straight-edged protector. But here, in the dark... you can stop lying."
Steve tried to look away from the blurry man in the vision, but Henry gripped his chin, forcing his head straight.
"You're afraid," Henry murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of Steve’s ear. "Not of me. But of the fact that you feel more alive in this 'wrong' dream than you ever did in the right one. You don't want the white picket fence, Steven. You want to be consumed. You want someone who truly ‘sees’ the parts of you that you hide from Hawkins."
Steve’s breath hitched, a jagged, broken sound. "I'm... I'm supposed to want the girl. I’m Steve Harrington."
"You are a lie," Henry countered softly, his thumb tracing the line of Steve’s jaw. "But you could be so much more. Why settle for a shadow of a life when you could have a masterpiece?"
Steve’s reaction was visceral. The sight of that blurry figure—the warmth he felt just looking at the silhouette of a man he couldn't name—sent a wave of cold terror through him. It wasn't the kind of fear he felt facing a Demogorgon; it was the fear of losing the only identity he’d ever known.
"Get out of my head!" Steve roared.
He swung blindly, his fist passing through the golden-hued air of the vision. As he moved, the domestic scene shattered like glass. The sun-drenched living room splintered, falling away into the suffocating, vine-choked darkness of the Upside Down.
Steve stumbled back, chest heaving, his boots squelching in the organic muck of the forest floor. He pointed a trembling finger at Henry, who hadn't moved an inch.
"That wasn't real," Steve spat, his voice cracking. "That’s just... one of your tricks. You’re trying to mess with me, make me think I’m—that I’m someone I’m not."
Henry chuckled, a low, dry sound that seemed to vibrate through the very trees around them. He began to pace, circling Steve like a shark. "Is that what you tell yourself at night, Steven? That the longing you feel is just a 'trick'? That the way your eyes linger on the others a second too long is just... fatigue?"
"Shut up!" Steve stepped forward, trying to reclaim his bravado, but his knees felt weak. "Didn’t you say that I’m a hero. That means I should be the guy who gets the girl. That’s how this works."
Henry stopped pacing and leaned in, his expression turning from mockery to something darker, more predatory. "You are a boy clinging to a crumbling pedestal. You think 'masculinity' is a shield, but it’s actually your cage. You’d rather die in this gray wasteland than admit that you crave the touch of a man as much as you crave the glory of the fight."
Henry reached out, his long, pale fingers hovering just inches from Steve’s throat. He didn't grab him; he just let the threat of the touch hang there.
"Your friends see the 'Babysitter.' Hawkins sees the 'Jock.' But I see the hollow space inside you, Steven. The part of you that is screaming to be let out." Henry’s eyes narrowed, glowing with a faint, psychic heat. "Tell me... does it hurt? Keeping it all locked away?"
Steve swung his bat this time, a heavy, desperate arc aimed at Henry’s head. Henry didn't even flinch; he simply tilted his head, and the bat stopped mid-air, held by an invisible force.
"You can’t hit what you won't acknowledge," Henry whispered.
"You don't know anything about me!" Steve yelled, his voice echoing off the pulsating walls of the Upside Down. "I’m not like you. I’m not some... some freak hiding in the shadows, obsessed with things I can't have!"
Henry’s eyes flashed, a predatory glint appearing in the blue depths. "And yet, you’re the one who looks at the world and sees only what you’re ‘allowed’ to see. You think your heart is a secret, Steven, but it beats like a drum in this place. It beats for the boys you've envied in silence just as much as it beats for the girls you've loved out loud."
"It's not the same!" Steve snapped, the words tumbling out before he could catch them. "With Nancy, it was... it was easy. It made sense. But with—with ‘him’, it’s—"
Steve froze. The air seemed to get sucked out of his lungs. He hadn't meant to say ‘him’. He hadn't meant to acknowledge that there was a specific 'him' at all. The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the wet, rhythmic thumping of the nearby vines.
Henry’s smile was slow and terrifyingly triumphant. "With ‘him’," Henry repeated, the word tasting like a curse on his tongue. "So there is an idea of the type of man behind the blur. A name you whisper when you think no one is listening of who you envy to be."
"No," Steve whispered, his bravado vanishing instantly. "No, I didn't mean—"
"You meant every word," Henry hissed.
Before Steve could swing the bat again, Henry’s hand shot out. He didn't even touch Steve, but a wave of psychic force slammed into Steve’s chest, lifting him off his feet and pinning him violently against the trunk of a gnarled, blackened tree.
Steve gasped as the breath was knocked out of him. Thick, oily vines immediately snaked around his wrists and ankles, binding him to the bark. The bat clattered to the ground, useless.
Henry glided forward until he was standing directly between Steve’s trapped legs. He placed a hand on the tree on either side of Steve’s head, looming over him. The orderly uniform was gone now, replaced by the raw, powerful form of Vecna—flesh like scorched earth and shifting tendons—but the voice remained that of the man.
"You are so desperate to be 'normal' that you are suffocating yourself," Vecna murmured, his face inches from Steve’s. One cold, clawed finger traced the line of Steve’s throat, pressing just hard enough to make it difficult to swallow.
"Now," Venca whispered, his eyes locking onto Steve’s with terrifying intimacy. "Tell me his name. Give up the secret, little bird, and I might let you breathe."
Steve struggled against the vines, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. The physical toll was nothing compared to the weight of Venca’s gaze, peeling back every layer of defense Steve had spent years building.
The vines tightened, the coarse, damp texture biting into Steve’s skin. Every time he tried to draw a breath, the pressure on his chest increased. Venca was so close now that Steve could feel the cold radiance emanating from him—a void that seemed to suck the heat right out of Steve’s blood.
"The name, Steven," Venca prompted, his voice a silken thread in the dark. "Who is the one who cracked the shell? Who made you realize your 'perfect' life was a lie?"
Steve’s head thrashed against the bark, his eyes wide and clouded with a panicked confusion. "I don't—I don't know what you’re talking about! There is no name! I just... I want my life back! I want things to be normal!"
"Normal," Henry repeated, the word sounding like a rot in his mouth. He leaned in so close that Steve could see the pulsing rhythm of the veins beneath Henry's translucent skin. "You keep reaching for a ghost, Steven. You’re looking for a girl who doesn't want you, to satisfy a father who doesn't love you, in a town that doesn't know you."
Henry’s hand moved, his long, pale fingers splaying across Steve’s temples. Steve let out a strangled cry as a cold, sharp pressure pierced his mind. Images flashed—too fast to catch—but Henry caught them all.
"You hide it even from yourself," Henry murmured, his voice a low, dark hum of discovery. "The way your pulse jumps when you hear the rattle of that van. The way you watched him on that stage in the woods, not with judgment, but with a terrifying envy of his freedom."
Steve’s breath hitched. "No. No, he’s just... he’s a freak. He’s a distraction."
"He is the mirror you're afraid to look into," Henry countered. Steve shook his head, tears finally spilling over. "That’s not... that’s not true. I’m not—I don't—"
"You do," Henry hissed, his grip tightening on Steve’s jaw, forcing him to look into the abyss of Henry’s eyes. "And that is why you are so lonely. Because even in your own head, you are a stranger. You fight me because I am a monster, but you hate yourself because you think you’re true self is one, too."
Henry leaned closer, his forehead almost touching Steve’s. The vines slackened just enough for Steve to slump forward, caught in the cradle of the dark forest and the man-monster before him.
"You see," Henry whispered, his voice dropping to a tone of terrifying empathy. "That is why you and I are the same. We are both monsters in the eyes of Hawkins. I, because of what I can do... and you, because of what you desire. They would never understand the way you want to live. They would call it a sickness. They would try to 'fix' you until there was nothing left but a hollow shell."
Henry’s eyes narrowed, not with anger, but with a dark, shimmering satisfaction. He leaned down, his lips inches from Steve’s ear, his voice dropping to a predatory whisper. "Eddie, that’s his name right?" Henry repeated, the name echoing like a funeral bell. "The boy who died a hero while the world called him a monster. And you... you’re the hero the world loves, yet you feel like a ghost."
Steve’s resistance crumbled. The mention of the bats, the blood, and the way Eddie had looked at him in those final moments—braver than Steve had ever felt—hit him with the force of a tidal wave. He stopped fighting the vines. His head fell back against the bark, his eyes staring blankly at the dark, roiling sky of the Upside Down.
"He didn't run," Steve whispered, his voice cracked and hollow. "He was... he was everything I’m supposed to be. And I’m just... I’m still just the guy who wins 'Babysitter of the Year' while everyone else bleeds."
"You admire his ending because it was honest," Henry murmured, stepping into the space between Steve’s knees, his presence cold and suffocating. "He died as himself. But you? You’re exhausted, Steven. Exhausted from the 'straight-edged' performance. Exhausted from being the protector for a world that has no place for your actual soul."
Henry reached out, his long, pale fingers tracing the scars on Steve’s side—the marks left by the demobats, the same creatures that had taken Eddie. "You don't love him. You envy him. You want the permission he had—to be the 'freak,' to be the 'outcast,' to stop caring if Hawkins thinks you’re King or a catastrophe."
Henry leaned down, pressing his forehead against Steve’s. It was an intimate, terrifying gesture. "That is the secret you hide. It’s not a person you want. It’s a way out. You don't want to love anyone, do you? You just want to stop being ‘this’."
Steve let out a broken, shuddering breath. He didn't pull away. The "Shared Darkness" Henry was offering wasn't about just romance, no it was more. It was about the relief of finally giving up the act.
"There is a freedom in being the villain, Steven," Henry whispered, his hand sliding up to cradle the back of Steve’s neck. "The world stops expecting you to save it. Henry’s expression softened into something even more terrifying; pity.
"You think if they knew, they’d leave you. And they would. They want the protector, the soldier. They don't want the boy who envy’s the outcast. But I... I find the 'broken' parts of you beautiful, little bird. In my world, there is no need for your masks. They come off. So come with me. Let the 'Hero' stay dead in the real world, while you can simply be... nothing. And in being nothing, you are finally free."
Steve’s eyes closed. For the first time, the cold of the Upside Down didn't feel like an enemy. It felt like an invitation to stop feeling altogether. The vines didn't just hold Steve anymore; they began to pulse with a low, rhythmic thrum, synchronized with the heavy beat of Henry’s own heart. Steve’s eyes were half-closed, the fight drained out of him. The numbness was winning.
Henry watched him, his gaze tracing the lines of Steve’s face with a terrifying, clinical fascination. In the curve of Steve's jaw, in the quiet desperation of his silence, Henry saw a reflection of the boy who had once looked at the spiders in his father's house and felt... different. Misunderstood. Alone.
"You look so much like him," Henry whispered, his voice trembling with an emotion that wasn't quite human. "Not the boy who died in the woods. But the boy I was... before I realized that the only way to survive a world of sheep is to become the wolf."
Henry’s hand slid from Steve’s neck to his cheek, his thumb dragging across Steve’s lower lip. It was a possessive gesture, one that claimed ownership.
"Part of me wants to keep you exactly like this," Henry murmured, his eyes darkening to a bruised, abyssal purple. "To shield that spark of humanity you’re so ashamed of. To protect the boy who feels too much. But the other part... the part that knows the truth..."
Henry’s grip suddenly tightened, his fingers digging into Steve’s skin. His face contorted, a flash of pure, obsessive hunger crossing his features. "The other part wants to crush it out of you. To break you down until there is nothing left but the cold, beautiful void. Because then, and only then, would you truly belong to me."
Steve’s eyes flew open, a jolt of pure, primal fear cutting through the numbness. This wasn't just a psychological game anymore. This was a hunger.
"I have watched you for so long, Steven," Henry continued, his voice dropping to a low, feverish crawl.
"I have tasted your loneliness through the veil. I have felt your heartbeat from across the dimensions. You think you are nothing? To me, you are the only thing in that pathetic town worth keeping. I don't just want your service. I want your ‘everything’."
The vines responded to Henry’s rising intensity, snaking higher, wrapping around Steve’s throat and chest like an embrace that was slowly becoming a stranglehold. Henry leaned in, his nose brushing against Steve’s, his breath cold as a grave.
"I love the way you break," Henry whispered, his eyes wide and fixed on Steve’s with an obsessive clarity. "I love the way you try to be good while the darkness eats you alive. You are my masterpiece, little bird. And I will never let you go back to them."
Steve tried to choke out a protest, but the air was gone. He saw the truth in Henry's eyes—a terrifying, singular focus that was more suffocating than any vine. Henry didn't just want to win; he was obsessed with the idea of Steve Harrington being the one thing he finally got to keep.
The pressure of the vines was becoming unbearable, a heavy, crushing weight that felt like a permanent seal. Henry’s face was inches from his, the monster’s obsession radiating off him in cold, suffocating waves. He looked at Steve not as a person, but as a prize—a beautiful, broken thing he had finally claimed.
Then, a sound pierced the veil.
"Steve?"
The voice was tinny, distant, like it was coming from the bottom of a deep well, but it was enough to make the gray sky of the Upside Down flicker.
Henry didn't look angry. Instead, a small, chillingly calm smile touched his lips. He leaned in one last time, his cold breath ghosting over Steve’s ear. He didn't pull away; he lingered, as if memorizing the scent of Steve's fear.
"It seems our time is up for now," Henry whispered, his voice smooth and terrifyingly possessive. "But don't worry, Steven. You can run back to your little world, but you’ll find it feels much smaller now that I’ve shown you the truth."
He reached up, his long, pale fingers brushing a tear from Steve's cheek with a tenderness that made Steve’s skin crawl.
"Sleep well... my little bird," Henry murmured. "I’ll be waiting in the shadows of your next thought."
—————————————
HAWKINS - THE PRESENT
Robin was mid-sentence, gesturing with a crumpled bag of chips. "—and I’m just saying, if we play the radio edit of 'Total Eclipse of the Heart,' we’re basically betraying the entire emotional arc of the song, which is a travesty, Steve. A literal travesty."
Steve didn’t answer. He was staring at the red 'ON AIR' light that was currently off, but he wasn't seeing the bulb. Inside Steve’s head, the cold echo of "my little bird" was just fading away. The feeling of the vines was replaced by the sudden, sharp realization of the radio station’s air conditioning hitting his skin. Steve felt a cold sweat breaking out across his forehead. He could still feel the phantom weight of Henry’s obsession pressing down on him, a dark secret curled up in his chest like a parasite. He looked at the radio tower outside the window—a giant needle pointed at the sky—and felt like a marked man.
She stopped, the silence finally registering as something more than just Steve being annoyed by her rambling. She turned around, expecting to see him rolling his eyes or checking his hair in the reflection of the glass.
Instead, Steve was standing perfectly still in front of the soundboard. His hand was hovered over a dial, but his fingers were locked, frozen in mid-air. He looked like a statue, his eyes fixed on a point somewhere beyond the wall, glazed and unblinking.
"Steve?" Robin asked, her brow furrowing. "Hello? Captain Hair? I know my music takes are legendary, but usually you at least groan at them."
Steve remained motionless. To Robin, he just looked like he’d caught sight of something interesting out the window. She waited three seconds. Five.
"Okay, seriously?" Robin’s voice dropped, the humor vanishing. She stepped closer, reaching out. "Steve!"
She laid a hand on his shoulder. The contact felt like an electric shock. Steve jolted as if he’d been hit with a live wire, his entire body flinching away from her touch. In his haste to "return" to the room, his arm swung out wildly, catching the master fader on the console.
The slider slammed upward. Immediately, the speakers in the small booth exploded with a violent, screeching roar of white noise. It wasn't music; it was pure, raw static, loud enough to make the glass vibrate.
"Holy—!" Steve scrambled, his heart thudding against his ribs like a trapped animal. He fumbled with the board, his fingers slick with sudden sweat, until he managed to kill the volume. The silence that followed was ringing and heavy.
"Jesus, Steve!" Robin shouted, her hands over her ears. "What the hell was that? You nearly blew my eardrums out!"
Steve was leaning over the desk, his chest heaving, his eyes darting around the small room as if expecting to see vines creeping out from under the door. "I... I’m sorry. I just... I slipped."
"You slipped?" Robin echoed, her voice dropping from annoyed to genuinely concerned. She peered into his face, her head tilting. "I called your name like four times, Steve. You were totally gone. You looked like you were... I don't know, staring into the sun or something. What were you thinking about?"
Steve wiped a hand across his mouth. He couldn't tell her about the white uniform. He couldn't tell her about the name Henry had whispered, or the way the monster had looked at him like he was something to be ‘kept’.
"Nothing," Steve lied, forcing a breath out. "Just... honestly? I think I just got a head rush. Stood up too fast or something. My brain just... glitched."
Robin didn't look convinced. She leaned against the equipment rack, crossing her arms. "A glitch? Steve, you looked terrified for a split second there. Like you’d seen a ghost."
"It’s just the heat in here, Robs. This equipment puts off a lot of energy," he said, moving his hand away from the dial. He tried to give her a reassuring smirk, but his lips felt stiff. "I'm fine. I'm just gonna go splash some water on my face, okay? Finish the log for me?"
"Yeah... okay," she said slowly, watching him as he turned for the door.
As Steve stepped into the hallway, the humming of the radio tower outside seemed to pitch up, a frequency only he could hear. It sounded like a soft, distorted laugh. He didn't look back.
Steve stumbled into the cramped, flickering bathroom of the radio station. He slammed his hands against the porcelain sink and turned the faucet on full blast. The water was biting cold, but he welcomed it. He splashed his face over and over, trying to scrub away the phantom sensation of cold skin and the smell of ash.
He kept his head down, eyes squeezed shut. He just needed a second to be Steve Harrington again. But when he finally wiped his eyes and looked up into the mirror, his heart stopped. His reflection was there, but it wasn't moving with him. The "Mirror Steve" stayed slumped, his face pale and eyes sunken. Behind him, standing in the narrow shadows of the bathroom stall, was the tall, white-clad figure of Henry.
In the reflection, Henry’s hand was resting on Steve’s shoulder. Steve spun around, gasping, but the bathroom was empty. Only the dripping faucet and the hum of the fluorescent light remained. When he looked back at the mirror, it was just him—shaking and alone.
He bolted from the bathroom, his breath hitching. He just had to get out. As he passed the main desk, the office phone began to ring. It wasn't the rhythmic ring of a landline; it was erratic, sounding like a frantic heartbeat. Against his better judgment, he picked up the receiver.
"Hello?" he whispered. At first, there was only static. Then, the static began to pulse. ‘Thump-thump’. ‘Thump-thump’. Beneath the noise, a voice filtered through—distorted, as if it were traveling through miles of water.
"My little bird..."
Steve slammed the phone back onto the cradle, his skin crawling. He didn't say goodbye to Robin. He didn't grab his jacket. He just grabbed his keys and ran for the exit.
The cool evening air of Hawkins usually calmed him, but today it felt like a trap. He hopped into his BMW and cranked the engine, the familiar roar of the motor providing a momentary sense of reality. He flipped on the radio, desperate for music—anything to drown out the silence.
Instead of the local pop station, the speakers emitted a low, melodic hum. It was a song he didn't recognize, something classical and haunting, played on a piano that sounded slightly out of tune.
"Come on, come on," Steve hissed, hitting the seek button.
The radio skipped through stations, but every single one was the same. The same piano. The same cold, rhythmic breathing. Suddenly, the music cut out, replaced by a voice—not Henry’s this time, but his own.
“I’m fine, Robs. Just a glitch,” his own voice played back through the speakers, sounding hollow and mocked. Then, Henry’s voice bled through the frequency, overlaying Steve's. "You can't lie to the one who owns the truth, little bird."
Steve gripped the steering wheel so hard the leather groaned. He looked at the passenger seat, half-expecting to see Henry sitting there, watching him with that terrifying, possessive adoration. He realized then that it didn't matter how fast he drove or where he went. Henry wasn't chasing him; Henry was already there.
Finally, Steve pulls into his driveway, the large Harrington house looming ahead of him like a dark monument to his loneliness. He knows he has to go inside, but the house feels more like a cage than ever.
Steve slammed the front door behind him, the clicks of the locks sounding like gunshots in the empty foyer of the Harrington mansion. He didn't turn on the lights. He couldn't. He stumbled toward the living room, his lungs seizing. The air felt like it was made of lead.
“Little bird…”
The whisper was faint, buried under the roaring blood in Steve’s ears.
“My little bird, look at you.”
Steve didn't look. He sank to his knees on the expensive hardwood, his hands flying to his ears, pressing so hard it hurt. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the darkness, but then the house began to react. The chandelier above him began to rattle, the crystals clinking together like chattering teeth. The lights flickered—long, rhythmic pulses of amber and cold white.
‘DONG’. ‘DONG’. ‘DONG’.
The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed, but the sound was distorted, echoing as if it were underwater. Steve curled into a ball, a sob of pure panic breaking from his throat. He was trapped in the middle of a psychic storm, the walls of his house feeling like they were closing in to crush him.
Then, as quickly as it had begun, the world went dead silent.
The lights stopped flickering. The clock froze. The only sound was the sharp, insistent trill of the telephone on the side table. Steve stayed on the floor for a moment, trembling. He reached up, his hand shaking violently, and pulled the receiver down.
"Steve? Steve, please tell me you're there!"
It was Nancy. Her voice was shredded, high-pitched with a terror he hadn't heard since the first night in the Upside Down. "Steve! It—it took her. The lights... the walls... it was one of those things, it was a Demogorgon, Steve! It took Holly! My mom, my dad... they're hurt, they're at the hospital, but Holly is ‘gone’!"
Steve opened his mouth to speak, to comfort her, to ask where she was—but nothing came out. His throat felt like it was filled with cold ash. He was paralyzed, his tongue heavy and useless in his mouth.
In the silence of the room, a shadow detached itself from the corner. It wasn't a physical body,
just a presence, a cold weight pressing against Steve’s back. He felt the phantom sensation of a
hand sliding over his own, the one holding the phone.
"Go," Henry’s voice breathed, sounding almost proud, almost encouraging. "Go, my little bird. Be the hero they need. I'll be watching."
The weight on his tongue vanished instantly. The air rushed back into his lungs.
"Nancy! Nancy, I’m here," Steve gasped out, his voice raw. "I’m here. I’m leaving right now. I’ll
be at the hospital in ten minutes. Just stay there, okay? Don't leave. I’m coming."
He hung up the phone and bolted for the door. He didn't look back at the shadows. He didn't look at the clock that had stopped at the exact moment his panic attack began. He just ran, the engine of his car roaring to life as he sped toward the hospital, Henry’s "permission" ringing in his ears louder than Nancy’s cries.
As soon as he saw the Wheelers, the mask snapped into place. It was a muscle memory he’d perfected over years of being the "Mom" of the group. He held Nancy as she shook, his arms providing a steady anchor while his own mind was a storm of static and shadows.
"It’s okay, Nance. We’re going to find her," he whispered, his voice steady despite the fact that his heart was trying to claw its way out of his chest. Mike was there, pale and hollow-eyed, hovering near his sister. For a moment, the siblings shared a look of pure, unadulterated grief. Steve played his part perfectly—being the "Perfect Hero" everyone expected him to be.
From the doctors, he knew that Karen and Ted were in horrible condition. Both unconscious, both in surgery. Nancy was a wreck, her fingers digging into the fabric of Steve’s jacket as she sobbed into his chest. Steve held her, but his eyes were locked on the end of the hallway. At the end of the hallway, the wing began to warp. The sterile white tiles seemed to bleed into a bruised, pulsating gray.
There, standing under a flickering exit sign, was ‘Henry’.
Not Venca the monster, Henry like he had seen him in the vision. He was the orderly, his white uniform pristine and glowing unnervedly in the dim light. There, leaning against a vending machine that hummed with a sickly yellow light. He looked bored, like a scientist watching a predictable chemical reaction. However, when He caught Steve’s eye that look of boredom changed to a dark, possessive, and satisfied smile—the look of a man watching his favorite pet perform a trick. Steve’s breath hitched. He knew it was Henry messing with his mind. That he wasn’t actually there. But as he felt his panic rising over the situation Henry mouth a single word to him; ‘Stay’. He couldn't do this. Not here. Not with Nancy’s tears soaking into his shirt.
"Nancy! Nancy, oh my god!"
The sound of the double doors swinging open broke the spell. Dustin, Lucas, Will, burst in, followed closely by Jonathan.
"Steve!" Dustin’s voice was a frantic anchor. "Mike's in the hall, he's—he's not talking. Is everyone okay? Where's Holly?"
Steve blinked, the vision of Henry at the end of the hall flickering like a dying bulb. He felt a hand on his arm—Jonathan had moved in, gently taking Nancy from Steve’s grasp. Nancy collapsed into Jonathan’s arms, her boyfriend finally there to take the weight. Steve stepped back, his hands suddenly feeling empty and cold. He felt a tug on his sleeve. Dustin was looking up at him, his brow furrowed with that sharp, analytical concern that Steve usually found annoying, but right now felt like a spotlight on his soul.
"Steve? You okay, man? You look... gray. Like, more than usual for a hospital," Dustin whispered.
"I’m fine, Henderson," Steve said, his voice sounding like it belonged to someone else. He forced a stiff nod toward the others. "Just... a lot of blood. I'm gonna go splash some water on my face. Check on Mike, okay? He needs you."
"Yeah... okay," Dustin said slowly, not moving his eyes from Steve until Steve turned the corner.
The moment the bathroom door clicked shut and Steve was alone, the temperature plummeted his anger ignited. The fluorescent lights overhead didn't just flicker; they groaned, the gas inside them buzzing with an angry, psychic energy.
Steve slammed his hands against the sink, staring down at the drain. "What do you want?!" he hissed, his voice raw with a mix of fury and terror. "You want answers? You think this is funny? Taking a little girl? You're a sick, twisted—"
"Careful, Steven," a voice purred from the shadows of the last stall.
Steve spun around, but the stall was empty. When he looked back at the mirror, Henry was standing directly behind his reflection. The orderly's white uniform was blindingly clean against the grime of the hospital bathroom.
"You're angry," Henry murmured, his reflection leaning down so his mouth was right next to
Steve’s ear in the glass. "How adorable. The little bird is trying to bite its master's hand."
As Steve grew angrier, Henry’s expression turned to one of cold disappointment. Suddenly, an invisible force slammed Steve’s head toward the mirror. He didn't hit the glass, but he was frozen inches from it, his body locked in place by a crushing gravity.
"Do not mistake my affection for weakness," Henry’s voice dropped into a terrifying, guttural register. "I could pull the life from every one of those 'children' out there before you could even scream their names. Dustin... William... Lucas… Mike. I could make their ends very, very slow. Is that what you want, Steven?"
The sheer cold radiating from the mirror was enough to make Steve’s eyes water. The thought of them being targeted because of him was unbearable. The defiance vanished, replaced by a desperate, sickening need to de-escalate.
"No... no, please," Steve choked out, his voice trembling. "I'm sorry. I—I didn't mean it. I'm sorry for the outburst. Please... don't hurt them."
The pressure eased just enough for Steve to slump against the sink, though he was still held in place by Henry's gaze.
"There he is," Henry whispered, his reflection reaching out to trace the line of Steve’s jaw through the glass. "So much better when you're obedient. I don’t like my little birds acting tough, showing their claws when I have only given them permission to be pliant and soft."
Steve took a shuddering breath, his eyes fixed on Henry’s in the mirror. "Why her? Why Holly? If you wanted to get to me, why through her? Why take a kid?"
Henry let out a small, dry chuckle, a sound like dead leaves skittering over stone. "You think too small, Steven. You still see the world through the lens of your own narrow attachments. I didn't take her to hurt you—honestly, your pain in this matter is merely a garnish on a much larger feast. While it is unfortunate that you know of her and that she is close to you, I can assure you, the others will not be."
"Others?" Steve whispered, his blood turning to ice.
"Well, of course," Henry smiled. "She was just the first of many required to achieve my grand plan. But you need not worry, my little birdie; these plans do not impact you as much as you think. You are currently confusing your importance within them. You are not one of the pillars I need, Steven. You are a distraction. A pastime to keep me entertained while the world burns—a toy, if you will. And while I might take great care of my things, I will not let them get in the way of my goal. She was just the first step toward achieving my New World. One where I rule, and
the chaos of humanity is finally silenced."
Steve’s eyes widened. ‘First of many’. Bile rose in his throat. If Henry was planning on making a new world, what would happen to the old one? And deep down: ‘What would happen to me...considering I’m just a toy’?
Henry, perceiving these thoughts, reassured him. "But don’t worry. I plan on having you there, too. As I said, I take good care of things that are mine."
Steve felt sick. Whatever Henry was planning was catastrophic. He needed to let the party know—but just as that thought formed, Henry saw it.
"Hmmm, what’s this? Are you sure that’s a smart idea, little bird? You suddenly figured out my grand plan? Ha! What are you going to say when they ask you how you thought of this? Are you going to mention us? Mention how you belong to me now? You know what would happen if you mentioned any of that."
Suddenly, Steve’s vision shifted. He saw the party looking at him with pure distrust. He heard their whispers: ‘Liar. Traitor. Spy’. The panic spiraled.
Then, the vision shattered. He was back in the bathroom in darkness. He felt a freezing weight against his back. Henry’s arms wrapped around him from behind, pulling Steve’s back against his cold chest. The embrace was restrictive, pinning Steve’s arms to his sides—the hold of a possessor.
"I know you want to go back out there," Henry’s voice whispered in his ear, his smile sharp in the dark. "You want to play the hero. But I would hate for them to find out the truth. I would hate for them to realize that their brave protector is nothing more than my little spy."
Steve stayed in the bathroom for a long minute after the cold weight of Henry’s arms vanished, trying to get his breathing and his mind under control. Henry wasn't making him a spy—he wanted to make everyone else ‘believe’ he was one. He was painting a target on Steve's back, trying to drive a wedge into his relationships. He was trying to isolate him, to make it so he only had Henry. In the worst part was that it was working. All he could think about were Henry’s words and the looks on their faces in the vision Henry had shown him.
And now Steve had to go back out and face them, when all he wanted to do was cry. To scream. He was already doing the former, and he knew the moment he was alone, he would do the other. He had to look everyone in the eye. He had to look Nancy and Mike in the face and pretend he had no idea what happened—pretend this wasn't part of some grand plan and that more kids wouldn't go missing.
He felt sick. He felt like he was going to throw up or pass out, but he couldn't. He couldn't let Henry win. Steve splashed more water on his face and wiped it with a paper towel. He went to the door, his hand grasping the knob as he took a deep breath, ready to put on that protector mask and pretend everything was okay.
Then, he opened the door.
The atmosphere in the waiting room had shifted from pure grief to a frantic, buzzing energy. The Party was in full "operation mode," their trauma converted into the sharp, desperate need for a plan.
Steve leaned against the doorframe for a heartbeat, digging his nails into his palms to ground himself. He could still feel the phantom cold of Henry’s arms around his ribs, but he forced his face into the familiar, weary mask of the reliable older brother.
Dustin was pacing a tight circle, scribbling furiously on a piece of paper he had ripped from a discarded vogue fashion magazine.
"Steve! Finally," Dustin said, not looking up from his notes. "While you were... whatever you were doing, Mike dropped a bomb. Apparently, Holly has an 'invisible friend' who might not be so invisible. Apparently his name is ‘Mr. What’s-It’, basically the boy version of ‘Mrs. What’s-It’. From a wrinkle in time, her favorite book. Mike says that yesterday she told him that ‘Mr. What’s-It’ said monsters were coming, and he promised to 'protect' her." Think about it. someone who knows that monsters are coming and can protect her from the monsters. Ring a bell. How would this person know that monsters are coming? The only way that they would know is if they were the ones sending the monsters. And who can control the monsters? Vecna! This screams Vecna vibes —grooming the kid from the inside before the physical snatch.
Steve felt a jolt of ice in his stomach. ‘Protect her’. He knew exactly what kind of "protection" Henry offered. It was the same suffocating, possessive "love" he had just felt in the bathroom.
"We need to move," Dustin continued, finally looking up. His eyes were bright with a mix of fear and adrenaline. "Nancy and Mike are staying here to try and get to Karen. If she saw this 'Mr. What’s-It' or knows anything about Holly’s drawings, we need those details because that will confirm if my hypothesis is correct. Jonathan will be working to make a trap with Lucas, Will, and also helping prep the gear in case hopper needs to make his already planned crawl deeper."
Dustin stepped toward Steve, shoving the magazine scrap into his pocket. "But we have a problem. To find Holly we are going to need a track a demogorgon, and while we know how to draw it out the tracker—the one we tweaked to pick up the Demogorgon’s frequency—is glitching. Murray is supposed to bring some materials that we need to go pick up so I can tweak it so Nancy can go ahead and shoot it in the demogorgon so we can follow it. I need you to drive me.”
Steve looked across the room. Nancy was huddled with Mike, her face set in a grim mask of determination. She looked at Steve, a silent plea for him to be the soldier she needed him to be.
He felt sick. He knew Holly was the "first of many." He knew this wasn't just a random monster attack. And he knew that every step he took with Dustin toward that tracker was a step Henry was watching.
‘What are you going to say when they ask you how you thought of this?’ Henry’s voice echoed in his mind.
"Steve? You with me?" Dustin asked, hitting Steve’s arm lightly. "Tracker. Murray. Saving the world. Ring a bell?"
"Yeah," Steve said, his voice sandpaper-dry. He cleared his throat and forced a nod. "Yeah, Henderson. Tracker. Let's go. I’m tired of standing around this hospital anyway."
"That's the spirit," Dustin muttered, though he shot Steve a lingering, suspicious look before heading toward the exit.
As Steve followed him out, he passed a darkened hallway. For a split second, the reflection in the glass of the vending machine didn't show the hospital—it showed the white-clad figure of Henry, leaning back and watching him go.
‘Go, my little bird.’
Steve didn't look back. He followed Dustin into the night, the weight of the secret feeling like a physical collar around his neck.
The drive to the ‘The Squawk’ — dub the ‘war room’ by the kids, that served as the base for all their operations—was suffocating. The neon signs of Hawkins flickered past the windows of the BMW like distorted ghosts. Steve gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles looked like white stones, his mind looping back to the bathroom mirror. ‘First of many. My little bird’.
Dustin was hunched in the passenger seat, his lap covered in the torn magazine pages and a map of the forest. He was talking—fast, as he always did—but Steve was only catching every third word.
"...so if Mike is right and 'Mr. What’s-It' is the bridge, we need that receiver. Murray’s meeting us with the truck at the station; he managed to pull some high-grade sensors from out of state. If we combine that with the tracker, we can find where he's holding her-. Steve? Steve, are you even on this planet?"
Steve didn't blink. He was staring at the road, his eyes glassy. "Yeah. Sensors. Truck. I got it, Henderson."
Dustin stopped scribbling. He turned in his seat, squinting at Steve through the darkness of the car. Usually, right about now, Steve would be complaining about the danger or making some comment about how Murray’s fake truck-driver persona probably involved a lot of unwashed flannel.
"You’ve said like five words since we left the hospital," Dustin said, his voice dropping to that serious, intuitive tone. "You’re... you’re really out of it, man. Usually you’re the one telling me to slow down or that my plan is 'certifiably insane.' Now you’re just... a ghost."
Dustin watched Steve from the passenger seat, his brow furrowed. He wasn't thinking about monsters or possession; he was thinking about the way Steve had looked at Nancy back at the hospital.
"Look, man," Dustin said, his voice unusually soft. "I get it. It’s heavy. And I know it’s weird, you know? With Jonathan being back and him and Nancy being... well, them. And you’re still here, being the hero, being the 'rock.' If you’re acting weird because you’re still pining for her and it’s eating you alive to watch them together during a crisis—"
"Dustin, no," Steve interrupted, his voice weary. He gripped the wheel, his knuckles white. "It’s not about Nancy. I’m not 'pining.' She’s my friend, okay? I’m worried about her because her sister is ‘gone’. It’s not some high school drama bullshit, I promise."
"Are you sure? Because you've been acting like a zombie since we left," Dustin pushed. "You can tell me, Steve. If it’s hurting you to be around them, we can swap teams. You don't have to pretend—"
"I'm not pretending!" Steve snapped, his voice cracking. He felt the weight of Henry’s secrets pressing against his ribs. He looked at Dustin, desperate to explain that the danger was so much worse than a broken heart. "Dustin, listen to me. It’s not Nancy. It’s—it’s the way she was taken. There’s something I need to tell you about what’s actually happening—"
As the words "what’s actually happening" left his lips, the car's interior temperature plummeted.
The radio didn't just hiss; it clicked over to a frequency that shouldn't have existed. A slow, haunting melody began to play—a music box tune that sounded cracked and ancient. Then, a distorted, feminine voice began to croon over the static, the lyrics slow and dripping with malice:
“High in the tree... under the moon... my little bird... will be coming home soon...”
Steve’s heart nearly stopped. His vision blurred with a flash of the red-tinted Mindscape. He felt like the air in the car had been replaced by ash.
"What the—" Dustin reached for the dial. "Is that a lullaby? Why is the signal so clear? We’re in the middle of a dead zone."
Steve didn't wait. He slammed his hand down on the power button, his breathing coming in jagged, terrified bursts. He nearly swerved onto the shoulder, his eyes wide and wild.
"Steve! Whoa!" Dustin grabbed the dashboard. "What is your problem? It was just a weird signal! You know the radio waves get wonky near the Mead-Hatch site. It’s probably just some old broadcast bouncing off the atmosphere. Why are you losing it?"
Steve leaned his forehead against the steering wheel for a second, his heart hammering. He couldn't tell Dustin the truth. He couldn't say that the song was for him.
"I’m tense, okay?!" Steve yelled, though it was more out of fear than anger. He wiped a layer of cold sweat from his forehead. "I’m tense, Henderson! We’re driving to meet Murray who got this probably government technology, to build a tracker for Holly, a child who was snatched by a freaking Demogorgon! Which people don’t usually survive that! I’m worried about everyone.
I’m worried about Holly. I’m stressed out of my mind and I don’t want to hear creepy-ass music while I’m trying to keep us alive while driving!"
Dustin blinked, taken aback by the outburst. He adjusted his hat, looking slightly guilty. "Okay. Okay, geez. I get it. We’re all stressed. I didn't mean to needle you about the Nancy thing if you're actually just... having a breakdown."
"I'm not having a breakdown," Steve lied, his voice trembling as he put the car back in gear. "I'm just... I'm just on edge. Let's just find Murray."
As they pulled into the field close to the ‘The Squawk’, Steve saw the silhouette of Murray's truck. He felt the invisible weight of Henry’s arms around him again, a phantom pressure reminding him that no matter how much water he splashed on his face, he was still the "little bird" in the cage.
———————
For the next part it pretty much happens how it happens in the show! With some adjustments, so remember that Dustin got beat up, but this happened before the whole Holly getting kidnapped so when he was at the hospital, he was already beat up. And instead of Steve and Jonathan finding him, the rest of the group find him and they drive him to the hospital to meet up with Nancy. They same scenes happen with them getting traps the demogorgon, Erica apologizing and making the drugged pie to the family to kidnap them and basically it’s all the same until Steve goes through the upside down portal in his car. Now let’s continue😏
————————
The interior of the BMW felt like a pressure cooker. The air was thick with ash from the portal they had just breached, and the sky outside the windshield had shifted into that bruised, lightning-streaked red of the Upside Down.
"I’m just saying, driving a motorized vehicle through a biological rift is statistically asking for a breakdown!" Dustin shouted, his voice cracking as he gripped the dashboard. "We don't know how the engine reacts to the electromagnetic atmosphere here! If we stall out in the middle of the woods, we’re just a four-door lunch box for the Demogorgons!"
"Dustin, shut up!" Nancy snapped from the backseat, her eyes darting between the dark, pulsing vines lining the road. "We had to take the car. We need the speed if we find Holly. We don't have time to hike through this hellscape on foot!"
"And what if we hit a vine?" Jonathan added, his voice tense as he leaned forward from the back. "If the car gets snagged, we’re trapped. Steve, you need to keep your eyes on the road. Steve?"
Steve didn't answer. He didn't even hear them. To him, the shouting in the car had turned into a low, underwater gurgle. The only thing he could hear was the rhythmic, wet thumping of a heart—and it wasn't his own.
The interior of the BMW felt like it was being vacuum-sealed. The air turned thin and freezing, and the panicked shouting of Dustin, Nancy, and Jonathan began to stretch and warp, becoming a low, distorted hum that eventually faded into nothing.
"It’s even more beautiful from the inside, isn't it, little bird?"
Henry’s voice wasn't coming from the radio this time. Steve glanced to his right, and his heart nearly stopped. The car was silent. The seats behind him were empty. Nancy, Jonathan, and Dustin weren't just quiet—they were ‘gone’.
In the passenger seat, sitting casually with his hands folded in his lap, was Henry.
The white of his orderly uniform was the only bright thing in the red, ash-choked world outside the windows. He looked perfectly at peace, his pale eyes fixed on Steve with that terrifyingly intimate intensity.
"They are so loud, aren't they?" Henry murmured, his voice smooth and clear, as if he were sitting inches from Steve's ear. "Always fighting, always scrambling for a control they do not possess. It must be exhausting to be their shield, little bird.” Henry whispered, his phantom hand reaching out to ghost over the steering wheel, right over Steve’s white-knuckled grip. "So frantic. They fight for a world that is already dying. But you... you are sitting right next to the one who holds the knife."
"Wall! Steve! Watch out for the wall!" Dustin yelled, pointing ahead.
Steve blinked, he was focusing, but he couldn’t see in front of him at all. All he could see was Henry’s pale face leaning toward him, smiling that predatory, "gentle" smile.
"Don't look away, little bird. Look at me."
Steve’s head tilted slightly to the right, his eyes glazing over as he leaned into the cold presence of the monster. He was completely gone, lost in the Mindscape while his foot remained heavy on the gas pedal.
"Steve! STEVE! WALL! STOP!"
Suddenly, Henry was gone in Dustin with a frantic look, was yelling his name along with Jonathan and Nancy. As he focused back on the road he saw a giant vine wall right in front of him. He tried to break but alas.
‘CRUNCH’.
The BMW slammed violently into a massive, vine-encrusted wall. The airbags didn't deploy, but the impact sent a bone-jarring shock through the frame. The engine sputtered and died, the headlights flickering against the Viney wall.
The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the sound of the car’s cooling fans struggling to spin.
"Is everyone okay?" Nancy gasped, coughing as a bit of dust filled the cabin.
"I think my ribs just met my lungs," Dustin groaned, clutching his chest. He looked at the driver's seat. "Steve? What the hell, man?! The wall was right in front of us! Why did it take you so long to break!"
Steve was slumped over the wheel, his forehead bleeding slightly from where he’d nicked the rim. He didn't move for a second. He could still hear Henry’s laughter—a soft, melodic sound that faded into the static of the Upside Down.
"Steve?" Jonathan reached over the seat, grabbing Steve’s shoulder.
Steve jolted, his eyes snapping open. He looked around the car, his breathing coming in ragged, terrified gulps. He looked at the wall he had just totaled the front of his car against.
"I... I didn't see it," Steve whispered, his voice shaking. "My eyes... shut for a second all the arguing made me dizzy. My head started to hurt."
Dustin stared at him, his mouth agape. "Your eyes were closed? You're the driver Steve your eyes should be on the road. Not close! Because with them closed things like you driving us into a wall happens!"
Steve wiped the blood from his brow, his eyes darting to the passenger seat where dustin was seating instead of Henry.
“Dustin!” Jonathan exclaimed
“What Dustin means is that we’re sorry that the argument gave you a headache but next time try not to close your eyes when you’re driving we are kind of in uncharted territory right now” said Nancy with Jonathan agreeing.
"Okay," Steve snapped,
“Steve are you okay” Nancy tried to ask Steve, but was cut off by Steve’s “I’m fine” The lie becoming a reflex. "The car is stuck. We have to move. Now."
——————
OK, nice. The next part is pretty much the same as in the show Dustin has his big plan and they go to the the lab and they’re exploring and Dustin and Steve Get into their big fight. Steve does his whole I’m done speech and walks away while Dustin finds the hidden door. Dustin realize he was wrong and is running to stop Nancy. The only difference is he doesn’t run into Steve. Steve went outside. Nancy shoots the thing and Nancy and Jonathan falls into the room. They have their whole unproposal thing. Which Dustin finds some type of chair to break a hole in the wall. And Nancy’s first words to Dustin were “where’s Steve”. Also keep in mind the whole Holly and Max situation and El and hopper situation is happening at the same time and all the other kids are there too. Now we’re back to my story 😉
——————
The argument with Dustin had been the final thread. Walking away felt like a betrayal, but Steve’s skin was crawling so badly he felt he might actually scream if someone touched him. He needed a breather—just five minutes without a tracker, without a plan, without the weight of everyone’s lives on his shoulders. Steve sank to the ground outside the lab's exterior, curling his arms around his knees and burying his head. He drew in jagged, shaky breaths ‘Calm down. Just go back in, apologize to Dustin, and find the kid’.
Suddenly, the building shuddered—the sound of Nancy’s shotgun blast echoing. As a violent vibration ripped through the air—Steve bolted upright, heart hammering against his ribs, but he froze before he could take a single step.
Standing in the red haze of the Upside Down, looking as pristine and calm as a saint, was ‘Henry’.
"Not right now," Steve gasped, backing away, his hands shaking. "Please, not right now—"
His breathing spiraled. The panic attack he’d been holding back since the hospital finally broke over him like a wave. He couldn't get air. His chest felt like it was being crushed by invisible iron bands.
Suddenly, a cold, firm hand rested on his shoulder.
"Breathe, Steven," Henry murmured. His voice wasn't a snarl; it was calm, almost clinical. "In...and out. Follow the rhythm of my hand."
To Steve’s utter confusion, Henry stayed there, guiding him through the peak of the panic. As Steve’s breathing leveled out, he looked up, eyes wide and watery. "Why? Why would you help me?"
Henry let out a low, dry chuckle, a sound of casual amusement. "I wouldn't want my little bird dying of a simple heart palpitation before the feast even begins. You are far too valuable to lose to a lack of oxygen."
Steve recoiled, trying to pull away, but Henry’s grip tightened instantly. The "gentle" touch vanished, replaced by a possessive force that pinned Steve in place. Henry leaned in, his eyes burning with an obsessive light. "You are mine, Steven. Every breath you take is a gift I have allowed you. Do not forget who sustains you."
Steve’s fear turned into a flash of white-hot, reckless anger. "Yours! How about you go to hell!" he spat, his voice cracking. "You don’t sustain me! Now piss off because I'm going to find Holly, and I'm going to get them out of here, and you can take your 'New World' and burn in it!" He turned to run toward the building, but Henry’s voice stopped him like a physical blow.
"It would be such a shame," Henry said softly, "if something were to happen to the youngest Wheeler. Since you care about her so much. She doesn’t need all of her limbs intact to serve as my pillar Steven."
"Steve spun around, his face contorted. "You monster! You’re sick. You think you’re a god, that you can play around with lives. That you’re here to right the wrongs of the world. That you were made into a monster because of Brenner, because he knew you were special and wanted to use you for his own wrongdoing. But actually, you didn’t become a monster because of him, you became one because you were weak!" He screamed at Henry, his rage overriding every survival
instinct he had.
Henry’s face went completely blank. The air around them turned so cold the moisture in the air turned to frost. Then, without a word, Henry vanished.
The silence that followed was terrifying. Steve stood rooted to the spot, the echo of his own words ringing in his ears. ‘What did I do? ‘Oh god’, what did I do’?
Then, a scream tore through the sky. A child’s scream.
"HOLLY!" Nancy’s voice shrieked from inside of the building.
Steve looked up. High above, near the swirling red vortex of the sky, he saw a small figure falling—Holly. She plummeted toward the jagged ground. Steve vision clouded. It went dark completely. He couldn’t see, as he’s vision cleared, he saw Holly body being jerked back upward by an invisible force, disappearing into the dark clouds.
Steve collapsed to the ground, his heart pounding in his ears like a drum. He crawled toward the building, dragging himself into a corner as a full-blown panic attack seized him. He clutched his ears, rocking back and forth. ‘What did I do’? ‘Did she hit the ground’? ‘Was that a punishment’?
‘Was..was she dead’? ‘Did I just kill her because I couldn't keep my mouth shut’? ‘My anger in check’?
He began to hyperventilate so violently that spots danced in his vision. Bile rose in his throat, and he threw up on the ashen ground, sobbing and gasping for air.
"Steven."
Henry was back. He stood over Steve with a look of cruel, mocking pity. He had been furious because Max had helped Holly had almost escaped, but even though Max was gone, he had the girl back, and while looking at Steve, hearing his thoughts, he saw the perfect opportunity to finalize Steve’s undoing.
"Look at you," Henry whispered, kneeling down. "Broken. Trembling. Your 'friends' are inside, and yet you are out here, drowning in your own guilt. You see what your defiance brings? You see how being a 'hero' cannot save a single soul?"
Steve couldn't even argue. He was too weak, too numb. All he could think about was what he saw. ‘He killed her’….’He killed Holly’…
"Come with me," Henry murmured, his voice a manipulative caress. "I can protect you from these thoughts. I can protect you from the consequences of your actions. No more guilt. No more pretending to be the hero they don't deserve."
Steve tried to shake his head, a weak no dying in his throat, but then Henry leaned in and whispered the final blow—a truth so cold it shocked Steve to his core, leaving him completely hollow.
"We don’t want another Holly situation to happen to someone else, do we? Because I would hate to be forced to do so and I know you don’t want that to happen. So, are you ready now, Steven?" Henry asked, his voice sweet as poison. "Ready to be my good boy? My beautiful, sweet, pliant little bird?"
Steve didn't have anything left. No fight. No hope. He just let out a broken whimper and gave a slow, slight nod.
Henry smiled—a genuine, terrifying expression of victory. He reached down and gathered Steve up into a princess carry. Steve didn't resist; he simply buried his face into the crook of Henry’s neck, his body shaking with shallow, exhausted sobs.
As Henry walked toward the massive wall, away from the lab, he began to hum a familiar tune. Sing a lovely song as his voice rose in a soft, creepy croon:
"High in the tree… under the moon…
I count every breath you waste too soon…
I saved you a place where the light won’t move,
The night keeps watch where my shadows bloom,
I taught them the roads on how to follow you,
That’s why the night hums loud when you try to move,
Don’t fight the dark—it knows what to do—
My little bird… will be coming home soon…”
They reached the wall. Henry looked down at Steve, his thumb tracing a path through the tears on Steve’s cheek. "Take a nap, little bird. When you wake up, you will be in the place I promised. Where you will be cared for and where all those bad thoughts can’t hurt you. Where you will finally belong."
Henry placed his hand over Steve’s face. Steve’s eyes rolled back, his body going limp as he slipped into a deep, forced sleep. Henry whistled, and two Demogorgons emerged from the shadows. With unnatural grace, they took Steve from Henry’s arms and began to scale the wall, carrying their prize up toward the swirling, red sky.