Chapter Text
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Chapter 1
The Basement Where It All Began
The basement of the Wheeler house had hardly changed at all.
Maybe it was the smell of old paper. Maybe the couch creaking in the exact same spot. Maybe the table — that table — with its marks from dice, pens, and impatient childish palms. Mike stood in the middle of the room, his hands in his pockets, and for a moment he wasn't twenty-seven years old. He was twelve.
In the library, the Dungeons & Dragons books stood in a row. No one had touched them since. Monster Manual. Player’s Handbook. Dungeon Master’s Guide. Beside them, the notebooks. His old papers. The maps. The names.
Will the Wise.
MadMax.
Dustin the Dwarf.
Sir Lucas.
Mike reached out and pulled out a book. He opened it carefully, as if afraid that if he did it too quickly, something would wake up. The pages rustled slightly. He remembered himself hunched over that same book, describing dark dungeons and monsters with passion, while Dustin constantly corrected him, Lucas questioned every decision, and Will… Will just listened, with that look that always saw a little deeper than everyone else.
He remembered laughter.
He remembered arguments.
He remembered Dustin’s voice: “You can’t do that, Mike, that’s not how the rules work!”
He remembered Lucas leaning back in his chair, folding his arms.
He remembered Will drawing the worlds he described.
And then, he remembered how everything stopped being a game.
The Upside Down.
The losses.
The silences.
He put the book back in its place. He approached the table and touched his fingers to the surface. There they had rolled their last dice. There they had left their books, all of them—even Max—as a promise that something was over. Or that something had closed so it wouldn’t swallow them up.
His mother’s voice interrupted his thoughts, just like it had then.
The basement door opened abruptly.
“Mike! Dinner’s ready!”
Mike lifted his head, and without even thinking, he answered in the same tone, the same intensity, as if not a day had passed.
“Now, Mom!”
Karen stood for a moment on the top step. She looked at him. Her smile was calmer now, more tired, but there was still something familiar about it.
“Don’t make me come down there.”
“I’m coming,” he said, and went up the steps.
The kitchen table was simply set. Nothing special. Ted was already sitting at his place, leafing through a newspaper. Holly was across from Mike, her cell phone in her hand, but she put it aside when she saw him.
“You’re staring again,” she said to him.
“I always stare when I’m home,” he replied.
Karen sat down and began to serve.
For a few minutes, there was only the sound of forks. It was strange—all these years later, and yet this table made him feel like a child again.
The phone rang.
Mike looked at the screen. The name that appeared made him freeze for a split second.
Nancy.
She rose slightly from her chair.
“It’s Nancy,” she said.
Karen smiled immediately.
“Put her on speaker.”
Mike pressed the button.
“Hey,” Nancy’s voice came. It was warm. A little tired. But happy.
“Hey,” he answered.
“I just wanted to tell you in person. Well— as personal as a phone call gets,” she said, and laughed a little.
“I’m pregnant.”
Karen put down her fork.
“Oh my God,” she said.
“Nancy.”
Ted looked up.
“Pregnant?”
“Five months,” Nancy continued.
“We’re coming back to Hawkins soon anyway, so… I thought you should know.”
Mike smiled, but something inside him tightened.
“I’m really happy for you,” he said. And he meant it.
They talked a little more. About New York. About the trip. About home. When the call ended, the table was silent for a few seconds.
Holly looked at him.
“You okay?”
Mike hesitated.
“Yeah. Just… thinking.”
Holly played with her fork.
“I’m scared,” she finally said.
Mike turned to her.
“Of what?”
“Of growing up,” she replied.
“Of leaving. Of staying. Of everything.”
He looked at her for a moment. Then he smiled faintly.
“That never really goes away,” he told her.
“You just learn how to live with it.”
Holly nodded.
“That’s not comforting at all.”
Mike chuckled softly.
And somewhere, deep inside the house, in the basement they had left behind, the books sat still. Waiting.
—————
The kitchen was quiet in that very specific way only late afternoons could be.
Sunlight filtered through the thin curtains, casting warm, golden lines across the wooden table. Max sat there alone, one knee pulled up under her, her elbows resting on the surface in front of her. Between her hands lay a photograph—slightly bent at the corners, colors faded just enough to remind her how old it was.
Six kids.
Herself. Lucas. Mike. Dustin. Will.
And El.
They were standing outside Starcourt Mall, arms slung around each other’s shoulders, sweaty and smiling like they had just survived something big—because they had. Max remembered how loud everything had been that day. The music, the laughter, the fear humming just beneath it all. She remembered thinking, We’re okay. We made it.
She traced her thumb over El’s face in the picture.
If she were alive, she’d be twenty-nine now.
Max swallowed.
Footsteps padded softly behind her.
“Mom?”
Max didn’t turn immediately. She smiled before she heard him fully enter the room.
Lucas appeared in the doorway, their daughter balanced on his hip. Christina’s curls bounced with every small movement, her tiny hands gripping the collar of his T-shirt like she owned him—which, in many ways, she did.
“There you are,” Lucas said gently. “I was wondering where you disappeared to.”
Christina leaned forward, squinting at the photograph.
“Who dat?” she asked, her voice bright and curious.
Max turned the photo so she could see it better.
“That’s Mommy and Daddy,” Max said softly. “And our friends.”
Lucas walked closer, lowering Christina so she stood between them, her little hands now resting on the edge of the table.
“That was a long time ago,” Lucas added. “Before you.”
Christina looked up at him, wide blue eyes serious.
“I was baby?”
“You weren’t even born yet,” he smiled.
Max finally looked at Lucas. Really looked at him.
His hair was shorter than it used to be, the way he kept it now for work. The faint lines near his eyes hadn’t been there when they were teenagers. There was something steadier about him now. Something grounded.
She loved him more for it.
“Bad day?” Lucas asked quietly.
Max hesitated, then shrugged.
“Just… thinking.”
Lucas nodded like he understood exactly what that meant.
He sat down beside her, pulling Christina into his lap. The little girl immediately began playing with his badge, which he’d forgotten to take off after work.
“Daddy shiny,” she announced.
Lucas laughed.
“Careful with that, kid.”
Max smiled at the sound. It still surprised her sometimes—how normal their life looked from the outside.
“You worry too much,” Lucas said gently, glancing at her.
“I don’t worry too much,” Max replied. “I worry the right amount.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“You’ve been staring at that picture for ten minutes.”
She exhaled.
“I keep thinking about what we went through. About everything we survived. And then I look at her and—” She gestured subtly toward Christina. “What if I pass all that fear on to her?”
Lucas didn’t answer right away.
Christina suddenly squirmed, clearly done with sitting still. Lucas set her down, and she immediately ran off toward the living room, humming to herself.
Lucas turned back to Max.
“You’re not broken,” he said firmly. “And neither is she.”
Max looked down at the table.
“You didn’t see what I saw. Not all of it.”
“I saw enough,” Lucas replied quietly. “And I see you now. You’re here. You’re present. You love her.”
“That doesn’t stop the nightmares,” Max whispered.
Lucas reached for her hand, squeezing it.
“No. But it means you don’t face them alone.”
—
Night came slowly.
By the time the house was dark, Christina was asleep in her room, curled around a stuffed dinosaur Lucas had bought her during a night shift he’d come home too late from.
Lucas lay on his back, one arm draped over Max.
Her breathing was uneven.
Then it changed.
Max gasped suddenly, her body tensing. Her fingers dug into the sheets, her breath coming sharp and panicked.
“No—no, stop—”
Lucas turned instantly.
“Max,” he said softly. “Hey. Hey, you’re okay.”
Her eyes flew open, unfocused. She sucked in air like she’d been underwater too long.
“It’s back,” she whispered. “I couldn’t move. I couldn’t scream.”
Lucas sat up, pulling her against his chest.
“You’re here,” he said firmly. “You’re in our bed. You’re safe.”
She clutched his shirt, shaking.
“What if it never really left? What if it comes back and I can’t protect her?”
Lucas pressed his forehead against hers.
“You already are protecting her,” he said. “Every single day.”
Max pulled back slightly, tears streaking her face.
“I’m scared, Lucas. I’m scared I’ll mess her up. That she’ll feel everything I feel. That she’ll see things.”
Lucas froze for half a second.
“See things?” he repeated carefully.
Max wiped her face, frustrated.
“Sometimes she stares at nothing. Sometimes she reacts like there’s something there.”
Lucas took a slow breath.
“She’s three.”
“So was Will,” Max said quietly.
That landed heavy between them.
Before Lucas could respond, there was a soft knock on the bedroom door.
“Mommy?”
Lucas stood.
“I’ve got her.”
Christina padded into the room, wide awake and far too energetic for the hour. She climbed onto the bed without hesitation, settling between them.
“No sleep,” she announced proudly.
Lucas sighed softly.
“Guess not.”
Max pulled her close, kissing the top of her head.
“Daddy,” Christina said suddenly, “tell story.”
Lucas glanced at Max. She nodded.
He lay back down, Christina curling against his side.
“Okay,” he said. “A long time ago, Mommy and Daddy had friends.”
Max smiled faintly.
“They were brave,” Lucas continued. “Even when they were scared.”
“Where now?” Christina asked.
Lucas hesitated.
“Some are far away,” Max said gently. “Some we don’t see anymore.”
“And El?” Christina asked.
Max’s breath caught.
Lucas answered quietly.
“El was special. She saved us.”
Max closed her eyes.
“If she were here,” Lucas added softly, “she’d love you.”
Christina smiled sleepily.
“Night,” she murmured.
As her breathing slowed, Max stared at the ceiling.
“What if it comes back?” she whispered.
Lucas kissed her temple.
“Then we face it,” he said. “Together.”
And somewhere deep inside Max, something old and familiar stirred.
Not fear.
Memory.
Chapter Text
Chapter Two
The small café in Hawkins smelled of coffee and baked bread, faintly sweet and comforting. Mike Wheeler sat across from Dustin Henderson and Amanda, his hands wrapped around a steaming mug. Dustin’s elbows rested on the table, fingers tapping lightly as he listened.
“So,” Mike said, glancing between them, “how long has it been since we all actually sat down together?”
Amanda laughed softly, unaware of the weight in his voice.
“Long enough that I can’t even remember,” she said. “I’m sure you two have some stories I’ll never hear.”
Mike smiled, a little sadly.
“Maybe,” he admitted. “Maybe someday.”
Dustin nudged his shoulder.
“Come on, Mike. We have to share a few. Otherwise, what’s the point of surviving all that?”
Mike laughed lightly.
“Yeah, fair enough.”
They sipped their drinks. The café’s soft murmur of conversation felt far away from the chaos that once consumed them. Mike traced a finger along the rim of his mug, thinking of the old days—of basements, monsters, and worlds no one else could understand.
“You know,” Mike said, “I started writing the books last year. About… us, in a way.”
Amanda raised an eyebrow, intrigued.
“Books?”
“Yeah,” Mike said, “I’ve been turning all our adventures—what we went through—into fiction. Not using our real names, of course. But the memories, the feelings… all of it’s in there.”
Dustin leaned forward, smiling.
“That’s amazing. I wish I could’ve read that when I was a kid.”
“Yeah,” Mike said quietly. “Some of it is fun. Some of it… isn’t. But it’s important to me to get it down. So we don’t forget.”
Amanda tilted her head, smiling at Dustin.
“You two go way back, don’t you?”
Dustin chuckled.
“Way back. Before we had real responsibilities, before anyone expected us to be anything.”
Mike nodded, eyes distant.
“I remember our first D&D night. Basement, dice, snacks everywhere. We were invincible… or at least we thought we were.”
Amanda smiled warmly.
“It sounds like a good life,” she said. “Before… everything.”
Mike and Dustin exchanged a look, small smiles tugging at their lips but shadows behind their eyes.
“Max and Lucas,” Dustin said, breaking the pause, “they’re doing… well, I guess. Far away, like all of us.”
Mike nodded slowly.
“Yeah. They’re out there somewhere. Max… she’s strong, though. Always was. Lucas too. I think they’ll be okay.”
Dustin’s expression softened.
“Will and Eleven… I think about them sometimes. About how different life would be if things had turned out another way.”
Mike exhaled slowly.
“Yeah. El… gone from our lives in a way no one can fix. But we have to carry on, right?”
Amanda watched them quietly, sensing the weight but not fully understanding it. She reached out and touched Mike’s hand.
“You’re both doing a good job holding it together,” she said softly. “Even if I don’t know the whole story.”
Dustin smiled faintly, grateful.
“You’re part of it now, though. You make the memories better.”
There was a pause, filled only with the soft clatter of cups and the quiet hum of the café. Mike’s gaze drifted to the window, recalling Hawkins as it used to be—the streets, the mall, the woods where they ran as kids.
“And… others,” Mike said quietly. “Robin, Nancy, Jonathan… Joyce, Hopper. Everyone we left behind. It feels strange, you know, thinking about where we all ended up.”
Dustin nodded.
“Yeah. It’s like pieces of a puzzle that don’t quite fit anymore.”
Mike’s voice softened.
“I’d give anything to see them all together again, just once. Like the old days. Reunited. Laughing, fighting… just us.”
Dustin nodded, understanding exactly what he meant.
“Me too,” he said softly. “It’s the kind of reunion you dream about when you’re afraid the world’s gone cold.”
Amanda, sensing the heaviness, finally spoke.
“I think… I think I need to get some rest,” she said. “It’s been a long day, and I’m tired.”
Mike and Dustin exchanged a glance. She rose gracefully, grabbing her bag.
“Go ahead,” Mike said. “We’ll finish this conversation later.”
Amanda smiled faintly and left, her footsteps fading into the hallway.
The café felt emptier immediately.
Once Amanda was gone, the conversation changed, shifted to something heavier, something they had never been able to say in front of anyone else.
Mike set his mug down, leaning closer to Dustin.
“Now… we can really talk.”
Dustin nodded, a little tight in the shoulders.
“Yeah. About everything. About… the stuff she doesn’t know.”
Mike exhaled.
“Exactly. About the Upside Down, about the monsters, about all the nights we thought we’d never see the sun again.”
Dustin frowned, thinking.
“Sometimes I still see it. When it’s quiet, or when I’m alone… I see the shadows, the way it creeps into the edges of the world.”
Mike’s hands curled into fists.
“Same here. And I hate that it’s part of us now. That we can’t forget. That even when we try to move on… it’s there.”
Dustin swallowed hard.
“Do you ever… think about them? The ones we lost, the ones we couldn’t save?”
Mike nodded slowly.
“All the time. And the worst part… I still remember the sounds. The silence that followed. I think… sometimes, it feels like I’m the only one carrying it all.”
Dustin put his hand on Mike’s.
“You’re not. I feel it too. Every memory, every scar, it’s still there. And it shapes us, sure… but it doesn’t define us.”
Mike’s eyes shimmered, fighting back emotion.
“I keep thinking… if El were here, if Max and Lucas weren’t so far away… we could fix some of it. Laugh more. Cry less. Just… be kids again, at least for a moment.”
Dustin nodded slowly.
“I think about that too. But then I think… maybe it’s not about going back. Maybe it’s about remembering who we were, and who we are now. And trying to protect the ones we still have.”
Mike let out a shaky breath.
“You think… we could ever get the gang together again? All of them? Lucas, Max, Will, El, Nancy, Jonathan, Robin, everyone…?”
Dustin’s gaze softened, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
“Someday. If we survive long enough, if Hawkins lets us… I think we can. Even if it’s just for a day. Even if it’s just to remember.”
Mike smiled faintly, tears threatening at the corner of his eyes.
“Yeah… a day to remember. To remind us what it felt like… to be alive before everything went dark.”
Dustin reached over, squeezing his friend’s shoulder.
“We’ll make it happen. Somehow. We always do.”
Mike nodded.
“And we’ll remember them all. The ones who fought, the ones who survived… the ones who couldn’t. We’ll carry them forward, Dustin. Always.”
Dustin’s eyes glistened.
“Always,” he echoed.
And for the first time in years, the weight that had pressed down on them both felt a little lighter. Not gone. Not forgotten. But shared. And somehow, in sharing it, survivable.
————
The apartment smelled faintly of coffee and old books, mixed with the subtle aroma of lavender from a small candle on the kitchen counter. It was a simple place—warm and cozy, lived-in but neat. A few sketches leaned against the walls, unfinished, some framed photos of a skyline in the distance, and a scattering of art supplies that hinted at its occupant’s profession.
Will Byers leaned against the counter, a mug of tea in his hand, watching the rain streak the city windows. Across from him, his boyfriend—Ethan—stood barefoot on the wooden floor, tracing a finger absentmindedly along the edge of the counter.
“Do you ever miss it?” Ethan asked quietly, breaking the comfortable silence.
Will tilted his head, considering the question. “Miss… what?”
“The old days,” Ethan said softly. “Hawkins. The chaos. The… monsters. All of it.”
Will’s eyes drifted to the rainy cityscape outside. “Sometimes,” he admitted. “Not like I want to go back, but… it’s part of who I am. It always will be.”
Ethan smiled gently, coming closer. “You don’t let it define you, though. Not anymore.”
Will laughed softly, a little bitter. “I try not to. Some days, it feels like the Upside Down is still following me around, though. In the quiet moments. In the shadows.”
Ethan stepped closer, placing a hand lightly on Will’s shoulder. “And you’ve faced it. All of it. You’re alive. You’re here. You’re… not alone anymore.”
Will’s lips curved into a small, genuine smile. He set his mug down and reached for Ethan’s hand. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I’ve got someone now who understands. Who doesn’t need all the explanations. Who just… gets me.”
Ethan leaned in, resting his forehead against Will’s. “I want to be that person,” he said quietly. “For everything. The past, the present, the scary stuff you still carry… I want to be the safe place you come home to.”
Will felt a warmth bloom in his chest, the kind of comfort he hadn’t felt in years. All those nights spent hiding, running, surviving… none of it seemed to matter in this moment. Here, in this quiet apartment in Chicago, with someone who loved him, he could breathe. Truly breathe.
“I never thought I’d feel normal,” Will admitted, his voice trembling slightly. “Not like this. Not… happy, without fear pressing down all the time.”
“You are,” Ethan said softly, brushing Will’s hair back. “You’ve earned this. You deserve it.”
Will reached up, cupping Ethan’s face. Their eyes met, and in that shared gaze, all the scars and pain melted, if only for a moment. Then they leaned in, lips meeting in a slow, tender kiss. It wasn’t rushed, it wasn’t frantic—it was steady, warm, a promise that whatever came next, they would face it together.
When they pulled back, Will rested his forehead against Ethan’s, breathing in the same rhythm. “Thank you,” he whispered.
“For what?” Ethan asked, smiling.
“For seeing me. The real me. All of me.”
Ethan chuckled softly. “I always have. And I always will.”
Will smiled, feeling lighter than he had in years. This apartment, this man, this quiet Chicago night… it was the life he had fought for without realizing it. Each day, each decision, each tiny act of courage had brought him here.
“Do you ever think about the others?” Will asked, the question surfacing naturally. “Lucas. Max. Mike. Dustin. El. The gang… Joyce, Hopper…”
Ethan squeezed his hand. “All the time,” he said gently. “You carry them with you. Even if you’re not in Hawkins anymore.”
Will nodded. “Yeah. And it’s weird… because I feel like a different person here. Safer. But part of me will always be… tied to them. To everything that happened there.”
Ethan kissed his hand, then gave Will another soft, lingering kiss. “And that’s okay,” he said. “It’s part of your story. But it doesn’t control your future.”
Will smiled again, closing his eyes for a moment. “I’m glad you’re here,” he murmured.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Ethan replied. “Ever.”
Will felt a tear slip down his cheek, quickly brushed away. It wasn’t sorrow—it was relief. A release. The weight of years, of fear, of memories he’d carried alone… felt lighter now.
He pulled Ethan into a hug, wrapping his arms tightly around him, feeling the steady beat of a heart that matched his own. They stayed like that for several moments, just holding each other, until the rain outside softened and the world felt distant and safe.
“Promise me something,” Will whispered finally.
“What?” Ethan asked, resting his chin on Will’s shoulder.
“Whatever comes… whatever we hear about Hawkins, about… them… we face it together,” Will said.
Ethan’s grip tightened. “Together,” he confirmed.
Will smiled again, leaning back to look at Ethan. “I don’t think I ever realized how much I needed this,” he said softly.
“You needed someone who sees the real you,” Ethan replied. “And now you have me.”
Will let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “I think I finally understand what it means to live, not just survive.”
Ethan kissed him again, a soft, lingering brush of lips that said everything words couldn’t. In that moment, the apartment, the rain, the distant city lights… all of it faded, leaving only the two of them, and a quiet, unshakable hope.
Will leaned back against Ethan, closing his eyes, letting himself truly rest for the first time in years. For the first time, he felt the possibility of a future that wasn’t haunted, a life that wasn’t measured by fear, and a love that was steady, patient, and real.
And for the first time in a long time, Will Byers smiled—and it wasn’t a smile shadowed by memory, it was a smile lit by hope.
Chapter Text
Chapter 3
(Flashback)
The rain tapped softly against the windows of the small, dimly lit bar in Chicago. Neon signs flickered outside, casting a blue and red glow across the worn wooden floor. Will Byers sat slouched on a high stool at the far end of the counter, a half-empty glass of whiskey in front of him. The air smelled faintly of old liquor, roasted coffee, and a hint of rain that had followed him in from the streets.
He stared at the amber liquid, swirling it slowly, trying to convince himself that it was helping him forget—even if just for a little while. The door chimed as someone entered, and Will glanced up.
“Hey,” a calm voice said. “Is this seat taken?”
Will shook his head, looking at the young man with soft brown eyes and a careful smile. He slid the stool over.
“I’m Ethan,” the man said, settling in beside him. “You new around here?”
Will nodded, managing a faint smile. “Yeah… moved here recently. Chicago.”
Ethan’s gaze lingered, perceptive but gentle. “Cool. I’m glad we met.”
Will took a sip of his whiskey, wincing at the burn. He wanted to speak, but the words felt heavy, stuck somewhere deep inside him. Ethan noticed the hesitation, the tension in Will’s shoulders.
“You okay?” Ethan asked softly.
Will hesitated, then let out a shaky laugh. “Yeah… yeah, I guess. Just… thinking.”
Ethan nodded, a silent, patient encouragement that made it safe to continue.
And then, without thinking, without the usual walls he put up, Will began to speak.
“I’ve… been through things,” he started, voice low, trembling. “Things most people wouldn’t believe. Monsters. Shadows. Places that shouldn’t exist. It… it changes you.”
Ethan’s eyes softened, leaning slightly closer. “I’m listening,” he said.
Will took a deep breath, letting the words spill out, fueled by the alcohol and the desperate need to be understood.
“The Upside Down,” he whispered. “It’s real. And it’s… it’s always there, in the corners of my mind. I try to sleep, but sometimes I see it… I see the shadows, the walls closing in. And I… I’m scared. I don’t want to be scared anymore, but I can’t help it.”
A tear escaped his eye, and he wiped it quickly, embarrassed, but Ethan didn’t flinch. Instead, he placed a hand gently on Will’s arm.
“You don’t have to hide it,” Ethan said softly. “Not here. Not from me.”
Will shook his head, voice cracking. “I’ve hidden it for so long… from everyone. My friends. My family. I thought if I didn’t talk about it, it wouldn’t hurt anyone else. But it’s like… it’s like a part of me I can’t escape. I’m… broken in ways I can’t fix.”
Ethan didn’t speak immediately. He just listened, letting the words hang in the air. Then, carefully, he said, “You’re not broken, Will. You survived. You’re still here. And you’re talking about it now. That… that’s strength. That’s not weakness.”
Will looked at him, the alcohol making his emotions spill over. “Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever feel normal. Or if I’ll always be… haunted by it.”
“You will be haunted,” Ethan admitted, softly, honestly. “And that’s okay. But it doesn’t define your life. You define it. Every choice, every step forward. That’s what matters.”
Will blinked, feeling a warmth he hadn’t felt in years—a quiet, fragile hope. “I… I’ve never had anyone to tell these things to. Never anyone who wouldn’t think I was crazy.”
Ethan smiled gently. “You’re not crazy. You’re human. And I’m here. You can tell me anything.”
Will swallowed hard, his throat tight. The fear, the grief, the memories of the Upside Down… all of it came spilling out, unrestrained. He told Ethan about nights hiding under blankets, of dark corridors, of screams no one else could hear, of friends he had lost and friends he had survived with. He spoke of Mike, Lucas, Max, Dustin, Eleven… of the guilt he carried, and the fear that something like it could return.
Ethan didn’t flinch. He didn’t judge. He only listened, occasionally nodding, sometimes reaching over to place a comforting hand on Will’s shoulder, holding it steady.
Finally, Will’s voice grew quieter, almost a whisper. “I’m scared of… what the future holds. I don’t know if I can face it. I just want… I just want to feel safe. For once.”
Ethan leaned closer, looking into Will’s eyes. “Then let me be that for you. You don’t have to face it alone anymore. Not now. Not ever.”
Will blinked, tears welling again, but this time he didn’t try to hide them. He let himself cry, letting the weight of all those years, all the trauma, slide off him into the quiet space between them. Ethan didn’t move, didn’t speak—just let him feel it, let him release it.
After a long moment, Will leaned back slightly, a faint, shaky smile forming. “Thank you… for just… being here. For listening. I… I didn’t think anyone would.”
Ethan reached across the small table, taking Will’s hand gently. “I’m not going anywhere. You’ve got me now. You’re not alone.”
Will felt the tight knot in his chest begin to loosen, a sense of calm he hadn’t known in years. The city outside continued to rain, the bar around them filled with low murmurs and clinking glasses, but in that moment, none of it mattered. He had someone to trust. Someone who would stay. Someone who made it safe to be vulnerable.
For the first time since Hawkins, since the monsters and the darkness, Will let himself believe that maybe… maybe he could be happy. Maybe he could be more than just a survivor.
He gave Ethan a small, tentative smile. “I think… I think I can do this. Maybe not perfectly. But I can try. With you.”
Ethan squeezed his hand, smiling back. “And I’ll be here every step of the way.”
The rain outside eased, and a single streak of light from a neon sign caught Will’s eye. He let himself watch it, long enough to feel hope creeping in—a light in the darkness he had been trapped in for so long.
And for the first time, in years, he felt… safe.
————
The sun was just beginning to rise over Hawkins, casting soft golden light across the small suburban street. The sound of birds chirping and the distant hum of morning traffic filled the air. Steve Harrington’s house was alive with motion, the kind that only came from two small boys who had no concept of being quiet before breakfast.
“Mom! Dad!” a little voice called out. Steve peeked into the living room and saw Edward, his four-year-old, tugging at his hand. Behind him, Jackson, two years younger, was crawling on the couch, his bright green eyes wide with excitement.
Steve grinned, ruffling Edward’s hair. “Good morning, champ. Did you sleep well?”
Edward laughed, bouncing on the spot. “Yeah! Can we have pancakes?”
Steve chuckled, looking over at his wife, Kitten, who was already in the kitchen humming softly as she prepared breakfast. “Pancakes it is,” he said, giving her a quick smile. She waved without turning, her hair tied up in a messy bun, flour dusting her apron.
Steve moved to help Edward down from the couch, carefully scooping up Jackson as well. “Come on, little man,” he said, lifting him into his arms. “Breakfast waits for no one, not even superheroes.”
The boys giggled, following him into the kitchen. Steve placed Jackson on a chair, helping him buckle into the high chair. Edward sat at the small table, already inspecting the pancakes Kitten had stacked.
“So,” Steve said, sliding into the chair beside Edward, “how’s school today?”
Edward grinned, pointing at his plate. “Good! I drew a dragon!”
Steve raised an eyebrow, impressed. “A dragon? That’s awesome. You’re gonna be an artist like Dustin someday, huh?”
Edward nodded seriously. “Yeah! Or a scientist!”
Steve chuckled. “Or maybe both. Who says you can’t be a dragon-drawing scientist?”
Kitten placed a plate of pancakes in front of Steve, then returned to the stove to flip another batch. “Breakfast is ready!” she announced, and the room smelled of maple syrup, butter, and home.
Steve took a bite, smiling at the simple perfection of it all. The chaos of the world outside, the memories of Hawkins’ darker days, all seemed far away. Here, surrounded by his family, life felt… safe.
During breakfast, Steve’s phone buzzed on the counter. He glanced down and saw a message from Dustin. Hey man, can we catch up later? Got a lot to tell you.
Steve grinned. “Looks like Dustin wants to chat later. I think he’s missing our late-night adventures.”
Edward looked up, eyes wide. “You’re gonna talk about monsters again, Dad?”
Steve laughed softly. “Maybe. But just the stories, buddy. The scary stuff is in the past. And maybe… maybe some of the funny stuff too.”
After breakfast, Steve and Kitten cleaned up together while the boys played nearby. The simple rhythm of family life—the laughter, the chores, the quiet moments—felt grounding. It reminded him of why he had fought so hard all those years ago, why he had survived Hawkins.
Later that morning, Steve stepped into the garage, where Dustin had arrived, backpack slung over one shoulder, holding a bag of groceries he insisted on bringing.
“Hey, man,” Steve greeted, clapping Dustin on the shoulder. “How’s the city treating you?”
Dustin grinned, shaking his head. “Busy. Chaotic. Just how I like it. But I missed Hawkins, you know? And catching up with you feels… right.”
Steve laughed, remembering their teenage days of baseball games, mall fights, and Dungeons & Dragons nights. “Yeah. It’s weird, isn’t it? How we all ended up? Some of us married, some… not so much.”
Dustin nodded. “Speaking of married… how are the boys?”
Steve’s face lit up. “They’re amazing. Edward is talking about dragons and planets, Jackson just wants to explore the world… and honestly, Kitten and I are surviving, somehow.” He chuckled. “It’s a lot, but it’s worth it. Every single day.”
Dustin smiled. “I’m happy for you, man. Really. You’ve got a good life here.”
Steve leaned back, sighing contentedly. “Yeah. And you know, Robin’s gonna come by soon. Thought it’d be nice for the kids to meet her again. She’s… well, she’s part of the gang, even if we’re all scattered now.”
Dustin raised an eyebrow. “Really? She’s making the trip?”
Steve nodded. “Yeah. She wanted to see everyone, especially the boys. I think she’s missed the chaos of Hawkins as much as anyone.”
Dustin laughed softly. “Robin always did like chaos.”
Steve smiled, a soft warmth spreading across his chest. “Yeah, she did. And it’ll be good for the boys… to see her, to meet someone who’s part of our old world, even if it’s just for a little while.”
They spent the next hour talking, reminiscing, sharing small stories from their past adventures, but also about the present: the boys, school, life in Hawkins, and the little victories and setbacks that came with raising children. It was a grounding, comforting conversation, full of warmth and laughter, but also with undertones of nostalgia for the times that had shaped them.
“Sometimes,” Steve said, thoughtfully, “I think about all of us back then. How we survived everything… how we came through it together.”
Dustin nodded slowly. “And we’re still coming through it. Just… in different ways now.”
Steve smiled, a little wistful. “Yeah. Different ways. But still together… in the ways that matter.”
They shared a quiet moment, letting the memories and the present coexist. Outside, the sun climbed higher, and the world moved forward. Inside, the garage felt like a sanctuary, filled with laughter, stories, and the bond of friends who had survived too much to let go.
And in that quiet moment, Steve Harrington realized that, even after everything, life could still be warm, full of love, and… normal. As normal as life in Hawkins could ever be.
————
The Florida sun streamed through the tall windows of the hospital, casting long shadows across the polished floors. Robin Buckley moved with purpose, her crisp white uniform immaculate, badge clipped neatly on her chest. She adjusted her stethoscope as she rounded the corner, clipboard in hand, checking patient charts with the precision of someone who had learned to trust her instincts.
It was quiet, almost too quiet, and Robin felt the familiar tug of nostalgia. She missed Hawkins, missed the chaos and the laughter of her friends, even the danger that had defined so much of their teenage years. Here, in this vast hospital, surrounded by sterile walls and muted fluorescent lights, she had a sense of control, a life she had carefully built for herself.
“Robin! Can you help with room 12B?” a nurse called out.
“I’m on it,” Robin replied, her voice calm, professional. She moved swiftly, efficiently, checking on the patient, adjusting the IV drip, reassuring the anxious elderly woman with a gentle smile. Her confidence was palpable; she had grown into herself, into her role, into the person she had always wanted to be.
After a while, Robin retreated to a small break room, sipping lukewarm coffee. She allowed herself a rare moment to exhale. Sitting there, she thought of Hawkins, of Mike, Will, Dustin, Lucas, Max, Eleven… and especially of Steve. She wondered how he was doing, if the boys were as mischievous as they were years ago, and whether Robin’s presence would bring a sense of old comfort when she visited.
Her phone buzzed, and she picked it up instinctively. A message from an old friend flashed across the screen: “Robin! We miss you. Come back soon?” She smiled faintly, typing a quick reply. “Soon. Can’t wait to see everyone again.”
The memory of Hawkins came rushing back—the late-night D&D sessions, the frantic searches, the laughter echoing through the streets. She missed it, yes, but she also valued the distance. Here, she had honed her skills, saved lives, and carved out a space where she was respected, needed, and capable.
Robin leaned back in her chair, thinking of her own growth. The girl who had once been sarcastic and hesitant, who hid behind humor and wit to mask her fears, had become someone who could face crisis head-on, who could act decisively and compassionately. Yet, the thought of her friends brought a pang of longing—she missed the messy, chaotic love that came with being part of a tight-knit group who had survived nightmares together.
Her reverie was broken by the sound of a nurse calling her name again. “Robin, can you assist in the ER? We’ve got a critical incoming.”
She nodded, standing and adjusting her uniform. “On my way.”
The rush of the ER was familiar, comforting even. The controlled chaos of monitors, beeping machines, urgent footsteps, and quick decisions reminded her of Hawkins in a strange way—just without the monsters from another dimension. Here, the stakes were real but tangible. Lives depended on her judgment, and she thrived in that responsibility.
Later, during a brief lull, Robin found a quiet corner and pulled out her phone again. She scrolled through photos of her friends, laughing at old memories. One picture caught her eye—Mike, Will, Dustin, Lucas, Max, Eleven—they were all there, frozen in time at the Starcourt Mall. A bittersweet smile tugged at her lips. She longed for those days, yet she was proud of how far they had all come, even if they were scattered across the country.
“I miss them,” she whispered to herself, tracing the photo with her finger. “But… I’m ready to see them again. Stronger, older… not just surviving, but living.”
Robin’s shift ended late in the evening. Walking out into the humid Florida night, the warm breeze brushing against her face, she felt a sense of anticipation. Soon, she would see them all again. Hawkins had shaped her, challenged her, and changed her, but now she was ready to return, to reconnect, to face whatever the future held—with maturity, skill, and the warmth of old friendships guiding her.
For the first time in a long time, Robin allowed herself to hope. Hope that the reunion would not only rekindle memories but also strengthen the bonds that had once kept them alive. She smiled at the thought, feeling a surge of determination. Whatever had happened, whatever trials lay ahead, she would meet them head-on. And this time, she would do it fully aware, fully capable, fully herself.
Robin took a deep breath, looking up at the stars that were beginning to twinkle over Florida. She thought of Steve, of the boys, of the friends she had left behind—and she felt ready. Ready to reconnect. Ready to embrace the past and the present. Ready to face Hawkins once more, not as a scared teenager, but as a woman who had grown through fire, who had learned, survived, and thrived.
And in that quiet, determined moment, Robin Buckley knew that no matter the distance, no matter the time apart, she belonged to that group, to those memories, and to the life they had built …
Chapter Text
Chapter 4
The California sun streamed through the wide windows of the Sinclair home, spilling over the kitchen and casting long streaks of light across the tiled floor. Lucas leaned against the counter, a cup of black coffee in hand, though he barely tasted it. His eyes kept drifting toward the corner of the room where Ziggy, sat cross-legged on the carpet,with her small hands moving through the air as if she were tracing invisible patterns.
Max watched her from the kitchen table, a soft frown etched across her face. “She’s at it again,” she said quietly, not wanting to break the spell of the moment, yet feeling compelled to acknowledge it.
Lucas set down his cup. “Talking to…?” he began, but Max shook her head.
“Not talking… playing, maybe. Whispering to someone… something. She giggles and points at the corner like there’s a friend there that only she can see.” Her voice trembled just slightly. “It’s… unsettling.”
Lucas swallowed hard, memories of Hawkins rushing back in a wave of fear and nostalgia. Shadows under blankets. Nightmares lurking in the dark. Mr. Whatsit—Henry—the strange, unexplainable presences they had encountered as kids, the person thad had kidnapped Holly and other 11 children . And now, his own child seemed to have stepped onto the same edge he had once known, with a presence only she could sense.
“She’s… different,” Lucas admitted, pacing slowly across the kitchen, voice low. “Like… she can feel things we can’t. Like the world talks to her, or she talks to a part of the world we can’t see.”
Max nodded, lifting Ziggy into her lap. The little girl’s bright blue eyes were focused on the corner of the room, talking to someone they couldn’t see or hear, where sunlight hit the walls in shifting patterns. “And it’s not just that. Sometimes she reacts to electricity, or the lights flicker when she laughs, or when she cries. And yesterday, the blender… it turned on by itself. Just like that.” She snapped her fingers for emphasis, her worry palpable. “I can’t ignore it. It’s too much.”
Lucas rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve been thinking about that. About kids who… have connections. Kids who sense things we can’t explain. We were like that. Eleven was like that. And now… it’s in her too.”
Ziggy looked up suddenly, a small smile spreading across her face. “Play with me!” she said, waving her tiny hands toward the empty space in the corner. “No, don’t go!” She giggled nervously. “He’s here!”
Max’s chest tightened. “She’s really talking to someone, doesn’t she ?” she whispered.
Lucas nodded slowly. “Someone only she can see.” He knelt to be at her level, keeping his voice calm. “Who’s here, Ziggy?”
“The… the friend,” Ziggy said softly, pointing again. “He wants to play. But he’s hiding!”
Max bit her lip, holding Ziggy closer. “It’s like… she senses it. Something… we don’t understand yet. Something that shouldn’t be there.”
Lucas felt a shiver crawl down his spine. The memories of Hawkins, of shadows and whispers, of things moving where they shouldn’t, came rushing back. “We need to be careful,” he said quietly. “Not just with her, but with us. With everything. We’ve survived monsters before… but this… this is different.”
Max nodded. “And we can’t do it alone. That’s what I keep thinking. If she’s like this… she’s going to need more than just us. She’s going to need guidance. Protection. Understanding. People who… know, we need El.”
Lucas’s jaw tightened. He had thought they were done with Hawkins, done with the past. But seeing Ziggy, so small yet already so aware of the strange currents in the world, made him realize that they had never truly left it behind. “We should go back,” he said, the words heavy with resolve. “Back to Hawkins. Back to our friends. If she’s like this, we can’t just sit here.”
Max’s eyes glistened, a mix of fear and hope. “I’ve been thinking the same thing. Maybe it’s time. Time to stop running from the past, and time to face it with everyone we trust. Together.”
Ziggy shifted in Max’s arms, still speaking softly to her invisible companion. Lucas watched her, heart pounding. He remembered the nights he had spent hiding under blankets, whispering to friends about things that didn’t make sense. He remembered the fear, the rush of adrenaline, the moments when they had been powerless and yet somehow strong. Now, his daughter was stepping onto that same line, and it scared him more than anything.
Lucas knelt again, looking Ziggy in the eyes. “You’re very strong, little one,” he said gently. “And we’re going to help you. Always.”
Max hugged him briefly, her head resting on his shoulder. “Promise me,” she whispered, “that we’ll keep her safe. No matter what.”
Lucas kissed the top of her head. “I promise. Always.”
Later, the kitchen was quiet, apart from the soft hum of the refrigerator. Ziggy was coloring at the table, lost in her small, vibrant world. Lucas sat nearby, hands clasped, watching her. He thought about Hawkins, about the adventures, the fear, the bonds that had kept them alive. And now, he realized, their little girl was stepping into a world they had only glimpsed—and they had to guide her.
Max sat down beside him, speaking softly. “I watched her this morning, Lucas. She’s… she’s aware. Not in a way we understand, but she senses things. Things beyond her age, beyond her world. And it’s beautiful… but terrifying.”
Lucas nodded. “It reminds me of us. Of Eleven. Of all of us. How fragile and powerful we were at the same time. And now it’s in her. But we’ll teach her. We’ll protect her. And we’ll prepare ourselves.”
They talked for hours, the conversation weaving between present fears and memories of the past. They shared moments from Hawkins they had never told anyone, moments that seemed trivial then but now held the weight of experience. They laughed softly at recollections of the kids’ mischief, the D&D campaigns, the secret plans and late-night scares. And always, at the center of it, was Ziggy, unaware of the gravity of what she might one day face, yet sensing it anyway.
That evening, the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the small house. Lucas and Max stepped out onto the porch, the gentle breeze brushing their faces. Ziggy’s laughter echoed from inside, playing with her imaginary friend, oblivious to the real dangers that might lie ahead.
“I can’t stop thinking about what’s happening with her,” Max admitted, voice low. “And I’m terrified, Lucas. Terrified of what she might see… and what we can’t protect her from.”
Lucas squeezed her hand firmly. “We won’t let anything hurt her. Not us, not anyone. We’re going back. We’ll bring her to Hawkins. To people who understand. And we’ll face this together.”
Max rested her head on his shoulder, drawing strength from his calm presence. “Do you really think she’ll be okay?”
Lucas smiled softly. “She’s strong. She’s our daughter. And she’s going to learn. With us, with our friends, she’ll be fine. And we’ll make sure of it.”
After a pause, Lucas decided to call Mike in his old number hoping he would answer his call.
Max squeezed his hand. “Together,” she whispered. “Always together.”
Lucas hit send, a small sense of relief settling over him. For the first time in days, he felt a spark of hope. They weren’t alone. And with Hawkins waiting, with old friends ready to help, they could face whatever was coming—whatever it was—without revealing more than necessary.
————
The house was too quiet.
Mike noticed it the moment he stepped inside. Not the peaceful kind of quiet—the kind that pressed against your ears, that made you aware of every breath you took, every creak of the floorboards beneath your feet. The Wheeler house had always been loud once. Dice clattering on tables. Shouting. Laughter. Arguments over rules that didn’t matter.
Now it was just… still.
Mike stood in the living room for a long moment, his jacket still on, keys dangling loosely from his fingers. The familiar smell of old furniture and dust filled his lungs. It should’ve felt comforting. Instead, it made his chest ache.
He was alone.
Karen and Ted were out. Holly was staying at a friend’s. The house belonged only to him tonight—and to the ghosts of who they used to be.
Mike dropped his keys onto the table and sat down heavily on the couch, rubbing his hands together like he was cold, even though the room was warm. His thoughts drifted—uninvited, as always—to the people who weren’t here anymore.
Lucas. Max. Will. Dustin—well, Dustin was still here, but even that felt temporary sometimes. Everyone had grown up. Everyone had left.
That’s what happens, he told himself. This is normal.
The ringing of the phone shattered the silence.
Mike flinched.
He stared down the hallway at the beige landline phone mounted to the wall. It rang again, sharp and insistent, echoing through the house.
Nobody called this late.
His stomach tightened.
The phone rang a third time.
“Okay,” he muttered under his breath, standing up. “Okay.”
Each step toward the hallway felt heavier than the last, as if his body already knew something his mind hadn’t caught up to yet. He picked up the receiver slowly.
“Hello?”
Static crackled softly through the line.
Then a voice—hesitant, familiar, altered by time.
“Mike?”
His heart stopped.
The world seemed to tilt, just slightly.
“…Lucas?”
There was a pause. Long enough to hurt.
“Yeah,” the voice said. “It’s me.”
Mike leaned back against the wall, gripping the phone so tightly his knuckles turned white. Six years. Six years since he’d heard Lucas Sinclair’s voice directly. Six years of distance, unanswered letters, missed phone calls that never quite lined up.
“I—” Mike swallowed. “I didn’t think… I mean, I didn’t expect—”
“I know,” Lucas said quietly. “I wouldn’t be calling if it wasn’t important.”
That sentence landed like a weight in Mike’s chest.
Important.
Important was never a good word.
They spoke carefully, like two people afraid of stepping on old landmines. Lucas didn’t give details—just that he and Max were thinking of coming back to Hawkins. That there were things they needed to talk about. Things they couldn’t ignore anymore.
Mike tried to read between the lines, but Lucas was guarded. Too guarded.
“When?” Mike asked.
“Soon,” Lucas replied. “I’ll let you know.”
When the call ended, Mike stayed frozen in place, the dead line humming softly in his ear. Eventually, he hung up and rested his forehead against the wall, eyes closed.
They’re coming back.
After six years.
And whatever they were bringing with them—it wasn’t normal.
The diner smelled like coffee and grease and memories that refused to fade.
Mike sat across from Dustin, his hands wrapped around a mug he hadn’t touched. Dustin watched him carefully, his usual humor absent, replaced by something quieter. More serious.
“They called you,” Dustin said slowly.
“Lucas did.”
Dustin’s eyebrows lifted. “After all this time?”
Mike nodded. “He said they’re thinking about coming back.”
“That’s…” Dustin exhaled. “That’s big.”
“Yeah.”
“Did he say why?”
Mike shook his head. “No. And that’s what scares me.”
Dustin leaned back, staring up at the ceiling for a moment. “Lucas doesn’t do mysterious. Not unless something’s wrong.”
Mike’s jaw tightened. “Exactly.”
They sat in silence, the weight of unsaid thoughts pressing down between them.
“You think it’s… that?” Dustin asked quietly.
Mike hesitated. “I don’t know. But if it were just life stuff—jobs, family, whatever—he wouldn’t sound like that. He wouldn’t wait six years.”
Dustin nodded. “Steve should know.”
Mike let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Yeah. He should.”
Steve listened with his arms crossed, his expression darkening the longer Mike talked.
“They reached out now,” Steve said. “Not last year. Not before. Now.”
“Yeah,” Mike replied. “That’s what I keep thinking about.”
Steve turned away, pacing the room once. “Hawkins doesn’t let go easy,” he muttered. “You’d think we’d paid enough.”
Dustin swallowed. “What if it’s starting again?”
Steve stopped pacing.
The room fell silent.
Mike felt the old fear crawl back into his chest—the kind he thought he’d buried years ago. The kind that came with flickering lights and cold air and things that didn’t belong in this world.
“If they’re coming back,” Steve said slowly, “then whatever it is… it’s serious.”
Mike nodded. “And I don’t know if I’m ready to face it.”
Steve looked at him then—really looked at him.
“You won’t have to do it alone,” he said firmly.
Dustin straightened. “None of us will.”
For the first time since the phone rang, Mike felt something other than fear.
Hope.
Small. Fragile.
But real.
Chapter Text
The newsroom never slept.
Even late in the afternoon, the air buzzed with the sound of ringing phones, clacking keyboards, raised voices arguing over headlines and deadlines. Cigarette smoke lingered in the corners despite the rules, clinging stubbornly to the walls like an unspoken protest against change.
Nancy Wheeler loved it.
She stood at her desk, papers spread out in front of her, red pen in hand, her brow furrowed in concentration as she reread the same paragraph for the third time. The story was solid—better than solid, actually—but that didn’t mean it would survive the editorial meeting intact.
It never did.
“Nancy.”
She looked up.
Richard Coleman, one of the senior editors, stood a few feet away, arms crossed, eyes flicking—briefly, pointedly—to her stomach before returning to her face.
“You sure you should be working on this one?” he asked. “It’s… demanding.”
Nancy’s jaw tightened.
“I’m five months pregnant,” she replied evenly. “Not incapacitated.”
A few nearby reporters glanced over, pretending not to listen.
Richard cleared his throat. “I just mean—maybe something lighter would be more appropriate. Human interest, lifestyle—”
“I’ve been following this case for three months,” Nancy interrupted. “I have sources you don’t. I’ve fact-checked every claim. And I’m the one who uncovered the discrepancies in the city records.”
A beat.
Richard sighed. “You’re very… passionate.”
There it was.
Nancy forced herself not to roll her eyes.
“I’m doing my job,” she said. “The same way I’ve always done it.”
He hesitated, then finally nodded. “Fine. But don’t overdo it.”
As he walked away, Nancy exhaled slowly, her hand instinctively resting on her stomach. Beneath her palm, there was the faintest flutter—barely noticeable, but unmistakably real.
I’m doing this for you too, she thought.
She straightened, shoulders squared, and went back to work.
Across the newsroom, Jonathan Byers adjusted the lens on his camera, eyes focused, patient. He waited—not for perfection, but for truth. That was always what he looked for. The moments people didn’t know were being seen.
A woman laughing too hard at a joke she didn’t find funny.
A man staring at his hands after a phone call.
The quiet tension between two people standing inches apart.
Jonathan raised the camera and clicked.
Perfect.
He lowered it and glanced toward Nancy’s desk.
She was standing again, arguing quietly with another editor, her hands moving as she spoke, her expression fierce and unyielding. Jonathan felt a familiar swell of pride—and concern.
She pushed herself harder than anyone he knew.
And the world did everything it could to push back.
He crossed the room and stopped beside her, resting a gentle hand on her lower back. Nancy startled slightly, then relaxed when she saw him.
“Hey,” he murmured. “You okay?”
She nodded. “Yeah. Just… same old.”
Jonathan met the editor’s gaze calmly. “She’s right about the sources,” he said. “I photographed the documents myself.”
The editor hesitated, then shrugged and walked away.
Nancy looked at Jonathan, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know,” he said softly. “But I wanted to.”
They stood there for a moment, the noise of the newsroom washing over them.
Jonathan’s thoughts drifted, as they often did, back to Hawkins.
To Will.
To Joyce.
To the house that had once felt too small, too loud, too full of fear—and now felt impossibly far away.
He missed his brother more than he knew how to say.
That evening, they walked home together, the city alive around them—sirens, voices, footsteps echoing against concrete. Nancy moved more slowly now, Jonathan matching her pace without comment.
“I talked to another editor today,” Nancy said quietly. “He suggested I take a ‘break’ after the baby’s born.”
Jonathan frowned. “A break.”
“Yeah. You know. Stay home. ‘Focus on family.’”
His jaw tightened. “Did he suggest that to anyone else?”
She shook her head. “Of course not.”
They stopped at a crosswalk, waiting for the light.
“I don’t want to disappear,” Nancy admitted. “I worked too hard for this. I fought too hard.”
Jonathan turned to her. “You won’t,” he said firmly. “Not if you don’t want to.”
She looked at him, eyes shining slightly. “You really believe that?”
“I believe in you,” he said. “Always have.”
The light changed.
They crossed the street hand in hand.
Later that night, in their small apartment, Jonathan developed his photos in the bathroom-turned-darkroom, moving carefully, methodically. He watched the images appear slowly, like memories surfacing.
He thought of Will’s laugh. Of Mike’s intensity. Of Lucas’s steady loyalty. Of Dustin’s endless curiosity.
Of Hopper and Joyce, somewhere in Montauk now, finally—finally—choosing peace.
And he wondered how long peace ever really lasted.
Nancy lay on the couch, one hand on her stomach, the other holding a notebook filled with ideas, notes, unfinished leads. She glanced toward the bathroom door.
“You okay in there?” she called.
“Yeah,” Jonathan replied. “Just… thinking.”
She smiled faintly. “You do that a lot.”
He joined her a few minutes later, sitting carefully beside her.
“Do you ever miss it?” Nancy asked. “Hawkins.”
Jonathan thought for a long moment.
“I miss the people,” he said finally. “Not the fear.”
Nancy nodded. “Me too.”
They sat in silence, the weight of the future settling gently—but firmly—around them.
Outside, the city kept moving.
Unaware…
————
Robin Buckley had learned how to breathe again in Florida.
It hadn’t happened all at once. It wasn’t some dramatic moment of clarity, no grand realization under a palm tree with the ocean roaring in the background. It had been slower than that. Quieter. Painfully ordinary.
She stood at the nurses’ station of the hospital, flipping through patient charts, her movements confident, practiced. Her hair was pulled back neatly now—no wild curls falling into her face the way they used to when she was younger, more frantic, more unsure of herself. Her scrubs were clean, her posture straight.
People trusted her.
That still surprised her sometimes.
“Buckley,” one of the doctors called, not unkindly. “Room 214 needs meds in ten.”
“On it,” Robin replied immediately.
She grabbed the tray and headed down the corridor, the familiar smell of antiseptic filling her lungs. Hospitals used to make her nervous. Too many memories of injuries, of blood, of fear. Of watching people she loved hurt and nearly disappear.
Now, though, it felt different.
Now, she was the one helping.
As she adjusted the IV in the patient’s room, her mind drifted—as it often did when her hands were busy—to Hawkins.
To the mall.
To the elevator.
To Steve’s voice, yelling her name like it could pull her back from the edge.
She finished her task, offered the patient a small smile, and stepped back into the hallway, leaning briefly against the wall.
She had left Hawkins to survive.
She stayed in Florida to become herself.
Later that evening, Robin sat alone in her small apartment, windows open to let in the warm, salty air. The TV played quietly in the background, some sitcom she wasn’t really watching.
She stared at the ceiling, arms folded behind her head.
Coming out hadn’t been easy—not in the late ‘90s, not in hospitals where whispers traveled faster than facts. There had been looks. Questions disguised as jokes. Long pauses after she mentioned a date instead of a boyfriend.
But there had also been relief.
No more hiding.
No more rewriting her own sentences mid-thought.
No more pretending parts of herself didn’t exist.
She was tired of pretending.
Still, freedom didn’t erase trauma.
Sometimes, late at night, the memories came back sharp and uninvited. The cold. The darkness. The feeling of being trapped inside something that didn’t care whether you lived or died.
She had escaped.
But parts of her were still there.
The phone rang.
Robin flinched before she could stop herself.
She stared at it for a moment, then picked up the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Hey, dingus.”
Her lips curved upward instantly.
“Steve,” she said, warmth flooding her voice. “Please tell me you didn’t call just to insult me.”
“Wow,” Steve replied. “I risk long-distance charges for this?”
She laughed softly, sinking onto the couch. “How are the kids?”
Steve launched into an animated update—Edward refusing to sleep, Jackson throwing food like it was a sport, Kitty threatening to ban baseball equipment from the house entirely.
Robin listened, smiling, picturing it all.
“That sounds…” she paused, searching for the word. “Good. Really good.”
Steve’s voice softened. “It is. But—” he hesitated. “I miss you.”
Her chest tightened.
“I miss you too,” she admitted.
There was a brief silence.
“Lucas called Mike,” Steve said finally.
Robin sat up straighter. “What?”
“Yeah. He and Max might be coming back.”
Something twisted low in her stomach—fear and anticipation tangled together.
“Do you think it’s happening again?” she asked quietly.
“I don’t know,” Steve said. “But if it is… I wanted you to know.”
Robin closed her eyes.
Hawkins never stayed buried for long.
“Thanks for calling,” she said softly. “Really.”
“Anytime, Buckley.”
When the call ended, Robin sat there for a long moment, phone still in her hand.
Then she stood up and went to her desk.
She hadn’t written Nancy in months.
Not because she didn’t care—quite the opposite. Life had simply moved. Work. Distance. Time zones. That quiet drift that happened when survival stopped being the only goal.
Robin pulled out a sheet of paper and a pen.
She hesitated.
Then she began to write.
Dear Nancy,
I’m terrible at this, so I’m just going to say it. I think about you more than you probably realize. About all of you. About Hawkins and how we somehow survived it.
Florida is… different. I’m different. I don’t hide anymore. That part feels good. Free. But some nights I still feel like that girl in the mall, pretending not to be scared while everything falls apart.
Steve called today. He says Lucas and Max might come back. I don’t know what that means yet, but it made me miss you more than usual.
I hope you’re okay. I hope you’re happy. And if you ever need me—really need me—I’m only a phone call away.
Love,
Robin
She folded the letter carefully, slipped it into an envelope, and wrote Nancy’s address in neat, deliberate letters.
For the first time in a while, she felt the past and the present overlap—not painfully, but meaningfully.
Whatever was coming…
She wasn’t alone anymore
Notes:
Hi guyss, I hope you like this story and I would be very happy if you could tell me your opinion on the story and what you would like to see next🩷🩷