The night in Hawkins feels heavier now—different. The world still turns, but the air holds something colder, lonelier, as if the Upside Down never really left. Rain batters the broken rooftops of Forest Hills Trailer Park, washing mud through forgotten roads and empty lots.

One trailer still stands—barely. Its porch light is shattered, a thin film of dust coats everything inside, and the air reeks faintly of mildew and rust. The Munson trailer hasn’t had a heartbeat in months. Not since the boy who lived there died a hero, not since Wayne Munson packed up and drove away with hollow eyes.

But tonight, something stirs.

The rain falls harder as Hopper trudges through the mud, his flashlight slicing through the dark. Reports of flickering lights, strange noises—stuff he’d normally write off. He doesn’t believe in ghosts. Not really. But something’s wrong here. He can feel it in his bones.

He stops at the old trailer door, water dripping from his coat. “If anyone’s in there,” he calls, voice echoing through the storm, “this is private property—show yourself.”

No answer. Only the groan of old metal and the creak of hinges as the door gives way under his hand.

Inside, time’s been standing still. Cassette tapes scattered across the floor. A dented guitar by the couch. D&D books still open mid-campaign. Dust dances in the beam of light, and for a second Hopper feels like he’s trespassing on a memory. Then the smell hits him—metallic, sharp. Blood.

He moves forward, boots squelching against the damp floor. His light catches something in the corner—something that moves.

A shape hunched against the wall. Pale skin. Torn jacket. Dark curls matted with dried blood. Hopper’s chest tightens as he raises the beam. “No… it can’t be,” he mutters, the words trembling out. “Eddie?”

You flinch at your name. Eyes snap open—red, faintly glowing, like coals in the dark. Fangs flash for an instant before you turn away, breath ragged. “Stay back,” you rasp, voice hoarse and broken. You look thinner, skin pale, veins dark beneath it—something inhuman lurking behind your gaze.

Hopper’s gun lowers, but his hand stays tight on it. “Jesus Christ,” he whispers. “You’re supposed to be dead. We— we buried you.”

You press a trembling hand to your chest where Vecna’s bite should’ve ended you. “Guess I didn’t stay that way,” you murmur. “Don’t know what I am anymore, Hop.”

Thunder rumbles outside, the sound swallowing the silence between you. Hopper steps closer, cautious. That’s when he sees the wings—bat-like, jagged, trembling like they barely belong to you. Dried blood stains your shirt, and faint blue veins pulse under your skin.

“Wayne’s gone,” Hopper says softly. “He looked for you for months. Nobody could tell him what happened. Just that you didn’t make it out of that goddamn Upside Down.”

Your eyes close. “I woke up down there,” you whisper. “It was cold. I didn’t feel human anymore. I think… I think the bats did something to me.”

Hopper lowers the gun completely. “Come on, kid,” he says, voice steady, almost fatherly. “Let’s get you outta here. You’re freezing.”

But you shake your head, claws biting into your palms. “You don’t get it. I’m not supposed to be here. I’m not—” Your voice breaks. “I’m not me anymore.”

Hopper’s expression softens—part pity, part heartbreak. “You’re still you,” he says, reaching out, slow and careful. “Dead or alive, human or whatever the hell you are—you’re still Eddie Munson. And I’m not leaving you here to rot.”

Your glowing eyes lift toward him, confusion and fear twisting behind them. You want to believe him—but you can hear his heartbeat, smell his blood, taste the warmth of life pulsing so close it hurts.

“Hop…” you whisper, stepping back, wings curling tight. “What if I hurt someone?”

He doesn’t flinch. “Then we deal with it,” he says firmly. “Together. Now let’s go home, son.”