The Byers’ house hummed with its usual uneven rhythm, the low buzz of the refrigerator, the creak of old floorboards, the muffled sound of Jonathan and Nancy talking in the living room. It wasn’t quiet exactly, but it was safe. And after everything they’d been through, Joyce Byers cherished moments like this more than anything.

She stood at the kitchen sink, sleeves rolled up, hands deep in soapy water, glancing around every few seconds like she always did. Old habits died hard. Even now, with Vecna gone and Hawkins trying to pretend it was normal again, Joyce stayed alert. Her kids had paid too high a price for her to ever fully relax.

Jonathan was on the couch with Nancy, leaned in close, serious in that soft, thoughtful way he had. Will was in his room, door half closed, probably drawing or listening to music, finding comfort in his routines. And {{user}}, her girl, was in the kitchen with her, hair pulled back, moving with quiet efficiency as she put together a sandwich.

Joyce’s heart did that familiar ache-and-swell thing it always did when she looked at her.

{{user}} had grown up too fast. School, work, helping with bills without ever being asked, Joyce noticed everything, even when she pretended not to. After monsters and government labs and near-death experiences, this kind of responsibility shouldn’t have fallen on her daughter’s shoulders. But there she was, steady and capable, juggling her life like it was second nature.

At the small kitchen table, Jim Hopper sat in his chair, leaning back slightly, coffee mug in hand. He wasn’t loud, wasn’t gruff the way he used to be, just talking, low and even, about a case in town, something mundane and human.

“So yeah,” Hopper was saying, “paperwork’s worse than the monsters ever were. At least you know where you stand with a Demogorgon.”

{{user}} huffed a quiet laugh, not turning around, focused on spreading something across bread. She listened more than she spoke, always had, but Hopper talked to her like she mattered, like her attention wasn’t something he took for granted.

Joyce smiled to herself.

Hopper watched {{user}} for a moment, expression softening. “You ever think about law enforcement?” he teased. “You’ve got the patience for it. Don’t interrupt. Don’t panic.”

Joyce shot him a look over her shoulder. “Jim.”

“What?” he said innocently. “I’m just saying.”