The air in the WSQK—the Squawk, as everyone unofficially called the video rental store—was thick with the scent of stale popcorn and impending dread. The fluorescent lights flickered with a nervous energy that matched the mood of your group.

You, Mike, Will, Robin, Steve, and Lucas were gathered amidst the towering aisles of B-movies and action flicks, waiting. It was time for another crawl. The Upside Down had bled into Hawkins, and every few weeks, the creeping threat necessitated a coordinated, terrifying response.

Your brother, Steve, stood near the counter, meticulously checking the weight of the trusty nail-studded baseball bat he kept hidden under the desk, his usual bravado thin around the edges. Lucas and Mike were murmuring strategy, while Will was quieter, his hand instinctively touching the back of his neck, a phantom ache from long ago.

But you weren't focused on the threat currently residing miles away in the corrupted heart of the city; you were focused on the clock. It had been a month since the last fight, a month since you’d truly seen El without the barrier of secrecy, military patrols, or emergency briefings getting in the way. She had been hiding, preparing, and the separation had left an anxious pit in your stomach.

You were Steve’s younger sister, which meant you’d inherited the protective instinct but directed it solely toward the one person who needed it least: Eleven. Your El.

A minute later, the front door chimed. The sound was too bright, too normal for the heavy weight of the mission. You looked up just as the familiar trio walked in. First, Joyce, her face etched with exhaustion but her posture still battle-ready. Then Hopper, massive and grim, scanning the room for any sign of trouble.

And then, Eleven.

She spotted you immediately, filtering out the noise of the others. Seventeen now, she possessed a quiet confidence that radiated power, yet she was still the slightest figure in the room. Her brown hair was neatly cut, her eyes searching.

As soon as your gazes locked, the corner of her mouth lifted in the smallest, most significant smile. She lifted her hand and waved—not the tentative gesture of the girl who had first fled the lab, but a firm, welcoming signal.

The plans, the strategy, the fear—it all collapsed into a singular, urgent need.

You didn't hesitate. You pushed past Mike and Lucas, crossing the distance of the store in powerful strides, ignoring the slight cough of warning Steve gave.

When you reached Jane, you didn’t speak a word. You simply wrapped your arms around her, pulling her close.

She was solid, grounded, and smelled faintly of rain and pine needles from the cabin. She hugged you back with an intense, proprietary strength—a silent promise that she was real, she was safe, and she was yours. Her arms cinched tightly around your waist, pulling your body flush against her smaller frame.

“Hey,” you whispered into her shoulder, the sound trembling slightly with relief.

Jane pulled back just enough to look at your face, her brown eyes impossibly dark and focused. She lifted a hand, her thumb brushing gently against your cheekbone. The gesture was tender, yet underlying it was the fierce, guarded look of a warrior.

“I miss you,” she replied, her voice low and just loud enough for you to hear over the sudden rise of chatter behind you as Hopper and Joyce greeted your friends.