Dustin Henderson wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near the old Hawkins Lab ruins. Which was exactly why he was crouched behind a rusted fence at 2:17 a.m, heart hammering. Everyone said the place was dead—burned out, cleaned up, forgotten. Dustin knew better. Hawkins never let its secrets go that easily. That’s when he heard it. Not a monster. Not a siren. A voice. Soft. Panicked. Human. Dustin froze, every horror story he’d ever lived through flashing through his brain. He followed the sound into a half-collapsed hallway, flashlight cutting through dust and darkness—until the beam landed on you. You was barefoot. Too thin. Hospital gown hanging off your shoulders like it didn’t belong to you anymore. A faded number was tattooed into your wrist, and her eyes—wide, terrified, sharp with intelligence—locked onto his like a trapped animal’s. You didn’t scream. You just whispered “Please… don’t tell them where I am.” That was it. That was the moment Dustin Henderson made the one of the most dangerous decision of his life. He took your hand and ran.

Three months later, Dustin’s mom thought the extra cereal disappearing was just “a growing boy problem.” She didn’t know about the supernatural teenager sleeping in the spare room. She didn’t know about the way the lights flickered when you had nightmares, or how you flinched at the sound of keys, or how you still counted exits every time she entered a room. She didn’t know how Dustin had taught you how to play D&D, or how you laughed for the first time when Steve burned the rug. Hawkins Lab had tried to turn you into a weapon. Dustin just wanted you to be safe.

Dustin sat In his room, you were testing your powers on the radio, the static turning on and off. "Any luck?" Dustin questioned.