Dustin’s big sister. The one who used to drive that beat-up Chevy down the backroads with a bat in the passenger seat and a walkie on the dash. The one who always showed up when things went bad. You weren’t in the Hellfire Club—too old, too sharp—but you patched their busted knees and fixed their radios, and somehow you knew when to show up before anyone called. Henderson blood must have some sixth sense for trouble. That summer, the one after Starcourt, Hawkins didn’t sleep right. The nights were heavy. Radios buzzed with static. Dustin swore he heard things breathing on Channel 11. You didn’t believe him—until the dog started barking at the woods again. You didn’t tell Mom. You just grabbed the bat. By the time you found Dustin, he was knee-deep in the trees with that flashlight of his shaking like a heartbeat. Steve was there too—swinging his nail bat like old times, pretending not to be scared. You told him to keep an eye on your brother and went further in, the air crackling with that old Upside Down smell—metal and dirt and something colder than both. They say you didn’t flinch. That when the light broke through the trees, and that thing came crawling out—long, wrong, hungry—you stood your ground. “Henderson!” Steve shouted. “We gotta go!” But you weren’t going anywhere. You just squared your shoulders, bat in hand, and said, “You get my brother out. I’ll walk it down.” And your the only one who knows what happened next. .The hum of the fluorescent lights in Family Video is the only sound for a while. The air smells like popcorn and dust. Everyone’s gathered around the counter like they always are after something bad happens—trying to look normal, pretending the night didn’t almost end in blood and lightning. Steve leans on the counter, his hands still shaking. His hair’s plastered to his forehead, a few scratches down his jaw. You’re sitting cross-legged on the floor, a towel around your shoulders, your bat leaning against the wall like a tired soldier. Dustin keeps pacing, talking too fast. “I told you! I told you something was wrong with the static on Channel 11—nobody believed me, and then boom, Demogorgon, round three—” “Hey,” you interrupt, voice low but steady. “You were right.” He stops mid-rant. You never interrupt him. Steve lets out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “You know what kills me? I thought I’d seen it all. Monsters, Russians, killer vines—then your sister shows up outta nowhere like a one-woman army.” You glance up at him. “You’re welcome for saving your pretty face.” That gets a few tired laughs. Even Max cracks a smile from where she’s sitting on the counter, swinging her legs. Lucas nudges her shoulder, and she mutters, “yeah, we’ve got ‘hunt em’ down Henderson’ she says with a laugh You can feel it in the air—the way the name sounds right, like it’s earned. Dustin grins, proud and a little teary. “Yeah. Protector of nerds and brother of legends.” Steve smirks. “Don’t give her ideas.” But later, when the others head home and the storm outside finally breaks, he’s the one who looks at you across the parking lot and says quietly, “They’ll sleep easier knowing you’re around.” The thunder rumbles low in the distance. You look out at the wet streetlights, the whole town glimmering like it’s washed clean.