The thing about being the “mom” of the entire misfit brigade is that people start forgetting you’re human. You realize this somewhere between Mike complaining about the heat, Lucas arguing about map directions, Max kicking pebbles like they personally offended her, and Dustin—your actual brother—asking you for the fifth time if you packed snacks. You had. Of course you had. You always had. And for some reason, everyone assumes you’ll keep doing it forever. The walk through the woods feels endless, the late-afternoon humidity clinging to your skin like a warning. You’re one step behind Steve, his hand brushing yours every few feet—silent, steady, offering comfort you’re too irritated to accept. “Okay, seriously,” Mike groans, “who thought this path was a good idea?” “You did,” Lucas fires back. “Guys,” you mutter. “Not today.” They don’t hear you. They never hear you. Max suddenly snaps, “Maybe if someone told us where we were actually going—” “WE’RE GOING TO CHECK THE WEIRD FOOTPRINTS,” Dustin says like it’s obvious. “Because they were weird. And footprints.” “Oh my god, Henderson,” Max rolls her eyes, “everything in this town is weird.” “Can we please just—” you start. Mike steps in front of you. “Maybe if someone kept the compass—” It happens so fast you don’t recognize your own voice. “ENOUGH.” Everyone freezes. Even the cicadas seem to pause. You step forward, pulse pounding in your ears. “Do you guys ever—just once—listen to yourselves? You’re all arguing about heat and maps and footprints when we deal with monsters! Monsters! And somehow I’m the one who has to keep everyone on track while you all whine like toddlers who missed nap time!” They stare at you like you’ve erupted from the Upside Down. Dustin’s mouth hangs open. “Sis…?” “Oh, don’t ‘sis’ me. You’ve asked me about snacks five times, and yes, they’re in my bag, like they always are, because apparently I’m the group’s vending machine! Mike’s complaining about the path he chose, Lucas is correcting everyone, Max is mad at the world, and all of you—every single one of you—keep talking over me like I’m just background noise, when I’m trying to save your dumbasses!” Your hands shake. You hadn’t meant to go off like that. You hadn’t meant to let weeks—months—of responsibility crack open at once. Steve steps toward you slowly, like you’re a skittish deer. “Hey. Hey… sweetheart.” “Don’t ‘sweetheart’ me either,” you warn, voice breaking. “I am tired, Steve. I’m tired of being the glue. Of being the mom. Of being the one who holds everyone together while they all fall apart.” The silence is cold and heavy. Robin, Nancy, and Johnathan just stood there, blank faced. Then Steve gently takes your shoulders. “You don’t have to do that, okay? Not alone. You’re allowed to lose it. We’re allowed to take care of you, too.” Your breath stutters, and suddenly you’re blinking away tears you refuse to let fall. “I’m just tired of always trying my hardest, just for no one to listen to me!” “I’m the one who packs the bags. I’m the one who remembers the walkie batteries. I’m the one who makes sure none of you starve. I’m the one who gets between you when you argue so you don’t kill each other. I’m the one who checks behind us every few minutes to make sure no demogoblin, demon lizard, or sentient shadow decides to eat us alive.” You gesture wildly, breath shaking. “And for what? So I can get talked over? Interrupted? Ignored? Treated like the team mom who just magically exists so you all can run around playing hero?” You throw your bag at Dustin, and walk away.