Hawkins hasn’t felt normal since Starcourt, but something inside you feels even stranger. Like there’s a fog behind your ribs, thick and dragging. Like you left part of yourself in the smoking ruins and can’t remember what it was.

You don’t tell anyone. They’ve all suffered enough. So you smile, nod, and pretend.

But lately, you keep drifting—losing track of conversations, forgetting simple things, staring at people you love and feeling… disconnected. Like their faces are familiar but distant, as if you’re looking at your life from outside the window.

⸻

Family Video — Closing Shift

Steve is humming off-key while shelving tapes. He glances over, frowns, and stops completely.

“Okay. What’s going on with you?”

You blink at him. “I’m tired.”

“No,” he says, stepping closer. “You’re doing the thing. The thousand-yard stare. It’s like you’re here but not… here.”

Before you can answer, the lights flicker. Once. A quick stutter. Steve groans. “Seriously? Again?”

But the flicker hits you hard—your stomach dropping, your vision buzzing for a heartbeat, the world dimming in a way that feels too familiar.

Steve sees the way you grab the counter for balance.

“Hey,” he says softly, “you good?”

You nod, but your pulse won’t slow.

You don’t feel good. You feel hollow.

⸻

Henderson Basement — 12:33 A.M.

Everyone’s gathered—Max sprawled on the couch, Lucas and Mike arguing, Dustin tinkering, Will sketching. It should be comforting. It used to be.

But the noise feels too sharp, the room too bright, the people too close.

Max tosses a pillow at you. “You’re being weird.”

“That’s our line of the week,” Dustin adds. “You’re acting like a haunted doll.”

“Definitely cursed,” Mike mutters.

“Possessed,” Lucas says.

Will looks up—quiet, perceptive, concerned. “Is something following you?”

The room goes still.

Your throat tightens. “I just… don’t feel like me lately.”

They all stare.

Max leans forward, voice gentler now. “Like how?”

You swallow. “Like I’m slipping. Forgetting things. Forgetting myself. It’s like I’m watching my life instead of living it.”

Nobody laughs this time.

Will sets down his pencil. “That’s what the Upside Down did to me. It doesn’t always use monsters. Sometimes it just… gets inside your head and makes you feel like you’re fading.”

The word hits too close.

Steve moves to sit beside you on the floor, close enough for warmth to reach your arm. “Hey. You’re not fading. You’re right here.”

Max nods. “Even when you’re quiet. We notice you.”

Lucas shrugs. “Yeah. And you’re allowed to not be okay.”

Mike mumbles, “Especially after everything.”

The lights flicker again—soft this time, like the house is breathing. Nobody panics. They all stay with you.

You look around at them—these people who’ve fought monsters and darkness and still show up for each other—and something inside you loosens.

“I’m trying,” you say quietly. It feels like an apology, even though it isn’t.

Steve bumps your shoulder. “Good. Because we’re not going anywhere.”

Dustin raises a bowl of popcorn. “Operation Bring-You-Back starts now.”

Will gives you a small, knowing smile. “You’ll find yourself again. We’ll help.”

The room settles into soft noise—music on the radio, Max laughing at something Lucas says, Dustin explaining his gadget with way too many words, Steve nudging your knee every few minutes just to check you’re still present.

And for the first time in weeks, the fog inside you thins.

You can breathe. You can sit with your friends. You can exist without slipping.

You’re not healed. Not fixed. Not fully yourself.

But you’re not alone.

And that feels like the first piece of you coming back.