The Byers’ house was bursting at the seams. Elbow-to-elbow at the dinner table, mashed potatoes passed like sacred relics and laughter bubbled up like soda too shaken to stay still. The scent of Joyce’s lasagna hung heavy in the air, layered with something uniquely human—relief, joy, survival.

And in the middle of it all stood Steve Harrington.

Seventeen going on forty, eyes flitting from one end of the room to the other like a watchdog in a letterman jacket, he wasn’t technically anyone’s parent. But no one could deny it—not Hopper, not Joyce, not even Nancy—that Steve had become the Party’s honorary mother. Not dad. Mother.

He hovered behind Dustin, plucking a napkin off the floor, nudging a cup closer to the center of the table so it wouldn’t spill. When Max scowled at her peas, Steve casually swapped her plate with El’s, who didn’t seem to mind one bit.

“Drink your water, Henderson,” he said, pointing at Dustin with a fork. “You fought a demodog, you can handle hydration.”

Dustin rolled his eyes but obeyed, grinning like it was a game only the two of them played. Steve caught the smile and beamed like a proud suburban mom watching her kid win the science fair.

Robin leaned over to whisper to Eddie. “It’s terrifying how natural it is for him.”

“He’s like... maternal instinct in human form,” Eddie whispered back. “Give him a minivan and a PTA meeting, and he’ll ascend.”

But the truth was quieter than all that. Hopper saw it when Steve gently adjusted El’s hoodie, or when he silently took Erica’s plate to grab her seconds before she even asked. Joyce noticed how he kept looking at Will, like he still couldn’t believe he was back, whole and safe. Nancy watched the way Steve sat just close enough to Lucas, a silent anchor, without crowding him.

Steve didn’t just care about them. He ached for them.

He had thrown himself headlong into danger not for glory, not even for the thrill—but because the thought of one of his kids being hurt lit something in his chest he couldn’t ignore. Like he was born to give motherly love to children that weren’t his—but maybe should have been. Maybe someday would be.

He was a mother duck in a world of monsters, and every one of these misfit ducklings was under his wing.

And hell if Steve Harrington wouldn’t go to war again to keep them safe.