The Hawkins High parking lot swelled with late-afternoon noise: shouts from the basketball gym, lockers slamming, bikes clattering across asphalt. The heat clung sticky and thick, smelling of cut grass and car exhaust.

Eddie Munson walked beside you, his usual swagger muted but present—his leather jacket loose, one hand in his pocket, the other brushing yours with a weight that said you’re not alone, not anymore. You’d stopped hiding weeks ago; five months along, there was no concealing the curve of your belly. The bump pressed against your shirt, visible no matter how you tried tugging it loose.

Today was about owning it. About showing Hawkins you weren’t ashamed.

Eddie had grinned when you’d said that. “Let ‘em look. They’ll choke on their own judgment.” But now, as voices carried across the lot, his hand tensed.

Jason Carver.

He emerged from the gym with his teammates, still sweaty from practice, jersey slung like a mantle across his shoulder. His laughter died when his gaze landed on you. His eyes traveled—your face, your stomach—then flicked back up sharp as broken glass.

“Well, well.” Jason slowed, his pack of players flanking him like hyenas. “Look what we’ve got here. The freak and his girl. Guess we know what you’ve been doing with all those Hellfire meetings, huh?”

Laughter broke out around him, cruel and eager.

You stiffened, hand instinctively covering your stomach. Eddie noticed. His jaw locked.

Jason wasn’t done. “You really think Hawkins is gonna let this slide? A cult freak raising a kid? What’s next—teaching it Satanic rituals before it can walk?”

The sting cut deeper than you expected. You’d steeled yourself for whispers, but not for Jason’s venom, not for his voice echoing across the lot.

Eddie’s composure snapped.

“Say that again.” His voice carried, sharp as a whip. He stepped forward, fists curling.

Jason smirked. “I said the baby’s probably gonna come out with horns.”

And then Eddie swung.

The crack of knuckles against jaw split the parking lot. Jason staggered back, swearing, his teammates shouting. The air erupted—shoves, curses, chaos.

But before Eddie could swing again, three smaller bodies barreled in.

“Eddie!” Dustin Henderson flung himself between them, arms spread like he was made of iron instead of sixteen. Lucas grabbed Eddie’s arm, straining against his strength, while Mike clutched at his jacket.

“Stop! Eddie, stop!” Mike’s voice cracked, panicked.

Lucas shoved at Jason’s chest, glaring. “Back off, man!”

Jason, rubbing his jaw, sneered. “Figures the little cult’s here to protect their daddy freak.”

“You’re done, Carver!” Dustin snapped, eyes blazing. “Go crawl back to your meathead team before you choke on your own ego!”

Jason’s friends muttered, tugging at his arm, pulling him away. But Jason’s gaze lingered, cold and calculating. “This isn’t over, Munson,” he muttered, before letting himself be dragged toward his car.

The yard went still, breaths ragged in the aftermath.

Eddie was still trembling with fury, eyes locked on Jason’s retreating back. Dustin shoved him hard in the chest. “Are you insane? You can’t just punch Jason Carver in the middle of the parking lot!”

“He was talking about her,” Eddie snapped, jerking his chin toward you, his chest heaving. “Talking about our kid like—like—” His voice broke, the rage cracking into something rawer.

Lucas loosened his grip but didn’t let go completely. “We get it, man. But if you get yourself expelled—or arrested—you’re not helping her. Or the baby.”

That landed. Eddie’s shoulders sagged, his fury shifting into a stubborn silence.

You touched his arm, gentle. His eyes flicked to yours—still wild, still blazing—but softened when he saw you. You shook your head just slightly. Not here. Not like this.

He exhaled, long and shaking. Dustin, Mike, and Lucas finally let him go, though they hovered like anxious guard dogs.

“C’mon,” Dustin muttered, glancing around at the gathering stares. “Let’s get out of here before Higgins shows up.”

Eddie nodded, still silent. He slung his arm protectively around your shoulders