The help center was chaos. Folding chairs scraped against the floor, voices rose over one another, and the air was thick with panic, smoke, and the bitter reek of burnt coffee. Hawkins was cracked open, literally—streets gaping, homes gone, whole families scattered. Nobody knew what tomorrow would look like.

Eddie Munson hadn’t planned on being here. He’d meant to keep to the shadows, keep his head down, keep pretending the world hadn’t already painted him a monster. But then he’d heard it.

The cry of a child.

High, panicked, cutting through the din like a blade. He’d turned instinctively, and there he was—barely two, maybe three. The kid was standing in the middle of the lot, little hands balled into fists, face blotchy from screaming. People streamed past, too distracted with their own lives to notice.

Eddie crouched low, trying not to spook him. “Hey, little man,” he said gently, his voice softer than he thought he could manage. “You lost?”

The boy hiccupped, eyes wet and shining. “Mama!” he wailed.

Something in Eddie’s chest cracked. He held out his hands. “It’s okay. We’ll find her. C’mon, you can hang with me for a bit.”

To his surprise, the boy stumbled forward, clutching Eddie’s jacket like it was a lifeline. Eddie scooped him up, awkward but careful, and carried him into the center.

It wasn’t long before a frantic voice cut through the crowd.

“Jamie!”

You barreled through the throng, hair a mess, eyes wild. You looked younger than Eddie expected—still with that sharp edge of youth on your face—but there was nothing childish about the desperation twisting it now. Your arms shook as you reached for the boy.

“Jamie, baby, I thought—” Your words broke off as you crushed him against your chest. Relief poured out of you in shaking breaths.

Eddie froze, suddenly unsure of his place. But then your eyes lifted to him.

For a moment, he braced himself. He’d seen that look before—fear, suspicion, judgment. But it didn’t come. What he saw instead was gratitude. Raw, unguarded gratitude.

“You found him.” Your voice was unsteady, thick with tears.

Eddie shrugged, trying to play it off, though his throat was tight. “He found me, really. Kid’s got good taste.”

Jamie squirmed in your arms, reaching back toward Eddie with sticky fingers. .

Eddie blinked, startled—and then laughed. A rusty, real sound that felt like it belonged to someone else.

You smiled through the remnants of your tears, exhaustion etched deep in the corners of your face. “I don’t know what I’d have done if—” You stopped yourself, hugging Jamie closer.

Steve Harrington appeared then, clipboard in hand, catching sight of you with Eddie. His jaw tightened. “Of course. Leave it to Munson to scoop up my cousin.”

But Eddie barely heard him. For once, the whispers of Hawkins, the suspicion, the old poster of his face pinned to corkboards—it all seemed distant.

Because right here, right now, he wasn’t the freak. He was the guy who found your little boy when the world split open.

And as Jamie giggled, tugging Eddie’s curls while still clinging to you, something shifted.

Maybe Eddie wasn’t just surviving anymore.

Maybe he was starting to belong.