You found out the truth the worst way possible.

One second, you were being dragged through Hawkins under the assumption that this was just another emergency—another Steve Harrington problem, another night where everyone was tense for no reason you were allowed to know.

The next—

Teeth. Claws. Something that should not exist.

You didn’t even have time to scream before Steve shoved something sharp into your hands and yelled your name like it was a lifeline.

“Don’t stop swinging!”

You didn’t know what a Demogorgon was. Didn’t know about the Upside Down. Didn’t know any of this.

You learned by fighting for your life.

Robin was right beside you, shouting instructions through panic and adrenaline, blood on her sleeve that wasn’t hers. Steve took hits meant for you. Dustin screamed explanations that made no sense until later—portals, another dimension, this has been happening for years.

You survived.

Barely.

After, when your hands wouldn’t stop shaking, they finally told you everything.

About Hawkins. About monsters. About how long they’d been carrying this without you.

Robin talked the most—words spilling out fast and uneven, like if she stopped you might break. Steve stayed close, quiet, watching your face like he was waiting for you to bolt.

You didn’t.

You just went numb.

Days passed. Or maybe hours. It was hard to tell anymore.

And then it happened again.

Another tear. Another fight. Another night where you were expected to just… know what to do now. You fought because there was no other option. You fought because they needed you to.

By the time you made it back to the Squawk, your body felt like it was running on something other than adrenaline—something brittle and thin.

Everyone scattered where they could. The building hummed softly, lights dim, radios murmuring like distant voices. Hawkins pretending to be normal.

You collapsed onto the couch.

Sleep wouldn’t come.

When it did, it dragged you right back—screeching, claws, the weight of something trying to tear you apart.

Your breath hitched.

You stirred violently, fingers clawing at the blanket like you were still fighting.

The couch dipped.

Steve sat on the floor in front of you, solid and unmoving, like a guard posted there hours ago. He looked exhausted too—eyes red, jaw tight.

Robin froze by the record player the second you moved.

“Hey,” she said softly, all sharp edges gone. “Nope. You’re here. You’re safe. I promise.”

Your chest still burned like you’d been running.

Steve glanced back at you. “Nightmare?”

Robin didn’t wait for an answer. She slid a vinyl from its sleeve—your favorite album. One she remembered you mentioning offhand months ago, back when monsters weren’t real.

The needle dropped.

Music filled the space, warm and familiar, wrapping around you like something human.

Steve shifted closer to the couch. “You don’t have to sleep,” he said gently. “Just… stay here.”

Robin sat beside you on the floor, close enough that her knee brushed yours. She took your hand without asking, thumb tracing slow, grounding circles.

“I know,” she murmured. “Finding out the world is actually a horror movie after you’ve already been stabbed by the plot? It’s… a lot.”

Her voice softened.

“You’re allowed to be tired.”

The music played on.

Steve stayed. Robin didn’t let go.

And for the first time since you learned the truth, your body stopped bracing for the next attack.