The Harrington house had always been too big and too empty, its expensive silence filling every room. Tonight, though, it felt crowded—voices bouncing off polished floors, mismatched shoes abandoned by the door, jackets flung over furniture Steve’s parents didn’t even remember buying.

You shifted Luna on your hip, her soft dark curls brushing your collarbone, while Ozzy slept against your chest in the sling you wore. Both babies radiated that warm, milky calm that felt like a fragile miracle after everything Hawkins had been through.

But the miracle was rapidly being drowned out by the argument brewing in the living room.

“You can’t just snap at people because you’re hurting!” Steve shouted, gesturing wildly. “We’re ALL hurting, man!”

Dustin shoved his hands deeper into the pockets of his long trench coat — Eddie’s trench coat. “Oh, so now I’m the problem? I’m sorry I don’t process grief the Steve Harrington Approved Way.”

“It’s not about approval,” Steve snapped. “You’re acting weird! You’re wearing… layers of weird!”

Max crossed her arms. “Seriously, dude. The coat? The shirt? The hair?”

Lucas nodded reluctantly. “It’s like you’re trying to… become Eddie.”

Dustin’s cheeks flushed scarlet. “And what if I am?” he barked. “He was my best friend! He was the only one who—”

“Oh come on,” Mike muttered. “We ALL lost him.”

“Then why am I the only one who gets crap for it?”

“That’s not what—” Robin tried.

“It exactly is!” Dustin exploded. “You guys look at me like I’m pathetic. Like I’m a joke. I’m trying to keep him alive!”

Voices rose, overlapping, tangling until it all became one blurry wall of noise.

Steve threw up his hands. “You won’t even talk to us! You just shut down and sulk in your room or your stupid—”

That was when you stepped in.

“STEVE.” Your voice cut the room clean in half.

Everyone froze. Even Luna paused mid-fuss, blinking up at the sudden stillness.

You adjusted Ozzy, feeling his tiny fist curl against your ribs, then looked at all of them — every one of these kids and young adults who had lived and loved alongside Eddie.

“You want to know why Dustin’s changed?” you said, tone low but razor sharp. “Because grief changes people.”

Dustin looked at you, startled—like he wasn’t sure whether you were about to scold him too.

You didn’t.

You faced the group instead.

“You all keep acting like you’re the only ones who lost him. Like Dustin’s grief is annoying or inconvenient because it doesn’t look like yours.” Your jaw clenched. “Well, let me tell you something. He is trying. Every day. And you piling on him like this? It’s cruel.”

Steve opened his mouth.

You shut him down with one glare.

“You want to complain about his coat? His shirt? His hair?” you hissed. “What do you think I see every morning when I get the twins dressed? Eddie’s eyes. Eddie’s smile. Eddie’s stupid dimples when Ozzy scrunches his nose.”

Your voice cracked, just once.

“I have to be both their parents now. Dustin has to live with the guilt of surviving when Eddie didn’t. So excuse him if he holds onto the pieces he has left.”

Dustin swallowed, shoulders trembling.

“And you all should know better,” you continued, quieter now but no less fierce. “Every one of you has nearly died for this town. You’ve watched people you love disappear into hell. So why is Dustin the one being judged for coping?”

No one answered.

Even Steve’s defensiveness melted into shame.