Chapter Text
The house is quiet again.
Too quiet.
Ziggy has fallen back asleep in Max’s arms on the couch, her breath soft and steady, lashes resting against flushed cheeks like nothing in the world could possibly be wrong. Max doesn’t move. She can’t. One hand stays locked around her daughter’s back, the other gripping Lucas’s fingers so tightly her knuckles ache.
No one dares to speak.
Because Will feels it first.
It starts like pressure behind his eyes—familiar, sickening, a cold crawling sensation along his spine that hasn’t visited him in years. He stiffens slowly, breath stuttering in his chest.
Mike notices immediately.
“Will?” he whispers.
Will doesn’t answer.
He’s listening.
Not with his ears.
With whatever Henry left inside him all those years ago.
And then—
Ziggy exhales sharply.
Not awake. Not crying. Just… a sound. A hitch in her breathing like something brushed past her mind in sleep.
Will gasps.
The room shifts.
Not physically—but emotionally, like the air itself bends inward. A low hum fills Will’s head, not loud, not screaming like before.
This is worse.
This is focused.
Found you.
The voice is silk over glass.
Henry.
Will doubles over with a strangled noise, hands flying to his temples. Lucas jolts upright. Max startles, clutching Ziggy protectively as the girl squirms in her sleep.
“Will!” Dustin shouts, rushing forward.
But Will isn’t in the room anymore.
He’s somewhere else.
Somewhere black and wet and endless.
The Upside Down stretches around him—not as a place, but as a tunnel. A current. A vein of darkness connecting him to—
Ziggy.
He sees her like a glowing pulse in the void. Small. Fragile. Open.
Henry coils through her dreams like smoke slipping under a door.
So small, Henry murmurs. So easy to hear.
Will screams.
Back in the living room, Ziggy jerks violently in Max’s arms.
Her eyes snap open.
White.
Max’s heart stops.
Lucas grabs her shoulders. “Max—”
Ziggy’s tiny body goes rigid, mouth opening as if to scream—but no sound comes out.
Instead—
Will’s eyes roll back.
White.
Two vessels.
Two anchors.
Henry laughs inside their heads.
You left the door open twice.
The Party watches in horror as both bodies convulse at the same time, synchronized like puppets pulled by the same invisible hand.
Mike grabs Will’s shoulders, shaking him desperately. “Will! Will, come back!”
But Henry is already threading deeper.
Through Ziggy’s innocence.
Through Will’s scars.
He doesn’t need gates anymore.
He has minds.
Will feels Henry digging—ripping through memories, peeling open the wounds that never healed.
Loneliness.
Fear.
The dark.
And then Henry pushes something through him—like reaching across a bridge he built long ago.
Will chokes, collapsing to the floor.
The lights flicker.
The walls groan.
Max screams as Ziggy’s body goes limp in her arms.
Then both pairs of eyes slam shut at the exact same second.
Silence.
Dead.
Empty.
Gone.
For a heartbeat, no one moves.
Then Will inhales sharply and bolts upright, gasping like he’s been drowning.
Ziggy wakes at the same time, crying now—real tears, terrified sobs, clutching Max’s shirt.
Lucas looks at Will, shaking. “What the hell just happened?”
Will’s voice is barely a whisper.
“He used her.”
Mike’s stomach drops. “Used her how?”
Will looks at Ziggy, eyes full of horror.
“She’s a signal,” he says. “He can reach me through her. Through anyone like her.”
Max feels like she might pass out. “Like El.”
Will nods slowly.
Lucas tightens his jaw. “So Henry’s not trapped anymore.”
Will swallows. “No. He’s moving.”
The lights flicker again.
Longer this time.
Somewhere beneath Hawkins—
the door breathes.
——
The flicker doesn’t stop this time.
It pulses.
Not like electricity failing.
Like something knocking from the other side.
Mike feels it in his teeth. Lucas feels it in his chest. Max feels it in her bones as Ziggy whimpers and buries her face deeper into her shoulder.
Will is already standing.
He doesn’t remember getting up.
He just knows.
The pressure is back—thick and suffocating behind his eyes. The same crawling wrongness from childhood, from winter lights and cold breath and vines that grew where they shouldn’t.
Only now it’s sharper.
Targeted.
“Will?” Dustin whispers.
Will turns slowly toward the hallway.
The wallpaper there—
ripples.
Not tearing.
Not cracking.
Breathing.
Lucas stumbles back. “No. No, no, no—”
Max clutches Ziggy tighter as the little girl starts crying again—loud, panicked sobs that echo far too much in the suddenly hollow-feeling house.
And then the sound comes.
Not thunder.
Not wind.
A deep, wet, stretching groan from inside the walls.
Mike’s blood runs cold.
“Everyone back,” he says hoarsely.
The ripple spreads along the hallway ceiling like black water under skin. Dust shakes loose. The air smells damp—rotting, metallic, like the Upside Down leaking through pores Henry carved open years ago.
Will feels Henry smiling.
You feel it now, don’t you?
It never closed.
It waited.
Will stumbles forward despite himself.
Mike grabs him. “Don’t—don’t go near it!”
But Will can’t look away.
The hallway darkens—not from lack of light, but from presence. A thin, vertical seam opens in the wallpaper like a mouth gasping for air.
Lucas swears under his breath.
Max turns away, shielding Ziggy’s face. “Not again. Please—not again—”
The seam widens.
And from it—
black mist.
Not a full gate.
Not a tear.
A leak.
Henry’s leak.
Will gasps, clutching his chest. “He’s using me—he’s using her—he’s using the connection.”
Dustin backs toward the door, shaking. “Okay. Okay. We are NOT doing Season One in Mike’s house again.”
The mist curls along the ceiling like it’s tasting the room.
Mike feels something click.
“He didn’t need a gate,” Mike whispers. “He needed a bridge.”
Will looks at him, pale. “I’m the bridge.”
“And Ziggy is the amplifier,” Dustin finishes.
Lucas tightens his grip on Max’s shoulder. “So the Upside Down didn’t survive.”
Will shakes his head slowly, horror dawning.
“It evolved.”
The seam snaps shut.
The mist vanishes.
The lights steady.
Silence crashes down so hard it hurts.
Ziggy hiccups against Max’s shoulder, still crying softly now, exhausted and confused.
Mike stares at the hallway like it might open again.
Dustin swallows. “That wasn’t Vecna trying to break through.”
Will nods numbly.
“That was him breathing from inside us.”
——
The silence after Will’s words doesn’t feel like relief.
It feels like the air before a scream.
No one moves. No one breathes. The house is too still, like it’s listening.
Max sinks back onto the couch, clutching Ziggy so tightly Lucas has to gently pry her fingers loose so the child can breathe. Ziggy’s eyes are heavy now, confused, cheeks wet with drying tears. She presses her face into Max’s collarbone like she’s hiding from something that isn’t visible anymore.
Mike is still staring at the hallway.
“Breathing,” he whispers. “You’re saying he’s… breathing through you.”
Will doesn’t answer right away. His chest is still rising too fast, like his lungs haven’t caught up with reality yet.
“I don’t think he ever needed to reopen a gate,” Will says finally. “He just needed the right host. The right anchor.”
Dustin rubs both hands over his face. “God, that’s so gross and terrifying and very on-brand for Henry.”
Lucas looks between them, voice tight. “So what—he left pieces of the Upside Down inside ensure—like seeds?”
Will nods. “Inside me. Inside Max. And Ziggy—she’s reacting to it. Not because she did anything wrong. Because she’s sensitive. Because she was born into it.”
Max lets out a shaky breath that sounds like it hurts. “I hate him.”
Mike turns toward her, guilt flashing across his face. The anger from before is gone—burned out, replaced with something hollow and scared.
“We’re going to fix it,” he says quietly.
But no one actually knows how.
A car door slams outside.
Everyone freezes.
Dustin looks toward the window. “We’re not expecting anyone, right?”
Lucas shakes his head slowly.
Then another slam. Voices. Fast footsteps on gravel.
Mike’s stomach drops.
The door bursts open without knocking.
Steve Harrington stumbles in first, breathless, hair wind-tossed, eyes wide.
“Okay, don’t freak out,” he blurts—already freaking out.
And then Robin Buckley steps in behind him.
Time stops.
Dustin’s jaw drops so hard it almost hits the floor.
Mike physically recoils like he’s seen a ghost.
Max gasps.
Lucas just stares.
Will’s breath leaves his lungs in a stunned, disbelieving laugh.
Robin stands in the doorway with a duffel bag still slung over her shoulder, chest heaving slightly from running. Her hair is longer now, darker at the roots, the same nervous energy vibrating through her body like it never left Hawkins.
She looks around the room—and her face falls.
“Okay,” she says slowly. “Why does everyone look like they’ve seen me die?”
Steve shuts the door behind them, rubbing the back of his neck. “Because it’s been ten years, Rob.”
Dustin launches forward first.
“ROBIN?!” he yells, crashing into her in a hug so violent she nearly drops her bag.
She laughs in shock, arms wrapping around him automatically. “Dustin—oh my god—look at you!”
He pulls back, eyes watery. “You’re actually here.”
Mike still hasn’t moved.
Robin notices.
Her smile softens. “Hey, Wheeler.”
Mike blinks, then finally steps forward, pulling her into a tight hug that surprises even him.
“You disappeared,” he mutters into her shoulder.
“I moved,” she says gently. “Difference.”
Max watches from the couch, stunned, Ziggy still tucked against her chest. The child peeks out curiously at the new stranger.
Robin finally notices the little red-haired girl.
Her brows knit. “Uh… okay, question. Why is there a tiny human here?”
The room goes quiet again.
Steve exhales slowly. “Yeah. So. That’s part of the problem.”
Robin’s eyes narrow. “Steve. What did I miss.”
Dustin gestures wildly. “Sit. Sit down. You’re gonna need like—seven emotional seatbelts.”
Robin drops her bag and sinks into a chair, scanning their faces.
“Okay,” she says carefully. “Start talking.”
Steve looks at the others. “She doesn’t know anything.”
Mike nods. “We start from the beginning.”
Robin laughs nervously. “That sounds ominous.”
Will kneels beside the coffee table, voice steady but haunted.
“The Upside Down never fully closed.”
Robin’s smile dies instantly.
“What.”
Dustin leans forward. “We thought we destroyed it when Vecna died. But he wasn’t just opening gates—he was planting anchors. In people.”
Robin’s eyes flick to Max. Then to Will.
“…anchors?”
Max swallows hard. “Me. And him.”
Robin goes pale.
Steve continues softly. “And now there’s Ziggy.”
Robin looks at the little girl again, confusion deepening. “Who is Ziggy?”
Max’s voice breaks slightly. “My daughter.”
Robin’s head snaps back. “You—Max, you have a kid?!”
Lucas nods, protective hand on Max’s shoulder. “She’s three.”
Robin’s brain visibly struggles to catch up.
“Okay,” she whispers. “Okay. Slow. Why is a three-year-old connected to the Upside Down?”
Will answers quietly.
“Because Vecna left the door inside Max. And I was already linked. Ziggy was born with the connection.”
Robin grips the edge of the chair.
“So the thing that just happened,” Steve says grimly, “wasn’t a gate opening.”
Robin looks terrified now. “I saw the lights flickering when we pulled up.”
Mike nods. “It leaked through the hallway.”
Robin’s breath shakes. “Jesus Christ.”
Dustin gives a humorless laugh. “Welcome back to Hawkins.”
Robin stares at them, horror dawning.
“I left because I thought it was over.”
Steve looks at her sadly. “We all did.”
Robin looks at Ziggy again—really looks—and something cracks in her chest.
“She’s just a baby,” she whispers.
Max nods, tears fresh in her eyes. “Yeah. And it’s after her.”
Robin swallows hard.
“Okay,” she says. “Then tell me everything. No sugarcoating.”
Mike nods slowly.
And they do.
They tell her about Vecna’s return, about Will’s episodes, about Ziggy’s nightmares, about the black wind and the breathing walls and the way the Upside Down didn’t die—it just learned patience.
Robin listens in silence, face drained of color.
By the time they finish, her hands are shaking.
“…so we’re not dealing with a monster,” she says quietly.
Will shakes his head.
“We’re dealing with a world that refuses to let go.”
Robin exhales, staring at the floor.
Then she looks up—eyes fierce despite the fear.
“Okay,” she says. “Then it’s a good thing I came home.”
——
The kitchen still smells like coffee and stress.
Robin stands in the doorway like she’s afraid stepping further inside will confirm everything she just heard is real. Steve lingers behind her, arms crossed, eyes soft and worried. The hum of the fridge is too loud. The ticking clock sounds like it’s counting down to something none of them want to face.
Nancy turns slowly from the counter.
For half a second she can’t breathe.
Robin.
Ten years collapse between them in a heartbeat.
“Robin?” Nancy whispers, hand flying to her mouth.
Robin’s eyes widen. Then her face breaks into something raw and bright and disbelieving. “Hi,” she says, voice trembling.
Nancy rushes forward before she even thinks about it, wrapping Robin in a fierce hug that nearly knocks the air out of both of them. Robin clings back just as hard, laughing shakily through tears.
“Oh my God,” Nancy breathes. “You’re really here.”
“I’m really here,” Robin murmurs.
Jonathan watches from the doorway, stunned, then smiles softly and steps closer. Robin pulls back and looks at him, eyes filling again.
“Jonathan Byers,” she says with a watery grin. “Still brooding. Still tall.”
He laughs quietly and pulls her into a gentle hug. “You vanished.”
Robin squeezes him. “I wrote!”
Nancy wipes her cheeks, nodding. “She did. Letters. Every Christmas. She knew—” Nancy’s hand drifts instinctively to her stomach.
Robin’s gaze follows.
She exhales softly. “You got my last one?”
Nancy nods, voice emotional. “Every word.”
Steve leans against the counter. “Yeah, she basically bullied you into admitting you were pregnant.”
Robin gasps. “Excuse me, I gently encouraged maternal honesty.”
Nancy laughs for the first time in hours.
The tension cracks just enough for memory to slip in.
Robin looks around the kitchen slowly. “This place feels the same.”
Jonathan shakes his head. “It isn’t.”
Robin nods. “Yeah. I figured.”
They all sit—instinctively forming the same square they used to during war planning, only now it’s quieter, heavier, grown.
Robin rests her chin in her hand. “God, I keep thinking about ’85.”
Steve groans softly. “The Russians. The mall. You high on truth serum.”
Nancy smirks. “You confessing your crush mid-hallucination.”
Robin points. “Hey. Emotional vulnerability under chemical coercion does not count.”
Jonathan chuckles. “It absolutely counts.”
They laugh again, but it’s bittersweet now.
Robin’s expression softens. “Back then it felt like the worst thing in the world.”
Nancy nods slowly. “And then ’86 happened.”
Steve’s jaw tightens. “Vecna.”
Jonathan looks down. “Max.”
Robin swallows hard. “I just can’t believe these shit really happened, she was literally just 15.”
Nancy reaches across the table and squeezes her hand. “I know Rob, we were all so young.”
Robin nods, eyes glossy. “I always wondered if we actually ended anything in ’87… or if we just paused it.”
Steve sighs heavily. “Turns out we paused.”
Jonathan rubs his face. “He planted roots before we even knew he could.”
Nancy’s voice is quiet, firm. “But we stopped him before. We will again.”
Robin studies her carefully.
“You still sound like you’re writing a story,” Robin says softly.
Nancy smiles faintly. “Because stories have endings.”
Steve mutters, “Let’s hope this one does.”
Robin leans back, emotion swelling in her chest. “I missed you guys.”
Nancy squeezes her hand again. “We missed you too.”
Jonathan nods. “Feels like the band’s back together.”
Steve laughs dryly. “Worst reunion tour ever.”
But Robin smiles anyway.
Because Hawkins is terrifying.
But home is still home.