Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The air in the Upside Down was thick creating an aromatic scent of old blood. Around them, the fragments of the Creel House floated in a shattered, crimson sky. El and the others were somewhere below, fighting to close the gates - a task taking much longer than anticipated. Y/n stood on the cracked floorboards of the attic, facing the towering, vine-shrouded silhouette of the man she had once called her only friend.

Vecna didn't turn. His back was a map of scar tissue and pulsing dark matter.

"You shouldn't have come back, y/n," his voice scraped against the walls of her mind, heavy and distorted. "The others are dying. You could have run."

"I’m tired of running," y/n said, her voice trembling, though she forced herself to take a step forward. Her teleportation powers thrummed under her skin, a restless itch, but she kept them coiled. "And I’m tired of fighting you. You’re too strong. We both know how this ends."

Vecna turned then. His pale, lidless eyes searched her face, looking for the lie. "Submission? From the girl who once tried to burn this whole world down? How... disappointing."

"Not submission," she whispered, her eyes filling with tears that weren't entirely faked. She reached into her memory, pulling up the image of Henry at the lab - the vibrant way his skin shimmered before it turned to a pale color, the way he looked when they used to hide in the boiler room, the way his lips felt on hers the first time they connected. "I want to go back. I want him back."

Vecna tilted his head, a sickeningly fluid movement. "Henry is gone. I consumed the weak parts of myself long ago."

"No," y/n countered, stepping into his personal space, defying the vines that hissed at her feet. "He’s still there. Under your hate. I see him when you look at me. I want the world he promised me when we were kids. The one where no one can hurt us, and we get our happy ending."

She reached out, her fingers hovering inches from his cold, wet chest. "Take me into your mind. Give me the fantasy. Lock me away in a dream where it’s just me and Henry, and I’ll stop fighting. I’ll give you my mind, my power... everything. Just let me be with him."

The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating. Vecna leaned down, his breath a cold draft against her cheek. He saw a broken woman, a girl so blinded by a childhood ghost that she was willing to surrender her soul for a hallucination. To him, it was the ultimate victory - the final proof that human "love" was a shackle.

"You wish to live in a lie?" Vecna hissed, a cruel smirk tugging at his features. 

"I wish to live in the only truth I ever cared about," she said as her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs. The lie rolled out of her mouth easier, because it wasn't entirely false. 

Vecna’s clawed hand rose, tracing the line of her jaw. "Very well. If you crave the ghost of a dead man... I will grant you your cage. You will stay here, in the dark, forever."

"Yes," she breathed, closing her eyes. "Thank you."

As his mind began to lunge into hers, weaving the golden threads of a fake 1950s sun-drenched memory, y/n felt the connection snap into place. She wasn't just entering his mind; she was anchoring herself to the small, flickering spark of the real Henry buried deep within the monster.

She felt the others' presence fade as they escaped through the gate with the time she had bought for them. Now, she just had to hold on - and wait for the moment to jump.

Chapter Text

The transition was jarring. One moment, y/n was drowning in the oppressive, rhythmic thrum of the Upside Down; the next, she was standing in a sun-drenched meadow that smelled of clover and wild honeysuckle.

The sky wasn't red. It was a piercing, impossible blue.

"Y/n?"

The voice was soft, melodic, and stripped of the gravelly malice of the Mind Flayer. She turned. Standing by a willow tree was Henry. Not the monster, and not the cold, calculating orderly she’d last seen at the lab. This was the Henry from her dreams - pale, handsome, wearing a simple white linen shirt, his eyes clear and full of a painful, aching tenderness.

He stepped toward her, his face etched with worry. "What have you done? You shouldn't be here. This place... it's a prison. You deserve to be free."

"I chose this, Henry," y/n whispered, her heart breaking because he looked so real. This scene felt so real. It was the fantasy she always wanted.

"Why?" He reached out, his cool fingers grazing her cheek. Her warmth confirmed to him that she was in fact, real, and not another sadistic trick that the Mind Flayer was using to break him further.

The touch felt authentic, but y/n's mind remained sharp, a hidden blade behind her eyes. "You had a chance to be free of him. To be away from me."

"I didn't want to be away from you," she said. Now came the test. She reached out and took his hand, interlacing their fingers. "Do you remember the day the pipes burst in the basement of the lab? When the guards were too afraid to come down?"

Henry’s expression softened, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips. "We sat in the dark for three hours. You told me stories about the stars because I’d never seen them."

"And what did you give me?" she asked, her voice low. She watched his eyes intently. "You found something in the rubble. You said it was a gift."

Henry hesitated, his brow furrowing. "A robin's egg," he whispered. "It had fallen through the vent. It was broken, but I made it whole again. So you could see it blue and perfect."

The details were right, and the eerie coldness of The Mind Flayer was nowhere to be found in the man before her. This was the Henry she knew. 

"That's how I'll always remember you. Perfect and kind," she whispered as she rested her head on his chest to feel his beating heart. It now beat slightly faster than it did back then. 

But as she squeezed his hand with hers and pressed her left ear into his chest, her mind subconsciously flickered to the "tether" - the psychic connection she was preparing to use to drag him out. She was calculating the weight of his consciousness, the energy required to fold his soul into her own. 

A few seconds later, Henry pulled away. His smile vanished. Her hands felt cold from his sudden withdrawal.

"You're not just here for me," he said, his voice dropping an octave, echoing with a sudden, sharp hurt. "You’re scanning me. Like a specimen. Like he does."

"Henry, no, listen..."

"Is this a mission?" He backed away, his eyes shimmering with a mixture of betrayal and a deep sadness. "Did you come here to find a weakness by exploiting my... love for you? Is that why you brought up the egg?" 

"I'm not using you!" she cried, stepping forward as the edges of the meadow began to flicker and fray, revealing the dark vines beneath the grass. The fantasy was breaking, as she was separating the remnants of the Mind Flayer and Henry. "I'm saving you! I can't kill him, Henry, but I can take you."

"There is no 'me' left to take! My body belongs to him." 

"Yes, there is!" y/n lunged for him, grabbing his hands once more. She could feel the Mind Flayer’s consciousness roaring in the distance now. You had the separation you needed. "You think this is a lie? The lie is that you belong to him. I have a space in my mind, Henry. A dark corner where he can’t find you. If I jump, and I hold onto you... I can smuggle you out. But you have to trust me."

Henry looked at her. The girl he'd helped so long ago. The girl he fell in love with through the shared trauma. The only girl to ever love him. Never did he think she'd let him do such a thing as be a part of her mind. It was an intimacy he didn't think he deserved. 

"You’d carry me? You’d let me inside your head? You know what I’ve done... what I am."

"I know who you were," she said, her eyes glowing with the sudden, violent surge of her power. "And I know I’m not leaving without you." Henry nodded, taking her hands again. 

The world shattered. The willow tree turned into a pillar of writhing snakes. Y/n didn't let go. She felt the massive, cold presence of the Mind Flayer screaming in rage as he realized the heist she was pulling.

"Hold your breath," she whispered.

She didn't just teleport her body. She reached inward, opened the gates of her own psyche, and pulled Henry’s flickering essence into the vacuum. There was a sound like a thunderclap, a sensation of being turned inside out, and then...

Silence. A pure silence finally rested upon Henry. It was a blissful feeling he hadn't felt in a long time, and suddenly, he felt like he was home.

Chapter Text

They sat on the wooden steps of the porch, the phantom sun warming their skin. For a long moment, there was only the sound of the wind in the trees - a sound Henry hadn’t heard without the accompaniment of screaming vines for as long as he could remember.

Henry looked down at his hands. They were his hands again - smooth, pale, and steady - not the clawed, knotted appendages of the monster he had become. 

"I didn't think there was anything left to save," Henry said softly. His voice was thick with a weight that went beyond mere exhaustion. "When the Shadow took me... it didn't just change my body. It folded itself into every corner of my mind. I was a passenger in a nightmare, y/n. I watched through his eyes as I tore the world apart."

Y/n reached out, covering his hand with hers. "It wasn't you, Henry. Not the real you. I saw the way you fought against the darkness when we were in the lab. I saw the boy who protected me. That was the real you. The rest was out of your hands."

"But I still did those things," he countered, finally looking at her. His eyes were wide and filled with a raw, agonizing honesty. "Even when I wanted to stop, the Hive mind made it feel like justice. Like it was what the world deserved. It got to the point where I couldn't tell where I ended and the Mind Flayer began. I started to believe that we were one."

He let out a jagged breath, his fingers curling into hers. "And then I saw you. Standing in that attic, looking at me with so much... hope. It was the most painful thing I’ve ever felt. Because for the first time in decades, I remembered what it was like to be human. And I was reminded how much I had lost, and more importantly, who I lost."

“You didn’t lose me,” y/n whispered, moving closer until their shoulders touched.. “I’m right here.”

Henry turned toward her, his expression flickering with a mixture of awe and disbelief. "You let me into your own soul, knowing what I’ve done... knowing the danger I carry. Why? Why would you take a chance on me?"

"Because you took chance after chance on me," she said, her voice dropping to a fierce, protective low, "I have spent so long thinking there was more I could have done that day. You were and still are the only man to ever see me for who I am and still choose to love me."

A tear escaped Henry’s eye, tracing a path down his cheek. He reached out, his touch hesitant, as if he were afraid he might break the illusion. When his fingers brushed her jaw and she didn't flinch, a broken sob escaped him.

"I don't deserve this," he whispered. "I don't deserve you." Tears started to form in y/n's eyes. The weight of his guilt lifted away as y/n gently brushed the tear was away. Her touch was warm, and her eyes looked into his with a sparkle of adoration. 

"I choose who deserves me, and you do, Henry. You deserve a happy ending."

The heavy silence of Henry's past finally shattered. The guilt, the red smoke, and the shadow of Vecna felt miles away, blocked out by the sheer force of her presence and their love for one another. Henry didn't feel like a monster anymore. He felt like a man who had finally reached the shore after a lifetime of drowning.

Chapter Text

The first thing Dustin noticed was that she seemed far too calm when she returned from distracting Vecna. She didn’t gasp for air when she returned like she normally does after teleportation. In the back of Steve's car, she simply smiled - a slow, dreamy curve of the lips. The others thought she was concussed or just in complete shock. After the doctors cleared her, they figured it would go away with time.

Three days later, the basement of the Wheeler house was a mess of maps, weapons, and heavy silence. Nancy was outlining the next phase of the plan to stop Vecna.

"We don't know who the next victim is," Nancy said, her voice tight with exhaustion. "If Vecna hits again, we won't be prepared if we can't figure out..."

She was cut out by a soft, melodic humming. 

Everyone turned to see y/n sitting on a laundry machine, swinging her legs like a child at a playground. She was braiding a piece of twine, her eyes distant and bright. She looked radiant in a way they've never seen her before. There was something more... feminine about her. 

"Y/n?" Steve asked, hovering a hand over her shoulder. "You okay? You’re acting a little... upbeat for the apocalypse?"

"I'm just tired of being sad, Steve," she said, her voice light and airy. She leaned her head back, closing her eyes. In her mind, she felt a warmth on her hand as Henry placed his hand on hers in her mind. "I think everything is going to be exactly the way it's supposed to be."

Now, the group was so concerned that they called a meeting without y/n. 

The door to the Wheeler kitchen clicked shut, muffling the sound of the humming from the basement. The group stood in a tight, frantic circle, the air thick with a brand of tension that usually only preceded a Demogorgon attack.

"Okay, nobody panic," Steve whispered, though his eyes were wide and he was pacing a three-foot line on the linoleum. "But does anyone else feel like y/n has... I don't know, joined a cult? Or perhaps lost her entire mind?"

"She was braiding twine," Dustin said, his voice hushed and urgent. "People don't braid twine during an interdimensional invasion, Steve. They sharpen stakes. They look for weaknesses. They don't look... glowing."

"That’s the word," Robin added, leaning against the counter and biting her lip. "Glowing. And she’s... softer?"

Nancy sat at the kitchen table, her eyes fixed on the door as if she expected a monster to burst through. "It’s not just the look. It’s the energy. She’s distant. When I was talking to her about the supply run, she looked right through me. She looked like she was listening to a song no one else could hear."

"Maybe it’s trauma," Lucas suggested, though he sounded unconvinced. "Shock does weird things to the brain. Maybe her mind just... snapped to a happy place to keep from breaking."

"No," Nancy countered, her voice sharp. "This isn't shock. This is... something else. She said everything is going to be 'exactly the way it’s supposed to be.' That’s not a traumatized girl talking. That’s someone who knows something we don't."

"Is it Vecna?" Steve asked, his voice dropping an octave. He gripped the back of a chair. "What if he didn't let her go? What if he’s in there, puppeteering her? Using her to make us drop our guard before he kills us all?"

"I don't think so," Max said quietly from the corner, her brow furrowed. "When Vecna has you, it’s cold. It’s heavy. It’s like being under a mountain of lead. Y/n doesn't feel like that. She feels... light. Almost like she’s floating."

"Well, whatever it is, it’s dangerous," Nancy insisted, standing up. "We’re about to go into a war zone. If she’s compromised—if she’s living in some fantasy world while we’re fighting for our lives—she’s going to get herself, or one of us, killed."

"We need to confront her," Dustin said. "Carefully. We need to know who—or what—is making her so happy."

As they stood there, debating their next move, a soft, melodic laugh drifted up through the floorboards. It was a sound of pure, unadulterated joy—a sound that felt entirely alien in a house waiting for the end of the world.

Chapter Text

Henry was waiting for her beneath the willow tree, looking impossibly sharp in his brown suit and a crisp red tie. When y/n appeared, her red dress flowed just past her knees, the fabric catching a phantom breeze that smelled of summer.

"They’re suspicious," Henry whispered, his hand sliding around her waist to pull her into a slow, rhythmic dance. He looked younger here, his skin clear and his posture free of the heavy, monstrous burden he carried in the waking world. Here, the darkness of Vecna was nothing more than a distant storm flickering on the horizon of her consciousness. Here, he was just her Henry. "You’re being too obvious, y/n. You’re supposed to be mourning the world."

"How can I mourn the world when I finally have you?" she laughed, the sound bright and musical. She spun into his arms, the red silk of her skirts flaring out before she pressed her face against his chest. She closed her eyes, listening intently to the steady heartbeat her own mind was generating for him. "Let them wonder. Let them think I’ve lost my mind. As long as you’re safe in here, I don't care about anything else."

Henry watched her with a faint, tilting smile. Her giddiness was infectious; she looked so vibrant, so full of life, that he found himself wishing he could simply lock the doors to this dream and never leave. As she did another playful twirl, he caught her hand and pulled her back into his space. His eyes were soft, overflowing with a mixture of adoration and a quiet, aching joy.

"This really is a dream come true," Henry said softly as y/n beamed up at him. He paused, a shadow crossing his features as he let out a long, heavy sigh. "I only wish this were real."

The light in y/n’s eyes faltered. She tilted her head to the side, her brows furrowing in sudden confusion. "What do you mean? It is real to us."

"It’s just... with the Mind Flayer still out there, the fight isn't over," he explained, his gaze drifting toward the darkening edges of the meadow. "We are living on borrowed time, y/n."

Y/n knew he was right, but the weight of the war felt so far away compared to the warmth of his hand in hers. She was caught in the updraft of her own euphoria, intoxicated by the simple feeling of being near him again.

"I know," she trailed off, her voice dropping to a whisper as she leaned her forehead against his. "I guess I just... I forgot about the world because I was with you. It’s been so long, Henry. I just wanted a moment where the monsters didn't matter."

"Me too. But I think it's time we fight back."

---

Max, still in her casts and dark glasses, is sitting across from y/n. Max can feel the wrongness in the air, but it wasn't exactly what she anticipated.

"You’re happy," Max said, her voice flat. It wasn't a question.

Y/n was buttering a piece of toast, humming that same haunting tune. "Is that a crime, Max?"

"People are dying. My brother is dead. Eddie is dead. And you look like you just won the lottery." Max leaned forward, her blind eyes searching. "What did you do in the Upside Down, y/n? Who are you talking to when you’re asleep?"

The humming stopped. Y/n’s butter knife paused mid-stroke. She took a delicate, almost serene bite of the toast, her eyes sparkling with a terrifying, giddy joy. "I didn't lose him, Max. I brought him home."

A suffocating silence fell over the room.

"What do you mean by him? Vecna?" Max whispered, a surge of horror and raw fear tightening her throat.

The air in the basement became thick with unsaid accusations. Nancy stood near the stairs, her shotgun held loosely but ready; Steve’s knuckles were white as he gripped his bat; and Dustin looked like he was vibrating with a thousand scientific questions he was too afraid to ask.

Y/n set the toast down and moved to the center of their circle. Her expression shifted—the giddiness smoothed out into something deeply, painfully earnest.

"I didn't just 'survive' him," y/n said, her voice steady. "I distracted him. I found the one thing Vecna couldn't process because he’s spent so many years trying to cut it out of himself."

"And what’s that?" Nancy asked, her eyes narrowed. "What could possibly distract a monster like that?"

"Henry," y/n whispered. "The boy who was still in there. The boy who helped me escape the lab when I was a teenager. I was a prisoner. A lab rat. But he saw past that, and he helped me. We helped each other..." y/n's voice trailed off, as she thought of the day that Henry helped her escape. He promised he was coming too, but he never did. The painful agony of waiting for someone who was never able to show up for you was an emotional experience she will never forget.

The group went silent. Even Steve stopped pacing. They all looked at her. 

"There was always this darkness surrounding him though. I could see him fighting it every day. He wanted to just be Henry, but whatever force took hold of him, it was too strong for him. I refused to believe that he was gone forever, so when I saw Vecna, I didn't just see a monster, I saw the man who gave me my life back. I saw the man I fell in love with and who loved me with every fiber of his being," y/n explained.

As she spoke, she felt a familiar, cooling touch on her hand. In the private theater of her mind, Henry was there, interlacing his fingers with hers and gently rubbing the small of her back.

Y/n looked down at her empty hand and smiled. "I offered Vecna a trade. My mind for a memory of us. I had to know if Henry was in there. If he could be saved. While he was busy gloating over my surrender, I pulled Henry away and into my mind."

The group exchanged looks of profound shock. Some showed understanding, others pure disbelief. To most of them, Henry and Vecna were a single, unified nightmare. The idea that they were two separate beings—the victim and the predator—left them at a loss for words.

Robin was the first to break the silence. She leaned forward, her usual frantic energy replaced by a soft, wounded kind of empathy. "That's incredibly... brave, y/n. To share your own head with someone like that. To give him a place to hide."

"It's insane is what it is," Steve muttered, though he lowered his bat. "We’re supposed to trust the guy who started all of this?"

"He didn't start it," y/n snapped. "The Mind Flayer found a lonely, gifted boy and twisted him. Henry is the first victim of the Upside Down, not the architect. Don't you see? This is the key to defeating Vecna. He sent us on a fruitless chase after Henry to distract us from the fact that he is the one behind it all!"

"I remember Henry at the lab, too," El said softly, stepping forward. Her dark eyes were searching y/n’s face. "And I want to believe you, because there were moments where he was kind to me too... but how can we be sure? How do we know it’s really him?"

"Will?" Dustin asked quietly. "Do you feel him? Is he... is he there?"

Will took a tentative step toward y/n. Everyone held their breath. Will knew the "cold" better than anyone. He knew the prickle of the Mind Flayer’s presence, the feeling of spiders crawling under his skin whenever the evil was near.

He stopped inches away from y/n. He closed his eyes, sensing the psychic atmosphere around her. He waited for the goosebumps, for the shiver down his spine that signaled a predator.

Nothing happened.

The air around y/n felt warm. It felt human.

"Someone's there," Will whispered, opening his eyes. He looked at the others, his expression one of pure shock. "But it’s not like the Mind Flayer. It’s not 'him.' There’s no shadow. There's no cold." He looked back at y/n. "I don't get the goosebumps. He’s... he’s just Henry."

A collective sigh of relief, mixed with lingering confusion, rippled through the room.

"Okay," Nancy said, though she didn't put the gun away yet. "If he’s in there, and he’s really Henry... then he knows how Vecna thinks. He knows the layout of that place better than we do."

Y/n smiled, and for the first time, it didn't look "off" or "giddy." It looked like the smile of a woman who had finally put down a crushing weight.

"He wants to help," she said. "He wants to finish this."

Chapter Text

The tension in the basement was thick enough to choke on. Steve still had his hand on his bat, and Nancy’s gaze was flint-hard. They believed Will — but they didn’t know Henry. To them, he was still the face of the nightmare.

Y/n looked around the circle, feeling the soft, hesitant pulse of Henry’s consciousness against her own. He was nervous.

“I think you should take control,” y/n said gently. “Speak to them directly.” 

Henry’s presence recoiled, just slightly. "I don’t think that would comfort them," he admitted. "Knowing I can take over your body…"

“I trust you,” she replied without hesitation. “And they trust me. They just need to know you’re real. That you’re not hiding.” She paused. “But if you’re uncomfortable-”

“No,” Henry said, firmer now. There was something new in his tone - resolve, not obedience. “You’re right. I’ll do it.”

---

“He wants to speak,” y/n said quietly. “Not through me. As him.”

Dustin blinked. “Can he just… do that? Like a voluntary Exorcist situation?”

“It’s not possession,” y/n said, glancing down at her hands. “It’s a hand-off. I’ll be right here. Just… in the passenger seat.”

Robin nodded once, sharp and decisive. “Do it. We need answers.”

Y/n closed her eyes.

She took a slow, centering breath and reached inward — not pulling, not opening a door without permission — just making space. She felt Henry step forward, tentative at first, then steadier.

The sensation was cool, like rain sliding down her spine. Her shoulders, usually tight and guarded, loosened — then settled into a straighter, more deliberate posture.

When her eyes opened, the radiant edge behind them was gone.

They were calm. Observant. Tired.

“It is… very loud in here,” Henry said. The voice was still y/n’s, but the rhythm was different - slower, careful, as if every word was chosen with analytical intent.

Robin inhaled sharply. “Oh. Wow. Yeah. That’s... a vibe shift.”

Henry looked down at his - her - hands, flexing the fingers as if reacquainting himself with the concept of a human body. There was wonder there. And grief.

Then he looked up at the group. Not as prey. As survivors.

“I know what you see when you look at me,” he said quietly. “I see it too. Every day.” His gaze flicked briefly to Steve’s bat - not flinching, just acknowledging. “But I am not here to control her. She gave me this choice. And I will give it back the moment she asks.”

Nancy’s jaw tightened. “Why should we believe you?”

Henry didn’t bristle. He didn’t defend himself with power.

“I know what it’s like to be trapped in the passenger seat of your own body,” he said quietly. “To be aware of every movement and have no say in it. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

His gaze softened, dropping briefly - inward - toward y/n.

“I would never do that to her,” he continued. “Not now. Not ever. She trusted me with this because she knows I love her. And because she knows I will always give control back.”

The room stayed silent - but something shifted. Not fear. Understanding.

From somewhere deep inside, y/n felt a swell of emotions - pride and love. For the first time in decades, Henry wasn’t hiding in the dark. He was choosing to be seen.

Chapter Text

The circle tightened, as if the room itself were holding its breath. Henry—speaking in y/n’s voice, but with the low, measured cadence that had become his—looked from face to face. When he spoke, there was none of the grandiosity they had come to associate with Vecna. Only the careful, weary clarity of someone who had survived a long, brutal interior war.

“Ask me what you need to know,” he said. “I’ll tell you what I can.”

Nancy, ever practical, spoke first. “How does he pick his targets? Is there a pattern we can predict?”

Henry folded y/n’s fingers together. “He’s drawn to fractures. Emotional wounds. Isolation. Things left unnamed. He listens for the quiet people—the ones already carrying a crack. He uses that crack like a doorway.” He paused. “If you make enough noise, he has fewer places to slip in.”

Dustin leaned forward, eyes bright. “So, like… we just blast a bunch of music and overwhelm him?”

A small, almost sad smile touched Henry’s face. “Noise helps, but only if it’s intentional. Panic creates fissures. Steady signals close them. Think rhythm, not chaos. That’s how El and Will can push.”

El, who had been silent until now, closed her eyes. “He’s a pattern,” she said softly. “A heartbeat. If we break the beat, we can destabilize him.” Her voice was quiet—but fierce.

“Where’s his core?” Lucas asked. “Is it a place we can reach? Something we can hit?”

Henry traced a slow line across the map with the pad of his thumb. The paper trembled, as if the memory itself carried weight. “The core isn’t a single room,” he said. “It’s a construct—a folded space built around pain. In the Creel House, it centers on the attic, the cellar, the places people stop entering. Spaces that collect dust and memory.” He swallowed. “There are anchors. Objects tied to trauma that he uses to stitch the world together. Destroy them, and the structure weakens.”

Nancy nodded once. “So we take out the anchors. Hit the core while it’s unstable.”

“Timing matters,” Henry added. “He’ll wait for a misstep. That’s why coordination is everything. Will and El create a counter-rhythm. You move in the gaps. Not when they falter—when they hold.”

A current of understanding moved through the group—nods, sharp breaths, swallowed fear. Steve tightened his grip on the bat. Simple on paper. Terrifying in reality.

“Does he have… weaknesses?” Robin asked, her voice quieter now.

Henry’s expression softened. Regret flickered there. “He hates being seen. Not observed—seen. And he reacts poorly to intentional joy. Not manic laughter, but small, deliberate life: sunlight, touch, names. Things that remind people they exist outside the horror.”

Will stepped forward, drawn by the steadiness of Henry’s presence. He rested his hand briefly on y/n’s shoulder—a grounding touch. “I don’t feel the cold,” he said, frowning as if searching for it. “When Henry speaks, it’s warm.”

“I’d like to help,” Henry said then, the words smaller now, tentative with vulnerability.

Silence stretched.

Finally, Nancy spoke. “If we accept that… what guarantee do we have you won’t change your mind in the middle of this?”

“You won’t,” Henry replied, gentle but firm. “Guarantees don’t exist in war. But I love y/n. She believed in me when even I thought I was gone.” He took a breath. “This is her body. Her mind. I’m a guest—and a grateful one.”

The words settled deep in y/n’s chest, warm and steady. She had known his ethics in the small mercies, the careful restraint—but hearing it aloud, witnessed by people with every reason to distrust him, made it real.

Steve exhaled. “Okay. That’s as good as we’re getting. For now, we use what he knows. We plan. We practice the rhythm. We make noise that binds, not breaks.”

Robin offered a small, sincere smile. “Thank you, Henry.”

“You’re welcome,” he said.

Y/n felt his presence shift—patient, compliant. She inhaled, felt the last thread of tension loosen, and nodded.

“Okay,” she said aloud. “Back.”

The cool wash down her spine reversed like a tide. Henry’s cadence faded, leaving y/n’s own quick, uneven breath behind. She blinked as the room reassembled itself, her hands curling in her lap.

Around the circle, faces softened—not free of doubt, but steadier. Willing.

Henry—now resting in the quiet glimmer of the shared mind-space—sent a small, private pulse of gratitude. Y/n answered by pressing her fingers against her knees.

They had done it together.
He had spoken.
They had listened.

And for the first time since his freedom, his knowledge wasn’t just memory—it was a weapon, aimed with intention.

Chapter Text

While the world above ground was arming itself, y/n lay on a narrow cot in the corner of the Wheeler basement. To anyone watching, she was just a girl exhausted by the psychic toll of the day.

But inside, she was stepping through a doorway made of light.

Henry was waiting for her. He had changed the scenery. The meadow was gone, replaced by a version of Hawkins she had never seen—the Hawkins of 1959. They were parked on a high ridge overlooking the town. The air didn’t taste like the Upside Down or even the dusty basement; it tasted like summer rain and the faint, sweet scent of vanilla.

A pristine, cherry-red convertible sat on the grass, and a radio somewhere was playing a soft, crooning jazz track that felt like a warm blanket.

"You’ve been busy," y/n whispered, walking toward him.

Henry stood by the car, looking younger — not just in age, but in possibility. His hair was neatly combed back, a varsity jacket fitted to a version of himself he never got to be. He looked at her with such open, unguarded adoration that it made her chest ache.

“I realized I never got to take you out,” Henry said, gesturing to the view. The town below twinkled with lights — no vines, no gates, no shadows. “No labs. No experiments. Just a boy from the neighborhood taking a girl to see the stars. Like the ones you used to describe to me in the dark.”

He reached out, taking her hand and leading her to a picnic blanket spread out on the hood of the car. On it sat two glass bottles of Coke and a small, white bakery box.

"Is this... a date?" y/n teased, her eyes shimmering.

"A long overdue one," Henry corrected softly, his voice dropping to that intimate, melodic register. "I am stealing energy from you to build it. I hope you can forgive the indulgence."

"Henry, I’d give you every spark I have if it meant seeing you smile like this."

"Then I will. Just to see you this happy and carefree."

They sat together on the hood of the car, looking up. In this world, the stars weren't just dots; they were brilliant, pulsing diamonds. Henry opened the bakery box. Inside was a single, perfect lemon tart.

"From the bakery on Main Street," he said. "My mother used to buy them. I remembered the scent."

He broke off a piece and offered it to her. It tasted like sunlight and sugar—more vivid than anything in the real world. As they ate, the jazz music faded into a slow, rhythmic beat. Henry stood up and offered his hand.

"I believe the custom is to dance," he said, sounding a bit shy. 

Y/n's cheeks flushed a bright red. She stepped into his arms, resting her head against his chest. Even though it was a construct of her own mind, she could feel the steady thrum of his heart. They swayed slowly under the impossible stars.

“When this is over,” she whispered into his shirt. “What happens to you?”

Henry’s grip tightened, just barely. He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, his gaze lingering as if he were memorizing her.

“I am a fragment,” he said gently. “But as long as you remember the boy in the boiler room — and as long as you keep this space open — I’m not going anywhere.”

He leaned down, his lips brushing against hers. It was a soft, tentative kiss—one that tasted of lemon and 1959 and a promise kept across decades of pain.

For that one moment, there was no Vecna. There was no "Subject 001." There was just Henry and y/n, two young adults who had finally found their way out of the lab.

Chapter Text

Chains scrape concrete. Dustin’s voice rings like a bell — loud, rhythmic, impossible to ignore. The gang throws themselves into the light so the shadow can’t help but look at them, creating decoy pulses, flashes of movement meant to hide the truth.

Inside Vecna’s mind, every sound arrives as a distant echo. The cathedral of memories is eerily calm: fluorescent corridors, a lab bench with a single mug, the smell of bleach suspended like a memory you can’t quite clear. Henry stands at the nave, a boy folded inward, made small by the sharpness of the world. Y/n moves beside him — careful, practical, the steady voice that has always anchored him.

For a heartbeat, the Mind Flayer looks outward. It toys with the gang, uncoiling tendrils toward the noise, testing the pull. The pressure eases. Inside, it grows quieter.

Henry breathes with the fragile relief of someone who can finally think.

The relief doesn’t last.

The Mind Flayer does not erupt in fury; it works like a surgeon. Its voice is not a shout but a seam stitched through the tissue of Henry’s thoughts.

"She learns fast."

"She knows you."

"She knows how it works."

They are not accusations. They are canalized doubt — the kind that feels like your own mind turning against you.

The whisper becomes a future laid across the present. Henry watches a version of himself stand smaller in a doorway while y/n, eyes steady, wears the brightness of his power like a cloak. The image is efficient. She uses it to fix things — people saved, threats shut down — but he is left hollow. Thanked. Quiet. Eventually obsolete.

The Mind Flayer is clever. It does not need to shout that she would be better. It only needs to plant the mechanics of the thought in the place where Henry keeps his trust.

The thought takes root.

“If this goes wrong,” Henry says before he realizes he’s speaking aloud, “use me. Use my power.”

Y/n’s mouth opens, then closes. Her first instinct is refusal — to keep the distance that keeps him human. But Henry’s voice is small and raw, edged with something she recognizes: not surrender, but the instinct to survive at any cost.

She nods.

Guiding his power settles the storm faster than forcing him to control it alone. The current steadies under her touch, sharp but responsive.

“Okay,” she says quietly, meeting his eyes. “But you know the Mind Flayer best. If you say pull, I pull.”

He trusts her — maybe more than he should — and that knowledge lands heavy in her chest.

Together, they begin to braid the current, rerouting the storm into a pattern the Mind Flayer can’t quite grasp. The tether loosens. The thing’s teeth slip.

And then it tries something new.

It turns its seduction outward, shaping itself into a compliment meant for y/n.

"You could hold it," it breathes, its voice tasting of later.

"You could end this faster."

"You could be what he only dreams of being."

The cathedral goes still, as if waiting to see what she will choose.

“You’re right.”

The words are small. Precise.

And somewhere in the dark, the shadow smiles.

Chapter Text

The shadow swells. It believes it has won.

The cathedral’s edges soften, stone turning pliable, thought bending toward inevitability. The Mind Flayer loosens its grip not because it is weak, but because it is certain — certain that her words were meant for him.

Y/n feels it before she understands it — the sudden thinning of Henry’s presence beside her. Like a hand slipping from her grasp.

“Henry?” she breathes.

He’s already moving.

There’s no dramatic announcement, no warning cry. One moment he is with her in the shared dark of her mind, solid and warm and choosing; the next he turns toward the shadow like someone stepping back into a fire they already know will burn.

He looks back once. Just once.

There is fear there — sharp and human — but beneath it is something steadier. Resolve. The kind that comes from finally understanding the shape of the trap.

"I can’t be pulled while I’m anchored here," his thought brushes against hers, fast and urgent. "It has to be clean. If it doesn't work, you need to destroy me. Use what I showed you yesterday. It's the only way."

Tears pricked y/n’s eyes. Every fiber in her body wanted to protest, to tell him to stay with her.

But she knows it would be selfish. She needs to respect his decision - his willingness to put himself at risk. 

“You’re right.”

Then he’s gone. The cathedral lurches.

The Mind Flayer surges, delighted, tendrils snapping back into place as Henry’s presence slams into it like a key sliding home. Its voice deepens, fills the space, triumphant and terrible.

“There you are.”

Y/n stumbles, psychic balance wrecked by the sudden absence. The world sharpens cruelly — too bright, too loud. Panic claws up her throat. A splitting headache blooms as her mind adjusts to the newfound emptiness.

She reaches for him instinctively, power flaring wild and unfocused, but the connection skids — slick with shadow, burning hot.

“Henry!” she screams, and this time it echoes — not just in the mindscape, but somewhere far away, where her body lies rigid and straining.

The Mind Flayer tightens around him.

It shows her flashes — not illusions, but sensations. Pain. Pressure. The familiar, suffocating closeness of something that knows every crack in him and wedges itself deeper.

“See?” it croons. “He always comes back.”

“No,” y/n snarls, terror sharpening into fury. “You don't get to keep him.”

The shadow laughs. “He chose to return home. We are back where we once were — except now I can exploit the time he spent in your mind.”

Then — something else hits it.

Pure force. White-hot and relentless.

The cathedral shakes as a new presence tears through the space like a comet. The air fractures, light screaming where it passes.

El.

She doesn’t speak at first. She doesn’t need to. Her power announces her — a blunt, uncompromising pressure that slams into the Mind Flayer’s side and holds.

“Get off him,” El says, voice low and shaking with effort.

The shadow recoils, surprised despite itself. Its grip doesn’t break, but it loosens — just enough.

Just enough for Henry to breathe.

Y/n feels him again, faint but unmistakable. A pulse. A thread pulled tight.

"Pull," he thinks, strained but focused. Y/n pulls.

The Mind Flayer lashes out at El, tendrils snapping like whips, but El digs in, teeth clenched, blood trickling from her nose as she pins it in place.

“Do it!” El shouts, not looking at y/n. “Whatever you’re doing — do it now!”

Y/n gathers herself with shaking hands.

Fear threatens to swallow her — the image of Henry trapped again, the certainty that if she makes the wrong move she’ll lose him for good.

Henry’s presence sharpens, suddenly clear — not safe, not whole, but choosing. y/n draws him from the shadow from the inside, carving space where there shouldn’t be any — precisely where the Mind Flayer expected none.

“Almost,” his thought reaches her, breathless. 

The Mind Flayer senses the shift. Its voice turns sharp, desperate. “Don’t let him go,” it hisses. “You can keep him. You can hold him forever.”

Her hands tremble.

“No,” she whispers in defiance.

El cries out as the pressure spikes, the cathedral cracking around them. Stone splits. Light bleeds through the fractures.

Henry’s presence flares — bright, unmistakable.

Then, clear as a bell cutting through chaos, his voice reaches her. His word lands like a vow.

“Push.”

Chapter Text

“Push.”

The word is barely a sound, more intent than voice — but it lands inside her like a key turning.

For a fraction of a second, every instinct she has screams the same thing: pull harder. Take. Anchor. Hold onto him.

She doesn’t.

She inhales.

And does something no one has ever taught her how to do.

She splits her power in two.

One hand — the part of her that has always known how to gather, to cradle, to draw what is lost back into the light — reaches for Henry. Not forceful. Not desperate. A steady gravity, tuned to him. To the boy in the boiler room. To the boy who chose her. To the boy who was almost lost. To the boy she can’t lose now.

The other hand turns outward.

She doesn’t grab the Mind Flayer. She doesn’t fight it head-on.

She rejects it.

The push isn’t violent — it’s refusal given shape. A psychic boundary slammed into existence, absolute and unyielding. “You do not belong here,” her voice echoes through the cathedral; its walls shudder as space itself remembers how to say no.

The Mind Flayer shrieks.

Not in pain — in disbelief.

It has never been denied like this.

Its grip on Henry slips, tendrils tearing loose as if ripped from something that no longer recognizes them. The shadow thrashes, trying to follow the pull, trying to cling —

—but there is nothing for it to hold.

Henry comes free all at once.

The sensation hits her like a shockwave: his fear, his resolve, the echo of pain — and then weight. Real, undeniable weight, as he slams into the gravity she has been holding open just for him.

She catches him.

At the same time, the push detonates.

Light floods the cathedral, pure and merciless, driving the shadow backward as if the space itself is exhaling it. The Mind Flayer is hurled away, its voice fracturing, unraveling, losing coherence as it’s forced out of alignment with Henry’s body.

“No—” it tries, but the word doesn’t finish.

Will is at the edge of the space, watching with intention as he prepares for his moment. His body leans forward as if following an invisible line; his fingers twitch in the air, mapping something only he can sense. His mouth moves soundlessly; his eyes track along a thread that isn’t there for anyone else. Every so often he breathes Henry’s name as if to keep the thread warm.

“You ready?” she asks him.

Will doesn’t answer with a word at first. He closes his eyes for a sliver of time, then opens them and nods once. “I’m on him,” he says, voice small but steady; when his eyes flash white the motion is quiet and reverent, like someone threading a needle. He reaches inward along the fading tether, following the line she’s carved open so he can meet Henry the instant the connection breaks.

Y/n tightens both sides of herself at once — pull firm, push final. Will follows the seam she’s opened, patient and sure, and the connection snaps.

The silence afterward is deafening.

Henry is there.

Not divided. Not echoing. Whole.

She feels him breathe — a real, unborrowed breath — and somewhere far away, in a broken body that is finally his again, his chest rises.

The cathedral settles.

The shadow is gone.

Y/n’s knees give out as the power drains from her, the world rushing back in too fast, too bright. She clutches Henry’s presence like a lifeline, shaking, tears blurring everything.

She did it.

They did it. 

Not by taking.

But by letting go — and holding on — at the same time.

Chapter Text

The world outside the mindscape felt too loud and too sharp, shocking y/n's senses. 

Y/n rushed toward the slumped figure on the attic floor as if the distance were a looped ribbon she had to untie. Henry lay there, fragile and unfamiliar, the remnants of the thing that had lived in him fading but still whispering along his edges.

She dropped to her knees. Her hands were clumsy — the tremor of adrenaline making them too big for the care she wanted to give. She pressed two fingers to his neck, counted. Pulse: slow, thready, alive. She leaned down, listening to the rise and fall of his chest. A tiny, shallow hitch of breath. His eyes were closed, lashes dusted with grit.

“Henry,” she whispered, because words mattered even if they didn’t answer everything. “Henry, wake up.”

Nothing. He did not stir.

Panic surged through her like an electric current — the fear that she had pulled him out of one prison only to leave him in another. Her fingers found the hollow of his throat again, then his wrist. The rhythm there was stubborn and irregular. She tapped his shoulder, soft, then harder. “Henry,” she said, louder, voice cracking. “Henry!”

Will moved beside her without fanfare. He did not kneel like she did; he hovered, contained and focused, the way someone holds their breath on purpose. His hands hovered a hair’s breadth from Henry’s ear as if not to scare him.

“Give him a minute,” Will murmured, voice quiet and careful. His eyes were wet but steady. “He needs an opening. Let me guide him.”

Y/n’s hand tightened around Henry’s wrist. She wanted to argue, to force-try something she wasn’t sure how to do. Instead she exhaled, ragged, and let the panic drip into the concrete like rain. “Thank you,” she said, her voice cracking at the end.

Will closed his eyes. He reached not with strength but with recognition, the small, painstaking touch of someone who knows what broken looks and feels like from the inside. For a beat he listened; then he hummed, a low sound more felt than heard, a phrase of small, familiar things: the way Hawkins smelled after rain, the sound of a particular streetlamp, a memory of clumsy childhood laughter. Not commands. Not force. Invitations.

“Henry,” Will said softly, an offering rather than an order. 

Something shifted under y/n’s fingertips. Henry’s fingers twitched — not a full movement, but intention. His brow furrowed as if someone had turned on a dimmer inside his head. He exhaled sharply, like a man finding a lost breath.

His eyelids fluttered. For a moment his gaze was haze — part memory, part pain. Then his eyes snapped open.

Recognition hit like cold water. He pushed weakly against the ground and cautiously turned over. The world snapped in and out of focus. He blinked at y/n, at Will, at the ceiling above him. Comprehension flooded through him like a tsunami: he was alive.

He glanced at his reflection in the glass above and flinched - not at the shadows, but at the outline of himself. He raised a hand as if to touch his own face and stopped, fingers hovering. They felt oddly distant, not quite his.

“Y/n—” His voice was ragged. He wanted to reach out to touch her face but paused in fear of what she would think of his body - the body he chose to return to. He couldn't look her in the eyes. He wanted to hide again like he did when he was safely in her mind. 

Y/n’s hands shook as she tilted his chin gently. He met her eyes. “You’re here,” she said, steady as she could make it. “You came back.”

Henry let out a small, broken laugh, the sound raw and jagged. He swallowed, trying to make sense of his reflection, of the shape he had to inhabit now. “I look—"

"Beautiful," y/n finished for him while pressing a hand to his cheek like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Her simple, gentle gesture was enough for tears to fill Henry's eyes. 

"You're still you. You’re still Henry. That’s what matters. That’s what we needed to hold onto.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, drawing in a shuddering breath. “Thank you. Thank you for believing in me when no one else did.”

He opened his eyes again and searched her face, trying to memorize the normal amidst the chaos. A crooked, tentative smile formed, fragile but genuine. 

The gang began to gather themselves, stepping back. They gave Henry and y/n a moment, understanding the intimacy of survival.

Y/n let out a shaky sound that was half sob, half laugh, and collapsed over him, arms threading around his middle like she could physically hold him together. He sagged into her, breathing messy and hot against her shirt, the echo of life finally matching the rhythm of being alive.

"I'm going to miss falling asleep and being with you," y/n admitted, voice small in the cavernous attic. 

"I'm going to miss it too," Henry replied with a small smile. "It felt... safe. Like I could be me without anyone but you watching." 

"Will you come visit me then?" y/n asked him with a small smile while fantasizing about all the dates they could go on in their minds.

"Of course I will," he replied. They let a peaceful silence fall over them, as they looked into each others eyes. Neither averting the tender gaze. 

"What if people look at me and only see the monster?" Henry asked - a look of vulnerability crossing his face. Y/n shifted uncomfortably. Not at his openness. But at the idea that he could never truly escape what had happened to him.

"That's not who I see. Do you?" she asked him. His heart swelled, and an idyllic song played in his head. He shook his head "no" in response and hesitated slightly. Then, he reached slowly — unsure, careful — and pressed his fingers to the side of her face. He flinched at the unfamiliar sensation of his own touch but held on. Y/n smiled and tilted her face towards his hand. They stayed captured there, and for a moment, it felt like their dreams again. 

A noise from the doorway made them both look up. The gang had gathered a few paces away, faces softening into the awkward smiles people use when they don’t know what else to do. 

“Come on,” Steve said finally, clearing his throat in a way that was almost a laugh. “Let’s get you out of here.”

Henry let out a breath of nervousness. He rose slowly with y/n steadying him, the world tilting then righting itself. He took the jacket from Steve with a grateful, mirthless little smile and shrugged it on like an armor that also smelled of home.

As they walked toward the stairs, Henry’s hand found y/n’s and curled around it without thinking, and she squeezed back. Even though tomorrow was uncertain, they knew that they had each other. And that was all that mattered. 

Chapter Text

In the quiet theater of y/n’s mind, she opened a door to a place that existed only for them. It was a small, sun-drenched cottage by a lake that didn't exist on any map. The air smelled of rain-washed cedar and the lavender she used to wear at the lab. 

Henry was standing by the window, watching the water. He didn't look like the soldier or the strategist now. He looked human. His shoulders were relaxed, and the perpetual tension that lived in his jaw had finally melted away. When he heard her step onto the floorboards, he turned, his blue eyes bright with an emotion so intense but in a happy, idyllic way. 

"You’re back," y/n whispered with a smile. 

"I’m always coming back to you," Henry said, his voice like velvet.

He met her halfway, his hands reaching out to frame her face. His touch was no longer the phantom chill of a ghost; here, in the heart of her soul, he was solid. He was warm. He leaned down, resting his forehead against hers, closing his eyes as he took a shuddering breath.

"I can’t hear him anymore," Henry murmured, his thumb tracing the line of her cheekbone. "The Shadow... the screaming... it’s all gone. There is only the sound of your heart."

Y/n smiled, her hands resting on his chest, feeling his own steady, rhythmic pulse. "I love these moments so much."

Henry let out a soft chuckle, pulling her into a tight embrace. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, holding her as if she were the only thing anchoring him to the earth. Y/n tilted her head slightly, granting him access. 

"I thought I had forgotten what it felt like to be loved. To be seen. But then you looked at me in that attic... and you didn't just see Vecna. You saw me" he said, his voice muffled against her skin.

"I never stopped seeing you, Henry," she whispered, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes. "Not for a single second."

The look he gave her was one of pure, unadulterated devotion. He leaned in, kissing her with a slow, desperate tenderness - a kiss that tasted of gratitude and a lifetime of unspoken promises. It wasn't the kiss of two people in the middle of a war; it was the kiss of two souls beautifully intertwined.

Henry’s hands drifted down to her waist, pulling her flush against him. The air in the room seemed to grow warmer, the golden light of the "sunset" outside the window deepening into a soft, intimate amber.

"Are you ready?" Henry asked. His voice so melodic. His eyes shimmering with a sense of hope and longing.

Y/n nodded, her fingers tangling in his hair. "Yes."

He picked her up effortlessly and carried her toward the large, quilt-covered bed in the corner of the room - his eyes never leaving hers. He laid her down gently. 

In the sanctuary of her mind, the light softened to the glow of a dying fire. There were no monsters here, no shadows reaching for them, no clocks ticking down to an apocalypse. There was only warmth, and breath, and the quiet certainty of two souls who had survived the end of the world and found their way back to each other — again and again — in the dark.

Chapter Text

Thank you so much for reading my story and for sharing your thoughts with me along the way. The kindness and excitement in the comments have meant more than I can properly say. Writing this has been incredibly grounding and healing for me, and I still can’t quite believe how quickly it all came together.

While this story ends here, I don’t think these characters are finished speaking to me just yet. I’ve been thinking about writing a prequel to this story that explores their time in the lab together and how they grow so close. 

If there’s anything you’d like to see explored — moments you’re curious about, dynamics you loved, or questions you’re still holding — feel free to leave a comment. I read everything, and it means the world to me.

Thank you again for all your support and for being here with me through this story. ❤️