For the second night in a row, Henry dreamt of nothing.

No dreams, no visions, no waking up with a horrible feeling settling in his stomach even though he couldn't quite remember why.

No sleep at all.

By the time the sun broke out over the horizon, his memory of the long night was fuzzy. The hours he'd spent awake blended together and he couldn't tell if he'd blacked out most of it or if they really were all that similar. He knew that most of his time was spent in the garage; elbow deep in the Cutlass's engine with one of many cigarettes hanging out of his mouth. But, he couldn't even tell you how many, not unless he kept count of the butts he picked up off the floor before he left that morning.

Sleep deprivation could do that to a person, Henry was well aware of that. He'd had more than his fair share of days turn into timeless slogs that he couldn't put in order if he tried. But, this wasn't because of exhaustion. At least, not only. Henry was unfortunately well aware of that as well.

His last sharp memory from the night before —when his breath came in short bursts, faster than his lungs could handle, and he laid down on the ground in a desperate attempt to stop the room from spinning—was proof enough of that.

He'd been right. Or, maybe, he'd been wrong. Both. He'd been both. And the second letter had made that more than obvious.

But, it didn't matter now. The only thing that did was figuring out what the hell was going on and doing it quickly, because… Because apparently every moment he spent not knowing was a moment he was being watched.

He was certain of that now, and that made the next step clear.

With sunrise shining its first rays over Hawkins and his car running better than ever, Henry was itching to go to Starcourt.

He played normal for the most part. Took his shower, ate breakfast with his family, all while his mind was far away. On the letter. On the sender. On the only man who could help him right now.

The Cutlass sounded beautiful as it flew down the road, but he couldn't enjoy it. His hands were too tight around the wheel and it was difficult to keep anywhere close to the speed limit. But, he made it to the mall without hitting a pedestrian or getting pulled over, and right now that was all he could hope for.

"Hey," Robin said, perking up behind the counter a little when she caught sight of him, "I thought your shift didn't start until later?"

"It doesn't," Henry replied, not slowing in the slightest, "Is he back there?"

"Yeah, he's with—" Robin started, but the sentence didn't get any further than that, and instead her eyes widened comically as Henry hopped the gate and confidently strode behind the counter and over to the backroom.

But, when he flung the door open, everything came to a screeching halt.

"Henry!" Dustin exclaimed, hopping up from the break table and running into his arms without a second of hesitation. Henry hugged back out of habit, not fully realizing what was happening even when he looked down at the familiar curls tucked away into a new hat.

"Hey, man," he managed after a moment, the pair pulling back, "How-How was camp?"

That set Dustin off, and as he babbled about inventions and girls, Henry's brain slowly kicked back into gear. He knew Dustin came back yesterday—he'd listened to the kids plan his welcome home party before he got sick of their chatting and turned his walkie-talkie off—but he'd completely forgotten until this moment, and the sight of him in the Scoops Ahoy backroom had put a sharp brake on the momentum that had gotten him this far.

"Wait, wait," Henry said suddenly, one word penetrating the nervous jumble of thoughts, and he looked down at Dustin with raised eyebrows, "Girlfriend?"

Dustin's grin seemed to grow impossibly wider, and his chest puffed out just a little bit.

"Suzie."

"She says kissing is better without teeth."

And for the first time since he'd strode back here, Henry actually looked at the guy he'd come to see in the first place.

Steve was smiling a little, with a sort of grimace to his expression that Henry knew was only for him to see. But, the humor that was there didn't cover up what was underneath. There was something funny in the glint of his eyes, like he knew he hadn't come barreling back here just to see one of his young friends, and Henry felt a lump form in his throat.

No matter how badly he wanted to, he couldn't let all of his fears loose. Not with Dustin here.

"Alright, babysitting time is over," Robin announced, barging into the backroom like Henry had not moments before, "You need to get in there."

The look of pure desperation brought on by customers was a familiar one to Henry, and he might've smiled a little, if it weren't for the strange reactions of the other two. Both Steve and Dustin recoiled, looking vaguely like they'd been caught doing something they shouldn't, although Henry had no idea what. It wasn't like Robin was going to have a problem with people in the backroom; she wasn't the type to care about company policy, and besides, she'd already been aware of Dustin hanging out in here, let alone Henry.

"Hey, my board," Robin exclaimed, drawing Henry's attention, "That was important data, shitbirds."

"I guarantee you, what we're doing is way more important than your data," Dustin replied, but Henry only half heard him. His eyes were stuck on the whiteboard Robin had been marking to mock Steve just yesterday.

"Why are you two studying the Russian alphabet?" Henry asked slowly. If it were anyone else, he wouldn't think anything of it, but he knew what these kids could get themselves into. What they seemed to always get themselves into.

"They think they have evil Russians plotting against our country on tape, and they're trying to translate, but they haven't figured out a single word because they didn't realize Russians use an entirely different alphabet than we do."

All three of the boys jerked around to look at Robin, whose expression was as blunt and confident as her words. She was so sure of herself that it could almost be assumed that she'd been told exactly what was going on, but clearly from the looks on Steve's and Dustin's faces, she hadn't.

But, all of that paled in comparison to Henry's reaction.

"What?" He exclaimed, both boys wincing as he whipped towards them with that look on his face.

"You told her about the Russians?" Dustin mumbled to Steve, who shook his head.

"It wasn't me," he muttered back before he cracked under the weight of Henry's stare, "I was totally going to tell you, though, man. Okay? The moment I saw you."

"Hello, I can hear you," Robin interrupted, "Actually, I can hear everything. You are both extremely loud."

That was true. Henry could attest to that. They were bad separately, but when they got together, good god. No wonder Robin had overheard everything, they were lucky if half the town didn't know what they were up to.

Before Henry could think of anything to say, like how the hell did this happen or what the hell are you two thinking or even a classic what the fuck, Robin reached for the tape recorder on the table; Steve lunging forward and grabbing it right from under her.

"What do you think you're doing?" Steve demanded, Robin shrugging a little and smiling, seemingly unhurt by him tearing it away from her fingertips.

"I wanna hear it," Robin said like it was obvious, "You were going to play it for him anyway, weren't you?"

Robin jerked her thumb over in Henry's direction, and he felt a little singled out as everyone's eyes went to him. Probably because his brain was desperately trying to gain traction and failing, and having any attention on him while he was stumbling felt like a spotlight was being shined on his flailing.

"Well, yeah," Steve admitted, his eyes flickering to Henry before going back to Robin "But, Henry's helpful."

"I can help," she countered, "I'm fluent in four languages, you know."

"Russian?" Dustin asked, perking up a little.

"O-yay are-yay um-day."

"Holy shit!" Steve and Dustin both exclaimed, endlessly impressed and already planning how they'd put her knowledge to good use.

"That was Pig Latin," Henry said, finding his words for the first time since he'd halfway exploded at the Russian thing. Maybe just because he'd actually recognized something, because god knows everything else felt out of his grasp right now.

"Dingus," Robin confirmed, sitting down at the break table, "But, I can speak Spanish, and French, and Italian, and I've been in band for 12 years. My ears are little geniuses, trust me. Come on, it's your turn to sling ice cream, my turn to translate. I don't even want credit, I'm just bored."

Robin held her hand out for the recorder, having pled her case better than most lawyers. But still, Steve hesitated, and he glanced over to Dustin. Henry didn't know where they'd land, although his gut was telling him that Robin would get involved one way or another and she might as well do it being useful. But, that was really the only thing his gut was telling him.

The confidence he'd possessed as he strode in here, the certainty he'd finally found, was gone now. Replaced with a jumble of emotions—ones that had only been under control because he'd thought he knew what the next step was. But, now? Now that Dustin and Steve had thrown this wrench in everything? What was he supposed to do?

Why had it gotten so quiet?

Henry came back to himself, no longer lost in his thoughts, and found that in his absence the backroom of Scoops Ahoy had changed landscapes. Steve wasn't sharing a silent conversation with Dustin while Robin waited expectantly. In fact, they'd all shifted their attentions right over to—

"Why're you all looking at me?"

Even once he called them out, the three pairs of eyes were unwavering,

"You're usually the one that takes the lead in these situations," Dustin answered, and Henry blew out a puff of air. Maybe that was true, but frankly he didn't want the reins right now. He didn't think he'd be any good, not with the way he was feeling.

"It's your Russians, man," he finally replied, and Dustin sighed, like he knew that was coming. After a moment, he looked up at Steve and nodded. And even though nothing felt right, Henry was pretty sure that was the best choice he could've made.

"Get to it, Harrington," Robin said, patting him on the shoulder, and Steve looked out at the front and sighed, "Gonna pitch in, Henry?"

"Um," Henry's eyes flashed to Steve before he continued, "Not sure I'd be much help. Languages were never my strong suit."

Before Dustin or Robin could argue (they would, Henry could see the glint in their eyes; they wanted an extra pair of ears), and Henry would have to stumble through some excuse, Steve's voice cut in, a hell of a lot less hesitant than just moments before.

"Actually, I need to talk to him," he said, not even looking over at the man he was referring to, "Besides, he's only got like ten minutes until his shift starts anyway."

The other two accepted that quickly without question. Of course they did. Steve spoke with such certainty there was no way anyone could disbelieve him, especially when he proved time and time again that he knew Henry's schedule a little bit better than he should.

Which made the fact that it wasn't true all the more interesting.

Steve headed towards the front, not even glancing back once; secure in the knowledge that Henry would follow. And just like always, he was right. Henry trailed after him wordlessly and watched as he slid the divider shut and left them in (very relative) privacy.

For a moment it was quiet, the sound of Robin and Dustin beginning to tear into the recording rather easy to hear in the silence (she probably shouldn't say anything about someone else being loud). The two boys looked at each other; Steve waiting for Henry to speak, and Henry desperately wishing Steve would go first.

"What's up?" Henry finally said, and even to him it sounded ridiculous.

"Dude," Steve replied, giving him a look, and Henry felt appropriately chastised, "What's going on? Why did you show up an hour early to work? And burst back there like the Kool-Aid Man?"

Henry snorted a little, maybe moderately amused by that comparison, but also just desperate to relieve the tension. Steve didn't seem very impressed, but even so, his expression softened. Like he realized this situation—whatever it was—was delicate. Like he realized Henry was delicate.

"C'mon, man," Steve said, "What's wrong?"

His voice was gentler now. Prodding, but never pushing, in that perfect way that would probably get Henry to spill his deepest secrets if Steve just asked the right questions.

But…

It wasn't working.

Even though Henry wanted it to.

He was right, he'd rushed right in without a moment of hesitation before, but now that they were standing here, he felt backed into a corner. Even though it was all he'd wanted since he'd first opened that envelope last night, now that Steve was listening, it felt all wrong for him to hear what had been on his mind.

Now that he could let them out, the words stayed where they were.

"Things…" Henry finally managed haltingly, not really knowing where he was going while he spoke, "Feel wrong. Off. I… I feel off."

Steve frowned, and Henry knew he didn't accept that as the full story. Of course he didn't. It wasn't. Henry didn't even know it. All he had was some letters coming from who knows, and he felt like he was stumbling around in the dark, hoping someone might be able to lead him out.

He'd been so sure Steve would be the one who could do that, but now that he was standing in front of him…

He knew that was a pipe dream.

"Henry…" Steve started, his voice low, for just the two of them to hear. But, even though he usually loved that, much more than he should, Henry couldn't stand it right now. He couldn't let himself give in to the silly fantasy he'd clung to, where Steve was his knight in shining armor who would fix everything and make it all make sense. Because none of this made sense. The power outages, the letters, the—

"Do you really think Dustin caught something important?"

Henry's question might've come out of nowhere, but the logical leaps in his mind made sense. Two very strange things were happening parallel, and experience showed that when that happened, it was because they were connected somewhere. You just had to find where.

It was clear as day to Henry, but it only made Steve's brow furrow harder. He probably thought he was changing the subject. Or worse, letting what was happening around them make the paranoia that gripped him even more severe.

He might be right about that one, though.

"I don't know, maybe," he finally offered, shrugging a little, "Guess it could just be some radio broadcast. Or an air tower. Music in the background is kind of weird, if it is some super-secret spy shit."

"Music, what music?" Henry said, now his turn to frown.

"Oh, right, you didn't hear it. It goes like—" Slowly, Steve began to hum. He was maybe a little off tune and halting, but accurate enough to what he'd heard that Henry could follow the melody.

Or maybe he was able to pick up the rhythm because it was familiar.

"That's a nursery rhyme," he said, Steve stopping his little rendition and surprise lighting up his expression, "My mom used to sing it to me. She… She'd replace it with my name."

Henry felt himself go quiet. He hadn't thought about that in a long time. Probably because his memory of it was fuzzy at best, he'd been pretty young then. But even so, a tinge of guilt wormed its way into his stomach. He should spend some time with his mom. If only to make sure she knew how important she was to him, even when things got bad.

"How's it go?" Steve asked, interrupting Henry's thoughts, "Maybe that's a clue."

"Um…" Henry managed, trying to clear the fog out of his brain and remember the words his mom had sung to him over a decade ago, "Stevie, Stevie, give me your answer do, I'm half-crazy all for the love of you."

And with that, Henry's face lit on fire.

In the moment, it'd seemed right to change the lyrics. It felt weird to sing his own name, and that nickname had been a longstanding joke he'd drop every once in a while, just to embarrass Steve. He wasn't entirely sure why calling him Stevie got to him the way it did, but the way he'd grumble and his cheeks would pink were reasons enough to work it into conversation occasionally, when he wanted to see his best friend squirm.

But, he hadn't considered the rest of the verse until it came out of his mouth.

Instead of getting to enjoy the eye-roll and light blush on Steve's face, Henry was frozen in spot, with so much heat overcoming him that the ground could've opened up and left him standing above the pits of Hell. He silently prayed that it would just swallow him already, and not leave him to suffer on this plane of existence for a moment longer.

"The hell are you doing back there?"

The two boys turned to find Erica and her gaggle of friends staring at them, and both realized they'd completely forgotten where they were.

"I'll talk to you later," Henry managed, finally finding his voice again, and walking out from behind the counter while his sister continued to look at him like he'd lost his goddamn mind. He couldn't exactly blame her, he was starting to feel like he had.

"Come over after your shift," Steve replied, and even though his voice was light, the frown on his face was evidence enough that he hadn't let his whole attitude go yet, "Maybe Robin will have gotten somewhere."

Henry nodded as he headed out, not really sure where he was going but knowing he couldn't stay here. Not after he'd uttered that dreaded word. Not with Steve looking at him like that.

Not with the two letters weighing heavy in his pocket.

-.

Any calm Henry has gotten from the four cigarettes he'd smoked behind Starcourt while he waited for his shift to start was gone the instant he clocked in. Weekends were busier, of course they were, and the after church crowd was always a little snappier than the average customer (Steve had mentioned rude kids got way worse on Sundays, and Henry felt a surge of sympathy for him as he checked out a grumpy man in khakis).

But, he couldn't blame work for his mood. Sure, it was making it worse, no doubt about that, but the unrest he felt in his bones could never be caused by a handful of shitty hours in Sam Goody. He knew, at the core, he was the only one to blame for how he felt.

He'd been so certain this morning. He'd had a plan. He'd tell Steve about the two notes and they'd figure out where to go from here together. It'd all seemed so clear.

Then Dustin, then Russians, and then…

And then even when he had Steve all to himself, the words just… they wouldn't come.

Henry sighed. He knew Steve wouldn't think he was crazy, especially now that he had two pieces of strong evidence that something was going on. Hell, he was actively trying to crack a Russian code with Dustin, he really couldn't pass judgment. But, he just couldn't spit it out. It stuck in his throat, and the letters felt sealed in his pocket. Despite every part of him saying otherwise, it felt wrong to tell Steve. To tell anyone.

And in that moment, it suddenly occurred to Henry that maybe he was supposed to face this alone.

The sound of a tape smacking down on the counter was a familiar wakeup call, but when Henry lifted his eyes, he wasn't greeted with another impatient customer he'd have to slap a smile on for even though they didn't give a damn about him. In fact, the smile that found its way to his face was completely genuine, and the grins he got in response were just as sunny.

"Hey," Max said.

"Hey," Eleven repeated.

"Hey," Henry replied, picking up the tape and glancing at the title, "Into Ratt these days, huh?"

"Oh, yeah," Max said with a conspiratorial smile, "Love them."

Henry snorted a little. It was an ongoing joke between the two of them. They would both play like the tapes Max would buy and the cash she paid with were hers, while privately giggling about the guy who'd sent her to get it. The guy who wouldn't dare set foot in Sam Goody, even when Henry wasn't there.

"I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to be here," Henry observed, glancing at El as he scanned the tape. She made a face and he knew he was right on the money. But, he also knew that no young person should be cooped up indefinitely in a cabin in the middle of nowhere, that having friends your age was very important, and that there were no sudden feelings in his gut telling him to get her out of here, so he just smiled at her reassuringly, "How do you like Starcourt?"

"Dope," El said, and Henry couldn't stop the smile that took over his expression.

"Do you like her new look?" Max asked as she passed over some crumbled up cash, and for the first time Henry really noticed the outfit El was wearing.

Every time he'd convinced Hopper to let him make the trek out to the cabin, she'd been dressed in hand-me-downs, flannels mostly. He hadn't really thought anything of it, take what you could get in this situation, but what she was wearing now couldn't be further from her usual neutral (some might say dreary) wardrobe. Bright colors, modern cuts, but all of that paled in comparison to the way this new outfit made her look like the kid she was.

"Bitchin'," Henry said, and he meant it wholeheartedly. But, he would've told a thousand lies just to see El beam, "How'd you afford—?"

Henry stopped that question before it got any further; Max's expression catching up with his brain in real time. He could see, clear as day, what the answer was, and very quickly he knew he didn't want that confirmation. He was an employee of this mall, after all.

"You know what? Forget that," he said, smiling pleasantly, pretending like he couldn't see Max's relief, "Where're you guys headed next?"

Eleven looked to Max and once she shrugged, she emulated the motion, a little awkwardly.

"You know, there's glamor photos upstairs," Henry offered, putting Max's tape and receipt in the bag, "If you two wanted to take some pictures of the new look and all that."

Even though she probably didn't really know exactly what he was talking about, Eleven knew enough that her eyes lit up (maybe she'd heard something about them in a commercial during one of those soaps she loved so much), and she turned to Max with a hopeful expression. But, Max didn't look quite as excited about the idea.

"We don't have the money for that," she admitted, a blunt edge to her voice that Henry knew was directed at him; should've known better, and not got El's hopes up. She was probably right, seeing how disappointment quickly replaced the excitement that had been so clear on Eleven's face, which was painful to see happen to any kid, but worst of all to someone who'd been through so much. No one ever wanted to deprive Eleven of a thing, not after everything she'd been through.

Probably why, when Henry handed Max her bag, he also slipped her a twenty.

Her eyes widened just a tad and she looked up at him in shock, but he just winked, and she didn't protest. She was smart like that. The pair of girls said their thanks (Max's a little bit more enthusiastic as she gripped the bill in her hand) and scurried out of the store; Henry calling out goodbye behind them, smiling as he watched them go.

In the moment of excitement, his wallet (which he'd had to surreptitiously pull out) had fallen to the ground, and now Henry bent down to grab it; making sure everything was still in it as he slowly stood back up.

"What's the most romantic song you know?"

Henry looked up—maybe jumping a little, he hadn't realized that anyone was standing there—and found that in the brief moment he hadn't been paying attention, three new kids had taken the spot Max and El had just vacated.

"What?" He offered uselessly, feeling very disoriented, and Lucas rolled his eyes comically.

"C'mon, let's just look," he said, pulling Mike away and over to the pop section, leaving Will standing in front of the counter alone.

Henry's eyes jumped from kid to kid as he tried to make sense of what was in front of him, before they finally firmly landed on Will. It'd taken a moment for him to notice, either because Will had only let the mask drop once the others were gone or Henry had just been too thrown off to see, but now he recognized that the expression on his young friend's face was far from the carefree one a teen should be wearing while he hangs out in the mall with his friends. In fact, he might even venture to say that he looked miserable.

"Hey, man," Henry said, his voice soft enough that it was only for the two of them to hear, "What's up?"

"Nuthin'," Will muttered after a moment, eyes trained on the grain of the checkout counter, and if he wasn't already certain something was wrong, he sure as hell was now.

Henry glanced back at the two boys who were now tearing through the records (something he'd undoubtedly have to fix once they were gone) and his frown only deepened. It seemed that Mike and Lucas were unaware of the way the third member of their party was moping, or maybe just didn't care.

"They're looking for a present for Eleven."

Will finally spoke a sentence longer than a word, but it didn't make Henry feel much better. There was bitterness in his voice. Maybe pointed at El, but even so, likely not really. Henry's mind went back just two nights (felt like ages ago) when Will had ranted angrily in the car about Mike never spending time with the party anymore, and he wondered what it was that had made this whole issue even worse.

"There's nothing good here," Mike complained, the two boys walking back over to where they'd left Will. Henry knew that was wrong—just going off the question from before, the one he'd bungled, he could think of plenty of singles that fit the bill: Crazy For You, I Wanna Be Your Lover, and Just the Two of Us to name a few—but he made the decidedly petty decision to not correct him.

"See you later!" Lucas called, him and Mike heading out with Will on their heels.

"I'll be here!" Henry replied, and he really hoped the glance he got from Will meant that he picked up on the underlying message of his word and wasn't the desperate look of someone wanting to be saved.

Henry sighed a little once the boys were out of sight. He knew Will, he knew occasionally he needed time before he could open up. And undoubtedly he wouldn't want to start pouring out all of the problems he was having with his friends right in front of them. But still, the look on his face… He just had to feel comforted by the fact that Will knew he could always come to him, and if things got out of hand, well…

He'd be right here, of course.

-.

With the clang of the gate in front of Scoops, the mall was officially closed. In fact, it had been for a while, and the nautical themed ice cream parlor had been an outlier. Even the last showing at the theater had let out over an hour ago, and Starcourt was quiet and still in a way most people would never get to experience.

Henry himself had never been here so late, so long after everyone else had left, but as he followed the other three while they made their way out of the mall, it didn't even occur to him. He was far too busy thinking of other things.

The week is long. The silver cat feeds when blue meets yellow in the west.

Robin was right. Her ears were little geniuses. She'd translated the transmission in less than a day, and Henry was appropriately impressed. And Dustin was almost certainly right about it being a code. Didn't make sense otherwise.

So, evil Russians, like he said. Or, Russians who just wanted their conversations to be private, Henry wouldn't pass judgment on morality right now. Either way, it was worth it to solve, just to know what it was that was so important to mask. The other three were already hypothesizing what it was that silver cat stood for, but Henry didn't join in.

Although he was pretty sure he was doing the puzzle with a few more pieces.

Even if they didn't fit together just right.

A warning.

A textbook.

And a code.

Maybe it was all a code. One that Henry just wasn't smart enough to crack. Maybe if he pooled his knowledge with the others, the four of them would be able to come up with something and—

There it was again.

The words stuck in his throat.

But, it wasn't just that. It wasn't just this feeling that he wasn't supposed to share this with them. There was a new one now, accompanying it. One that in no uncertain terms told him that he was looking at this all wrong.

Maybe that was just his common sense.

Why would the Russians be keeping an eye on him specifically? Really. Some guy working at Sam Goody. They were probably just talking about a plan to undermine Reagan or where they stored their warheads, and Dustin just so happened to pick it up on his radio. Maybe concerning from a global perspective, but nothing to worry about in his personal life.

Yeah, two very weird things happened in quick succession, but that didn't mean they had anything to do with one another. One was notes sent to a kid in Indiana, and the other was a transmission in Russia. He needed to accept that he wasn't going to find the answers he was desperate for here. Not from Dustin, or Robin, or—

"Do you have a quarter?"

Steve woke Henry from his thoughts, and when he looked over he found that his friend was a few paces behind him, frozen in place, staring at a mechanical horse with a very strange expression.

Henry dug in his pocket and found the change he'd gotten from the vending machine earlier so he could hand over a quarter. He didn't ask, he knew Steve well enough to know he had a reason. And if he didn't? Well twenty-five cents was worth it to see whatever the hell his guy was up to right now.

"Sure you two are tall enough for that ride?" Robin called, and Henry looked up to see that her and Dustin had noticed they'd accidently left them behind. Neither of them replied though, even as they drew nearer. Instead, Steve slid the quarter into the machine, and Henry watched it all with a frown; waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It took a second, but when it did, it hit hard.

Henry's expression morphed. His eyes went wide, teetering somewhere between shock and horror, and when he tore his gaze off of the horse, he could see on Steve's face that he'd known from the moment he'd asked for a quarter.

"Do you need help getting up, little Stevie?"

Robin didn't know how fitting her words really were.

"The music," Henry said, turning to the other two, who still looked less than impressed, "It's the one from the recording."

It was Dustin's turn now, and his face went pale as his eyes flashed back and forth between Henry and Steve, like he thought if he looked at the right time, one of them would reassure him he wasn't hearing what he thought he was hearing.

"Maybe they have horses like this in Russia," Robin said, still unconvinced.

"Indiana Flyer? I don't think so," Steve replied, his eyes darting to each of his friends, "This code, it didn't come from Russia. It came from here."

And even though he'd been looking at everyone while he spoke, when everything was said and done, Steve's gaze decidedly landed on Henry.

Henry didn't know what he was hoping to find. He couldn't give him answers, or comfort, or even offer anything useful to this conversation. All he could think was that maybe things being connected wasn't too much of a stretch after all.

-.

On Monday morning, Starcourt was alive again.

The start of the workweek did very little to deter people, and they flowed from store to store without a care in the world; bags in hand and wallets light. Everyone working right now had very little time to do anything but help their neighbors waste money in pursuit of that quick rush of dopamine, and more than a few were watching the clock, desperately counting down the seconds until they could escape.

Steve knew he'd lucked out, even if he was crouching behind a bush.

"See anything?" Dustin asked, even though he could probably see everything just as well without the binoculars.

"I guess I don't totally know what I'm looking for," Steve replied, peeking out from over the plant and going from person-to-person, all of whom looked like just the normal mallgoer.

"Evil Russians," Dustin said like it was obvious.

"Yeah, exactly, I don't know what an Evil Russian looks like," Steve muttered back, scanning the mall and coming up empty, although he didn't know what he'd been expecting; a neon sign pointing them out?

"Tall, blonde, not smiling," Dustin described, "Also look for earpieces, camera, duffel bag, that sort of thing."

Steve sighed a little. He recognized that description, he'd seen him as the villain in a dozen shitty action movies. He supposed he couldn't hold it against Dustin for his only conception of Russians coming from what he'd seen on TV, but it didn't bode well for this mission's success.

They'd been at it for less than ten minutes, but already he doubted the effectiveness of this plan. Sure, he'd jumped at the chance to blow off work and mess around with Dustin, but he'd known from the start that spying on people just hoping to catch sight of whoever it was that was sending these messages wasn't the best way to go about this. Dustin had asked though, and he wasn't about to let the kid do any of his bad ideas alone. Besides, Robin had practically encouraged him to, and he was happy to find any excuse to leave her to the ice cream slinging.

God, he really did hate his job. Yeah, Robin was good as far as coworkers go, but between the outfit that made him completely updateable and the whiny kids who occasionally chucked ice cream at him, he was well past wishing he worked literally anywhere else in this stupid mall.

But, he'd known that for a while. From the moment he'd been hired at Scoops. He'd walked out, proud of himself for managing to land any gig at all, and then almost immediately wished he'd gotten a job at—

"Who is that?"

Dustin straightened up, eyes widening at Steve's sudden hiss. When he'd suggested they stakeout the mall, he'd known it was a longshot, but holy shit. Steve's voice was harsh, accusatory, and the only possibility was that he'd laid eyes on someone who was undoubtedly a Russian operative.

Dustin quickly pulled the binoculars out of Steve's hands and was looking through before he could even get the strap off from around his neck. He pointed them in the same direction as Steve had moments before, hoping to catch sight of whoever it was that was sending Russian transmissions in Hawkins before they realized they'd been made and disappeared. But, the tension and excitement in his frame immediately dissipated when he laid eyes on who it was that Steve had been looking at.

A girl with beautifully deep skin, tight curls that undoubtedly received special care, and a dazzling smile.

Directed right at Henry.

"You are the worst spy," he muttered once he'd swallowed down his disappointment, and he didn't even glance up when Steve made an affronted sound.

"I thought I knew every girl in the dating pool. I've never seen her before," Steve protested, and now Dustin pulled back from the binoculars to send him a look.

"Why do you care?"

"Because I like to know who's trying to get with Henry," Steve replied like it was obvious, Dustin's frown deepening.

"Once again," he said in the tone of voice that would get his mom on his ass about the virtue of practicing humility, "Why do you care?"

Steve made a face, like maybe he was a little offended by this line of questioning. But, even so, the fact that his response took maybe a moment too long damned him in a way he wasn't even aware of.

"He's my best friend," he said, Dustin snorting a little, and Steve's head tilting as he heard the undercurrent to it, "What?"

Now, it was Dustin's turn to take a little too long to answer. But, his face was a lot more readable than Steve's, even if he quickly hid it behind the binoculars. Maybe because his feelings, his reasoning, were a lot clearer. Although he felt that his skepticism was well-earned, there was a tinge of guilt to it.

"Robin told me every time a girl flirts with him in front of you, you come up with a reason why he shouldn't ask her out," Dustin finally admitted, Steve's eyes widening.

"You've been talking to Robin behind my back?" He demanded, and Dustin's refusal to meet his eye was answer enough, "Not cool!"

"It's not cool to mess with your friend's chances with girls just because you can't get one!"

Dustin whipped around and leveled him with a harsh, judgmental stare that made Steve back down before he ever even spoke, but his hissed words were far too quick to have been thought of just now. Even to Steve—who'd jerked back in surprise at the sudden severity—could tell that much.

It was quiet between the two of them now, heavy and uncomfortable. As soon as he got it out, Dustin had turned back to looking at the mall, maybe not wanting to see how his words were received once they sunk in. He was still a kid, and even when you spoke the truth, consequences were scary.

Steve doubted Dustin had ever snapped at him like that before. Yeah, they'd gotten snippy, but there was anger in there he'd never heard before. But, maybe that should've been expected. He'd noticed a long time ago that the love, the protectiveness, that Henry expressed for the kids was far from one-sided.

He couldn't even be mad. Henry brought that out in him too.

"Look, I'm not jealous of the attention he gets, okay?" Steve said, milder than before, mostly to cool down the kid sitting next to him, but still very genuine, "I'm looking out for him."

Dustin scoffed a little, and Steve couldn't blame him. If he was on the outside looking in, he'd think he was completely full of it too.

"I am. You know Henry. He's dated like, no one," Steve insisted, not mentioning that he'd long since given up trying to understand how that could be, "But, I've been around a while, and I know that none of those girls are right for him. He could do better."

"Aren't those the same girls that you flirt with?" Dustin pointed out, looking up again to nail him with a sharp look.

"Well, yeah, but, I mean—" Steve stumbled over his words, "It's Henry."

That had been his mindset from the first time he'd noticed a girl giving him that look: it's Henry. Henry, who saved the world twice; Henry, who cared for his brother's friends like they were all his own siblings; Henry, who smiled like the sun. That guy couldn't be with just anybody, he shouldn't have to stumble through awkward dates and bad relationships. Henry deserved a girl unlike any other, and certainly not one of the Hawkins ones that ogled him in the mall. The ones that had only noticed him because of how attractive he was with the beard and hair. Sure, they could be nice, or sweet, or even good, but it wasn't enough. Not for Henry. And Steve would be damned if he fell into something that wasn't right because he wasn't used to the attention.

Clearly Dustin understood that, because he nodded a little and seemed to drop the attitude. But, just as quickly as he peered out of the binoculars, he was turning to Steve again.

"What about Robin?"

"What about Robin?" Steve replied, brow furrowing as he tried to follow his logical leap.

"She's like, the perfect girl," Dustin said, the cogs in his head visibly turning, "Henry likes her, and she likes Henry."

Steve sat up ramrod straight with his eyes wide and his stomach dropping (even if he didn't acknowledge it)—the look of horror taking over his face not quite matching the matter at hand.

"Wait, wait, did one of them tell you that?!" He demanded, and his intensity was enough to make Dustin pull back a little.

"No. I'm just saying." He shrugged, "They're both cool people who enjoy spending time together. Makes sense."

This time Steve didn't reply. He couldn't. Because even though he was flooded with relief the moment Dustin admitted that neither one had expressed romantic interest to him, it had gotten the wheels in his head turning.

He'd never considered that. He'd always seen the three of them as a little Starcourt group (god, that was lame. When did he become so lame?), he hadn't for a moment considered the possibility that maybe one of his friends was harboring stronger feelings for the other.

Of course, that's because there weren't any signs of that. They never really flirted, did they? Unless you counted their banter as flirting, which, maybe, some people might. But, that would be such a reach. Hell, if you looked at it that way, then Henry and him were flirting 24/7.

Besides, even if there were feelings there, that didn't mean they were right for each other. Sure, Robin was pretty, and smart, and funny, and they got along well, and they liked the same weird movies, and she listened to him talk about cars with at least some interest, but…

It wasn't enough.

It just wasn't.

"Hey, hey, look!" Dustin hissed, breaking Steve out of his reverie, and he looked in the direction the binoculars were pointing in; easily able to see the man that had caught Dustin's eye.

Tall. Blonde. Not Smiling.

Duffel bag.

Seemed like the kid was right after all.

-.

If it weren't for the spandex-clothed butts, of course.

Steve felt his face heat up as he watched the Hawkins' population of women over the age of twenty-five hip thrust to George Michael. He knew he really ought to look away, but the sight of their supposed Russian spy at his actual occupation froze him in shock.

"Are you two peeping on a jazzercise class?"

Later, they would have to accept they weren't the most talented of spies if they didn't notice someone behind them, but in the moment, Steve and Dustin jumped a foot in the air at the sudden voice before they both whipped around, half ready for a fight they'd be sure to lose.

Henry looked less than impressed.

This was the best case scenario, though. Could've been so much worse if really anyone else had noticed what they were doing, plus things tended to go way better when Henry was around.

Or maybe it just felt like that to Steve.

Case in point, the adrenaline rush he'd gotten from his surprise drained away as soon as he realized who it was that had caught him off-guard, and Steve did what he always did when he laid eyes on his best friend; soaked up the sight of him, happy to see him, even under the weirder circumstances.

It took him less than a second to know that Henry hadn't slept well last night.

It was easy to see. Even if they weren't so close, he probably would've noticed his tight body language and bloodshot eyes. It really wasn't the most shocking thing in the world, Henry struggling with sleep was far from out of the ordinary. But still, Steve cursed himself a little.

He'd known from the moment that Henry disappeared into the Cutlass last night that he should've cornered him. He should've let Dustin go ahead and gotten him alone, really push him this time. He'd been thinking about it from the moment Henry had walked out of Scoops Ahoy that morning, and still he'd let him slip through his fingers.

Something was going on with him, that was painfully obvious. Originally, Steve had thought it was another case of his brain tearing itself apart (Henry's words not his). But, yesterday, when he'd waltzed into the backroom like he owned the place, it became pretty damn clear that whatever it was wasn't another case of him being his own worst enemy.

But, Steve had no idea what it actually was that was causing his best friend so much strife. Couldn't even guess. Which was why he needed to convince Henry to let him in, because otherwise he'd get absolutely nowhere when it came to helping him, and he'd keep suffering in silence with those bags under his eyes.

"We were looking for evil Russians," Dustin offered lamely, Henry raising an eyebrow.

"Was that why you were staring at me through binoculars?" He asked, Dustin elbowing Steve in the side, who returned it just as quickly, "What, you think a Russian spy popped in for a quick workout?"

"We thought the guy teaching the class might've been up to something," Steve admitted, "But, I mean, he sure looks—"

"Bruce?"

The corners of Henry's lips pulled up to match his incredulous exclamation, and even though it should've been nice to see some levity in his expression, it was Steve's turn to frown.

"Br—Who's Bruce?" He replied, matching his best friend's skeptical energy.

This time, Henry didn't respond, just looked at Steve like he couldn't quite comprehend him (he usually liked that look, but right now there was a strange feeling in his stomach that kept him from appreciating it). Then he leaned sideways a little, looking past the two boys, and after a moment he smiled and waved; Steve and Dustin whipping around in time to see their possible evil Russian return it with a bright grin of his own.

"We've worked here a month, man," Henry said, laughing a little, "You've never seen him before?"

For one moment longer, Steve lingered on the instructor—Bruce—and as he stood there in the middle of the mall, in his company mandated sailor suit watching a stupidly muscly man hip thrust, a truth hit him like a bolt of lightning; he was happy he'd never seen this guy before, because he hated him on sight.

"How do you know his name?" Steve asked, whipping back around to level him with a question that was delivered just a tad bit too accusatory.

"He had a flat and I changed it," Henry replied like it was as simple as could be, and not utterly ridiculous that he was hanging out with this douche teaching middle aged women how to work out, "The next day he bought me lunch during my break. He's nice."

"Why didn't you tell me this?" Steve demanded, his hands on his hips, a fiery feeling in his chest, and his mind racing as he tried to come up with a reason for why his best friend would hide something like this from him. But, Henry remained cool, likely because he didn't fully understand why he was getting waspish, and instead of snapping he just raised his eyebrows.

"I did?"

"No, you didn't," Steve snapped back immediately, struggling to understand why he would lie to him about this.

"Yeah, I did," Henry insisted, nodding a little, "That night, after my shift, I told you that he brought me potstickers as a thank you, and you said you wished you knew anything about cars so you could get free food."

Steve paused. The heat that'd been consuming him just seconds before immediately died down, and was quickly replaced with the all too familiar warmth of embarrassment. Because, yeah, he remembered that now. Quite clearly. Even him specifically saying that the person he'd helped was a jazzercise instructor.

But, he hadn't told him the full story. He hadn't told him that—He hadn't mentioned—He—

"C'mon, we need to get back to the stakeout," Dustin said, interrupting Steve's rambling, disjointed thoughts, and the two of them followed after him without a thought. They were far too accustomed to taking orders from children.

Steve was quiet as they made their way around the mall patrons, but that wasn't to say he was calm. Something was brewing inside of him, something he couldn't grasp. He tripped over his own thoughts, trying to put them together in a way that justified the anger boiling inside of him, but he kept coming up short. He knew he was right, he knew he had a reason, but things were all muddled, he just couldn't quite—

They were on the escalators when he found his footing.

"Who was that girl?"

Henry looked up—he was standing a step lower than him—and his eyes flashed around like he was trying to see whoever it was that Steve was talking about.

"Who?" He finally asked, and Steve sighed in exasperation.

"The one you were talking to, when Dustin and I were staring at you," he explained, his voice coming out so much meaner than it sounded in his head, but he didn't even care, it felt good, "Who was she?"

"Um," Henry offered eloquently, stepping off of the escalator, "I think her name's Marcia?"

"You gonna ask her out?" He asked, bitter as a black coffee.

"No?" Henry said, more of a question than an answer, but that obviously had nothing to do with the girl. Steve was confusing him, and for some reason that made the fire inside rage even harder. He should know why he was annoyed, he shouldn't—he should—he—

"Well, I thought I should ask, because I know how you love to hide things from me."

Those words fell out before he could really consider them, and the rational part of Steve knew they were a mistake the moment he uttered them. But, the dominant side of him, this angry and nasty part, didn't care. Hell, it liked when Henry rounded on him; their height difference more pronounced now and his eyes piercing and icy.

Focused all on him.

"What?" Henry demanded, his voice stony, and even Steve—who was supposed to be enjoying this—felt his resolve slip under his gaze. For a brief second, his mind flashed back to last fall, and he was reminded that the man who'd ran off Billy Hargrove with just a few words and a look was the same as the one right in front of him.

But, he was in too deep now, and he couldn't make himself back down even if he wanted to.

"Oh, c'mon, man, I'm not stupid. Something's clearly wrong, and you won't tell me. You never tell me," Steve said, picking up steam now, "And usually I just ignore that you're obviously only telling me like half of the truth, that you refuse to get even close to telling me most things about you, but it's getting a little old being the only one here being honest."

For a very long moment it was dead silent.

This time, all of Steve knew that was a mistake.

The burning resolve that had pushed him here was gone the moment the last syllable slipped past his lips. He was a little annoyed that he wasn't telling him what was bothering him, yeah, but…

Steve knew better than the rest of that.

Long ago he'd accepted that Henry kept some personal things entirely to himself, and that no matter how close they got he wouldn't share it. And maybe that hurt a little bit, but Steve understood. He really did. Some things needed to stay with you. He usually didn't let it get to him because he knew it wasn't about him, that it was just something Henry needed to deal with.

But here he was, throwing it right in his face.

Henry was still staring at him, but the intensity of his gaze was gone. He just blinked, shell-shocked. Like instead of saying a thing, Steve had smacked him. And going off of his expression, a slap would've hurt less.

Steve opened his mouth, but no words came out. He didn't even know what he wanted to say. An apology? Yeah, a sorry would totally fix it. A sorry would wipe the words he'd just spat off the slate. A sorry would make that awful look on Henry's face go away.

"Robin did it! Robin's a genius!"

Both boys instinctually looked over at the familiar screech, and they watched as Dustin jumped around mallgoers with a grin on his face and his sights set on them, even though he didn't seem to actually see what he was running up on.

Robin though, who was following after him, didn't have the same veneer of excitement covering her eyes, and without it, it was impossible to not notice that something was wrong.

"Tell them!" Dustin announced once he was standing in front of Steve and Henry, practically vibrating as he looked back at Robin. For a moment, she was quiet, looking between the two of them with a nervous curve to her lips.

"Tonight," she finally said, a thousand times less enthusiastic, "The Russians are doing something here with the delivery people tonight. At nine."

"We have to stake it out!" Dustin said, taking over for her and more than making up for her lack of fervor, "We can finally figure out why they're in Hawkins."

"Um, yeah, man," Steve said after a second, his brain coming back to him slowly, and he stayed on track with the conversation at hand, despite the fact that all he really wanted was to focus on the man next to him. Even though he couldn't bring himself to look at him.

"I think if we go on the roof across from where they make deliveries, we'll be able to watch without—"

"I'll see you guys later."

Steve's hesitancy to look at his best friend abruptly disappeared—forgotten in his surprise—and he jerked over to find that Henry was already backing away like he couldn't get out of this conversation quick enough.

With a terrible shock, Steve realized that was because of him.

"What?" Dustin demanded, and his voice seemed a little more muffled than the last time he spoke, like Steve had stuffed cotton in his ears in the few moments it had taken him to realize that he was the reason Henry was running away, "Where're you going?"

"My shift ended," Henry answered, and that wasn't even a reason, just a redirection.

"You're coming back, though, right?" Dustin asked, and there was something so childish in his voice, so hopeful, that Steve couldn't blame Henry for immediately crumbling.

"Yeah, of course," he assured him, maybe even out of habit, "I'm just gonna head home for a little bit."

Before anyone could say anything else, before Steve could stutter out something, anything, that might make him stop, Henry was turning his back to his friends and weaving through the people in Starcourt; making a clear beeline for the exit.

"Don't be too conspicuous when you come back!" Dustin yelled after him for the whole mall to hear, and Henry gave one more wave over his shoulder before he stopped acknowledging them completely.

Steve was unable to tear his eyes away from the retreating figure, and he had no idea if he would even if he could. The sight made him sick to his stomach, but he knew there was no one to blame for what he saw besides himself. Henry's mood was as clear as day, even from the back; the slope of his shoulders and the way his head hanged were easy giveaways.

He should run after him, apologize, do anything to make this better, but his feet wouldn't move. He was frozen where he was—by guilt over what he'd done to someone he cared so much about, by fear of what Henry would say to him if he tried.

"What did you do?" Robin murmured, but Steve couldn't respond. Couldn't do anything. He was stuck, forced to face the consequences of his own actions with no way of escape.

Even though Steve knew he was repeating the exact same mistake he'd made just last night, he watched as his best friend disappeared through the automatic doors and rightfully left him behind.

-.

In the summer, the setting sun would usually still be lighting the town as people leisurely went about the end of their days. But, as July 1st drew to a close, the citizens of Hawkins hurried to head inside. No backyard bonfires or quick trips to 7/11 for a treat tonight. The clouds hung heavy and dark, and everyone knew from just one look that a storm was coming. Weathering it out at home with a hot drink and the TV volume on low was the option most people jumped at. Nothing quite as cozy as a stormy summer night.

Henry didn't have that luxury.

He stepped out of the Cutlass and took a deep breath of the humid air; the wind slowly beginning to pick up its pace was the only thing that kept the weather from being unbearable. He really could only hope that the rain would hold off until after this little stakeout, or at least the time it took for him to get gas. He wasn't really interested in getting soaked tonight.

He had a feeling that was the least of his worries, though.

This trip didn't cost all that much, just a few dollars (plus the few more he spent on a Jolt after he found himself unthinkingly reaching for one), speaking to the fact that he didn't really need to top off his tank right now.

He couldn't deny it, he was stalling.

"You never tell me."

Henry shoved the nozzle in with a little more force than necessary before he sighed. No use being rough with his poor car, it wouldn't change things. Nothing would. He was stalling, that was the truth, and so was every single thing that Steve had thrown at him in the middle of Starcourt.

Henry swallowed hard.

It'd been rattling around his head for the few hours he'd spent at home (his attempt at a nap had been laughable). He knew that for the past few days he'd been off, and that Steve had noticed, but he'd been too wrapped up in himself to realize that what he was doing was grating on his best friend's nerves.

Could he really be surprised, though? Let alone blame him? He was acting weird, demanding his attention, and then refusing to talk about it. Of course he was annoyed with him, it was a shock he hadn't snapped at him days earlier. Hell, if it was Henry, he'd hate him for lying about—

Thunder cracked in the air above him, but Henry didn't even flinch.

He was a liar. He'd already sort of known, but now the guilt engulfed him. Without even meaning to, he'd spent all this time playing some sort of awful game of manipulation to hide what was truly inside from the people around him. And now that he was aware of that, he couldn't help but feel like… like he didn't deserve to have a friend as good as Steve.

And that wasn't because of the notes in his pocket.

He didn't want to know that, Henry tried to reassure himself, Steve didn't want to know about the way he made his heart race and his face warm. He would never want to know that, and telling him would only mean the end of the friendship Henry held so close to his heart. Because even if he didn't outright reject everything about him, things would be weird, tainted, and they'd never again be as close as they were on the hood of the car two nights ago. Henry would have ruined it.

That didn't make him feel any better, though.

With a sigh, Henry returned the nozzle to the pump, and the soft beginnings of a sprinkle provided the background to his misery.

He didn't know if he could face Steve right now. Not after what he'd said earlier, and not after what he'd just realized. But, he couldn't bring himself to just blow off Dustin; he'd promised the kid he'd come, and he couldn't break that just because he felt shitty. Honestly, he'd never be able to justify skipping out on any of the kids unless it was life or—

"Mr. Sinclair?"

Henry's head jerked up, sure he'd misheard amidst the pitter-patter of the rain, and his eyes landed on a man standing outside a car of his own, the rain beating down on his black coat and hat.

"What?" Henry replied, still fairly certain he'd imagined that, and he stayed where he was as the man slowly approached.

"Are you Henry Sinclair?" The man asked as he drew nearer, and Henry straightened up a little; realizing how disconcerting this current situation was with a twist in his stomach.

"Yeah?" He offered hesitantly, trying to figure out if he'd ever seen this man before in his life and quickly deciding he hadn't.

"I've got something for you," he said, reaching into his coat, and even though Henry intellectually knew he was probably about to have a weapon in his face, he didn't even tense up. Just watched as he pulled it out and held it right in front of him.

Anyone else would've thought they were lucky, would've been relieved to not being staring down a barrel. But, what Henry was looking at right now scared him a million times worse than any gun.

A letter.

He was going to puke.

"Who the hell are you?" Henry said, his voice unbearably shaky as he forced down the bile in his throat and stared at the unmarked side of the envelope.

"United States Postal Service," the man replied as if it were obvious, glancing down at the letter like he wasn't sure if Henry had noticed that he was trying to hand it to him, "And we were given strict instructions to deliver this to a Henry Sinclair, at the Shell Station in Hawkins, Indiana."

"From who?" Henry demanded, finally looking up at the guy who'd brought this new nightmare into his life, and he must've let a little bass slip into his tone accidentally, because unthinkingly the man took a step back.

"I don't know," he answered, and it was clear just from his voice that was the truth, "I thought you would."

Henry swallowed hard. Because that was the crux of the issue, wasn't it? He didn't know, he really didn't.

But, in reality, he knew exactly who'd sent this.

To the postman's obvious relief, Henry finally grabbed the letter, and all it took was flipping it over to confirm what he'd already known in his gut.

Scratchy handwriting.

"Sign here, please," the man interrupted Henry's staring contest with his own name carved out onto the front of the envelope, and after quickly scribbling onto the clipboard (not unlike the script that haunted him), he returned to glaring at the letter in front of him.

It was quiet for a moment.

He had no way of knowing what was inside, and nothing he'd already received pointed him in any one path. His mystery correspondent had already proven they knew exactly who he was and what he did just by having it sent here, what could they possibly have to say?

"Well, aren't you going to open it?"

Henry looked up, unable to keep the disbelief off of his face, and the postman shrugged a little.

"What? I'm curious," he offered before his nose scrunched, "You're not a spy, are you?"

"What?" Henry replied, knowing the incredulity in his voice was more than enough to clear his name, "No!"

"Yeah, I guessed," the postman replied, chuckling a little, "No offense, kid, but I don't think many commies look like you."

Henry didn't offer much of a response to that, just turned back down to the letter in his hand. He knew there was no point in putting it off, that what was inside would haunt him just as much if it stayed sealed, but still, he struggled to keep his hands from shaking long enough to rip it open.

Finally, after a deep breath, Henry fought through his fear and tore open the envelope; preparing himself for whatever could possibly be waiting for him inside.

A postcard.

Henry frowned. Not an ominous note or pointed pages from a textbook. An ordinary postcard.

It was one of those cheesy ones of a city skyline. The kind you'd get from a gift shop to send your grandma. And although it baffled him, and he couldn't think of a single reason to why he was being sent one, his eyes immediately zeroed in on the only word on the front; clinging to the first clue he'd ever gotten from these letters besides the fact that the sender seemed to know every little thing about him.

Detroit.

Henry let go of a deep breath. It meant something, it had to. Whether or not whoever was sending this was actually in Detroit was up for debate, but they were telling him something by sending him this. They wanted him to know something to do with that city.

He was stalling again.

Henry felt a stab in his chest when he realized that. He'd been so wrapped up in thoughts of the city one state over that he'd unconsciously been putting off the inevitable.

Because postcards were fun and all, the art was pretty, but everyone knew the importance of the other side.

The side where you wrote a message.

Again, Henry had to steel himself, had to swallow down his dread. But, he quickly recognized that he would never truly feel ready, and so instead he just forced himself to slowly turn over the postcard and face what he feared most.

Henry's hand tightened around the postcard until it began to crumple and crease. He shouldn't be doing that, it was evidence of something and he'd kept every other letter in perfect condition because of that, but he couldn't even think of that right now. The only thing his mind focused on was the pounding heartbeat in his throat, the blood rushing to his head, and the message in front of him. The message written in scratchy handwriting. The message that rocked him to his core.

And it was only four words.

Wish you were here!