The late afternoon sun dipped lower in the sky, casting golden rays across the backyard of Steve Harrington's house. It might have been a serene suburban scene, with the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze and the hum of distant airplanes, if not for the chaos of makeshift weaponry strewn across the lawn. Trash can lids bristling with nails, splintered wood planks, and scattered tools turned the once-manicured space into a workshop of desperation.

Eddie Munson knelt by a stack of battered lids, his movements quick and precise as he drove nails into the jagged metal. Sweat dripped from his brow, mixing with the streaks of dirt smeared across his pale skin. Every so often, he cast a glance toward Dustin Henderson, who was a whirlwind of activity a few feet away. Eddie's usual flair for dramatics was subdued, replaced by a quiet focus tinged with worry.

Dustin, however, was a bundle of energy. His hammer swung with relentless precision, each strike ringing out in the heavy air like a countdown to something inevitable. His curls stuck to his forehead, damp with sweat, but his determination never wavered. It was the kind of determination that masked fear—a desperate need to act rather than think too hard about what they were doing.

The clang of metal echoed as Eddie leaned back, wiping his forehead with the back of his arm. He glanced at the crooked nails jutting from a lid in his lap and let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "You do realize," he began, his voice tinged with dry amusement, "that when she finds out about this—and she will find out—Ursula is going to absolutely eviscerate us, right? Like, actual bloodshed, Henderson."

Dustin didn't look up, but a sly grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Oh, she's gonna kill us," he replied, bracing another lid against his knee. "But honestly? She kinda signed up for this. I mean, what did she think we were gonna do? Sit around and play D while Vecna rips her and Hawkins apart?"

Eddie snorted, setting his hammer aside for a moment. "Dude. This isn't just a bad idea—it's THE bad idea. Like, the exact plan she came back here to stop. She's gonna lose her freaking mind."

Dustin grimaced but kept hammering. "Yeah, yeah," he admitted. "But hey, we're not exactly doing it the same way."

Eddie arched an eyebrow, the hammer pausing mid-air. "Oh no? Let me guess, genius—what part of this plan isn't déjà vu for her? The trash can lids? The fact that we're still playing bait for a horde of demonic bats? Or is it the part where we're probably gonna still get ourselves killed?"

Dustin leaned back, his hammer resting on his knee. "Uh, I dunno," he shot back sarcastically. "Maybe the part where we actually win this time?"

Eddie barked out a dark laugh, shaking his head. "Oh, win, huh? That's the pitch? 'Sure, Ursula, we did the exact thing you said not to, but it's cool, we won!'" He grinned, mock-serious. "You know this is suicide, right? Like, she's not just gonna yell, Henderson. She's gonna set us on fire. And honestly? I'd deserve it."

Dustin snickered, setting aside another finished shield. "Oh, we're dead. But you think Ursula wouldn't do the same for us? C'mon, dude. This whole mess is because of her doing the crazy, impossible, 'rip Vecna's head off' stuff."

Eddie's grin faded slightly as he paused mid-swing. His dark eyes flicked toward Dustin, a rare vulnerability shining through. "Henderson," he said, his voice quieter now, "do you even get what we're doing? This isn't just a bad idea—it's the one she said ruined everything. She's been warning us about this since day one."

Dustin straightened, his expression growing more serious. "It's not the same," he insisted, his tone firm. "We've got way more info, for one. And we're not gonna screw it up like last time."

Eddie scoffed, gesturing at the pile of makeshift weapons around them. "Oh, yeah? What's different? Trash can lids? New nails? Or is it the part where I definitely don't die this time?"

Dustin leaned in closer, lowering his voice. "You don't die because we don't let it happen. Period. You know why this plan works now? Because we've already seen the end, Eddie. We know what went wrong. And we're not making those mistakes again. Especially not you."

Eddie stared at him, his fingers tightening around the hammer in his hand. The weight of Dustin's words hung heavy in the air between them.

Dustin pressed on, his voice softening. "Look, Ursula's not gonna be mad because we're fighting. She'd be mad because she loves us. Loves you. Don't you get that? She'd burn this whole world down to save you. Hell, she already did once."

Eddie looked away, a small, bitter smile tugging at his lips. "And that's what scares me, man," he admitted. "She's done enough. This time it's on us to save her."

Dustin tilted his head, watching Eddie carefully. "You know she'd probably say the same thing about you, right? That you've done enough?" He gave a faint grin. "But hey, after all this is over, you're still gonna have to grovel. Big, dramatic apologies. Maybe flowers. Definitely a guitar solo.

Eddie snorted, shaking his head. "Flowers? For Ursula? Yeah, maybe if they're black and on fire. But sure, a guitar solo. Nothing says, 'Sorry I almost got us all killed,' like melting her face off with Metallica."

Dustin chuckled, grabbing another trash can lid. "She'd probably love that, though. I mean, it's Ursula... nothing would scream romance to someone like her like shredding for your life."

Eddie hesitated, fidgeting with the edge of the trash can lid in his lap. His fingers ran over the jagged metal absently, his usually animated expression subdued. Finally, he broke the silence, his voice hesitant. "You think…" He trailed off, his eyes flicking to Dustin as if testing the waters. "You think she'd go to prom with me?"

Dustin paused mid-swing, his hammer hovering over the nail he was driving into the makeshift shield. He blinked, clearly caught off guard, and slowly turned his head toward Eddie. "Prom?" he repeated incredulously. "Like, prom-prom? Are we seriously talking about prom right now?"

Eddie shrugged, his gaze darting away. "I mean, yeah," he said, his tone defensive but soft. "If we're really gonna win like you say we are, then… why not prom? It's only a couple of months away. And once we save the world, regular life's gonna start up again, right?"

Dustin squinted at him, his brows furrowing in mock disbelief. "Okay, but prom?"

Eddie's hands stilled on the trash can lid. His voice lowered, almost shy. "She never got to go to her own prom, you know," he murmured, the vulnerability in his tone unmistakable.

Dustin froze, the hammer slipping from his grip and clattering to the ground. He stared at Eddie as if seeing him in a new light. "Wait," he said slowly. "Are you asking me permission to take my daughter to prom? Is that what's happening right now?"

Eddie flinched, a flush creeping up his neck as he stammered, "What? No—yes? Kind of?" He groaned, dragging a hand through his tangled hair. "Jesus, Henderson, you're making this way harder than it needs to be."

Dustin crossed his arms, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth despite himself. "I dunno, Eddie. I think I'm entitled to make this as hard as I want. You're talking about taking my daughter to prom. That's like… a big deal."

Dustin set down the lid, crossing his arms as he gave Eddie a pointed look. "Do we need to have the talk, Munson? You know, curfews, boundaries, maybe a lecture about respecting her psychic abilities?"

Eddie groaned, dragging a hand over his face. "Oh, man. Henderson, I'm already in enough trouble here without you going full dad mode on me."

Dustin's lips twitched, but he kept his expression serious. "Just saying, if you break her heart, I do have access to a flamethrower. It's not a threat—it's a promise."

Eddie laughed, the tension breaking. "Duly noted. I'll make sure to stock up on fireproof gear."

Dustin snorted, reaching for his hammer again. "Good call. And maybe get her some flowers or something, you know? Girls like that stuff."

"Flowers," Eddie mused, his lips curving into a faint grin. "Black roses, maybe. Or, like, dead ones. That seems more her vibe, right?"

Dustin rolled his eyes, but he couldn't hide his amusement. "Yeah, sure. Dead roses. Super romantic, Munson."

Eddie chuckled, the sound low and warm. For a moment, he allowed himself to picture it—Ursula in some incredible, witchy prom dress, her hair wild and vibrant, her eyes sparkling with mischief as they walked into the gym together. The image was surreal but strangely perfect.

Eddie let out a breathless laugh, shaking his head. "Yeah, yeah, message received. So, you think she'd say yes?"

Dustin leaned back, his smirk finally breaking through. "You're gonna have to ask her, Munson. But if you're hoping for my blessing… eh." He shrugged, grinning wider. "I'll allow it. For now."

For a moment, the two of them fell silent, the clang of hammer against metal resuming its rhythm.

Eddie finally spoke, his tone softer, more serious. "Alright, Henderson. Let's hope you're right. Because if this plan doesn't work…"

Dustin cut him off with a mock salute. "It's gonna work, Munson. And when it does, she'll be too busy kissing you to care."

Eddie's laughter was low, almost hollow. "Yeah, sure," he muttered darkly. "Right after she murders me."

The two shared a knowing laugh, but Eddie's gaze lingered on the pile of weapons. His smile faded as a shadow of doubt crept into his eyes. "For real, though," he said quietly. "We can't mess this up. Not this time. We know what happens if we screw it up again. She's seen it, and I don't want her to ever have to see it again."

Dustin nodded, his expression serious as he picked up his hammer again. "Well," he said, his voice lighter, "at least now you still get to have your big epic moment."

Eddie hesitated, his hammer hovering mid-swing. A flicker of something—regret, gratitude, maybe both—passed across his face. "You know…" he started slowly. "Ursula told me she felt bad about that. About robbing me of it in this timeline. Like, she actually apologized for it. Can you believe that?"

Dustin grinned. "Yeah, well, that sounds like Ursula...she's not wrong though," he said. "You deserve this, man. Just… maybe without the dying part this time, huh?"

Nancy and Max sat in the dimly lit shed behind Steve's house, surrounded by makeshift workbenches and scattered tools. The faint smell of oil and sawdust hung in the air, mingling with the cool metallic tang of weaponry. Nancy's focus was razor-sharp as she worked the saw against the shotgun barrel, the steady rasp echoing in the tight space.

Max held the weapon steady, her brows knit together in a mix of concentration and skepticism. "Is this even legal?" she asked, her voice flat but tinged with unease.

Without glancing up, Nancy replied with clinical precision, "Actually, I think it's a felony."

Max huffed, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Right. That's comforting."

Nancy's grip tightened on the saw, the blade biting through the metal with one final stroke. "But it guarantees one thing," she said, lifting the shortened barrel to inspect her work.

Max tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. "Yeah? What's that?"

Nancy's eyes met hers, steady and unwavering. "I won't miss," she said simply, her voice carrying a quiet but unshakable confidence.

She gave the weapon a sharp bang with the heel of her handsaw, a crisp metallic clang reverberating through the shed as the shorn off section of barrel clattered to the ground. Max watched as the modified shotgun gleamed under the faint light, its brutal simplicity radiating a newfound sense of purpose.

"Alright," Max said after a pause, a flicker of admiration breaking through her earlier skepticism. "I take it back. That's kind of badass."

Nancy smirked faintly as she turned the weapon over in her hands, inspecting the clean edges of her work. "Just kind of?" she quipped, raising an eyebrow.

Max grinned, but her gaze drifted back to the shotgun, her expression sobering. Beneath the banter, a quiet understanding passed between them—this wasn't just about weapons. It was preparation for a fight they couldn't afford to lose.

Eddie held up the spiked shield he'd been working on, turning it to inspect his handiwork under the waning light. The crooked nails gleamed menacingly against the hammered metal, and the faint scent of sawdust and rust hung in the air. Dustin stood beside him, his head tilted in curiosity, arms crossed as if assessing the creation himself.

"How's she feeling?" Dustin asked, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Eddie turned the shield slightly, giving it a solid thump with his knuckles. The satisfying sound echoed briefly across the field. "Light," he said, his grin widening, voice dropping as if revealing a secret. "But durable. Deadly. But reliable."

Straightening his posture, Eddie's entire demeanor shifted, his eyes gleaming with dramatic intensity. He took on the air of a battle-hardened fantasy general, a figure poised for legend.

"Hear me now," Eddie announced theatrically, gripping the shield tightly. "There will be no more retreating…" He paused for effect, lowering his voice with mock seriousness. "…from Eddie the Banished."

Dustin couldn't help himself. A loud snort escaped him, and he pointed a finger at Eddie, his grin stretching wide. "Hey, you're really ready for bat-tle."

Eddie froze mid-pose, his theatrical intensity vanishing as he turned toward Dustin with an exaggerated expression of mild disbelief. His head tilted slightly, his brow furrowed in mock pain.

Dustin, unfazed, chuckled louder. "You get it? Bat-tle. B-A-T. No?"

The grin faded from Dustin's face as Eddie slowly shook his head, his disappointment palpable.

"I thought I had a good one," Dustin groaned, throwing his hands up in defeat.

Without warning, Eddie let the shield drop to the ground with a loud clang and lunged forward. Dustin yelped in surprise, barely managing to take a step back before Eddie tackled him to the ground with playful force.

"What are you doing?" Dustin cried, his voice muffled by his own laughter as they wrestled in the dirt.

Eddie, grinning wickedly, shifted his grip and suddenly reached for Dustin's waistband.

"No wedgies! No wedgies!" Dustin shrieked, his voice rising in alarm.

But Eddie didn't stop. With a triumphant yank, he pulled before easing up and halting the roughhousing. Dustin barely had time to catch his breath before Eddie grabbed him firmly by the shoulders, lifting him slightly to meet his gaze. The playfulness faded into something quieter, more resolute.

"Never change, Dustin Henderson," Eddie said, his voice low and laced with uncharacteristic intensity. "Promise me?"

Dustin blinked up at him, the weight of Eddie's words sinking in. His grin softened into something gentler, more sincere. "I wasn't planning on it," he said quietly.

Eddie nodded, satisfied. "Good. Good."

Dustin grinned again, laughing softly as the tension broke. "Good," he echoed with a chuckle.

For a moment, the two of them stayed like that—locked in a fleeting pocket of peace before the inevitable chaos descended. Eddie released him, rising to his feet and brushing himself off, the previous moment already slipping into memory as he extended a hand to help Dustin up.

The late-afternoon sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the Sinclair yard. The golden light gleamed off the points of wooden spears scattered near Lucas and Erica, who were both deep in their respective tasks. Lucas crouched low on the ground, diligently sharpening the end of a spear, while Erica leaned against the porch railing, arms crossed as she observed.

From across the yard, Eddie called out, his voice carrying easily through the quiet. "Hey, Sinclairs. How are those, uh… those spears coming on?"

Lucas looked up, squinting slightly in the sunlight. He held up the spear he'd been working on, its tip gleaming with a satisfying sharpness. "Not bad, huh?" he shouted back, giving Eddie a confident thumbs-up.

Before Eddie could respond, Erica straightened up, her sharp gaze locking onto Lucas's grip like a hawk spotting prey. "Flip that damn thumb around," she barked, cutting through the afternoon stillness.

Lucas frowned, his face scrunching in confusion. "What?"

Erica sighed with exaggerated irritation, stepping closer and pointing at his hands. "It's too loose, Lucas. This isn't a basketball game where they blow the whistle when your shoes fall off."

Lucas grumbled under his breath as he adjusted his grip, his movements begrudging. "Okay, okay, for the record, my shoes never fell off."

Erica smirked, her tone laced with mockery. "For the record, it's kinda hard for your shoes to fall off when you're riding the bench. Yet, for some reason, you show up to every game."

Lucas groaned audibly, jabbing the spear into the ground with a little too much force. "Mmm, except the one that mattered," he muttered darkly.

"Plus, Mom and Dad forced me," Erica added, her shrug casual but her grin sharp as a blade.

"Bull," Lucas shot back, glaring at her. "Mom and Dad can't force you to do shit."

Erica tilted her head, savoring her upper hand. "Well, even though you're a bench-riding loser, you're still my brother. Just the facts."

Lucas shook his head, his exasperation written across his face, but his eye shine with gratitude at his sassy little sister. They both turned their attention back to their spears, the air still heavy with their sharp-edged banter. Beyond the bickering, though, was something stronger—a quiet, unspoken determination that tied them together under the waning afternoon light.

Lucas crouched low on the ground, his hands deftly working to secure the spearhead to a sturdy pole. Erica, perched a few feet away, carefully wrapped duct tape around a second weapon, her movements precise and methodical.

From across the yard, Eddie sauntered toward them, carrying a battered trash can lid studded with nails, which he wielded like it was the Shield of Achilles. He plopped down unceremoniously beside the siblings, pulling a length of wood into his lap and sitting cross-legged.

"How's it coming, Lady Applejack?" Eddie asked with a wide grin as he twirled the stick in his hands. "These weapons up to par with the mighty battles ahead?"

Erica didn't look up at first, her attention fixed on her task. When she finally did, her expression was equal parts amused and unimpressed. "First of all, I don't take orders from nerd kings," she quipped, narrowing her eyes playfully. "And second of all, they'll be ready to impale whatever creepy monsters come our way."

Eddie let out a mock gasp, placing a hand over his chest in exaggerated offense. "Nerd king? That's Lord Dungeon Master Nerd King to you," he declared, adjusting the makeshift shield with a theatrical flourish, as if preparing for battle.

Erica rolled her eyes, though her smirk betrayed her amusement. "Fine. Lord Nerd King. Since you know everything, tell me about this Ursula chick you're obsessed with. What's her deal?"

Eddie paused mid-flourish, his grin faltering for just a moment before morphing into something more thoughtful. He set the shield aside, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees.

"Ah, Ursula," he began, his voice dropping into his signature Dungeon Master tone, rich with theatrics. "She is no mere mortal, Lady Applejack. Picture this: a warrior from a nother time, forged in the fires of a thousand battles. A queen who walks among the stars, her armor glinting like the first light of dawn. Her voice—oh, her voice—is like an ancient song, both a lullaby and a battle cry. She doesn't just command armies; she commands hearts."

Lucas and Erica exchanged a glance, their lips twitching with suppressed laughter. Erica folded her arms, tilting her head skeptically.

"You know you're talking about a girl and not some elf sorceress, right?" she asked, her smirk sharpening.

Eddie didn't miss a beat, grinning even wider. "You laugh now, young squire, but when you meet her, you'll understand. She's like… if Galadriel from Lord of the Rings and Joan Jett had a baby. A total badass with just enough crazy to make her terrifyingly awesome."

Lucas, who had been unusually quiet, finally spoke, his voice unexpectedly earnest. "He's not wrong."

Both Eddie and Erica turned to look at him, surprised by the sincerity in his tone. Lucas shrugged, keeping his focus on the spear in his hands.

"She's… different," he said slowly, his words deliberate. "Smart. Fierce. She's fun. Scary as hell sometimes, but in a good way. You don't meet people like her."

Erica's smirk wavered, her expression softening into genuine curiosity. She set her work down, leaning forward slightly as her gaze flicked between Eddie and Lucas.

"Wait—you're telling me you like her?" she asked incredulously. "Like, actual approval-from-Lucas kind of like her? What does she have, superpowers or something?"

Lucas glanced up, a faint grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Maybe."

Eddie leaned closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "She made him cry."

Erica burst out laughing, nearly doubling over as she slapped her knee. "Oh, man! This I gotta see. Anyone who can make Lucas Sinclair cry has my vote."

"Hey!" Lucas protested, his voice defensive but edged with humor. "To be fair, she's made all of us cry at some point. Every last one of us. You especially, Munson."

Eddie raised his hands as if swearing an oath, his grin smug. "Tis true. I'm telling you, Lady Applejack, when you meet her, you'll understand. She's a legend."

Erica finally caught her breath, sitting back up and shaking her head, her smile wide and genuine. She jabbed her spear into the dirt with a decisive motion.

"Alright, then," she said, her tone lighter but still firm. "Let's get these done so I can meet your queen. Sounds like we're gonna need all the help we can get."

The three of them fell into a rhythm after that, their chatter fading into a comfortable silence as they worked. The faint sounds of hammering and quiet laughter echoed through the yard, a rare moment of levity under the waning sunlight.

The view shifted to the back steps of Steve Harrington's house, where the warm evening air carried the scent of kerosene and faint laughter from the nearby field. Scattered around Steve and Robin were empty beer bottles, grease-streaked rags, and a half-filled can of fuel. They worked in near silence, Steve holding the bottles steady while Robin stuffed in strips of fabric with mechanical precision.

The faint, rhythmic clinking of tools from the field blended with bursts of laughter, a fragile reminder of normalcy amidst the looming chaos.

Steve's brows furrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line. He glanced toward Robin, his expression caught between thoughtfulness and frustration.

"It just doesn't make sense," he muttered, shaking his head.

Robin didn't look up. "What doesn't make sense?"

"That was Dan Shelter," Steve said, gesturing vaguely with his free hand. "He graduated, like, two years ago."

Robin frowned, pausing mid-motion. "So?"

Steve turned to face her fully, the disbelief clear in his tone. "So, that's the guy Vickie was with. You know, the one who kissed her. Dan freakin' Shelter. He's the guy who used to eat six corndogs at lunch and try to balance the sticks on his nose."

Robin winced slightly, the corners of her mouth twitching at the memory. Still, her hands resumed their work as she stuffed another rag into a bottle. "Steve, I don't get why you're even thinking about this right now."

Steve leaned closer, his voice softening. "No, forget him. I mean you. Are you okay? Because that wasn't exactly easy to watch."

Robin shrugged, her tone deliberately neutral. "I don't understand why you care either, with everything that's going on. Honestly, this feels like the perfect time for that little 'pull the rug out from under Robin' moment, because… in the face of the world ending, the stakes of my love life feel spectacularly low."

Steve leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, his gaze fixed on her. His voice was steady, earnest. "It's not low to me, Rob. Not even close."

Robin laughed awkwardly, waving him off. "Oh, c'mon, Harrington. Don't get all mushy on me now."

But Steve didn't flinch. His voice grew quieter, more serious. "I mean it. I just… I know how much it matters to you. And if anyone deserves the happy ending, it's you."

Robin hesitated, the usual edge of sarcasm in her expression softening. Her lips twitched into a faint, grateful smile before she glanced down at the Molotov cocktail resting in her lap. She turned it slowly in her hands, her thoughts clearly elsewhere.

"Not everything has a happy ending. And just because things happened one way in Ursula's timeline, it dosent guarantee it will happen in this one," she said quietly.

Steve nodded slowly, a flicker of regret crossing his face. "Yeah, yeah, believe me, I know."

Robin chuckled softly, shaking her head, but the humor didn't reach her eyes. "I'm not talking about failed romance. I just… I have this terrible, gnawing feeling that… it might not work out for us this time."

Steve watched her, his brow furrowing as her words settled between them. He picked up another bottle, poured in the kerosene carefully, and spoke with measured calm.

"You think we shouldn't be doing this?"

Robin sighed, leaning back against the step and tilting her head toward the darkening sky. "I think we're mad fools, the lot of us, to go against what Ursula told us, but…" She paused, her voice softening as her gaze drifted to the field beyond. "…but if we don't stop him, who will?"

Steve followed her gaze toward the field. In the tall grass behind the house, the faint sounds of laughter grew louder. Eddie, Dustin, Lucas, Erica, and Max had abandoned their weapons and planning, scattering their tools and diagrams like forgotten relics.

Instead, they were running through the grass, caught up in an impromptu game. Max darted away from Eddie's outstretched arms, laughing breathlessly, while Dustin tripped over Lucas and fell to the ground in a heap, his laughter echoing across the yard. Erica, ever the opportunist, snatched the spear Eddie had been carrying and bolted through the grass, her triumphant cackle carrying on the wind.

Steve and Robin sat quietly, watching the group with a mix of amusement and melancholy.

Robin broke the silence, her voice tinged with quiet wonder. "I don't know how they're doing it. Finding joy in this mess."

Steve smiled faintly, resting his elbows on his knees. "It's the same reason we're still here, Rob. It's what makes us different."

Robin didn't respond immediately, her gaze lingering on the scene in the field. After a moment, she nodded, her lips curving into a small, bittersweet smile. "Mad fools," she murmured, echoing her earlier words.

Eddie stood in the middle of the field, brandishing his makeshift shield—a battered trash can lid bristling with nails. He raised it high above his head as though it were Excalibur itself, his grin wide and mischievous.

"Face me, Sir Sinclair, or be forever branded a coward!" he boomed, his voice dripping with mock-seriousness.

Lucas grinned back, crouching slightly as he held his blunt spear at the ready. "Prepare to taste defeat, Munson the Mad!" he yelled, charging forward with an exaggerated battle cry.

Nearby, Erica climbed onto an overturned bucket, standing tall and imperious with her hands on her hips. She surveyed the chaos unfolding below her with a regal air, her chin tilted up as she declared, "Bow before Lady Applejack, ruler of this land! Or suffer the consequences!"

In the tall grass, Max crouched low behind a makeshift shield of her own. She held a handful of dirt clods in one hand, her grin wicked as she quietly circled Erica, clearly planning to "assassinate the queen."

Dustin darted between them all, weaving in and out of the mock battle with wild abandon. He switched sides every few moments, egging on one combatant before turning to cheer for another. His laughter rang out loud and bright, so intense that he nearly tripped over the uneven grass.

"Guys, guys, wait!" he shouted, throwing his arms into the air. "I call being the wizard! I summon a level nine Fireball! Maximum damage! All enemies within a 20-foot radius are incinerated!"

Eddie clutched his chest as if struck by an unseen force, staggering backward dramatically. He let out an exaggerated groan and collapsed into the grass, his shield clattering to the ground beside him. "No! The wizard is too powerful! Save yourselves!" he cried, his voice carrying over the laughter.

Max seized her moment, pelting Eddie with dirt clods as he lay in the grass, helpless and laughing too hard to defend himself. Erica leapt down from her bucket throne, joining the fray with a triumphant yell.

The chaos spread like wildfire. Lucas abandoned his spear to tackle Dustin, dragging him into the grass as Dustin shrieked with laughter. Erica launched a counterattack on Max, grabbing a handful of dirt to throw back at her, while Eddie struggled to his feet, grabbing Dustin in a playful headlock.

From the back steps of the house, Steve and Robin watched the scene unfold. The golden light of the setting sun bathed the field in a soft glow, casting long shadows across the grass. The faint chirp of a few early spring crickets underscored the pure, unfiltered joy in the laughter echoing through the yard.

Robin's smile was bittersweet as she rested her chin on her knees, her eyes never leaving the group. "Look at them," she said softly. "They're just kids."

Steve nodded, his expression heavy with emotion. "Yeah," he said quietly. "But not for long."

His gaze lingered on the group, taking in the unguarded joy on their faces. It was a rare moment, fleeting and precious. He knew it wouldn't last. Tomorrow, everything would change. Tomorrow, the stakes would be real.

Robin tilted her head slightly, her voice tinged with quiet melancholy. "This is it, isn't it? Their last hurrah."

Steve didn't answer immediately, his eyes fixed on the scene in the field. Eddie was dragging Dustin around like a ragdoll, laughing maniacally as the others ganged up on him, their shouts and giggles filling the air. Despite the faint smile tugging at his lips, Steve's eyes were shadowed with worry.

"Yeah," he finally said. "The last golden moments."

Robin followed his gaze, her expression softening at the sight of their friends. After a moment, she straightened up and nodded toward the group. "We have to try, right?"

Steve leaned back slightly, his shoulders relaxing as a quiet determination settled over him. "Yeah," he said.

Robin reached for one of the Molotovs beside her, holding it up like a toast. "To killing Vecna," she said with a small, wry smile.

Steve grabbed his own bottle, lifting it to meet hers. "Slash Henry."

Robin's grin widened. "Slash One."

Their bottles clinked together with a faint, satisfying sound that carried softly into the evening air. Robin took a deep breath, tilting her head back to look at the sky as if searching for hope in the fading light. Steve's gaze shifted between her and the field, the resolve in his expression hardening.

As the sun dipped lower, casting the yard in dusky hues, the laughter in the field carried on—unfiltered and unburdened. It was a moment they wouldn't get again, and Steve held onto it for as long as he could.