The cabin fell into a muted quiet as the group settled into their tasks, following the night watch schedule Ursula had laid out. The once-bustling energy of the evening gave way to a subdued, focused atmosphere.
Lucas grumbled as he adjusted his position on the couch, flipping through the pages of one of the thick folders Ursula had tossed onto the table earlier.
"Well, it didn't take long for us to get turned into little soldiers by our new master," he said, the corners of his mouth twitching in a mix of annoyance and reluctant amusement.
Passing by with a blanket draped over his shoulder, Steve smirked faintly.
"She's got a way about her, huh?" he replied before heading toward the corner he had claimed for his rest.
The stack of ominously labeled folders sat at the center of the table, a beacon of curiosity and dread. Nancy and Robin sat across from one another, a flashlight propped between them, its beam casting long shadows as they poured over the documents. Their brows furrowed with every line they read, the tension in their postures growing.
Dustin, cross-legged on the couch with his own folder balanced on his lap, muttered to himself as he flipped through the pages.
"This can't be real. No way…" His voice was soft, almost as if speaking louder would make the terrifying accounts in the folder more tangible.
Nancy leaned closer to her flashlight, flipping a page with deliberate care.
"It's not just the monsters," she murmured, her voice low.
"It's wars, blackouts, kidnappings…" Her words trailed off, heavy with the weight of what she read.
Across from her, Robin exhaled sharply as she skimmed a detailed account of an alternate dimension breach that had annihilated an entire town. Her fingers tightened on the page.
"This… this is insane. How do you even live through half this stuff?"
The documents contained more than battles and disasters. Scattered throughout the pages were chilling accounts of Ursula's personal survival—kidnappings, strandings, and near-death experiences.
Robin hesitated on a page, her voice softening as she read aloud. almost a year in one case." Her finger traced the words as if needing confirmation.
"She was stuck in the Upside Down for weeks…" Lucas frowned as he skimmed his own folder, catching another grim account. "She was just a kid."
"She was captured during a breach event by hostile forces…" His voice faltered, and he lowered the folder slightly, glancing toward the table where the others sat.
"No wonder she's like this. She's been through hell."
Nancy, hearing Lucas's words, nodded slowly without looking up. Her lips pressed into a tight line, the muscle in her jaw twitching.
The air in the cabin grew heavier as the group pieced together the scope of Ursula's experiences. The sheer volume of tragedies and battles she had survived painted a picture of someone hardened by unimaginable loss and determined resilience.
Steve, who had been leaning against the wall while scanning his folder, finally broke the silence. His voice was uncharacteristically serious.
"If half of this is true… she's tougher than all of us put together." He glanced toward the door where Ursula had last been seen, his expression unreadable but his tone laden with respect.
Dustin looked up from his folder, his usual animated energy subdued.
"Yeah," he said softly. "And she's still here. Still fighting."
Robin set her folder down, running a hand through her hair.
"You know, I kinda wondered if she was for real." Her voice carried a faint waver. "But after reading this…" She trailed off, shaking her head.
"I mean, who the hell makes this stuff up?"
The silence that followed wasn't one of awkwardness, but of growing conviction. The information in the folders wasn't just a collection of horror stories—it was proof. Proof of Ursula's identity, her sacrifices, and her unrelenting determination to save them.
Nancy closed her folder with a sharp snap, her movements deliberate. Her gaze swept across the group, her eyes settling on each of them in turn.
"She's earned our trust," she said firmly, her voice resolute.
"After this? She's earned it."
No one argued. As they exchanged glances, the unspoken agreement rippled through the room. Whatever lingering doubts they had about Ursula faded under the weight of the evidence before them.
The cabin had settled into an uneasy quiet as the night stretched on, each member of the group wrapped in their own thoughts, the weight of the folders still heavy in their minds. The soft hum of the generator outside, coupled with the occasional creak of the old wooden floorboards, was the only sound.
Eddie sat slouched on the couch, picking at a loose thread on his jeans, trying—and failing—to get his thoughts straight. Then Robin's voice broke through the haze.
"Hey, Munson." She leaned over the table, holding out a slightly crumpled envelope.
"I almost forgot—this has your name on it."
Eddie glanced up, surprised.
"What?"
Robin shrugged, flashing him a small, teasing grin.
"Looks like you got a letter from the future after all."
The group glanced up at her words, but Eddie's focus was on the envelope in her hand. His name was scrawled across the front in messy, familiar handwriting.
He took it slowly, fingers brushing against the worn paper. It felt heavier than it should have, like it carried a weight far beyond its size.
"From the future, huh?" he muttered, mostly to himself. Without another word, he stood and headed for the door, the envelope clutched tightly in his hand.
The cool night air greeted him as he stepped outside, the darkness wrapping around him like a shroud. The faint hum of insects and the distant rustling of leaves filled the silence.
He walked a few steps away from the cabin, just far enough to be alone, and sank onto the edge of a weathered log.
His fingers traced the edges of the envelope, his heart pounding in his chest. Tearing it open felt like tearing through time itself. The folded paper inside was worn, the ink slightly smudged in places, as if the writer's hand had trembled while writing it.
He unfolded it carefully, his breath hitching as his eyes scanned the first line:
Eddie,
I don't even know how to start this. It feels like I'm talking to a ghost. Hell, I am talking to a ghost…
The words unraveled in front of him, each one landing like a punch to the gut.
You've been gone almost forty years, and I still hear your laugh sometimes when it's late and the world's quiet. I see your stupid grin when someone plays Metallica, or when I catch an old campaign sheet tucked into a drawer.
Eddie swallowed hard, the paper trembling slightly in his grip.
You were my brother, Eddie. You still are. And now I'm asking you for something I have no right to ask.
He read on, his chest tightening with every line. The image of Ursula curled up in her bed, the way Dustin described her clutching a stuffed dragon, painted a picture so vivid it almost hurt to imagine.
She's everything to me. The last good thing I have in this godforsaken world. And she's been through hell.
Eddie exhaled shakily, his gaze drifting toward the cabin. He could still hear the faint murmur of voices inside, but it felt miles away now.
You have to watch her. Really watch her… Pay attention to the little things. Because it matters.
The words cut deep. Dustin's plea was more than just words on a page—it was a desperate, heartfelt cry from a broken man in a broken future.
Eddie's breath hitched as he read the list of names. Will. Joyce. Max. Erica… His stomach twisted. Each name carried its own weight, but one stood out like a blaring alarm.
Max.
He closed his eyes, the image of Lucas and Max from earlier in the evening flashing in his mind. The way Lucas had hovered close to her, like he couldn't bear to let her out of his sight. Eddie didn't need to be told what her loss would do to Lucas—or to any of them.
Eddie let the paper fall to his lap, his hands gripping his knees as his head dipped forward. The words blurred, but their meaning was seared into his mind.
Dustin's voice echoed through the letter, a haunting mix of love and desperation. And Ursula—Jesus Christ, Ursula.
She was so goddamn strong. Every moment since she'd stepped into their lives, she'd carried herself like an unshakable force. But now Eddie saw it. The cracks. The weight she bore that no one should have to carry.
She's been through hell. And now I'm sending her back—to you—because there's no one else I trust to save her.
The enormity of it hit him like a tidal wave. Dustin wasn't just asking him to look after her. He was asking Eddie to save her. To protect her in ways she'd never let anyone else.
Eddie's jaw tightened as a fresh wave of guilt crashed over him. He thought back to the account in the folders—the time she'd been stranded, captured. Trapped in the Upside Down for almost a year. He imagined her there, alone, fighting to survive while the world forgot about her.
It fucking killed him.
And yet, here she was. Sleeping in the cabin behind him, probably curled up with her dog like nothing in the world could touch her. She was so goddamn human. Just as broken as the rest of them.
Eddie looked back at the letter, reading the final lines.
You were always a hero, Eddie. You never believed it, but it was true. You were the guy who gave it all when it mattered.
I need you to be that guy again. I need you to look after her. I need you to keep her safe.
He folded the letter carefully, his fingers lingering on the creases.
The future Dustin's voice rang in his ears. You were always a hero, Eddie.
For so long, Eddie had thought of himself as nothing more than a freak. A loser. A joke. But in Dustin's words, he heard something else—something he hadn't dared to believe.
Hero.
The thought burned in his chest, a slow, smoldering flame that began to spread. He wasn't a hero yet, but he could be.
He would be.
Eddie stood, the letter clutched tightly in his hand, his gaze shifting toward the stars above. The night seemed endless, vast and indifferent to the lives unfolding beneath it. He felt it then—the crushing smallness of existence, the weight of a universe that had no intention of making sense.
But somehow, in that vast chaos, Dustin had believed in him. A freak. A coward. A boy who had run when it mattered most—yet Dustin had seen something else. And not just Dustin. Ursula had seen it too, hadn't she? In the way she looked at him, the way she trusted him already.
He thought of her—her fire, her strength, her scars. She had walked through hell and survived, but she shouldn't have had to. She didn't deserve to carry that weight alone.
I need you to keep her safe.
The words roared in his mind now, louder than anything else. They were no longer just Dustin's plea—they were a vow.
His vow.
The world had chewed her up and spit her out, and somehow, she was still standing. Still fighting. But Eddie knew what it was like to feel hollow, to stand on the edge of breaking. He wouldn't let her fall.
Not this time.
His fingers clenched around the letter, his shoulders squaring as something inside him shifted. Eddie Munson—the joke, the freak, the DM of Hellfire Club—was gone.
In his place stood a man with purpose.
The fear, the self-doubt, the bitterness that had clung to him like a second skin his entire life—it didn't disappear, not entirely. But it faded, pushed back by something stronger.
I'm going to be the guy she needs.
The vow etched itself into his soul, carving away the last remnants of who he thought he was.
Eddie Munson had never felt important before, but now? Now he felt unstoppable.
He turned back toward the cabin, the faint glow of the lanterns seeping through the cracks in the old wooden walls.
Inside, the people he had come to love—his band of misfits—were sleeping, completely unaware of the storm brewing just outside.
And in one of those rooms, she was sleeping too.
Ursula.
Eddie's chest tightened as he thought of her, curled up with her dog, her tattoos hidden beneath the blankets. For all her strength, she didn't know, couldn't know, what she had already done for him.
She had given him back his courage.
She's everything to me, Dustin had written.
And Eddie thought, in that moment, that she might become everything to him too.
The night pressed in around him, cold and quiet, but Eddie didn't feel small anymore. He felt alive. Alive in a way he hadn't been since that first roll of the dice in the Hellfire Club, since the moment he realized stories could be bigger than reality.
This was his story now.
And no matter how it ended, Eddie Munson wasn't going to be a footnote. He wasn't going to be a ghost, a memory that faded into the void.
He was going to be the shield between Ursula and the horrors she carried with her.
He was going to be her sword when she couldn't lift her own.
And if it came to it, he'd burn himself alive to keep her warm.
The faintest grin tugged at the corners of his mouth, despite the ache in his chest. He could feel it now—the future pulling him forward, like a thread stretching through time.
It didn't matter if the odds were against them. It didn't matter if the world was ending.
Eddie Munson had been a freak, a loser, a joke.
Now, he was her protector.
He folded the letter carefully and tucked it into the inner pocket of his jacket, close to his heart, where it would stay.
The stars above him burned brighter now, as if they'd been waiting for this moment, waiting for him to step into the light.
With one last glance at the cabin, Eddie Munson turned his back to the darkness.
And he was ready.