The air in the Wheeler living room was thick, nearly suffocating, as Ursula stood in front of the coffee table, her bag slung over her shoulder. She wasn't used to standing still under so many eyes, especially eyes that didn't know her.
The War Party—Dustin, Max, Lucas, Nancy, Robin, and Steve—were scattered around the room, each one staring at her like she was some kind of alien. In a way, she supposed she was.
Dustin paced by the window, his steps rapid, erratic, and just shy of stomping. His 15-year-old face was sharp with suspicion, his wide, dark eyes darting between Ursula and the others as if trying to gauge who else might be crazy enough to believe her.
Steve leaned against the wall, arms crossed in that half-protective, half-skeptical way he had when he wasn't sure whether to intervene or stay cool. Max sat on the couch, her head down, a curtain of red hair shielding her face. Lucas, quiet but alert, perched on the armrest next to her, while Robin fidgeted with the hem of her shirt, shifting uncomfortably in her seat.
Nancy stood by the far side of the room, her hands wrapped tightly around the single envelope she hadn't yet opened. She looked pale, like she was holding onto something too fragile, too impossible to believe.
Ursula scanned the room slowly, taking each one of them in. Her heart thudded in her chest, the weight of the moment pressing down on her. She recognized all of them immediately—their faces, their postures, even their voices. But not like this.
Not this young.
Her father was pacing by the window, not yet the steady, warm man she'd grown up with but a wiry, intense teenager who spoke too fast and thought even faster. Max was so small, her slight frame folded in on itself like a paper crane ready to collapse. And Steve Harrington—Uncle Steve—looked ridiculously like a walking hair commercial, barely as old as she was now. They all did.
The ache in Ursula's chest tightened as her gaze landed on Max. Max Mayfield. Alive. That knowledge alone was SURREAL. But there wasn't time for any of that.
"So, let me get this straight," Dustin snapped, his voice sharp enough to cut through steel. He stopped pacing long enough to turn and point at her accusingly.
"You're from the future, you know stuff, and we're just supposed to believe you? No. Nope. Not happening."
The tension snapped taut, the room's occupants holding their collective breath as Ursula stood her ground.
Ursula tilted her head, staring Dustin down, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.
"You're totally right," she said simply, her voice calm but firm. "That'd be insane."
Dustin blinked, caught off guard.
"Wait, what?"
Ursula didn't answer. Instead, she shifted the strap of her bag, unzipped it, and reached inside. With a steady hand, she pulled out a stack of worn envelopes. They were thick, creased from age, and tied loosely with twine. She walked to the coffee table and dropped them onto the surface with a thud that echoed through the room.
"You don't have to believe me," Ursula said, her voice steady, her turquoise eyes locking onto Dustin's suspicious glare. She gestured to the envelopes.
"Believe yourselves."
The silence that followed was absolute.
Each member of the Party stared at the pile on the table, their gazes flitting from the envelopes to each other. Every letter was labeled with a name written in handwriting they shouldn't recognize but did. The disbelief etched into their faces was almost comical.
Dustin was the first to move. He shot forward and snatched up the envelope with his name scrawled across it in his own handwriting. He held it like it was a ticking time bomb, his fingers gripping the edges tightly.
"What the hell," he whispered, his voice low and almost reverent. Then louder: "Why the hell is this in my handwriting?"
Nancy was next. She stepped forward with slow, hesitant movements, the envelope already trembling in her fingers.
Her brow furrowed deeply as she stared at the name written across it. "This is nuts…" she murmured to herself, her voice barely audible. She shook her head as if trying to wake herself from a dream, then began to tear it open.
Steve picked up his own envelope with all the enthusiasm of someone holding a dead rat. He held it away from his body, his lips curling slightly.
"This is starting to feel really Cold War," he muttered, narrowing his eyes at Ursula.
"What are you? Some kinda Russian spy?"
Steve narrowed his eyes, determined to hold his ground.
"Ты шпион?" (Are you a spy?)
Ursula tilted her head, her smirk growing sharper. Switching to Russian, she quipped, "Серьёзно, дядя Стив? «Ты шпион?» Это всё, на что ты способен? С твоей жизнью знание русского должно быть базовым навыком для выживания." ("Seriously, Uncle Steve? 'Are you a spy?' That's the best you've got? The way your life's going, knowing Russian should be basic survival.")
Robin immediately barked out a laugh, unable to hold it in.
Steve frowned.
"What? What'd she say?"
Robin grinned, her tone dripping with amusement.
"Basically, that you're a dumb ass, dumb ass."
Ursula's smirk softened into something almost conspiratorial as she leaned back against the couch, crossing her arms.
"But she's got a point, Steve," Robin added, still laughing.
"You should probably start learning Russian…"
Steve muttered something under his breath and turned his attention back to the unopened letter in his hand.
Lucas picked up his own letter hesitantly.
"Max?" he asked softly, nudging her. She hadn't moved.
Max was staring at her letter, her fingers gripping it tightly enough to crumple the paper. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, her eyes locked on the envelope as though it might come alive.
"You gonna open it?" Lucas tried again, his voice quieter.
She didn't respond, her jaw clenching.
"This isn't possible," Nancy muttered under her breath, her hands trembling as she read her letter.
Ursula stepped back, crossing her arms as she observed the pandemonium she'd unleashed. The overlapping reactions were like a tidal wave crashing around her.
Dustin read aloud from his letter, his voice sharp and rising with every word.
"'Trust her. You've always protected each other!?.' What the hell does that even mean?!"
Steve glanced between the letter in his hand and Ursula.
"Someone start explaining—now."
But Max hadn't moved. She hadn't opened her letter, hadn't said a word. She held it tightly, her knuckles white,staring at it as though it might burst into flames.
Ursula noticed immediately, her stomach twisting into a knot. Awww shhhhhhhit.
She forced herself to keep her expression neutral, even as her heart clenched. She hasn't told them yet… two kids are already dead, and she's too emo to even tell her boyfriend?"
Meanwhile, Lucas finally tore into his letter. His eyes scanned the page, and his expression shifted rapidly from confusion to disbelief to something like anger.
"What the hell does this mean? 'Trust her. She knows how to stop it.' That's it? That's all I get?"
Nancy looked up from her letter, her face pale but resolute.
"She told me Fred was in danger," she said, her voice steady but brittle. Her gaze locked onto Steve's.
"She knew what was going to happen—almost to the second."
Max finally spoke, her voice low and hesitant.
"And you're here to change it?"
Ursula nodded.
"Yeah. That's the plan, red."
Ursula stood a little straighter, her gaze locking on Max as the rest of the group's voices fell into a tense hush. The air in the room felt dense, as though even the dust motes floating in the sunlight filtering through the curtains had paused in anticipation.
"Max." Her voice was calm but firm, slicing through the silence.
"You really gotta open it. Now."
Max's head jerked up, her wary eyes meeting Ursula's. She clutched the unopened envelope in her lap like it might bite her, and for a moment, she didn't move. Her knuckles were white against the paper, the slight tremor in her fingers betraying the fear she was trying to hide.
"Why isn't this my handwriting?" Max finally asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.
Lucas leaned closer, his hand hovering near hers but not quite touching.
"What's going on? Why is that my handwriting?"
Ursula didn't waver.
"Just read it."
"Max?" he said, his voice tinged with worry.
Max's fingers trembled as she tore open the envelope. Her eyes darted across the page, scanning the words in silence. But the further she read, the paler she became. Her breathing quickened, and when she finally spoke, her voice cracked, breaking the fragile calm in the room.
"It says… it says I'm next."
The room froze. For a long, terrible moment, no one moved or spoke. Then Lucas reached for her hand, his voice rising in panic.
"What do you mean, 'next'? Max, what does it say?!
Ursula stepped forward, her voice cutting through the growing tension like a blade.
"She's marked. She's been hearing the clock, haven't you, Max? The whispers?"
Max's head whipped around to look at her, her expression one of shocked disbelief.
"And you didn't tell anyone," Ursula pressed, her tone unwavering.
"How did you…?" Max's voice was a whisper, her eyes wide with guilt and terror.
"I've heard it myself before," Ursula said simply, her voice steady. She glanced around the room, her gaze briefly settling on each of the others before landing back on Max.
"Chrissy. Fred. Patrick. You're next unless we stop it."
Max shook her head, her voice trembling as tears welled in her eyes.
"I didn't think it mattered. I didn't think I could stop it."
Lucas pulled her into his arms, holding her close as she began to cry in earnest.
"It matters," he said, his voice soft but fierce. "It matters, Max."
The others watched in rattled silence, the weight of the revelation settling heavily over the room. Robin shifted uneasily, glancing at Ursula as if waiting for her to explain what came next.
Ursula's expression softened, but only slightly.
"No more secrets," she said quietly, her voice carrying a heavy finality.
"Not now. Not anymore."
The room had settled into a tense quiet, the type that crept into the lungs and refused to let go. Dustin paced relentlessly, his letter clutched like it might burst into flames at any moment. The tension in his jaw tightened with every step.
"What is this?!" he snapped, whipping around to face Ursula. His voice had that sharp, almost barking quality he got when pushed too far.
"How do I know it's not fake?!"
Ursula didn't even blink. She crossed her arms, giving him a steady, almost bored look, her faint smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth.
"Read the last line, Henderson," she said, her tone even and unbothered.
Dustin froze mid-step, his sneakers squeaking faintly against the hardwood. His brows knit as he dropped his gaze to the page, his lips moving silently as he scanned the lines of scribbled words.
His voice trailed off. Then, he stopped.
For a moment, Dustin just stared at the paper, his brain clearly lagging as his eyes darted over the last line again and again.
Finally, his head snapped up, and he pointed a trembling finger at Ursula like she'd just confessed to murder.
"'P.S. You'll know she's yours because she talks exactly like you—right before she pisses you off.'" His voice cracked as he read aloud, dripping with disbelief and accusation.
The room froze.
Lucas and Max exchanged a glance, Robin's brows shot skyward, and Steve… well, Steve looked like he was trying not to laugh.
Dustin slowly lowered the letter, his wide eyes narrowing into suspicious slits.
"What the hell does that mean?" he demanded, his tone a mix of panic and outrage.
Ursula raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a sly grin. She met his fiery stare head-on and shrugged with a pointed nonchalance.
"It means I'm your daughter, dumbass."
Dead. Silence.
No one moved. No one even dared to breathe. The only sound in the room was the faint creak of a floorboard as Dustin shifted his weight, his jaw practically unhinged.
"What—WHAT?!" His voice cracked so loudly it echoed.
Steve, leaning casually against the wall, finally lost the battle against his smirk.
"Aw, congrats, Henderson. It's a girl."
"What the hell are you even—?!" Dustin's head whipped toward him, his face a mix of disbelief and fury.
"Hey, don't yell at me," Steve interrupted, holding his hands up in mock surrender.
"I'm not the one who time-traveled back here with a family reunion invite.
Dustin spun back to Ursula, his hands flailing. His brain was visibly buffering, the circuits in his head trying to piece together the impossibility in front of him.
"No. No way. That doesn't—how is that even possible?!
Ursula just shrugged again, as if his panic were a minor inconvenience in her day.
"The future sucks ass," she said simply, her tone softer now, but still teasing.
"You raised me right, though. Good job, Dad."
Dustin blinked, slack-jawed. His eyes darted between Ursula and the letter as if searching for some logical explanation that wasn't there.
Steve clapped a hand on his shoulder, grinning ear to ear.
"You must be so proud. I bet she even has your lisp."
Dustin shoved Steve's hand off, glaring at him with fiery indignation as Ursula and Dustin's faces turned into identical sneers and yelled in tandem, "Shut up, Steve!"
The effect was instantaneous. The entire group froze, their wide-eyed expressions rippling like a synchronized wave. Steve looked between the two of them, his brows shooting so high they practically disappeared into his hairline.
"Oh, that's unsettling," Max muttered, her voice breaking the stunned silence.
Robin, who had clearly been fighting to keep it together, finally let out an undignified snort that shattered what little composure she had left. She slapped a hand over her mouth, her shoulders shaking as muffled laughter spilled out anyway.
At that, Ursula couldn't hold back anymore. She broke into a wide grin, her laugh spilling out in loud bursts that only seemed to fuel Dustin's panic.
"Relax, Daddy-O," she said through her giggles.
"You'll get used to it. This isn't exactly a walk in the park for me either."
Robin snorted, muttering under her breath, "This is so messed up."
Dustin pointed at her next, flailing as if trying to gather support.
"Thank you! That's what I'm saying!"
Ursula just threw her hands up in mock surrender, the humor still dancing in her hazel eyes.
"Hey, don't look at me. I ALSO think this is like Circus-level nuts. But, I'm just here to save the world—not manage your midlife crisis."
Dustin groaned, dragging his hands down his face before slumping onto the couch. He stared down at the letter, his voice a low, muttered grumble.
"Time travel. Freakin' time travel. Why does it always have to be the weirdest possible answer?"
Steve burst out laughing, slapping the wall for emphasis.
"So, Time travel? You're telling us—you're a time-traveler? Really?!"
Ursula gave him a withering look.
"Seriously, Uncle Steve? Like I said before, of all the brain-melting sci-fi crap you've lived through, time travel is where you draw the line? I think that Farrah Fawcett hair-spray's killing your last two brain cells."
"Stop calling me Uncle Steve!"
She dissolved into giggles again, and this time, even Max and Lucas couldn't suppress their amusement. The tension in the room finally broke, the heavy weight lifting as a ripple of nervous laughter spread through the group.
Dustin shook his head, muttering to himself again as the realization fully sank in.
"I'm not old enough to deal with this."
"Dustin Henderson," Steve said, grinning as he gestured grandly toward him, "1986's Youngest Dad of the Year.
That earned him another pointed glare from Dustin.
"I swear to God, Harrington, if you don't shut up…"
The room settled after the chaos, lingering chuckles and nervous tension still weaving between the group like threads they couldn't quite unravel. Steve leaned back against the wall, still smirking faintly, while Dustin sat heavily on the couch, his letter crumpled in his hands. Robin, though she'd stopped laughing, wore an amused glint in her eyes as she looked between them all.
Nancy was the first to break the silence, her voice calm but purposeful.
"So what now?"
All eyes turned to Ursula, who straightened from where she had been leaning on the coffee table. The energy in the room shifted as she moved, the humor draining from her expression like a mask slipping off to reveal something sharper underneath. When she spoke, her voice was steady and resolute.
"Now?" Ursula paused for effect, making sure every gaze was locked onto her.
"We get ready."
Dustin blinked at her, still processing everything.
"Ready for what, exactly?"
"Step one," Ursula began, holding up a finger, "we find Eddie Munson." She moved around the coffee table, her boots thudding softly on the rug, a controlled rhythm that matched her tone.
"Step two," she continued, another finger raised, "we keep Max alive while we wait for the rest of the party to get here."
Max sniffled softly, her head resting against Lucas's shoulder. Lucas held her protectively, but his own unease was written in the way his hands twitched against his knees.
"And step three…" Ursula's voice dropped lower, darker, the weight of her words filling the room. She looked directly at Nancy, her gaze unflinching. "…we kill Vecna before he kills us."
A silence blanketed the group. Even Robin, usually the first to inject some levity, seemed unable to break it.
Max wiped her face with the back of her hand, her movements shaky but deliberate. Lucas's grip tightened around her.
Dustin finally tore his gaze from his letter and looked up at Ursula. His expression had softened slightly—not less skeptical, but no longer outright hostile.
Steve broke the tension, straightening from his slouch against the wall. "Alright, I hate to be that guy, but… how exactly are we supposed to do that? You know, the 'kill Vecna' part."
Ursula let out a small, humorless laugh.
"Don't worry, Uncle Steve. I've got a plan. But for now…" She gestured to the scattered letters, her voice firm.
"We focus on step one. Eddie needs us."
Nancy, her own letter still clutched tightly in her hand, nodded.
"She's right. We need to find him before it's too late."
The group exchanged glances, their individual doubts lingering but muted beneath a shared understanding: whatever came next, they couldn't do it alone.
Ursula stepped back, letting the gravity of their situation settle over them like a storm cloud. Despite the tension, a faint smile tugged at her lips.
"Alright," she said softly,
"let's move, people. We've got work to do."