Chapter One: Change

October 29, 1984

Autumn was always gorgeous in Hawkins.

It was early enough in the season that most trees still had their leaves, but the foliage had all turned gold and orange, matching the pumpkins and gourds decorating house porches between spider webs and scarecrows. The end of daylight savings time meant that it was darker earlier, and the town was nearly ready for Halloween.

On Dover Avenue, houses were decorated with string lights and paper cutouts. Number 68 had six plastic headstones standing on the front lawn, all with skeletons or ghosts popping out of their graves. Next door at number 66, no less than a dozen jack-o-lanterns lit the path to the door. Each one had a different movie monster—Dracula, Frankenstein, Wolf Man, Michael Myers, Jason, the works. A few pumpkins were already starting to wilt, but with the cold front that had blown in, they'd survive the last few days of October.

There were decorations inside too. Paper cutouts of witches and black cats lined the front hall, and a few more pumpkins sat in the living room window. A pile of unused spiderwebs lay forlornly in a box in the corner. Pete Walcott had asked his daughter to hang them up about twenty times, but Christine was still putting it off.

She sat in her bedroom, a book propped open in her lap that she was only half-reading. She only had a few more days to finish Lord of the Flies before her English test, but she was having a tough time feeling motivated enough to read it. Who needed to read about a group of middle school boys fighting each other and playing war games all day? She dealt with enough of that in real life.

Christine sunk further into the cushions she had spread on the floor. She was tucked away in the blanket fort in the corner of her room. She told her father it was a reading nook, but truth be told, she spent more time moping there than anything else.

A few feet away on the carpet, her walkie talkie crackled to life.

"Moria to Rivendell, this is Moria to Rivendell, do you copy? Over."

With a groan, Christine stretched to grab the radio. "This is Rivendell, I copy. Over."

"Hi. Do you absolutely have to come tonight? Over."

"Yes, Dustin. I absolutely have to come tonight. Over."

She could practically hear his whiny groan of disappointment, even though he hadn't transmitted it on the radio.

"You know why I have to come, Dust. Besides, if you guys didn't want me at the arcade, you shouldn't have inducted me into the party. Over."

"It's not that we don't want you," said Dustin, placating her. "And we all know what you've done for the party. But to everyone else at the arcade, we just look like a bunch thirteen-year-olds that still need a babysitter. We all talked about it last week. Over."

"I'm not coming because I'm babysitting. I'm coming because I need to get out of this house. Over."

"What's the status on the Eye of Sauron? Over."

Christine huffed and rolled out of the blanket fort. She jogged to her bedroom door, pressing her ear flat against the wood. Down the hall, she could still hear two voices in the living room. They'd been talking for over an hour, occasionally shouting at the television. One of them laughed deeply, and Christine rolled her eyes.

"Active," she groaned into the walkie. "Still. Over."

"Why do we have to call him the Eye of Sauron?" Dustin asked for about the hundredth time. "I don't think he's that bad. Over."

"Because he watches me, Dustin. Constantly. He is constantly lurking around my house and checking up on me and nosing around and I am sick of it. Over."

"Maybe he just wants to make sure you're okay. Over."

"Why me?" Christine scoffed. "You don't have to put up with this bullshit. Over."

"I'm not the one who broke my leg. Over."

"Yeah, but you're more annoying. Over."

"Excuse me! I am a joy to be around! Over!"

Christine flopped back onto her bed. She stretched out her limbs, sore from sitting on the floor. Then she frowned at the ceiling over her head. She hesitated before speaking into the radio.

"I just don't trust him. Over."

"Why not? Over."

The walkie fell back to the blankets. She didn't have the words to explain herself. Or rather, she had the words, but knew it would be a bad idea to share them with Dustin.

"Because he's an asshole," she said in summary. "Over."

"You're an asshole. Over."

"Watch it, ankle biter. Now I'm definitely coming to the arcade. Over."

"Christine!" Dustin whined. "Come on. You cramp our style."

"Ouch. Harsh, Dusty. Over."

"I didn't say over. Don't interrupt me. This is basic shit, Christine. Over."

"Right," Christine snorted. She'd given up telling Dustin to watch his language ages ago. "You call me an asshole and then say I'm the one with bad etiquette. Over."

"Whatever. I have to call the rest of the party and check on their quarter haul. I'll meet you outside in ten? Over."

"Meeting in ten, copy that. Rivendell, over and out."

"Wait! No, wait! Christine?"

She dropped the radio to the bed, even as he continued to yell.

"Christine, I need to borrow some quarters! Christine? Christine! Do you have any quarters? I only have a dollar! Christine, I asked if you had any goddamn quarters!"

Christine snorted and turned down the volume on the supercomm so she could get ready.

It had been more than ten months since she'd officially joined the party. In reality, it hadn't changed things that much. Christine was always welcome to play Dungeons and Dragons on Sundays, though now she had her own character officially written into the campaign. The boys would still visit her at the movie theater, where they got a discount on snacks and tickets, and once a week she would take them to the arcade.

At first, the supercomm they'd given her had been a little overwhelming. The party had switched over to her special channel almost exclusively, just to make her feel included. She was treated to a barrage of comic book discussions, homework questions, and petty arguments about dice and snack food. Dustin called her constantly. He frequently flooded the channel just because he could. Lucas came in second, usually with simple questions Christine knew he didn't really need help to answer; he just liked having an excuse to call her. Then the other boys would tease him over the channel and he'd quickly go radio silent.

Over time, the novelty seemed to wear off. She rarely heard from Will and Lucas unless they needed something. Mike only called once in a blue moon, usually late at night to ask if she'd experienced any radio interference or electrical problems since they'd last spoken. But Dustin was still going strong. Honestly, Christine wouldn't have expected anything less.

She finished changing into her overalls and flannel, her long blonde hair pulled up into a ponytail with an oversized scrunchie. She grabbed her book, her wallet, and then the bag of change that was sitting on her bedside table. Dustin had begun asking for quarters so often that she routinely had to ask Anthony at the Hawk to get extra coins from the bank. It was just easier for everyone involved.

All of her belongings in arm, Christine paused at her bedroom door. She looked fleetingly at the blanket fort in the corner. Then she took a deep breath and rushed out into the hallway.

"I'm headed out!" she called as she passed through the living room. "Back by ten!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," her dad called, looking up from the couch. "Slow down! No goodbye?"

"Can't! I gotta meet Dustin, and I'm already late."

"He's thirteen, Chrissy, I think he can wait for another minute."

Christine trudged to a halt and sagged where she stood. She could see the front door. She'd almost made it. Instead, she grudgingly turned around to greet the two men sitting in front of the TV.

Her father was still dressed for work, his jacket and tie gone and his sleeves rolled over his elbows. He had a bag of chips open in his lap, crumbs scattered haphazardly over his dress pants as he snacked his way through the game. The other man sat in the recliner, a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He was dressed for work too; his hat sat discarded on the coffee table, but his badge was still shining on his khaki-colored shirt.

"Hey, look who came out of her cave," he chuckled, lifting his beer in salute. "How you doing, Christine?"

"Chief," she greeted tersely. She didn't answer his question.

"Now where are you headed again?" her father asked, oblivious to the tension. "Is Monday the board game…?"

"Arcade."

"The arcade, right," he said with a wry smile. "You know, you spend so much time out of the house these days, I can hardly keep track anymore."

"Well, you have your plans and I have mine."

She nodded to the television, where their football game was moving into its second quarter.

"I know," he agreed, in the same placating voice Dustin had used. "It's just—you know, you spend an awful lot of money on the arcade. Maybe a week or two home would be smart."

"Dad, I can't—"

"Don't mind him," said Hopper, waving a hand at her father. "He's just sore cause his team's losing."

"Hey," her dad snapped, brandishing a finger at him. "Watch it, Jim."

"I'm just sayin'! Come on, Pete, I'll give you one more chance to cut your losses. Seahawks are already up by seven—"

"No. No! I'm not switching. It's only one quarter. The Chargers can turn it around."

"Can I go now?" asked Christine.

Her father gave her a warning look. She knew she was being rude, but these days, Hopper couldn't expect much else from her.

"Here." The chief reached into his pocket and pulled out a couple of bills. He held them out to Christine, who simply stared at them. "I'm serious. Take it. Get the kids pizza or something."

Still, she continued to stare at the money.

"Christine," her father's voice prompted.

She sighed, taking the cash and shoving it into her overalls. "Thanks."

"You got it, Slim." Hopper took a drag from his cigarette, still watching her carefully. "Damn good of you to keep 'em busy. Kids need someone looking out for them."

It was so, so difficult for her to hold her tongue. All she wanted to do was take that double meaning and shove it right up his stupid, smug…

Hopper cracked a smile.

"Besides. Not like I need the cash. Give it two hours, your old man's gonna owe me a six pack and two boxes of smokes."

Her father grabbed a stray magazine off the table and chucked it, making Hopper guffaw again. Christine could only clench her fists at her sides. She pressed a swift kiss to her father's cheek and bolted for the door before anyone could stop her again.

Dustin was waiting for her in the street.

"Chrissy, come on! What's the holdup?"

"You're the holdup, dumbass."

"You're the dumbass, dumbass."

"Just go, Dustin!"

He flipped her off and took off down the road. Christine hopped on her bike and followed, giving her own house one final pout. It only took her about a street to catch up, by which point Dustin had calmed down.

"Hopper?" he asked.

"Hopper," she confirmed. "I swear, he gets off on annoying me in front of my dad where he knows—he knows I can't do anything about it."

"He's spending a lot of time with your dad," Dustin observed. "How many weeks in a row is this?"

"Nine. Nine weeks, Dustin! More than two months!"

"Yeah, I can count, thank you."

"And he says that he can't watch the game anywhere else, because at home his TV is busted, and at work his secretary nags him through the whole game. Which is bullshit, right? Because if his home TV was busted, I'm sure he would've gotten a new one at some point over the last nine weeks."

"It's not about the TV, Chris," Dustin said patiently. "I think you've just got to accept the facts."

"Oh, and what is that?"

"That Hopper is your dad's new best friend."

Christine swatted at him, which he deftly avoided by swerving into the road.

"It's true! Hopper and your dad are best friends! They're bros! They're best bros forever and there's nothing you can do about it!"

This time, Christine kicked him and managed to catch one of his pedals. Dustin screeched as he wobbled. As soon as he regained balance, he shot off ahead of her, screaming at the top of his lungs.

"CHILD ABUSE! THIS IS CHILD ABUSE!"

Christine grinned, shaking her head and peeling after him.

Lucas and Mike were waiting for them a few blocks away from the arcade. Dustin high-fived each of them as he rode past, and the boys quickly fell in behind him.

"How much did you get?" Mike asked Dustin's back.

"Uh…"

"Yeah, Dustin," Lucas goaded. "Tell Mike how much you were able to scrounge up."

"Shut up, Lucas."

"A dollar! One measly dollar!"

"One?" Mike echoed incredulously. "You said you had six!"

"I said we had six combined."

"Yeah, and you only brought one!"

"Both of you shut up. I brought Christine, and she always has cash."

"Eat dirt, Dustin."

"Fine! You can shut up too! All three of you can shut up!"

"What about you, Mike?" asked Lucas. "What'd you get?"

"Uh, I don't know."

"How do you not know?" Dustin demanded.

"Shut up! I didn't have time to count!"

"You had like twenty minutes! What happened, man?"

"I kinda had to…grab it and run."

"Run?" Lucas repeated. "Run from what?"

Mike hesitated, and Christine just caught the guilty look on his face. She snorted and shook her head.

"Dude, Nancy is gonna kill you."

"I'll pay her back!"

"With what money, dork?"

"Shut up, Christine!"

The four of them bickered the rest of the way to the arcade, arguing about how Mike could make back the money he had stuffed in his pockets, whether or not Dustin should be allowed to borrow from the rest of the party, and how long it would take before they could annoy Christine into paying for the rest of their games. It was a relief when the brightly-lit building finally came into view.

Palace Arcade had opened at the beginning of the summer and had quickly become one of the most popular hangouts in Hawkins. Still, there weren't many cars in the parking lot, and the entire bike rack was free; most of the arcade-goers were kids dropped off by their parents. Christine was usually one of the oldest people there, with the exception of the staff. But she didn't mind. The arcade had plenty of booths and decent food, so she always found a way to occupy herself. Plus, it was right next to the video store, which meant she could pick up a new movie every week.

They stowed their bikes under the store window just as a familiar green car pulled into the lot. The boys waved at Will through the window and hurried inside to claim their favorite game.

Christine stuck her hands in her pockets, walking over to the Byers' car.

"Mom, I have to go!" Will was insisting.

"Have fun," said Joyce, but she was still holding onto his arm.

"Okay, okay, I know…"

"I got him, Joyce," Christine interrupted.

She opened the passenger door and Joyce's hand finally loosened, letting Will slip through her fingers. He jumped out of the car before she could change her mind and beamed up at Christine in relief.

"Chris, can you please tell her I'll be okay?"

"He'll be okay," Christine assured her. "The only thing Will has to worry about is mediocre pizza and losing tragically at air hockey."

"Hey," he objected, shoving her weakly. "I beat you last week!"

"Please, I threw the game because I pity you," she shot back. "Why don't you go on in? I think the boys were heading for Dragon's Lair."

"Okay. Bye, Mom! Love you!"

"I love you too!" Joyce called after him.

She and Christine watched as Will ran into the building. They kept watching through the window as he looked around, weaving through other kids, until he finally reached the party. Only then did Joyce relax. She sighed, her eyes closing for a few moments. When she was able to open them, she offered Christine a weary smile.

"Thank you."

"It's fine, Joyce."

"It's just—you know, sometimes I still—I still panic when I can't see him. And I just keep thinking, you know, what if something happens and I'm not there? And I know it's been months, but—"

"Joyce," Christine said firmly. "It's really fine. Honestly, I get it."

"Oh, sweetie," Joyce sighed and wrung her hands together. "You shouldn't have to. I mean, you're only a few years older than Will! This whole thing—"

"Has been a lot. For all of us. So if the arcade makes them happy, then…that's fine by me."

Christine gave her a practiced smile. It wasn't the first time they'd had this conversation; she knew it wouldn't be the last, either. It didn't make the pity in Joyce's big, sad eyes any easier to deal with.

"I know that. And I know I say it every week, but thank you for looking out for him. I know—I know that I can smother him, and he loves hanging out with Jonathan, but I think sometimes—sometimes it makes him feel like a kid. So coming here with you and the boys, it really does mean a lot to him."

"And every week I tell you I don't mind. Will's a great kid. They all are, when they're not being complete nightmares. So they get to blow off some steam, you get a night off, and I get an excuse to get out of my house."

"Are you sure?" Joyce asked one final time, making Christine laugh.

"Yes, Joyce, I'm sure."

"Okay. Okay, but if anything happens—"

"I know your phone number, and I'll call you."

"And if no one answers—"

"I will bike him home and wait for you myself."

"And I gave Will some money for food if—"

"Joyce. I've got this."

"Right." Joyce nodded fervently and started the car again. Then, as if she couldn't help herself, looked over and said, "Really, thank you, Christine."

"Get out of here, Joyce," Christine urged. "Say hi to Bob for me."

Joyce smiled, embarrassed but pleased. With one last wave, she was finally able to pull out of the parking lot, her taillights disappearing into the distance.

Entering the arcade was like walking into a wall of noise. The aisles were packed with kids, all screaming over the sounds of the games—the clatter of the pinball machines, the video game sound effects, the air hockey pucks repeatedly smacking into the side of the table. It was enough to give anyone a headache, but after months of practice, Christine had gotten pretty good at tuning it all out.

She peered down the lane of video games, ensuring that all four boys were gathered around the same machine. Then she headed over to concessions to claim a booth where she could keep them in sight. She picked the biggest table, kicked back, and pulled her book out once more. Maybe if she was lucky, the screaming children would help the pages come to life.

Needless to say, that didn't work.

After what felt like hours, but was in reality only thirty minutes, Christine finally gave up. She'd skim the rest before her test on Friday. She'd already peeked at the end and found out that the boys were saved. Nancy would know which ones hadn't made it.

Christine stowed the book back in her bag and headed up to the counter to put in their dinner order—one plain pizza, one sausage and pepperoni, five sodas, and a basket of cheese fries. Much as she hated having to thank Hopper for anything, it was something of a relief to hand over his money instead of her own. Boys were really bottomless pits.

She leaned back against the wall to wait, turning to survey the arcade. It was noisy and crowded, but it certainly wasn't the worst place in Hawkins. Maybe she'd play some Skee-Ball while she waited. She'd gotten pretty decent at it, and there was a rainbow slinky she'd been eyeing…

But of course, that didn't work out either. She got as far as fishing out her bag of quarters before a familiar chorus of voices reached her ears.

"Oh, I'm a wasteoid?"

"Yeah, wow! Apparently!"

"Nice insult, dumbass."

"What do you make, like what? Two-fifty an hour?"

"Nice perm."

"Really? You're gonna make fun of my hair?"

Christine sighed heavily. Considering that she wasn't actually a babysitter, she did not get paid enough to deal with this bullshit.

She dove into the crowd, following the sound of Dustin's voice until she found the party. They were crowded around Dig Dug, but none of them were playing. Instead they were facing off with one of the arcade employees. His name was Keith, which she only knew because the boys argued with him so much. It seemed like she was breaking up a different fight every week.

"Hey!" she barked. All the boys jumped to attention, Keith included. Christine glared and folded her arms over her chest. "What's the problem here?"

"Keith's a douchebag is my problem," Dustin spat.

"Spaz," Keith shot back.

"Someone beat Dustin's high score on Dig Dug," Lucas explained, "and Keith won't tell us who."

"Yeah," added Mike. "He's trying to manipulate us! He wants a bribe!"

For some reason, this made Dustin smack Mike in the stomach. Mike shoved him back and into the arcade machine. Meanwhile Keith looked like he was trying to melt into the ground. Christine glared harder.

"Extorting middle schoolers? Really? That sounds like a great company policy."

"Oh, uh—n-no," Keith stammered. "I didn't—it wasn't like—"

"Who beat the game?"

"Seriously, I don't—"

"Keith."

"Some girl! Redhead! She comes in the afternoons!"

"A girl?" Lucas laughed, elbowing Dustin. "Dude, you suck."

"Shut the hell up, Lucas. Obviously he's lying!"

"I'm not!" Keith insisted. "I—I swear I'm not lying, Christine."

Christine considered him. "I believe you."

Keith's overly tall body sagged in relief. "Thank you!"

"Of course," she said with a smile. "Oh, I just put in a food order. Would I be able to add a basket of nachos?"

"Totally! Yeah, I'll—I'll go put that in for you."

"Thanks."

He shot one more look at the boys before hurrying toward the desk.

"Oh, and Keith?" Christine called, making him skid to a stop. "You call any one these boys a spaz again, we're gonna have a real problem."

"Uh—uh, yeah. Sorry."

He hung his head and quickly scurried to the back of the building.

"Nice," said Lucas appreciatively. He and Mike were both snickering. Dustin didn't seem to feel the same.

"We had it under control, Christine," he said stubbornly.

"Right, control. That was real clear from your little debate."

"I said we don't need your damn help!"

"Woah! Okay?" But Dustin just stormed past her the same way Keith had gone. "Hey! At least save the booth!"

He waved a hand over his shoulder and disappeared out of sight. Christine turned back to the boys, utterly confused.

"What the hell did I miss?"

Lucas and Mike shared a look. They'd stopped laughing immediately, now looking almost sheepish. They were having some silent conversation about how to answer her. Before they could decide, Christine noticed something else.

"Hold on. Where's Will?"

All three of them looked around, but Will had disappeared as well. She was certain he'd been there when she walked over. He'd definitely been standing right next to Mike. But now—now he was nowhere.

Her stomach lurched as she spun on the spot. This was not happening. She had not lost Joyce's son. She couldn't—

"I got him!" said Mike, and he went tearing toward the front door.

Just through the window, Christine could see Will standing in the middle of the parking lot. He was just staring up at the arcade sign, totally alone. She watched until Mike reached him. Then, just like Joyce, she relaxed and laid a hand on her chest.

"See?" said Lucas, patting her shoulder. "It's all good."

"Yeah. Yeah, I know." She patted Lucas's hand, still a little shaky. "Help me with the pizza?"

The two of them walked to the counter to wait on the food. Christine shrugged off her flannel, tying it around her waist so her arms would be free. She kept a weather eye on the front door, monitoring Will and Mike as they made their way over to the booth. There they joined Dustin, who had his arms folded grumpily on the table.

"Can I ask you a question?" Christine asked Lucas.

"Uh, yeah. Sure."

"Do you think I'm overbearing?"

"Oh—uh—w-what?" Lucas stammered. "I don't think you're—I mean, no, but—why are you asking me?"

"Are you sure?" Christine asked, grimacing. "Dustin's been complaining, and if I'm making you guys uncomfortable—"

"No! Did he say I was uncomfortable? Because I'm not uncomfortable. I'm fine."

Lucas's voice was defiant, but he was fidgeting and shifting in a way that belied that he was definitely not fine.

Christine squinted at him. "You okay, bud?"

"Look," he sighed, "I know the guys are always joking about this huge crush I have on you, but seriously. You never make me uncomfortable, and you should dress however you want."

He folded his arms and averted his gaze down to the carpeted floor. Christine narrowed her eyes further, once again completely lost. It took a few seconds for her brain to dissect his skittish behavior.

"Overbearing," she repeated in amusement, "as in…over-protective? Controlling?"

"Oh! I mean—I—I knew that." Lucas cleared his throat, trying very hard to seem casual. "Uh, no. No, I don't think you're overbearing."

"No? You guys don't feel like I'm…I don't know, smothering you?"

"Nope."

"And I haven't done anything to get kicked out of the party?"

"What? No!" Lucas's surprise seemed genuine. "Why would you say that?"

"So there wasn't a party meeting about whether or not I should be allowed to come to the arcade with you?"

"Oh. That." He shook his head, waving off her concern. "There was a party meeting, but Dustin was overruled."

"So Dustin doesn't want me in the party anymore?"

"No! Of course he does! He just…has some concerns."

Christine narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "Is it because I'm a girl?"

"What? No!"

"Is it because I'm older than you guys?"

"No!"

"Then what the hell is his problem?"

Lucas huffed, weighing his words. He stroked his chin and finally decided on, "He just doesn't want things to change."

"What's gonna change?" asked Christine.

"I don't know. Stuff."

"Stuff?" she repeated. "Dustin is afraid that stuff is going to change, and that's why he suddenly wants me to stop coming to the arcade?"

"Exactly!"

Lucas smiled brightly. Christine just stared at him, and continued to stare until one of the employees brought their food over. Then she grabbed the pizza and fries with a long-suffering sigh.

"You guys are a bunch of weirdos. You know that, right?"

"You say that, but you're the one who was worried the weirdos didn't want to be friends with you anymore."

Lucas stuck his tongue out and, grabbing the nachos and the other pie, walked away to the table, leaving Christine to wonder if being friends with a group of middle school boys was such a smart idea after all.

She brought the rest of the food over to the booth, where Mike and Will were waiting eagerly. Dustin was still frowning. He avoided eye contact even when Christine placed the fries directly in front of him.

"Alright. Dinner is served."

"Thanks a lot, Chrissy," said Will.

"You got it," she replied. "How you feeling? You okay?"

"Yeah, I—I just needed some air."

"Ugh, me too," she said, agreeing easily with his excuse. "It's always so loud in here."

"Did you get soda?" asked Mike.

"Up at the counter. Does it look like I have ten hands?"

Mike slid out of his seat to get the cups, Will and Lucas in tow. Christine sat down next to Dustin, who was still ignoring her. She shook the fries in front of his nose.

"Earth to Dusty. Do you copy? Over."

He didn't answer her. She plucked a fry from the basket and chewed on it thoughtfully.

"Fine," she sighed. "I didn't want to have to do this, but I'm not above bribery."

She pulled the bag of change from her overalls. It hit the table with a satisfying thud, and she slid it into his field of vision. She could see him considering it out of the corner of his eye. It was only a few seconds before he cracked a smile.

"I knew you'd have cash."

"Shut up," she laughed, rubbing his hat over his curls. "So, are we good?"

"Yeah. We're good. Thanks for the pizza."

"You got it, Dust."

The rest of the party returned to the table, cramming into their seats and fighting over who got what slice of pizza. Christine sat back in her seat with her fries. Maybe some stuff would change. But hopefully it wouldn't be too soon.

A/N: Hi again! I am so excited to return to Christine and the party! With Stranger Things Season 4 approaching, I decided it was high time we venture back to the Upside Down. If you can hardly wait for the new season, hopefully pre-gaming with a little fanfiction will take the edge off.

Inside Out: Malignant will update every Wednesday and is rated T for language, underage drinking, descriptions of science-fantasy violence, and sexually suggestive content. Billy Hargove is a trip to write, and he tried first-hand to up the rating, but I wouldn't let him. The maturity level is consistent with the content of Stranger Things Season 2, but if a chapter contains anything I consider to be especially sensitive, I will add a trigger warning to the beginning of the chapter. If there's anything specific you feel should be tagged, please let me know.

For visual aids, playlists, and additional content, you can visit the story's Tumblr page at insideoutstory.

Though I doubt she'll see this, I want to issue a huge, tremendous, Mind-Flayer-sized thank you to me editor Lee, who has been combing through these chapters to fix as many of my typos and weird sentence structures as possible. Talking out my plot holes with you has helped me become a better writer, and there's nothing I love more than sitting on the phone to listen to you read new chapters...except maybe when you yell at me about Billy.

Lastly, I want to thank all of you for reading or returning to this story. Thank you for your messages, for your reviews, and even just taking the time to click. We're going to amp things up for Season 2, and hopefully this makes the hiatus between Season 4 Part 1 and Part 2 a little easier on all of us. Hope to hear from all of you soon!

-Brittney