TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter contains descriptions of violence, injury, firearms and self-harm as depicted in Stranger Things 1.08 "The Upside Down." Please proceed with caution.

If there was one thing Christine had learned from this experience, it was to never underestimate Nancy Wheeler.

Nancy was Christine's friend. Christine didn't want to see her get hurt. That was the only reason she was going along with this ludicrous plan. She hadn't thought there was…an actual plan. Just a bunch of vague ideas and intentions strung together to achieve an outlandish objective: three inexperienced teenagers kill an interdimensional eldritch monster with an unimaginable body count.

But it seemed like Jonathan and Nancy had been busy since the funeral. Not only had they gone out to the woods, but they'd done research on other predators to predict the Demogorgon's patterns. They'd strategized and gone to the gun store and talked over their outcomes. They were incredibly efficient. While they were setting traps and forging weapons, Christine worked on the singular task they'd given her. All she had to do was screw the bulbs back into the Christmas lights. After that, she just loaded her dad's shotgun and tried to stay out of their way.

It was a shame they hadn't given the blood the same consideration.

"Seriously?" Christine asked, turning her nose up at the steak knife Jonathan handed her.

"You got a better idea?"

"A couple. I could go for your nose."

"Chris," Nancy sighed. "We are not doing this now."

Christine unhappily held her tongue. She took the knives out of their hands and marched them to the bathroom.

"Fine. But I'm sanitizing them first."

Twenty minutes later they were standing in a circle in the living room. Surrounded by gasoline and nails, bear traps and Christmas lights, it was hard to feel like they weren't in one of those cheesy horror movies. Christine was still struggling to comprehend how stupid they were being. Hopefully it wouldn't click until later, when all of this was over.

"Remember," Jonathan began with a shaky nod.

"Straight into Will's room," said Nancy. "And…"

"Don't step on the trap," said Christine.

"Wait for the yo-yo to move."

"Then…" Jonathan held up his lighter, letting the flame lick over his thumb briefly. Then he pocketed it, and held up his knife instead. "Alright. You guys ready?"

"As I'll ever be," Christine said weakly.

Nancy was more confident. "Ready."

The steak knives glinted in the low light.

"On three," Jonathan instructed. "One…two…you guys don't have to do this…"

"Jonathan, stop talking," Nancy ordered.

"I'm just saying, you don't have to…"

"Three!"

Jonathan and Nancy both slid their knives across the palms of their hands, hissing as the blades cut deep. Christine gasped and nearly dropped her own in surprise.

"Shit! What the hell are you doing?"

"W-We're—We're getting the blood," Nancy stammered. She looked so shocked by Christine's response that for the moment she couldn't feel the pain.

"We said on three," Jonathan grimaced. "Three, Christine!"

"Well, yeah! I knew we were counting! I didn't think you assholes would cut your hands! We need those! Jesus…"

Jonathan rolled his eyes at her as she flipped the blade in her hand. She braced herself, then dragged the knife sharply across her shoulder blade. It hurt like a bitch, and she figured they could all use some small stitches. But at least she'd have both hands ready to fight.

The worst part was forcing out the blood. They had to make sure it would be enough to lure the Demogorgon, which meant Jonathan and Nancy squeezing their hands and holding back their cries. Christine tensed her shoulder, trying not to notice the feel of the blood trickling down her arm onto the carpet. Three dark stains were forming beneath them.

For several minutes, they bled and waited in the silence.

"Now what?" Christine asked nervously.

"Now we wait," answered Nancy.

"Now we wait," Jonathan repeated. "There's a first aid kit in the bathroom. I'll be right back."

He eased the knives out of their hands, heading first to the kitchen. He was almost out of the room when Nancy called after him.

"Jonathan? Just…um…be careful."

"You too. Be ready."

Nancy nodded, mustering a smile. She cradled her arm to her chest and grabbed the small pistol she'd been loading earlier. She was so busy checking the bullets that she nearly missed Christine's pointed look.

"What?" Nancy asked, all too innocently.

Christine held up her hands, busying herself with her shotgun. She wasn't touching that with a fifty-yard pole. Actually, she might rather the Demogorgon.

When Jonathan returned with the gauze, he made a beeline for Nancy. He ushered her onto the couch, bandaging her hand as gently as he could and comforting her in a hushed voice. Christine did her best not to listen. She sat back in the destroyed armchair, swallowing a quip about making sure the blood from her open wound was really sinking into the upholstery. As the other two whispered, she just grinned incredulously at the ceiling. She was third wheeling a monster-hunting date between Nancy Wheeler and Jonathan Byers. Her life truly could not get any worse.

There was only so much a girl could take.

"Is that too tight?" Nancy asked him as she wrapped his hand.

"N-No," Jonathan stuttered. "It's fine. Thanks."

Christine was staring resolutely at the boarded up wall across from her. She might not be looking, but she could hear their hitched breath as they sat too close to each other on the couch. Later, she would swear it was an involuntary cough she let out to break the silence.

"O-Oh, uh, Chris," Nancy said, finally remembering that there were other people in the room. "Come here. I'll um—I'll patch up your back."

"Uh, here!" Jonathan sprang to his feet, and offered the end of the couch. "I'll just…"

It would have been all too easy to make the situation worse. But Christine just smiled tightly, and took the seat. She couldn't help but feel some satisfaction at the low hiss Jonathan let out upon seeing the armchair. He took one look at her blood stain, and evidently decided to pace instead.

"So," he said, searching for something to talk about while Nancy worked on her shoulder. "Uh…that's your dad's?"

"Yup." Christine patted the shotgun in her lap. "Hasn't seen a lot of use."

"He doesn't hunt?"

"God, no. It's mostly just for show. I think he was always hoping to clean it in front of the first guy I brought home. Scare the shit out of him. Guess that didn't work out."

"You've still got time," Nancy laughed behind her.

"Maybe. If we make it out of this."

"Are you sure it works?" Jonathan asked skeptically. "I mean, can you use it?"

"Thanks for the confidence, Byers. Yeah, I know how to use it."

"Where did you learn how to shoot, anyway?" Nancy asked. "I don't think you ever told me."

"Long story short, my dad got invited to a shooting range for a work thing. He couldn't find a babysitter, so I ended up hanging out with a bunch of middle aged business men and learning to fire a Remington 11-48."

"Jesus. How old were you?"

"I don't know. Probably like nine?"

"Wow," Nancy laughed in disbelief. "And no one thought that was weird?"

"Eh, we were living Texas at the time. Not as weird as you'd think," Christine disregarded. "Besides, it's not like I make a habit of messing around with my dad's gun. I shot a tree once when I failed a math test, but…that's about it."

"I don't know," said Jonathan lightly. "After this, you might wanna pick up the hobby."

"Yeah, well. I don't think I'm the one who needs new hobbies."

Nancy's fingers faltered on Christine's shoulder, and the room stilled.

"Chris…"

"No. Look, I know you two have been through some shit, and we're not talking about it because he turned out to be useful, but that doesn't mean it's not creepy as hell."

"He apologized, Christine. I don't know what else…"

"Oh, he apologized to you? That's nice."

Jonathan stepped hesitantly into her field of view. He was picking at his fresh bandages, clearly uncomfortable. Christine wished it was bothering him more.

"Christine, I'm…I'm sorry. Really. I know I shouldn't have taken those pictures."

"No shit. So why did you do it?"

He didn't seem to have an answer for that. Even Nancy wasn't able to come up with an excuse to let him off the hook.

"No?" Christine prompted. "What was it for? Fun? Porn? Blackmail?"

"What? N-No!" Jonathan was spluttering. "Why would I do that?"

"I don't know. A bunch of pictures of us drinking and smoking and stuff? You tell me, Jonathan. You don't seem to like us much. Well, most of us."

"No, look, I—I just…I was out looking for Will, and—and sometimes when you're working with a camera, you don't even realize what you're shooting. You're so focused on the lighting and composition that you don't even realize what you're taking pictures of until later."

"Wow," Christine laughed dryly. "That's some focus you've got. To be so obliviously in the zone that you didn't realize you were taking pictures of teenagers for twenty minutes."

"Christine, stop," Nancy scolded. "Do we have to do this now?"

"Why not? We've got time to kill, right? Besides, I don't know why you're defending him. I mean, he took pictures of you in Steve's room."

"Well they're—they're gone now. So it doesn't matter."

"Of course it matters! The creep took pictures of you through a guy's window!"

"Right, I'm a creep," Jonathan said angrily. "And you're just Nancy's super concerned best friend. You know, I don't think you really get to play that card when you were calling her a slut a couple hours ago."

"Oh, no! You do not get to tell me what it is to be a good friend!"

"Fine! Next time I'll just get some spray paint, huh?"

"I had nothing to do with that!"

"Guys, stop it! Seriously!"

"Ha, right. So Tommy just climbed up on the marquee without any of the employees noticing, right? You're telling me you didn't turn the other way?"

"No, I didn't! I was on the phone with the cops because of your stupid pictures!"

"Both of you need to stop!"

Thunk.

All three of them stopped dead. Something was crunching the gravel outside, working its way up the driveway toward the house. Fighting forgotten, Christine already had her shotgun mounted on her shoulder. It was lucky she hadn't gone for trigger yet, because another bang made everyone jump. The front door rattled with rapid knocks.

"Jonathan? Are you there, man? It's—It's Steve! Listen, I just wanna talk!"

"Steve?" Christine repeated incredulously.

Nancy and Jonathan looked just as confused. The knocking continued on the door, until finally Nancy stood up to answer it.

"Don't!" Jonathan hissed, grabbing her wrist. "What—What if it's a trap?"

"What?"

"It's not a trap," Christine whispered with exasperation. "It's a Demogorgon, not a parrot. It doesn't even have a mouth!"

"We don't know what it can do!"

"Jonathan?" Steve was still pounding on the door. "Really! I'm not here to fight! I just need to talk to you!"

"Why does he want to talk to you?" Nancy asked, looking back at Jonathan.

"I don't know! Probably to try punching me again!"

"Well, he's not going anywhere," Christine hissed in frustration. "And he can't stay. Someone's gotta open the door."

"Okay, I'll—I'll go," said Nancy, ignoring Jonathan's protests. "Just cover me, okay?"

Christine nodded, notching the shot gun again. She moved against the wall, but kept her gun trained on the front door as Nancy stepped up. They exchanged a nervous look. Silently, they counted to three, and Nancy undid the chain lock.

"Steve, listen to me," she ordered, right over his rambling. "You need to leave."

"No, I'm not trying to start anything, okay?"

"I don't care about that. You need to leave."

"No, no, no, listen," he begged, still banging on the door. "I—I—I messed up, okay? I messed—I messed up! Okay? Really. Please. I just want to make things right."

He was still rambling. Nancy looked over to Christine for help, but all she could do was shrug and jab her gun at the door. Jonathan just waved wildly, miming slamming the door shut. Frustrated, Nancy scrambled for her own excuse.

"Look, Steve, I…"

"Hey, what happened to your hand? Is that blood?"

"Nothing!" Nancy's arm briefly disappeared into the gap as Steve grabbed for her hand, and she wrenched it back inside. "Noth—It was an accident."

"What's going on?"

"Nothing!"

"Wait a sec, did he do this to you?"

"No!" The door rocked as Steve tried to push past her, and Nancy tried to shove him back onto the porch. "No! No, Steve!"

"Nancy, let me in!"

With one final thrust, Steve came tumbling into the living room. He looked around wildly, ready to find Jonathan and his bruised knuckles. But he was woefully unprepared for everything else he found. His eyes were still bloodshot and discolored from the fight, which made them look even more panicked as they flicked around the room. Jonathan, the Christmas lights, the reinforced bat, the blood on the floor…

"What is…? What the—holy shit! Ch-Christine? Is that a gun?"

Christine looked down at the shotgun in her hands, the barrel still trained on Steve's chest. She pointed it quickly at the ground. "Sorry. Hey, Steve."

"You need to get out of here," Jonathan ordered, grabbing Steve by his green sweater.

"Whoa, no! What is all…?"

"Listen to me, I am not asking you. I am telling you, get out of here!"

"What is—What is that smell? Is that gasoline?!"

"Steve!" Nancy shouted over the commotion. She raised her own gun and replaced Christine's aim on Steve's chest. "Get out!"

"Nancy, stop!"

Jonathan was stumbling out of the way just as Christine was scrambling to her feet. Steve looked between them all hysterically.

"Wait! What? What is going on?"

"Nancy!" Christine leapt for Nancy's arm. They wrestled, Christine trying desperately to force the gun down while Nancy fought her off. "Stop, Nancy! You could hurt him!"

"He needs to go! You said it! Steve, you have five seconds to get out of here!"

"Or what?!" Christine screeched. "You'll fucking shoot him?!"

"Okay, is this a joke?" Steve demanded, his hands waving wildly in front of him. "Stop! Put the gun down!"

"I'm doing this for you!"

"Nancy, knock it off!"

"Hold on! Hold on, Nancy! Wait, is this a—What is this?"

"Nancy."

"Three…"

"No, no, no!"

"Nancy, don't!"

"Nancy!"

"Two…"

"NANCY!" Jonathan's bellow finally caught everyone's attention. "The lights!"

Everyone froze to look up at the ceiling. Somewhere in the midst of the panic, the Christmas lights had begun to flash. The room was lit up in scattered colors, blinding them sporadically with their intensity. Christine could hear the hum of the electricity like a high pitched whine in her ear.

"It's here," Jonathan breathed.

He jumped for the bat on the coffee table, and Christine finally freed Nancy's gun arm. She hoisted her own gun onto her shoulder and readied her finger on the trigger. Pressing her back to Nancy's, they turned to scan the room.

"Wait, what's here?" Steve demanded.

"Where is it?" asked Nancy.

"Where is what—whoa! Christine, easy with that!"

"Where is it?" Nancy demanded again.

"I don't know," said Jonathan, joining their circle. "I don't see it!"

"Your mom said the walls, right?" Christine asked. "Look at the walls!"

"Where is what?" Steve screamed. "Hellooo? Will someone please explain to me what the hell is going—…?"

Steve finally got his answer. But not because anyone spoke.

There was a tremendous crash, and all of them ducked as the ceiling cracked dangerously over their heads. Plaster and dust rained down on them, and a sound like tearing flesh ripped through the air. Christine swallowed a scream and squinted up at the ceiling. It was buckling under the weight of something, the last few pieces of spackle held together only by the thick, gooey vines that seemed to have grown underneath them. There was a sickening growl, and a slick, white something burst through the remains of the roof.

Christine did not wait for a better look.

In unison, she and Nancy spun around, shooting once, twice at the thing in the room. It squelched and squealed. Christine couldn't even tell if they were hitting it or if it didn't like the noise. Everyone was screaming, but she couldn't make it out over the ringing in her ears.

Someone grabbed the back of her shirt and yanked her back toward the hallway.

"Go, go, go!"

All thoughts of a plan flew out of her head. The only words she knew were "run" and "away." Run away from whatever was breaking through the ceiling, whatever had toppled heavily to the floor, whatever was roaring loud enough to shake the glass windows in their panes.

They ran down the hallway, vaulting over the bear trap and skidding into Will's room. Jonathan slammed the door shut and they all ran to get into position. Away from the flashing colored lights, it was easier for Christine to concentrate. It was easier to reload the gun, to point it at the door and step away from the pool of gasoline on the floor. She wanted to focus on the yo-yo, but there was still one thing annoying her.

"Oh my God! Oh my God! Je—Jesus! What the hell? What the hell was that?"

"SHUT UP!"

It was the only response Steve got from the three of them before the Demogorgon screeched again on the other side of the door.

Christine and Nancy raised their guns, Jonathan lifting the bat with one hand and the lighter with the other. He flicked it open and waited for the opportune moment. The spare lamps in Will's room were still flickering dimly. The house creaked as the Demogorgon crept down the hall, that unearthly clicking noise crawling through the door and under Christine's skin. But the door remained untouched.

"What's it doing?" Nancy demanded.

Jonathan swallowed thickly. "I don't know."

The smiley face on the yo-yo mocked them as they trembled.

The lights stopped flickering.

"Do…Do you hear anything?" asked Nancy.

"No," breathed Christine. "But that doesn't mean it's not there."

"No." Jonathan shut the lighter, looking around at the lamps. "No flickering, no monster."

"Monster?" Steve echoed weakly. "Oh shit, man. This…This is crazy."

Everyone continued to ignore him.

"Should we check?" Nancy asked.

"And then what?" challenged Jonathan. "What if it's there?"

"Then I shoot it."

"No, I shoot it," Christine said firmly.

"Why you?"

"Cause I've got the bigger gun."

No one had anything to say to that. Grudgingly, Nancy let Christine take the lead. Jonathan edged around to the door, his hand hovering over the door handle. He looked back to Christine, and once she nodded, he eased the door open. The creak of wood alone was enough to make her reconsider. But she thought of Barb, of the party, of Will standing up to this thing in the Upside Down for nearly a week. Her grip tightened on the gun, and she stepped out into the hallway.

There was nothing there. Her eyes followed the yo-yo string to the unsprung bear trap on the floor. The carpet was intact. The walls did not have cracks. There was no slime or clicking or monster.

Christine let out a sharp breath. She's been trying to whistle, but was too nervous to manage it.

Jonathan stepped out behind her, then Nancy and Steve. Those with weapons kept them ready, and they slowly picked their way back down the hall.

The living room was just as empty. A few more pieces of fallen furniture were the only sign that anything had been there at all. The dust and plaster had vanished from the floor, and the ceiling seemed to have healed.

When she was sure the room was clear, Christine hurried over to the corner that had split open. She tested her weight on the broken television and hopped on top. She peered up at the ceiling, looking for any fault or weakness. But it looked completely normal. Even when she jabbed it with the nose of her shotgun, it didn't give way.

She deflated. "Damn it."

"What?" Nancy asked with worry.

"Nothing. I just thought, if it was still open, I might be able to..."

"What, go after it?" asked Jonathan. "No. No, Christine, we do this on our turf. This is where the trap is. We can't charge into the Upside Down."

"The Upside Down?" Steve echoed. "What's the Upside Down?"

"No, it's not that," Christine said, ignoring him. "But if Will's in the woods behind your house, I mean...we're so much closer than the lab..."

"Chrissy, no," Nancy said resolutely. "What if it closed and you got trapped on the other side?"

"The other side of what? What's the Upside Down?"

"If it closed, I'd just go to the lab and find the gate."

"If you could get past the monster," Jonathan reminded her.

"Which we're trying to kill right now."

"Chris, stop," Nancy begged. "For all we know, killing this thing will shut the gate. You could get stuck on the wrong side forever, and—and I'm not losing you too!"

"This is crazy," Steve muttered, beginning to pace the edge of the kitchen. "This is—This is actually crazy. This is crazy. This is crazy. This is CRAZY!"

He pounced on the phone, actually managing to press a few buttons before Nancy snatched it out of his hands. She threw it on the floor, hard. The plastic shattered, and Christine had to restrain herself from shooting it for good measure.

"What are you—What are you doing?" Steve demanded "Are you insane?"

"Are you?" Christine challenged. "We can't call anyone! They could get hurt!"

"What are you talking about?! We could get hurt! We could get killed! We have to call the cops! That thing is—it's crazy! And…"

"And it's going to come back," Nancy snapped. "So you need to leave. Now."

Steve looked around at the three of them. Nancy, resolute with her pistol in hand. Jonathan, with the bat he'd hammered nails through for a weapon. Christine, standing on top of the broken television with a shotgun aimed at the ceiling. And there stood Steve, shaking like a leaf with his face beaten half to hell. He took one last look at all of them. And then he ran.

"Steve, wait!" Christine jumped to the floor, hurrying after him. "Come back!"

Nancy slammed the front door closed, rounding on Christine. "Christine, this is dangerous."

"No, I know! But he's…"

"If he stays here, he's just going to get hurt. When it comes back then…"

"But it goes after blood!"

"I know that! That's how we got it here!"

"Steve's bleeding," Christine insisted. "Jonathan split his face like a freaking grape! What if the Demogorgon goes after him instead? He can't be alone!"

Nancy hadn't considered that. Sadly, she didn't have time to.

The lights were already starting to flicker again. The room glowed and hummed, and Christine, Nancy and Jonathan scrambled into the middle of the room. Back to back, they rotated, looking up and down and every which way for any tell of the Demogorgon.

"Where is it?" Nancy was murmuring repeatedly. "Where is it?"

"Come on," Jonathan grumbled. "Come on, you son of a bitch."

"You see it?"

"No! Where…?"

"Come on! Where are you? Come on!"

"Quiet!"

The lights went out. Jonathan had finally stopped shouting, at first all they could hear was their own breathing. Then—there. There was the clicking sound. But it was all around them, as if it were pulsing through the lights instead of coming from the creature itself. Christine's head whipped back and forth, searching for the source. Then she looked up, and a trail of slime trickled onto her face.

She screamed.

The Demogorgon roared, and all three of them went flying in different directions. Christine stumbled forward, tripping over the debris on the floor and nearly wiping out. She fumbled with the gun. When she wheeled around, she got her first look at the monster.

It was huge—an understatement. The only reason it fit in the Byers' house was because it was hunched over, its long limbs folding in on itself at unnatural angles. The skin was pale and slick with slime. It had long arms and legs, knuckled talons at the end of each. There was a protrusion that should have been a head. But there was no face. There were no visible nose or eyes. Just a gaping mouth that unfolded like a lethal blossom, each petal lined with sharp teeth from tip to maw.

Christine dropped to one knee, shooting up to avoid Jonathan and Nancy. She caught the creature in the shoulder, which didn't seem to do much damage. The Demogorgon squealed and honed in on her. It roared, and bits of spittle flecked her face. Christine screamed back at it, and shot again.

This time, she clipped the edge of its mouth. The Demogorgon gave a gurgling cry and reeled back. Extending to its full height, its neck caught on the Christmas lights. It thrashed, back and forth, pulling real bits of the wall down with the nails. Christine had to dodge the projectiles.

"Chrissy, move!" Nancy screeched. "We have to move!"

Christine made a dash for the other side of the living room, but one of the Demogorgon's flailing limbs blocked her. She tried again, and this time the coffee table flew in front of her path, splintering against the wall. It clattered to the ground, the pieces stacking on top of the broken TV. Above them, slime was still dripping from the reopened hole in the ceiling.

Across the room, her eyes locked with Jonathan's. He nodded to her, and then raised his bat.

"Nancy, go! This is for my brother, you bastard!"

There was a sickening squelch as nails tore through the Demogorgon's flesh. Its scream shook the very foundations of the house. But Christine didn't have time to look. She took a running jump and vaulted herself off the table, punching through the hole in the ceiling.

If she had to describe it, she would've said it was like being ripped apart. As Christine's head broke the surface in one room, her legs were still weighing her down in the other. She had to tear at the vines to squeeze her arms through. Every piece fell upwards, hitting the floor that was above her head. Gravity was pulling her in two opposite directions, and her confused blood was rushing to her head. She spat out wads of spit and goo, trying to slide her torso further into the Upside Down.

"WILL!"

Her voice echoed and distorted off the filthy walls. It was exactly like the room she'd left, but cold and dark. The same dark vines covered almost every surface, blending with the Christmas lights that stretched out without bulbs. Pale particles floated through the air like dust motes, but large enough to be flower petals. Christine coughed as she breathed them in.

"Will! Will, where are you? We're—We're coming! Will, we're coming!"

She was out to her hips. Half her body through, her weight threatened to send her tumbling onto the floor over her head. She batted her stringy hair out of the way, trying to see if she had a clear fall.

"Will? Will! Answer me!"

"Christine?"

Someone was screaming in the distance, but it wasn't Will. With all the blood rushing to her ears, she couldn't even tell what direction it was coming from. It could have been from the portal just as easily as it could have been the woods.

"Will, we're here!" she screamed, one leg out to her knee. "The living room! Will, hurry!"

"Christine! Christine, is that you?"

"The house! Come to the house! We're—fuck!"

An ear-piercing scream ripped out of her throat as something closed around her ankle on the other side. It was crushing, and then yanking her back through the hole.

"No! N-No—Will! WILL! H-Help!"

She planted her elbows on the ceiling, trying to counter gravity. But whatever was pulling her was ten times stronger than she was. Her arms buckled, and no matter how much she clawed at the vines, her slimy arms could not find purchase.

"No! No, no, please! Help me! HELP!"

Christine was ripped back through the portal, gravity grabbing her all at once and dropping her body toward the floor. But her ankle was still held tight in the grip of the Demogorgon. She screamed again, shrieks breaking through her uncontrollable sobs as her leg twisted painfully and almost certainly broke.

The Demogorgon roared, and launched her body across the room. Christmas lights scratched her face and exposed skin, tangling in her limbs and ripping out of the wall as she flew. She slammed into the wall and landed hard. Someone screamed, but she kept her eyes shut tight. The lights hurt too much, and the world around her was an incomprehensible blur of sounds. Most of them were screams, some of them gunshots. She barely understood half of it.

"Christine!"

"Jonathan, move!"

"Go the hell, you son of a bitch!"

"Steve?"

"He's in the trap!"

"Jonathan, now!"

"Christine?"

"Holy shit…"

"Come on, Chrissy. Shit. Come on."

"Chrissy, please! Chrissy? Christine!"

Christine groaned, batting away the hands that were touching her face. She was met with sighs of relief, and a watery laugh she would have recognized anywhere.

"Knock it off, Nancy. Did I miss it? Where's…?"

"It's gone," Jonathan assured her. "We got it."

"Are you sure? It's…"

"Hey, hey, hey!"

She wasn't sure which one of them yelled louder as she tried to sit up. More hands than there should have been pushed her back down, and some moved to brush the hair out of her face.

"God, I—I told you not to do that," Nancy cried in a trembling voice. "I told you not to do that! You could've died! That was—That was so stupid!"

"Yeah, well. Since when do I listen to you?"

"Since now. Starting now. We listen to each other."

"Okay, yeah. Ow. That—That sounds like a pretty good deal."

"Can you move?" Jonathan asked.

"I don't know. Maybe."

There was some shifting, and each one of them grabbed her arms. They moved slowly, trying to limit the amount of times she cried out in pain. Eventually she managed to make it upright. Still, the world was tilting and swimming in front of her.

"O-Okay, hey! Hey, hey, Christine!" A warm voice was whispering in front of her, and she felt something moving back in forth in front of her face. "Come on, Chris, how—how many fingers am I holding up?"

Christine blinked her eyes open. Now she was sure she had a concussion. This was more confusing than the fight.

"Steve? What are you…? You came back?"

"Yeah," he said weakly. "Yeah, of course I did."

"Why?"

"Well, I…you know, I uh…cause you told me to. And I've gotta do what my lab partner says, otherwise I probably won't pass physics. I told you I couldn't survive another class on my own."

He patted her heavily on the shoulder, making her wince. Nancy quickly ushered him out of the way.

"Chris, I need you to talk to me. What hurts?"

"Um…everything? I'm pretty sure I flew across the room, so…"

"What hurts most?" Jonathan prompted. "Is there anything you can't move?"

It took a lot of mental work to count her limbs. She wasn't feeling up to it after being airborne. But she weakly tested her head, arms, and hands, not pausing until she tried her left leg.

"Ah! Fuck!"

"What?" Nancy asked. "W-What is it?"

"My leg," she breathed through clenched teeth. "Definitely my leg."

"O-Okay," Jonathan stammered. "I'll get you some ice. Don't move."

Christine desperately would have liked to snap back that she couldn't move anywhere, but her head hurt too much to manage it. The pain that had filled her body was starting to ebb, fading in some joints so it could redouble in others. Her head hurt like a bitch, as did her shoulder where she'd slammed into the wall. Her leg felt like it was on fire, and she was too much of a baby to look at it properly. She looked anywhere else instead.

The living room managed to look even messier than it had before. The carpet was singed and burnt, the combusted trail of gasoline leading into the hall. There was white foam where Jonathan had used the fire extinguisher, and the bloody bat lay abandoned by the door.

"Did it work?" she asked Nancy.

"Yeah. Yeah, it did. I shot it a couple more times and then Steve beat it down the hall into the trap. Jonathan lit it up and then…then it disappeared."

"It vanished?" Christine asked, her blood running cold. "You didn't see it?"

"No. But I don't think it's coming back here. If it's not dead, it's majorly injured. It doesn't have long."

"Not dead is still not dead. We—We have to call Hopper. We have to—shit, we have to get back to school."

"School?" Steve repeated disbelievingly. "Forget school, you need a damn hospital."

"Not until we know," she insisted. "Not until I know the kids are safe."

"Okay," Nancy conceded. "Okay, we'll—we'll patch you up and then drive back to the middle school."

"The middle school? What kids, your brother? I mean—does anyone want to explain what just happened here?"

Christine and Nancy shared a look. His panic might have been funny if the wounds weren't so fresh—both the figurative and literal. For now, it just made the whole thing seem even worse. Nancy was the one who finally sighed.

"It's complicated, Steve. And—thank you, seriously, for coming back. But it's probably best if you just…go home, and never talk about this again."

Steve didn't even think about it.

"No. No, I—I ran once, and that's when I realized I—I'm not putting this behind me. Okay? I'm—I'm not putting you behind me. I meant what I said, Nancy. I messed up. Big time. And if I have to beat the shit out of some—some horror movie monsters that look like…I don't know, fucked up poinsettias. If that's what I have to do to make it up to you, then so be it. I'm not going anywhere."

It looked like Nancy was about to cry. She nodded hastily, and shoved a painful smile up onto her face. Steve looked like he wanted to tuck her hair behind her ears, or rub his hand along her back. But he thought better of it, and placed it back on his knee. Nancy reached over and placed her hand on top of his.

Jonathan saved the moment before anyone could say anything.

"Hey," he said, holding up an ice pack and some towels. "Give her some air, you guys."

"Right," Steve said, getting his feet. "Hang in there, Walcott. You're a real badass."

Nancy led him away, only as far as the couch. She spoke to him in a low voice, simple words standing out like "Will," "Barb," "missing," and "dead." Christine was almost thankful when Jonathan ducked into her line of sight this time.

"Here. For your face."

He handed her a wet wash cloth. Christine assumed it was for the blood, but the tentative hand she brushed over her cheek disproved the theory. She wasn't bleeding. She was crying.

"Sorry," she mumbled, pressing her face into the fabric. "My leg just…really fucking hurts."

"Yeah, I know. It sucks."

He turned over his shoulder, glancing fleetingly at the couch. Christine bit her lip hard. She stared determinedly into his chest.

"Shut up, Jonathan. Just fix my leg."