In the end, it was Mrs. Henderson who gave her a ride home; Mrs. Henderson, distraught and nerve-stricken over her lost cat, who despite her glossy eyes was more than happy to leave her comfortable chair and let Rowen ride in her passenger seat for fifteen minutes.

Her, not Steve. Her, not the emotionally stable one who didn't look as if he was inching towards a breakdown every ten seconds. To her credit, the mother did not mention her beloved pet insistently, nor did she ramble on and on about where in the world she could possibly be; no, Mrs. Henderson, to her surprise, was more worried about Rowen and her own state within those fifteen minutes of rolling through the darkness and rolling between the woods that left Rowen feeling helpless and exposed, even if she was in a moving car. Somehow, someway, Mrs. Henderson had the will to focus on something else and Rowen found the largely unexpected concern comforting. It diverted her attention away from the tension that had swelled in the backyard and left her angry, baffled, but confused more than anything.

Rowen hadn't the patience nor the energy to try and silently figure out what it was that had nudged Steve into a state of annoyance and plain rudeness towards her . . . but, somehow, within those fifteen minutes and well after, she still had the energy to be angry at him — even if she was not entirely sure what reason she had to be, aside from the way his words relentlessly poked at a nerve. Aside from the way he was unapologetically being an ass.

She thanked Mrs. Henderson for the ride and wasn't surprised when she waved it off as nothing, sniffed, though tried to hide it. Rowen had almost forgotten her ire entirely until she closed the passenger door and realized the car she was chauffered in was the same color as Steve's and felt it come surging back. She pettily wished Mrs. Henderson's vehicle was a different color.

She made an effort not to break into a run once the engine roared and the taillights became the only thing she could see of her ride, to not burst through the back door and call out for Max, to find a small head of red sitting somewhere or falling asleep on top of her homework.

Instead, Rowen threw herself into the house and threw her bag into her room, called out her stepsister's name and satisfied her nerves with the simple greeting Max called back from wherever she had been. Rowen slouched, stayed in her bed until Max came in and left the bathroom free. She didn't have Billy to contend with that night, recalling how he casually — and almost inaudibly — mentioned he would be elsewhere. She really had to listen earlier in order to register the fact that he had implied that he would not be home until the morning, and finally remembered after her heart had begun to race for a moment, then gradually relaxed as her mind processed this information.

Because no latter had he gone did he come right back, much too early in the morning for her liking, blaring his stereo and shouting at Max to get out of the bathroom. They didn't have parents to tell them to be quiet, and wouldn't listen to her when she told them, half-awake and half-buried under her blanket, to shut up.

Rowen hadn't fully registered just what had happened the night prior and what kind of situation she had fallen into until she had to go outside, to get into Billy's car and search for her jacket, trudged down the creaky steps, and was presented with the bicycle she had thought she had left at the Wheelers' leaning up against the house.

. . .

〝 𝑖. monster hunting

DAY ONE :

In an almost ironic, turnabout way, Rowen had found herself right where she had begun upon arriving in Hawkins. Not physically, no; not standing on a sand-colored drive that painstakingly reminded her of home and her mother and where she wanted to be . . . no, not that. She found herself unable to tear her gaze away, trapped within a daze, from the brush of the woods and its bony fingers; just as she had when they first passed "Welcome to Hawkins", just as she had when she found herself with nothing to do, alone and lost and utterly bored, standing on the back porch. She had been a good distance away then. Safely separated from the tree lines that coaxed her in and oozed with that dead silence; the one that slithered and curled and always tried to wrap around her ankles. It couldn't reach her from the house . . . though now, now, she was much closer. Now, she was standing in front of a car whose memory had pissed her off, on a street Dustin referred to as Mirkwood, and had mere steps to take before she would find herself within those woods, caught in those bony fingers.

She didn't like it . . . She didn't like it at all. There was a reason she felt goosebumps and shivers and that feeling before she ever heard a shriek. Before she ever came face to face with an other-dimensional creature. Before she ever knew about the Upside Down and found herself stuck, somehow, someway, in a situation she was sure she never agreed to and yet found herself wrapped up in all the same.

Rowen did agree to it — silently, half-mindedly, because she felt an obligation. She just did not want to admit that she knew what she was doing was stupid before she even did it, and was willingly going into it. She didn't want to sike herself out and try bolting out the side door in order to save herself when they found themselves in the middle of things because, seriously, how selfish was that?

Besides . . even if she did, even if she was selfish, Dustin would simply drag her right back. His eyes would widen and he would put himself between her and her escape route, arms stretched, words incoherent, telling her she couldn't, she just couldn't; because somehow walking out on it — on them — with such knowledge was a worse fate than going through the thick of it and staying with them.

She didn't know why, but he insisted it was. He insisted and held his hand in the shape of a gun, pointed it at her head when she failed to understand the dangers. When she failed to understand that there were still "bad men" out there. Rowen wanted to scoff; she knew all about bad men . . just not this kind. Not the kind that would shoot her in the middle of the night if it meant one less person knowing about the rift and the girl and their mistake.

Again, she didn't like it.

She didn't like how Dustin resorted to dragging her through the brush and into the woods by tugging her wrist and had to bite her tongue when he had conveniently chosen to grab the one that had been bruised and made tender and hurt when he pulled her along. She wasn't about to let out a cry or hiss or any sign that she was in pain, though . . They had enough problems without Dustin being overly curious and making her show him her wrist and let Steve see it and have to give excuses that would go right through them the same way they went through Hopper; because, somehow, Rowen could lie about anything when there wasn't proof to make people think otherwise, but when there was, she stumbled.

She was thankful she had chosen to wear very long sleeves that day . . . She was not, however, even remotely thankful for Dustin's map and supposedly quick route to the junkyard he had chosen as their baiting spot.

Early November in Hawkins meant leaves of various shades of brown falling in thick piles, wet from the rain, breaking and mixing with dirt to make one mushy surface. The trees were so closely woven together that she was sure bikes couldn't even squeeze through in certain places, roots intertwining, spewing about and covering dips in the ground. It did not seem they would ever reach a place where they thinned out, and after what seemed like an age, the train tracks didn't seem any closer. Rowen was starting to believe Dustin had gotten them lost. She was starting to believe he had no idea where he was actually going.

"Okay . ." she sighed, stepping over a particularly decomposed tree. "Are we getting any closer or are we just lost?"

"We're not lost. We're almost there."

"The train tracks aren't even on the map," Steve said. "How do you know we're close?"

"Just trust me, okay?" said Dustin. "We went this way last year and found the tracks no problem."

"And how long did it take you to find them last year?" Rowen asked. She paused before she began trudging down a slop Dustin had already cleared, decided to take smaller steps so she would not slip. Her converse were not the most reliable shoes.

"I . ." he trailed off and she took his silence as an answer. "I — it doesn't matter. The point is, we got there. Okay?"

"Did you get there before or after the sun went down?"

"Why do you want to know so badly?"

"Because. Dustin, I really don't want to be in the middle of the woods, barely able to see when Dart decides to show up, alright?"

"It didn't take that long, Rowen. You're just paranoid —"

"Okay," Steve butted in. "Forget about how long it took you to get there last time for a second. If we're lost, we need to find another way to the tracks that won't take us all — . ." he trailed off as all three of them came to a slow halt. The trees had finally thinned, giving way to a short dip in the ground that led to rusted metal.

Dustin turned to them with a triumphant smile.

". . day. Huh."

The sigh that escaped Rowen's mouth was more relieved than she had expected. She ruffled the hat that covered Dustin's curls and continued ahead of them, treading carefully down the dip and up to the rails.

. . .

〝 𝑜𝑛𝑒.

Leaving a trail for Dart when his whereabouts were unknown was a much more tedious task than when Dustin was certain the creature had burrowed a hole in the corner of his room. He knew where to begin said trail then, which way it needed to go, how long it needed to be . . . If she was being overly optimistic, they did, at least, know which way it needed to go this time because they had to, in the end, lead it to them.

As for everything else, however . . . well, they might as well have been grasping at straws.

Rowen quickly learned as they set down the train tracks that Dustin had made the executive decision to be extremely conservative with the length of their baiting trail; because, somehow, though the length that the woods stretched was long, it did not hold a candle to the length of the rusted, metal tracks. Steve plopped buckets to the ground, distributed the meat chunks they had lugged through roots and mushy leaves. Dustin gave her yellow gloves that were painstakingly bright and, turning his headset on, began to lead the task with a confident nod.

That confident nod soon faded into a sulky walk.

Somewhere along the way, he had admitted that the whole reason Dart had been in his room was that the thirteen-year-old was sentimental and completely clueless until it was too late. The other reason stuffed under that 'whole reason' had, to her blatant surprise, everything to do with Max and the assumption that she would somehow find a slug-creature cool.

Rowen could not have hidden her amusement if she tried. Max may skateboard and wear clothes that she had hoped, but wasn't surprised the boys stereotyped . . but that didn't mean slimy, interdimensional slugs were on the list of things she found interesting. Things like that were, in fact, some of the very last things she found interesting.

And Rowen, having an intense distaste for anything crawly, slimy, or buzzing, was right there with her.

Somehow Steve had taken an imaginary hint and began to give Dustin a pep talk — of which neither of them asked for, but got all the same. She had to refrain herself from laughing at the ridiculousness of what he said, of how he talked about storms and hair and made her, along with Dustin, swear that if they mentioned him and Ferra Fawcett products in the same sentence, they would be six feet under.

Rowen did not intend on making any such promise, but she let him believe that his secret was safe.

On a different note, she had to swallow the urge to throw meat at him with the number of times he mentioned "not caring" as if it was the key to everything; as if it was some kind of metaphor that made women and flirting so much clearer. She was clenching her fists, throwing meat chunks a little too forcefully. Maybe it was the history she had had with guys who "didn't care" . . maybe it was the irritation that came with his attitude for the last twenty-four hours . . maybe it was because that "talk" that he just gave Dustin reminded her of Billy and she did not like how closely Steve was starting to resemble him in that instance.

Maybe she had trauma and issues and was frustrated because she couldn't call him out on it in the way she wanted because calling out meant explaining things she did not want to reopen.

"I said medium well!"

Maybe she should have paid more attention to her stepsister and her whereabouts.

"Rowen?!"

"Oh, no," Rowen shook her head. "No no no no. Absolutely not. What is Max doing here?!"

. . .

〝 𝑡𝑤𝑜.

To say she may have put the fear of God into Lucas Sinclair without intending to when they spoke might as well have been an understatement. She really had not meant to make him cower like that, in a way that wasn't just typical older-person reprimanding. It wasn't just a mirror image of parental scolding given by someone who it seemed he did not expect it from, it was not simply the fact that he had brought Max into a potentially dangerous — no, an obviously dangerous — situation . . . It was the way his expression changed when he figured out that Rowen was Max's stepsister, that Rowen was related to Billy, that made Rowen take a step back and take a look at how intensely she was speaking to this kid.

She did not mean to make him flinch, she really didn't; in the same way she had not meant to shout at Dustin for trapping Dart on his own, even if it was stupid . . stupid as hell. She hadn't meant to do a lot of things ever since she stepped foot into Hawkins, onto that sand-colored drive, onto the track field and into the back alley and police station and why could she never say anything normally — . . .

"Hey, dipshits! We lose light in thirty minutes, let's go!"

"Alright, asshole, geez!"

Thankfully, she hadn't scared Lucas to the point where approaching him was no longer an option. He had nearly frozen on the spot and given her a slightly wide-eyed look that said "Why are you coming up to me? What did I do now?" . . but he hadn't tried to dodge her; and when she apologized as well as she could, explained that she was just protective and that Max was important to her and Max was all that really mattered to her in this situation now . . he relaxed. He nodded and said he got it, that it made sense.

"We just really liked her, you know? Dustin and me. We wanted her to be a part of the party, but . . . but —"

"But knowing about interdimensional slugs and where Will really went is a part of being in the party?"

After everything Dustin had told her, Rowen found it a lot easier to read these kids.

He nodded again. "Yeah . ."

There was a reoccurring theme of assuming Max would like slugs and other dimensions, she realized — and wasn't surprised to see — between the two thirteen-year-old boys that were now collecting pieces of metal — doing it a little too haphazardly, she noted with a tinge of older-sibling worry.

She wondered where they could have possibly picked up on those assumptions and mannerisms and things that just plain confused her, because the logic of it made no sense at all . . . She wondered if the person that was trying to lift more than he could right now was the source of it, was beginning to think he probably was.

Rowen had planted herself on the bus steps because somehow she resembled Dustin's mother too much when she tried helping them collect things, tried keeping them from slicing their hands open on something rusted and sharp. Somehow she could not lift giant pieces of metal, either — didn't want to, really — and left it to Steve to do that part of the work.

He didn't seem like he was much better than her, though.

"Steve, you're gonna hurt yourself . ." she had said it a little too casually, though she had a faint assumption that that wasn't why he looked as if he hadn't heard her.

"St — you — . . hey, c'mon don't do that —"

She was cut off by a resounding crash and sighed, leaned her chin in her palm as she watched him pull himself out of a metal pile that had fallen on top of him. He stood and brushed at his pants, flung his wrist as if something had hit it or bent it but didn't matter enough for him to stop. He still wasn't looking at her directly, she noted . . not as they all began to carry out Dustin's plan, not as she tried stopping him before he fell under a pile of metal, not as he got up and resumed as if nothing had happened . . It was beginning to irritate her again; though Rowen, now with the memory of Dustin's face and Lucas's face when she let that part of her take over, made herself take in a breath and try a calmer approach.

"I'm not Medusa, you know," she said, and that had caught his attention.

What she could see of Steve's face contorted into confusion. Eventually, he questioned, "Medusa?"

Rowen deadpanned. "Yeah, you know . . Greek mythology? Perseus?" That did nothing to bring him out of the woods. She sighed, a little frustrated with his lack of knowledge. With the lack of knowledge from most people, truthfully. She had met very few who were familiar with Greek Myth. "The snake-head lady who can turn people into stone when they look at her . ."

His realization appeared in the form of a tight-lipped scowl, a weak glare at the obscurely shaped piece of metal he was trying to lean against the side of the bus. "Right . ." he muttered.

"Am I your Medusa?" she ventured, pressing that annoyance down. "Or is barely looking at me just some new habit you picked up?"

His jaw clenched. "No . ." he muttered again, trying to keep the scrap metal up. It was clear it would not, but he groaned anyway and kept trying while it kept working against him. Steve settled for pushing at the piece with a frustrated shove and, once giving up, averted his gaze towards her.

She could not read much from the expression on his face, never mind that he kept looking away, then back, then away again. He looked irritated. He looked like he was about to take the pieces of metal and throw them into oblivion for being so useless.

"C'mon, what'd I do?" She already knew — thought she knew — but she tried it anyway.

He looked away again, took another attempt at making a barrier on their side of the bus.

"You didn't do anything," he said.

Rowen gaped just a little at his bent frame. He was trying his luck with another scrap of metal Lucas had brought over. "I had to 've done something . ."

"No . ." Steve countered simply, meekly, letting the metal fall onto the side of the bus with a thunk. It was as if he knew what he had been doing but was just coming to terms with it. He chanced a look at the kids, though the kids were too engrossed in finding as much metal and makeshift protection as they possibly could to be paying attention to anything else. "No, it's . . . I don't hate you if that's what you're worried about."

"Then what?" she pressed. "What is it? Is it because I yelled at you? . . I mean, if you're mad at me, I get it —"

"No — Jesus, no," he interrupted. "That's not it, it's just . . ." Steve paused, glared at metal surrounding them. He sighed at it. "It's just your brother."

Rowen tried to ignore the drop her stomach took. ". . My brother?"

"Yeah . ." he bit. "Yeah, your stupid, mine-is-bigger-than-yours brother —"

"Steve . ." she began to warn.

"No — listen, I'm sorry, but he's an ass, alright? What kind of decent person threatens you in a locker room? Or threatens you at all?"

"He threatened you?"

"Yes, he threatened me . ." Steve said. "He threatened me, because someone saw us coming out of Melvalds and spilled their guts, and he said that if I didn't leave you alone that he'd — . ." He trailed off . . but, somehow, Rowen knew exactly how that sentence was going to end.

Suddenly the past few days were beginning to make more sense to her. She let out a long, grumbling sigh and leaned her face in her hand.

"I wanted to tell you that it wasn't you," he continued, quieter, "that it was him but . ." he shrugged, "I didn't know how."

Rowen had turned her gaze towards the silhouettes of the kids when he said that. They were beginning to argue, though the way she shook her head wasn't due to their bickering. "No, it's fine," she dismissed, though she hadn't wanted to. "I get it . . . He has that effect on people."

The disappointed, almost defeated tone in which she spoke only made a frustrated sigh come from Steve's mouth. He was far from understanding any part of the situation — any real part — she knew that . . but he was, at least, seeing the way Billy used his influence, the way he did things and said things and the way that, somehow, he made people do other things. Stupid things. Things you did when you were scared or intimidated or simply had no idea how to act.

Some deep-set paranoia that she knew came from her dad liked to creep up when Billy would mirror his mannerisms or his habits or those moments when he just wasn't someone she wanted to be around; and she hated that she did, feel that feeling, even if she hadn't acted on it as much as she used to. Even if she ignored him and did what she wanted, said what she wanted, that feeling was still there . . She wanted it gone. She wanted him to quit — wished he would — making other people feel that feeling.

It made them scared. It made them do dumb things.

It made her wary of making friends.

"I didn't mean to say it like that, you know," she admitted. Steve looked up from his failed attempt at a barrier. "When I said I thought we shouldn't hang out anymore. It's just . . with Billy, with everything that's been going on . . . Shit, not even with him. With me, it's just — . ." Rowen hesitated, bit her lip. "Everything is just — hard . . . I don't feel like I can keep up with friendships right now but I didn't know how to explain that to Samantha. Or you."

She glanced at him long enough to see that his gaze had fallen to the pile, that he was taking in what she was saying. Or maybe she had just unloaded and he didn't know how to respond, if at all.

That was when he did. When Steve let out a breath as if he was coming to some realization and giving in to it despite everything.

But she didn't catch that. She felt embarrassed. "Did I just unload on you?" she guessed, leaning back on her elbows. She could feel the cold touch of the bus floor through her sweater.

"No, no — . . . Well, yeah, you kinda did. But it's not that, it's . ." he trailed off, tried putting his words together. "That was kind of how I was — last year. After we found Will. It's not the same, I know but . . when we came back to school, things just — didn't feel the same. I used to talk to everyone, but . . after that, all I wanted was to be left alone. I felt drained all the time. Except for when I was with Nancy, but . ."

Even saying her name stung; Rowen could see it all over his face, recalling the times before.

". . That was different, you know?" he continued, trying his hand at the scrap metal again. "She knew about everything. Hell, she went through way more than I did. It was . ."

"Easier?"

"Yeah . . way easier." He paused, held a piece of metal in his hands as if he didn't know what to do with it before looking at her again. "Listen, don't feel bad about it. Okay? Even if you hated my guts like Billy just — . . don't."

"I don't hate you," she said without thinking. She had to steel herself to hide her shock at how quick that came out . . but it was true. She didn't.

She hadn't seen the way Steve looked at her.

"So, what? Do you think we should just . ." he shrugged after a moment, sounding defeated himself. They were back to the topic of Billy and his threats. ". . avoid each other from now on?"

Rowen scoffed, gave a smile completely devoid of humor. "We can't exactly do that now, can we?" She turned to him and saw he was giving her a confused look. "Dustin said only a few of you know about all this, right?"

"Yeah . ." Steve drawled. "And?"

"And how are we going to avoid each other when we both know what's going on around here?"

The expression that came along with his raised brow was enough to tell her what he was thinking. He was thinking she had made a point, and now she was really wondering what would happen when all of this was over . . . if there was a when, anyway.

Rowen's face lit up with a kind of sour realization. "God, even Samantha," she said, exasperated. "He doesn't like anyone, at all . . . I'm surprised he's not badgering me every time I go out."

"I'm not," Steve said. "You're the older one."

"You know that doesn't mean shit, right?"

His brow furrowed. "No, I didn't . ." he drawled.

"Being the older sibling counts for very little in my case," she explained, bitter. "Hanging out with whoever, being the proverbial 'one in charge' . . You really think I could have all that with him around?"

The expression on her face and the tone with which she spoke made the confusion on Steve's own slowly melt until there was nothing but a bitter, defeated kind of realization mixed with an understanding that he could not hide, not after seeing Billy for himself. It was that same realization that morphed into knowing, that morphed into uneasiness. That confirmed her suspicions . . . That made her hate, oh so hate her dad for everything he did.

Rowen took in a breath, exhaled, and said, "Being related to him isn't some — pass. Some scapegoat . . . Where you're threatened, I'm tolerated. Where you know why he's acting the way he's acting towards you, I have no clue."

The realization and understanding that had lingered on Steve's face only felt heavier after she said what she said, and she caved first, looking down to her hands and she fiddled with them, felt the bus steps creak under her foot as she moved it.

Rowen frowned, stared at the dead grass and the shadows cast over junk and other things. The sun was beginning to set. She could feel Steve's gaze on her, as if what she had said settled with him in some way. Rowen looked up and he looked away.

A moment of metal clanking against metal settled over them, the distant sound of Dustin's complaints and Max's temper getting the better of her. Eventually, it was broken.

"I'm sorry," Steve muttered to the metal. "For . . well, all of it, I guess. All of that douchebag shit."

Rowen looked to him, then looked to the ground beneath them, trailed until she stopped and rested her stare on her shoes. Eventually, she muttered in return, "You shouldn't . . I'm the one who should be apologizing."

A piece of metal screeched, then it was silent. She looked up again and saw how he was kneeling, giving her a slightly baffled look.

"What? I'm capable of it."

"No," he breathed, a laugh escaping his mouth. "No, I know. I just . ."

"Didn't expect that from Medusa?" she guessed, brow raised. Steve gave her another look and, after all of that, Rowen felt it was alright for her to smile then — genuinely smile — even if only a little. Steve tried to hide it, but he began to smile too.

. . .

〝 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑒𝑒.

6:20 PM

Rowen had a bad feeling about this. She really, truly, had a bad feeling about this; in the same way Harrison Ford did in that space movie she could not remember the name of for the life of her. All she remembered of it was his snarky, slightly panicked comments, how she had let her mom drag her to it and sit in a theatre that was so small and cramped, yet was one of her better memories despite the smell and the fact that it had been only a few weeks before her life turned on its head. Before her mom left . . . before things quit being simple and enjoyable but rather an excuse to escape.

She could not escape from this; not when she was neck-deep into a half-baked plan made up by a thirteen-year-old and sitting in a bus which she could not and did not think would be able to protect them all from something that she was almost positive had more teeth than a shark . . .

Then again, what did she know?

"Rowen . ."

"Hm?"

"Stop looking at your watch."

She cursed under her breath. "Sorry . ."

"How long are we supposed to wait for this thing to show up anyway?" Max asked.

"Till he shows up," Dustin stated.

"So we could be here all night, basically . ."

It wasn't a question, they all knew that . . but Rowen knew the underlying meaning of Max's words, too. Words that said: If my stepbrother gets back before us, we're going to have to do a lot of explaining when we come home at ass o'clock in the morning.

"If that's what it takes," said Dustin, determined.

The stepsisters shared a wary glance.

"It's not going to take us all night . ." Steve was the one to answer this time, speaking with certainty as he flicked his Zippo open. "We know this thing likes meat, so we know it's going to take the bait . . but we left a long trail. We just have to give it time to get here."

Max looked to Rowen for any reason to doubt what he said, but Rowen only gave her a grudging nod, and Max leaned further into her seat. She crossed her arms.

"So . . you really fought one of these things before?" she asked Steve. He nodded. "And you're like totally, one-hundred percent sure it wasn't a bear?"

Rowen sighed at Max's stubborn disbelief. She didn't blame her, but Rowen figured that after being told twice and having her own relative explain to her that yes, these things were real, Max's doubt would have begun to dissipate a little.

"Max I told yo —"

"Shit, don't be an idiot," Dustin snapped, cutting her off. "Okay? It wasn't a bear. Why are you even here if you don't believe us? . . Just go home."

Rowen all but expected Dustin to be cradling his nose or rubbing his cheek after barking at Max in the way he did . . but she never moved. Her arms stayed crossed and all she did was glare at him with the familiar 'excuse me?' expression she would give Billy. Rowen, albeit taken aback by Dustin, was a little proud she found some restraint.

Max rolled her eyes and stood. "Geesh. Someone's cranky," she said, wrapping a hand around the ladder they had placed under the roof hatch. "Past your bedtime?"

She climbed until she reached the top, disappearing from their sight.

"That's good . . Show her you don't care."

Rowen might as well have snapped her gaze over to Steve with the way his words hit a nerve; they were much too familiar to other words she had heard before, things she had seen happen up close and personal. She felt for the nearest object, threw what she soon realized was an empty can towards him. Steve jumped in his seat as it hit his arm, but saved himself from falling over in an ungraceful manner.

He gaped at her. "The hell was that for?"

"That was not good. Okay?" she snapped. "What's with you and this 'acting like you don't care' crap?"

"What's with you and throwing things at people?"

Steve brushed off his arm as if having a rusted can hit it was so offensive, Rowen rolled her eyes. The opening and closing of his lighter resumed and Dustin continued to pace, wandering back and forth with a blank look as if he had never heard their short-lived bickering.

Rowen wondered if he hadn't. He had been pacing so much that she was ready to believe he would wear a hole in the bus floor; and after Max gave her retorts, put distance between herself and him, he seemed to deflate. It made her frown.

"Dustin? You alright?"

"Yeah . ." he muttered, though his demeanor never changed; it didn't even flinch.

He collapsed into the seat Max had occupied, chancing glances at the opening above them. Rowen turned her gaze up to it as well, just barely able to see the tips of Max's shoes. She was bobbing her feet.

Rowen pursed her lips, looking back to Dustin. "You have to cut her some slack," she tried, head leaning back against the torn bus seat she had claimed. "You guys have fought a Demogorgon, I've seen one. All she's done is taken our word for it."

"I know," he grumbled quietly. "I didn't mean to get in her face. I'm just nervous."

Rowen breathed out a laugh. "That makes two of us."

"Three of us," Steve muttered to them, gaze pinned on his lighter.

"All of us," Dustin added, and they believed him. ". . You know, having dealt with a Demogorgon before doesn't make it any less scary."

They said nothing . . though Rowen hoped the look she gave him was enough to tell him that yeah, she understood. How could it not be scary?

She barely had time to sigh at the weight of it all before a deafening roar rattled the bus they sat in. Steve jolted this time, Dustin stood immediately . . . and Rowen, albeit startled, pushed herself up and crossed to the other side of their hideaway. She put herself between the two, tried peeking through the grated opening. Fog had long since settled over the junkyard and blurred out the majority of what lied on top of dead grass and weeds . . blurred cars and barrels and old junk people discarded in this remote, abandoned place. They might as well have added themselves to the junk pile with the way they blended into everything.

No one knew they were there . . the same way she never knew farmers had been walking in the woods until she caught one or two appear from the brush.

Rowen noticed a lot of things tended to appear out of nowhere in Hawkins; in the woods, in rooms, in houses, in parking lots and arcades and backyards that went on for miles. Somehow the sprawl of the junkyard only made it harder to see things in the dark — as if the fog made it any easier.

For all they knew, Dart could be feet from them and ready to pounce.

"Do you see it?"

"No . ."

"Lucas!" Dustin called. "What's going on?"

"Hold on!" Lucas shouted. They waited. "I've got eyes!" he shouted again. "Ten o'clock! T — ten o'clock!"

Steve pointed between the holes they peered through at a figure a few yards away. "There."

The silhouette she squinted at was blurred by the fog, barely visible from where they stood, hidden from it. At the very least, she could tell that it was an animal . . but, somehow, despite the vagueness of it, despite the silence . . Rowen knew without a shadow of a doubt that that silhouette belonged to what they had been waiting all night for.

She shuddered when it began to move.

"What's he doing?" Dustin asked.

Steve shook his head "I don't know."

"It's just standing there . ." Rowen observed. "Why is it just standing there?"

"It's not taking the bait," he muttered.

"I thought you said it would?"

"I did! I thought it would, but . ."

"Maybe he's not hungry?" Dustin offered.

". . Maybe he's sick of cow," Steve offered in return.

A heavy beat passed as he exchanged a look with Rowen.

She swallowed, glanced between the two. "So, uh . . what — what do we do?"

She never received an answer to her question. Steve stepped away from the window without a word, made the bus creak under his shoes. She turned around to see what he was doing . . but he did nothing but stand there, stare out their little window.

"What?" she asked, wondering if she was missing something he had picked up.

Steve's gaze shifted to her . . but still, he said nothing. When he grabbed his bat from the other side of the bus, he caught Dustin's attention, too.

"Steve? Steve, what are you doing?" he asked. Nothing. Dustin poked at her arm. "What's he doing?"

Rowen cast him a sideways glance, but she never said a word, either . . . not until Steve tossed her his Zippo, and suddenly she realized just exactly what he was doing.

She gaped at him, then at the lighter in her hands, then at the junkyard, then at him again. "You — . . you're an idiot. Like truly, completely an idiot."

"So I've been told," he said flatly. "Just be ready."

Steve marched towards the front before either of them could protest, bat gripped tightly in his hand. The door screeched under his touch, not at all quiet, not at all discreet. She supposed it didn't matter, though . . . Not when he was using himself as bait.

Bringing attention to himself was the idea.

Both she and Dustin rushed back to the window, peaking through the grate, waiting . . . Steve took his time to step away from the bus. He was hesitant and she didn't blame him for it. If he changed his mind and decided to come back inside, she wouldn't blame him for that either . . . but he did not. Steve kept going.

He began to whistle at the creature as if he was calling a lost pet, bat swinging back and forth in his hand like a pendulum.

She exhaled a long breath, mumbling, "I swear to God if he gets eaten . . ."

"He won't."

Now Rowen was gaping at Dustin. "Dustin, he's offering himself up as monster food —"

"What's he doing?" she heard Max ask from behind her, descending the ladder with loud steps.

Rowen and Dustin spoke simultaneously.

"Being an idiot."

"Expanding the menu."

Max squeezed herself between them, peeking through the grated window herself.

Steve was still swinging his bat, whistling, treating the Demogorgon like it was a wary dog not so trusting of the food or the person that sat in front of it . . . Then his whistling stopped.

"C'mon, buddy . ." they heard him try. "Dinner time. Human tastes better than cat, I promise."

That was when Max caught up with the other two, realizing. "He's insane," she stated.

"He's awesome . ." Rowen heard Dustin object giddily.

The wind chose this time to blow. It whistled softly, but it was strong enough to cause the fog to move faster than it had been on its own. The mist which covered the ground parted . . the silhouette was no longer just a silhouette.

They knew what was coming. They expected to see Dart . . When the fog cleared, however . . it revealed something she quickly found was much more horrifying. Dart was indeed what they saw: no face, all leathery and hunched. His tail still twitched as it did when he was devouring Mews. Only . . only, now, he was three times bigger. It was intimidating as hell.

She could hear him growl from where they hid.

"Steve! Watch out!" Lucas's sudden shouts startled them.

"I'm a little busy here!" Steve shouted back.

"Three o'clock! Three o'clock!"

Lucas was warning him. Rowen tried peering into the darkness where he implied something else stood waiting. She squinted, looked through the piles of junk and broken down cars, trying to spot something, anything that was moving . . . Then her eyes widened. "Oh my god . ."

There, propped on top of one of the cars, was another creature. There, standing on either side, were two more crouched low to the ground . . . and they all had their sights set on Steve. There were four of them now.

"Wait — there's more of them?!" Max questioned, shocked.

"Where the hell did they come from?" Dustin thought aloud.

Rowen began to shake her head, stepping away from where they watched . . . Steve was going to get himself killed. She bolted to the front of the bus, yanked the door open.

"Steve!" she shouted. "Get back, now!"

Dustin quickly clambered over to her side. "Abort!" he yelled. "Abort!"

But Steve wasn't listening.

He took notice of the other creatures behind him. With his bat raised defensively, his head jerked around, looking at one, looking at the other, looking between them as they all wheezed out inhuman growls.

None of them moved, not until the one who appeared first screeched, face opened up to display an array of teeth. It charged, and Steve made a break for it. He dodged it, running, then rolling over the hood of one of the cars as another pounced and missed. Steve whacked the last which lunged his way as if it had been a baseball. It flew back in the same manner, and that was when she and the kids began to shout again.

Max and Lucas joined them by then, all shouting for Steve to hurry, jump back into the safety of the bus.

This time, he did.

Steve launched himself inside the bus, the door was yanked closed, Rowen was knocked back into the front seat. Max held onto the side, holding her hand in a death grip. Lucas stood beside Max, Dustin almost fell into Rowen's lap, but he pushed himself back up. Steve sat in front of all of them, hurriedly reaching for a sheet of metal to cover the door as the multiple Darts rammed themselves against it, trying to break the glass.

"Holy shit!" Dustin cursed.

"Are they rabid or something?!"

"They can't get in!" Lucas shouted frantically. "They can't!"

But his assurances weren't so assuring.

Just as he blurted out the words, the bus jolted roughly, tilting backward almost as if it was about to topple over. They all screamed to some degree, clinging to either the bus or each other as the entire thing was pushed one way, then falling back the next. Rowen now knew how the fish she won at the carnival felt when she wrestled against a seven-year-old Billy, trying to keep the bowl she put her beloved fish in from falling off of the kitchen counter.

The Darts, Demogorgons, whichever it was, she could hear how they roughly threw themselves against their hideaway. Whether rocking them back and forth to see if it would make them fall out or trying to shake off the layers of scrap metal they piled up around it . . . they were doing something. She just wished she knew what it was so she knew what she had to do . . . but she didn't have enough time to think.

Steve's feet slipped off of the sheet of metal they were holding against the door and a clawed hand immediately burst through.

They screamed again.

"Move, now! Go!" Rowen shouted, ushering the three kids away from the front to a safer space. They bolted to the back of the bus, hid behind the seats. Rowen positioned herself in front of the ladder, in front of them. She could feel Max come up behind her, hear her heavy breathing.

Dustin grabbed for his headset. "Is anyone there?! Mike! Will! GOD! ANYONE!"

Claws pierced through the back and the kids stumbled.

"Guys back away! Now!" Rowen ordered, waving them towards her.

All three scrambled over to her sides, Lucas and Dustin near the window while Max stepped past her, gripping onto the ladder. Rowen's heart was pounding furiously, so much so that it was unexpectedly difficult to breathe. She was shocked she was even moving with the way she had expected the utter terror to hold her still, frozen, keep her feet planted wherever she stood.

Steve was still near the door, vigorously whacking at the Demogorgon which had broken through. Max was trying not to panic, Lucas had gone mute . . Dustin was still yelling into his headpiece.

"We're at the old junkyard," he continued, attempting to calm himself down so he could speak clearly. "And we are going — to die!"

BOOM . .

Loud noises had a knack for showing up as they finished their sentences. Another came from the top of the bus, made both her and Max jerk around, wide-eyed at the back . . . but it seemed they were the only ones to catch it. It was only when the booms grew louder — closer — that the boys stopped as the stepsisters had. Max was frozen, all but attached to the ladder with Rowen right behind her. Lucas and Dustin planted themselves like statues.

Now she was sure they were in a horror movie . . because she quickly realized that the booms were footsteps, and they were approaching the hatch above them, left wide open and unguarded. Did she dare look up?

She did . . . and so did Max, who was but a few feet away from the nightmarish creature now above them. It stood above them like a predator, grabbed at the top of the ladder with one clawed hand and craned its head down, gurgling the way Dart did when Rowen first found him.

Staring it in the eye pushed Max from panicked to terrified.

She screamed louder than she ever had, and Rowen's instincts kicked into high gear. She grabbed Max by the arm and wrapped her own around her shoulders, pulling her back while Steve appeared from the front just as she did so.

"Out of the way!" he ordered. "Out of the way!"

He pushed both of them behind him with one hand, pointing his bat at the Demogorgon with the other.

"You want some?! GET THIS!" he shouted as it unleashed an ear-splitting roar, unveiled rows upon rows of teeth and spit and a mouth she was sure was ready to lunge forward and snatch Steve upward like he was another meal.

For a moment, Rowen feared that that was what they were about to see; to see the Demogoron tear him into bloody pieces and then come for the rest of them. It made her grip around Max tighten.

But . . .

But then the roaring suddenly stopped, and the creature turned its head and teeth and horrifying screech away from them. It pushed itself from the ladder and peered beyond the junkyard, beyond what they could see from inside . . . A softer, though just as deep and guttural roar sounded from its throat, towards something else . . something else that was producing the same sound — a far off echo of the one above them.

They were communicating.

She could not see the Demogorgon above them move its feet and position itself to leap from the bus but, once it did — once all four of the creatures did — their hideaway jerked left, jerked right, tossed them around like ragdolls for a moment before it became still again, before they were left stunned again.

The noises stopped, the roars stopped . . . She no longer heard any inhuman growls or booms made by them, but her rapid heartbeat rang loud and clear in her ears. Were they gone?

Her grip around Max lessened just a little, her eyes scanned the one window, out to the junkyard for any sign of them . . . She couldn't see anything.

"You okay?" she asked Max quietly.

Max nodded. "Yeah . . you?"

"Yeah . ." Rowen turned to the boys. "Dustin?"

"Y — yeah, yeah . . I think so."

"Lucas?" Rowen's hand just barely grazed his shoulder when she reached for him, but Lucas flinched a good two inches away anyway. He only registered the fact that it was her when he looked, saw her concerned expression.

He nodded, too. "Yeah, uh . . Yeah, I'm okay."

Rowen only found the will to operate normally again after they all nodded their heads. She took in a few deep breaths, let Max free of her grip, stepped in front of them to see how Steve was doing.

He looked as confused as all of them did . . but he was still on edge, gripping the bat so hard that his knuckles went stark white.

"What just happened?" she tried, staring out the grated window once again.

Steve shook his head weakly. "I don't know . ." he muttered, as if he feared speaking any louder than a mutter would bring the Demogorgons back.

. . .