. . .

Whatever had been injected into his arm aside, if Rowen knew one thing, she knew Will was knocked out cold. All the stomping, racing, and tossing of random objects which made noises loud enough to wake even the deepest sleepers, and he didn't stir. Never woke and asked what was going on. Not a peep . . not even a murmur or shift. The only reason they knew he was still alive was because of the way Jonathan kept to his side, making sure he was breathing.

Their plan was set into motion when Jonathan checked one last time.

The second Mike mentioned the shed behind the house, Hopper began to clear it out. From an old lawnmower to rusty tools, old chairs and appliances not even used, heaters . . other things she did not want to ask about, he threw it all onto the mix of brown and green grass that could no longer withstand the cold. It piled up until things began to tumble, and Rowen wasn't sure if she would be able to find anything useful from it — almost like finding a needle in a haystack. But she looked anyway, helped the boys dig through anyway until Nancy found two tarps.

They were determined and . . shit, Rowen was determined too. Putting aside the nerves and anxiety and the doubts that swarmed through her mind, she was ready to help get that thing out of Will at whatever expense, shoot the demodogs until they went limp. Will was a kid, and she would have been just as determined as Jonathan was if it was Max that the Mind Flayer was inside.

Nancy and Rowen stapled and tarp in tense, though comfortable silence until the kids barged in with more things: spotlights, rope, scraps of objects she couldn't identify, and more. They were building an interrogation room, she came to realize. One that hid any sense of familiarity and hid any clue as to where they might be.

She left the shed when Mike brought in the lights, when Mrs. Byers brought a small bottle filled with liquid and a needle that made her squirm.

Rowen stood in the house filled with colored paper while her stepsister made herself busy, while Jonathan lifted his brother from the couch and carried him out the back door, Hopper following not too far behind.

The chief never told her to stay put and never told her to wait, but that was what she made herself do. She leaned against the wall and mirrored Nancy's crossed arms, sticking close to the shotgun that had not moved from where it was placed.

Time felt like a nightmare when it came to waiting for the worst to come, waiting for something to happen despite having no idea what it was. She had no idea what would happen to Will, no idea what would happen to them. She stood in place and looked at her wrist even though her watch was in her pocket, watched Steve from the corner of her eye as he swung his bat as if he was preparing for battle . . which she guessed they were. Against her better judgment, she listened as Lucas spoke of their situation and of the dangers and of the way things could turn apocalyptic if they failed . . if this Mind Flayer won.

Blue tunnels, rifts, girls with superpowers, and monsters that could possess little kids . . This was reality now. This was real life . . . It made her shiver.

Then the lights flickered. They flickered in a way that was eerie and strange and made her want to shrink in on herself, yet propelled her forward towards the kitchen window at the same time. Rowen's stomach lurched at the sight of the shed, how bright light flickered through the gaps.

"What's going on?"

"They're trying to reach him," Dustin told her.

It felt as if they waited for an eternity until the lights flickered, and it felt like another eternity until Hopper came barreling through the back door with Mrs. Byers, Mike, and Jonathan right behind him.

"What happened?"

"I think he's talking . ." said Hopper. "Just not with words."

She watched as the chief scribbled down lines and dots on the back of a stray envelope, brows pinched. She began to wonder just what it was that he was doing . . but then he began to write letters underneath and, suddenly, remembered what her sickly high school English teacher had taught her.

"Morse code," four boys said in unison.

The letters spelled 'HERE'.

"Will's still in there . ." Hopper concluded. "He's talking to us."

"I've got an idea," Dustin said, moving from the table and down the hall to Will's bedroom. He came out with a supercomm, racing into the living room, digging through the bag that he had left in a corner. Radio in hand, he returned with a notepad in the other, placing the former in front of Hopper, onto the table.

"Use this to tell us what he says," he instructed the chief. "I'll switch mine to Will's channel and we can write it down as he goes. That way you won't have to go back and forth and the Mind Flayer won't suspect anything."

It was evident that Hopper was staring at him open-mouthed. And Rowen, albeit just as caught off guard, couldn't deny the little bit of pride swelled up in her chest. The boys nodded in agreement and Hopper cleared his throat.

"Yeah, uh . . yeah. Sounds good. That'll work."

Rowen smirked.

They hurried through doors and shuffled through things as they did before the inside of the shed was tossed outside. Those who came in went out again and the house swelled with the quiet that once inhabited it. Only now that quiet was broken, disturbed by the static of Dustin's supercomm. As minutes passed, the chief sent beeps and short shrieks, which she soon learned acted as morse code for walkie-talkies. Lucas scanned through the sheet which translated it and the letters were written down as they went.

"C . . L . . O . . S . . E . ."

"G . . A . . T . . E."

"Close gate . . ." they read aloud.

Then the phone rang.

It rang just as the two words left their mouths, and Rowen swore everyone jumped at least three feet. Dustin immediately bolted towards it with her at his heels, plucking the phone from its place and slamming it back. The ringing stopped . . . but then it rang again.

Fed up with it, Rowen kept Dustin from trying his earlier tactic and pulled the handpiece along with its winding cord from the body, throwing it to the ground. It cracked. She breathed out deeply. She prepared to apologize to Mrs. Byers later.

"Do you think he heard that?" Max asked.

"It's just a phone," Steve tried. "Could be anywhere . . right?"

Now she was sure that this thing just enjoyed messing with them. Every time someone said something, whether grim or reassuring, anything close to implying that they would come out unscathed, they heard those goddamn roars . . and now they heard them again. The inhuman noise startled the group to their feet, into the living room where they stared through partially covered windows.

"That's not good . ." Dustin drawled.

"No shit," Rowen breathed, turning away from the group, trying not to trip over colored pieces of paper as she looked for the shotgun she had brought. Her movements caused a chain of other movements. Steve gripped his bat, Lucas grabbed a slingshot, Mike came rushing in through the back door and those who didn't have weapons scurried over to the window with him, peeking, waiting.

Mrs. Byers came up next to Rowen with her hands wrapped around Jonathan's arm, looked down at the gun and did not appear happy by the sight at all. Rowen caught her expression, spared her a wary glance . . but only gripped the piece tighter.

Mrs. Byers didn't approve of kids with guns. It was reasonable.

"Hey! Get away from the windows!" She heard Hopper snap at them before he stomped into the room.

The kids listened, stepped behind him, behind her and Steve. Lucas too, because somehow he looked very determined with his slingshot.

Hopper gripped a rifle in one hand and held out a second, tossing it to Nancy once they found out Jonathan could not. Her movements with the weapon looked well-rehearsed.

The daggers Hopper glared towards the gun in Rowen's hand were too. "Where the hell did you get that?"

Rowen and a gun. A gun in Rowen's possession. It wasn't a picture he expected to see, even if they had only known each other for a little over a week.

She glanced between him and the weapon. "At the lab. Some idiot left it in the tollbooth."

"Do you know how to use it?"

"Would I be holding it if I didn't?" she snapped, not meaning to but doing so all the same.

Hopper glared, gave her a silent "watch it" . . but her words seemed to be good enough.

"Since when did you know how to use a gun?" Dustin asked from behind her.

"Since we lived across the street from a cop in California."

Rowen cocked it, its harsh clicks filling the one-story house.

The roars turned to growls and the growls began to move- move around the house and left them yanking their guns one way, the other.

"What are they doing?"

No one ever answered Nancy . . but they all had a feeling as to what. Rowen could see the bushes rub against the dining room window, screech against the windows and tell them that the demodogs were there . . hiding.

A roar came again and she struggled to keep herself from jumping out of her skin, to not accidentally pull the trigger her finger was wrapped around and break something. They pointed their weapons to the front once more . . The dogs growled . . . The bushes moved again, shook, left her heart beating at a mile a minute . .

The window broke. They yelled.

All of them backstepped in sync and when they stopped, Rowen found the same monster that screeched in their faces lying at their feet, unmoving. Was it dead?

Hopper took the first step- the first two, three steps. Then the rest followed. Rowen moved, Steve and Nancy moved.

"Is it dead?" Max asked behind them. No one answered her either.

Hopper nudged the thing with his foot and that was the silent nod of approval that yes, it was dead . . but what had killed it? What bodyslammed that thing through the window?

Another noise came, then . . quiet, like metal moving against metal. They turned towards the door and Rowen saw the chain lock twitch, fall from its place. The deadbolt flew open with such a suddenty that everyone raised their weapons again.

Rowen had a terrible feeling. She had a terrible feeling that what was on the other side of the door was bigger than all of them and it showed with her unsteady hands and uneven breath . . . but she wasn't about to run. Not now.

Hopper stood tall, not completely but standing in front as much as he could as if he was a barrier between whatever threat they were about to meet and them.

The door began to open, but it didn't open immediately the same way the window broke immediately. It creaked slowly and Rowen swore, once it opened fully, that she was about to let all hell break loose . . but when a pair of converse opposite to hers stepped over the threshold, she found the gun in her hands wasn't needed. Everyone was lowering their weapons, began to gape because it was a girl who stood before them.

A girl . . who had blood trailing from her nose and opened the door from the inside —

Eleven.

A moment of shock passed and Mike rushed over to her before anyone could blink, wrapped her in a bone-crushing hug. He said he waited and she said she heard and Rowen almost wanted to ask . . but she bit her lip and keep her mouth shut, watched, along with everyone else.

"Why didn't you tell me that you were there?" Mike asked. "That you were okay?"

"Because I wouldn't let her . ." said Hopper.

Something suddenly clicked in the back of Rowen's mind as he moved towards the two.

"The hell is this? Where have you been?"

"Where have you been?" Eleven shot back . . but it was hollow. Hopper wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into a hug — one that she easily gave into.

Rowen saw how Mike's eyes widened. "You've been hiding her . . . You've been hiding her all this time!" He shoved at the chief's arm . . but Hopper barely flinched, grabbed Mike by the shirt and gave him a look that she only saw once.

"Hey — hey! Let's talk . . alone."

He pushed Mike into the hall without a word. Rowen heard a door slam, and her attention went back to Eleven.

"Is that? . ." Max asked the boys. They nodded, but that was all the answer they gave before rushing over to their friend, engulfing her in a three-person hug.

"We talked about you pretty much every day."

They pulled away from each other. Eleven reached out towards Dustin's mouth, talking about his teeth. It made Rowen smile a little. Observations were made, Dustin purred for a reason that she didn't even want to ask about . . Max's introduction went ignored, but she figured now wasn't the time to ask.

Mrs. Byers gave Eleven a hug . . . then it was down to Rowen.

"I don't know why I didn't put the pieces together until now, but . . now it makes sense." Rowen smiled slightly and Eleven looked away from her, at the drawings all over the house. "Did you get home safe?"

Eleven turned back to her, nodded. "Yes. Did you . . pinky promise?"

"Oh, yeah . ." She nodded immediately, looking between Eleven and the shut door, nodding herself. "Yeah . . I didn't tell him."

Eleven gave her a sheepish smile, a silent 'thank you'. She turned to Mrs. Byers once more. "Can I see him?"

Mrs. Byers gave her a watery smile. "Yeah. Yeah, of course."

A soft hand placed on her back, she led Eleven down the hall into a different room. Rowen hadn't considered following them, but when three smaller people rushed towards her . . she began to wish she had.

"How do you know El?"

"You guys met before?"

"What did you mean by now it makes sense? What didn't you tell?"

"Woah, woah, woah. Guys, slow down . ." Rowen interrupted, holding her hands up defensively.

"How do you know El?" Dustin repeated.

Rowen sighed, eventually began, "Okay, so . . you remember that day we found Will on the field? . ." She received three nods, continued, ". . Well, before I went into the middle school, I ran into Eleven."

"Why didn't you tell us?!" Dustin demanded.

"Because I didn't know it was Eleven I was talking to?"

"What was she doing at the school?" Lucas asked.

Rowen shrugged. "I don't know . ." she said. ". . but she was really quiet. She looked like she didn't want to be seen."

"Wait . . then what was it that you didn't tell? Did she talk to you?"

"Yeah. I mean, I thought she was going to run away at first, but then she saw Hopper's car and it made her relax, I guess. She told me not to tell him I saw her."

"That was it?" Dustin asked.

"Yeah?" She forwent mentioning how she introduced the concept of pinky-promises to her.

Rowen looked over her shoulder to see Eleven appear from the hall. She moved a little quicker than she had been before, came to the kitchen table with Mrs. Byers, staring down at the message Nancy had written across the cardboard.

Mrs. Byers looked at it, then at Eleven. "You opened this gate before, right?"

Eleven nodded as everyone else joined them in the kitchen. "Yes."

"Do you think if — if we got you back there that you could close it?"

She never answered . . but she glared down at the message as if she was mulling it over, thinking hard. Eleven glanced at Mrs. Byers, a determined way about her.

"Is that all we need to do?" Rowen asked, coming to stand next to the girl clad in dark makeup and clothes. "We just get Eleven to the gate and that's it?"

A grumble of disagreement brought her gaze to Hopper. "No," he said. "If it was the size it was last year . . maybe. But it's not like it was before. It's grown . . a lot. And I mean that's considering we can get in there. The place is crawling with those dogs."

"Demodogs . ."

Hopper turned to the kid in the red, white, and blue trucker hat. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Dustin," Rowen warned, throwing him a look.

But she was ignored. "Demodogs. You know? What I said in the car. Demogorgons and dogs. You put them together, it sounds pretty badass . ."

"How is this important right now?" Hopper snapped.

"It's not. I'm sorry."

"I can do it," Eleven said with certainty.

But the chief shook his head. "You're not hearing me."

"I'm hearing you," she told him firmly. "I can do it."

"Even if El can, there's still another problem." Mike interrupted the soft banter. "If the brain dies, the body dies."

Rowen furrowed her brow. "Uh, yeah. That's kind of the point, isn't it?"

"It is, but . . if we're really right about this. I mean, if El closes the gate and kills the Mind Flayer's army . ."

"Will's a part of that army." Lucas finished, a kind of fearful realization washing over his face.

"Closing the gate will kill him."

That statement left the entire group feeling heavy. It made sense. The Mind Flayer got Will on the field; it was in him now. Will felt what it felt, curved inward at the pain that filled his stomach when the demodogs were whacked with bats and torched with fire. If the gate would kill them, it would kill him . . and she didn't even want to begin to imagine how unbearable that would be. Not just for Will but for his family and his friends who stood around her.

Rowen squinted at the table, one specific word highlighted in her mind. "But, wait . . You said this thing was like a virus, right? If it is, then there has to be a way to get it out of him."

Her offer seemed to spark a flurry. Thoughts began to swirl through everyone's heads and she could see it so plainly.

"Maybe there is . ."

Everyone turned to Mrs. Byers. She looked to Rowen, nodded slightly, then she got up without another word. She headed down the hall to the room Will had been placed in. Rowen immediately followed her, as did everyone else.

"He likes it cold."

"What?"

"That's what Will kept saying to me . . . He likes it cold." Mrs. Byers went towards the open window, shutting it. "We keep giving it what it wants."

Nancy looked down at Will's unconscious form. "If this is a virus and this is the host, then . ."

"Then we need to make the host uninhabitable," Jonathan answered.

"So, if he likes it cold . ." Rowen thought aloud.

"We need to burn it out of him . ." Mrs. Byers finished for her, tone hardened. She was ready to do whatever it took, Rowen could see that as plain as day.

"We have to do it somewhere he doesn't know this time," said Mike.

Dustin nodded. "Yeah, somewhere far away."

Everyone fell silent, thinking, wondering . . .

"The cabin," El said.

"What?"

"The cabin," Hopper echoed, as if a lightbulb had appeared over his head. "My cabin."

. . .

༏

. . .

Heaters . . they needed lots of them. They needed lots of them because Will said he liked it cold and Mrs. Byers said he liked it cold and keeping things, places, cold meant giving that thing what it wanted. It meant giving that thing a tighter grip on her son.

Rowen did not realize how closely related to a fever this whole thing was until she uttered it aloud, until she began to put the pieces together . . You didn't deal with a fever by opening all the windows so freezing wind could blow through, you dealt with a fever with warm things and liquids and layers. You had to sweat it out for the virus to break and leave your body . . . and this particular virus, it hated the heat. Loathed it.

They needed heaters.

Rowen had begun by perusing the Byers' various cabinets and random boxes of things for something, anything, that could provide heat, whether a lot or a little. Steve and Nancy retreated outside, the kids filed through drawers, Jonathan began to sweep, and Eleven, well . . Eleven didn't need to waste any energy.

Mrs. Byers didn't, either, but she hovered near Hopper when he went to pick up Will, to take him out front into his own SUV and make sure the kid was still out cold. Rowen had found nothing by the time he came back inside — without Mrs. Byers, because how could she possibly let her youngest out of her sight for one more moment? — and chose then to go out back, as he took Jonathan away from the impromptu sweeping of his house and pressed the car keys into his hand, began to give detailed directions.

She stepped through the kitchen and stepped through the tiny porch because she figured out, after a moment, that if she was going to find any heaters they would be hidden somewhere in the junk pile Hopper had made in the backyard.

"It's okay, Nance . ."

She halted at the top of the stairs when she heard that, heard that tone, realized the situation she had almost stepped into. Rowen was thankful it had ended before she could get any closer than the back steps, had to share nothing but an awkward glance when Nancy saw her first, walked away first. For whatever reason, seeing the back of her head again made Rowen think of when she had seen it storm away at the high school, when she saw the alley, but didn't. Saw Steve after he got his heart broken, but didn't.

He didn't look so forlorn this time, as he looked over his shoulder and saw her himself, as she reluctantly trudged down the steps because it was too late to retreat back inside and claim she couldn't find anything when Hopper asked. Rowen was the one between them to look away this time, though her reasons were far from spiteful, far from her brother or threats or douchebag things. She was watching Nancy and the way her frame sulked until that frame disappeared around the side of the house, where she knew the cars and Mrs. Byers and Will would be. She had a feeling Jonathan would be there too, turned back to Steve, and offered an uncharacteristically shy smile.

She began to file through the junk piles with him, various scrapes and metal falling against metal breaking the silence before it could even wrap itself around them.

"So? . ." she prompted after a while, the expectant tone rather unexpected.

She could hear things thump to the ground, metal screech as he stopped shifting through things for a moment. "What?"

"Did you take Samantha's advice?" she elaborated, lifting up an old blanket to see bullet packs and an old bike on top of boxes with things she could not see. When she looked up at him, he was looking at the pile of junk with a realization it seemed he was trying to hide. Clearly, the lack of a forlorn expression didn't mean things were any better.

She averted her attention back to the piles and heard him sigh. "No . . no, but — I didn't . . you know."

"I don't, actually."

Another sigh, another tumble of papers and objects and metal things. She looked up to see he had stepped back from it all this time, fiddling with the flashlight in his hand.

"I mean, I guess I just didn't think it was worth it, anymore," he said, shrugging. "Spending time worrying over shit like that, it doesn't do anything."

Rowen kept quiet for a moment, silently agreeing with that statement.

"Glad to know you've turned a new leaf," she said — tried to be light, though it hadn't done much.

Steve huffed. "No, I think I just finally figured out how shitty of a boyfriend I was."

By then she had returned to the stacks, kneeled, carefully pushed at things and picked up things all while hoping she would not touch something gross. Not that she thought the Byers possessed anything gross . . it was just an odd fear of hers, grabbing for things when she could not see where she was reaching.

"No you're not, Steve, you're still a great guy, Steve," he said, and she could not help but grin when she looked up at him. The forlornness was beginning to etch itself back into his expression.

"You sure you want me to say that?"

"It would help."

Rowen huffed, rested her forearms on her knees, let the flashlight swing downward in her loosened grip.

"What?"

She shook her head. "Nothing."

Now was not the time to rant about the obsessive need for words of affirmation.

. . .