The summer that the Walcotts moved to Hawkins, their tape deck broke.

Christine's dad told her it was probably a casualty of rough movers, hauling delicate equipment around without knowing how to handle it, but truthfully, the machine had already been on its way out. Christine listened to so much music that the cassette player was running every day for hours at a time. She would've preferred it if the television was broken. TV she could live without, but without her music, she was inconsolable.

The first chance they got, Christine and her dad went into town to visit Radio Shack. Christine insisted on going the moment the store opened on Saturday morning, so while the shops on Main Street were just beginning to show signs of life, the street was fairly quiet—but Christine didn't take the time to look around. She slipped out of the car and made a beeline for the tech store, then bounced anxiously on the balls of her feet as she waited for her dad to catch up. He was lagging behind, hindered by the large cardboard box he was lugging down the sidewalk. Christine knew that it was heavy, but she also had a feeling he was deliberately slowing down to annoy her.

"Daaad—"

"I'm coming," he assured her innocently. "Would you get the door for me?"

She pouted, holding the door open and trying to usher him inside as fast as possible.

Christine had taken a lot for granted when she lived in a city. There was always so much going on around her, a hundred places she could stop, a thousand places she could pick up the same thing. Not anymore. Now they were settling down in a tiny town called Hawkins, and while Christine was excited to stop moving, there were a lot of conveniences she was going without. Thankfully, Radio Shack wasn't one of them.

It always filled her with wonder to walk into one of their stores—fully stocked with batteries and coaxial cables, telephones and stereos, aluminum tape and all sorts of different capacitors with ranging voltage. Her eyes bounced from display to display, examining the different monitors and sound systems they had set up for demonstrations. Before she could get her hands on any of the buttons, her father nudged her with the cardboard box, herding her toward the counter where an employee was already waiting for them.

"Morning!" the man said jovially. "Can I help you folks?"

"That's what I'm hoping," Mr. Walcott answered. He grunted as he placed the box on the counter, then patted it on top. "Otherwise, I carried this all that way for nothing."

"Aw, for me? You shouldn't have!" The man laughed at his own joke, then eagerly tugged the box to open it up. "Alright, let's see what we've got here. What's giving you trouble?"

"It's our tape deck," Christine's dad sighed as she watched on anxiously, eyes shooting back and forth between the two men. "I've tried just about every tape in our collection, and I can't get it to play anything. I mean—it plays, but the wheels go round and round and there's no sound coming out."

"Mmm—mhm, mhm. You troubleshoot your speakers?"

"I did. At least, I think I did. I checked all the cables and all the connections. You can hear the—the buzzing sound, the static?—that you hear when you plug it in, but I'll be damned if I can get any music to play."

The man hummed thoughtfully as he looked over the box. "Well, that could be a couple things, but most likely it's just a problem with the tape heads—that's the bit that actually reads the magnetic fluctuations and turns them into sound. I'd be happy to take a look for ya!"

"So it's repairable?" Christine's father asked, his voice full of relief.

"Oh yeah, no big deal," the employee replied. "Least, if it is what I think it is. If they're misaligned, I might need a little time, but if they just need some cleaning, I can have you in and out like that."

He snapped his fingers, and both men laughed.

"Thank God," Mr. Walcott said, and Christine finally allowed herself to relax. "I was afraid the movers might have dropped it when I wasn't looking."

"Movers?" The man raised his eyebrows in interest. "You two just blow into town?"

"Uh, yeah, a few weeks ago. Still settling in, unpacking boxes, you know."

"Wow! Well, welcome to the neighborhood! I'm Bob Newby—Hawkins born and raised, so if you've got any questions, feel free to stop on by."

"Nice to meet you, Bob," her father greeted, shaking his hand. "Pete Walcott, and this is my daughter, Christine."

Bob leaned forward to grin at her over the counter. "Well, hi there, Christine! How you liking Hawkins so far?"

"It's good," Christine answered simply. She'd answered the question enough times in her life to know that adults only asked that to be polite; they didn't want a real answer.

Judging by the smile on Bob Newby's face, he could tell she was less than enthusiastic.

"Eh, I know Hawkins doesn't seem like much on the surface, but just you wait. This town's got a lot to offer." He winked at her, then turned back to her dad. "Where you folks moving from?"

"Albany, but we'd only been there a few months. I've had to move around a lot for work, so we're hoping Hawkins will be a little more permanent. I just got a job—"

Christine tuned the conversation out. It had been the same thing for the last month: explaining the story to their neighbors, the grocer, the librarian, the fancy lady who worked for the town council. Even if Christine hadn't lived it, she would have been bored of the speech.

Her eyes drifted back to the stereo display and she headed off to explore.

Christine wandered up and down the aisles, her fingers trailing along the edges of the shelves. She was confident she could live in a Radio Shack if they'd let her. It was impossible to get tired of all the machines and appliances. She played with the different telephones, some with glowing buttons and others with rotary wheels. She was disappointed that none of the stereos were powered on, but it didn't stop her from fiddling with the buttons and dials, testing to see which ones turned smoothly and which ones clicked into place. There were rows of battery-operated cars, boomboxes, answering machines, and up on a high shelf, boxes of two-channel walkie talkies. Christine looked at them longingly; she would have loved a TRC-74, but even if her dad bought her one, she wouldn't have anyone to talk to.

She was just about to explore the battery rack when something in the back corner caught her eye. The glass of the large display case reflected the light, nearly hiding the device inside. Christine walked closer so she could see the small monitor, about a foot wide, with a full keyboard placed in front. Her eyes widened as she saw the inscription: Radio Shack TRS-80 Micro Computer System.

Her hands were on the glass in an instant, pressing herself as close as she could to inspect the system. A neat sign on the left boasted its Zilog Z80 processor, 4KB DRAM, and 64-character per line video monitor. Christine had no idea how to program, but suddenly she was dying to learn.

"Chrissy!" She jumped at the sound of her dad's voice. He was walking down the row of shelves, looking more exasperated than angry. "Come on, don't touch that. You're gonna leave handprints all over the glass."

"Sorry…" She pulled the sleeve of her flannel over her hand and rubbed sheepishly at the spots on the glass, but her eyes were already fixed back on the machine. "Dad, it's a computer. Like an actual personal computer!"

"Yeah, I can see that."

His voice was weary, as if he were reserving his energy for an inevitable negotiation, but Bob more than made up for his enthusiasm.

"Oh, good eye!" he congratulated her, joining her at the display case. "This is a brand-new Radio Shack product—and when I say 'brand-new,' I mean brand-new. Just came out this month. You know anything about computers?"

"A little," she answered shyly.

"Hey, that's more than most! Computers have their own language, called BASIC, which is basically a tiny portion of English. We can't teach them every word, so they have a smaller set of commands like print, input, read, restore—"

"Like a dog," said Christine, nodding attentively.

Bob's face lit up and he snapped again. "Yes! Just like a dog! You can teach a dog to sit, and you can teach a computer to do everything from math to playing cards. Like a dog—that's good!"

He wagged a finger at her and she beamed with pride. She looked up at her dad with big, pleading eyes.

"Dad, can we get one?"

"One purchase at a time, kiddo," he chuckled. "Let's get your tape deck fixed first."

Christine pouted, but Bob's eyebrows raised with interest.

"Oh, your tape deck, huh? So you're the tech expert in the house?"

"That's for sure," her dad answered, patting her on the head. "This one would read operating manuals for fun."

"That so?"

Bob leaned down to assess her with a keen eye. Christine didn't like how small it made her feel, so she stood up as tall as she could and lifted her chin in defiance. It made Bob grin.

"You know how to build a crystal radio?"

"Uh-huh," she said at once. "You need an earpiece, an antenna, a crystal detector, and a resonant circuit."

"Very good," he said, clearly impressed.

"I have one at home." She shrugged, as if it wasn't a big deal for her. "I wanna get a Heathkit too and build it in the garage. An HW-101."

"Oh, well you gotta have the Hot Water one-oh-one!"

This time, it was Bob and Christine who laughed together, while her dad stood grinning in mild confusion.

"I'll tell you what," Bob continued. "You keep it up, there might even be a job here for you in a few years."

"Really?" asked Christine in wonder.

"Of course! Sounds like you already know more than half the guys on staff. And until then, Hawkins has a pretty awesome AV club. I don't want to brag, but you're talking to the founding member. When you get up to the middle school, just look for Mr. Clarke and tell him Bob Newby sent you."

Bob winked at her and Christine nodded fiercely; there wasn't a chance she was going to forget that information. Middle school was still a year off for her, but at least she had something to look forward to.

It was that day that Hawkins, Indiana had started to turn around for her. She'd survived fifth grade with minimal damage, slowly learning how to make friends, adjusting to the idea that she would still be here a year later. The first day of middle school, she marched straight into Mr. Clarke's classroom and told him she wanted to join the AV club. Mr. Clarke had paired her with Barb, Barb invited her to hang out with Nancy, and the rest was history.

Christine hadn't ended up taking the job at Radio Shack, much to Bob's disappointment. She was already a total nerd at school and felt like it might be slightly cooler to work at the movie theater. Of course, she hadn't thought about the uniform with the bowtie, otherwise she might've made a different decision. Still, she was at Radio Shack on a regular basis, buying wires and electrical tape, browsing new upgrades for her headphones or asking Bob to tune her Walkman. Bob always maintained that she was his favorite customer.

Now Christine sat on the front porch of the Byers' house, cradling the Walkman in her hands. It was still too hard to believe that Bob was dead.

Hopper had given them the short version in the car: Will was, for lack of a better term, possessed. Whatever had happened during his last episode, he was now connected to the Demodogs, the thing controlling them, and a series of tunnels under Hawkins—just like the one Dart had made when he burrowed out of the cellar. Hopper had been trapped down there, but somehow, Will had been able to find him by just a feeling, an insane crayon drawing, and some mathematical help from Mike and Bob. They'd all gone to the lab, only to be attacked by a swarm of monsters.

Bob had gotten them out. He'd gotten into the computer system and restored the power, unlocked the doors, distracted the Demodogs so the others could make it to the front door…but he hadn't been fast enough.

Christine was thankful that Hopper didn't say more than that. She already had nightmares about the Demogorgon, what the Upside Down felt like, how they'd lost Barb. She didn't want to add any more detail.

The front door creaked open, and Christine hurriedly wiped at her face.

"Just me," said Nancy, gently closing the door behind her. "Don't stop crying on my account."

Christine gave her a watery smile and sniffled as Nancy sat down beside her.

"You okay?" she asked Christine.

"Uh…no. You?"

"Not really, but…compared to everyone else…" She shook her head with a sigh. "Jonathan's watching Will, but he's still sedated so…everything is pretty quiet. Hopper called for backup and then, um…he went to check on Joyce."

Christine nodded. She still hadn't seen Joyce. By the time Hopper had driven them to pick up Steve's car, then made it back to the house, she was already hiding in her bedroom. No one could hear her crying anymore, but judging by the harrowed look on Nancy face, it had been a tough ride home.

"I'm sorry," Nancy said softly. "That I didn't tell you what I was doing."

"I know," Christine sighed. "It was stupid, but…it would've been stupider to take me."

Nancy let out a breath of laughter, and Christine smiled. She was still terrified about what Nancy had done, but she didn't have the energy to be mad. Not after fighting off twenty baby Demogorgons, not after finding out Will had to be medically sedated for everyone's safety, not after Bob.

She propped her chin in her hand, raising an eyebrow at Nancy. "Still. You took a road trip with Jonathan?"

"Stop," Nancy laughed, rolling her eyes. "He hates the lab just as much as you do. He knew what was at stake and…even though he knew how dangerous it was, he didn't try to talk me out of it. It wouldn't have worked without him."

"Okay, but it was overnight road trip. You were gone for three days."

She didn't miss the way that Nancy shifted uncomfortably at the insinuation. Christine checked over her shoulder to make sure the door was still closed tight, then lowered her voice.

"Look, I know now totally isn't the time to have this conversation, but considering that I've been cooped up with Steve all weekend, I've gotta ask. Are you and Jonathan…?"

"No," Nancy said at once. "I mean—that's not why I—no, we—we just—"

"Nance…"

She stopped, letting her face sink into her hands. "God, Chrissy, I don't know what I'm doing."

"I love you, but that's obvious—ow!" She laughed as Nancy smacked her, then went back to hiding her face. "Okay, so…you're not, but…you kind of are?"

It took Nancy a few seconds to compose herself. She weaved her fingers together, practically strangling her hands in her own grip as she weighed her words.

"We haven't talked about it. I mean…we did a little, the first night. We stayed at a hotel and I asked…I asked why he never tried to talk to me, when it was all over. Then he accused me of running back to Steve, so that got tabled pretty fast. Then we went to talk to the reporter, and we told him the whole story, showed him the tape, made copies of it. We were too busy to think about anything else until…"

"Until…?" Christine repeated.

Nancy hesitated, then folded her arms over her chest.

"The guy was a real asshole, you know that?" she huffed. "I mean—fine, he's a decent detective and he's gonna finesse the story, but—just one of those people who thinks they know everything about everyone when they don't, you know?"

Christine squinted at her. "Sure."

"I mean, he was obviously having a blast psychoanalyzing us—talking about Jonathan's trust issues and how—how I'm afraid to accept who I am, and I'm just some little girl hiding from the truth—"

"Uh-huh."

"Seriously, the guy was so pushy, like he was trying to get us to sleep together!"

"You slept together?" Christine repeated in shock.

"No, I mean—I mean, he wanted us to share the guest room, and we said we didn't want to, and we weren't going to, but…but, then…"

"But then…you slept together?"

Nancy grimaced, her cheeks rapidly turning pink. It was impossible for Christine to stop herself from raising her eyebrows, but she did her best to slow them down.

"Oh, wow. That's…you—okay…"

"Yeah…"

Christine cleared her throat, fighting to keep her face impassive. As the shock started to wear off, the two halves of her heart began feuding: the part that cared for Steve, which was fuming with anger and indignation, and the part that cared for Nancy, who clearly knew how badly she'd fucked up. The whole thing felt uncomfortably familiar. It was last year all over again, but this time, Christine was mad on Steve's behalf instead of her own.

She took a steadying breath, collecting her thoughts. Eventually, her concern for Nancy won out; she still didn't have the energy for anger, and berating Nancy wasn't going to change anything she'd done.

"So, Jonathan," Christine said stiffly. "Was this a…one-time thing, or…?"

"I don't know," Nancy admitted feebly. "I mean, I've thought about it for so long and…I know that's not what he wants—a fling. We had time to talk on the way back, but…I still don't know what I'm gonna do."

"You sure about that?" Christine's face was soft, even as Nancy lifted her head to look at her in fear. "Come on, Nance. I can help you write another pro/con list if you want, but…we all knew this was gonna happen eventually."

"Not all of us." Nancy's eyes sunk back to the grass, and she fiddled with the hem of her sleeve until she could find the strength to continue. "How…how is he?"

She didn't need to clarify.

"Hurt," Christine answered honestly. "Bitter, worried. I never really pictured Steve as insecure, but…yeah."

"God," Nancy groaned. "I am such a bitch."

"No, you're not." Christine grabbed her hand and held it tight until Nancy turned to look at her. "You're not a bitch just because you have feelings for Jonathan. You're not obligated to be with Steve, but…you really need to tell him. He deserves to hear the truth from you."

Nancy nodded weakly and gave her a sad smile. "How'd you get to be so good at this?"

"Simple," Christine said with a shrug. "Don't date anyone. Just watch everyone else and judge their mistakes."

It made Nancy laugh, and even though she smacked Christine harder this time, it was worth it. She waited until Nancy had calmed down before striking her second blow.

"So…how was it?"

Nancy's jaw dropped. "Chris!"

"What? I'm your best friend. It's my job to ask. Sharing a bed, repressed feelings, running from the government—it's like you're living in one of your mom's paperbacks."

"Oh my God, stop."

"So, bad?"

"No!" Nancy squealed. "No, it was—it was not bad."

"Ugh, it was good? That's worse. I hate that."

Nancy shoved her, both of them dissolving into giggles. It didn't help that the door swung open at that moment, Jonathan sticking his head out onto the porch. Nancy clamped her mouth shut, but Christine laughed harder. It was rude, but it was also hilarious to watch Jonathan's face flush with embarrassment.

"Uh, we—the guys think they—they might have something," he stammered. "A-about the Shadow Monster?"

"Yes," Nancy said dutifully. She grabbed Christine by the arm and yanked her into a standing position. "Yeah, we're coming."

It was a good thing Christine was able to compose herself before they got to the kitchen. Almost everyone was gathered around the table, looking grave and serious. Dustin waved at her insistently, urging her to move faster, and she hurried over to his spot at the table. She did her best to ignore the curious look Steve gave her and Nancy from Dustin's other side.

"Lucas, come on!" Dustin barked.

"I'm coming okay?! I got it!"

Lucas appeared from the end of the hallway, armed with a heavy book. It wasn't until he dropped it into Dustin's insistent hands that Christine got a glimpse at the cover.

"The handbook? Again?"

"Yes, again," Dustin snapped, already rifling through the pages. "This is how we learned about the Upside Down. It's how we named the Demogorgon, remember? So, yes, again!"

"Well, at least you're consistent." Christine sighed and caught Mike's eye on the other side of the table. "Catch me up?"

"Okay," he began, "so we know Will is connected to the Upside Down mentally, but it's also a physical link. When the scientists at the lab were running their tests, they were experimenting on a piece of the vine from the tunnels to see what would have an effect. So they took a blowtorch, and every time they got too close, Will felt like he was burning."

"Oh God," Nancy gasped, horrified.

"That means it's not just a hive mind," Mike pressed on, "it's a hive consciousness. The doctors hurt the vine, which hurt Will, which hurt the thing controlling him. That's why he made the Demodogs attack us."

"Wait, who is 'he?'" Christine asked.

"This." Dustin slammed his book down on the kitchen table. "The Mind Flayer."

Christine peered over his shoulder at the page. It wasn't a pretty picture: a vaguely humanoid creature wearing old-fashioned robes, with what looked like a squid for a head and a skull hanging from its belt. She tried to examine the stats at the top of the entry, but most of it didn't make sense to her. Even though she'd listened to the boys play through countless campaigns, she was still a novice when it came to Dungeons and Dragons.

Hopper leaned in too, narrowing his eyes at the book. "What the hell is that?"

"It's a monster from an unknown dimension," Dustin explained. "It's so ancient that it doesn't even know its true home. Okay? It enslaves races of other dimensions by taking over their brains by using its highly developed psionic powers."

"Oh my God," Hopper groaned, "none of this is real. It's a kid's game!"

"No, it's not." Christine glowered at him, her knuckles white on the back of Dustin's chair. "It is real, and everyone here knows that. Monsters? Real. We all just fought them. Other dimensions? Also real. Half of us have been there. Psionic powers? Well, that's sure as hell real, because you know who had that? Eleven. Unless you have anything constructive to add to the conversation, let him finish talking."

The kitchen was deadly quiet. Christine was so busy glaring at Hopper, she hadn't even noticed Nancy and Steve shrink away from her. No one in the room dared move. They just sat there, looking back and forth between Christine and Chief Hopper, and waiting to see which one of them would break first.

Hopper's jaw was clenched tight as he stared her down. Christine honestly wouldn't have been surprised if he started screaming at her and throwing things around the room, but somehow, he managed to keep his composure. He let out a long breath through his nose, his whole body practically vibrating. Then he leaned back against the wall and folded his arms. That was it.

Even though she'd won, Christine didn't stop glaring. Steve had to break the silence, coughing slightly and nudging Dustin on the shoulder. Dustin, who'd been staring at Christine in awe, quickly closed his mouth and turned back to the handbook.

"Uh…y-yeah. Yeah, so—so the Mind Flayer is a—it's a monster—and it has powers—"

"What does it want?" Nancy prompted, getting him back on track.

"To conquer us, basically," Dustin replied. "It believes it's the master race."

"Oh! Like—like the Germans."

Everyone turned to stare at Steve, who was bobbing his head knowingly.

Dustin squinted at him. "Uh, the Nazis…?"

"Yeah." Steve looked around the table, suddenly bashful. "Yeah, yeah…the…Nazis…"

"Um…if the Nazis were from another dimension, t-totally."

On the other side of the room, Hopper broke the staring match so he could pinch the bridge of his nose. Clearly, the conversation wasn't making him feel any better.

"Uh, it views other races," Dustin continued, "like us, as inferior to itself."

"It wants to spread," Mike added. "Take over other dimensions."

Lucas jumped in, "We are talking about the destruction of our world as we know it."

"That's great," Steve said dryly. "That's great. That's really great—Jesus—"

He ran a hand through his hair and walked away from the table in frustration. Nancy leaned forward and tugged the handbook closer for a better look.

"Okay, so if this thing is like a brain that's controlling everything, then if we kill it—"

"We kill everything it controls," Mike finished, and Dustin nodded.

"We win."

"Theoretically," Lucas allowed, tilting his head to the side.

"Alright, great." Hopper pushed off the wall, strode over, and pulled the book from Nancy's hands. "So how do we kill this thing? Shoot it with fireballs or something?"

"No," Dustin chuckled. "No, no fire—no fireballs."

Chief Hopper gave him a hard look, and Dustin quickly cleared his throat.

"Uh, you…summon an undead army…uh, because—because zombies, you know, they don't—they don't have brains, and…the Mi—the Mind Flayer, it…it likes brains…I… It's just a game. It's a game."

"What the hell are we doing here?" Hopper growled.

He snapped the book shut and shoved it into Christine's chest, then stormed toward the living room.

"Chris—" Nancy warned, but Christine had already slammed the book down on the table.

"You're the one who brought us here, okay?" she snarled, marching right after him. "You said we needed back up!"

"We do!"

"Great! So what do we do in the meantime?"

"Nothing!" Hopper rounded on her, shouting down his nose. "There is nothing for us to do, and we're not gonna find the answer in the rule book for a board game!"

"So, what?" Christine challenged. "We just stay here and hide? We don't even try to save anyone?"

"Not if it means you get yourself killed!"

"Well, sorry, but not everyone's comfortable sitting back while those things slaughter everyone in Hawkins!"

"What are you gonna do, Christine?!" Hopper hollered. "You gonna throw some quarters at it? Hit it with your textbook? We do not know how to fight this thing!"

"Neither does the military!" she screeched back. "They have no idea what they're up against! And by the time we get them to believe us, the Demodogs will be fully grown and we won't have a fucking town anymore!"

"Well, they stand a better chance than we do. This is the military. They have numbers, they have weapons, they have firepower. And you are a sixteen-year-old girl."

"You know, what? You're right. Maybe when they get here you can trade me for a bazooka!"

"Don't talk to me about what you don't understand! If you knew half the shit I went through to protect this town—"

"Oh, yeah! That's definitely what I need! Your tragic backstory would make this so much better!"

"Both of you stop."

The voice that interrupted was hoarse and quiet, but it ended the argument at once. Christine and Hopper both stopped dead and turned to look down the hall. Joyce was shuffling forward, still clad in her scrubs from the lab, her face still tear-stained and her eyes red, looking drained and incredibly tired.

Christine's stomach curdled with guilt. Just the sight of Joyce snapped everything back into perspective: Bob was dead. Will could be dying. This was happening now, and Christine was screaming at Hopper about the past. Angry as she was, it didn't matter right now; it couldn't matter.

"Joyce," Hopper started, but Joyce shook her head.

"Christine's right. We have to kill it. I want to kill it."

"Me too," Hopper assured her. His anger had evaporated, and his expression was impossibly soft as he walked over to her. "Me too, Joyce, okay? But how do we do that? We don't exactly know what we're dealing with here."

"No. But he does." Mike stepped forward, his eyes fixed on the couch in the front room, where Will lay still. "If anyone knows how to destroy this thing, it's Will. He's connected to it. He'll know its weaknesses."

"I thought we couldn't trust him anymore," said Max. "That he's a spy for the Mind Flayer now?"

"Yeah. But he can't spy if he doesn't know where he is."

There was a beat of silence as everyone in the party exchanged nervous looks.

"Okay, I'll bite," said Steve. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means we hide him," said Mike, turning around to face them. "If we can disguise the room he's in, then he can't tell the Mind Flayer where to find us."

"We can wake him up without being in danger," Lucas added in excitement.

"Then we can talk to him," Dustin continued. "We can talk to him and figure out what the hell's going on!"

"Okay, hold on," said Hopper, shaking his head. "We don't know what kind of hold this thing has on Will. Last time he was conscious, he barely knew who we were."

"But he did." Joyce's voice was fierce as she stepped forward. "He knew me, and that means he's still in there. We have to try."

Hopper looked down at her, his face a strange mixture of admiration and pity. After a few seconds, he sighed and turned to Jonathan.

"You got a place we can hold him? Somewhere out of the house?"

"There's a toolshed in back," Jonathan suggested. "If we empty it out, the walls would be easy enough to cover up."

"Show me."

Jonathan nodded and headed for the backdoor, Mike and Hopper in tow. Christine went to follow them, but she didn't barely made it a few steps before a hand closed around her wrist. Joyce wasn't looking at her, just holding onto Christine's hand like it was the last thing holding her together.

Christine looked back and nodded at Nancy, who understood at once.

"Come on, guys. Look around and grab anything we can use."

She and Steve herded the kids out the back door, blocking their lingering looks at Mrs. Byers. As soon as Christine heard the door click shut, she sighed.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be—"

"He's right too, you know."

Christine held her tongue. That was not what she wanted to hear right now, but she wasn't about to start arguing with Joyce after everything she'd been through. Instead, she chewed on the inside of her cheek as Joyce grabbed her other hand and gave her a probing stare.

"Listen to me. No one wants to kill this thing more than I do, but if one of you kids get hurt, then—then it's not worth it."

"Joyce," Christine pleaded, "I get it, I do, but if we're not prepared to do something, all of this is gonna get so much worse. We're talking about everyone in—"

"No! Christine, no! No, I—I'm talking about you and Jonathan and Will and Dustin and—and we can't lose anyone else! I—I can't lose anyone else! I don't know how—he just—"

Joyce's lips were trembling so hard she couldn't finish the sentence. Christine swallowed her arguments, swallowed her pride and frustration, and pulled her into a hug; both of them were shaking then. There was no crying, at least not at first, but the longer Christine stood there holding her, the harder it was to hold it in.

She missed Eleven. She missed Barb. She would miss Bob, too. She hated Hopper, and she was worried about Will, and she was scared for Nancy, and she hadn't spoken to her dad in days, and she had absolutely no idea what she was doing or if she was going to make it out of this alive.

Christine was horrified to feel the water welling up in her eyes. She had to pull herself together. Her friends needed her. She needed to take care of Dustin, and Max, and Joyce, and—

"It's okay." Joyce was rubbing her back, her voice weak but soothing. "It's okay, Chrissy."

"I—I'm sorry," she sniffled, furious with herself. "I'm sorry, I—"

"I know. It's okay, sweetie."

Christine bit her lip hard as the tears began to fall. She needed to pull herself together—but first, for just a while, she wanted to cry.