The moment lingered, Dove's forehead resting against Steve's, both of them wrapped up in the warmth and surprise of the kiss. But then they heard a throat clear in the doorway.
They both looked up, startled to find Dustin standing there, one eyebrow raised, his expression a mix of confusion and poorly contained amusement.
Steve stepped back, his hand instantly flying up to run through his hair, his usual cool demeanor slipping into something more flustered. Dove, fighting the heat flooding her cheeks, turned fully toward Dustin, doing her best to compose herself. "Hey, what's up?"
Dustin tilted his head, clearly amused but trying to stay focused. "Uh.. Mike has an idea," he said, though his expression suggested he was filing this moment away to tease her later. He threw them one last look before heading back down the hall.
Dove, more than ready to escape the tension, quickly followed him, keeping her gaze forward, her heart still racing. She didn't glance back at Steve, but she could feel the weight of his eyes on her as she slipped through the doorway.
Dove stepped into Will's room, her gaze sweeping over the small group gathered around the desk. The dim glow of the lamp cast long shadows across the walls, highlighting the mess of papers, drawings, and books scattered around the room.
Mike stood in front of the group, his face serious as he held up a drawing of a giant, looming shadow creature with spindly limbs stretching out across a desolate landscape, red lightning crackling in the background. His hand shook slightly, but his voice was steady, full of certainty.
"This," Mike said, his voice low but confident, "is what got Will that day in the field. The doctor said it was like a virus—it infected him."
Max leaned forward, her face lit with a mix of curiosity and fear. "And so this virus, it's connecting him to the tunnels?" she asked, her voice tentative.
Mike nodded, speaking quickly now, as though he couldn't get the words out fast enough. "To the tunnels, to the monsters, to the Upside Down, to everything."
"Whoa, slow down," Steve interrupted, taking a few steps closer, his eyes wide with confusion. He raked a hand through his already messy hair, clearly overwhelmed by what he was hearing.
Mike let out a sigh, trying to refocus. "Okay, so, the shadow monster is inside everything. And if the vines feel something, like pain, then so does Will."
"And so does Dart," Lucas added, his face tense as he pieced it all together.
"Yes," Mike confirmed. "Like what Mr. Clarke taught us. The hive mind."
Steve frowned, crossing his arms, still struggling to process it. "Hive mind?"
Dustin, perched on the edge of Will's desk, leaned forward, his eyes gleaming as he explained. "A collective consciousness. It's a super-organism."
"And this," Mike said pointing to the drawing in his hand. "is the thing that controls everything. It's the brain."
Dustin's face lit up as he connected the dots. "Like the Mind Flayer!" he said, snapping his fingers.
Dove, standing near the foot of Will's bed, frowned thoughtfully. "That's why those things stopped attacking us at the junkyard," she said slowly. "This Mind Flayer.. for some reason it called them back to the lab."
"Exactly," Dustin said, nodding eagerly.
Steve still looked confused, his brow knitted. "What the hell is a Mind Flayer?" he asked, clearly exasperated.
Determined, Mike darted over to Will's bookshelf and grabbed a thick, dusty book. "I'll show you," he said, leading the way to the kitchen. The group followed him, their footsteps soft in the quiet house. The kitchen was dimly lit by the overhead light, casting a warm glow that felt strangely out of place. Mike dropped the book onto the table with a thud.
Dustin leaned in, his eyes sharp as he found the correct page and jabbed his finger down on the illustration. "The Mind Flayer," he said, pointing to a dark, twisted figure on the page.
Hopper approached the table, his expression one of disbelief. "What the hell is that?" he asked, his voice heavy with skepticism.
Dustin didn't hesitate. "It's a monster from an unknown dimension. It's so ancient that it doesn't even know its true home. It enslaves races of other dimensions by taking over their brains using its highly-developed psionic powers."
Hopper rubbed a hand over his face, his patience clearly wearing thin. "Oh, my God, none of this is real. This is a kid's game," he said, gesturing dismissively at the book.
"No, it's a manual!" Dustin shot back, his tone indignant. "And it's not for kids! And unless you know something that we don't—" he pointed an accusatory finger at Hopper, his voice rising, "this is the best metaphor—"
"Analogy," Lucas corrected, arms crossed as he stood beside Max.
Dustin shot him an irritated look. "Analogy? That's what you're worried about?" He rolled his eyes, exasperated. "Fine. An analogy for understanding whatever the hell this is."
Nancy, standing beside Jonathan, her gaze shifting between the book and Mike, took a deep breath, trying to keep everyone focused. "Okay, so this Mind Flamer thing—"
"Flayer. Mind Flayer," Dustin corrected her quickly.
Dove shot him a look. "Dustin, seriously, not the time."
Nancy sighed. "What does it want?" she asked, her voice quiet but firm.
Dustin shrugged, his voice matter-of-fact. "To conquer us, basically. It thinks it's the master race."
Steve, trying to follow, perked up. "Like the Germans?" he asked, his brow furrowing.
Dustin blinked, his expression flat. "Uh.. the Nazis?"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, the Nazis," Steve said, nodding quickly in agreement.
Dustin held his stare. "If the Nazis were from another dimension, totally."
Hopper rubbed a hand across his face, visibly weary from the spiraling conversation, but Dustin pressed on, undeterred. "It views other races, like us, as inferior to itself," Dustin explained.
"It wants to spread, take over other dimensions," Mike added, his eyes serious as he stared down at the book.
Lucas stepped forward, the gravity of the situation finally hitting him. "We are talking about the destruction of our world as we know it," he said, his voice grim.
Steve, running a hand through his hair and pacing a few steps away, let out a frustrated laugh. "That's great.. That's really great. Jesus!" He turned back to face the group, his face a mixture of disbelief and frustration.
Dove leaned over the book, tracing her fingers over the eerie illustration, her mind racing. Nancy's voice cut through the silence. "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, his voice full of determination.
"We win," Dustin said.
Lucas crossed his arms, chiming in with a dose of reality. "Theoretically."
Hopper, who had been pacing near the table, stepped closer and grabbed the book, flipping through its pages with a frustrated sigh. "Great. So how do you kill this thing?" he asked, his voice tight with impatience. "Shoot it with fireballs or something?"
Dustin let out a small chuckle, though the strain in his voice was evident. "No, no fireballs. You summon an undead army, uh, because zombies, you know, they don't have brains, and the Mind Flayer, it.. it likes brains." His voice trailed off awkwardly as everyone in the room turned to look at him with a mix of confusion and skepticism. "It's just a game. It's a game."
Hopper's patience snapped. He slammed the book shut and dropped it onto the table with a loud thud that made everyone jump. "What the hell are we doing here?" he demanded, his voice rising, frustration etched across his face.
Dustin, not willing to back down, shot back with equal heat. "I thought we were waiting for your military backup."
"We are!" Hopper yelled, his voice bouncing off the kitchen walls as he gestured emphatically.
Mike cut in, his voice sharp with fear and urgency. "How are they gonna stop this? You can't just shoot this with guns."
Hopper clenched his fists, his anger barely contained. "You don't know that! We don't know anything!"
"We know it's already killed everybody in that lab," Mike said, his voice firm.
"And we know the monsters are gonna molt again," Lucas added, his face set with determination.
Dustin nodded grimly. "We know it's only a matter of time before those tunnels reach this town."
The weight of their words settled over the room, the reality pressing down on them like a heavy stone.
Suddenly, Joyce emerged from her bedroom, her face pale and tear-streaked, her voice hoarse from crying. "They're right," she said quietly, her eyes red, but there was a fire in them now. "We have to kill it. I want to kill it."
Hopper stepped toward Joyce, his face softening just a bit as he tried to reach her. "Me too, Joyce, okay?" he said, his voice calmer now, filled with a gentler concern. "But how do we do that? We don't exactly know what we're dealing with here."
Joyce looked like she was about to respond, her mouth opening, her expression determined. But before she could speak, Dove's voice broke through the tense silence, firm and unwavering. "Yes, we do."
Everyone turned, eyes landing on Dove. She had been standing quietly near the edge of the room, watching the conversation unfold with crossed arms, her gaze thoughtful and intent. But now she stepped forward, her eyes sharp with conviction.
"We have a piece of it right here," she said steadily, nodding toward Will, who was still lying unconscious on the couch. Her words seemed to hang heavy in the air as the room fell silent. All eyes shifted to Will, realization dawning as the gravity of what she was suggesting sank in. "If anyone knows how to destroy this thing," she continued, her voice barely more than a whisper but resonating with certainty, "it's Will."
For a moment, no one moved. The only sound was the faint, electric hum of the kitchen light, flickering just enough to cast an uneasy glow over the room. Hopper rubbed his jaw, his gaze shifting slowly from Will's still form on the couch to Dove, and then back to Will. His brow furrowed, eyes narrowing as he turned Dove's words over in his mind, each implication more daunting than the last. The weight of the moment settled heavily, everyone waiting for Hopper's response.
Finally, Max broke the silence, her voice uncertain, carrying the anxiety everyone felt. "I thought we couldn't trust him anymore," she said, her eyes flicking uneasily between Will and the others. "That he's a spy for the Mind Flayer now."
Mike shook his head, his voice full of conviction. "Yeah, but he can't spy if he doesn't know where he is." The others turned to him, drawn in by his conviction as he began piecing his thoughts together, connecting invisible dots. "If we take him somewhere with no identifying features, he won't be able to see where he is. The Mind Flayer can't use him if it doesn't know what it's looking at."
"The shed," Joyce said suddenly, her voice hoarse but fierce with determination. Everyone turned to look at her, the fire in her eyes unmistakable now. "We'll use the shed. We'll cover everything with tarps, sheets, whatever we can find."
Hopper nodded, his expression hardening with resolve. "Let's move. Grab what you can. We need this ready, now."
With that, everyone sprang into action. Hopper led the charge, heading outside to the backyard to start clearing out the shed. The night air was cool, and the faint sounds of leaves rustling added an eerie backdrop to their hurried movements. Hopper began dragging everything out of the small, dusty shed—old tools, boxes of forgotten items, a rusted lawnmower. The shed was small, its wooden beams creaking with age as he worked, but it would have to do.
Inside the house, Dove and Max rushed toward the linen closet, throwing it open and grabbing as many sheets as they could find. The fabric spilled out of their arms as they raced back toward the others. The sound of hurried footsteps echoed through the hallways, everyone moving with a sense of urgency.
Jonathan and Lucas had already begun stripping the beds, yanking blankets and sheets off the mattresses, while Dustin scoured the house for duct tape and rope. The energy was frenetic, everyone working quickly, focused on their task.
Once the shed was cleared, they began to cover it completely, layering every surface to ensure there were no gaps. Tin foil was taped to the windows and along the walls, reflecting the dim light of the single bulb hanging from the ceiling. The sound of the foil crinkling filled the air as Max and Dove worked side by side, pressing it into place. The sharp scent of the old newspapers mixed with the musty smell of the shed as they plastered the walls with headlines and weathered articles, layering them over the wood until the entire room felt sealed off from the outside world.
Nancy helped staple down the edges of the sheets so they wouldn't slip, her hands trembling slightly, but her face focused. She and Steve worked side by side, their hands moving quickly as they secured the last of the sheets.
Meanwhile, Hopper brought in a chair from the house, placing it in the center of the room. Its wooden legs creaked as it hit the floor, and everyone paused for a moment, the gravity of what they were about to do settling in. Joyce appeared in the doorway, her eyes red but her expression resolute.
It was a strange sight—the small wooden shed now transformed into a patchwork of fabric, foil, and paper, a surreal fortress to hide Will from the Mind Flayer's reach.
Jonathon gently carried Will outside, his head lolled to one side, his face pale and sweat-drenched as they placed him in the chair. Joyce brushed a strand of hair from Will's forehead, her eyes full of sorrow as she knelt down in front of him and began to secure him with the rope. The quiet creak of the ropes and the sound of the duct tape being pulled and pressed into place filled the small space. Everyone watched in silence, the weight of what they were doing sinking in.
The shed was dimly lit, the small bulb above them casting an eerie glow over the scene. The room was quiet now, but the tension was thick with the sense that something much larger and darker was looming just out of their sight.
With Will securely tied to the chair, they stepped back, their breaths heavy from the work. They exchanged nervous glances, the gravity of the situation hanging over them like a dark cloud.
Dove stood near the door, her heart racing as she watched the others. Her mind was still processing everything that had just happened, the enormity of what they were up against. And now, it all came down to this—their last hope, a risky plan that might be the only chance they had.
Mike, Jonathan, Joyce, and Hopper stayed behind in the shed, while the rest of the group made their way inside. The night was cool, and the stars seemed distant, almost indifferent to the chaos unfolding below. The crunch of their footsteps on the gravel was the only sound as they made their way back to the house. Inside, everything felt unnervingly still, despite the frantic energy that had filled the space just moments before.
Dove headed into the kitchen, the soft hum of the refrigerator the only noise breaking the silence. She immediately busied herself, her hands moving on autopilot as she picked up stray dishes and wiped down the counter. The repetitive motion was grounding, keeping her mind from spiraling into the chaos outside.
Steve lingered near the doorway, watching her for a moment before speaking, his voice soft but full of weight. "We should talk."
Dove froze mid-swipe, her hand still clutching the dish towel. She stared down at the counter, feeling the tension build in her chest. Slowly, she turned to face him, her expression guarded. His face was unreadable, his eyes searching hers for something she wasn't sure she could give. She crossed her arms, trying to keep her voice steady. "About what, Steve?" she asked, though she knew the answer. Her voice was quiet, almost cautious, as if she didn't want to disturb the fragile calm they had.
He shifted uncomfortably, his gaze flicking away for a brief moment before returning to her. "Earlier," he started, his voice just above a whisper as he took a step toward her. "I don't want you to think that—"
"It's okay," Dove interrupted, her voice calm but she could see the look in his eyes, the way he seemed ready to dismiss it, to brush it off like it was just a fleeting, heat-of-the-moment impulse. She knew this act well enough; she'd seen him put it on for everyone else. "You don't need to say anything. I get it."
Steve's brow furrowed, clearly caught off guard by her response, but she pushed through, refusing to let him see her falter.
"We can just.. forget it ever happened, okay?" She shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant. "After this we go back to being strangers, remember?"
She braced herself, expecting him to agree, maybe even to be relieved, but there was something unspoken lingering in his eyes as he studied her, his jaw tightening. For a second, it looked like he was about to argue, to say something that would turn everything she just said on its head, but then he sighed, the tension in his shoulders easing.
"If that's what you want," he said finally, his voice softer than before. But there was a hint of something in his tone, something that almost sounded like regret.
Dove nodded, her throat tight. She could feel the unresolved tension between them, but she couldn't bring herself to address it—not now. She watched as Steve turned and walked into the living room, picking up his bat from where it leaned against the wall.
He began twirling it absently, the motions growing into steady, practiced swings. The soft whoosh of the bat cutting through the air filled the room, and Dove stayed rooted in the kitchen, her fingers gripping the edge of the counter. She kept her gaze on him, thoughts swirling in her mind, a mess of unspoken feelings and confusion.
A movement across the room caught her eye, and she looked up to find Nancy watching her, eyes sharp, full of questions that Dove wasn't sure she had the answers to. A pang of something—guilt, maybe, or uncertainty—stirred in her chest, making her glance away, hoping that neither of them saw through the calm facade she was struggling to maintain.
Suddenly, the front door burst open, and the group from the shed hurried inside, filling the house with tense energy. Hopper strode into the kitchen, his expression set with urgency as he grabbed a piece of paper from the counter and fished a pen out of his jacket pocket.
"What happened?" Dustin asked, his eyes wide with concern.
"I think Will's trying to communicate," Hopper said, barely looking up from the paper as he scribbled down a pattern of dots and dashes. "But not with words."
Dove's eyes widened as she recognized the familiar pattern, the quick staccato of dots and dashes forming a code. Morse code. Hopper's hand moved swiftly, writing out the letters, one by one: H-E-R-E.
Jonathan, who'd been standing just behind Hopper, immediately darted into Will's room. Moments later, the sound of drawers slamming and tapes shuffling filled the air before he reappeared, an old radio and a tape clutched in his hands.
Hopper grabbed one of the boys' walkie-talkies from the table and turned to Dustin. "We're going back out there, but I need you to stay here and keep track of whatever code he sends," he instructed, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Mike, Joyce, Jonathan, and Hopper moved quickly toward the door, heading back out to the shed, leaving the rest of the group in a tense silence. As the door shut behind them, the room seemed to hold its breath. They all moved at once, grabbing the needed supplies for their new mission. Nancy, seated at the table with Dustin, Max, and Lucas, held a red crayon over a notepad, ready to jot down any incoming signals.
Dove and Steve hovered around the table at opposite sides, waiting with bated breath for Hopper to transmit the code. A steady stream of beeps sounded through the walkie and Dove watched as Nancy's hand moved across the page, transcribing the message. The red crayon scraped against the paper, the only sound breaking the tense silence.
"C-L-O-S-E-G-A-T-E," Nancy said, her voice low but steady as she spelled out the message.
Dove's heart skipped a beat as the meaning sank in. They had to close the gate—the gate to the Upside Down. Her eyes flicked toward Steve, catching his gaze for just a second, before the loud, jarring ring of the phone in the kitchen cut through the silence.
Without thinking, Dove moved toward the phone, her pulse pounding as the relentless ringing clawed at her nerves. She grabbed it off the hook, gripping it hard as if her hand alone could silence the sound. She slammed it back down, cutting off the ring—but barely a breath passed before it started blaring again, the shrill noise reverberating in her ears like an alarm, her pulse quickening with a rising panic.
"Dove, wait—" Steve's voice was somewhere behind her, but she didn't stop. Frustration and fear boiling over, she yanked the phone from the wall in a single, swift motion and hurled it down the hallway. The satisfying crash of plastic against the floor echoed through the house.
They all stood in stunned silence, their eyes locked on the shattered phone at the end of the hallway. The weight of what had just happened lingered in the air, and for a heartbeat, no one dared to move.
The stillness was broken by Max's hesitant voice, cutting through the tension like a blade. "Do you think he heard that?" she whispered, her gaze darting to each of them, fear flickering in her eyes.
Steve shook his head slowly, trying to sound reassuring. "It was just the phone," he said, but his voice held a hint of doubt. "It could've come from anywhere."
A chill ran up Dove's spine, settling at the base of her neck. She reached up instinctively, pressing a hand against the ache that was blooming at her temples, as an otherworldly screech pierced the night—a sound that was too familiar, too close for comfort.
The Mind Flayer knew where they were.