Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was a bad idea to go alone.

She’d known that from the beginning— but it wasn’t exactly her fault that her partner in crime was being an irredeemable jackass at the moment.

So what, she’d stood him up for a stupid date— one that he’d been adamant  was not in fact a date, though clearly that wasn’t the case— there were much bigger things to worry about, and the fact that he couldn’t get over himself enough to see that wasn’t her problem. The magnets fell off her fridge. Just once she’d be willing to chalk up to a coincidence, but twice? Something was wrong and that should have been clear to anyone who knew about the shit that's been going on in Hawkins in the past few years.

That should have been clear to him. He was supposed to believe her, wasn’t he? That was what he’d done— what he’d made a point to do— through all of this so far, why couldn’t he believe her now?

Why was she standing outside Hawkins lab feeling exposed and unprepared and alone?

She shouldn’t be here. She feels the uneasiness in her gut start to grow. She should get out of here, try to talk to Hopper again, talk to Dr. Owens, talk to Jonathan or Nancy or the Harrington kid for Christ’s sake, talk to anyone who would understand, anyone who might believe that something here is wrong.

But she doesn’t want to drag the kids into this. It wouldn’t be fair or safe to get them any more involved than they already are, and Owens is a busy man, he’s not going to send someone out here with her without more information to go off of, and Hopper— 

Well, he’s already made it perfectly clear where he stands.

Besides, Joyce has never been one to shy away from danger, not when it means protecting her family. If that thing is back— if anything from that place has gotten into Hawkins— that means that Will could be at risk. So could Jonathan, so could both of their friends, so could their entire community. So for their sake, Joyce takes a deep breath and steps closer to the entrance of the lab, trying not to think about how every step forward means one step away from her car, one step more that she’ll have to be prepared to run should someone or something lie waiting inside.

And then she notices it. Movement.

There’s something in the woods, and while the voice in her head that is now starting to sound eerily like a certain police chief is telling her that it’s probably just a squirrel, Joyce, something feels off. The rustle in the trees was too big to be caused by something small. She takes a deep breath and, derailing herself from the lab, starts towards the disturbance.

Joyce steps into the forest and, despite the summer humidity, she feels a chill run down her body. It’s been a while since she’s had to do something like this alone and, to be honest, she wasn’t expecting to have to.

She thought he’d at least come with her. He may not have believed her at first, he may be mad at her– but she still thought he’d come with her, and it kind of stung that he didn’t. This friendship– this partnership– that they have, she thought it ran deeper than a little fight. Than her standing him up.

Than him acting like she’s crazy; looking at her like she’s crazy, the same way everyone else does.

Maybe he only wants to believe her when he thinks he’s got a shot at bedding her, she thinks bitterly, and she hates herself for thinking it, because she knows that’s not true. Maybe he only wants to believe her when he isn’t pissed at her, is probably more like it. Maybe the years of trust and understanding they’ve accumulated flies out the window whenever he gets his feelings hurt. Maybe she’s just another thing he can walk away from, push out of his life, avoid whenever it gets inconvenient.

Or maybe she really is just crazy.

She considers it for a second, feeling that aching dread and uncertainty and paralyzing fear creeping its way in.

And then she watches a squirrel walk through a gaping, burning hole in the trunk of a tree.

Chapter Text

Jim Hopper is pissed.

He’s pissed at a lot of people right now– at Joyce, at the Wheeler kid, at Larry Kline, at himself– but at the moment, he’d say his biggest problem is with the man holding him in a headlock and throwing him against the wall of the lab hallway. Pain explodes through him as he lets out a sharp cry.

He shifts his weight, focusing all his energy on pushing the other man against the wall after him, slipping out of his grasp, gaining control of the situation. “Where is she?” he shouts, slamming the other man’s head into the wall again.

“Who?” the man responds roughly, pushing himself up straight and elbowing Jim hard in the stomach. 

“The woman who was here before me,” he grunts. He grabs him by the arm as he tries to pull away, using his hold on him to pull him in and knee him in the gut. Wind for wind, he thinks as the other man struggles to catch his breath.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he rasps smugly. Hopper knees him again. The man has an accent, Jim realizes. He sounds Russian.

“Her car is outside.” He pulls him back and then throws him to the ground. “Where is she?” he yells again, crouching down next to him.

“Don’t know,” the Russkie says and, before Jim even realizes it, the man is rolling onto his back away from him. He stands up freakishly quickly and, while Jim is still crouched, kicks him swiftly in the face. He falls back, and now the other man is standing over him.

The man leans in and smirks. “She was gone before I got here,” he spits. He raises his gun above his head, and then everything goes black.

*

His head is throbbing when he wakes up. The room is spinning, the pain is excruciating, and it takes him more than a few seconds to remember exactly where he is and how he got here. The second he does, he’s cursing himself.

Joyce.

He’d given in and left for the lab only a half hour after watching her drive off on her own. Thirty minutes of pacing angrily about the cabin, muttering to himself and beating his fists against anything that wouldn’t break. Thirty minutes of thinking a myriad of truly awful things about Joyce and about himself, thirty minutes of worrying about her, thirty minutes of replaying the last few years of their lives in his head. It took him thirty minutes of wondering whether or not he should have gone with her for him to decide that yes, he should have.

He stands up groggily, ignoring the throbbing pain in his head, and his chest, and his back– his everything, really– and makes his way outside. Joyce’s car is still parked right next to his, and he feels another surge of panic at the sight of it. Where is she and what are they doing to her? He feels a deep urge stirring in him, and it takes everything he has not to throw his bruised knuckles– or worse, his already likely-concussed head– into the hard exterior of the building, just like he’d done to his bedroom wall at the cabin before he left.

He throws himself awkwardly into the driver’s seat of his Blazer and metaphorically crosses his fingers that he’ll be okay to drive. 

She may be in the habit of standing him up, but he happens to value the principle of loyalty, thank you very much.  It was because of this that he had begrudgingly gotten into his car and left for the lab not long after she left his house.  If he was proven right, Joyce would probably be gone by the time he got there. He had told himself that she couldn’t have possibly found anything.

He’d had to admit that the magnets were weird, but he wasn’t ready to rule out coincidence. As bad as he feels for thinking it, he knows that the things they’ve gone through have a way of getting in your head. God knows they’ve gotten into his.

He almost shot Betsy Payne’s dog the other day; saw it out of the corner of his eye and was already reaching for his gun before the memory of those things tearing into Bob Newby’s flesh ceded and he remembered where he was. There are days when he wakes tangled in his covers and is halfway to trying to cut himself free of nonexistent vines before coming back to reality.

There are days when he almost calls El by another name.

Trauma can mess with you; Jim Hopper knows that better than most, and he knows that Joyce has more than her fair share of trauma too. So he was just not ready to disrupt the calm, the normalcy, the happiness that they’ve finally started to settle into for what very well could just be nothing.

He should go to Joyce’s house, he decides. Contact Jonathan and Nancy, brief them on what’s going on, then figure out what he needs to do next.

He didn’t think she was crazy.

He didn’t think she was crazy, and he knows in his heart that he believes it, but he needs to repeat it in his head a few times just to reaffirm it. He didn’t think she was crazy, just human like the rest of them, and the human mind can only take so much trauma.

But now he knows that that isn’t what this is. And goddamn if he isn’t so fucking pissed at the universe for that. Any of them being able to move on really is too much to ask, he supposes. She was right about the damn magnets, and now the damn Soviets are involved, and why can they not just have a normal summer.

He wonders how on earth he should break this to the kids.  Hey guys, Joyce is missing and may be in serious danger, all because I’m an angry piece of shit who can’t get over himself.   That’ll go over well.

It doesn’t occur to him that he may not, in fact, be good to drive until a few minutes later.

He’s too busy thinking. Thinking about what to tell the kids, about what to tell Owens (because he does need to call Owens), about what the hell could be going on. He realizes the second he hears a horn honking that he may have been too caught up in his thoughts to notice the car coming straight towards him and– shit, is he on the wrong side of the road?

He swerves quickly and so does the other car. He’s able to readjust, but the other vehicle goes swerving off the road and— shit, is that Jonathan’s car? He slams to a halt and is practically throwing himself at the door in seconds, nearly falling over and more than a little dizzy as he rushes over. Jonathan and Nancy are already stepping out, both them and the car seemingly unharmed. He lets out a huge breath of relief. “You kids okay?” he stammers, reaching up to cup his still throbbing temple.

“Yeah, are you? ” Jonathan glares at him, slightly astonished and– yeah, that’s fair, he probably looks pretty bad right now.

“What the hell, Hopper?” Nancy spits, with the slightest bit more concern than her boyfriend.

“Concussion,” he explains dismissively, gesturing with his hand to his head for emphasis.

“What?” she replies, eyes widening.

He brushes her off, already heading back towards the passenger seat of the Blazer. “Which of you is driving me back to Jon’s house?”

“Wh—“ Jonathan starts, looking back and forth between the two before giving in and tossing his keys to Nancy and following the Chief. “Hopper,” he starts assertively, “where’s my mom? El saw you at the lab—“

“She didn’t look for Joyce?” he interrupts as they both take their seats and Jonathan starts the car— the key still in the ignition from when Jim had unceremoniously thrown himself out the door.

“El was looking for you, and mom— she told me she was going with you, I just assumed— where is she?” Hopper can hear the panic and frustration rising in the kid’s voice and he cursed himself for about the millionth time today.

Of course. They still don’t know where Joyce is because he didn’t do what he fucking should have and gone with her. Of course it’s all his fucking fault.

“She… she came to my cabin, we got in an argument, and she left to check out the lab by herself,” he mumbles as, following Nancy, they begin speeding down the empty road back into town. “I showed up after a while to check on her. Her car was still there but I couldn’t find her. Then some fucking Arnold Schwarzenegger wannabe with a goddamn Russian accent comes out of nowhere and starts beating the shit out of me. He told me Joyce was gone before he got here and then he knocked me out. That was—“ he casts a glance towards his watch and scrambles for a few seconds to process the numbers. “About an hour ago.”

“What—“ Jonathan starts, then takes a breath, seemingly taking a moment to process. “Shit.”

“Shit’s right,” Hopper grumbles, leaning back in his seat.

“What were you fighting about?”

“What?” The question catches him off guard.

“You said you and my mom fought,” his voice grows harsher as he starts to push back the hint of emotion he’d been on the brink of showing before. “What did you fight about?” Hopper has to fight the urge to groan. There’s only room for one macho dumbass in this car.

“Nothing,” he huffs. “Stupid shit.”

“What was it?” Jonathan demands.

“Not important!” He pushes back, changing the subject. “But she mentioned— I don’t know, something about magnets. Her magnets fell off her fridge, and it happened at Melvald’s too, and she thought the lab was involved or something,” he rambles, rubbing at his forehead as he tries to conjure up the details of their conversation through the haze of anger and the definitely-not-helping brain injury. “Something about a machine. A machine big enough could… disrupt the electromagnetic field, I think she said. So she thought… but there was nothing at the lab. No one there except that Russian asshole. They aren’t building a machine. Not there, at least.”

“You’re positive he was Russian?” Jonathan asks, furrowing his brow.

“Pretty damn certain, yeah.”

“Okay,” he sighs. “The kids are all waiting at the house. We’ll get back there and… try to piece everything together, I guess.”

“Yeah,” Hopper agrees, stealing a cautious glance at the teen now focused on the road. He wonders for a second how Jonathan can be so calm, before remembering exactly what all his family’s been through in the past few years and exactly where Jonathan falls in all of it. He’s old enough to have more responsibility in all this than the kids, and young enough to have adjusted to his family being in danger. He swallows awkwardly, still feeling the need to try and comfort the kid as he calms himself down. “Your mom’s gonna be okay.”

“Yeah,” Jonathan agrees quietly, sounding like he’d like as much as possible to not be having this conversation and– okay, yeah, Jonathan’s been cold to him lately. It’s hard not to notice the way their interactions have become short and stilted and the way his eyes always seem to narrow in on Hopper with something akin to hatred.

He’s not an idiot. He knows he’s been spending a lot more time around the Byers’s house (and Melvald’s, and even all of Karen Wheelers stupid little ‘parent gatherings’ that he’s now invited to as the father of a ‘party member’, and anywhere else he might get the chance to see Joyce) and he knows that Jonathan’s caught on.

And it’s fine– really, it is– he doesn’t expect the almost-18 year old to be happy with the chief making goo-goo eyes at his mother, especially not given the impact that son of a bitch Lonnie probably made on the kid. Still, it gets on his nerves. He’s at least entitled to a little damn respect, he thinks, and as soon as the thought occurs to him, his head is swimming with anger. But despite the pit of fire slowly bubbling up in his stomach, he tries to push them away. He needs to focus on finding Joyce, not fighting with her son over… he’s not even sure what.

He closes his eyes in an attempt to calm himself and immediately hears Jonathan issue a monotone “don’t fall asleep” warning. He hadn’t been planning to, but now it’s all he wants to do.

“I’m not,” he grumbles defensively, opening his eyes and crossing his arms over his chest as he leans back in the passenger seat.

They sit in silence for the rest of the drive.

*

Just as Jonathan had said, El, Will, Mike, Max, Lucas, and Dustin are waiting for him and the teens when they arrive. After pulling away from El’s tight hug, he does a quick, half-assed headcount. He’d prefer the kids not be involved unless needed, but if any of them are getting mixed in, it’s best they all stay together. “Harrington?” he asks.

“He had to finish his shift,” Dustin explains. “Apparently the end of the world isn’t important enough to get fired over,” he adds with an eye roll.

“It’s not the end of the world,” Hopper answers gruffly, ignoring the incessant little voice in his head suggesting otherwise. “You kids shouldn’t even be involved. You’re just here so that we can keep an eye on you and know where you are in case everything goes to shit, okay?”

The kids look indignant. “But–” Max starts to protest. 

He doesn’t need this. He already has a headache.

“No buts,” he interrupts. “None of you are getting involved.” He grimaces. “Except…”

“Except El,” the Wheeler kid finishes for him, something bitter and sad in his tone that Hopper can’t quite read and frankly, doesn’t have time for right now. Several of the kids exchange looks that nearly hurt his head to try to decipher and– nope, definitely no time for this.

He steps forward, kneeling down next to his daughter. “Kid, do you think you can find Joyce for me?”

Unflinchingly, with far more bravery than any child should have at her age, she nods.

Despite everything, he manages to offer her a smile.

*

El takes a step forward, pushing straight through the pitch darkness around her. She scans her surroundings and, just before she can turn around, she hears a noise from behind. She whips around sharply and there she is. Joyce is taking cautious steps, looking around her with a look of near-terror on her face. She’s wearing a pair of jeans and an orange t-shirt, but she has another shirt, a red flannel one, tied around her face, covering her mouth and nose. That makes El curious– curious and concerned. She tries to push herself further, to conjure up more of the environment. The harder she tries to grasp at her surroundings, the more overwhelming dread she feels. Something about this place feels wrong; but it feels familiar.

Then, Joyce looks scared. She looks behind her, and she starts to run.

Behind her is a creature that El can see, because she’s seen one before. It makes her blood run cold.

El reemerges from the Void frantic, gasping loudly, blood running from her nose, throwing off her blindfold with only two words able to escape her tongue. “Upside Down.”

Chapter Text

She only spent a few minutes wandering before realizing that she should turn around. She’s seen all she needs to and it isn’t smart to stay here much longer, especially not alone.

Alone. She’d had to do this alone.

She’ll march right down to that cabin and shove this in Hopper’s smug face. He didn’t listen to her and now he’ll eat his words.

She’d been careful to mark her path from the portal as she made her way through the woods, leaving behind a trail of paper scraps from the notepad she’d kept in her pocket. It wasn’t exactly foolproof, but it’d been good enough to allow her a few minutes of exploration without having to worry.

To think she’d almost doubted herself when she’d been right so many times before. To think she’d almost given in and accepted that crazy Joyce really was finally losing it.

And as much as she’d like to bask in the glory a few seconds more, she can’t stay here. This place sets her on edge, and she knows it isn’t safe. So she follows the trail she left for herself, leading her back to the tree that marked her entrance.

She’ll get back to the right side of reality, get back in her car, drive back over to Hopper’s and tell him what she found. Tell him that the gate must be opened again, that seemingly random portals are popping up, that they need to be ready to fight. She’ll go home and prepare, gathering weapons and searching for intel, talking to the kids, who– if she’s learned how this works– probably know twice as much as she does by now, and making sure everyone is safe.

That would be the plan; if she had any conceivable way of getting back to her world.

Because now, she’s instead left shivering, staring helplessly at the tree trunk that two minutes prior, contained a small gate back to where she’d come from.

No, no, no.

This isn’t happening; she’s not going to be stuck here. She went through hell to save Will from this place, she’s not going to end up trapped here too.

It’s so cold here.

Last time she was here, it was with a hazmat suit layered over her clothes, another warm body next to her, and a frantic surge of adrenaline powering her to find her son by whatever means necessary. She hadn’t noticed the cold then. She feels it now; feels the pervasive chill all around her sending shivers down her spine.

She remembers suddenly that the air is toxic.

Will was fine. Will was fine, she tries to remind herself. The air that he’d been breathing in for a full week didn’t kill him.

She knows she’s lying to herself. All that time in the hospital wasn’t fine, the respirator mask wasn’t fine, the way he’d struggled to catch his breath for months afterwards was not fine—

And Will was young. Will’s body was still able to bounce back from pretty much everything the universe threw at it. Will hadn’t been smoking a pack a day on and off the last thirty years. Will didn’t have panic attacks– not before he went missing, that was– Will’s lungs hadn’t already learned to gasp for more air when he was overwhelmed; he didn’t feel like he was drowning every time he started to panic, and she knew his body hadn’t treated the toxic air in here like a life raft in the same way hers would.

The tightness in her chest is growing unbearable and the imagined pressure is making it difficult to breathe. She finds herself struggling to keep a steady pace. She falls back against the tree she’d been leaning against, trying to relax herself, trying to catch her breath and fuck. The more she gasps for air the more worried she gets, and isn’t it ironic that thinking about her panic attacks is what would induce one?

She closes her eyes, holding her face in her hands. She again places herself back in her last time in the Upside Down. She thinks about Hopper, next to her and telling her to breathe.  

“In and out,” his voice urges her calmly. She can practically hear him if she tries hard enough.

“In… out. In… out.”

She snorts bitterly to herself as she starts to come down. Even when she’s mad at him, he’s still the one calming her down. Even when he’s not here he’s the only person who can help her.

That feels more than a little pathetic, if she’s honest.

Okay, she needs to focus if she’s going to survive here. Either she’ll find a way out, or someone will find her, but until that happens, she needs to focus on making sure that she isn’t mauled or possessed or poisoned by this goddamn toxic air, and– right, that’s the first order of business.

She unties the flannel she’d been wearing around her waist and wraps it around her face. It makes breathing a bit of a struggle but she hopes it’ll at least do something to keep anything harmful from flooding her lungs.

Second order of business: she needs to get out of these woods. It’s easy enough to remember the direction she had come from the lab, and from there it won’t be too bad a walk back to her house. Will had been able to make contact with her at the house when he was trapped here.

She really hopes she’ll have the same luck.

With a plan in mind, she resolves to start the walk back to her house; these woods are starting to creep her out. She wonders if she can drive in the Upside Down.  If her car is still here. She wonders what Will did for that week nearly two years ago; how and where he hid, how long he evaded that thing.

They don’t talk about Will’s time in the Upside Down often. She doesn’t know the details; there’s a part of her that isn’t sure she wants to.

Maybe they should talk about it more. Maybe he still needs to talk about it; maybe he still needs her help. Maybe he still has things to work through that he can’t because she isn’t letting him.

Or maybe she’s talking about it too much. Maybe what he needs is to leave it all behind him and move on. Maybe every reference she makes to it, every question she asks, is only hurting him. Maybe Hopper had the right idea; maybe they do all need to move past this.

But that’s what she’s trying to do.

She’s been looking at places. California seems nice. The warmth is what compels her the most. She wants all of them far, far away from the incessant chill of this place.

When she reaches her car, she finds it upside down and overgrown with vines she’d like to stay far away from. It’s fine, she tells herself. It’s not a long walk to her house.

She makes her way back to the woods, taking the quickest route back to the Byers household. She may not know it as well as the kids do now, but she trusts herself to make it there. The quiet puts her on edge and has her peeking around trees and jumping at the slightest noise. She’s almost out of the woods when she steps on something.

Beneath her shoe is the mangled, bloody carcass of a squirrel.

She recoils initially, wiping her shoe on the ground, disgusted by the sight. Then she regains her senses and freezes, scanning the area around her carefully. She’s about to let out the breath she’d been holding when all of a sudden, something comes charging at her through the trees.

She breaks into a sprint as the demodog chases her out of the woods.

Chapter Text

“No,” Hopper argues with the man on the phone. “I need to talk to Sam Owens now. Wherever he is, I need you to find him because this is an emergency, okay?”

“I’ll pass on your message, he’ll call as soon as he’s able,” the man on the other end repeats himself coolly.

“No, he’ll call me right the hell n–”

The line goes dead. The bastard hung up. He slams the phone back into the receiver angrily as the kids watch him from the living room.

“No luck?” Jonathan asks.

Hopper shakes his head.

“Did they say when they’ll be able to send someone?”

“No,” he grimaces.

“It’s fine,” Nancy breathes. “We’ve had to fix this on our own twice before already,” she spits bitterly. “We’ll figure it out.”

“With what? All we know right now is that there’s a gate to the Upside Down somewhere and apparently some Russian dude has it in for Hopper,” Jonathan mutters.

“Wait, what?” the Henderson kid asks, practically jumping up from his seat next to El on the floor.

Jonathan turns back to Hopper. “You said you got attacked by a Russian guy, right?”

Hopper doesn’t even have time to answer before the kid’s eyes go wide. “Shiiiiiit.”

“What is it?” Hopper asks, furrowing his brow.

“I intercepted a Russian transmission!”

Nancy blinks at him. “You what?”

“Dude, you didn’t tell me?” Mike jumps up.

Hopper just stares. “You didn’t think to mention this?”

“I forgot,” Dustin shrugs. “Didn’t think it was relevant.”

Hopper pinches the bridge of his nose. “Okay, so you found a Russian communication. Do they say anything about the gate?”

“I don’t know! It’s in Russian!”

“Okay,” he sighs, waving his hand dismissively.  He already has a feeling that trying to sort through anything this kid tells him will only make his headache worse. “Isn’t your babysitter supposed to be here soon? What does he know?”

“Hey!” Dustin bites back, before quieting as the chief shoots him an authoritative glare. “Steve’s shift ended like ten minutes ago, he should be here soon,” he concedes rather quickly.

“You got a recording?” he asks.

“Yeah, hold on,” he says, reaching into his backpack and proudly presenting Hopper with a tape in a cassette player. “Steve and I have been trying to translate it, but we don’t have very much so far, and what we do doesn’t make sense.” He hands him a notebook open to a page littered with nonsense phonetics and translations.

Hopper frowns as he stares down at the page, trying to make sense of the gibberish in front of him. “Okay,” he breathes. “Okay, I know a guy. Let me—“ He sets the notebook down and pulls out his wallet, fumbling through it for— come on, come on… “There! Found it. Here.” He pulls out a tattered piece of paper with ten near-illegibly scrawled digits. 618-625-8313. He picks up the phone, grateful he didn’t smash the damn thing like he wanted to, and dials the number.

“Who is this and how did you get this number?” the voice on the other end picks up almost immediately.

“Jim Hopper. You gave it to me, idiot.”

“Jim? Do you realize what time it is?” he asks, in a tone that Hopper is very sure is his best attempt at sounding annoyed.

“Yeah, doesn’t exactly sound like you were sleeping. I need your help. Now.”

Murray is quiet for a minute, and Jim takes a breath, preparing himself for what he knows is coming and what he really doesn’t have time for.

“Oh? You need my help? The all-powerful Chief Jim Hopper needs help? From the stark-raving mad—“

“Murray,” he cuts him off through gritted teeth. “This is serious. I need you to translate something for me.”

“What language?”

Hopper rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I’ve got a very pressing situation that relies on your Yiddish skills. Russian, Murray.”

It’s not long before he regrets the sarcasm, immediately aware of what’s going to follow it. “Oh! So you’re asking for my help with a dire situation involving Russians just months after you laughed at me for suggesting—“

“We don’t have time for this!” Hopper shouts into the receiver. He’s very tempted to give the other man a piece of his mind, being held back only by the internal voice of his own conscience telling him to suck it up and the much more convincing external voice of Nancy Wheeler telling him to—

“Give me the phone.”

He hands it over, watching as she takes it authoritatively and begins to speak. “Murray? Yeah, it’s me. You need to get down here. No, listen— No. You wanted to know what was going on in Hawkins so bad and now you’re going to be in the middle of it. People are in danger, this isn’t up for debate. Get over here as soon as you can.”

There’s a moment of silence, and he can sense everyone in the room taking a collective inhale before Nancy’s face floods with relief and she begins to give him directions to the Byers house.

“Ask him to translate the recording now!” Dustin interjects.

“No,” Hopper waves the idea off. “We don’t want anyone listening to know what we know.

“Yeah, stupid,” Lucas agrees, shoving his friend and inadvertently knocking him into Mike. Hopper rolls his eyes and resists the urge to yell at them as a small shoving match breaks out between nearly all six of the tweens.

“Okay, see you then,” Nancy concludes, shooting the kids an annoyed glare before hanging up the phone.

“It’s a three hour drive,” Jonathan informs the room.

“So he better floor it,” Nancy exhales, seemingly trying to be unbothered by this. 

Jonathan looks as though he’s about to respond before everyone’s train of thought is interrupted by a knock at the door. The group of tussling kids freeze and, for a moment, Hopper briefly considers that Murray’s learned to teleport before Dustin stands up impatiently, marching towards the door. 

“That better be Steve,” he huffs. And sure enough, when the kid flings open the door, there he is. “I told you, I said it was a code red! But no, you wanted to stay and finish your shift! Well guess what Steve? It’s a code red! A code-freaking-red!”

“Oh God,” Steve breathes, stepping in and taking a look around. “Who died?”

“No one yet,” he shouts. “Mrs. Byers maybe.”

“Dude!” Mike yells, grabbing Will’s arm protectively. El, Max, and Lucas shoot Dustin identical  glares.

“No one is dead!” Hopper interjects angrily as, unsurprisingly, Harrington looks over to him for an explanation rather than the middle schoolers. “Joyce thought something weird was going on so she went to poke around at Hawkins Lab. When I went to look for her, I got attacked–”

“By a Russian!” Dustin interjects excitedly.

“...by a Russian,” Hopper agrees, slightly annoyed at the interruption. “El says… El says that she saw her in the void and that she was in that other world.”

“The Upside Down,” Mike supplies.

“Yeah, okay,” he says, getting more aggravated. Do these kids ever shut up? “The Upside Down.”

“We called a guy who can translate Russian,” Jonathan informs him, “but he won’t be here for around three hours.”

Steve glances between all of them, trying to take everything in. “Oh… uh… shit. That’s… So what do we do?”

“For now? Not much,” Nancy replies.

“We wait,” Hopper spits bitterly.

“Well you,” she turns to point at him, “need to get that concussion checked out. Jonathan, can you–”

“Yeah,” he agrees quietly, giving Hopper a look that tells him he doesn’t exactly want to be spending any one-on-one time with him right now. Whatever, feeling’s mutual. “Hopper, come here–”

“I can help!” Max chimes in. “I know a lot about head injuries.” She pauses as everyone turns to look at her. “What? Skateboarding,” she explains. The kid stands up and, just as Jonathan is starting to lead her and Hopper down the hall to another room, they hear the doorbell ring.

Everyone takes a slow step towards the door. “Are we expecting anyone else?” Lucas asks.

“No,” Hopper says cautiously as Jonathan shakes his head. They both shoo Max back behind them, with Steve and Nancy stepping in front of the kids protectively, as they head towards the door. Hopper reaches down for his gun as Jonathan glances back at him, then braces himself and slowly turns the handle to open the door.

Taking in the sight in front of her, a very nervous looking teenage girl– for whom Hopper cannot for the life of him figure out a motive to have shown up unexpectedly– lets out an awkward chuckle. “I shouldn’t be here, should I?” she asks, glancing between the two men still poised to attack.

“Robin Buckley?” Jonathan furrows his brow.

“Hey,” she breathes nervously. “You were in my science class.”

“Yeah. Um, what– what are you doing here?” he asks. They ease up a bit, both of them relaxing their stances and Hopper pulling his hand away from his belt.

Hopper’s about to ask the same question when, of course, he’s interrupted by a child.

“Robin?” Dustin asks excitedly.

“Robin?” Steve steps towards them.

“I, um– Okay, Steve was acting really suspicious, so I… followed him. I didn’t think there’d be like, any harm in it! Are you guys like… running an underground crime ring or something? Shit, is Hopper a dirty cop? I knew it.”

“No,” Hopper responds calmly, choosing to ignore that last bit. “Robin, you need to leave.”

“Wait!” Dustin interjects. “Robin helped with the Russian. She can help us translate.”

“You speak Russian?” Jonathan asks.

“Not… not really. I got some books and I was trying to learn. Help Dustin with that transmission thing.” Her eyes widen. “Oh shit, is that what this is about?”

“Kind of,” Steve supplies. “Okay, just–” he runs his hands over his face and through his hair, looking to Jonathan and Hopper, panicked. “Do we have to tell her now?”

“Tell me what?”

Jonathan sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Okay, just– come in. We’ll explain.”

Great, just what they needed.

The kids begin their incessant, excited chattering as the older teens try to calm them, and Hopper finds himself wishing, definitely not for the first time, that Joyce was here. He can’t look after these kids on his own and he can’t manage this team on his own. For all he’d like to pretend he does fine on his own, he can’t do this without her. Hell, he tried last year and she’d had to bring her boyfriend to dig him out of the mess he’d made for himself. The question is, what happens if she doesn’t want to be his partner in all of this anymore? What happens to him if she leaves town?

What happens if–

No, that’s not a trail of thought he’s going down today. He finds himself itching for a Tuinal, not for the first time since he quit, but it’s definitely a stronger urge than any he’s had in the past few months. Instead, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. 

“Jonathan,” he calls upon opening his eyes, “Max. You two wanna make sure I’m not gonna die?”

Jonathan nods, leading the two of them down the hall and into Joyce’s room, leaving behind the others to deal with the mess that they all seem to be continuously digging themselves deeper into. Maybe if he were a braver man, he’d stay and try to sort through the chaos. But he knows he isn’t. He knows all the macho bravery bullshit has been an act, drawing only on the real strength of those around him. His strength is gone now. Gone with Sara, gone with his marriage, gone with El’s childhood.

Gone with Joyce.

Chapter Text

She loses the dogs just before reaching the house, pushing herself past limits she didn’t even know she had. They may be faster than her, but living in Hawkins her entire life has given her the advantage of knowing these woods well enough to shake them.

God, if she survives this, she really needs to start working out.

By the time she staggers into her backyard, she’s ready to collapse. She stumbles into the shed, pushing past shovels and brooms and– there it is. It feels heavy, likely due to her exhaustion, but the ax still fits neatly into her hand. Power and security floods through her as she glances behind her on her way to the backdoor of the house.

She lets out a sigh of relief as the handle works on her first try, for once grateful that Will forgot to lock it again.

She needs to figure out how to get out of here; but first, she needs to rest. She stumbles through the house and to her bedroom, slowly regaining her breath and her strength now that she has a chance to slow down. She breathes a sigh of relief as she collapses onto her bed. Everything here may be toxic, and infested, and wrong, but her bed is thankfully still her bed. The comforter is warm and the pillow is soft and the old mattress welcomes her familiar form the same way it does every night.

She isn’t intending to fall asleep, only to give herself a second to lay down and relax her muscles.  But despite her current circumstances, and despite her brain screaming at her to stay awake, she’s out within minutes.

She’s grateful for the fact that she’s always been a light sleeper; she wakes to the sound of something banging against the front door. She sits upright, clutching her ax tighter. Not banging, charging. And not just the front door. She can hear the same sound from the direction of the back door too. Shit.

She stands up quickly, running down the hall to take a look at the doors. The demodogs are charging at both entrances, and from the sound of it, they’re going at the walls of the house as well. She can’t get out, and there’s no way she can fight all of them off at once.

She tries to keep the panic at bay as it sets in, reminding herself of everything she knows that might help her. She remembers last fall, remembers Hopper’s cabin, remembers burning that thing out of her son. She hopes everything else in this place hates fire just as much.

She fishes into her pocket, letting out a sigh of relief when she pulls out her zippo lighter. It’s grown tarnished and tricky over the years, but it still works on good days. It’s still got some of its original shine and the initials JH are still engraved in it clearly.

 She marches into the kitchen and pulls open the cabinets and the fridge, reaching for the highest alcohol content she can find as the sound of the dogs charging the house echoes all around her. She holds her breath as she steps closer to the entrances, dumping out the contents of an old bottle of vodka– left behind by Lonnie God knows how many years ago– right in front of the doors the dogs have nearly broken in. Good thing I don’t drink vodka.

She’s surprised the lighter has lasted her this long. Hopper had given it to her the day before graduation, right after he told her he’d be shipping out for Vietnam after high school. She had been so mad at him then, for going so willingly. It astounds her that something as devastating and all-consuming as war seems like a trivial teenage matter to her now in hindsight. She hopes he’ll forgive her for throwing away one of the few remaining mementos of their past. Yet another piece of them lost to the unending terror of this town.

She can’t fathom why he wants to stay.

She takes a deep breath and pours a trail around the front of the house. She braces herself, lighter and ax in hand, trying not to tremble as she waits.

And then the door comes down.

The dogs break down the front door, and soon after, those at the back door follow. The others all hurry towards the openings, and soon there’s at least six of them charging for her. She steps back, throwing the open lighter to the ground and breaking into a sprint down the hall. Behind her, they  let out a mangled shriek as the fire catches. She sees the surge of light around her and she can feel the heat, but she doesn’t look back as her home burns around her. She takes a lamp haphazardly to the bedroom window and uses the handle of her ax to break away the remaining glass, not wanting to take the time to get the damn thing open— it’s been broken since last June. She doesn’t give herself time to prepare before throwing herself through it.

Chapter Text

Something feels so terrifyingly intimate about being in Joyce’s room alone.

It’s not an intimacy he’s accustomed to or ready for, and it’s certainly not one he deserves. He hasn’t been in this room since that night last fall– the only time he’s been in her room. He tries not to think of that night too often, but once he does, he’s back there without fail.

No matter how hard he tries, he always finds himself going back.

All of a sudden he’s fighting with everything he can give to defend El as she closes the gate, the Wheeler kid is throwing sloppy punches that land harder on his ego than they ever could on his body, and he’s holding Joyce back as those damn hounds lay into Bob, slowly, painfully.

He’s sitting on the floor in Joyce’s room, staring up at her, trying to convince the both of them that the world isn’t going to end, and for a sick, twisted moment, he’s hoping it might. He’s hoping that instead of the bang and crash and agony he’d always assumed he’d be destined for– like Bob was destined for– the universe would give him the mercy of ending here and now, with him and Joyce alone in the quiet.

But the universe went on then; just like it did after Sara, and just like it will now. Jury’s still out on whether or not that’s a good thing.

Jury’s always out on that one, he thinks back to a few too many nights spent staring down the barrel of his own gun, a few too many nights spent contemplating the right dosage.

He should rest. He’s learned that that’s the right thing to do when his head gets like this– when drinking isn’t an option, that is. Ignoring every bone in his body screaming that this is weird and inappropriate and awkward, he lays himself down on Joyce’s bed and lets out a heavy exhale, trying not to think about how much like her the sheets smell; trying not to picture her next to him. Fuck, he’s tired.

Jonathan and Max– the kid had a frankly startling amount of medical knowledge, as it turns out– had told him that his head would likely be fine as long as he gives himself time to rest. They’d also cautioned him to avoid running and, well, being hit in the head again, but he’s not sure how well he’ll be able to follow either of those orders, so he can at least make do on his promise to get some shut-eye.

Jonathan, Nancy, Dustin and Steve are in Jon’s room catching Robin up on the past several years, while the rest of the kids are (supposedly) resting in Will’s room. There isn’t much they can do until Murray gets here, and as much as he wants to theorize and plan and be as prepared as he can, he can feel the events of the day bearing down on him.

He closes his eyes and lets the comfort of a warm bed and a comforting scent lull him to sleep.

There’s something else, too; something he can’t quite place, but something calming. Something familiar.

He falls asleep and he dreams of Joyce.

*

She almost didn’t go into her bedroom. On her walkthrough of the charred remains of this cruel imitation of her home, her own room was actually the last place she considered visiting.

She’d strolled through her living room and kitchen, torturing herself with the sight of her house destroyed. As much as she’d been preparing to leave it, she hated the sight of it like this. The house where she’d raised her children destroyed– burnt down to its charred frame and littered with the corpses of otherworldly creatures. She’d looked in her boys’ rooms, curious as to what had been salvaged. She knows that it isn’t real; she knows that somewhere there’s another version of this house, perfectly intact and hopefully with her children safe and waiting, but she can’t help but be affected by the sight.

When she does decide to step into her bedroom, one thing becomes apparent very quickly:

Reality here is blurring.

Most of the furniture around the house was somewhat intact– charred beyond use, but with the foundation still sound. Her bed, however, is shimmeringly intact– she can see the charred foundation, and she can see the transparent outline of the full version around it. She can see the transparent outline of something– someone– else too.

There is someone else in her bed. She can tell that much. The edges of reality are blurring just enough for her to make out a shape there– a large, warm, familiar shape.

Hopper. What the hell is he doing in her bed?

Sleeping, by the looks of it, she thinks, answering her own question sarcastically. He must have talked to her boys, gathered the entire group; she wonders how many people are in her house right now and why he’s the only one she’s been able to see.

She sits down hesitantly on the edge of the bed, studying him. He becomes clearer the more she focuses on him. The light is still on and she can see that he looks bruised and beaten. God, what happened? She instinctively reaches out, trailing her hand over his cheek, only belatedly realizing that she can’t actually touch him; she can’t feel anything beneath her fingers.

He must be able to feel something, though, because he wakes beneath her with a start and her name on his lips.

She almost thinks he can see her, from the way he says her name and the confused shock that seems to linger on his face. But no, he’s staring right through her.

“Hopper,” she breathes, trying to catch his attention as he sits up and closes his eyes, seemingly trying to steady himself. “Hopper,” she tries again, “Jim.” He’s opened his eyes again and is leaning over to her bedside table, checking the time on her clock.

As dire as the situation is, something in her can’t help but enjoy the sight. There’s something in the notion of him in her bed that causes her heart to flutter ever so slightly, a swell of warmth in her chest. His boots have been kicked off to the floor near the edge of the bed, but he doesn’t seem to have undressed at all. He’s been sleeping in the uniform shirt and pants that he’d been wearing earlier– he hasn’t even undone his belt– and she can’t imagine that that’s in any way comfortable. In their proximity, and in the intimacy of the situation, she finds her mind lazily wandering to the thought of him in less clothing; sleeping in his boxers and a t-shirt, arms and legs left exposed, stomach peeking out below white cotton– she wonders if he normally sleeps in a shirt at all, come to think of it, it has been a hot summer.

Soon enough, she’s imagining– fantasizing about– unbuttoning his work shirt, pulling down his pants, climbing over top of him, and–

She stops her thoughts dead in their tracks, blushing furiously once her logical brain catches up to her. Okay, she admits to herself, there may be some attraction here. But it’s purely physical. She can’t allow herself to have any feelings beyond that for Jim Hopper, no matter how wonderfully overpowering the thought is right now, that she might lay down next to him, roll into his arms, and fall asleep under his protection, his warmth enveloping her.

But she can’t do that– she can never do that. He’s not hers to have, and he never can be if she wants to build the life that will keep her and her family safe. She’s already loved and lost so much, she’s not sure she has it in her to feel that pain again. Besides, right now she needs to stay focused on getting out of here. So, she steers her thoughts back to anything but kissing Jim Hopper, and she finds herself thinking of her boys.

She thinks of Will, and she thinks of the lights, and now she has an idea.

She rises from the bed, watching as Hopper rubs the sleep from his eyes and checks the time, anxiously readjusting himself in the bed. She flips the lightswitch– barely there on her end, but she’s hoping fully functional on his– on and she feels her breath catch in her throat for what can’t be more than a fraction of a second, but feels like so much longer.

Hopper looks up, staring at the light that is apparently now flooding the room for both of them. He glances back down to the lightswitch, then up at the fixture on the ceiling again. She flips the switch again a few more times, hoping that he’ll catch on.

He seems awestruck. He blinks a few times, like he’s trying to convince himself that what he’s seeing is real. And then he breathes. “One for yes, two for no. ‘Kay?”

She practically laughs in her relief as she flips the switch in response.

He looks like he’s about to cry and if she were any less overjoyed, it’s a sight she’d be able to properly savor. “Joyce?” he asks quietly, hoarsely.

She flips the switch again. On, then off.  

Yes.

*

Jim Hopper has felt joy at several points in his life, and he can remember his happiest moments clearly.

Sara’s birth. The day he showed El her paperwork. His wedding day. The moment Joyce agreed to meet him for dinner.

In varying levels, all of these were occasions on which he can remember experiencing a distinct and overwhelming sense of euphoria. A joy that bursts through him, momentarily ridding the world of every problem, leaving him so completely consumed in his contentment that he feels he could die a happy man then and there, but that makes him want so fervently to live as a happy man instead.

This moment definitely qualifies for one of the top ten happiest moments of Jim Hopper’s life.

He nearly weeps when Joyce flickers the lights once for yes. He nearly falls to his knees and sobs in relief because she’s here and she’s alive and she’s talking to him.

He doesn’t, though. Instead he stands, still staring in awe at the light above him— Joyce’s means of contact with their reality.

“Are you— where Will was? That place?”

Yes.

“Is there anyone else there?”

No.

He hesitates a bit before the next question, not sure he wants to hear the answer. “You okay? I mean— you’re not hurt? You’re…” For someone who’s supposedly close friends with this woman he really does seem to have trouble talking to her. It’s a bit pathetic. “Are you okay, Joyce?” he repeats, his voice a bit hoarser.

He knows the answer is no. He knows there’s no possible way for her to be okay in this situation. But he needs to hear— or rather, see her say she is.

Yes.

Despite everything, the relief he feels at that makes him once again feel like he might cry.

*

Hopper looks so nervous, it almost calms her. Watching him fret over her is just a bit adorable.

She’s not okay, but she’s going to be, and she knows that’s what he’s asking. She can survive this.

He looks like he’s wondering what to say next when Joyce remembers something she should have thought of sooner. She runs out the room and down the hall towards the phone.

If Will could talk to her…

She dials her own home phone number, and the ringing sounds like it’s coming from two places at once. She doesn’t realize until he answers the phone that he’s right next to her and she can’t see him. But she doesn’t have time to be upset over that, not when she can hear his voice coming in through the phone.

“Hello?”

“Hopper?”

“Joyce,” he breathes. He sounds close to tears. “Joyce, hey. It’s gonna be okay. How– How did you get here?”

“There was–” she stammers “there was a gate in the woods. I went to look and it– and it closed behind me.”

“Gate in the woods,” he repeats slowly, affirming that he hears her, “closed behind you.”

She lets out a sigh of relief that he can understand her.

He keeps talking. “There are Russians in Hawkins. We think they’re involved. One of them nearly killed me.” Just as she feels the relief wash over her, his voice starts to grow muffled,  interrupted and layered in static. “And it’s– Dustin– recording–”

“Hopper?” she interrupts, her voice inadvertently growing louder as she tries to hear herself over the ever-increasing volume of the static on the other line. “Jim?”

“Joyce?” he asks. She can barely hear it. 

And then, through the charred remains of the wall behind her, she can see something moving. “I have to go,” she tells him abruptly.

She can hear him calling for her through the static as she watches another demodog come charging towards her.

*

*

“Joyce?” he chokes out quietly before quickly regaining his voice. “Joyce! Joyce, you there?”

He thinks he can hear her. He thinks he can make something out amidst all the static. Unfortunately, he has absolutely no clue what it is. He repeats her name until he thinks he may lose his voice. The static is loud enough to overpower anything she may be saying– if she’s even still there.

The line goes dead.

Hopper sets the phone down gently on the receiver, as though it and the whole damn house might shatter. For once, he doesn’t want to break something in his rage. For once he’s hyper-aware of the fragility of everything in his reach. He thinks he could collapse right here and now.

Everyone else in the house had left their respective rooms, circling around him as he tried to talk to her. “I– She called. The line… line went dead,” he breathes.

“You talked to her?” Jonathan asks.

“Yeah. She um–” He cards his hand through his hair again, rubbing at his face in effort to keep himself grounded. “She said she went through a portal… in the woods by the lab. It closed behind her. But I– I couldn’t hear her at the end.”

“She called?” Mike asks bewildered.

“I called,” Will mumbles. “I called my mom when I was in the Upside Down, but I…” he looks uncomfortable, trying to spit the information out like bile trapped in his throat.

“Hey, it’s okay, kid,” Hopper says, trying to calm himself a bit if only for Will’s benefit. “You don’t have to tell us unless you think it’ll help.” He kneels down, bringing himself down closer to his level. “Do you think it might help?”

Will thinks for a second, then shakes his head. “I’m sorry,” he mutters. There are tears welling in his eyes now, and Hopper can’t imagine how hard this must be for him. To be lost in that place– nearly killed by it– and make it out, only for it to take your mom from you.

“It’s okay. Listen, kid, it’s o–” before he can finish his sentence, this kid who has been through hell and back and lived is crying and practically launching himself at Hopper. This boy who was forced to grow up way before anyone should, who's gone through horrors he couldn’t even imagine, been possessed by an other-wordly entity, who died and had his ribs cracked by the CPR that brought him back, is breaking down and hugging him and crying .

And all Hopper can do is cry with him.

Everyone else is silent, watching them awkwardly and with bated breath. Seconds pass and no one dares speak a word. The only sound in the room is that of Will’s short, muffled sobs.

And then the doorbell rings.

And then, before Jonathan even reaches the door, it rings again. And then it opens; and a tall, aggravated, balding man storms in like he owns the place, clutching a messy pile of notebooks and papers under his arm.

“Alright, is someone going to tell me what the hell is going on here now?”

Chapter Text

She’s quick enough with the ax to knock the thing away from her, right as it lunges for her head. She’d tried to run for a second, but realized quickly that it would be futile, so just as it started gaining on her, she had decided to turn around and stand her ground.

It feels good to swing the ax, putting her entire body into it, and cut deep into the beast. It shrieks in pain and a small, incredibly human part of her feels bad immediately as she watches it die. She takes a breath and pulls the blade out of its corpse, watching its abnormal blood and guts drip from the ax. 

She grimaces and looks away. She can feel bad later. For now, she has to get moving. She has a feeling that the dogs are going to keep coming back. She can’t stay in one place for too long. It’s not like there’s much left here anyways. In either world, this house has served its purpose. This will be her first exercise in leaving. In moving on.

Because God forbid any of us move on.

If only he knew. No, she can only move on if he’s a part of it. She wonders fleetingly if he’d come with her. There’s a part of her that wants nothing more than that. They could run away together. Get out of this stupid town that’s never had anything but pain and cruelty to offer her family, build a new life for Will, for El, for Jonathan. For themselves.

But she can’t be sure she’s ready for it, not with him or anyone. This hell is still waging around them and Bob is still too fresh in her mind and in his grave. She’s not ready for something new yet. But when all is said and done– when everything eventually settles back into place and the incessant feeling that something is about to go wrong begins to fade– she thinks that Jim Hopper may be the only person left for her. Because at the end of the day, she’s now too deeply changed to be fully seen or understood by anyone else; to feel truly safe or at home with anyone else.

Her feet and legs are aching now as she continues walking towards town.  She’s honestly not even sure what she’s walking towards.

She thinks she may be ruined in a way that only Hopper can genuinely love. Bob may have loved her for what he saw in her, but he didn’t know all of her, so he couldn’t love all of her. Maybe he could have, maybe eventually, but he didn’t get the chance.

Hopper’s seen her through all of it. He’s seen the entire progression– High School Joyce, New Marriage Joyce, New Mom Joyce, Divorce Joyce, On-The-Brink-Of-Losing-Everything Joyce, and every tiny inconsequential step in between — and he loves her anyways. She’s sure not many men would be able to say that.

That’s the ugly truth of it. He’s her only option and she’s not sure how to feel about that at all.

Because as far as men go, Jim Hopper is not a hard one to love. Not really. He has bad days, but he isn’t a lost cause. She does have feelings for him, she just doesn’t want to force them. . She’s terrified of moving too fast and having to settle again; she settled for Lonnie, and look how that turned out. Whatever these feelings are, they need to grow in their own time.

The problem is, they don’t have the time.

If she makes it out of here alive, her and her boys will be on the next flight to somewhere warm and sunny. They won’t be in the headlines anymore— they won’t be the next victims for this town to rip apart and devour. If Jim Hopper wants to die here, he’ll have to do it without her. As she walks, she tries to bury the fantasies of the two of them waking up together in a city far away from here back in the darkest recesses of her mind.

She doesn’t make it very far walking before she sees lights flickering in the distance. Flashlight beams are cutting through the trees and buildings in the distance. The darkness around her and the glare of the light make it hard to make out who’s wielding the flashlights, but at this point she doesn’t think it matters. Whoever else is in here, friend or foe, she’d rather face them now, with a fighting chance of getting out of here, than run and hide again.

She begins to approach the slowly-becoming-more-visible bodies in the distance. There looks to be around five of them, all in yellow hazmat suits. She reminds herself that they could be here to help her. They could be working with Owens or whoever the hell else she Hopper has called by now.  

She takes a deep breath. “Hey!” she shouts, waving an arm above her head, and adjusting her grip on the ax. “Hey!”

In an instant, they’re swarming towards her, breaking into a sprint despite the clearly restrictive suits. Her knees start to wobble as she contemplates turning and running now, but she stands her ground, clutching her weapon tighter.

She tries her best to be menacing and confident when the group reaches her, brandishing the ax in front of her and loudly demanding information. “Who are you?” she asks in the direction of the nearest person. “Who are you working with?”

The man in front of her barks back a gruff response in a language she doesn’t know. Her stomach drops as she realizes that her gamble has backfired spectacularly, but before she has time to make the first move, there’s a hand wrapping tightly around her wrist, pulling it down and causing her to drop the ax.

Her body responds immediately, thrashing back against the force as her free hand takes a swing at the man holding her. She hits him square in the face and thankfully he releases his grip and falls back, only for another hazmat-suited goon to grab her from behind. She swings her head back, trying to headbutt him, but she’s much too short for it to work, and his grip tightens.

And then she feels something in her neck. A needle.

She fades out of consciousness before she can even muster up a word.

Chapter Text

  “Took you long enough,” Hopper huffs, brushing off the vulnerability of the situation he’d just been in with the trademark sarcasm– though it comes off a bit more angry than usual.

“I’ll have you know I got here very fast, all things considered.” Murray marches towards the kitchen table without invitation and sets down his things.

Nancy wastes no time following him to the kitchen. “Jonathan’s mom is trapped in the Upside Down. We don’t know how the gate got opened, but we know that there are Russians involved. One of them tried to attack Hopper at the lab and Dustin intercepted a transmission. We need you to help us figure out what the transmission means and stick around in case anything else comes up.” Bless that girl, she almost makes up for her annoyance of a brother.

The group crowds uncomfortably into the kitchen, El tucking into Hopper’s side as he stands near Murray, shifting his weight anxiously as he waits for the other man to be caught up.

“I’ve got like, the first sentence of this translated,” Robin speaks up, passing him the tape player as she sits across from him at the table. “The week is long. And– I think there was something about a cat?”

Murray nods disinterestedly, pressing the play button to listen for himself. “The week is long,” he nods, and Robin smiles proudly. “The silver cat feeds… when blue meets yellow in the west. A trip to China sounds nice… if you tread lightly.” He glances around the room, raising an eyebrow. “Does this mean anything to any of you?”

A pit of anger starts to swell in Hopper’s gut. “That’s it? It’s just gibberish?”

Murray rolls his eyes. “Well it’s obviously a code, Jim.”

“That’s a good thing,” Dustin insists. “If it’s worth encoding, it’s gotta be important.”

“Yeah, well we still have no idea what it’s a code for ,” Hopper spits.

“Wait, play that again,” Steve says, furrowing his brow.

“Haven’t you heard it twenty times already? You learn Russian in the last hour, dingus?” Robin asks.

Steve shushes her, giving Murray a look as he repeats: “Play it again.” Murray obliges, and this time Steve focuses intently on the sound, the rest of the room returning to dead silence. The kid looks like he’s thinking so hard it’s painful. “I recognize that music.”

“Yeah, because we’ve been listening to it all day,” Dustin reminds him.

Will perks up at Steve’s statement, seemingly just now listening to the tune in the background. “No, wait…” This seems to make everyone else listen more intently as Murray rewinds the tape again.

“Indiana Flyer!” Lucas shouts.

“What?” Max asks, turning to look at him.

“Yes!” Will agrees. “The Indiana Flyer horse. That’s the music it plays.”

“There’s one right by Scoops Ahoy,” Steve chimes in. “That’s the music, I’m certain of it.”

“Those things are all over the mall,” Max nods.

“Okay, wait,” Dustin says, trying to quiet the rest of them down. “That means the transmission didn’t come from Russia.”

“It probably didn’t!” Max agrees. “We already know they’re in Hawkins.”

“So what?” Hopper asks. “The Russians are camping out in Starcourt Mall?”

Murray leans back contemplatively. “I mean, it could make sense.”

“Of course it makes sense to you, it’s nonsense ,” Hopper grumbles, reaching for something, anything , productive to say. “How the hell is any of this going to help us save Joyce?”

Jonathan turns to look at him. “Magnets,” he says, eyes widening.

“What?”

“You said she was on about the magnets–” the kid starts to pace a little, running his hand through his hair as he thinks. “And how a machine big enough could disrupt them. Starcourt’s the biggest building in town. If you needed a place to hide a machine—“

“So you’re suggesting that a group of Russian spies is building something powerful enough to knock out all the magnets in Hawkins… and they’re hiding it in Starcourt Mall.”

“We could get blueprints,” Robin suggests.

“Yeah!” Mike agrees. “Blueprints for the mall, see if there’s any place in there they could—“

“No, no, no,” Hopper declares, getting aggravated. “This is ridiculous. We need to focus on finding Joyce, finding the gate, and making sure it’s closed. The recording was obviously a waste of time.”

“What if this transmission leads us to the gate?” Will throws his hands down onto the table with force that would make Hopper proud if he were directing that energy towards any other idea.

“It won’t,” he murmurs unheard through gritted teeth.

“We need to work on figuring out what it means if it’s going to lead us anywhere,” Nancy reminds Will.

“This is bullshit,” Hopper fumes, pulling away from Eland approaching the table.

“You’re just pouting because you’re not helping,” Murray shoots back.

“You—“ he starts.

“No,” he continues. “If you’re going to brood like a big baby, at least do it quietly so everyone else can get things done.” Hopper opens his mouth, but Murray cuts him off.  “We’re all very sorry you can’t be the big strong hero and save your girlfriend—“

“We’re not—“

“Don’t care. It’s not our fault that— let me guess,” he drawls with mock sympathy, “you got in a fight before she left? Yeah, I could tell that by the way you’ve been moping around this whole time. The bruise on your ego is probably bigger than the bruises on your fucking head. Oh, I bet I know what it was. She rejected you didn’t she?  Yeah, that’s gotta sting.”

“You need to shut your mouth—“

“Have you ever considered that this kind of aggression is what’s putting her off, Jim? I know her ex was a real asshole.  Y’know, maybe it’s not that she’s afraid of commitment– I’m sure that’s what you’re telling yourself–,” he rises, stepping in closer to him. “Maybe,” he spits angrily, right in his face. “ Maybe, she’s just. Afraid. Of. You.” He punctuates his sentence with a sharp jab in the chest, and despite the near-death beating he’d suffered today, the sting of this attack almost echoes more.

Anger swells through his body, screaming in his head. He needs to do something about it before it consumes him. He pushes Murray roughly out of the way, he staggers past everyone, throwing his fist into the wall.

And wasn’t that just Murray’s point?

“Fuck you,” he breathes. He wishes he could strike back with Murray’s surgical precision, but the anger is draining out of him, taking his energy with it. The room has grown visibly tense when he looks up.  Max and El are gripping each other's hands tightly, and Will’s taken several steps back, with Jonathan rising from his seat to stand protectively next to his brother.  The kids look scared.

“Either get over yourself and cooperate with the rest of us, or be quiet, Jim.” There’s a bit more sympathy in his voice this time, as though his little psychoanalysis had been some type of necessary evil.

“Mall is by where the gate was,” El says hesitantly before her voice regains some confidence. “It makes sense.”

“Do you think they’re trying to open it? That’s what the machine is for?” Mike asks her. El nods.

“Okay,” Nancy agrees. “We definitely need blueprints.  And we need to gather intelligence; see for ourselves if they’re trying to open the gate.”

Robin mumbles something with a shy, surprised smile, while Max picks up the trail of conversation. “So we’re going to… break into the mall and what? Look for secret doors?”

“We aren’t doing anything, let’s make that clear real quick,” Steve cuts her off. Hopper lets out a sigh of relief, glad someone is saying it. “No breaking and entering under the age of sixteen. And… yeah, that’s the gist of the plan I think?” he smiles nervously.

Hopper takes a second to collect himself, standing up from the wall he’d been leaning on and taking a breath before hesitantly announcing. “I can go get the blueprint. The records office will give me whatever I want. I’m the chief of police,” he adds quietly. If his power and importance mean nothing to anyone in this room, at least the rest of the world respects his authority.

“Should you be driving right now?” Nancy asks hesitantly.

“My head’s fine,” he brushes her off.

“I was talking more about the, uh…” she clears her throat, awkwardly gesturing to the dented wall behind him.

He snorts at that– if he can drive drunk damn near every day, he can drive while a bit pissed off. Before he can say anything, Steve speaks up. “I’ll go too. I can drive.” 

Hopper lets out a slight huff, but he doesn’t have the energy to argue. “Okay, let’s go.”

“We can take my car. I’m parked behind you.”

He nods and exits the house without a word. He attempts to pull open the passenger door to Steve’s car, only to find it locked. He wastes a minute watching the kid awkwardly fumble the keys out of the pocket of that goddamn sailor boy uniform.  He’s honestly surprised Steve agreed to go out in public like that.

Once the car is unlocked, Hopper slides himself swiftly into the passenger seat, slamming the car door impatiently behind him and leaning back with his arms crossed over his chest in what he hopes is a very clear indication that he doesn’t wish to be bothered.

If he does understand it, Steve ignores it blatantly. “So… You wanna t--?”

“No.”

Steve nods a little, remaining silent for all of the ten seconds it takes for him to pull out of the driveway. “You know I used to be like, really head over heels for Nancy?” he asks with a forced chuckle.

“I don’t care,” Hopper groans, closing his eyes as he leans further back into the seat and braces himself for a long, annoying drive.

“I’m just saying, I understand.”

“You understand nothing,” he sighs. “You’re a kid. Shit’s a lot harder when you’re older.”

Steve scoffs a little at that. “What, complicated like losing people? Or– or fighting monsters and shit from other dimensions? Or trauma or… weird, complicated history? I know some things are different but don’t pretend we don’t have a lot of the same shit going on.”

He’s not wrong. He feels a pang of guilt at the fact that these kids have been forced into this shit just as much as the adults have. As annoyed as he is with the teen’s insistence on giving him advice, he does begrudgingly have to admit that their problems aren’t totally separate.

“Besides, let’s not pretend your problems are all that mature,” he adds, a bit more quietly. “All the jealousy and communication issues…” he snorts. “Pretty juvenile.”

He furrows his brow at him.

“What? Jonathan and I talk,” Steve shrugs. Hopper chooses not to comment on the fact that Jonathan is apparently talking to his friends about his and Joyce’s relationship. “He doesn’t really like you,” Steve adds bluntly, as though that much was not obvious.

“Yeah, noticed,” Hopper mutters.

“He doesn’t think you’re good for her,” he continues. “I don’t know, I’ve seen you guys interact. It’s cute when you’re getting along.”

Okay, now this is right back to being annoying. Not that that’s going to get Steve to stop.

“But like, I don’t know… I think you gotta listen to her more. Like, she’s clearly into you, but man… I don’t think she’s ready.”

“And you know all of this how?” he asks exasperatedly.

“Like I said, Jonathan and I talk. And that guy, Murray? You looked like he hit the nail on the head when he said she rejected you. Besides, didn’t her boyfriend like just die? I don’t know, she always seems happy when you guys are together, but I guess you’re just… probably moving too fast.”

He hates that what the kid is saying makes sense. There has been a voice in his head yelling at him to take it slow for fuck’s sake for the past several months, but despite his attempts to heed it, he always ended up barreling full speed ahead. For every warning he gives himself to slow down, there are five more reminding him that she could be leaving soon if he doesn’t give her a reason to stay, that he’s this close to having a family and a life again and he’s not going to ruin it.

“And like, I don’t know… I think that might be a little bit of what killed it with me and Nancy. I was trying too hard to just… push us back into being something and into being normal after everything. And you can’t force that shit, you’ve gotta wait it out.”

“I just–” he chokes out hesitantly, not sure why he’s opening up to this child. “I don’t know how to get her to tell me what she needs. I’m not the only one with communication issues,” he spits bitterly. “She stood me up last night. I asked her once if she wanted to go out for dinner and she said she was busy. I asked again and she said yes and then she didn’t show up. She clearly just didn’t want to in the first place.”

Steve looks a little shocked that Hopper is actually talking to him, but he just nods a little. “That’s rough, man.”

“And the worst part is,” he continues, “she was right. She kept going on about the magnets and the lab and all that when I saw her the next morning, and I was… She was right that something was fucking wrong, and because I was upset, because I got my feelings hurt, she’s… God, I should have had El check on her before we left, why didn’t I–”

“Hey,” Steve turns to him, taking an alarming amount of time with his eyes away from the road to do so. “She’s gonna be okay. Mrs. Byers is like, the most badass person I know. If Will can make it out of that place in one piece, so can she.”

He grimaces a little. He still feels so stupid accepting comfort from this child. From anyone, really.

“And like, I don’t know… Yeah, she was right, but you’re still like… allowed to be upset about that shit. The fact that she was right doesn’t just like, erase the fact that you got hurt. But you can be upset with her while still listening to her.”

“Yeah,” he mumbles, dropping his voice so low that Steve hopefully can’t even hear it. “You’re right.”

“And like, the anger issues, the macho man bullshit. I get that that’s like, how you are, but it doesn’t have to be, y’know? It’s not the fifties anymore. You’re allowed to have feelings.”

He holds back a scoff and a reminder that that is much easier said than done, trying to bite his tongue and nod along. He wishes it could be that simple for him. It seems as though every emotion– pain, or fear, or hurt, or worry– all seem to turn into anger. No matter how hard he may try to feel them, anger is just about the only one he can stomach. It was easier when he was on the pills; easier to suppress all of the feelings, keep that incessant buzz of fury out of his head, but now that he’s unmedicated, he finds himself continuously being driven back to the only emotion he truly knows how to express.

He’s not sure how to respond– and thankfully, he doesn’t have to. They’re coming up on the county records office now, and as soon as they park, he steps out of the car, hoping Steve takes the hint and doesn’t try to follow. 

The Roane County Records Office is a small building just out of Hawkins’ town limits, made up of only about two rooms and stacks upon stacks of file boxes scattered around. He’s surprised and relieved to see there’s still a woman inside, though it doesn’t look like anyone else. He tries the door, and finds it unlocked.

He steps inside quickly, immediately drawing the attention of the woman sorting through a box behind the front desk. “That’s good,” he remarks out loud, though mostly to himself. “Didn’t expect anyone to be here this late.”

“Just finishing up reorganizing some things,” she gestures to the hectic maze of files around her and he bites back a snide comment that something would have to be organized in the first place to qualify for re- organizing. “What can I do for you, Officer?”

“Was in the area and thought I’d drop in. I just need a quick favor,” he lies. “You got the, uh, blueprints for Starcourt Mall around here by any chance?” he tries his best at not making it sound too urgent despite the thrumming anxiety in his chest.

“In Hawkins? Yeah, I can find em,” she answers nonchalantly as he lets out a slight exhale in relief. “It’s a pretty new building so those should still be floating around here somewhere. Something going on at Starcourt?” She quirks an eyebrow at him before turning away to dig through another box.

“Um,” he stammers quickly for a bluff. “Nothing big. Just mall security asked for our help with some kids shoplifting. Keep getting past ‘em, and it’s not like we have anything better to do.”

“Well good luck,” she smiles, handing him a roll of papers from a box on the floor.

“Thanks,” he nods, before leaving the building as quickly as possible.

“You got it?” Steve asks as he gets back into the car.

“Yeah. Let’s go.” He unrolls the blueprints and starts to study them, deciding firmly that he’ll have it memorized when they get back to the house. He may still be hesitant about this plan, but if this is the one they’re going with, by God he’s going to help. He’s going to be the one to save Joyce from whatever the hell she’s gotten herself into– and he only hopes it’ll be enough to make up for letting her get into it alone.

Chapter Text

“We cracked the code!” Robin shouts to them as soon as the door swings open.

“You what?” Steve asks, eyes widening as he hurries over to the table to lay out the blue prints he’d snatched eagerly from Hopper.

“You what?” the chief repeats quieter, with a slight edge of disbelief.

“The silver cat was the hard part to figure out but it’s– it’s Lynx! The delivery company.”

“What?” Steve asks again as Robin starts to roll out the blueprint and scan it. She doesn’t respond for a moment until Steve pokes her roughly on the shoulder and jolts her out of her thoughts.

“Right, okay. So: A trip to China sounds nice, if you tread lightly,” she repeats the end of the transmission. “There’s a Chinese restaurant at the mall and right in the same area, there’s a shoe store.”

Hopper furrows his brow, slowly connecting the dots. “Okay… Blue meets yellow?”

“The clock hands,” Will answers. “They’re blue and yellow.”

“So blue meets yellow in the west, that’s like nine o’clock,” Lucas adds.

“So the delivery company, the Chinese restaurant, and the shoe store… at nine o’clock?” Steve asks.

Robin rolls her eyes. “The Lynx company delivers to all the stores in the mall, so… maybe if we follow the shipment that’s meant to go to those two stores at that time.”

“Okay, but it’s like, way past nine o’clock,” Steve points out.

“It’s a start though,” she shoots back. “At least now we know that the delivery company has something to do with it. Maybe we should start with the storage areas.” She produces a pen from behind her ear. “And then, we follow…” she begins to draw a line that looks as though it goes through the vents, and– “the trail.”

There’s a vent leading to an area with no markings, no doors, no designation. A very big, very empty room.

“All right,” Hopper exhales. “Let’s break into the mall.”

*

Joyce is dizzy when she feels herself starting to come to. The world is spinning and her head is throbbing, and it’s hard to focus on anything in the dark.

She tries to let her eyes adjust and take in anything she can about her surroundings, and—

She swears she recognizes the man she sees in front of her. And as soon as it clicks, she’s reacting. She tries to move her body, but she can’t feel herself moving. She starts to scream, but she can’t hear anything come out. No no no.

And then she hears a voice. 

“Looks like she’s gaining consciousness again.”

No.

And then— 

“No,” she chokes out, as another needle presses into her skin.

She swears the man looks amused as her eyes fall closed again.

*

This time, Hopper is determined to get his point across when the man on the other end answers the phone.

“Philadelphia Public Library.”

“This is Antique Chariot. My team has located Russians undercover in Hawkins with plans that may be connected to the Gate. Tell Owens we need backup at this address–” he begins, voice unwavering as he then goes to rattle off the street address for the mall.

“I’ll pass along the message.”

“Yeah,” Hopper mutters as he hangs up, “you better.”

Chapter Text

“How are you feeling, Mrs. Byers?” a familiar voice asks as her eyes blink open.

On reflex, she answers honestly. “Tired,” she says, still fighting to keep her eyes open as Dr. Martin Brenner comes more clearly into view. She panics belatedly, waiting several seconds for the terror to set in before she tries to sit up and realizes that she’s strapped down. She’s strapped to a hospital bed, wearing a patient’s gown, hooked up to a series of nodes and wires.

“I hope you don’t mind, we’ve had to take some… preventative measures,” he drones calmly, with a smug glint in his eyes.

“Let me out of here,” she breathes with the last of her calm, before beginning to thrash against her restraints. “Let me out! Let me out! ”

“If you don’t calm down we’ll be forced to sedate you again,” he says, loud enough to cut through her cries but still unsettlingly calm. She quiets eventually, feeling the panic starting to spread its fingers around her ribcage, ready to grip her in its vice the second she’s left alone. “Good,” Brenner smiles once she quiets. His grin is unnerving and disgusting. “We don’t need much from you, Mrs. Byers.”

“Go to hell,” she murmurs. She’s trying to summon up the strength she once had against this man nearly two years ago, but she’s finding much of her courage has faded now that she’s semi-conscious and strapped to a bed.

“There are tests we need to run, of course. We need to study the effects that this dimension has on humans. And of course, we have questions. If you cooperate this time, it should be easy.”

“I won’t tell you anything,” she spits, feeling sparks of bravery starting to return even despite the nauseating fear.

“Where is subject 011?” 

“She’s dead. She died two years ago. You were there.” 

“We both know that’s not true,” he says, the slightest bit of annoyance slipping through his calm as he steps towards a small box covered in dials and switches. He flips a switch.

The scream ripples through her before she even realizes it, as the pain of an electric shock envelopes her. She feels her body convulse, the restraints keeping her in place as her body spasms involuntarily about the bed. When she regains control of her muscles, she can feel the tears in her eyes already as she pants, every hope of hiding her fear and anxiety swept away. 

“Cooperation will be easier,” he repeats coldly. “We know she’s alive. Where is she?”

She closes her eyes and grits her teeth before she shakes her head. El is like a daughter to her; she’s been through so much for Joyce and her family and she’s been through so much at the hands of this man. Joyce can stomach taking some pain for her in return.

Brenner sighs and shakes his head. “Upping the voltage,” he informs her, as if reprimanding a child. 

Within seconds, she feels the burning, piercing sensation rip through her. This time, she can tell when she starts crying. The second it starts, she feels the tears streaming down her cheek, and her scream sounds much more mangled than the last. Sure enough, when she regains her control, she’s still sobbing.

“Where is she?” Brenner asks again.

Even if she wanted to answer, now that the tears have begun, all of the pain, fear, and anxiety of the past day have caught up to her and she can’t stop. She gasps for breath between sobs, trying instinctively to curl in on herself despite her restraints.

Apparently watching her struggle, Brenner paces back over towards her bed. He observes her for the few seconds it takes for her to calm, before leaning in closer. “We can do this as long as we need to. Until you give us an answer, or until you’re out of our way for good.”

She opens her eyes briefly, daring to make eye contact with him for just a moment as she summons all of her strength– ignoring the screaming pain and the panic in her gut– and chokes out a quiet, strained “fuck you.”

*

“She’s not, you know,” Jonathan begins quietly from the driver’s seat. He’s avoiding eye contact, but his voice is firm and steady.

He hadn’t wanted Jonathan to go with him— he knew he’d be even more in the doghouse with Joyce if her kid ended up in any sort of danger, but he’d been insistent on tagging along. Hopper and Jonathan were now on their way to Starcourt in Jonathan’s car, Nancy and Murray in the car in front of them. This is supposed to be a brief intelligence gathering operation, but they have to be prepared for it to escalate. While they would ideally be in and out before anyone realized they were there, in the event that they were noticed, they agreed it’d be best to have getaway vehicles at both ends of the mall.

“What?” he asks, clearing his throat, suddenly feeling a swell of anxiety.

“She’s not afraid of you,” he finished. “What Murray said, she’s not… She’s tougher than that. That doesn’t mean you’re good for her, though.”

He nods a little, electing for once to just shut up and listen. His pride has been dealt enough blows today for him to know not to push back any harder.

“We don’t need another Lonnie.”

And that comparison hits him right in the sliver of his pride that he’s been trying to protect. He’s prayed no one else would notice, but on the spectrum from Bob Newby and Scott Clarke and every other nice and smart guy in town to Lonnie Byers– drunk and angry and stupid and selfish–, he knows where he stands.

“I know.”

Those seem to be the only words he can choke out, but he needs to say more. He needs to say—

“I’m sorry.” It comes out quiet— hoarse and pained and barely-said at all, but he says it. That has to count for something.

“I know,” Jonathan says quietly, immovably. “But that’s not enough.”

“I’m trying,” he defends himself half-heartedly.

“Clearly not too well, cause there’s a big ass hole in our drywall.”

“I’ll come over and fix it soon.”

“I don’t care about the wall,” Jonathan snaps back immediately. “I care about the fist that went into it.” He pauses. “What happens when there’s no wall nearby?”

He feels his heart drop in his chest. “I wouldn’t–”

“Yeah, no one says they would.”

He takes a breath, fidgets in his seat, hates that even now, something in him is angry.

“I care about you guys,” he tells Jonathan quietly, “your family. I want to keep you all safe. And I care about your mom a lot.”

“I know,” he answers, his tone softening. “I’m not saying you don’t. Just… I don’t know, see a shrink and then we’ll talk.” The way he says it almost sounds like a bitter joke. Maybe it was even meant to be one.

They don’t talk for the rest of the drive.

*

When she wakes up for the second time, it takes her a few minutes to piece together where she is. She passed out after a few more minutes with Brenner, her body giving in to the pain and finally allowing her the refuge of sleep. She’s alone when she regains consciousness.

She’s still restrained, she discovers that very quickly. She’s still surrounded by IVs and wires and monitors, and from her position on the bed she can only try to make out what any of them say, and even then she’s not sure she understands them.

There’s a bandage on the inside of her arm; a cotton swab wrapped tightly over the soft spot where her arm bends, as though she’s had blood drawn. She probably has. God knows what they’d done to her while she was unconscious.

She doesn’t have much time to adjust to the room around her before the door opens.

“I see you’re getting situated,” Brenner smirks.

“Screw you,” she answers reflexively. “I’m not telling you anything. So either let me out of here, or kill me.” She tries to make the demand as coolly as possible.

“We have no intention of doing either of those things,” he replies with a smirk that gives her goosebumps. She squeezes her eyes shut, remembering Terry Ives. There are far worse things these people could do than kill her.

“Here,” he smiles, pulling the chair beside her bed up closer and going to sit on it before lifting a plastic cup to her lips. “Drink.”

She stares at it suspiciously, not wanting to trust any damn thing he offers her.

He quirks an eyebrow. “It’s just water. If I wanted to drug you, I’d have much easier ways of doing it.” His words make her neck itch as she remembers the needle jamming into it, sending her drifting into unconsciousness almost immediately.

She glares at him and slowly opens her mouth, allowing him to tip the cup forward and let her drink. She hates that it takes this to make her realize she is incredibly thirsty. She’s hungry too, but she isn’t going to push her luck.

“What are you doing to me?” she glares. “What are all these–” she gestures as best she can with her head towards all of the medical equipment surrounding her.

“Just monitoring your vitals and such. As I said before, we’ve had very little opportunity to study the effects this dimension has on human biology. Very few have lived to become suitable subjects, as I’m sure you’re aware. You and your son are some of the only few who have actually survived a prolonged period in there. And while we would love to study him, you’ll have to do.” He gives a smug grin and adds: “For now.”

“Don’t you go near him,” she hisses.

“We won’t. So long as you can tell us where Eleven is. How does that sound?”

“Go to hell,” she grits out, swallowing a deep swell of fear in the back of her throat.” If they find El, they’ll find Will, and she’s not dumb enough to believe she’d spare him. Besides, she’s not sacrificing one child for another. No matter how terrifying his threat may be.

She tells herself this as many times as she can, hoping she can quiet the voice in her head that wants to tell him whatever he wants to hear, before he leaves her a drooling, gibbering mess.

“Where are we?” She takes the opportunity his momentary silence provides to try to gain the upper hand in whatever way she can; giving him the third degree, giving herself some power, looking for some knowledge. “Your lab got shut down.”

He chuckles. “I’ve had to make some… unorthodox allies… in order to continue my work, as the US government is no longer sponsoring me. But yes, we’re not in Hawkins Lab, that much is obvious.”

“Are we still in Hawkins?”

He considers her for a moment. “Yes. Yes, we are in Hawkins. But we’re somewhere where, I assure you, no one is going to disturb us.”

“And– And what work have you been doing exactly? If you don’t have any innocent children to experiment on.”

He smiles and leans back in his chair, giving her a curious look, as though he’s once again considering something. “Would you like to go for a walk with me?”

Not particularly, she thinks. “Sure…,” she responds hesitantly.

He hums in approval at her answer, moving to undo her restraints. “There are two guards outside this door,” he warns calmly. “In case you’re considering trying anything.” She remains awkwardly still as he undoes every strap and makes a show of pointedly not accepting his hand when he offers it to help her sit up. Her legs are slightly wobbly as she stands and she feels dizzy, but she’s able to steady herself enough to keep from falling.

She glances down to study her body again. Her arms and legs are bruised and scraped, likely from the dive she’d taken through her window. She’s been changed into a patient’s gown and given a pair of hospital socks, and she tries very hard not to think about the fact that this means someone here has had to undress her.

While she steadies and examines herself, Brenner opens the door and turns to one of the guards she can now see very clearly standing sentinel outside, discussing something she can’t entirely make out. When he turns back towards her, he’s holding a pair of handcuffs. “A precautionary measure.” 

She doesn’t respond, only glares a little as he crosses around her and takes her arms, cuffing them tightly behind her back. “Is this really necessary?”.

“In case you’ve forgotten, Mrs. Byers, you and your… allies… have a history of being very tricky with us. I think this is very necessary.” He moves to open the door, holding it open widely as he waits for her to exit. “It’s somewhat impressive, in all honesty, how you people have managed to survive this long. I assumed someone powerful with more free time than I have would have gotten rid of you by now.”

She follows him out the door, glancing at the guards on either side preparing to trail after them, before Brenner waves them off. They’re wearing green uniforms with red accents; they look military, which concerns her even more. Which government are they working for, if not the US government?

She tries to think back to the last thing she remembers before being brought here, and she can hear a voice shouting something in a language she doesn’t understand.

She doesn’t like this at all. “Who are you working with?”

“You’re a very curious person, aren’t you? Very inquisitive. I can appreciate that.”

She’s not sure how to respond to that. “Curious” and “inquisitive” are not words used to describe her often. Her mind is without a doubt a very popular topic of discussion around town, but it’s never in a particularly positive light. She thinks of herself that way, of course. She’d always had a fascination for the world around her; she’d struggled through a lot of classes, but she had excelled in every science course she took at Hawkins High. She really did like to learn.

Then of course she’d gotten married, had kids, had less time to focus on learning about the world around her and more time that needed to be spent focusing on just staying afloat in it.

The hallway is made up of thin steel platforms and railings, an odd combination of expertly and professionally built, and not built to last. She lets him take her arm as he leads her down a staircase. The contact makes her skin crawl, but she doesn’t entirely trust herself to keep her footing. The level they make their way down to appears to have a more permanent floor.

“Surely though, as a curious-minded person, you can appreciate the scientific pursuit of knowledge, correct?”

“I don’t think I appreciate any of the work you’ve done,” she scoffs.

He forces a smile, though she can tell he’s getting impatient. “That’s the problem. Right now, you’re too biased to see things for the bigger picture. You’ve only seen the… ugly… side of our experiments. You haven’t seen all the good we’ve done. The people we’ve kept safe from…. paranormal activity… by studying the happenings in Hawkins.” He’s choosing his words carefully; it puts her on edge. “You don’t know the things we’ve learned.”

“Okay then,” she tests. “Tell me. What have you learned? What exactly is worth experimenting on little girls, letting people get trapped in that hell hole, letting people be killed—“

“Do you have any idea,” he interrupts, “what this could do for modern warfare? Eleven’s powers alone could revolutionize the concept of military as we know it, could they be studied more. And beyond that… the potential that this other dimension holds? We could invent types of chemical warfare the likes of which have never been known to man.”

“So what, I’m supposed to care that you can make bigger bombs? That you’re killing people so you can kill more people?”

He offers a half smile of resignation as he continues to lead her down the hall, shifting topics. “Think about medicine, then. Think about the use abilities like Eleven’s could have for the disabled, for people on their deathbeds, people struggling to do things for themselves. And if we could imagine new kinds of chemical warfare with this dimension, we could imagine new ways of chemical treatment. And past medicine, if we could find a way to emphasize the telepathic aspect of Eleven’s abilities and recreate them— think about the advancements in communication. The possibilities are endless,” he gestures widely with his hands, though something about his tone rings hollow.

She frowns. “But you don’t care about any of that, do you?”

She can’t tell if he’s annoyed or impressed at her ability to call his bluff. “No,” he admits. “But I don’t care about war either. I care about discovery; about knowledge. What people wish to use that knowledge for is none of my concern. Be it health or harm.”

She considers his statement for a minute before asking again: “So who are you working with?”

He doesn’t answer.

“It’s not the US government… it has to be a foreign government, right? I mean I doubt any foreign independent groups would have the resources to build an operation like this in the US, and I know they’re foreign.”

“You know they’re foreign?”

“I heard someone… it was a language I didn’t know.”

“You couldn’t place it?”

“Not while I was being attacked and drugged,” she shoots back. “And I don’t… remember it now.”

“Well then, work it out.” He’s talking down to her like a child and it ignites a fury in her. Why she’s so desperate to prove herself to this monster, she’s not sure. “You’ve deduced that it’s a foreign government. It’s one that’s working with me, therefore operating against the wishes of the US; so not an ally. And it’s one that would have an urgent interest in medicine, or…”

“Or weapons,” she finishes. And then, she remembers Hopper’s voice telling her something on the phone. “Russians. You’re working with the Soviets. You’re—“ she furrows her brow in amazement. “You’re operating on both sides of the Cold War.”

“Like I said,” he answers in confirmation. “I don’t care what people choose to use my advancements for, so long as I get to continue my research. And right now, these are the people allowing me to do that.”

They reach a door at the end of the hallway, guarded by two more men. They open the doors as they see Brenner approaching and, nervously, she follows him inside. The room they enter is a hub of activity, scientists and soldiers buzzing around control panels and machines and barking orders and questions in Russian. On the other side of the room is a clear glass window, and through it she sees something that makes her blood run cold:

The Gate.

“You see? Nothing stops scientific progress.”

She feels her heart drop in her chest as she stares in horror. “How did you—“

But he’s done answering questions.

“I know Eleven is alive. I know she closed The Gate last fall. I know you’ve been hiding her. Now you’re going to tell me where she is.”

Nothing stops scientific progress.

Maybe he’s right.

They’ve dealt with this thing before. Twice now , they thought they’d been rid of it for good and it keeps coming back. These people keep making things worse, and she can’t fucking stop them.

“We’ve already searched your home. No one was there. I’m asking you for the last time: where is she?”

They searched her house? And no one was there? Hopefully her boys are safe, hopefully they’ve found somewhere to hide by now, hopefully they’re holding their ground, hopefully—

Whatever else she could hope for for her kids, she doesn’t get the chance to. She hadn’t even noticed Brenner reaching for the taser, but before she knows it he’s holding it against her neck, sending another shock through her. She lets out a scream and collapses to the ground, her legs folding messily and painfully beneath her as he reaches down, not moving the taser from her skin. She yells and spasms, trying to regain control of her limbs so she can fight him off, to no avail.

“I have given you as many chances as I’m willing to give you,” he snarls quietly as he finally pulls the damned thing away from her neck and delivers a swift kick to her ribs. “Whatever pain you think you’ve been in so far has been nothing. From here on out we have much harsher ways of making you talk.”

Chapter Text

“Okay,” Hopper addresses them all cautiously once they regroup. Jonathan, Murray, and Nancy are huddled around him as inconspicuous as is possible in the mall parking lot. “We’re all clear on what to do, right?” They all give a brief nod, as he elaborates anyways. “Murray, you’re distracting them. Draw them away from their post. Say there’s an emergency or something and just take off.”

“And what exactly makes us so sure they’re not going to just shoot me on sight?”

“Make up a story. Make it seem like you’re one of them. Hopefully they’ll be willing to believe you. I don’t think a lot of patriots around here speak fluent Russian. If you fail you still have information, so they won’t shoot you,” Hopper retorts a little more tauntingly than is necessary. “They’ll just kidnap you and torture you.”

“Thank you Jim, I feel so much better now,” he spits back sarcastically, but he doesn’t interrupt any more.

“The rest of us will get in through the storage room. If Robin was right,” he recalls, remembering the frantic theories the girl had been spewing back at the Byers house, “we should be able to get to the base from there. We can take out whatever guards are left. You can all shoot, right?” he asks cautiously, eternally grateful for the three confident nods he receives in response. He opens the trunk of Jonathan’s car and pulls out the three guns recently borrowed from the Hawkins Police Department– it wasn’t as though they were all that needed there anyways– and hands them out.

He’d also made sure to leave a gun with Steve, who had seemed… less confident than the others in his shooting ability, but who he had faith would ultimately would be able to figure it out if it came down to it. Steve and Robin had taken the Blazer and taken the kids back to Hopper’s cabin. He wasn’t comfortable leaving them alone in a place where anyone could find them– while he’s fairly certain no one would be poking around Joyce’s house for any reason, he’d still prefer they be safely off the grid just in case.

“Okay,” he breathes, trying to cover his nerves with a steely glare of determination. “Let’s go.”

As the other three remain hidden behind a corner, Murray approaches the guards at the door. They both step towards him quickly, raising their guns in alarm. To his credit, Murray doesn’t even flinch, only starts waving his arms frantically and shouting something in Russian. The guards glance between themselves, and Hopper prays these two are as stupid as they look. The three men exchange words as Murray frantically beckons them the other way, then breaks into a sprint. The guards share a look before taking off after him.

Hopper breathes a sigh of relief, unable to help the grin that spreads across his face. He really wasn’t expecting that to work so well. As soon as the guards leave, he, Jonathan, and Nancy run towards the open door, guns pointed ahead as they scour the area. Thankfully, there weren’t any guards left behind.

“Okay,” Nancy breathes, looking cautiously around the room. “What now?”

Hopper furrows his brow and approaches a panel near the door. “Now, we start pressing buttons.” He takes a breath and slams his hand down across several buttons, despite hearing a loud protest from Nancy behind him. Jonathan stares down at the panel with slight alarm yet he doesn’t appear to be too bothered by Hopper’s actions; if anything he seems curious.

“What are you doing?” she spits.

“One of these buttons has to get us into their base. We saw it on the blueprints, the only possible entrance is here.”

“That doesn’t mean we should just–”

And then the ground seems to fall away beneath them, and all he can hear is the screaming.

Inertia throws the kids back against the wall and knocks his own legs out from under him. It takes him a minute to realize that they haven’t actually been dropped down some trap door, but that he has in fact collided with the hard floor beneath them. The entire room is moving.

“This is why we don’t just press buttons,” Nancy shouts over the loud movement around them.

“It’s an elevator!” Jonathan interrupts, still glancing all around the room. “The entire room is a fucking elevator.”

So maybe pressing buttons wasn’t such a bad idea, he thinks smugly to himself.

He shields his head and braces himself for a landing, suddenly feeling dizzy when everything finally stops.

“Holy shit,” Nancy pants, regaining her footing.

“That was… what the fuck?” Jonathan gasps as he struggles to follow in her footsteps.

Hopper watches as the two teens help each other find their balance, grabbing at the wall and pulling himself up, rubbing at his forehead to try and assuage the blossoming stabs of pain. Well, he’s already got a concussion, what’s the harm in it getting a bit worse?

“Okay,” he grunts, moving towards the door which, much like a normal elevator, seems to now be opening on its own. “Let’s see what we can find, then get out of here.”

Honestly, a part of him is still a little amazed that this is actually happening. That the kids were right and that there really is a secret Russian plot going down beneath the mall. That Joyce might be involved in it.

He hopes for her sake, that wherever she is, it’s far away from here.

“Sleeping,” El had told him calmly, her eyes blindfolded as she sat in front of the Byers’s TV before the group parted ways. It sent a spike of fear through his gut.

“Sleeping? What do you mean sleeping–?”

El had seemed to sense his fear immediately. “Alive,” she’d answered, very firm. “Breathing. No blood,” she added reassuringly.

That had eased him somewhat, but he still very much hadn’t liked the sound of ‘sleeping.’

He tries to remember what El said now, tries to remember that Joyce is still alive, and tries to let that be his lifeline as the doors open and he holds his gun at the ready out in front of him. He breathes out a sigh of relief when he sees that no one is waiting for them, and reaches for his radio to touch base. “Murray,” he says into it, “you good?”

“I’m fine,” the other man’s voice crackles through. “I lost them, but they’re probably headed back your way, if not sending more guys to investigate. Be careful.”

Hopper nods, despite the fact that Murray can’t actually see him. “Stay ready in case we need you to translate anything.”

“Roger that,” he replies with a twinge of sarcasm that Jim really can’t even bring himself to be bothered by right now.

Hopper glances back to Jonathan and Nancy and the three slowly step out of the elevator, glancing around the long hallway that stretches out in front of them. He leads them off in one direction, motioning for them to be quiet as they follow. He knows it’d be smarter to split up at this point, but he wants the three of them to be able to scope out the area together a bit before going their separate ways; he wants to make sure they’re on the same page.

They haven’t made it far down the hallway before Hopper stops and shushes them, despite the virtually no noise they had been making to begin with. He can hear footsteps echoing somewhere around the corner. He braces himself and presses up against the wall, preparing to attack as soon as his opponent rounds the corner. He keeps his gun in its holster, knowing that his proximity and the element of surprise will give him the benefit in hand-to-hand, and that Nancy and Jonathan will be behind him with guns at the ready for backup.

The second the footsteps get close enough, he hurls himself around the corner and tackles the person in front of him to the ground. He reflexively pins the man’s arms first, hoping to knock loose whatever weapon he may be carrying, before actually looking at him and realizing that the man isn’t armed. He’s wearing a lab coat and a pair of round glasses and he was holding a clipboard before Hopper knocked it out of his hand, and he looks scared.

Good, Hopper thinks to himself, he should be.

“Do you speak English?” Jonathan asks the man as Hopper slowly releases his grip and backs away, confident that Nancy’s gun pointed clear at him is enough to get him to stay put. The man replies in frantic Russian.

Hopper sighs and pulls out his walkie-talkie. “Murray, we’ve got a new friend. We need you to ask him some questions.”

*

El starts to scream the second she sees him. She pulls herself out of the void as quickly as possible, feeling dizzy as she comes to.

“Woah, hey what’s–” Mike asks as he drops down beside her, Will and Max following suit. Steve rushes over from the other room, and everyone else around them looks just as terrified as she is.

“Papa,” she gasps, curling in on herself a little. “Papa.”

*

Hopper may not speak Russian, but he’s pretty damn sure that the conversation he’s listening to isn’t entirely productive. The only thing Murray seems to have ascertained from talking to the scientist is that his name is Alexei and he really doesn’t like his boss. Neither of which are things Jim thinks he particularly needs to know.

Jonathan found an empty room for them to hide out in. It was cramped, more of a closet than a room, but no one had come looking for them yet. Having to do translations through the walkie-talkie inhibits their ability to communicate by a bit more than he’d anticipated, and Hopper’s about to consider cutting their losses when another voice cuts in on the radio.

“Guys, are you there?” Steve asks.

“Yeah, we’re–” Hopper starts to respond to him, but is cut off by the sound of alarms blaring all through the hall outside the door. “Shit. We’ve gotta get out of here.”

“Hopper, I think Joyce is there with you.”

“You– What?”

“El went looking again and she said… she said she saw Brenner there with her.”

“Brenner? I thought that son of a bitch was dead.”

“Yeah, well, El says she’s known for a while that he isn’t.”

Okay, he’s definitely going to need to have a talk with that kid when he gets back, but that’s definitely far from his biggest concern right now.

“So he’s with Joyce? What the hell is he doing to her?”

Alexei and the teens have pressed themselves against the door in a crude attempt at a barricade while Hopper and Steve continue to shout over the blaring alarms.

“El said she saw them. She said– she said that Brenner was there, and that Joyce was in a hospital gown, and that they were hurting her–”

He feels the panic and the anger surge in his gut and it physically pains him that he can’t focus on that right now.

“And she said that Brenner said something to someone in Russian. So she went back and kept watching Brenner, and he was talking to a lot of people in Russian. And now– now she says Joyce is hiding somewhere and that’s… pretty much all I can get.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He swings his fist downwards in the air, hoping to gain some sort of satisfaction or relief from the act and being met with none. “Okay, you two…” He turns to Jonathan and Nancy. “You two get out of here, meet up with Murray, and make sure the getaway vehicle is ready. I’m…” He takes a deep breath, fighting back  a nauseating spike of anxiety. “I’m going to try to find Joyce.”

Chapter Text

Joyce is just about ready to believe that she might die here.

It’s a miracle she’s made it this far, she concedes to herself in the silence of her hospital-room-prison-cell. After what felt like an eternity of shocks and beatings and injections with God-knows-what, Brenner had had her thrown back in here, strapped back down to this bed, guards posted outside. She hadn’t given up anything yet, but he seems determined to believe that she will eventually, seeing as he hasn’t killed her yet.

Her time should be long past due— her lungs should have been rotted from Upside Down toxins or cigarette smoke, or she should been mauled by those things that got Bob, or been murdered or had her mind destroyed by these people. She’s painfully aware that she’s had one too many brushes with death and lived to tell of it.

There’s a part of her almost grateful for that— an awful, selfish part of her that’s relieved at the idea of putting all of this behind her once and for all, in whatever way possible. If she can’t move out of Hawkins, there is a terrible little voice in her head that says to die here is the next best option.

She knows that isn’t true; she knows that to live here, to have her boys with her, is better than to die anywhere and leave them behind. Even if she really wanted to die— which she’s fairly certain she doesn’t, thank you very much– she can’t, not with kids to take care of. She may be a few steps from going off the deep end, but she’s not that far gone. Not yet, at least.

No, she knows she hasn’t reached that point. She knows what that looks like.

“Joyce,” the voice is ringing in her head before she can push the thought away. “Joyce, I fucked up. I’m sorry.”

She remembers the phone cord wrapping tightly around her wrist as she’d pulled away from Lonnie’s demands to know who she was talking to.

She remembers “ When? How much did you take?” She remembers calling the cops and practically racing the ambulance there. She remembers wondering why he’d called her of all people.

The last suicide in Hawkins (aside from the ‘suicide’ of Benny Hammond in ‘83) was in 1961, but the last attempt was the spring of ‘79, on what would have been Sara Hopper’s eighth birthday.

She remembers knowing the answer deep down, why he’d called her and not anyone else, and filing it away in the mental cabinet of “things that will never happen”. She had two kids, he’d just lost one; he’d just ended his marriage, and she was still years away from managing to do that. There were too many worlds between them then.

They don’t talk about that night.

She thinks that maybe, this is another one of those things she needs to talk about eventually. Another conversation she needs to have, another trauma that she can’t just push under the rug and let herself and the people she loves move past without a word.

She needs to talk to Will about the Upside Down, she needs to talk to Jonathan about the years of his childhood he had to give up, and eventually, she needs to talk to Hopper about everything. About high school, about that night, about their date, about her move.

She can’t keep running from him. She’d confronted a demodog head-on with an ax, she’d confronted an army of hazmat-suited Russians, she’d interrogated Martin Brenner and held her own against his interrogation. She should be able to talk about her feelings to the man who’s been by her side for over three decades.

If she ever gets out of here, she will.

She’s not even fully certain where here is. She knows they’re near the gate, she knows they’re underground, but she has no damn clue where the entrance to this place is or how easy to find it would be. It’s probably hidden or heavily guarded, if not both. Even if Hopper and the kids have any clue where to be looking– which she has to hope they do– she doesn’t know how they’d get in here.

If she wants a fighting chance, she’s going to have to give it to herself.

“Hey!” she shouts. “Hey!” It takes a few seconds for her to catch the attention of the guard outside, but when she does, he opens the door and stares at her expectantly. “I have to go to the bathroom.”

He stares blankly at her again, and she tries to enunciate. “Bathroom.”

He turns to the other guard and they exchange a few words in Russian, before he reluctantly steps inside and begins freeing her of her restraints. He makes a very big show of pressing his gun to her side and snarling what she has to assume is a threat as he pulls her upright from the bed. The second she stands, everything she’s endured catches up to her and she stumbles. The guard grabs her roughly to keep her upright and drags her roughly by the arm out the door and down the hall. She holds her breath and lets him take her weight, waiting until they’ve passed the other man, until it’s just the two of them– she has a much better chance of beating him one-on-one.

Shortly after they’ve rounded a corner and are out of sight, he brings her to a door that she’s assuming must be a bathroom and releases his grip, gesturing for her to go inside.

She takes a deep breath and, hyper-aware of the gun aimed right for her, but reassured that he won’t shoot– not fatally at least, they still need her– she steels herself and turns as quickly as she can, kneeing the man sharply in the groin. She takes off running like lightning, ignoring the pain and lethargy bogging her down. She doesn’t even know where she’s running to, but she knows she can’t stop. The guard behind her is still bent down on the ground and, quickly enough, she’s rounding a corner and leaving him behind. Then she hears yelling; and then there are more guards after her.

She can barely hold herself upright, but she’s still running, throwing herself forward with every step, trying not to let her knees buckle beneath her. She hears them catching up to her and can feel herself slowing down. She throws open a door and dives through it, slamming it shut behind her and pressing her back against it.

Then, she lets out a sigh of relief, which turns into a laugh.

There are guns lined up across the walls of the room. She’s in the weaponry.

She stands again — the act feels like torture now that she’s allowed herself to sit — and she makes her way across the room, finding a gun and ammo and fumbling to load it. She’s fired a gun before of course– kind of hard to avoid it, growing up in the midwest– but not in a very long time, and never one like this. And, she reminds herself bitterly, it’s not like you’re a very good shot.

She keeps her gun at the ready and once again lets her body relax a bit, this time against the wall facing the door as she listens anxiously to the noises outside. She hears footsteps racing down the hall and shouting in Russian. She tries to prepare herself, summoning every bit of courage she has, every bit of strength left in her. Then she hears gunshots.

And then the door starts to open, and she feels her breath catch in her throat.

And then he walks through.

She takes an unsteady step forward and collapses into Hopper’s arms the second she sees him. She doesn’t intend to, but she feels like she can hardly stand on her feet anymore, and he’s right there and he’s here for her and he’s going to take her home.

“Hey,” he exclaims softly. “Hey, it’s okay,” he says, pulling her in close and sounding like he’s trying to be comforting for all of a minute before the sense of urgency returns to his tone. “Joyce, we gotta run.”

She pulls away and opens her mouth to say something. She needs to explain what she’s been through, tell him how grateful she is that he’s here, warn him that she’s not sure she even can run anymore right now.

All that comes out is a sob she hadn’t even realized had been building.

“Okay, okay, I got you,” he says, looking down to meet her eyes, and fuck she can tell from the look on his face that they really don’t have time. In seconds he’s lifting her up and tossing her as gently as possible over his shoulder, letting her resituate herself so that she can still hold the gun. It’s the same way he carried Will out of the lab that day, and she honestly can’t imagine she weighs much more. “We have to go. I’ll run, you watch our back, deal?” Without warning, he starts to run, taking off down the hallway. She clings as tightly to him as the awkward position will allow, letting him carry her out of the building. She hears alarms start to go off, hears footsteps and yelling down the hall.

All she can focus on is the strong arm, securing her against him. Keeping her safe.

Chapter Text

Jonathan, Nancy, and Murray are waiting for Hopper when he emerges from the elevator. He’s expecting to see them; what he isn’t expecting is the small army assembled outside the mall. For a second he worries that they’ve been cornered, and then he sees Owens at the head of it, approaching Hopper and Joyce quickly.

Joyce is no longer thrown over his shoulder but bridal style in his arms, still clutching her stolen firearm. Jonathan comes sprinting towards them instantly, rushing right past Owens. Joyce, in her haste to get down to see him, nearly falls. Hopper grabs hold of her and tries to set her down gently. He walks with her and supports her weight as she leans on him, until she’s close enough to embrace her son.

Everything else happens too quickly. Owens’s team prepares to storm the base, and he tries to pay attention to what’s happening and help. He’s the chief, dammit, it’s his job to know what goes on in this town and to keep it safe, but right now he really can’t bring himself to focus on any of this.

All that matters is Joyce. She’s here and she’s okay .

Hopper radios back to El and the others at the cabin while Joyce and Jonathan hug, and Owens urges the group out of the way so that his men can move in.

Owens wants to fly them to a hospital, one out of state that he knows won’t ask questions. He wants Joyce to be assessed by him or someone on his team before she’s cleared, and that Hawkins General isn’t as likely to understand the ‘sensitive nature’ of their situation. ‘Sensitive’, Hopper has come to learn in the past few years, is pretty much the only damn nature of situation there is with these people.

Hopper thinks Owens is full of shit, and he’s about to tell him as much when Joyce speaks up and agrees with the doctor, and it’s not like Hopper’s about to try to argue with her. So within minutes, he, Jonathan, and Joyce are in the back of a helicopter on their way to the hospital and Nancy and Murray are taking the cars back to the cabin to touch base with the kids.

They try to make themselves comfortable and, given she’s been leaning on him for most of the night, when they settle in in the vehicle, Joyce ends up tucked neatly into his side and struggling to a ridiculous extent to keep her eyes open.

“Joyce,” he says calmly into her ear. “Rest. You’re okay now. Close your eyes.”

She hesitates before nodding a little and letting out a yawn he can tell she’s been fighting. Somehow, despite the noise of the chopper, she’s out cold in minutes. He keeps his arm wrapped around her tight, holding her close to him as she sleeps.

He can feel Jonathan’s eyes on them the entire way there.

*

Owens had said she’d had a few bruised ribs and probably some nerve damage. It was too early to tell how severe, but prolonged treatment was likely going to be necessary. He had given Jonathan the number for a specialist nearby.

He’d also given Hopper a number.

Turns out, the government keeps a few clinical psychologists on contract, ones experienced in (and legally bound to) believing everything and sharing nothing. All it took was one awkwardly-phrased and pride-draining question, with Jonathan’s words echoing in his head, and he had a number. He still isn’t sure if he’s going to call. Knowing him, the scrap of paper will likely end up buried in a pile of empty bottles in the garbage can, but for now, he has the option.

Jonathan is on the phone with Nancy and the others out in the hallway, talking through everything and trying to figure out what’s going to come next. Owens’s team had found the gate and been able to close it, making several arrests and gaining control of the base in the process, but Brenner had disappeared without a trace. The bastard was good at laying low, Jim had to give him that. 

As Jonathan briefs the rest of their team on this, Hopper can’t do anything but sit in the chair next to Joyce and stare at her.She’s been asleep ever since they let him into the room. Her hair is matted and tangled where it’s splayed out beneath her head. She hasn’t moved much since he’s been watching her, only shifted from laying on her back to leaning on her side, cheek turning into the pillow. Beyond the assurance that seeing her at peace gives him, beyond the beauty of her sleeping form, there’s something else keeping his eyes narrowed in on her. He doesn’t want him to ever look away from her again, doesn’t want to take the chance of allowing anything else to happen to her that he could have prevented. He feels almost like a guard, standing sentinel, watching over her.

He leans in towards her when her eyelids start to flutter. “Joyce?”.

“Hm,” she groans as she reaches to rub the sleep from her eyes before turning to look at him. “Hey,” she responds. 

“You feel okay? Does anything hurt?” he asks, scooting his chair closer to the bed.

“A little,” she grimaces. “I just feel… sore and stiff and… tired, still,” she yawns. “Where are we?”

“Hospital near Chicago, Owens flew us out.”

She nods a little, though he’d be surprised if she could remember much, given the state she’d been in.

“You need anything?” he asks earnestly.

“To sleep for another… twenty-four hours,” she mumbles, sounding like she’s only half-joking. “Hopper?”

“Yeah?”

“I just… Can you…?” She struggles to find the words for a minute, and he tries not to notice the slight flush that rises in her cheeks as she moves over to the far side of the bed, making room next to her.

“Yeah,” he responds, suddenly very aware of how fast his own heart is beating. “Yeah, ‘course.” He slowly and carefully climbs in beside her. Despite her initial hesitance to ask for his comfort, Joyce doesn’t seem to be shy in welcoming it. She curls up next to him, resting her head on his chest and wrapping her arms around him.

“I told you,” she mutters against him, looking up at him through her eyelashes with a teasing smile. “I was right.”

“You were,” he agrees, trying to match her playful tone, but having any lightheartedness he could muster be drowned out by guilt. “Joyce… I’m sorry. I should have listened to you.”

“It’s okay,” she responds, almost convincingly.

“No, it’s not. I’ve been an ass lately. To you and to everyone else. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry I stood you up,” she says, after a very tense minute of silence. “I really didn’t mean to, I just… I just got distracted and I should have called or apologized, or… I’m sorry Hop.”

“It’s okay.”

“No,” she shoots back, echoing his earlier protest, “it’s not.” She resituates herself briefly, wincing a little as she moves to rest her head more near his shoulder then his chest, still leaning on him, but not clinging to him as much. “I… I didn’t want to go, though.”

“I know. I knew that you didn’t want to . I shouldn’t have pushed.”

“I should have said something the first time. Instead of just… avoiding it.” She looks up to meet his gaze, and he can see tears welling in her eyes. “I don’t wanna lose you, Hop. I’m not trying to push you away. I… I want you in my life.”

“I want you in my life too,” he replies, reaching a hand out tentatively to wipe a tear from her cheek. “I know you’re moving,” he admits.

“How–”

“It’s Hawkins, Joyce. For a town with so many secrets, it’s damn near impossible to keep one.”

“I didn’t know how to tell you.”

“What, were you gonna wait until you left and see if I’d notice?” he starts lightheartedly, “Cause let’s be honest, Joyce, you’re gonna need my help packing.” He feels a twinge of bitterness at the thought, but it’s worth it to see the slight grin that spreads across her face.

“Shut up,” she snorts.

“Do you… know where you’re going?”

“No,” she sighs. “Not yet. I was thinking someplace warm. California, maybe.”

“California’s pretty far from Hawkins.”

“That’s kind of the point,” she explains dryly.

He can’t bite back the words that come out of his mouth, low and bitter and venomous. “So much for wanting me in your life.”

She squeezes her eyes shut in frustration and groans. “Don’t do that. It’s not about you,” she spits defensively. “I do want you in my life, Jim. But I need to get out of Hawkins, and I’m not… I’m not putting you before that. Not before what’s best for me and my family.”

A rush of shame hits as soon as her words sink in. It wasn’t a fair shot to take and he knows it, but he can’t keep himself from feeling betrayed. No matter how much he may tell himself that it isn’t about him, that the world isn’t out to screw him over, that he isn’t a goddamn curse – he can’t really bring himself to believe it.

Maybe that’s something else he needs to talk to a shrink about.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” he offers.

“You know…” she sighs. “You don’t have to stay here either.”

“Like hell I don’t,” he snorts in response.

“Jim, this town is going to kill you. It’s going to kill both of us and our kids and I’m not just going to sit around and wait for it to happen. I don’t know how you can.”

“Someone needs to keep this town safe, Joyce.”

“Doesn’t need to be you,” she says quietly. “You could leave too. You could come with us. You and El could get a new start.”

“And what happens when you get sick of me, huh?” he asks, trying to make it sound like a joke.

She elbows him in the arm. “I’m not going to get sick of you,” she huffs. 

He’s not sure about that, but he’s not going to press it any more. “So, I move with you and then what… are we gonna be neighbors? Roommates? What are we doing?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know.” She lets out a small chuckle. “I don’t think we’ve known what we were doing since junior year of high school, Hop.”

“Glad you thought I knew what I was doing then,” he smiles. “I spent the whole time freaking out about you actually agreeing to date me.”

“Are you kidding me?” she laughs. “God, I’d been pining for you since eighth grade.” Her grins softens into something a bit more bittersweet as she adds: “At least teenage Joyce knew what she wanted.”

“I know what I want,” he says calmly. He’s not meaning it to be harsh or pointed, and he hopes she gets that. “For the first time in… a really long time, I know what I want.”

“I know. And I’m… honestly, I’m happy for you, Hop.” Her hand reaches up to cup his face and he thinks he feels his heart flutter out of his chest. “I’m not ready yet, though.”

He swallows his pride and admits something he should have come to terms with months ago. “I don’t think I am either, if we’re being honest.”

She laughs at that. “You’re not… You’re really not.” Her other hand finds his face and, against all better judgment, he leans his forehead against hers.

“Wait a year.”

“What?”

He shifts himself a bit, keeping her close to him, but repositioning himself to lean over her so he can look her straight in the eye. “That’s… that’s my suggestion. That’s all I’m asking. Wait a year, then move.”

“What’s gonna happen in a year?” she asks.

“The dust will settle on all this bullshit, hopefully. Jonathan will be out of school. You won’t have to uproot the kid right before his senior year. El… El probably only needs another year of homeschool, so I can do that here, and then start her in a real school next year in a new town. We would both have more money saved up by then, we could afford to move someplace nicer, and…”

She seems like she’s actually listening, to his surprise. “And?”

He clears his throat. “...And you’ll have more time to move on and… I’ll get better.”

“You’ll get better?”

“I know I’m not the best guy out there, Joyce… I know I’ve been a dick. But I want to be better. I want to be better for you, and for El, and for Jonathan and Will. And I’ll do whatever it takes, I swear, I will.”

“Hop…”

“Owens gave me a number for a shrink. I’ll call and I’ll… swear to God I’ll try to work out whatever’s wrong with me I just… I’m tired of doing whatever dance we’ve been doing since high school. I want time to sort this out, sort us out.”

“So… we wait a year. We stay in Hawkins. And then what, we move away together?”

“Yeah. Yeah, if we’re ready by then.”

“Get a nice house somewhere in the suburbs in California,” she hums. “A place with four bedrooms and a pool and jobs we like and a nice school district.”

“That’d be nice,” he agrees, taking in the sight of her, indulging the fantasy for a minute.

“Hopper?” she asks.

“Yeah?”

“If you kissed me right now, it wouldn’t have to mean anything.”

He’s fairly certain his heart stops beating. “It wouldn’t?”

“No,” she mutters. “Just that we’re both… tired, and lonely, and… probably in love with each other? In some weird way. And we already knew all of that, so…”

He doesn’t need any more encouragement to bridge the already small gap between their lips, supporting his weight on one arm and letting his free hand brush through her hair. Her hands are still cupping his face, keeping him close to her, and he can’t imagine anything being better than this feeling.

He’s going to get help. They’re both going to recover from this nightmare. They’re going to make sure that themselves and their families are safe, and then they’re going to try this for real.

He wants every possible thing she has to offer. He wants to live with her, and raise their kids with her, and grow old with her. He wants to kiss her like this every damn day for the rest of his life. But for now, this is all he can have, and he’s going to savor it. 

He has a chance, and he’s not going to fuck it up.