Steve stared at the computer in front of him, trying to remember what file he'd saved the paperwork he needed in the day before. He tried various files, opening them at random to see if he could locate it that way. No luck. He was on the verge of calling Francine in to show him when he remembered that it was sent in an attachment in an email, and he should be able to open it again the same way.
Technology was just one of the things that he'd had to adjust to in his lifetime, and it refused to ever solidify in his mind in any meaningful way. He missed the days of high school, when things were slower, and though it seemed difficult to believe, easier. Hawkins had retained its outward appearance of a small town, but little things- like laptops and now cell phones had made their way in, like those tunnels out in the pumpkin patches. They'd sneak in slow and insidiously, and before you knew it, the ground you were standing on was as hollow and rotted out as a grave.
He pulled up the email and clicked on the attachment, pulling up the document. It detailed the latest update on the girl's condition, how her sleep, going on twenty-five years now, continued unbroken. He cringed. He'd never had any children of his own, but he had seen Sleeping Beauty, and the thought of Eleven, or Jane, or whatever you wanted to call her, asleep forever, but still awake, mind roaming freely, watching all of them- he couldn't tell if it was cruel, or in all of their best interests to keep her sedated. What she'd done when she was awake-
The door slammed as Pete made his way inside, tracking in snow and profanity. He couldn't get Pete to act like a civilized human being anymore than he could keep Hawkin's PD funded, and as his lieutenant stomped inside, yelling into his phone, Steve felt the kind of impotence most keenly experienced by washed-out high school heroes who wake up one day to find that the adventure does end and the rest of the world doesn't care that you slayed the monster, because how do you even put that on your resume?
Pete hung up the call and took a seat at his desk, propping his feet up like he's at home. Steve can almost hear the ghost of Hopper, bellowing at whoever the hell this is to unfuck himself. However, Hopper isn't here. It's just Steve, Francine and Pete, and instead of fighting the good fight for the hundredth time, he opted to walk outside. It was shaping up to be one of the worst winters in Hawkins history, and today appeared to be in keeping with the norm. Really, there was no point in being here today. He'd send Pete and Francine home, and then probably head out himself. Make an early day of it. But not yet. For now, he stood in the snow, watching the snow swirl down around him, and imagined himself in a snowglobe- one everyone else he'd ever known had somehow managed to escape, but he hadn't found the way out. Not to say it had been good for everyone, getting out, because not everyone had made it out alive- but at least they hadn't lived to see themselves grow old, fat, saggy and impotent. Maybe he should quit the police. Move to a new town. Try to make a fresh start of it.
But then he doesn't. He turns to head back inside, feeling older than time itself, wanting but desperately fearing change. Anything new would upset the neat equilibrium of his life, and the comfort of boredom.