(5)

Barb

Had Barbara Holland seen Nancy Wheeler the way she was nowadays, she'd probably been proud of her best friend.

Not just because of Nancy's lovely new hair cut – Barb had told her often enough to be a bit more adventurous with these things, and she'd been right, hadn't she? Nancy really was such a pretty girl...

Or because of Nancy's impressive fighting skills. She'd toughened up quite a bit ever since her first encounters with the upside-down, and Barb would have been so amazed at seeing her friend like that... Gun in hand, determination spreading through her entire body, monster traps and Christmas lights placed around her, or spy equipment hidden in her purse.

No, but Barbara would have been proud of Nancy for her choices, too.

Her choice to not look away, to not pretend that things were fine when they really weren't...

Nancy had gotten tired of the happy falsehood in her life. And even though that might have hurt Steve Harrington, - a boy Barb would have liked quite a lot better, these days, than she originally did,- it was important that Barb's parents knew the truth.

They had to.

They couldn't sell their house, give up their dreams and entire lives just for the sake of finding her, when they never would. It was better for them to be grieving than to be madly illusionary. Barb had always been a realist.

And if Nancy had only listened to her friend, all these nights ago...

If she'd only tried to be less abrupt in her choice to spend the night at Steve's... A boy she'd hardly trusted, at that point, and merely had a crush on. Barb had said that Nancy should be a bit more careful with those decisions. Nancy hadn't really been herself around that time, according to Barb.

But teenage girls hardly ever were themselves, when boys were involved, and maybe it's wrong to assume that their characters could be carved in stone and one-sided, to begin with.

Barb wouldn't have been angry at Nancy for leaving her alone that night. Wouldn't have blamed Nancy for her death. Not then, not ever.

It wasn't Nancy's fault that her best friend got involved in all of this. It wasn't her place to feel guilty. And yet, she'd guiltily solved Barb's postmortal problem, and told everyone the truth.

Well, a form of the truth.

Barb would have liked the speech given on her funeral. She'd have liked the music, too. And the colors of the flowers.

And mostly, she'd have liked seeing her best friend a bit more at peace, a bit less tortured by the past.

A bit less misunderstood, next to that Byers-boy. Jonathan. Was he a good friend to her? Barb would have hoped so. Barb would have loved to see Nancy not only with a nice boyfriend, but also with someone who could be her best friend in a way, as well...

Nancy needed someone to talk to, she needed someone friendly and clever and kind. And she needed to learn to forgive herself.

Barbara Holland would have hugged Nancy really tightly, if she'd met her again today. But she couldn't, for she was long gone.

Gone, gone, gone.

But it's frankly true that she would have hugged her, and she also would have been proud.

(6)

Bob

Bob Newby had been an underdog all of his life.

No, really!

He'd been a nerdy, shy kid without many friends and even less athletic qualities. He'd been liked by his teachers and loved by his parents, and even by his neighbours. But he'd been pushed around in high school and college, and he'd been chubby and not really equipped with the greatest self-esteem.

His optimism, however, had always been one of his best features. His good heart. His fondness and utter fascination for technology, and all that. He was a smart guy, that was obvious.

So, eventually, the dorky man was rewarded for all these qualities, and it really had felt amazing.

Joyce Byers, the lovely, beautiful Joyce Byers, had been going on dates with him. And she'd truly seemed to enjoy his company! She'd been smiling, whenever they met, and invited him into her home, and her two sons were wonderful boys who he really felt a form of connection to, a form of understanding... Bob had longed to be a part of this sweet family, of this new life. And he'd been, for a while. In a really nice way.

But, ultimately, he was an underdog.

And underdogs weren't meant to save the entire world, and to walk out of the fights unharmed. Were they?

If this was an episode of Star Trek, he'd be the crew member with the red shirt,- the one that no one knew the name of, Bob realised at one point.

He'd be the one who'd made it into Starfleet academy all these years ago, and who had survived some other, past adventures already. And who also had successfully completed all these tests and risked so much, - all set in episodes that never existed and were never seen. Because no one on Star Trek focuses their attention on those people's stories, on their backgrounds, their accomplishments. They're just those supernumeraries with the red shirts, who have to die to show to the audience how dangerous things are, out here in space.

But they'd known what they were getting themselves into, hadn't they? They'd wanted this – wanted to see the most incredible sides of our universe first hand, no matter the risk. And sometimes, - in some episodes of Star Trek, - there actually had been people paying attention to the red-shirt-guys, hadn't there?

As Bob had been laying on the floor in the ministry, getting lacerated by monsters, he'd pondered this topic.

And yes.

There had been some episodes, - he was quite certain now that there were,- where the dying underdogs received a few tears, a few screams or reactions of despair. Just like he'd seen from Joyce, earlier, when he'd first been hit by the weight of the brutal creature.

And it was horrible to leave her behind, her and her little family, but the panic and complete despair Bob had felt earlier was then replaced by an unexpected sense of peace, of self-respect. What he'd said to Joyce, earlier, had been true. He was a superhero, in a way. Not all superheroes where remembered on big screens and in flashy, intergenerational comics, but some of them were frankly red-clad Starfleet members. Quietly loved and mostly fameless, but accomplished, nonetheless.

And to have been dating Joyce Byers was quite the accomplishment, right?

Yes, Bob Newby truly died as a superhero.

(7)

Terry

Terry can feel her out there, her little Jane. She always could.

You wouldn't think that she can. Not with the way that she's mumbling and barely moving and probably looking like the poor maniac people believe her to be, but Terry isn't entirely gone.

A mother can't enjoy the luxury of complete insanity, when her kid is still somewhere out there, lost and confused and maybe, possibly, one day in serious need of help. Of some sort of guidance.

So Terry's been holding on, no matter how hard it was... A small part of her mind is still intact, and all for the sake of her little wonder.

She used to call her that when she was pregnant... She could feel that something was odd about Jane even then.

One time she'd woken up at night, Terry used to remember, and it had been quite hot in her room. Too hot. It was summer, and the dark wood of Terry's bedroom had somehow trapped the heat in there with her even more, and as Terry woke up the bedsheets were flying above her in mid-air, half a metre away from her body. She hadn't been imagining that. She couldn't have.

And then there was that one time where the music had changed... Terry would listen to the radio in her car, and just like that it kept switching the stations a couple times... It was so spooky. It had truly felt like there was some sort of mighty presence surrounding Terry... But she somehow knew that it wasn't a bad thing. It was as if her baby could feel frequencies, or something. It was just like the flickering lights, recently, and like the TV when it got so blurry and rustling for no apparent reason... It felt as if Jane was more special than Terry had ever expected.

Even then... Even when Jane was merely a concept, she'd been special. She'd never even seen her mother's face, never seen the sun or feel someone's arms around her, and yet she could switch of music she didn't like.

Terry obviously couldn't tell anyone about these suspicions. She had to be careful enough as it was. She knew that she was being watched. Brenner was watching her.

If Jane hadn't been special, it might have been easier. Maybe the crazy government employees tested her, somehow, right after she was born? Maybe, if Jane hadn't been so special, Brenner would have somehow found out right after the baby's birth, and just given her back. Without making up an insane natal death story.

Terry wasn't even sure of that. Brenner was evil. He might have just killed Jane, if she'd not had those powers. Just to destroy Terry, in pure cruelty.

But as it was, Jane was an amazing, special creature. And when those people realised it, they took her away. And then, years later, they'd also taken her mother's sanity. Mostly.

But Terry had known that she would someday return, and now Terry knew so, once again. Jane had seen her. Jane knew about her. She would come back, maybe in search of more answers.

Terry wondered how much stronger she could be. If she could finally manage to conserve and regain even more of her mind back, for Jane. Terry had seen Jane's face, Jane's hair. She reminded Terry of her sister, Becky, in a way. How beautiful that was. Terry loved her sister so much, her sister who had cared for her over the cause of many years, just like that. If Jane could become a little bit like Terry's sister, she'd be glad.

Come back to me, quickly, she thought, in a corner of her mind that hadn't quite learned yet to be outspoken again, but that was there, anyway. Let me see you again, Jane.