For the past half hour, Rowen called just about everyone that Dustin could think of. From Joyce Byers, to Nancy Wheeler, to Mike and Lucas.. no one was answering; not even on the walkie talkies the boys used every waking moment. Their last hope was Hopper, but even he was somewhere they didn't know.
Although that hadn't managed to damper Dustin's spirits.. because when Rowen mentioned his radio scanner, his face lit up and he said, "That's good! That's really good, yeah. Ok, so, you go back to the station, reach him on the radio, tell him that it's an emergency and to come to my house as soon as possible. Then-"
"Or.." she interrupted him, heading back to the kitchen. She plucked the phone from the wall. "Instead of leaving you here to do who knows what, I could call the station and not have to leave at all."
The number was dialed before he could say otherwise.
The phone rang once.. twice.. three times..
"Hello?"
"Hey, Powell."
"Hey, Rowen. What's up?"
"Nothing much. Could I ask you something?"
"Somethin' wrong?"
"No, no," she shook her head. "Uh, I was just wondering.. did Hopper come back from the station yet?"
"No.. why? You need to talk to him?"
"Yeah. I do, actually. Could you radio him and see if he picks up? Just tell him I need to talk to him as soon as possible."
"For sure, for sure. Just stay on the line, I'll see if I can catch him real quick."
Rowen took her ear away from the phone, covering the mouthpiece. "Powell's checking to see if he picks up," she informed Dustin, his confusion now twisted into realization.
"Rowen? You there?"
She gave Dustin a look that said: "see?" and spoke into the phone. "I'm here."
"Hop ain't pickin' up."
Her brow furrowed. "He's not?"
"Nope."
"Well.. do have any idea when he'll be back?"
"My best guess is that he already went on home. You could try his cabin, but if he doesn't pick up, then you could talk to him in the mornin'. You workin' tomorrow?"
She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Uh.. I don't know. Hopper never talked to me about weekends, um.. do you have the number to his cabin?"
"Yeah, it should be somewhere 'round here.."
While Powell shuffled through his things, Rowen whispered for Dustin to get a notepad and pen. He rushed behind her, shuffled through some drawers, then reappeared. She took the pad from him.
"Alright alright, here it is. You ready?"
"Hit me." Squishing the phone between her shoulder and her ear, she pressed the pad onto the wall and began to write down the number. "Uh-huh.." she scribbled some more. "Uh-huh.. ok. Thanks, Powell."
She hung up the phone, then took it back off, beginning to dial the number she wrote down. Dustin took the notepad, ripped off the page and stuck it in his pocket; in case they needed to call Hopper again, she assumed.
The phone rang again.. once.. twice.. three times... four times... five times... six-...
"Hey, you reached Jim. I'm probably doing something incredible right now so-"
She slammed the phone back on its stand with a groan.
"Hopper's not answering either."
Dustin rolled his eyes, flinging his hands up. "Now everyone decides to be MIA."
Rowen leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "So.. what else can we do?" she asked, watching as he paced.
"Nothing. My mom's gonna be home in a few hours," he said, collapsing into a chair. "We're gonna have to wait till tomorrow."
ii:
Mrs. Henderson came home with what Dustin concluded as an "even worse look than she had when she left". She had spent hours looking for Mews down at Lover's Lake with a friend, walking around the entire area, searching in the forests nearby with their flashlights and cat treats. The friend had sworn she spotted the cat there.. but by the time it reached 10 o'clock, Mrs. Henderson gave up. And she left in a state.
Rowen felt bad for lying about Mews when the older woman came home; she really did. And she could see Dustin felt worse... but unlike Joyce, Claudia Henderson was blissfully unaware of what exactly 'kidnapped' Will a year ago.. and now what ate her cat. At around ten minutes till the clock struck eleven, she collapsed into the same chair Rowen had a few hours prior, tearing through a good handful of minutes with tears and immediate soothing from her son.
Rowen waited awkwardly at the kitchen counter, fumbling with her hands and thinking of the creature that was currently eating their cat. It took the mother until she composed herself to realize that she was behind her. And when she did, Claudia sprung up, giving what was perhaps a dozen apologies and even more thank-yous. Tired and drained, Rowen was rendered speechless by the action. But Dustin came right up to his mother, calmed her down once more, brought her away with a few choice words and eventually got her to wander down the hall into her own bedroom. He even went in with her, making sure she sat down on her bed rather than the floor.
Rowen smiled at it. The way he and his mother had such a close relationship warmed her heart... but at the same time, she was amused at how easily he could convince her to do things. She almost assumed Dustin just had a way with words. But who was she kidding... the woman was distressed because her beloved pet was gone. And now Rowen had to help her son figure out how to get Mews's murderer out of their house.
So, after he nearly bolted out of the hall and back to her, as she messed with the keys in her hand, his last-minute plan was fleshed out.
The idea was to get his mom out of the house again, looking for Mews in order to buy them a few hours. But how he would get her to do that? Well.. he wasn't sure yet. And since the chief was MIA along with every other person they could trust.. she had no choice but to stay at her own house and wait for Dustin to call, giving the 'all clear'.
Hopefully, Hopper will be at the station in the morning, she thought. We need to get Dart away from Dustin.. away from his mom.. away from Max, Billy, that girl I almost ran into... hell, everyone in this goddamn town.
She almost drove past her house with the complete mess of thoughts and worries she had swirling in her head.
Going up the porch steps wasn't such a breeze, either; going through the door, turning off the abandoned TV, wandering into her room to see Max asleep on her bed yet again. She couldn't stop thinking about everything Dustin had told her.. about Dart, about Will, his friends.. Eleven... another freaking. dimension. As if having a "Demogorgon" screech in her face didn't shell-shock her enough, now she had a whole 'rift between dimensions' scenario to wrap her head around.
She felt like she had fallen into a weird version of The Mist... only there was no mist, and she wasn't trapped in a supermarket. And she had to attempt to trap the monster she was faced with alongside a thirteen-year-old.
God, what had she gotten herself into...
Wait.. no... what had Dustin gotten her into. She would have been just as clueless as his mom of the whole situation had he not been hiding away in his storm cellar. Rowen wasn't about to blame him for everything; she knew it wasn't his fault. He had no idea she was coming.. but as shocking as it was to find that Hawkins wasn't as boring as it made itself out to be... she wished she could put that evening in reverse, avoid the Henderson house and continue to be blissfully unaware of the other-dimensional creature lurking in the shadows.
She couldn't though. As much as she wanted to, she couldn't just go back and erase it like the whole thing was in one of her stories.
Her bag was tossed in the corner where her pile of notebooks sat forlornly. She'd touched none of them; none but two, and one sat happily on her nightstand instead. For a second time, she tried collecting Max's homework off of her bed as quietly as she could, setting it on the bright green bedsheets of the redhead's own twin bed. After days of being rarely slept in, they were still relatively clean, somewhat reeking of that detergent Susan loved to dowse everything in and leave the house smelling of for weeks. Rowen hated it, but she became somewhat nose-blind to the smell after breathing it in for so long.
After changing into sweats and a long sleeve t-shirt, feeling her stomach growl, she stalked into the kitchen. Her feet were bare, and she shivered against the tile lining the floor of the tight space. She shivered when she pulled open the fridge, too, but she was too hungry to care.
CLICK!
Hearing the front door creak open, Rowen paused in her late-night fridge raid. With the open door and an unusual amount of silence, she already knew her brother wasn't home; probably catching a ride to go somewhere with Tommy or Tina or whoever. She had breezed right by his room moments ago, unaware of the tapes strewn about the floor and broken stereo in the corner, left abandoned. But when she peeked through the threshold to see the occupant of said room...
"Jesus, Billy," she whispered, going from one end of the counter to the other as he walked in. "What the hell happened?" She gave him a once over, eyeing his hands and his face. But his hands especially.
He swatted her hand away before she could touch his temple; a cut dragged from his brow, blood dried in a trail that ended at his ear.
"Nothing you haven't seen before."
"Bullshit," she bickered weakly, not caring much for firing back. "Tell me."
He chuckled dryly, watching as she disappeared back into the kitchen. As much as she used it, Billy was still annoyed by her "big sister tone". She didn't care, though. Rowen knelt under the sink, looking for the first aid kit she would occasionally bring out after one of Max's wipeouts on her skateboard.
"Why don't you ask Max? Sure she'd be happy to tell you the whole story."
She paused in her search. Rowen peered over the counter from where she squatted, catching Billy stalk down the hall. She scrunched her nose. Quickly pulling the little kit from under the sink, the doors were closed quietly, and she followed him. She appeared at his door just as his denim jacket was being discarded. He pulled it off roughly, but winced when the sleeves dragged over his hands... and he completely failed at hiding it. The skin on his knuckles were split, dried blood cracking and leaving the cuts open once more.
They were too familiar to her, those cuts.
"What happened?"
Billy plopped on his bed while she leaned against the door frame, but he said nothing. So she moved, closed the door and pressed, "Billy.."
He cut his eyes at her as he unlaced his boots.
"You said 'ask Max'. What happened?"
Moments of silence sat between them, tense, just like it had been between her and Dustin.
"It was after you left," he finally said, tossing the clunky shoes to the side. "Everything was fine. Weirdly fine.. but for once this place was actually quiet.. so I didn't pay any attention to it. I was waiting for my ride to a party some girl named Heather invited me to.." he threw her a look, "'cause someone took my car."
Rowen made a face, mocking his bitter words. He didn't notice when she had opened his door again, disappeared and came back with a warm washcloth. Billy only came back to reality when she softly shoved him, made him slide further down the edge of the bed with a quiet "move".
"After being in here for a while, I hear voices start raising," he continued, giving her his hand to cover with the rag. It was a process they were used to; the sting of it, too. "Susan doesn't want Max to go anywhere until they get back for some shitty reason, but Max wasn't having it and started arguing with her... then Neil got between them." He clenched a fist, the other twitching in hers as she wrapped it with what gauze was left.
"Max starts going back and forth with him about not wanting to stay here all weekend, wanting to go to the arcade or some shit. I don't know," he grumbled. "I stood at the door in case... I thought Max would just give up and stomp off, but they kept getting louder and.. Jesus, that little shit; it's like she doesn't know when to stop. They kept going at each other until he just exploded. She bolted into your room before anything else could happen, but when he moved to follow her..."
He trailed off, but they both knew how the rest of his story unfolded. Rowen relaxed just the slightest bit, mentally sighing at the assurance that Max was fine. Her ego bruised, maybe.. but fine. Rowen couldn't help but think of his mention of the arcade, though, remembering how she promised Max that that would be something they would do together. She wondered if the redhead was hoping they'd get to tomorrow... but hoping enough to argue that intensely?
"She's a pain in my ass, but there's no way I'm letting him get to another kid," Billy muttered.
Rowen smirked at that. "Good to know you don't completely hate her."
"Why would I hate her?" he muttered, but then scoffed, adding, "Wishing I could duck-tape her mouth shut, maybe but.."
She stopped wrapping his hand. Scoffing herself, she sat back, giving him a look of disbelief. "C'mon Billy. Seriously?" she pressed. "The constant jabs at her, blaming her for moving away?.. You get in her face every time she says something like she can't do anything right-"
"'Cause she never listens," he interrupted.
Finishing his left hand, Rowen scowled, intentionally yanking his right in her grasp just a bit too hard. "Maybe there's a reason she doesn't."
"Yeah, 'cause she's a brat," he grumbled.
"She's not a brat-"
"Yes, she is," he snapped, lowering his voice before it could raise. No one but the two of them were awake, and he didn't want another run-in with Neil's explosive anger by waking him. "If you'd stop petting her for one second, you would see that."
Rowen stared and the hand she wrapped, clenching her jaw, pressing the bandages against the broken skin. She secured the gauze with a hard jerk, and Billy yanked his hand back with an "Ow." He stared down at his bandaged hands, rubbing them. "How'd you get to doing this so fast?"
She glared at him. "Between you and the brat, I've become a regular nurse."
He caught the emphasis on the word, the bitterness in her voice.
Shutting the small, white box, Rowen stood, heading towards the door. She let a moment pass, wanting to leave their conversation at that. But something else poked at her, so she turned her head towards him and bit out, "I may be petting her, sure. But at least we can have a conversation that doesn't start and end with yelling... like someone else we know."
Billy stared at the floor, clenched his wrapped up fists, clenched his jaw.
After a long while, he muttered. "I'm not him."
"Yeah, I know," she replied plainly, twisting his door open. "You're something else."
iii:
Against the pull she felt to stay near the phone at all times the next day, Rowen stopped by the station come 11 o'clock. Billy drove her with a grunt and mumble of words not even bothered to decipher. She stepped out with an eye roll and a very pressed point towards him to not leave her there. Needless to say, they weren't exactly on speaking terms... and, admittedly, their reasons were pathetic no matter what way she looked at it.
Both of them cared just a touch too much for their egos, and Rowen wasn't about to be the one to step down first and "hold out her hand and make amends". Even if she thought the entire thing was stupid.
So she strode into the station with one eye on her brother's pristinely clean car, giving Flo a wave against her sour mood.
"Hey Flo," she greeted.
"Hi sweetheart," the older woman smiled, looking up from her desk. "You hear to give me a hand today?"
How and why just about every woman older than she had settled for calling her 'sweetheart', she didn't know.
Rowen shook her head with a smile, leaning her hands against the wood. "Sadly no," she told her. "But I am here to see Hopper. Has he come in yet?"
Flo gave her her signature sigh, shaking her head. "Not yet," she said, glancing towards the radio behind her. "That man, I swear he's got his own personal time table. If he wasn't the Chief, I'm tellin' you, he would've been fired a long time ago." Rowen couldn't help but grin at her ramblings, making Flo chuckle. But then the older woman turned her attention back to her, asking, "Why you ask? Somethin' the matter?"
"It's nothing the Chief can't help me out with," Rowen brushed off.
Flo peered at her over her round glasses. "Well, you know I can always help you out too if you need it, right?" She placed her warm hand over Rowen's colder one, giving it a light squeeze.
Rowen nodded. "I do. I just really need Hoppers help with this one."
Flo gave her a once over, but then nodded herself, saying, "Alright. I'll give you a ring when Hop comes in.. if he comes in."
Rowen nodded again. "Thanks, Flo."
Keeping herself from bolting out the front doors, she stepped out into the cold, skies cloudy and winds too strong for her liking. She slid into the Camaro, a familiar yet oddly quiet tune of Billy Idol humming from the speakers. Billy drummed his fingers against the wheel, glaring hard at whatever was in front of him.
"You gonna tell me why you made me drive you all the way here or what?"
"Nope," was all she said, seatbelt buckled.
The two of them mumbled and grumbled, one whipping the car out and onto the main road, another leaning her head in her hand, elbow against the window. They had never been this quiet around each other, not since the move, not since the hours of unpacking boxes that rendered them silent for a whole other reason. As she told herself earlier, she thought it stupid, what they put themselves in now... but as her pride continued to climb, rising as high as his, Rowen never made a move to mention it. And, as expected, neither did Billy.
She slammed the door once they reached their house, standing in all its humble glory under the clouds that made it look duller than it already had been. Billy sped away, wheels screeching, echoing down the road even as she stepped inside.
"Max, did anyone call the house while I was gone?" was the first thing that came out of her mouth.
"Dustin did!" she heard her call back.
She felt her heartbeat quicken, thoughts of the night prior suddenly shoved to the front of her mind again. With her grumbles and glares towards Billy since she woke, Rowen almost forgot about everything that had come before.
"What did he call for? Did he leave a message?"
She got no reply, only a thump from her room. A few grunts and sniffs followed. Rowen heard a RIP and gazed down the hall in confusion. Until Max stomped out, two pieces of her board in hands with a roll of ducktape around her wrist.
Rowen stared down at it, mouth ajar. "What happened?"
"I busted," Max grumbled. She set the pieces on the dining room table, plopping the ducktape down with it. "I was skating down the main road and tried doing this flip I've been practicing since we moved but.." she trailed off, then shook her head. "My board was ready to break anyway."
Placing a hand on her hip, Rowen asked, "I don't need to patch you up like Billy, do I?"
Max smirked. "No," she mumbled, cutting her eyes at her. Max began to run her fingers over the broken wood. "Not that I care... but is Billy okay?" she asked sheepishly, attempting to sound nonchalant. She had seen the bandages on his hands earlier that morning- fresh ones which Rowen forced him to keep on -and was informed of what she missed soon after. "I mean.. ya know, as in he has no internal bleeding or anything."
Rowen smirked at her.
"He's fine," she huffed, trailing over to where Max stood, pouting at the sight of her broken board. "Just pissy and a little more bruised than usual."
The redhead stared down at the ducktape, watching as Rowen yanked it off, wrapping it around the two pieces of her board in an attempt to salvage the poor thing.
"It was my fault, ya know.." Max said quietly. "Why Neil was so mad."
The ongoing RIP ceased.
"If Billy unloaded on me at some point in the near future, I wouldn't be surprised," she laughed, but it lacked humor.
Rowen kept silent for a while, looking down towards the thirteen-year-old, who avoided her gaze. Max wasn't wrong. Billy was mad, and she was the reason he came home with busted knuckles (the result of repetitively punching whatever poor object he wouldn't disclose to her) and a nasty cut above his eyebrow. But, if Rowen had guessed right, her promise to Max was the reason the redhead argued so stubbornly. Which made it Rowen's fault.
It was what she wanted to tell her, but she knew Max would call bullshit the second Rowen put everything on herself. She had done it before. So, Rowen sighed and said, "I'm not gonna say it's not your fault... but you shouldn't feel guilty for what he did to Billy. Billy made that choice to put himself between you two. Surprisingly, but.. still."
A long pause followed. More duck tape ripping resumed.
"If we should blame anyone for anything, it's Neil," she continued. She spoke somewhat fearfully.. as if he might've been listening behind a corner the whole time, just waiting to jump out. He wasn't.. but she still shuddered. It felt weird to her, too, saying his name rather than 'dad', even with all her opinions of him. She had that internal debate with herself for longer than she could remember. Was he "dad" or was he "Neil"? He was "Douchebag" either way; that she knew for certain.
"We have him to blame for a lot of things."
"For everything," Max corrected, quietly as she had.. as if Neil might appear from somewhere, ready to lash out at their words.
iv:
Becoming lost in their conversation, Rowen had stayed at the house for another half hour. She'd forgotten how the redhead had told her yes, someone called while she was gone; that yes, Dustin tried to reach her. She lounged around as music from the TV broke the quiet of the house, softly, in a way that didn't rattle her eardrums like Billy's music would. For the first time in a while, she was able to find a station she liked without protest from anyone. She scribbled away at her "supernatural Michael Myers story" as Max had called it, attempted to help her salvage her board. Max never said another word aside from the occasional question, shut away in her room and focused on rescuing it from the point of no return. Rowen even found time to make lunch, grateful for the fact that she could make something edible instead of rummage through the fridge in the police station breakroom. Sometimes she forgot to pack a meal, sometimes she didn't. And the times she didn't, she would find her food had suddenly vanished. She really needed to mark her lunch from now on, write a threatening message so the guys don't take it again, maybe.
With Neil and Susan away, and Billy out of the house (taking his pissy mood with him), for once she was quite relaxed. Her legs dangled over the side of the plush armchair, her notebook sat in her lap. She was in quite the makings of her own little happy place, however temporary it was.
But when the phone went RING! and Dustin's voice suddenly bellowed into Rowen's ear, she nearly coughed out bits of a peanut butter sandwich, and fell right back into the thoughts that clouded her mind the night prior.
"Rowen! Where the hell are you?! I called like forty-something minutes ago!"
Swallowing, then coughing, she questioned, "You did?"
"Yes! Now get over here. My mom's gonna be gone all day, so we gotta figure out what to do with Dart."
After being hung up on before she could think, Rowen took a few moments to collect herself; throwing a piece of bread and peanut butter in the trash. She was no longer hungry, too caught up in somehow getting to Dustin's house and wondering how she had missed his first call. But then she thought of Max. Rowen resorted to hollowly chastizing her stepsister when she flew into their shared room; stupidly, and in a way that she couldn't take back after her words spilled out of her mouth. Max still didn't know the truth of what Dustin was harboring, only that he had found some new species of slug.. or whatever he'd called it. And Rowen's excuses, being last minute, weren't the best. The redhead was too slow to question it, though.. which gave Rowen the opportunity to leave before she could ask.
Rolling down windy streets under clouds that threatened to let the bottom drop was her only option, peddling her old bike that had somehow managed to make it from one side of the country to the other. Billy was still gone, hanging out who-knows-where with who-knows-who and sitting on the car that she really wished had been at home. Her legs ached, and she hated that she had been so out of shape compared to him because, by the time she reached Dustin's street, she was breathless.
She stalked up his long driveway, rolling the bike alongside her until she came to the back of the house, letting it plop into the grass.
"Dustin?" she called, noting how the back door was left open. Rowen looked around the backyard, a mess of concrete, weirdly placed trees and a multitude of steps, a shed that looked as if it was about to collapse...
BANG!
She jumped, looking over to a storm cellar.
"Finally!"
She jumped again, hand on her chest.
Dustin appeared at the threshold, arms held out at his sides. "What took you so long?"
Rowen couldn't help but gape at him. She took in the hockey padding on his legs, pieces that forced him to waddle down the steps. "What are you wearing?"
"Protection. Or part of it anyway," he said plainly, looking behind her, then around her. "Where's your car?"
"I biked here," she told him, gesturing to her old, yellow Mongoose.
His brows drew together and he gave her a look. "Why'd you do that?"
"Because I don't have a car," she stated.
"What about your brother's car?"
"He has it."
"Why does he have it?"
"Because it's Billy's car, Dustin!" she exclaimed. Rowen took in a breath, and she eyed his gear again. "Why are you wearing all that 'protection' anyway?"
"Well, while you took a half hour to get here-..." at this, he pointed to himself, "I trapped Dart."
She stared at him. "By yourself?"
He smiled proudly. "Yup."
"Dustin!" she suddenly barked.
His smile deflated, and he gave her a defensive look. "What?!"
"You could've been potentially killed doing that," she fussed. "You know that, right?"
"Rowen, he's a Demogorgon," he argued. "Anyone could've been killed doing that."
"He could've gotten loose!"
"Well, he didn't, did he?" he said, gesturing to the cellar, its doors chained shut.
"Still, it wasn't smart," said she, arms now crossed.
"Nothing about this is smart," he deadpanned, but it did nothing to convince her.
"But you could've gotten seriously hurt," she chided, a grave expression on her face. "And that would've been on me."
"Yeah, but you could've, too," he threw back. "That's why I went ahead and did it."
A pregnant pause followed. Rowen glanced between his expression and the supposed 'protection', then turned her attention to the cellar. The banging had ceased, and a chain was wrapped tightly around the handles, secured with a lock. But somehow that did nothing to ease her. Dart may have been the size of a small dog, sure, but they had no idea how strong the creature could be. Which... in hindsight, was probably why Dustin did what he did.
After a while, she said, "You know if I did somehow get hurt, it wouldn't have been your fault, Dustin. That would've been on me, too."
He looked away from her. "Yeah, well, I wouldn't 've exactly felt great about it."
Pressing her lips into a thin line, she looked to the concrete under her feet. Dustin wasn't an idiot, she knew that... or well, at least she hoped. Seeing the change in his face told her that he meant it: he went ahead and did everything himself on the off chance that she might get hurt. And, admittedly, Rowen was touched. Rattled by the fact that he did something incredibly stupid and dangerous, but still.. touched.
She let out a defeated sigh. "You know what? Nevermind. Don't worry about it," she brushed off. She pointed a finger at him. "But no more monster hunting without me, alright?"
That got a smile out of him. He nodded shyly. "Deal."
"So what do we do now?" she shrugged, glancing down to the cellar. "Now that Dart's trapped in there."
Dustin stood silently for a moment. He let out a heavy sigh. "I should bury Mews's body somewhere back here. Can't leave her in my room." Rowen threw him a sympathetic look. But then he grimaced with a very audible groan. "Ugh, I gotta clean my carpet, too 'cause there's blood all over the place." He turned back to her. "Could you help me get Mews out here?"
Rowen grimaced herself. "I can try, but if I throw up, that's on you."
"Oh c'mon. It's just a cat body."
"Yeah, a cat body that got chewed up by your freaky lizard."
"Demogorgon, Rowen. Demogorgon."
They trailed back into the house, mumbling and grumbling on a much lighter note than she and Billy had been. Rowen never had a funeral for a cat.. but she planned to make sure Mews was properly buried and sent off to cat heaven without fail. Or wherever cats went after they died. She hoped it was somewhere warm and comfortable because, despite his dry eyes and remarks, she could tell Dustin was still upset over the loss of his pet.
She couldn't deny that carrying a half-demolished cat body to his backyard made her stomach churn. Dart wasted no time in making the poor feline his lunch and the sight was sickening. But with Speedy in mind, Rowen plugged her nose and helped Dustin dig a hole, bury her and give a few moments of silence. She had her arm slung over his shoulders for every bit of those moments, giving him what she hoped was a reassuring squeeze after catching the glum look on his face.
By then, his 'protection' was disregarded and thrown into the shed out back, and after they trudged back into the house, Dustin left her be to scrub blood off of his bedroom floor. He had tried a great deal of convincing, hoping Rowen would help him to make it a little more bearable. But she didn't budge and, like a babysitter, ordered him to go do it himself. Dustin grumbled and complained, stomping from his room to the kitchen multiple times with bright yellow gloves on his hands and just about every cleaning fluid he could find in his grasp.
Rowen didn't sit and watch as he did so, though; despite wanting to. For the next two and a half hours, she had her back leaned against the wall, making telephone calls to everyone they could trust just as she had the night before. She called Flo a total of three times, all resulting in no luck and no Hopper. The Sinclair's answered, but the conversation ended with Mrs. Sinclair telling her that Lucas had "gone to hang out with Dustin". Thankfully, the older woman had no way of knowing that Rowen had, in fact, called from Dustin's house. Mrs. Byers didn't even answer her phone, and Rowen waited on the Wheeler's line for much longer than she liked.
Thinking back, she knew she probably should've gone to their houses instead of attempting to call yet again... but the thought of leaving Dustin with Dart in his storm cellar felt wrong all of a sudden. Even with the knowledge that he had trapped the creature all on his own. Unofficial babysitting gig from the night prior aside, she felt herself growing weirdly protective of him.
As if the looming reminder of his mother and having shouted in his face about how stupid he was hadn't made that clear enough.
Giving up on her phone calls for a moment, Rowen hung around on the couch until Dustin finished cleaning his room, putting every piece of furniture, clothing, and forgotten toys back into their respective places. The Wheeler House was tried for a third time as he walked back into the kitchen, arms full of cleaning supplies and disinfectant. But as it had the last two times, the line went busy.
"Ok, no more pointless calling," she stated, hanging the phone back in place. "We're biking to houses."
She watched as Dustin aimlessly stuffed products back under his kitchen sink.
"Have any of your friends picked up?" she asked.
"They're not answering," he grumbled, shutting the small doors with a slam. "I dunno why everyone's MIA all of a sudden. Will's one thing, but Mike and Lucas always answer."
"Well, then c'mon. Let's go see if they're home." She waved him along. Dustin nodded, scrambling with the things he left on the floor in an attempt to put them back hurriedly.
Rowen immediately strode towards the back door, hands stuffed in her pockets to keep them from twitching. She eyed the clock, calling out, "Dustin, c'mon!"
A few grumbles caught her ear, then he appeared around the corner.
"Alright, alright. Jeez, for someone who took almost two hours to get here, you're in a rush."
Rowen only smiled smugly, ruffling the red, white, and blue hat that covered his curls.
Given that she had come up with the makings of a somewhat intricate story, going to the Sinclair House wasn't an option. His parents were under the impression that he was happily spending his time with the kid that currently followed her, therefore Lucas would just have to find out about everything later on. So, to the Wheeler House they peddled, riding down Maple Street until they came to the cul-de-sac at the end of the road.
Rowen had to admit, Tommy wasn't wrong in his description of Nancy's home. It was without a doubt one of the most pristinely kept houses she'd seen, as was the front lawn and the hedges along the front, perfectly trimmed from the first to the last. She wondered if it was as perfect on the inside as it seemed to be on the outside. Her own house, albeit smaller, had a way of turning curious glances away just as much as her father did; solemn and polite on the outside, never once giving a clue as to what occurred on the inside.
She doubted it.
She stood away from the pristine house, waiting in the driveway while Dustin all but scurried over to the front door. A man, who she could only assume was Mr. Wheeler, answered. He looked down at Dustin with round glasses- much like Flo's -and a painfully bright blue sweater. Nothing about the expression on his face was warm. In fact, he looked very very bored.
Their conversation was muffled, but Rowen caught a few words.
"Your line has been busy for over two hours, Mr. Wheeler. Do you realize this?" was the first thing she heard.
She smirked.
"Karen, where's our son?" Mr. Wheeler called back into the house.
More muffled words, then, "Karen, where's Nancy?"
Crossing her arms. she watched on as their conversation became inaudible to her ears once more. But then Dustin walked away with a scowl on his face, and the man took a step out of his house.
"Hey- language!" waened Mr. Wheeler as the thirteen-year-old stomped off towards her. His warning seemed to be hollow, though. As serious as it sounded, he stayed at the threshold, shaking his head at Dustin's back. Somehow, Mr. Wheeler never saw her; which was strange, considering she stood right in his line of sight. She was sure he had even looked her way, but he closed the door with a just as equal measure of boredom as he had when he opened it. So, giving the now shut door a perplexed look, she turned her attention back to Dustin.
"No luck?" she asked.
"No," Dustin sighed.
Rowen sighed herself, arms still crossed. Despite the anxiousness given from their situation, she wasn't in much of a hurry anymore. She felt drained, if anything, and dreaded having to pedal all the way back to Dustin's house. And then, eventually, back to her house. They were back at square one... or two- or whatever the hell they were at before they left the Henderson residence.
He moved to pick up his bike, pushing her to do the same. But before she could even take a step, the growl of an engine made both of them pause, Dustin dropping his bike handle and Rowen turning her head. A deep burgundy car pulled up to the curb, steam blowing out of the muffler as it came to a stop. She hadn't realized she was shivering slightly until it caught her eye, making her rub at the sleeves of her sweater.
The tail lights shut off, the driver's side door opened. They watched as someone emerged, shutting the door and rounding the front to-...
"You've got to be kidding me," she muttered.
Of course, she would run into him of all people. Of course, Steve Harrington would show up at the most unexpected time; who else would? Rowen suddenly found peddling all the way back to Dustin's house much more fun than it had been thirty seconds ago, picking up her own bike in preparation to mount and speed off before he could see them. She seemed to be alone, though.
As Steve strode down the lawn with a bouquet of roses, messing with his hair and muttering to himself, Dustin wasted no time in walking over before he could reach the Wheeler's front door.
"Wait- Dustin, stop!" she hissed. He didn't hear her.
"Steve! Are those for Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler?"
Steve jerked his head towards him, slowing in his tracks. He looked down at the bunch of red flowers in his hand, looked back up to Dustin. "No?"
"Good."
The bouquet was ripped from his hands the second the word came out of his mouth. Dustin made a b-line up the hill that was the Wheeler's lawn, his deep blue bike long forgotten.
"Hey! Wh-" Steve began to go after him... but as Rowen reluctantly approached with a frown on her face, he stalled. His eyes widened and he gestured his hand towards her. "The hell are you doing with Hargrove?" he gaped, glancing between her and Dustin.
"She's helping," Dustin said plainly.
Rowen huffed. "That's one way to put it."
"Helping?"
"Yes. Helping," he repeated, turning on his heel. "We can't talk about it here. I'll explain everything on the way."
Dustin's hand suddenly reached for the passenger door, opening it, and Rowen's mouth fell open in realization. "Oh, no no no. I am not getting his car."
His arms fell to his sides in defeat. "Why not?"
"'Cause she hates me," Steve answered for her, sporting a tight-lipped smile as he placed his hands on his hips.
She threw him a look. "I don't hate you. I just don't wanna be in the same vehicle as you."
"Pretty sure it's the same thing."
"It's not-"
"Guys!" Dustin shouted. They both turned to him, but he pointed his gaze at Steve. "We have bigger problems than whether Rowen hates you or not. Do you still have that bat?"
"What bat?" asked Steve.
"The one with the nails," Dustin explained, waving the bouquet in his hand.
"Why?"
"I'll explain that on the way too. We need to go. Now."
A pause followed. Steve raised his brow. "Now?"
"Now!"
Dustin's shouts made him hurridly trail back up to his car. Rowen, however- as stubborn as she was feeling -stayed put. And it didn't go unnoticed.
Flopping his hands down to his sides once more, Dustin pleaded, "Rowen, come on. Please?"
Loudly, she sighed through her nose. She really didn't want to get in a car with Steve Harrington. Not when she had a gross feeling that she would receive a million more unwanted questions from him; nevermind the reminder of the last time they saw each other. When she screamed in his face. Sure, it had given him a clear message- and apparently, that had been that she hated him -but he didn't look as startled into silence as she hoped he would be. Not close. Not even remotely. He just looked as pissed off by her presence as she was by his. And he probably had questions to come with it, too.
He had already reached the driver's side of his car by the time Dustin resorted to pleading, leaning against the open door. He didn't look as keen to get her to come along, and she didn't expect him to, either.
Steve weakly flung up his hand from where it rested atop car roof. "Look, Dustin. If she doesn't wanna come, she doesn't have to come-"
"No! You don't get it, Steve. She has to."
"Why does she have to?" he asked.
"Because she knows."
"She knows what?"
Dustin sighed dramatically, frustrated. "She knows about what happened to Will last year," he told him, then lowered his voice. "What really happened."
All of a sudden Steve became much more animated. His eyes widened to the size of saucers, his mouth stuck in a permanent "o", his hands planted flat on the top of his BMW. "Wait- she.. she knows? Like knows knows?"
"Yes."
"Wh-.." Steve fumbled over his words, looking between them. "How? Why?"
"Like I said, I'll tell you on the way," he pressed, turning back to Rowen with a pleading look.
Even after watching the entire exchange, she still had her arms crossed, a hard look on her face. But it was slipping. Whether it was the silent reminder that they had an other-dimensional monster in Dustin's storm cellar, or the look said kid gave her which very creepily resembled Max's puppy-dog eyes... she was slipping. She knew it. Even with the want to avoid the guy who was now staring at her in both bewilderment and utter confusion.
She couldn't stand in the Wheeler's front lawn forever, stubborn-headed and annoyed. Either they'd make her move or Dustin would... and she had a feeling the later would do it first. Despite his pleads, he was already staring at her like he was considering the thought.
"You're not gonna let him move until I give in, are you?" she asked, already knowing what the answer would be.
"No."
Now it was her turn to be dramatic. Rowen let her head turn up to the sky, sighing long and loudly. "Fine," she grumbled, jogging up to the car. "But you owe me, Dusty."
Dustin gave her a horrified look. "No no no. You don't get to call me that," he objected, pointing at her. "Only my mom calls me that."
"You're making me get in a car with Sunglasses here," she fired back, jabbing a finger in Steve's direction. "I can call you Dusty all I want. Now get in the back. I call shotgun."
She pushed at Dustin's shoulder, making him sulk and dramatically pull open the back door. Rose petals fell at his feet, breaking away from the bouquet he had been shaking harshly since he swiped them. She knew he didn't take what she said to heart, but calling him Dusty hit a nerve; she could see that plainly. He moved to slide in, throwing his backpack onto the seat. But then he suddenly shot back out, shoving the roses in her hands.
"Hey- why are you giving me these?"
"They're gonna get ruined if I keep holding them so just.. take them for me, okay? I'm gonna give them to my mom."
Rowen stared down at the bouquet. "Apology gift to follow the hard truth about Mews?" she guessed.
Dustin only nodded.
"Hey! You guys made a big deal about leaving, so why are you talking? Let's go!" Steve all but shouted at them from the driver's seat, earning two replies at the same time.
"Alright, asshole! Jeez.."
"Okay, okay. What crawled up your ass and died?"