Hi! I hope everyone is safe! :)

Angryfanfic: I'm on it. Believe me, but I'm too bored in quarantine to not write...

crazytime000: Dedicated to you! ;)

Super special thanks to AnnieRavenclaw707, my beta-reader for being so kind ;)

Chapter 26: Back from the grave.

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He couldn't believe how much bad luck he has. Everything had gone to hell in recent months, and he increasingly hated everything more and more. Hawkins had always been a quiet place, but lately, everything was a mess. He missed the fieldwork, patrolling, and laughing at Callahan's expense, but those days were long gone.

Officer Powell stared in contempt at the immense mountain of paperwork, piling up on his desk. He couldn't believe the humiliation of having to do office work. It was a punishment from the new chief. That guy, aside from being conceited, didn't accept criticism well. Yet, Powell couldn't complain, after all, others were left worse off than him.

He was snapped out of his thoughts when a new file fell onto his table. He looked up to meet Hartman. "Wake up, Powell. I don't see the volume of paperwork on your table decreasing. Earn your payroll."

"Chief, I'm going as fast as I can," Powell replied, tired.

"Great, because here's one more report," Hartman remarked, pointing to the new folder. "A jerk who's going to sleep in the holding cell. Surely that will take the wind out of him."

Another one… Powell thought, watching as his boss take the keys from the blazer and walk out the door. It was rare during the week that at least two or three citizens did not sleep in the cell of the police station for quite stupid reasons.

"Here," Flo announced, putting a cup of coffee next to him. "You have a horrible expression on your face, more so than usual."

Powell smiled. At least Flo was still around. "If we continue like this," he started, "Half Hawkins will go through the station, and not in a good way. People look down on us when they see us on patrol. How has it come to this, Flo?" He sipped his coffee and put a disgusted face. It had always been good, but even this was worse now. "I'm beginning to think that, perhaps, it's time to rethink my job. I'm sick of doing office work."

Flo put her hands on her hips, looking at him listlessly. "Stop saying bullshit, Powell. You're a good cop. You know that Hartman is a bum, that believed he was the king Midas back in the city, but hey, he screwed it up and ended assigned to a town as punishment. He's just messing around with everyone because he hates Hawkins." She pointed at him. "Don't even think of leaving me here alone. Only you and I are left. So do your job, and don't turn it over in that big head you have."

He forced a smile "As kind as ever, Flo. What would we do without you?"

"Well, you probably wouldn't know how to tie your shoes." She replied with disdain. He knew she didn't mean it, Flo was just like that, too many years working together.

"Are you leaving already?" He asked. "There's a pretty a terrible storm out there."

"Umbrellas have been invented for a reason, Powell. Also, Hartman is already gone, and he won't be back. Yes, I'm out of this dump, and you should do the same." She advised.

"You know that I can't. I'm alone tonight, and there is also a detainee downstairs." His voice had a hint of irony.

"Another one? For heaven's sake, and this time what has he done, wear shoes of a color that Hartman doesn't like?" Flo asked rhetorically.

Powell just shrugged, so Flo sighed wearily. "Okay. At least try to eat something."

"Yes, mom."

Flo looked at him sarcastically. "You all always acted like children."

They both smiled with melancholy. She used to say it a lot, before Hartman. When life was so much calmer, gentler, and at least they were allowed to make jokes.

"Look," Flo started, knowing that the past few months had been rough for everyone. "What happened to Hop was horrible, ok? And just when he was starting to fix his life, but I don't think he would have liked this to go to hell. And I don't think he would have liked you to be considering leaving the badge either. What do you think he would say to you?"

"Well, with what a bastard he was, he would be able to appear as a ghost, just to tell me how stupid I am," Powell responded, with a laugh, though deep down it was a wistful laugh.

"Yes. But since he isn't here, I'll tell you for him. So get that nonsense out of your mind."

Powell nodded. "You know what I miss the most? His morning coffee. He was the best at it." He stated, looking at the cup that she had left for him, now empty.

Flo pretended to be indignant, although she knew he was right. Still grumbling, she picked up her bag and left, leaving him thoughtful.

The night was long. Powell hadn't even continued with the paperwork. He was too tired for that, and he was also unable to take a nap. Flo's coffee might not be the best, but it was strong. He looked apathetically at the old typewriter on his desk and thought that it would not be of use to him that night, so he decided that it was best to stretch his legs and take a walk around the police station to make sure everything was fine.

He began his round by the offices. Of course, Hartman's was always locked. Then he walked to the file, tidier than ever, he had to admit. And finally, he ended up in the armory. It was weird, but it was a place that was less orderly than the rest. There were more boxes than usual on the floor. They never did they need it much. Hawkins had always been a quiet place.

He began to place the boxes and was surprised that some weighed less than others, he didn't have time to examine them though, because suddenly it was dark. Great. The fuses might have blown, again. He thought, tired. It used to happen often, the electrical installation of the station was old, and they've never made many investments to improve it. So they almost always had a power outage when there was a storm. Hopefully, he could fix it, or he would spend a long night until the next morning.

With a flashlight, he went down to the electricity meter. It was right next to the holding cell. Out of the corner of his eye, Powell glance at the arrested man. He thought that at that time he would be asleep, but in the dim light, he could see that he was sitting in a corner. He was probably just a poor soul who didn't deserve that punishment.

"It's ok, pal. The power has gone with the storm, but I hope I can fix it soon." The officer stated.

The man turned and stood up like a spring. "Powell?" His voice sounded like someone frightened, who suddenly seemed to have found salvation.

Shocked, the officer turned to look at the man, the flashlight aimed directly at his face. "Jesus!" Powell exclaimed when he saw the man pounce on the bars in despair. A whitish face, terribly familiar, was visible in the beam of light. Except it couldn't be real. Impossible. Terrified, he leaned back, hitting his back against the wall behind him.

"Hey, get that shit off my fucking face. You're blinding me." Hopper protested.

Powell still couldn't believe what he was seeing. Was he hallucinating after a hard day doing paperwork? "This is not happening," He said incredulously as the flashlight fell from his hands. "Am I dreaming?" He asked out loud.

"Yes, well, that's what I asked myself a while ago."

Powell tried not to enter panic mode. Everything was the result of his imagination after a long day of work. Yes, it must be that. Also, damn, he was a policeman, and he couldn't be terrified like that in front of a detainee, right? His first instinct was to go to power on the electricity. Everything would be better with more light.

Fortunately, the energy returned to the place illuminating the entire police station. Powell turned to the holding cell, expecting to meet another man. Sure he would laugh at how idiotic he had been, a hallucination from the previous conversation with Flo.

"Fuck!" He exclaimed again, frightened, as he saw Hopper holding on to the bars. "Hey, I was joking, okay? We're not going to let this place go to shit. Neither Flo nor me."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Hopper asked, confused.

"You didn't show up to tell me not to leave the police?"

Hopper was still just as confused, but seeing Powell's panicked face, he began to understand what was going on. "Appear? Do I look like a ghost?"

"Are you one?" The officer asked quickly.

Hopper chuckled. "If I were a ghost, I would have already gone through the bars a little while ago, don't you think? And what the fuck are you thinking about dropping your badge? Are you stupid?"

Powell was still dumbfounded. Hopper couldn't be there. He just couldn't. It was impossible! The officer looked closely at him. He was for sure skinny than the last time he saw him. The ghosts didn't change shape. Did they? Damn it, and how could he know? He's never seen one before!

The officer quickly realized that although he looked like Hopper, his face was unusual. He didn't have a confident face mixed with arrogance, it was… quite agitated, you could almost say Hopper looked desperate.

"I don't understand anything," Powell confessed, rather slowly. He was still in shock.

"Fuck, Powell. Don't just stand there. Open this damn door, and get me out of here." Hop said impatiently. He couldn't bear being locked up for another minute. Too many bad memories from his time in a Soviet jail.

Powell was still in shock, but he carried away with the situation. "I can't."

"Hey, are you so scared of that asshole? You didn't have that much respect for me when I was the chief,"

"It's not respect, Hopper. I just don't have the keys."

"What do you mean you don't have the keys?"

"Only Hartman has them."

"What?! What if something happens when he's not here? Do we leave the detainee to his fate? What kind of irresponsible asshole is that Hartman? What if the station catches fire? Will we let people burn down here?" Hopper raised his arms, exasperated.

It was then that Powell came out of shock to go pale as milk. After a long pause, he folded his arms angrily. "Don't say that. It's not fucking funny, you know?" He asserted angrily. Hopper looked at him without understanding, he should be the pissed off, right? After all, He was the one on the other side of the bars for no reason.

"It's not funny," Powell repeated. "You died in the Starcourt fire. Like a damn hero. We buried you with fucking honors. You even have a fucking grave in the cemetery with your fucking name on it!" The officer shouted, obviously frustrated.

Hopper fell silent when he saw that Powell was truly screwed. Damn, they had buried him. Seriously? Had the government gone so far to cover up the Starcourt disaster? He quickly remembered the corpse of Will's fake body and shook his head in disbelief. He sat on the floor of the cell by the bars. He was tired from the trip, and of course, knowing that information didn't help him at all.

"I'm here, okay? It's me. I know it's weird, and I really regret that I left you to your fate these months. But, please, believe me, it wasn't my intention. Damn, it wasn't." Hop acknowledged sadly. "My duty as the chief was to take care of my subordinates," The Russians had taken even that from him.

Powell sighed and ended up sitting next to Hopper. "Even Flo cried at your damn funeral."

"Seriously? Is the ice lady capable of crying?"

They both looked at each other, smiling.

"Apparently, yes. But do you know what she doesn't know how to do? Coffee." Powell replied sarcastically, though his gaze openly showed affection.

Hopper grinned. "Oh come on, don't get sentimental, it doesn't suit you. It's just that Hartman doesn't let you play solitaire in the office while Mrs. Larson asks you for help to… finish off the evil raccoon in her garden." His voice had a very dramatic tone.

They laughed. Hopper reached out through the bars and squeezed Powell's shoulder.

The officer looked at his former boss's hand. "Fuck, Hopper. You're really here."

"I'm afraid so."

"What happened? Where the hell have you been these months?"

Hopper frowned. He had to think of something real fast. He couldn't tell Powell the truth, could he? He felt remorseful about it. The man was a good police officer, but what was he going to tell him? The snowball was too big since the first incident in the laboratory. No, the truth was not an option. He would look like a crazy man just out of the asylum, and to be honest, Powell was still looking at him as if he was a damn ghost.

"It was a misunderstanding. You know there were many victims on Starcourt that day. There was an error in the identifications." Hopper started. It was logical to think that the government would also have covered the rest of the fatalities because of the mind flayer.

"Almost six months, Hopper. That's half a year." Powell replied, with a genuine expression of reproach. It looked like he wasn't taking the bait. Damn, he had always been the smartest of his officers.

Hopper had already started there, and he had to keep his facade. No matter what. "Well, you know, a fire, smoke inhalation,"

"Not a fucking call?" Powell blamed him.

"I was in a coma!" Hopper abruptly exclaimed, surprised by his own words. It was the first thing that he could make up. Yes, maybe it sounded a bit extravagant, but Powell gazed at him concerned.

"Damn. Are you ok?" He asked, with real worry.

"Yes, yes. But, I don't take well to be closed in places, you know? I have... bad memories from that day," Hopper replied, looking back at his cell, anxiety reflected in his eyes. That wasn't technically a lie.

Powell nodded. "That's ok. Don't worry. I guess you haven't done anything, Hartman will release you tomorrow. The only thing he wants to demonstrate with this nonsense is that he is above the rest. That's all."

"Well, aham... It's not that simple,"

"Shit, Hopper, what have you done?"

"I hit a cop." He admitted a little embarrassed.

Powell stared at Hopper, ready to scold him. "Oh, God. Why the hell did you do that?"

"I know, I know. I got carried away, ok? But I'm allergic to idiots. You already know that. That's why Callahan rubs me the wrong way," He answered scornfully.

"Callahan isn't here anymore. Hartman fired him."

Hopper's smile faded.

"From the old team, Flo and I are the only left," Powell informed him.

"Damn,"

"Yeah."

After a moment of silence. Hopper rubbed his face. "Ok. What the hell do you advise me to get out of here?"

Powell sighed. "You're going to have to apologize and, maybe, plead a little."

"Never." Hopper cut him off, convinced. In all the time he had been with the Russians, never, ever, he had pleaded. At least not that he could remember. And Powell was expecting him to beg to that idiot? No way. No fucking way.

Powell watched him. Hopper's earlier desperate gesture was gone, and now he had the same cocky face that he knew so well. Now it was the man that he remembered.

"Put aside your stupid pride." The officer advised, thinking that it was going to be a train wreck. Why did he always have bosses with so much ego?

Hopper turned to face him. "Take a good look at me, because this is the face of someone who will not humiliate himself."

"Well, I'm going to have time to get fed up with your face. If you don't, Hartman won't let you go. You have assaulted a policeman." Powell pointed out, annoyed. "They could file charges. This is how things work now."

Hopper shook his head. "You don't know what I've had to go through to get back. You have no idea, Powell. I'm not going to crawl to that fool. Never."

The officer scratched his head wearily. He knew perfectly well that this was Hopper's last word. Too many years working together; he knew where his limits were. Precisely for this reason, he felt that he had to help him, even if he did not want to be helped. Just for the old times.

"By the way. This afternoon the other policemen were laughing at a woman who was protesting at the door, asking them to release you. You haven't come back alone, huh?" He noted, trying to change the conversation.

Hopper remained silent, so Powell continued. "For what they said about her, and seeing you here now, only a name comes to my mind, Byers?"

An involuntary grin appeared on Hopper's lips, which gave him away instantly.

"I knew it. You old fox."

Powell was thoughtful, an idea had occurred to him, quite horrible. So bad, that Hopper would probably hate him for it, but still ...

To be continued.