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Chapter Fifteen

You Might Think

The sun had dipped out of the sky creating further distress to the party. After calling their parents from a booth near town and lying successfully to all of them about their locations, Lucas had driven with the group, one quite unwell and the rest quiet with the occasional tidbit from an anxious Dustin, who couldn't stand the silence in stressful situations. Lucas frowned at his passenger seat companion for all these attempts to keep some variation of normalcy considering Will was still refusing medical care and shook his head. They had hit the freeway and found themselves out of Hawkins in no time. Now his tank was signalling him it's final warning for low fuel.

"We need to stop and fill up. Maybe we can get some grub and have a chance to regroup," Lucas suggested. Mike, oddly unavailable for his natural leadership role, given the circumstances - quietly agreed with that assessment. He seemed shaken and uncertain about Will, in a way he never would have previously allowed to stunt his position.

A gas station next to a Wendy's seemed to be their best bet.

"My shout," Will rasped, as he rifles around his coat pocket to find the overflowing funds. He even pulled out a twenty for fuel for Lucas, who while appreciative can not look at Will without showing his truest fears.

Will shoved the money with more fervour toward his best friend and Lucas sighed. Eventually, he accepted the cash and the group exited the vehicle. El connected to his hip and wrapped her arm around Will's middle as a way to support him, it being clear that he wasn't very strong to walk comfortably on his own without alerting strangers to his condition. Will accepted the support from her and wrapped his arm over his shoulder, having been just the right height to do so comfortably.

While Lucas dealt with the car at the gas station, the rest of the party headed toward the Wendy's next door.

Will directed her to a booth in the fast-food restaurant after he passed his wallet to Dustin and Mike who order for them, El having never eaten at a Wendy's before and Will having a particular order that everyone remembered by heart.

Eventually, with Lucas now filled up and parked outside the Wendy's and Dustin and Mike with two trays of food enough for all five of them to consume heartily, they are sat in a more considerate silence. A silence that would be broken by their driver.

"We could take you to Indianapolis."

He is sat next to Eleven who is sat across from Will and Dustin with Mike on his other side, as they all look to him at this out of the blue suggestion toward their sickest companion. Lucas shrugged.

"They might not think to look for you at one of the city hospitals?" he added for clarity's sake.

At this, they look to Will who doesn't look remotely supportive of the suggestion. He swallowed another bite of his burger and put it down in response, "They'll hear the calls going out to other specialists when they can't figure out what's happening to me and grab me in no time. Then they'll do the whole bargaining thing again," Will explains the pattern in full.

His eyes drift to Eleven in front of him momentarily before they return to the soda that he sips from. "I won't allow them to swap us two if it comes to that."

"But we have to do something," Dustin whispered as a couple with a young child walked past them. "You're clearly getting worse. We can't – we can't let you die, Will."

Will swallowed his drink with another bite of his burger, ignoring the implications of his declining condition that could be more final than he had considered previously.

"We lost you once, Will. Do you really think we're prepared to do that again?" Mike said suddenly, his voice croaking with anguish at the thought.

Will dared himself to look him in the eye as he responded sincerely, albeit quietly, "It's my decision. I want to keep El safe."

A sudden smacking noise against the cheap rickety table eviscerated any sense of jovial conversation that could have been assumed by the other patrons. Eleven had brought the attention.

"No. It's not your decision to keep me safe."

Lucas sent an apologetic look at anyone who was disturbed by the commotion. Eleven continued on as though the disruption was not worth anyone's business. She had been eating her fries one by one and had a half eater burger, now abandoned by her favouring the potato side. Her eyes bore into Will's with all the seriousness she could convey.

"You're sick. I don't want you to die for me."

"I might not-"

"You wouldn't let me stay in the Upside Down. And I won't let you die."

Eleven was not always confident when given the chance to say her piece, surrounded by fifteen-year-old boys who had been brought up with normal circumstances and able to develop their language much more naturally than she was allowed. But it was the first time since she had returned that she had spoken so commonly and forthright, without an obstacle or hiccup in her wording.

The other three looked a mixture of proud and relieved, proud Eleven finally felt so much more herself in a time where she hadn't been able to explore that much previously as they were stuck in such a stressful period and relieved she wouldn't allow Will to sacrifice his needs before her safety. She knew it had cemented when he was nearly lost to them before she pulled him out. It couldn't continue.

Will found he was no longer able to argue the point down, especially when Eleven had finally refused his side of the argument. Death was too final, even for someone who had been forced into being a lab rat.

"In the morning," Will compromised. "For now, we should find somewhere they won't suspect us to be and stay the night."

Jonathan pulled up to a darkened building, much to Nancy's dismay. They had cut off toward Indianapolis after her suggestion and had explained to him why she needed to. While Jonathan had a sneaking suspicion it wouldn't be open by the time they arrived, now close to seven at night, Nancy was certain that regardless of whether or not it was open to the public, there was often always someone there from her experience. The darkened building was not what she was expecting. She got out despite Jonathan's uncertainty and closed the car door, pulling her coat closer around her after feeling the impact of the Indiana winter.

Jonathan, not one ounce comfortable leaving her to investigate alone, also exited the car, locking it sufficiently enough before taking chase after Nancy Wheeler.

She banged unceremoniously on the door with a roughness unbeknownst to him and Jonathan, panicked by her actions, tried to stop her.

"Someone might think we're trying to break in!"

"I think we would be pretty bad at this if this was how we chose to do it," Nancy responded easily as she banged again on the door.

After no response came from inside the building, Jonathan reiterated his point. "I don't think anyone is here, Nance."

She gave a grunt of frustration before landing a kick on the door. When she finally resounded to the likely fact that Jonathan had insisted upon their arrival, Nancy turned to him and said with quick contemplation, "Do you reckon the Bass Pro is still open?"

"Why?"

"Because we need guns, Jonathan."

Highly alarmed by this suggestion posed to him so casually and having not held a gun since that atrocious night dealing with an Upside Down monster - Jonathan is about to respond when the door beeped loudly and opened up. Nancy and Jonathan turned, violently defensive considering how they spent the last few hours trying to get away from an unmarked Cadillac and should have maybe been more careful of their surroundings from that very fact alone.

Nancy was the only one to look relieved at the sight of a wizened black woman having opened the door. "Zoe," she greeted with utmost warmth.

Zoe appeared to be quite shocked by her appearance but not unwelcoming. "Nancy. What are you doing here? And so late? Wait - aren't you supposed to be in New York?"

"I - uh - it's a difficult one to explain."

At this, Zoe nodded and also became highly interested in Jonathan's presence.

"Oh - of course - Zoe, this is Jonathan Byers. He goes to NYU and we went to high school together - his brother and mine are best friends. And we're obviously friends too."

Even Jonathan is surprised by her nervous nature in speaking about him to anyone else.

"So you're Jonathan," Zoe said, far more invested by his appearance, holding her hand out to shake as he readily accepted it. "I've heard a lot about you."

Nancy has never looked so uncomfortable in her life at her mentor's candour toward Jonathan.

"I'm a little new to all of this," Jonathan responded honestly, with a tight smile.

"Our Nancy is a bit of a secretive one," Zoe admitted, Jonathan now realising just how familiar this woman is to his friend and confidant. "Although I understand you're not a stranger to weaponry."

"Not voluntarily," Jonathan admitted as he turned to Nancy.

"As I said, it's a long story," Nancy pushed again, "We need guns, Zoe."

Zoe pursed her lips and said, "Why don't you come in and explain. I'll be more comfortable letting you handle the weapons outside the range if you do."

She moved to the side to let them in. Jonathan could understand her hesitation and went inside first as Nancy looked somewhat annoyed with her mentor. "We're on a time limit."

"Well then you better hurry up, Miss Wheeler," Zoe insisted amused. "Besides, Ozzie won't appreciate missing your visit."

Nancy caved at this and finally stepped in. Zoe smiled as she convinced the young gun head into her keep. Before she closed the door, she gave a final inconspicuous look outside and locked the door behind her.

There is no light except for the small lamp in the study of Steve Harrington's home. He had come to this as a last resort.

After he returned home, Steve had thought about his grandfather's request and decided to leave it to his dad.

There was a lot to consider when Steve still felt like a kid and his father had helped to grow the family business so exponentially that it was hard to suggest his decisions had been bad ones. Although the spike in their wealth was far more than say what his father had grown up with, Steve didn't see a downfall occurring anytime soon. That was when his father was seen sitting with some men in dark suits, drinking hard scotch and discussing things so quietly that Steve was hurried out by his father when he got home, utterly embarrassed by his appearance and was almost bending over backwards to appear to these men as a worthy advocate in their company.

Once the men left in unmarked Cadillacs down the road and one singular black van, Steve had felt the need to ask questions.

His father lashed out at him and the maniacal stress would have been evident to a blind and deaf person. Greg Harrington was shaking as he took a sip of his scotch and when Steve asked, "Why wasn't Barry a part of this meeting?"

His father's response was a smug one, as he had been most of Steve's life but with an edge, he'd never seen on him before.

"I got rid of him. He was only holding the company back...we needed to think bigger than commercial real estate. That plot of land was worth nothing in 83' when the government had possession of it and now...now it could be beyond our greatest needs."

Steve didn't like the tone his father held. They had been dealt a few lucky rounds as far as being more than comfortable with their living circumstances. Harrington's helped establish and develop this town and weren't keen on coming off as the wealthy Baron so were good with rent and stayed out of the politics to remain neutral in their business to keep this town running, even after decades of normalcy and with a rumoured Mall being built just on the outskirts of town only a few years ago. Once it arrived, they seemed doomed, but there were still many who stuck to what they knew and it seemed to keep the local businesses afloat.

Or so Steve thought.

"Barry was worried about our leases," his dad spat the word so sourly. He continued after a sip of scotch. "And I was worried about this company running on ethers once that Mall really took everything that Hawkins had left."

He turned to Steve severely. "I'm building something greater than all of that. And you will be richer than I ever was, without ever having to lift a finger - little brat that you are."

Being his son wasn't easy, as Greg Harrington insisted on reminding Steve just how worthless he was. Steve was used to it though, and so didn't react to his most recent barb the way his dad's sinister desire required.

"So maybe instead of questioning everything I do, you can just sit tight and wait for everything to get handed down to you!" Greg yelled ferociously at his only child as he reached for his glass again.

Even Steve knew this was excessive. His dad only became this much of an asshole because he couldn't handle stress, ever, but this was a new low, even for him. Steve decided there was no point entertaining a further scolding from his drunk father.

"Yeah, walk away from any responsibility you might have - keep enjoying the fruits of my labour!"

Steve waited for a few hours before he knew his father was out for a good time, likely not with his mother. It was then, he made his way down to the study and found himself trying to find something that might be of concern, according to his grandfather.

The blackened screen with green wording was kind of tough to manipulate to get what he wanted but he had spent enough time with that little nerd friend of his that Dustin had given him some sort of education on computers that could assist - just barely - with his cause. He had opened up certain files and pulled up certain documents and eventually after about an hour into his search, presto.

"Hawkins Power?" Steve spoke quietly to himself in thought.

He clicked through and typed in some very easily guessed passwords before he opened up something that he realised would have been his dad's downfall.

There was a lot of money going toward Hawkins Power, more than what was necessary to engage in with the commercial properties from Steve's estimate - and none of which his father broadcast to authorities who probably had an eye on that sort of thing. It was an amount of money his father never even spoke aloud, which caused Steve to question just how much his father was really involving the rest of the company - the board - everyone who worked with Harrington & Sons. It all came under his father's name. It looked like he had come into this partnership as recently as the previous December.

Mentions of weaponry and the Cold War should have been enough to bore Steve half to death but only solidified that there was nothing official of a government sector within these records - certain words blacked out but enough for him to piece together that it was regarding the maintenance of a weapon - and why would a power company be funding a solitary weapon's ownership? There were too many questions, as well as far too many people listed on a payroll attached to his father's company and Steve knew he would have to get Dustin and his nerd brain to answer, but he gathered that most of it was going to conclude with bad news...

God, no wonder his father made such a stink of Steve "inheriting" his hard-earned wealth. He basically did it illegally if these records were correct and so well hidden - and if he got away with it - Steve would never have to work a day in his life with a reported income earning from this one acquisition.

The rock-solid lump of reality was swallowed and Steve realised that then and there - he was not his father's son.

He began writing everything down that he could because he had a feeling he wouldn't be seeing much of his dad after this.

The Chevy pulled into Benny's diner parking lot and saw the offensive looking black Cadillacs - standing out amongst the bare land that was usually packed with the hunting types, the teens who would go on to cause a ruckus somewhere out of Hopper's jurisdiction, and the occasional loner type who preferred it to the downtown scene. Hopper could not for his life figure out how such an establishment was near empty on a Saturday night. When he looked in the windows he could see that the men posed a striking image of affairs of the state, hardly doing the duty of care to be inconspicuous. Hopper could see that the lights were almost dimmed, not a custom of the restaurant's bright and cheap fare - which didn't diminish its good name in the town or the meaning behind the fact that it still ran under the name of its long-gone owner. Jim couldn't imagine the people in there - if any were inside - felt remotely comfortable by their imposing occupancy.

His answer came in the form of a distressed-looking waitress as she greeted him with the familiarity that came with being Chief.

"Hi Hopper, you want to be seated at your usual place - it's actually free for once."

"That's all good Glenda - I got to meet with some State folks down the way," he gestured at the men in suits, who would normally blend in the big city but were making an outstanding impression on this small diner and the few in residence - a young twenty-something waitress shaken by their discomforting nature.

"Oh uh sure - do you want a beer?" she asked with uncertainty coating her often friendly customer service presenting demeanour.

"Please, Glenda," he insisted as he took off his coat.

He could at least know it wouldn't be tampered with if she provided him with the glass.

As he took his seat across from the two men he remembered to be affiliated with Brenner most, the sagging of leather underneath normally a comfort to harder days was entangled with the feeling that his insides were squishing together painfully, holding together whatever concerns he had while his output would refuse to show an inch of emotion. In the booth behind him was another couple of agent types, dressed similarly as well as in the booth adjacent to the two men he sat across from.

"You know it's a real insult you chose this place, Lockwood," Hopper said quietly.

One of the gentlemen smirked as though he understood, the other taking another quick look around.

"Apologies, the food mightn't be as good, but to convince people to stray away we had a pizza restaurant hand out some free food. Paid of course."

"I don't have a problem with the food. I have a problem with the people who murdered Benny using his place for liaison purposes," the heavy brow of Jim Hopper looked down at the shiny, over-waxed hair of the individual before him.

"It wasn't personal, Jim."

"It's Chief to you," he said to the man beside him, who couldn't have been about thirty. He didn't bother to learn his name because he didn't particularly like his company whenever he was forced to do this.

Glenda arrived with his beer and he gave her the only friendly look he planned on letting them see. She was quick to retreat and Jim couldn't blame her.

"Well Chief," Lockwood interrupted, "We did what we had to do. You understand that this work comes with...fatalities."

"Those are some mighty big fatalities considering what you're meant to be after. It is obvious that she's been dead a long time now."

"That's just the thing, Chief. She's more than alive...she's returned."

"Horseshit," Jim said without hesitancy.

"It's not -"

"It's horseshit," He repeated with a fit of vibrating anger that even shut them up. "You couldn't get her back from that hell dimension - even when you tried looking. Your men ended up dead. How could a twelve-year-old girl have survived? Regardless of what she might be capable of, it's been three years. She's dead."

There was a brief glance between the two, as they knew their one ally in the connection to people that knew the experiment intimately was waning in his support.

"It might have been the best end for her. if you couldn't rear her, and she survived, she would have torn this place and all of you to pieces."

"That's what we're afraid of, Chief."

It was a new voice in this conversation but not unfamiliar, one he hadn't heard in a very long time. One that put his teeth on edge as he could remember his collected nature, far cheerier than that of his underlings. But the menacing of his intentions always remained a mark on this man's ambition.

The two men he was often corresponding with vacated the seats without direction to do so as he took their place opposite Jim. The man before him had a bandaged appearance, meshed with a few ties. He kept them on and Jim was pleased to know he wouldn't know just how messed up by those second dimension creatures he had been.

"It's been a long time, Jim," the white-haired charm eviscerated from that of Dr Martin Brenner.

After much consideration, Jim swallowed any horror he had and decided to ask the one defining question he had.

"How?"

The man light-heartedly chuckled. "I was one of the very lucky few. Had a good go for me - but not enough to kill me."

There's a metallic pain etched in Brenner's face that Jim cannot begin to fathom - what this man has had to do to recover, what excruciating agony he must have endured. Jim had almost felt sorry for him. But the angry little red soldier in his heart seemed to poke and prod at that memory of the shaved head of a girl who clung to Michael Wheeler in a little pink dress, that it probably wasn't enough then he truly deserved. Not if he was back and in this meeting with him.

"Whatever that creature is - it could sense that Experiment Eleven would be more to gain by snuffing out her light…"

The man snapped his fingers in contemplation. He held his stare to his fingers.

"She was the only one who could stop it...There's a level of intelligence that can not be denied amongst these creatures. And unfortunately, the only thing that could possibly retain them...is on the run and unable to help."

Brenner's fingers clasp into his hand, capturing them. Jim has no sympathy to pass on which forced Brenner to reiterate a salient point to his actions.

"She opened the gate."

Jim leaned forward as though trying to make something clear to a petulant boy who refused to listen. "Because she was a child, a child who didn't know and didn't understand what she was doing, under your care...And like I said...is probably dead even after all of that."

Brenner's smile looked grisly under the weird patchwork mask the man was made to wear. "You fed, clothed and nurtured Experiment Eleven, once a week, for three years."

"Because some of us try to repent for our misdeeds," Jim retorted with ease. He wasn't too stupid to think that he couldn't have been watched at some point, they were too slimy and cunning to not at least keep an eye on his activities and whereabouts after he debugged his place several times. It just meant more work for them. "Sure I had hope...but you lose it after a while."

"The food always disappeared."

Jim narrowed his eyes with the "The box was in a forest. Of course the food disappeared, there are plenty of animals out there."

"Along with all the gifts, all those little lady things?" Brenner smiled, unable to be convinced by Jim's argument.

"I thought the same as you, Brenner. That every tree is some magical portal to the Upside - to the other dimension -" Jim corrected, "But as I said, it was three years. And it was a toxic environment that nearly killed my friend's kid, by the way - and killed several others. So why wouldn't it have done the same for her?"

Brenner watched him drink the rest of his beer. He seemed unwilling to continue to entertain this rather busy tête-à-tête. He shook his head in disbelief.

"You sincerely don't want to help if she truly is alive?"

Jim looked to the scientist with one last glare of utter disgust. "If she is alive...I hope you never get within an inch of her."

He started to stand up and get moving when Brenner started to finally show some of his frustration.

"Now Jim, you have a lot to contend for in this matter - if you don't help -"

"I did all I had to do," Jim angrily rounded on the man. The others reach for their guns - which Brenner prevented from going any further given their position. Hopper takes note of this. In the past, he wouldn't have hesitated to invade a property and get what he wanted out of the people in it. Even Jim thought he wasn't going to get very far from this conversation.

"Fine," Brenner responded, his voice dangerously calm. "I hope that you can live with your choice. We will do whatever it takes to retrieve Experiment Eleven, with or without your help."

Jim's brow quivered at the suggestion but shook his head. It wasn't his problem. They were delusional and mad with the hope that they could continue on as they were. But Jim couldn't be a party to something that would have no end. His place was no longer necessary, and in a way, Brenner knew he couldn't play a part if there was no active reason to do so.

"Good luck with that," Jim said with his back turned on them and left without much else to concern himself with.