Lucas is rubbing a bruise under his jaw. Since it got obvious that El left, Troy and James have started going after him and his friends again. Not as much as before, but they're working their way back up.
The radio by his bed crackles to life. "Guys?" Will's terrified voice call out. "Guys? Is anyone there? Over."
Lucas grabs the radio and clicks it on. "I'm here. What's the situation? Over."
"Our phone isn't working anymore. My mom was trying to call the chief on it and it got cut off. Just a few minutes after that, some guys from Hawkins Electricity drove up the road."
"Shit," someone interrupts. It takes Lucas a second to recognize Dustin's voice over the crackle of radio.
"My mom and my brother are outside yelling at them right now. What do I do? Over."
"Will!" It's Mike this time. "Will! Are you still there? Over."
"Yes, I'm still here! Over."
"How many guys are there? Over." Dustin, of course, being rational.
"Just two guys," at this, Lucas quietly breathes a sigh of relief, "wait, a police car just came up the drive. It's the chief!"
"What?" That's all of them, basically.
"Yeah, he just got out, he's shouting at the electrical guys . . . oh crap."
"What?" Lucas practically screams. I forgot the "Over," he thinks, belatedly.
"Three guys just jumped out of the back of the Hawkins Electricity van . . . Shit, they have guns!"
"Run!" Mike yells.
"Wait, they've got Jonathan on the ground, they're handcuffing, shit, I need to help . . ." The voice gets dimmer.
"Will, don't!" Lucas roars. "They won't hurt them, they just want you! Just run!"
"But . . ." Will's voice wavers.
Everybody starts yelling at him, "RUN!"
The radio suddenly clicks off.
For a second, the three of them listen desperately to static, hoping to hear a voice.
"OK," Dustin announces, "I'm closest, so I'm going to stop by the Byers, OK?"
"What?" Lucas demands incredulously. "No, that's crazy."
"I'm just pulling through their woods, I'll be fine." Dustin clicks off, too.
Then it's just him and Mike, listening to the constant crackle. They stay perfectly silent for a minute.
Then two.
Then three.
"Lucas," Mike suddenly interrupts, "when you said Will's mom and Jonathan wouldn't get hurt, were you lying?"
"I don't know . . ." Lucas groans. "I just don't know."
-X-
New York appears slowly but continuously. If Discord imagines that the car is standing still, he can think of the city as a slow wave of houses and farms that slowly grows taller until, at some point, the fields disappear behind a mass of apartment blocks.
The skyscrapers had been visible as a blot on the horizon that gradually became more and more detailed as the road passed beneath them. They grow larger and larger until, all at once, Discord is threading the truck in the streets between them and he, Fluttershy, and El are all craning their necks to try and glimpse the top of the buildings. El's mouth is slightly open in shock.
The awe lasts until they realize how fucked up the traffic is.
"Have we moved at all?" Fluttershy demands. Her fingers are dancing along the edge of her window in frustration.
"It's right before dinner, Fluttershy. Everyone just wants to get home and eat dinner with their families."
"Whatever. How far are we from the address, again?"
"Take a left as soon as we reach the intersection right there."
"So, only a few more years."
"How can traffic be this messed?"
"I don't know, Discord!"
El, meanwhile, has gotten bored with their petty bickering and is struggling through The Cat in the Hat .
"How about we turn on the CD again?" Discord suddenly asks.
"If I have to listen to Sergeant Pepper one more time . . ."
"My dad has funny musical tastes."
"Is he Beatles-exclusive or something?"
"Hey! There were a few 'Elton John's and 'Billy Joel's – Go! Green light! Drive!"
They just make the turn before the light flashes orange.
"All right, he should be number 7 on this street."
"You sure this is the right street."
"Yes, I'm sure. There, park right there." Discord points out an opening right by a beat-up Aston-Martin. Fluttershy carefully obliges, slowly bringing the car to a stop.
"Nice maneuvering," Discord comments as he undoes his seat belt. When El looks up curiously, he nods and she starts climbing out. Despite their best efforts, they were never able to get her to agree to wear a seat belt.
"Discord!" Fluttershy hisses across the top of the car.
"What?"
"Are you really sure this is the right place?"
"Yes! Why?"
"Well . . ." Fluttershy gestures around them. It's a nice, upper-middle class neighborhood of clean, white New York apartments. "Look at it!"
"It's nice, what's your point?"
"I mean, isn't he a crazy conspiracy theorist?"
"I told you he won the Pulitzer, right?"
"I reminded you about the Noodle Incident, right?"
"Won, not nominated. Hell of a difference." Thinking that the discussion is over, Discord starts walking up the stairs.
Behind him, he can hear Fluttershy mutter, "I was expecting a slum."
"Pulitzer Prize," he reminds her over his shoulder. "Be polite."
"Did you just tell me to be polite?"
"My God, call the press."
"Did you just tell me to be polite ?"
At this point, Fluttershy has managed to catch up to him on the short flight of stone steps so that they're all standing in front the white wooden. Discord feels something brush by his hand and looks down to see that El has grabbed it.
"It'll be fine, El," Fluttershy reassures her. "I hope," she grumbles under her breath.
Discord resolutely ignores her and presses his finger to the doorbell. From inside the house, he can hear the clanging of the bell going off, followed shortly by a series of shuffling steps. The doorknob shakes for a second, then it swings inward to reveal a tall, slightly stooped-over man with tangled white hair that stretches down to his shoulders and a tiny pair of spectacles perched on his nose that he's playing with.
"I've told you crows a million times," he's saying, "I don't want my soul saved! I'm perfectly happy going to hell, thank you very much . . ." He stops as he finishes arranging his glasses and looks at Discord and Fluttershy properly for the first time. He slowly raises a hand. His mouth works slowly.
"You're not Mormons."
"Uhh . . ." Fluttershy looks to Discord and he looks back at her in complete confusion. "No, sir."
"Presbyterians?"
"Uhm . . ."
"Evangelists?"
"Well, I guess technically, but we don't really practice . . ."
"Are you here to preach about the Greek Pantheon, then?"
"People do that?"
"You're not here to preach to me?"
The three of them stand and look around in silence. Then the man's face cracks open into a wide smile. "Well, in that case, I must apologize for my complete lapse in manners! Hello, Mr. . . ."
"Discord," Discord finishes, reaching and accepting his proffered hand.
"Fluttershy," she says, taking his hand after Discord.
"Jerry Thompson, but you probably knew that," he declares with a chuckle "Oh, and this is . . ." He fixes his spectacles again and looks down, finally noticing El.
He freezes.
"My God . . ."
"Actually, we kind of need to talk to you about –"
"Say no more," Thompson hisses as he grabs El's hand and drags her into the house. "Well? Get in!"
Sharing a glance between each other, Discord and Fluttershy step into the house. Thompson spends a second looking around the street outside, his head leaning out the doorframe like a bird peering around looking for predators. Then, he quickly closes the door and begins setting his locks, of which, Discord notices with a little alarm, there are three.
-X-
Well, Hopper reflects, at least the kids aren't here.
Jonathan had run off into the woods with Joyce and him shouting at him. Will hadn't been found, so there's something of a silver lining in this shit-heap. Of course, that still leaves him and Joyce in the back of a Hawkins Electricity van as DoE agents search the woods.
Fuck.
"So." Joyce interrupts his train of thought. "Are we going to talk about," she gestures to the inside of the van with flapping hand, "this?"
"What do you want to talk about, Joyce?" Hopper asks with a groan.
"First of all, how did you even know to come down to my house?"
"I had a hunch."
"No!" Joyce practically shouts. "Don't try to talk your way out of this, Hop. You knew something was going to happen."
"Joyce . . ."
"You knew!"
"OK, fine, I knew!"
"Then how did you know?" She has a finger almost poking him between the eyes and Hopper can already tell his eyes are crossed.
"Joyce . . ."
"Hop, my kids are gone. I might've just been arrested. I think I deserve to know what the hell is going on!"
"Joyce . . ."
"Hop!"
"I'm going to tell you, all right?"
Joyce looks at him suspiciously, then slowly leans back into the flat bench set into the wall of the van opposite him.
"After we got Will out of the Upside-Down, I made a deal with them. The Department of Energy. They . . . They told me that they would shut down the facility and move out of Hawkins."
"But . . ." Joyce presses.
"I was supposed to cover up all the issues they had caused last year. Cover up the people who disappeared. Make death certificates. Say that the Holland girl had run off. Stuff like that."
"The plumbing was them, wasn't it?"
"Joyce, I was being bugged. I had to make them think that I was making sure that you wouldn't investigate or call someone."
"But why the plumbing?"
"They think . . ." Hopper pauses.
"They think . . ." Joyce repeats.
"They think something – I don't know what – might have survived from last year. They think it's in the sewers."
"Jesus Christ . . ."
"Yeah."
"But why Will?"
"I mean, he was in the Upside-Down for a while. They think he might brought some kind of . . . Some kind of infection back with him."
"Jesus Christ . . ." Joyce repeats. "All this was going on? This whole time?"
"Joyce . . ."
"He's my son, Hop! My son!"
Hopper groans and puts his head in his hands. "I know, Joyce. I know."
-X-
It turns out that once you get past the part about young evangelists (Preachers?) coming to his door, Mr. Thompson is apparently a really old-fashioned, respectable kind of guy. He has tea in his cupboard, for God's sake. Tea!
"Thank you, Mr. Thompson," Fluttershy says cheerfully. Thompson has set Discord, her, and himself up in the living room. He let El take the couch and even grab a quilted blanket. Right now, she's about halfway through The Cat in the Hat .
It annoys Discord just a little bit how well Fluttershy and Thompson are getting along. There are a row of pictures on the wall in the living room, most of them involving Thompson getting some kind of award or taking a picture with someone important-looking ("Oh, that?" he laughs when Fluttershy asks about one of the pictures. "Yes, that's Nixon. Shame how he turned out.")
The problem is that Discord had been hoping for someone a bit, you know, weirder. Someone who acted a little crazy. Someone who had posters on their walls about crazy mysteries made up of pictures and written confessions from crime scenes strung together with red tape like a spider-web and string tying pieces of the puzzle together held in place with pins and tape. Someone . . .
Someone a bit like him, but grown up.
"So," he interrupts a bit loudly, "what about that one?" He points out the one picture on the wall that doesn't have Thompson in it. A broken snow globe.
"Ah, that," Thompson says with a twinkle in his eyes, which makes every warning signal in Discord's body scream "Nostalgia Time!" and tell him to flee.
"The one story I never managed to finish . . ." Thompson looks down at his cup, and he looks oddly embarrassed. "Well, that's a story for another time. Right now, we have a breaking story in the living room! Grab your cups and follow me."
Finally , Discord thinks as Thompson leads them up a flight of stairs and down a hall to a small room that he makes him think study .
Inside, Discord looks around and grins, because this is the kind of room he'd like to have someday.
The shades are tightly drawn over the windows, and on the wall opposite, over a dozen different newspaper pages in their entirety, along with probably about twenty or thirty smaller clippings, are taped down. There are highlight marks and circles and pen-drawn lines that cross between sheets to tie little notes of information together.
On another wall, a map of the country is set up, with little pictures of people and marker lines that connect them to certain cities.
Fluttershy looks just a little discomfited.
"All right, here it is!" Thompson announces as he pulls a massive sheaf of papers held together by a rubber band out from a drawer. "My research on the Department of Energy."
Now, even Discord looks confused.
"This is related, right?" he asks.
"Oh, of course! But first, tell me, how did you meet the girl downstairs?"
"Well . . ." Fluttershy starts. "The thing is . . ."
"We ran into her in a forest," Discord interrupts.
Thompson narrows his eyes. "Really?"
"Yes."
Thompson peers at him for a few seconds more over his glasses, before looking away. "Well, I guess that makes as much sense as anything else these days."
"Tell me about it," Fluttershy grumbles under her breath.
Thompson takes a moment to settle a little more comfortable into his chair in front of the two of them, giving Discord a weird sense that he's back in school and about to be lectured to.
"Now, can I assume that both of you are familiar with the CIA project MKULTRA?"
"That would be the one where they pumped people full of LSD, right?" Fluttershy asks.
"Right. Now something that was uncovered late into the investigation, too late for it to have any bearing on the Supreme Court ruling, was that one of the subjects, Terry Ives, was pregnant at the time of the experiments."
Fluttershy winces at that. Quietly, Discord reaches out and grabs her hand.
"Now, the pregnancy apparently resulted in a miscarriage, but what I noticed after I was cleaning out my office after the investigation had been declared closed was that only one doctor ever attested to seeing the pregnancy and only one doctor ever signed an affidavit. No nurses, no extra medical staff. I did a little following up and found out that the doctor in question, one Dr. Martin Brenner, while technically a doctor, was a researcher at the Department of Energy."
"That's not suspicious," Discord said sarcastically.
"Exactly. I followed this story on and off for a few years, until I got a call about a possible insider at the Department. I met him at a café in D. C. He gave me a video cassette that showed . . . experiments. Experiments with Eleven." His voice dies off. "Now, I have no idea how much you know about the girl –"
"If . . . If you're talking about . . . something a little supernatural," Fluttershy suddenly says, "then, yes, we know."
"So, she can . . ."
"She can do some pretty amazing things," Discord says.
"Well, then . . ." Suddenly, Thompson breaks out laughing. "Well, that really is something, isn't it?"
"But, sir," Fluttershy asks, "if you had this, why didn't you tell anyone?"
"Well, because it was destroyed soon afterwards."
"I'm sorry?"
"Yes, someone broke into my office the weekend after that and ransacked it. They didn't take any money or anything, but I never saw that tape again."
"Shit," Discord says.
"Quite. I've tried following this since, but my contact went quiet after that. Inquiries yielded nothing useful, until recently."
"What happened?" By this point, Fluttershy seems to have gotten at least a little interested in the story.
"Apparently there was an incident recently. There have been some major shake-ups at the Department, and someone named Dr. Desmond Owens was recently promoted. Odd, since he's historically been a public relations liaison." He stops.
"And then?" Fluttershy prods.
"That's as much as I know, I'm afraid. I paid a visit to Terry Ives once, but the poor woman seems incapable of human communication these days."
"Oh."
"So you don't know where El comes from?" Discord asks. "Where they . . . experimented on her?"
"El?"
"Eleven?"
"Afraid not."
Discord groans. "What about this guy, Owens, or the doctor, umm . . ."
"Brenner," Fluttershy supplies.
"Right. What about those guys?"
"Actually," Thompson says, his eyes suddenly brightening, "I might have something. Both of those men formerly worked at a facility known as . . ." He's rifling through his papers when he gives a shout of triumph and pulls a sheet out. "It's actually not far from here. It's called Montauk."
-X-
Dr. Owens looks through the one-way glass. In one room, the police chief is trying to flick on his lighter. In the next one over, the Byers woman is pacing the room and periodically shouting at the glass. On a table outside, the chief's gun is sitting next to all the keys, tools, and various implements that the security personnel felt could be used as a weapon.
He can feel a headache coming on.
"The police chief would be easy," his aide is saying. "He's been trying to clean himself up since last year, but we could make it look like a fatal relapse."
"That's not ideal," Owens says coldly. "Having the chief in our pocket gave us access to every potential investigation that the town could have mounted and the means to ward it off. He won't be easy to replace."
"Sir," the aide coughs – suddenly, Owens remembers his name, Jake – and says, "Would it actually make a difference? We're going to be cleaning up soon anyway."
Owens takes a moment to wonder if he can go shopping for some new, smarter interns. Ones that have functioning brains. "The problem is that the clean-up itself needs to have the police's authority behind it."
"We didn't last time."
"Last time we could afford to bring down state MP's and federal manpower. This time, with a Congressional investigation being threatened in D.C., the Department wants to get this done with as little fuss as possible. As little noise. And this is still going to be fodder for conspiracy theorists from now until the end of time."
The aide nods slowly. "What about Mrs. Byers?"
"We could fake a car crash," Owens muses. "She works late often, apparently, so we could just cut down a tree in a forest, crash their car in front of it, and leave her body there."
"The chief probably wouldn't be too happy about that."
"Why not?"
"Rumor in town is that they were dating."
"Any water to that theory?" Owens asks.
"Probably not recently," the aide replies. Behind the glass, Hopper has managed to light his cigarette. He takes a long drag on the cigarette, before letting the smoke curl out of the corner of his mouth. He's turning his hat over in his hands.
Mrs. Byers suddenly runs up to the glass and takes a swing at it with her chair. The distinct crash makes both Owens and his aide flinch. The chief pauses for a second, then seems to dismiss the sound and keeps turning the hat over.
"We soundproofed those rooms, right?" Owens demands.
"Yes, but that crash might have been a bit much," the aide answers uncomfortably.
Owens looks down at the table beside him. Besides Hopper's gun, his badge glints darkly in the dim light. The burnished gold looks more like a dirty bronze down here. He picks it up and turns it over in his hand, allowing him to see the pin set in the back of the badge. Security had decided it counted as a concern.
They jump again as the chair slams into the glass.
"There was some speculation, however," the aide continues, "that one of the Byers boys might have been the chief's son."
"Well," Owens states, "that would explain a lot of his actions last fall."
He puts the badge down and leans over to his aide. "Follow these instructions exactly," he says.
A short while later, he opens the door to Hopper's cell. The man glances up at him but doesn't bother standing.
"Can I see your lighter?" Owens asks.
Hopper tosses it to him, underhand. Owens catches it and reaches inside his coat for a cigarette of his own. He turns away from Hopper to light it.
"Chief Hopper," he says, "I think we can come to an agreement."
-X-
The next morning, after a somewhat fitful sleep in Thompson's house (El had slept with Hobbes clutched in her arms), Thompson offers to drive them in his Aston-Martin. Actually, he insists, loudly and vehemently.
"This is a story ," he declares, with a slightly demented look in his eyes. "I fully intend to see it through to its end."
Which is how Discord and Fluttershy find themselves being driven to the end of New York – literally, Montauk is located at the very eastern-most tip of the state, on a little spit of land jutting into the bay – by a former journalist that's just a little demented. It's OK, though, he's the kind of demented that Discord likes, all crazy ideas that tie together in weird ways and funny thoughts on life, the universe, and everything.
She isn't saying it, but he can see Fluttershy warming to him as well, if only because he seems to have genuinely useful life advice. ("See, if Fluttershy is going to college, the best thing for the two of you to do is get an apartment nearby and have Discord work a job while she's studying. Then he can deadbeat around her house for the rest of his life!")
El seems to like him as much as she likes anything. At least, she likes the way he cooks his Eggos. It turns out that she really, really likes Eggos.
Hobbes, who is currently lying curled up in Discord's backpack, refuses to pass judgement one way or the other, but Discord hasn't pressed him about it. He's been unusually quiet lately, which should bother Discord more than it does. It really should.
They can tell that they're well on their way to Montauk when the land on both sides of them begin to fall away, sinking down below the surface of the ocean and giving way to glistening blue waves.
They pull off of the road about two miles into the island (technically, it's a peninsula, but to Discord it feels so disconnected from New York it might as well just be an island) and head down a series of winding roads until they see a long, low cement building set at the edge of the shoreline. There's a chain-link fence surrounding it on sides, even on the dock that leads into the bay. Thompson leads the car into a parking lot.
"A parking lot?" Discord is saying. "I mean, it's a shady government agency that maybe, probably experimented on some kids, but they've got time to build a parking lot?"
Fluttershy rolls her eyes as she takes off her sunglasses. "Just stay in the car, Discord. Mr. Thompson and I are just going to ask them about the scientists, we'll be back in a second. This shouldn't take long."
On the drive there, they had decided almost unanimously that Discord shouldn't be allowed in a government building when Fluttershy was an option. She had relented when Mr. Thompson pointed out that he had been driving for almost three hours to get them there, but she had put her foot down rather firmly with Discord.
Weird expression , Discord thought. "Putting your foot down." Doesn't that kind of sound like you're agreeing, since you're putting your foot down on the gas pedal. Unless it's the brakes.
Behind him, he can hear a shuffling noise as El opens another Dr. Seuss. Funny, he has a memory of kids as being loud, obnoxious distractions, but El is almost disturbingly quiet.
Then again, he might be biased because of his own childhood.
A finger taps on his shoulder. "What do you need, Hobbes?"
"Just thought you might be lonely."
"I'm not lonely. I've got a perfectly important job, sitting here and making sure no one kidnaps El."
"Sounds important."
"That's because it is."
"Well," Hobbes draws out the word. "I was wondering if you were up for a little adventure."
"You mean like when you told me to go digging through a forest?"
"And wasn't it worth it?"
Discord opens his mouth to angrily tell him off, when he freezes and glances back at El. And he can't really deny it. Because even if this whole series of events has been frustrating and confusing, he's felt like was actually doing something. Anything. He's encountered mysteries and he's traveled across states, and he's sitting in front of a government office and he's investigating conspiracies and he's seen superpowers and he'll be damned if he doesn't feel more alive than he's felt in the twelve years that he was in school.
He closes his mouth with a click.
"So, there's a gate around the corner that should be unlocked. If you just hop the motion sensor, you should be able to get inside the building."
"What is 'ham'?" El interjects..
Before Discord can say anything, Hobbes replies, "Delicious."
"Oh." El turns back to her book.
"Wait . . ."
Hobbes looks back at Discord as if just remembering that he's there. "OK, I can explain."
"She can see you!"
"Uh, yes."
"SHE CAN SEE YOU!"
"Discord, calm down . . ."
"Do you have any idea how many times I used to wonder if I was mentally ill? Do you have any fucking clue? DO YOU?"
"I can explain –"
"Yeah, I think you better!"
"But first, you need to get into the building."
"What?"
"Look, I promise I'll explain, all right? But first –"
"But?"
"If you go into the building, there'll be a motion sensor. You need to hop it. Go down the hall until you get the door numbered 6. Are you following?"
"She can see you."
"Are you following?"
"Motion sensor. Hall. Door number 6."
"Right. There is going to be fax coming in. Grab it. After that, you need to go down the hall and take the stairs, not the elevator. That's important."
"Stairs, not the elevator."
"Exactly."
"And then I'm getting some fucking answers."
"What is 'fucking'?"
Discord realizes that El has stopped reading and is looking up at the two of them, her eyes jumping between them like she's watching a tennis match.
Discord claps Hobbes on the shoulder. "You answer that," he declares, and hops out of the car.
-X-
The officials in the building, as far as Fluttershy can tell, have no discernible skills that would qualify them for a job except an exceptional ability to talk for minutes on end without actually saying anything. Right now, one of them is explaining that, while they would love to be able to help, at the moment they would have some trouble calling facility records to go looking for a Martin Brenner, since according to Regulation 6-B, it is policy to . . .
It's almost a relief when the alarm goes off and they're ushered out of the building, followed by hurried explanations of an "intrusion."
Almost.
Because when they step into the lot, they don't see Discord sitting in the car.
"Oh . . ." Fluttershy groans, putting her face in her hands.
"Now, now," Mr. Thompson says as he pats her on the shoulder. "I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation for this. Probably. Maybe. Hopefully."
"Right."
They head over to the car, where, Fluttershy is relieved to see, El is still sitting and reading, with Hobbes sitting next to her. "OK, let's take a seat and ask her. Best if we act normally, though, so we don't panic her."
Mr. Thompson nods and he steps into the back of the car, while Fluttershy steps into the driver's seat.
"El, have you seen Discord?"
"Yes."
"Did he leave?"
"Yes."
"When . . ."
She's cut off by a loud snore. Next to El, Mr. Thompson has fallen asleep, with his glasses still resting on his nose.
"Are you kidding me?" Fluttershy mutters.
"Sorry about that," an unfamiliar voice smoothly interjects, "but I thought it was best to keep this private."
Fluttershy freezes, then, very, very slowly, turns her head.
To El's left, a tiger is sitting upright in its chair. Its hands (no, paws , Fluttershy self-corrects) are folded on its lap and the end of a tail is twitching next to its feet. Two luminescent green eyes are staring back at her.
Fluttershy opens her mouth. She closes it again. She feels a scream coming up through her throat. She chokes it down, then opens her mouth again. Gags on the air. (Dimly, she is aware of El staring at her oddly.) She closes her mouth, again, and then stares for a few seconds.
"Hobbes?"
The tiger grins. "The one and only."
The only reason Fluttershy doesn't scream, in that exact moment, is that she isn't sure she would be able to stop if she started.
Hobbes raises his hands. "I know you probably have a lot of questions, but we really need to get going. I told Discord to take the stairs because an undercover cop was there, which means he's probably at the police station right now, instead of the government's dungeon, which means we can probably pay bail –"
"WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?!" Fluttershy screams.
Hobbes flinches, El jumps back with her eyes widened, and Mr. Thompson twitches in his sleep. "Right," he mutters sheepishly, his hands awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck, "I'm not used to talking to people who aren't Discord."
"Discord?"
"I promise I'll explain everything shortly, but for now, we need to get to the police station, OK?"
Fluttershy puts a finger to her ear, half-expecting to feel brain fluid dribbling out. She wonders if Discord's insanity is contagious.
"Fluttershy," the tiger says, leaning forward, "please."
-X-
Nancy could hear the crackling of the radio from Mike's room going on for almost an hour, well after dark while her parents watched late-night shows below.
Finally, the radio clicks off and she hears his door open. He knocks on her door. "Come in!" she shouts.
Mike walks in and Nancy is struck by just how terrible he looks. His hair looks like it hasn't been brushed in days (weeks would be closer to the mark) and there are slight bags under his eyes. "Will and Jonathan are in trouble," he says without preamble.
"Wait, what? What kind of trouble?"
"The kind from last year," he replies, and Nancy feels something cold and clammy clench in her throat.
"Shit," she whispers.
"Just about. Nancy," he says as he steps forward, "we're heading out to the forest. Dustin knows where the two of them."
"Well, can I help?" Nancy demands.
"I need to climb out your window, and I need you to cover for me with Mom and Dad."
"OK," Nancy says, slowly shaking her head, "OK, I can do that."
This doesn't feel real. The moment Mike said "Last year," Nancy has had the odd sensation of swimming through honey, the light distorted and the air heavy and sticky. It doesn't feel real. It can't be real. It can't be.
"Hey," she says as Mike pushes her window open. "You keep me in the loop, OK? No more secrets, right?"
He hesitates, then nods. "OK."
Then he scurries like a squirrel and he's gone.
Nancy turns back to her desk, but the words just float irritatingly before her eyes. It's been hard since last summer to care about the difference between metonymy and synecdoche, and now it's impossible.
She collapses onto her bed and stares at the ceiling. She counts, very slowly and deliberately, to a hundred. Then, she does it again.
Finally, she reaches for the phone by her nightstand and dials a number.
"Hello?"
"Steve." She takes a deep breath. "It's happening again. I need you to come by."
There's a moment of quiet crackling from the other end of the call. Then, he says, "All right, I'm heading over." The line cuts.
Nancy stands up uncertainly, her eyes passing over to her vanity. There are still pictures of her and Barb taped there. She walks over, looking down at the two of them smiling.
("Gone!" the girl screams, and Nancy's heart breaks. "Gone! Gone!")
"I'll make this right, Barb," she whispers. "I will. I promise."
From below, the doorbell rings.
Steve shouldn't have been able to get here this quickly , she thinks. She hurries down the stairs anyway and stops at the top just as her mom opens the door.
The chief is standing there, arms crossed over his chest. "Sorry to bother you, Karen," he says as he steps into the house. He looks oddly distracted. "Are your kids here?"
-X-
There's another guy in the cell over, Discord knows. He had caught a glimpse of him as they were leading him in. He doesn't think talking between prisoners is exactly encouraged, but he's been sitting here for almost five minutes with nothing to do.
"Hey!" he shouts. "Can you hear me?"
Silence. Then: "Yes."
Deep voice. Baritone voice. (Discord is pretty sure that's how you use that word.) Really weird accent, though. He's not sure how to place it.
"Why do you ask?"
"I don't know. Got bored."
There aren't any police officers in this part of the station, Discord notes. Too small of town, if he had to hazard a guess why. Just not enough officers.
"So, where are you from? South?"
"Why do you say that?"
"I don't know. The accent doesn't sound Canadian. Doesn't sound Southern, either, now that I think about it."
"What business is it of yours, where I come from?"
"I'm bored. I made it my business."
"You made it your business?"
"Yeah. Got a problem with that?"
"But it isn't your business."
"I said it is."
"The nature of my business is that it is mine."
"Well, I'm bored."
"Then where are you from?"
"Ohio."
"Specifically."
"Around Cleveland."
"And how did you come this far?"
"Road trip. With my sort-of girlfriend."
"Sort of?"
"It's complicated."
"She is or she isn't."
"It's just complicated, OK?" Discord is starting to regret this.
""It really isn't. She is or she isn't."
Discord chews on that for a little bit. "I guess if I had to say, I'd say she is. Though I should probably ask her opinion on that."
"Heads or tails?"
"What?"
"If we tossed a coin right now, would you say 'heads' or 'tails'?"
"Do you have a coin right now?"
"It doesn't matter. I can toss one later. Heads or tails?"
"What do I win?"
"Everything."
Discord shrugs. "Heads."
"I see." The man sinks into silence. Discord doesn't try to talk to him again.
They sit very quietly for some time before the door finally opens. An officer walks over to him and unlocks his door. "You're free to go, for now," she says. "Your friends paid your bail. Would you like your jacket back?"
"Yes, please," he says hurriedly. She tosses it to him and, trying to look as un-suspicious as possible, Discord quickly feels the inner pocket. The fax is still folded up there.
-X-
Fluttershy sits in the chair in the waiting room for the station as quietly as she can. In front of her, Hobbes is pacing back and forth, sniffing the air. No one else seems to see him.
Hobbes finally growls. "We need to get out of here as quickly as possible."
Fluttershy sighs. "Any reason why?"
"Look at my tail!" It's turned bushy, the hairs all sticking up. "It's a bad sign. My tail always goes like that whenever Discord's about to do something stupid."
"Shouldn't that be all the time?"
"Ha. Ha." Hobbes spits out.
Outside, the night's moon is hanging in the sky, casting stark shadows in the room.
Finally, the door behind the clerk's desk swings open and a female officer leads Discord out. He's rubbing his wrists. "I assume you have all the paperwork," the officer asks.
Fluttershy nods.
"All right, here you go," the officer says and pushes Discord away.
As soon as they're outside, Hobbes jumps up to Discord. "Please tell me you didn't talk to the man in the cell next to you."
Discord shrugs. "Just a little bit."
Hobbes freezes. "All right," he says, "Fluttershy, get in the car and drive exactly where I tell you to. Discord?"
Discord waves the folded fax at Hobbes.
Fluttershy frowns. "Won't we get in trouble for jumping bail?
"Don't worry," Hobbes growls darkly. "That won't matter by tomorrow night, at the latest."
-X-
They end up stopping at a small rental house by the beach, where the surf pounds on the sand and moon leaves a quiet reflection floating on the water.
"Are you sure about this? It looks inhabited," Fluttershy hisses at Hobbes.
"And since when can you put people to sleep?" Discord demands. He's waving his hands in front of Mr. Thompson's face, who steadfastly snores. El has fallen asleep beside, though she's snoring much more quietly.
"Everything," Hobbes almost shouts, "will be explained tomorrow, but right now you guys need to sleep! Just go up to the front door and tell them you need a place to rest for the night. Offer them some money; it'll be fine."
Fluttershy and Discord share a glance. Then they both step out of the car at the same time.
At the door to the rental, Fluttershy is the one who finally knocks. Surprisingly, it's a fairly young girl who answers.
"Hi!" Fluttershy says. "Can we talk to your parents?"
"Do you guys need a place to sleep?" the girl asks.
"Uh, yes," Fluttershy answers with a worried look at Discord.
"Are you guys going to steal anything?"
"Nope," Fluttershy promises.
"You guys should be fine, then." The girl turns her head over her shoulder and shouts for her parents. Then she turn back to Fluttershy and Discord. "My name's Sally, by the way. Sally Jackson."
-X-
If you bike about half a mile down Mirkwood from Mike's house, take a turn to the left into the forest, find a tree that has a few letters of Quenya lightly carved into the bark, and follow the stream that passes through its roots far enough, you'll find a small clearing in the forest where the trees curve overhead to provide a dense canopy.
Mike had found this a few years ago shortly after his ninth birthday. It was a pretty good birthday present, given that his dad had forgotten to get him anything.
This is where they find Will.
"What about Jonathan?" Lucas asks as soon as he and Mike pull up.
"I don't know," Will mutters with a cough that racks his whole body. He looks likes shit right now, which Mike supposes is only appropriate, given the circumstances.
"I saw him get away," Dustin announces from behind them. He's digging through the bag of snacks that he had asked Lucas and Mike to bring. "Ooh! Mars Bars!"
"How can you think about that right now?" Mike demands.
"What? If we're going to be stuck out here for a while, we're going to need to keep our strength up."
"We're not going to be stuck out here for a while," Lucas announces. "The chief was there, remember? That means that the police aren't on their side."
"Who even is 'they' right now?" Will asks.
"Hawkins Laboratory," Mike replies promptly. "It has to be them."
"I thought they were shut down," Dustin says.
"Well, obviously not," Lucas shoots at him.
"OK, whatever!" Mike shouts as bickering threatens to break out. "Back to the part about the police. Does that mean that we can try going to the station?"
"We could try," Lucas says with a shrug. "Unless you guys have a better idea."
"Let's not rush into this," Dustin replies. "I mean, I didn't stick around, but I think that the lab guys might have gotten the chief. There were definitely more of them than him."
"Isn't that a good thing?" Will asks. "I mean, the police should notice if the chief goes missing, right?"
"You mean Powell and Callahan? We could probably set fire to their car in front of the station and they wouldn't notice," Dustin retorts.
"Well, what do you think we should do?" Lucas shouts at him.
"Something that isn't stupid!"
"Uh, guys?" Will says quietly. He pushes himself to his feet from sitting on the ground.
"Like what?"
"I don't know!"
"You don't know?"
"That's why we need to think about it!"
Out of the corner of his eye, Mike sees Will starting stumbling towards the edge of the clearing.
"Will?" he calls worriedly. Behind him, Dustin and Lucas quiet.
"I'm fine," Will calls back. "I'm fine, I've just got a little cold –"
A sudden, massive coughing fit cuts him off. He staggers and grabs a branch for support as the other three boys immediately run up to help him stand. Will's cough turns to gagging and he stays bent over slightly. He chokes and spits, and Mike stares down at the forest floor.
A small black slug wriggles on the ground.
-X-
Discord wakes with a jerk as he hears the front door of the cabin click open.
He's lying on the floor wrapped in a blanket. Fluttershy got the couch, while Mr. Thompson had been lain down in the guest room and El slept in Sally's bed. Sally slept with her parents.
Discord glances up from the floor. The couch is empty. He sighs and reaches for his jacket.
Fluttershy is sitting on the front porch of the beach house, looking out at the Long Island Sound. The sun has just begun to peak over the horizon, so dimly that all Discord can see is the vague colorless hint of light that glints through the clouds.
He sits down next to her.
They sit like that for a while, watching the sun fight its way past the line of the ocean. Slowly, ever so slowly, a hint of color begins to seep into the dawn. First, hint of pink that fades into the gray that surrounds it.
That's when Fluttershy says, "So, where are we?"
"Montauk."
"You know what I mean."
"Hm," Discord hums noncommittally. "I really don't know. Isn't that why we're on this trip?"
"We're on a road trip away from home to figure out where we are?"
"Just about, yeah. My description was a lot less poetic, though."
"Your description?"
"In my head."
"Oh."
They pause for a little longer while the sun darkens the sky from pink to a shade of red that streaks through the sky. The skyline is glowing orange against the blue sky.
"So, did it help?"
"Did what help?"
"The trip," Fluttershy clarifies. She has a seashell or something in her hand and is turning it over in her fingers. "Did it help you figure out where we are?"
Discord shrugs. He reaches down from the steps and picks a seashell of his own from the sand. He wonders how far the tide reaches if he can find seashells here. "It's a work in progress."
"You know," Fluttershy says, and he can tell not to interrupt. She has that tone of voice that suggests that she's talking more to herself than him. "I used to think I knew where I was. Where I was supposed to be. What I was supposed to be doing."
She sighs and looks up from the seashell to the rising sun. "I'm not so sure anymore."
She looks back down at her seashell. There is a moment of silence.
"Because . . ." Discord gently prods.
"I saw Hobbes," Fluttershy says, and it's as if some floodgate inside of her has broken. "I used to imagine Mr. Bun – I mean, God, isn't that a stupid name, now that I think about it? – I used to imagine that he was alive, too. Except that eventually I realized that he wasn't. And I gave him away to a cousin about five years younger than me, and by that point, I wasn't really sorry to see him go. Just a doll, right? Except I can still remember those times that I pretended that he was actually alive and I don't know if he really was, or if I was just imagining. Hell, I still don't know if this just means that I've gone off the deep end. I mean, I'm seeing Hobbes! Walking! And talking! With his mouth! Doesn't that mean I'm crazy?"
The silence stretches on for a few seconds. Discord knows that she wants him to answer her, in some way, but he really has no idea how. There are a few things he could do. Lie. Comfort her. Reassure her that she's hallucinating.
Or tell the truth.
"You know," Discord begins, hesitantly. He's not used to talking about Hobbes as he knows Hobbes, at least, not without getting some weird looks. "I had the same question in my head for a while. Like, starting around third grade, when I realized that no one else could see Hobbes except me."
"Is that around the time you ran from class screaming, 'My whole life is a lie'?" Fluttershy asks with a laugh.
"Yeah," he snorts with a chuckle. "I mean, whole existential crisis, right? Am I crazy? Is everyone else blind? Can everyone else in the world be wrong and I be right? If that's true, is it different from me being crazy?"
He pauses. He traces one of the lines in the seashell with his fingernail, follows the smooth curve of the calcium carbonate (He is inordinately proud that he remembers that detail from biology).
"There was a point where I wondered if everyone had a Hobbes, like maybe you still talked to Mr. Bun, and the reason I didn't know about was because everyone else thought they were just crazy. Like, maybe we were all seeing the same thing whenever we went home and if we just talked about it, we could see that no one in the world was actually crazy."
"What stopped you from thinking that?"
"You gave Mr. Bun away."
"Oh," Fluttershy says, her voice suddenly very, very small.
"Yeah. But the thing is, whenever I asked Hobbes about it, he always managed to find some way to change the topic. Except once. I asked why he was still around, and he just sighed and said, 'Because you still want me around, idiot.' And then he threw a water balloon at me and said, 'Does that feel imaginary?'"
"Water balloon?"
"Discordball."
"Discordball?"
"I'll tell you some other time," Discord says. "The point is, I figure Hobbes is still around because . . ."
"Because you still want him around. Because you don't want him to go. Because you don't want to grow up."
"You make me sound like Peter Pan," Discord grumbles.
Fluttershy laughs, a completely pure, unfiltered, whole laugh that fills porch and Discord's heart, and suddenly he starts laughing to and they're both laughing and holding onto each other, because, honestly? That metaphor kind of works.
Eventually, they have to stop.
Its several minutes later, as the sun finally completely breaches the horizon, that Fluttershy asks again, "Discord, where are we?"
Discord turns to look at her. He sees her outlined against the sky, the edge of the shore going on forever behind her. The rosiness of the sky is reflected in her eyes and paints her skin with a slight flavoring of red. Her eyes are looking out into the dawn like she's planning how to conquer it, and his breath catches in his throat.
She turns at the noise to look at him.
"We're in the same place we've been," he whispers as his hand reaches out to hers, "since you crushed my head under a snowball bigger than yourself, and I looked up and realized that you were the most amazing thing I had ever seen."
He leans towards her and she leans towards him . . .
A scream shatters the morning quiet.
The two of them sigh and get up to check on the house.
-X-
"Nancy," Hopper says gruffly. "Could you step outside for a second? I need to talk to you privately."
At those last few words, he shoots a pointed look at her mother. Nancy hesitates for a second at the stairs before coming down. As soon as she steps outside, he closes the door with her mother still in the house.
"Where's your brother?" he demands.
"I'm sorry?"
"The boy. Michael. Mike Byers. Your brother!"
"Oh, he's upstairs," Nancy says as nonchalantly as she can. "He's taking a nap right now, so if you could come by later . . ."
"You're lying."
"Excuse me?"
"He's with Will, isn't he?"
"Why would he be with Will?"
"Where's your brother?" Hopper practically shouts.
"Not your business!" Nancy yells back.
They stand there, silent, at an impasse.
Finally Hopper snaps, "What if I just go to your mom and ask her to get Mike for me, huh?"
Nancy struggles to keep the fear off of her face. "Why do you even want Mike, anyway?"
"I just need to know if he's with Will Byers."
"Can't you just stop by his house?"
Hopper sighs and looks away from her. His eyes dart up and down the street, making him look more than a little like a deer that's being hunted.
"That's not an option right now."
Nancy chews through the possible meanings of that statement, before her mouth drops open. "What the hell happened?"
"Not your problem."
From behind him, a car rolls to a stop by her house. Steve's head pops outside. "Hey, Nancy!"
He looks fairly put-out by the presence of the chief as he steps out and runs up to her.
"Hey, Steve, what's going on?"
He grabs her by the wrist and pulls her over to him. Before she can protest, he leans over and hisses, "Jonathan Byers is hiding out at my house. He says that his mom and the chief were kidnapped by the people from the facility from last year. Nancy, what the fuck is going on?"
-X-
"It's alive!" Mr. Thompson is whimpering as he points at Hobbes. "It's alive."
"I'm sorry," Fluttershy says to Mr. Jackson, who is standing by the doorway with a pan and a wary expression of his face. His wife and daughter, she notes, are still in their room. Probably so they don't see him hitting an unstable old man in the face with a chunk of cast iron.
"He just got off his meds, he gets like this sometimes," she explains (well, "explains") as she pulls an apologetic face. "I should have remembered that he gets forgetful about those lately."
"Can't you see it? Alive!"
Thank God he sounds so crazy. Fluttershy and Discord step into the room and close the door behind them. Fluttershy walks over to Mr. Thompson, grabs his face, pulls it over, and looks him directly in the eyes. "Mr. Thompson, breathe slowly," she orders.
As pupils begin to focus on her, his breathing slows.
"We can see him, too," she says, very carefully, enunciating every word. "You're not crazy."
Hobbes sighs and says, "Well, don't worry, you'll all get an explanation today. Discord at least has waited long enough."
"Christ on a cross, it talks , too?"
-X-
Sally is teaching El a card trick as the big people eat breakfast. There's a plate of toast, another with jam and a knife, a stack of napkins, and a deck of cards between them. Sally is explaining that El should wipe her hands after eating so that she doesn't get any jam on the cards.
"They're my only deck," Sally explains. El nods solemnly and very carefully, very neatly wipes her hands before grabbing a random card.
"OK," Sally says, "now look at the card, but don't tell me what it is. Do you remember the names I taught you?"
El nods, then sets the card down on the floor.
Suddenly, Hobbes walks by and snags the last piece of toast, uncovering two chocolate chip cookies. They have blue chocolate chips set in them.
"My mom likes to leave those as a reward for finishing breakfast," Sally explains, seeing Hobbes's confused expression.
"And the blue?" he asks.
"Oh, that's just something she likes to do," Sally says with a shrug. "What's your name, by the way?"
"Hobbes," he replies, sticking his hand out.
She frowns when their hands meet. "Have we met before?" she asks.
He pauses and looks her up and down. "Maybe in another life?"
"Oh," she says. "Can my parents see you?"
He laughs at that. "No, so don't tell!"
"Why not?"
"Or they'll get jealous!"
Sally nods gravely. "I understand," she declares.
"It's a dangerous power, being able to see me," Hobbes says. "The fact that you can is proof that you're destined for great things."
They manage two seconds before breaking down laughing. "But seriously," he says wiping tears from his eyes. "Don't tell them."
"What's this?" El asks suddenly, holding up her card to Hobbes. He glances down, then whispers the name in her ear.
"OK, got it?" Sally asks. As soon as El nods, she grins and continues: "So, now you put the card back anywhere you want, then . . ."
-X-
"Holy shit!" Dustin yells as the three boys all instinctively grab Will and pull him from the squirming length of black on the ground. They stop about three feet from the slug and stand silently, gaping at the . . .
Abomination , Mike decides. That seems about right.
It's about an inch long, pitch black, and a little shiny in the light of the late afternoon. It wriggles, its tips seemingly searching for something in the dirt. As they watch, it bunches itself and began to worm its way, painfully slowly, across the ground.
"So," Mike says cautiously, "is this new?"
When he turns to look at Will, the other boy looks away, unable to meet his eyes. To Will's three friends, that's as good as an outright confession.
"Will." This time, it's Lucas. "How long has this been happening?"
When Will doesn't respond, Dustin says, rather insistently, "Will?"
"It's been going on since I got back from . . . you know." His voice is quiet in the still air of the forest.
"The Upside-Down?" Lucas asks.
"Yeah."
"Will, is there anything else we should know about?" Dustin says softly.
Will stands still and silent as the forest chirps and whistles around him. His hands clench and unclench rhythmically. Then:
"Sometimes, after I throw up one of the slugs, I'll . . ." He frowns, searching for the right words. "It's as if, just for a second, I'll be back there."
Mike starts suddenly, his eyes wide, and he leans over to Will, his voice tight. "You mean the Upside-Down?"
Will looks at him in surprise at the burning desperation in his voice and nods.
Mike lunges forward and grabs Will by the shoulders. "Do you ever see anyone else there? Like maybe a girl, or a boy, with shaved hair?"
"What?" Now Will just sounds confused. "It's the Upside-Down! There's no one there!"
Mike pushes him away with a growl and marches away from the group, out of the clearing and into the woods.
Behind him, he can hear footsteps crackling on the forest floor.
"Dustin, stop following me."
"Listen, man, I get that this is probably a shock for you, but –"
"But what?"
"I get that you're a little obsessed with Eleven –"
"I'm not obsessed!"
"Uh, yes, you are!"
"She was my friend, OK? Sue me if I care that she might be alive!"
"Hey!" Now Dustin sounds hurt. "She was our friend, too!"
-X-
The Jacksons insist on leaving them with several chocolate chip cookies (blue, of course) wrapped in napkins before they set out on the road. Fluttershy leaves them with as much cash as they can afford and Sally hugs El before they go. She gives El a phone number and Discord promises her that she'll explain what that is soon enough.
Then they're on the road, which is when Hobbes begins giving directions.
He leads them down dirt roads, winding paths that seems barely suitable for cars, gravel trails that leave Discord worried that they're going to wreck the car (Mr. Thompson waves the concern away, saying "It's just a car"), and, occasionally, an actual highway.
They leave Montauk and Long Island behind, then the ocean slowly recedes, then they're driving through fields of grass. For a while, they can see New York City to their left, then that fades into the background as well. They're heading deep into the state, eventually crossing in Pennsylvania. A cheery green sign by the highway greets them.
The sun crosses the sky above them and their growling stomachs force them to stop by a burger place by the highway.
When they get back to car, Hobbes has fallen asleep over the back row of seats.
"Sorry," he says apologetically when they wake him up, "the last few days have taken a lot out of me."
He groans and rubs his back. "I'm feeling my age lately. Funny idea."
It's about an hour after that, when everyone has finally fallen silent and settled into watching the landscape zip by past them, that the stadium starts to rise in the distance.
It starts as a speck in the horizon that leaves the residents of the car squinting and occasionally guessing out loud what it might be. Soon, it begins to take shape.
Tall, circular walls that curve around a single soundstage. When they pull into the parking lot, they can see the dilapidated state of the stadium. There are cracks in the pavement where weeds have begun to grow, spreading lines in the columns of the stadium where the concrete has broken under the wear of the years, and the opaque nature of the glass makes it painfully clear how long it has been since this place saw visitors.
They're all standing outside, looking at the sight in front of them with a little disappointment (even Hobbes looks a little confused) when they hear the strains of "Life on Mars" drift through the air.
Hobbes gives a short, abrupt nod. "That'll be her," he says and starts marching into the stadium, past the empty ticket booths and closed recession stands.
Now completely confused, Discord, Fluttershy, Mr. Thompson, and El follow him.
Inside, the sight is much the same. Lots of empty seats stretching up to the skyline, cracked plastic handrails, and a layer of dust just about everywhere.
The exception lies on the stage, where someone in a blue suit, with a pale face and red hair, is belting out a rendition of "Life on Mars."
"He's in the best-selling show;
Is there life on Mars?"
The song ends, the figure gives a bow, and leaps off the stage. It steps towards them, and as he draws closer, Discord can't help blurting out, "David Bowie?"
Because it is David Bowie, beyond a shadow of a doubt. He looks as if he could have stepped out of the music video for "Life on Mars" just a minute before. Everything about him, the way he walks, sings, the way he wears his suit, everything that determines the physical characteristics of a person fit into every image, video, and song that David Bowie has ever made.
Bowie tilts his head as he studies them, taking them all in one by one. "Not exactly," he says, in reply to Discord's question. He walks around them to take a seat in one of the stadium chairs behind them.
"Hello, you old fraud," he says shortly as he looks down at Hobbes. "Tell me, how is living these days going for you?"
Hobbes just glares at him, which makes Bowie laugh.
"I'm always amazed that people take what I say seriously. I don't even take what I am seriously." He frowns as he looks around at them. "I prefer 'she,' by the way. I can see you thinking of me as a 'he' in your thoughts."
Discord blinks. "But . . . you're a guy."
Bowie snorts. "David Bowie is a guy. I'm not David Bowie. Call me Media."
This time, Fluttershy blinks. "You mean, as in for a company?"
"No, as in, the personification of the human obsession with mass media."
Dead silence greets her pronouncement.
"Well, I can see why you brought them here," Bowie – no, Media – says to Hobbes. "Let's start from the beginning. Is it safe to assume that all of you can see the tiger as a tiger, rather than a lump of stuffing stitched into an orange-and-black-and-white patterned cloth?"
After a moment, they nod.
"I'm sure you are, by now, at least, aware that you are the only people who can see him like this. If not, then you've likely suspected." He – she, Discord reminds himself – pauses, and glances at them as if realizing something. "Do any of you believe in gods?"
Fluttershy raises a hand.
"I mean proper gods , mind you, not the metaphysical spiritual presence that you people pray to once a week in church."
Fluttershy frowns, then lowers her hand.
"But you are aware of the ancient pantheons of gods. Zeus and Jupiter, Odin, maybe Ra and Horus if you're particularly well-educated. The girl with the shaved head gets a pass on this one. Tell me, have you ever considered those gods?"
Media turns to Mr. Thompson. "And now I'm hearing skeptical thoughts. Lots of very derogatory terms towards people who prayed to 'invisible things in the air'. So, Jerry, what do you think makes a god?"
Mr. Thompson, rather than shrinking from this seeming challenge, seems to rise to meet it. "Young man, you can't 'make' a god, any more than you can 'make' a vampire or a fairy tale come to life. You can't 'make' something if it doesn't exist."
"Of course you can," Media replies. "With belief. With faith. With sacrifice. If people believe in gods and pray to gods, then they make them real."
Mr. Thompson snorts.
Media tilts her head curiously and –
Suddenly, the stadium comes alive. For an instant, Discord's ears are deafened by the staggering weight of thousands of people cheering and screaming and calling as a band plays onstage. His eyes are blinded by the flashing, burning lights and he can feel the pounding beat of the music in the vibrations in his chest. The sheer mass of all the people in the stadium is overwhelming, staggering . . .
The stadium snaps back in the moment between two instances and they're back to the old, decaying ruin.
From her seat, Media watches the humans stumbling around as they try to reorientate themselves. "Remember that overwhelming feeling, that feeling of the weight of thousands of people letting their emotions loose, and tell me that there wasn't power in that instant."
No one responds.
"That was a glorious night. 6, 542 people, and all of them praying to me with their worship of the music."
"Praying to you?" Discord manages as the ringing finally begins to recede from his ears.
"I'm Media, remember? The sustaining power of music. And not just music, but television, film, radio, books, newspapers. The mass media of the modern age. A thousand different lines of communication into people's thoughts that carefully influence how they think without making them aware of the fact."
And suddenly, without any flash or signal to suggest anything has changed, everything changes. "Isn't that right, kiddo?"
Discord gapes. "Captain Napalm?"
"Comic books. Just another form of entertainment to feed to the masses." The man (woman?) licks his lips. "Now, I remember you, Discord. You put down a bowl of tapioca in front of the TV once, said that it represented your brain. Delicious. I loved that. Mostly because you didn't realize how right you are. All around the world, right now, people are turning on their televisions, going to the movies, reading magazines and newspapers, and with every second they spend in front of some vapid story, with every speck of emotion they expend on vapid characters designed to tug at their heartstrings, they're praying to me. Better than virgin's blood. Better because praying is addictive. Every second they spend watching The Cosby Show ? Just makes them want to watch more."
And suddenly she's back to Bowie, leaning back with a look of smug self-satisfaction on her face.
This time, it's Discord that speaks up. "So, what does this have to do with Hobbes?"
Media shrugs. "It's a God-awful small affair, honestly. Like a reverse-me, in a lot of ways."
"Without the riddles."
"He's a spirit of childhood, obviously. At some point, when you were young, you got lonely and imagined a friend for yourself. And you hoped and wanted and believed so hard that you made your friend real. One point of intense belief, rather than the more stable diversified pool I have."
"More stable."
"Well, everyone grows up eventually. They stop needing their imaginary friends. So those imaginary friends die."
-X-
"You two going to tell what you're whispering about?"
Nancy ignores him, though Steve casts an uncertain look in his direction.
"Harrington!" Hopper shouts, smelling a weak link. "You have no idea what she's getting you into, alright? I can help, but you need to tell me what's going on."
Steve turns back to Nancy. "Should we trust him?"
"I'm not sure."
"Look," the chief pushes his way between them. "Joyce Byers is locked up at the laboratory right now, all right? I need to talk to one of her kids if we're going to get her out."
"And how would you know that?"
"Because I was there with her about half an hour ago."
"And they just let you go?" Steve asks with a laugh.
Hopper groans. "They think I'm going to get her kids for them."
"You're going to what?" Nancy demands.
"I had to get them to let me go somehow!"
Nancy and Steve take a few steps further away from the chief. "Should we trust him?" Steve asks.
Nancy sighs. "I don't think we have a choice."
"Why not?"
"This is Jonathan we're talking about. If there was even a chance we could find his mom, he'd want us to take it."
They both know, upon hearing that statement, that it's true. The Byers family is probably the closest thing to a broken home that Hawkins has, but the family hasn't let that fact tear them apart. They survived Lonnie Byers, years on the edge of bankruptcy, and last fall because, no matter what, they stand together.
And for some reason, Nancy and Steve seem to have decided to stand by Jonathan.
"Well, then . . ." Steve looks back at Hopper and lets out an exhausted breath. "Uh, chief, you got a car?"
-X-
Back at the car, they find a folded newspaper waiting for them on the dashboard. "Little gift from Media," Hobbes proclaims shortly. Fluttershy folds it open to see, in stark, bold, black letters, "MASSACRE AT MONTAUK POLICE STATION".
"Well," Fluttershy mutters, "at least we don't have to worry about bail."
Discord frowns when he peers over Fluttershy's shoulder to look at that. "Why would she want us to see this?"
"Because that was your cellmate."
"You're kidding me."
"Unfortunately not."
"Should we be worried?"
"How should I know?"
"I mean, if you're a god . . ."
Hobbes groans loudly. "Didn't you hear her? I'm not a god! I'm a story! A dream, a wish, a hope, I'm barely real! I'm something you made up a long time ago when you needed someone to pretend to be your friend!" He's practically screaming by the end.
No one meets his eye when he finishes, except one.
El walks over to him and grabs his paw. "Friend," she says shortly, before stepping into the car. Everyone else follows her.
No one speaks in the car for a while, until Hobbes finally speaks up. "Do you still have the fax I asked you to get?" This is directed Discord.
Discord digs around his jacket, pulls it out, and hands it over to Hobbes wordlessly.
"Fluttershy, get your map out. We're going to . . ." Hobbes squints. "Hawkins, Indiana."