ADMIN NOTE:

i apologize in advance for the shortness of this one (as well as the lack of usual character interactions) ! this is more of a chapter where i lay the groundwork for future ones, thus why it does not contain as much.

i feel like i have said this so much but i also want to apologize (again) for the absolute state that this story is in right now . . my ideas are a mess, and it is because they are a mess that this story is as well. i have changed my mind many times over in the three years i have been writing for rowen and i am still working out some kinks. she as well as my vision for this has altered a lot. volume 2 really did a number on me too, so my muse is a little wobbly. please bear with me while i try to find my feet again. (:

much love xx

. . .

Rowen awoke to the new year thinking her head was going to split in two.

In the first few moments of consciousness, this thought felt rather reasonable. The sunlight which spilled through the window and into her field of vision was overwhelming with the curtains drawn back, and for a few labored breaths, she had the faint belief that someone was trying to force her skull open with a hammer. Maybe attempting surgery without her consent or knowledge for reasons she could not think of.

As moments became seconds, however, and her breathing went from deep breaths to shallower ones, Rowen found her sense again. Of course no one was trying to crack open her head; she would have been screaming, in much worse pain than this by then — if what she felt bouncing back and forth in her head could even be topped.

She wasn't being operated on and her head wasn't actually going to split into two — though it most certainly felt like it was trying. The sunlight was a little too bright to handle, her window was cracked. She was in her bedroom, and she was alone.

"Finally."

Or as alone as she could get, sharing said room. The first coherent thought she had after rationalizing herself out of a panic attack was that Max was still on Christmas break. The second was that it seemed she had been waiting for her to wake up.

Rowen slowly lifted her head from its squished position on her pillow and turned towards her stepsister's voice.

Max was sitting on her twin bed with her arms crossed, back against the wall.

She was frowning; and it was a strange sight to see, her being the one to give a look of scorn, judgment, whatever would usually be on Rowen's face because it was usually Max who did something between the two of them. It was usually Max who received a critical turn of the face and Max who sulked or pouted or rolled her eyes because saying anything to defend herself was useless . . . Nevertheless Rowen was no saint, and she knew it would be just as useless for her. She wasn't even going to attempt it, she knew what she had done. This wasn't the first scornful gaze she had been given, and this most certainly wasn't her first hangover.

Though this was the first hangover that left her feeling disoriented and shitty in a while.

Max lifted up a bottle and began to shake it — only a little, though the rattling of what was inside might as well have been like a jackhammer buzzing in Rowen's ears. Ibuprofen.

She cringed and covered her eyes with one hand, said, "Oh — God, please don't."

"Oh, c'mon," she heard Max retort. "You've been through enough of these."

The thirteen-year-old slid off of her bed and walked over. Unbeknownst to Rowen, a glass of water had been placed on her nightstand to go along with the little red pain-relieving pills. Max held out the bottle, though Rowen didn't try to reach for it yet — what, with the way she was sprawled on her belly. If she tried swallowing anything in that position, she would just cough it back up . . . which meant she had to move; and God, was that the last thing she wanted to do. But her head was intent on cracking itself open.

Moving it at any speed quicker than a snail's pace felt like a bitch, so she shifted into a sitting position slowly, and took the ibuprofen once upright . . . There wasn't much relief in it outright. Pain-killer wasn't instantaneous, much to her disappointment.

"Since when did you think that getting drunk off your ass was good?"

Max's voice stabbed at her head and her snarky little silhouette stood expectantly in front of the window. Rowen unapologetically glared, silently giving the answer Max already knew.

"I didn't know when you'd be up so I told Hopper you were sick," she continued.

Rowen breathed out a laugh and regretted it instantly, hissing at the throbbing that had begun in her temples. Her throat felt like sandpaper, and she figured her voice sounded worse. "Thanks, but I'm still going," she said; it was gravely and rough.

She heard Max's sigh. "So I forced myself to talk to him for nothing?"

"I need all the money I can get." Rowen paused to take a few gulps of water. She cleared her throat a few times and then searched for her alarm clock; it was not where it usually was. "What time is it anyway?"

"Eight."

Rowen did a double-take. "Eight?" she echoed, now taking in the odd picture of Max being fully dressed and awake at that hour. "Aren't you usually snoring right now?"

Max shrugged and crossed her arms. "My bed is shit, you know that."

"Were you there all night?"

"Yeah."

A glance was thrown at the twin bed; its sheets were barely crumbled and the blanket Max clung to was shoved over to one side as if she had tried sleeping, but couldn't. It wasn't a tangled mess like it usually was when she would sleep under it on Rowen's own, snuggled over on one side.

The older of the two looked between it and her stepsister, then sighed. "You should've pushed me over."

Stubbornness made a wrinkle form between Max's eyebrows. "No. I would've woken you up."

"So what?"

"So what? Ro, you look like a freaking corpse."

Rowen gave her an affronted look. "Gee, thanks."

"So I lost a night, so what? It's not like I missed much." The waspishness of her words left as quickly as it came. She was left to shrug her shoulders lamely. "And, I mean, you slept for once, so . ."

The affronted look on Rowen's face melted quickly. Despite the all too apparent pounding in her head and the queasiness that was beginning to build in her stomach, Rowen had slept — definitely with the help of the alcohol she had downed the night before, but still . . . slept. She had closed her eyes without fear of nightmares because they never really came. They were too blurry and incoherent to ever scare her.

"Also you were rolling around a lot, so . . I didn't want to get slapped in the face."

. . .

〝 𝑖𝑖.

"Rowen."

SNAP!

Rowen . .

What?

Did you forget what we promised or did someone sneak something into your coffee?

SNAP! SNAP! SNAP!

Are you okay?

RING!

Shit.

Geez, you doin' okay, kiddo?

She's not been sleepin' well.

RING! RING!

You sure you don't want to take today off, hun? I don't mind taking over.

RING!

SNAP!

"Rowen . ."

Kid, you need to take a day.

SNAP!

"Shit, it's like I don't even have a sister anymore!"

"What are you doing?"

"What do you mean, what am I doing? I'm having fun, that's what I'm doing!"

"ROWEN!"

She awoke ready to scream.

. . .

〝 THE NIGHTMARE PROJECT, PT ONE.

Rowen had never believed in a higher power. Anything beyond Mother Nature was about as incomprehensible to her as the math homework she dreaded in sophomore year. Though she supposed she would be willing and ready to thank whatever power was above them or around them (or in them?) when it gave her the ability to withhold the bloodcurdling scream that was ready to burst from her throat.

She had hoped it wouldn't come to this point, but it did.

Her nightmares had gotten so realistic that she could feel the squish of the tunnels beneath her feet, feel the spores float around her bandana, feel claws and teeth and screams pounding in her ears, and why, why hadn't she climbed faster —

. . . That wasn't the point. The point was that the horrifyingly real images that filled her brain which swirled and expanded and attached themselves to every corner of her mind when she closed her eyes, not lessening but seemingly growing bigger, had found a companion in the rest of her memories. Everyday things that were not fresh out of a horror movie (though some might as well have been just as bad) were blending with the things that were, rising like a seven-foot wave, filling her lungs with fluid, beating her down, down, down . . .

Oh, how she had hoped it wouldn't come to that.

But it did.

Max woke her up before her scream could penetrate the entire house, wake the rest of the people within and leave them startled, grumpy, confused . . angry. She couldn't explain when she was scared. She couldn't put on that well-rehearsed poker face and utter an explanation as if from a script — like she had done so many times before. Max knew that. Max knew what would happen, it was why she woke her up. If she hadn't, if Rowen's screams had let loose, then they would have been done for. Their door would swing open . . and then they would have a real problem on their hands.

Not that her nightmares weren't a problem . . they just weren't the problem. The problem for the two step-siblings was not memories of Dart, the Upside Down, the Gate, no. Those things didn't matter one bit, even if they gave them nightmares . . They had had their own nightmare well before then. their problem slept two doors down.

Logically, Rowen knew she couldn't keep doing this. She couldn't choose safety over sleep forever. Realistically, she knew she could only go without the latter for so long, even if she was denying it. And max could only help her so much; she couldn't rely on her at all times. She needed a place to rest without fear of the consequences of waking up from a bluish labyrinth, announcing her terror . . sounding the alarm.

Every misstep and mistake felt like an alarm in that house as if it was littered with tripwire and her limbs were wearing on her, could no longer keep her from losing her balance . . Something would slip eventually, she knew that. She knew she would screw up.

The slam of the bathroom door woke her from her state of half-awake because being completely gone to the world was no longer an option. Her first coherent thought, after confirming that it was Billy who had locked himself in the tiny space, was how pissed Max would be when he didn't come out fast enough.

Her second thought lead her to the phone.

"Hey, Hopper?"

She had been riding her bike to work ever since December came upon them. she had been riding in the cold, through the chill of winter mornings and enduring the sting of the wind against her skin all because her warmer, cozier alternative felt weird. It felt too weird, the thought of climbing into the Camaro sour once more with all the memories it held ﹔ all the reminders of who owned it, what said owner did to her.

She just . . couldn't drive it right now, couldn't steal his keys without a thought like she used to do. It was all wrong. It all left her feeling incapable of riding her bike that morning, too.

He rolled up to the end of their front sidewalk like he had last time.

"Hey, California."

She didn't acknowledge it. Hopper noticed. The passenger door slammed shut.

"Somethin' wrong?"

Everything was wrong, she knew he knew that. He just didn't know this thing. She wasn't sure how to tell him, either.

"Ask me later."

He did ask, many times as he passed her and Flo's desk throughout the day — again and again, then again some more. She said once more to ask her later when work was done, when it was just her and just him without prying ears and gazes to look over their shoulders as it had been when papers needed to be signed. Papers that solidified her involvement in all of . . that. All of the monsters and tunnels and vines that came for them —

She and Max would be associated with it all, now.

She hadn't expected hopper to take her silence so lousily. He gave her his coined look of concern more times than she could count . . but she never relented. Despite the way she was willing to crumble in front of him (or at least prepare to) she didn't allow herself to do so there. Not there.

Not until the clock on the wall struck seven o'clock.

"Okay, it's later. " Hopper almost announced it as he trailed out of his office.

The station echoed with his footsteps and her mindless shuffling ﹔ there was no one else there, and it made the building feel five times bigger, five times more exposing as if having the place empty was somehow worse. Somehow, it was more nerve-wracking. Somehow, she wished they weren't alone . . but it couldn't be like that. She knew that better than anything. This wasn't something she could hide from along with everything else.

Powell and Callahan were long gone by then, along with the others that trailed in and out of the station. It was their turn to go out on patrol . . or they thought it was, at least. They had argued, Hopper had glared, and eventually, they went with reluctant and sour faces. Hopper made them, said he would do it next time — though she had a feeling that was a hollow promise. He didn't like doing night patrol, especially now, when he had Eleven to consider. He said this without saying, but they didn't need to know that.

He needed them out. He needed them gone. He needed to know what was up with her, Rowen could see that. It was all but a neon sign displayed across his forehead at this point.

She didn't blame him for acting this way, not after everything that happened.

"Is something wrong?" he asked one final time.

She wasn't sure why she hesitated. In between phone calls and giving Powell a list of places to go and people to deal with for the foreseeable week, she had plenty of time to prepare . . but it didn't help. Rowen still felt the words choke in her throat.

She felt weird asking this, in truth . . but Hopper was leaning against her desk — cowboy hat, long, towering shadow and all. If she didn't say anything, she might as well tell him that the gate was still open.

She opened her mouth. "I need to talk to El."

. . .

〝 𝑖𝑖.

She didn't need to talk to El . . she didn't look entirely sure she knew how to talk to El.

What she really meant was 'I'm having repetitive nightmares that are slowly eating away at me and if I don't figure out how to deal with them, I'm going to lose my mind'.

But she didn't know how to say that.

Hopper figured as much when she admitted it, when she blurted out the truth in one long, tired breath that took him a moment to decipher. Eleven — Jane — could help her with nightmares no better than he could. He knew she knew that . . but she didn't know how to say it. How could she? How could any of them explain anything having to do with that place, the deep-set trauma from being exposed to so much?

He said she could come over for dinner if she wanted. She had nodded and, suddenly, there was much less tension in the police station. The way she drew inward lessened some.

They left in his Blazer, awkward silence and uncertainty all wrapped into one until their ride to the cabin was over and they neared the small safe haven.

The lights were on, and a flicker from one window indicated that El had switched the television to life. He wasn't sure how she avoided growing bored over it when they only had so many stations, but the interest in her eyes hadn't left yet, and he had a feeling it wouldn't anytime soon.

It wasn't until they got there that Hopper realized ﹔ when they climbed the porch, when he set aside the slight paranoia swirling around in his mind that he noticed something different: aside from the nightmares, Rowen hadn't told him what was weighing on her — not really. There was something else, he felt ﹔ something about the nightmares, something that came with them, something they caused.

Something . .

Hopper shook himself out of it. She was here, and she was going to tell him eventually . . hopefully. Besides, even with the conversation awaiting them, she appeared much more comfortable than he had seen her in a while. She seemed a little relaxed already.

El only made it better. Her curls peaked through the door and her doe eyes brightened, and the exhaustion that Hopper had seen on Rowen's face for weeks was washed away, if only a little, because someone was happy to see her . . because she was somewhere she felt was safe. It was safe, Hopper made sure of that.

But he didn't know what to do for dinner. What were they going to eat? What went with imposing conversation?

Eggos, that's what . . according to El, at least.

Jane. Geez, that habit was going to be difficult to break. The kids called her El so much that he couldn't put it right in his head.

Rowen couldn't either, as she kept calling the kid El . . but the younger of the two didn't mind. Jane, Eleven ﹔ it didn't matter. What mattered at that moment was something she hadn't even been informed of yet, yet seemed to know already.

El was as perceptive as they made them . . maybe more so. Hopper wasn't quite sure what her powers allowed her to do, how far they went . . but he knew she could read people. Whether she had her abilities or not, El peered those big brown eyes into people and suddenly, things would reveal themselves. Suddenly, they were an open book to her.

Or maybe that was just him.

And maybe sticking close to Rowen simply meant she liked her. She had found her a dress for the 'Snow-Ball', after all. She helped her get ready and remembered to give her comfy shoes, prepared her for who knows what with a kid he was beginning to dislike (purely due to the thoughts that swam through his mind and the possibility of those thoughts becoming reality).

Maybe that was all.

He didn't know . . but he knew something was up with Rowen.

They made a full-fledged breakfast for dinner, made El her Eggos. They ate in peace and took their time. Always, his mind went back to what Rowen said, but didn't say ﹔ and she knew it was coming, he could see it. She had put herself here.

The only thing that had concerned Hopper was the fact that he didn't know what she needed to tell him. Them.

She sat on the couch for what felt like an eternity. The television buzzed behind them, a blessed white noise in the background that broke the silent tension and utter awkwardness of waiting and feeling utterly impatient.

Rowen took her time . . Rushing her felt wrong, thus Hopper bit his tongue and waited. Waited some more.

"I guess it's no news to say I've been having nightmares," she finally said — murmured, really.

"Not unless there's something in those nightmares we should be concerned about."

Her mouth opened, closed. "I haven't . ." she pauses to swallow. "I haven't been completely honest with you."

. . .

〝 𝑖𝑖𝑖.

El was holding her hand.

It was strange, but it had been five minutes, and Rowen hadn't pulled away yet. She didn't look like she was going to any time soon. She hadn't even flinched when the thirteen-year-old evaporated out of thin air and joined her on the tattered, bright red cushions.

El had heard her unload it all despite the way she hid in her bedroom; the too-realistic nightmares, insomnia, the fear of it being too late to cover something up.

And Rowen probably needed it, the hand in hers, after everything. The squeeze of assurance. Telling her without saying that they understood, they went through it too. She wasn't alone.

Actually . . no. It wasn't strange ﹔ it was utterly, unapologetically El to sit that close and be that intimate with someone if she felt they needed it. She did it with him all the time. To see her do it with someone else was what was strange.

Hopper was used to it being him and, shit, he felt selfish for it. Nearly a year of just him, just El. She was itching to be around other people — if the busting of all their windows and her impromptu road trip wasn't enough of a hint.

Though the worst was over and the road trip wasn't missed. the windows were replaced. The boys were home, and they knew where she was now. But not much had changed yet . . and Rowen was the closest person to her at the moment.

But she liked Rowen, he could see that now. It wasn't just a need for interaction . . and Rowen wasn't just having nightmares.

She couldn't sleep peacefully in her own house ﹔ she hadn't said it, but she might as well have. Ignorant and unassuming parents lived two doors down from her, oblivious yet suspecting brother one door, and she wasn't coping well.

Max was ahead of her by a mile . . but Max also hadn't found herself stuck in the blue tunnels when a hoard of teeth and claws came running. She had watched from above, helpless. Rowen was down there, even more helpless.

She had experienced a piece of what he and El looked at dead in the eye coming right towards her. Steve was the only reason she hadn't fallen into it, and she was the only reason he hadn't fallen into it. Hopper wondered if she had tried talking to him yet, but somehow that didn't feel like the right thing to ask.

None of them knew how Steve was coping. When this was over, Hopper felt compelled to find him and ask, to check on yet another kid.

He had known Rowen wasn't sleeping (hell, he would have been shocked if she was), her dark circles and inclinations towards the burnt coffee in the station said as much. Her blatant need to return to work was a little suspicious, a little concerning . . but this. This wasn't just insomnia per the need to do her job. She was red-eyed and looked ready to burst.

She needed to sleep . . to really sleep.

El squeezed her hand tighter.

"You can stay here." It was a soft-spoken force, an argument he knew he would lose.

She turned to him, expectant.

Rowen turned to him too, unsure and a little confused.

Hopper felt the sigh leave him slowly, begrudgingly. He wasn't going to argue this.

"We have another room."

. . .