Time After Time (a Stranger Things fanfiction)

Abracadabra

"Abracadabra"

Abra abracadabra

I wanna reach out and grab ya

- Steve Miller Band

Hopper was staggering dizzily off the ride with Joyce behind him when he heard a voice screaming his name from the crowd. He looked up and saw Murray standing there, a noticeable figure with his wild hair and his ratty white tank top. He was waving his arms and shouting for Hopper. Hopper's heart leaped into his throat. Calling attention to himself in the middle of a crowd wasn't something Murray was going to do lightly.

As Hopper and Joyce came closer, Murray's voice shrilled and cracked as he shrieked, "They got Alexi, Jim! They got Alexi!"

Hopper looked at Murray, then he looked off into the crowd and saw the dark, focused figure of the Russian guy marching toward him. No one else seemed to notice him, even though he stood out like a sore thumb, and the gun in his hand was obvious even at this distance. "We gotta go," he said, his voice rasping over the words.

He grabbed Joyce's hand and they started running down the path between the rides and the food trucks. Almost as soon as they reached the end of the row, he saw another gray-jacketed man coming toward them. More Russians. He turned and ran back the way they had come, ducking quickly between two game trucks, weaving their way through the carnival. But it was no use. Everywhere he looked, there was another Russian.

Digging the car keys out of his pocket, he put them in Joyce's hand, gambling that the Russians wanted him, and Alexi, and wouldn't go after her. "Find Murray, get the car, bring it around back."

To her credit, Joyce didn't stop to argue. She took the keys and ran off without another word.

As soon as she was gone, Hopper took a quick look around to determine where the best place was to get the drop on these guys, and ran into the Big Top fun house. He hurried up the stairs to the top floor, looking for a place to conceal himself, yelling to the other fairgoers on the top, "Hey! Get the kids out of here! Police!" They didn't move fast enough, so he shouted again. "Get 'em outta here! GO!!"

The extra volume—and the panic in his voice—got them moving, and the other patrons hurried down and off the attraction. Hopper ducked through a set of shiny streamers into an interior room just as one of the Russians swung himself over the rail onto the top floor.

The Russian moved slowly into the room, navigating between the punching bags that hung from the ceiling. His gun had a silencer on it; these guys were here to get the job done as quickly and efficiently as possible.

Well, Hopper wasn't having any of that. He rushed the guy, the gun falling to the floor as Hopper shoved the Russian back through the punching bags against the wall, slugging him in the gut and in the face and wherever his wild, powerful swings would land. This one wasn't as well-trained as the other one had been, and while he put up a fight, he was no match for Hopper.

They fought their way back and forth through the room, the Russian attempting to put up a fight and Hopper working out some of his rage and frustration on him until finally he headbutted the guy and threw him into the wall and slammed one of the punching bags that had fallen in the midst of their scuffle into his back and the Russian went down and stayed down.

Hopper left him there, a crumpled heap on the floor. Let Larry deal with him.

As he retrieved the Russian's gun, he heard voices over a walkie-talkie, finding it, too, on the floor and hurrying to pick it up. Carrying both gun and walkie with him into the tiger's mouth mounted on the wall, he moved as quickly and as quietly as he could. More of them were coming; he needed to be ready.

Hopper found himself in the hall of mirrors, and he hid there, waiting, controlling his breathing. The big guy would be coming, he'd want to get this done himself, and Hopper was likely to only get one chance at him. He had to make it count. He had to get it right.

He didn't have long to wait. The big Russian came in, moving slowly, deliberately, trying not to get turned around by the mirrors.

Hopper waited, and then he moved, calculating where his reflection would appear. And it worked—the big Russian fell for it, shooting through the mirrors where he thought Hopper was, and was completely unprepared when Hopper appeared behind him.

"Hey," Hopper said, and the big guy turned around. Without a second's hesitation, Hopper emptied a clip into his chest, point blank, watching him smash through a mirror and collapse on the ground. He stood over the big Russian for a moment, watching to see if he'd move, but he could hear others coming toward him through the room with the punching bags. He didn't have a lot of time.

Hurrying, he left the hall of mirrors and emerged onto the top deck of the attraction, running for the slide at the end. Just at the top he looked back and saw the last thing he had wanted to see—the big Russian coming through the door, shirt hanging open over his bullet-proof vest.

Swearing to himself, Hopper took the slide down to the ground. It was a tight squeeze, and he barely made it without getting stuck.

He landed on his feet, running, and took off for the side road, where the car was just pulling up. At least something had gone right tonight. He climbed in the back. "Hit it, Joyce! Go!"