Jailbird || Stranger Things

forty-nine ➵ but who's keeping score?

By the time Jim woke and actually stayed conscious, Joyce had pretty much done everything she could to recount the previous night and perhaps work out what exactly Teresa had been mumbling about in the middle of the night. It was important to her to remember what Teresa was trying to tell them. Something—Billy? Joyce just couldn't remember everything the girl was trying to cram in as she got her things together in the morning to go to Steve's work for their secret project involving some Russian translation. Teresa wasn't the best communicator when she was in a rush.

    So remembering everything she had told Joyce? No, the mother didn't get very far.

    Needless to say, the rush ended in the girl and Steve practically running out of the cabin, so Joyce didn't want to worry the girl, especially after the nightmare. Instead of detailing her and Jim's side quest to figure out what caused a big enough power outage to ruin her magnets, she stayed quiet.

    Having not found anything at the lab, Joyce knew Jim would choose to think there was nothing to worry about. But as a mother, and especially with everything they had been through, she knew she had to continue to dig. There was something wrong, she had to see it through.

    She was hoping she could convince the Chief to do so.

    "How long have I been out?" Jim asked once he'd vomited up the pain of the beating, and took some of the ibuprofen that Joyce had been left by Teresa from the first aid kit that she'd taken with herself.

    "A while," she replied, giving him a glass of water. "You've been drifting in and out, Reese and I managed between us."

    "Yeah, but how did I get here?" Jim asked, taking the water.

    "Slowly," Joyce admitted, taking the cup once he was done. "What's the last thing you remember?"

    "Some thug attacked me."

    "Hey, you need to rest," she tried to stop him from getting up, but he was well on the way already.

    "No, I'm fine."

    "No, you're not fine, Hop—"

    "I'm fine," he cut her off, getting up from the couch, the covers slipping from his body until he caught it around his midsection once he realised he had no clothes on. Joyce let out an exclamation of surprise as well as protest, lifting a hand to block the view, though she also looked away.

    "Where are my clothes?"

    Jim was a little dazed, surprised by the turn of events but containing his modesty as he quietly asked Joyce, who immediately pointed to the porch, still stuttering nervously.

    "They were soaked," she said as they got outside and Jim picked up his shirt, realising they were still wet.

    Attempting to keep in his annoyance, Jim turned on his heel and went back inside, targeting his room.

    "I mean, did you recognise him?" Joyce followed, shutting the door behind them both.

    "Who?" Jim asked, carrying his boots.

    "The thug!"

    "Well, I didn't get a good look," he stepped to the fridge, noticing the time and reaching for a beer.

    "Well, I mean, he's gotta be government, right?"

    "Yeah, but if he's government, what's he doing slinking around? Why is he running?" he continued, going towards his room, "You know, why didn't we find anything down there?"