𝐙𝐄𝐑𝐎 ★ steve harrington²

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍 : batting cage

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 : 6.0k

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐘𝐄𝐑𝐒' 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 be cut with a knife. Most of them had made it out of the lab relatively unscathed. Even Will had made it home free of harm, while still under some sedation from the lab as he laid on the couch. However, with the bits of information Owen had managed to pick up along the way, she learned that everyone else's safety had come at a price.

Joyce had basically locked herself back in his room the second they returned home, understandably not in the mindset to be around others. Hopper, on the other hand, swore that he was going to be able to call in the big guns to help them out — whatever that meant.

In order to survive the palpable tension in the house, Owen chose to wander through the available rooms and halls, following the extensive drawings that covered the walls and floors. The blue and black scribbles snaked around and across furniture, held together by tape. So much tape. Owen hadn't even bothered to ask what the drawings were, aware that everyone was far too busy worrying about other things to explain.

"I don't know how many people are there! I don't know how many people are left alive!" Hopper snarled through the phone, voice booming through the house. His plans of calling in back-up must not have been going according to plan. "I am the police! Chief Jim Hopper!" Owen's eyes rolled discreetly. Oh great. They were seriously screwed if calling the police was Plan A from whoever was on the phone.

The chief barked out some more information before hanging up. The loud, resounding ding following his forceful slam of the phone back onto the receiver caused Owen to jump, even while in another room.

"They didn't believe you, did they?" Dustin assumed, actually sounding disappointed that he was right for once. Owen chose to follow one of the blue scribbles that would lead her into the kitchen with everyone else, still listening intently.

"We'll see," Hopper stated, grimly. The uncertainty of it had Owen's eyebrows knitting together, her pace quickening so that she could insert herself into the conversation if needed. But Mike was already on it, calling the chief's bluff.

"We'll see? We can't just sit here while those things are loose," Mike protested.

Owen stepped into the room, a frown on her face. "He's got a point, chief. I mean, are we actually just supposed to wait around and let those monsters invade Hawkins?" she scoffed. Hopper's jaw clenched, growing annoyed with the kids' impatience and lack of understanding. "We stay here and we wait for help," he commanded, resolutely. The unusual levelness of his voice was enough for Mike and Owen to lay off, watching as he exited the room without another word.

Owen propped herself up against one of the kitchen counters with her arms crossed in front of her. "This is bullshit," she muttered once Hopper was out of earshot. "We need to do something before it gets worse. And honestly, it could get worse very fast."

"Love the optimism," Steve remarked, leaning back against the kitchen sink.

She pursed her lips and rolled her eyes at the sarcastic comment. "Bite me," she grumbled.

After that, a melancholy silence fell over the house once again. The weight of the situation hung heavily over everyone's heads and wrapped tightly around each heart in the room. Owen had only met Bob Newby briefly in an oxygen-deprived haze when he and Joyce had come to save her and Hopper from the tunnels. But from what little she knew of him, Bob seemed to have been a pretty stand-out guy; it's not every day that you meet someone who would sacrifice himself for the greater good like that.