Time After Time (a Stranger Things fanfiction)

Dog and Butterfly

"Dog and Butterfly"

We're getting older the world's getting colder

For the life of me I don't know the reason why

- Heart

The plane landed—finally, Joyce thought with annoyance. All their technology, why the hell couldn't they make planes fly faster? She turned to Murray, still fast asleep, and shook him, not gently. "Come on! We're here."

He opened his eyes at last. "Huh?"

"Come on!"

They unbuckled their seatbelts and stood up. Joyce opened the overhead compartment where the bag holding the bribe had been put, horrified to see that the zipper had come undone and the cash was poking out.

"Shit," she whispered, hurriedly tugging at the zipper before anyone else saw. Passenger who might want to steal the money, airline employee who might detain them on suspicion of ... being suspicious—either one would jeopardize Hopper's chances of getting to freedom.

Bags in hand, she and Murray exited the plane onto a rickety ladder, in the midst of what appeared to be a blizzard. Joyce frowned. She had hoped to have left all this snow and ice nonsense behind in Indiana.

Behind her, the stewardess chirped cheerily, "Welcome to Alaska!"

Murray sneezed and choked in the biting wind. "Oh, God! This is spring?"

"Welcome to Alaska," the stewardess repeated.

Joyce pulled Murray down the steps. Blizzard or no blizzard, they were going to save Hopper.

*****

Far away, in another blizzard, Hopper was hobbling along with all the other men back to the prison. His leg hurt like a son-of-a-bitch, but he could still walk on it, and that was all that mattered. Well, not all. What really mattered was that once he was alone in his cell and could take his boots off, he could slip the shackle off over his ankle.

And before that, what mattered was that when they checked his chains, they felt solid, and he didn't scream in pain. Pain from the shackles wasn't unheard of—with no socks, the shackles often rubbed the skin underneath raw—but screaming from it? That would cause some comment.

He stood in line with the others, stepping inside when it was his turn. It was no warmer, but the walls did block the wind, which was some small improvement. Hopper climbed up onto the block, trying not to make it obvious that he was holding his breath. The squirrelly guard was watching him with suspicion—but he always watched Hopper with suspicion, so that was nothing new. Or so Hopper tried to tell himself as he waited for the rattle of his chains. The guard snatched his hat off his head. Hopper had never been sure why they did that, except that it was annoying and they could.

The other guard tugged on the chains, not gently. The pain was white-hot. Hopper could feel his breath catch in his throat, and he closed his eyes, focusing on bearing it, on not letting it show.

And then it was over, and the guard at his feet was yelling "Next!" in Russian.

Hopper moved off gratefully.

They stopped in what passed for a cafeteria—dry black bread and lukewarm water with something to flavor it. God, he missed food. And then they were taken to their cells, in the usual line.

He was so glad when the cell door shut behind him, leaving him blissfully alone. Freezing, but alone. He sank down onto the floor and took his boots off. He had taken the precaution of wrapping a piece of his undershirt around his ankle to protect it, at least somewhat, from the blows of the sledgehammer. Now unwrapped it carefully. There was a long gash on the top of his foot. Painful and ugly, and if all went badly and he was stuck here, it would probably become infected. But it could have been much worse. And he could still walk on it, which was the important part.

The other important part came next, when he tried to shove the misshapen shackle down over his heel. It hurt. It hurt so much he wanted to scream. Panting through the pain, he kept pushing. He had to know. If the shackle wouldn't come off, he'd never be able to get out of here.

By the time he managed, his hand and the shackle slippery with his own blood, he was in tears. But he was also free, for the first time in he no longer knew how long.

Putting it back on was harder. More pain, and he didn't want to have to take the step backwards. But if he wasn't wearing it in the morning, they would know, and he'd be stopped before he could get started. Hopper was tempted to leave it off, to sleep with it off, but it was hard to predict when someone might decide to mess with him, and the last thing he wanted was to fall asleep with it off and then have to put it back on in a hurry the following morning. So he gritted his teeth and shoved it back over his heel and ankle.

Even as he huddled up to try to sleep, he was working through the next step in the plan in his mind. Everything was working so far, but he couldn't afford to screw this up. Not now. As Antonov said, if the plan failed, he would still be rich ... and Hopper would still be stuck in Kamchatka. And he had no intention of letting that happen.

*****

Joyce lay on an uncomfortable bed in a cheap motel, staring at the ceiling, listening to Murray snore in the bed opposite hers, and tried counting sheep and tensing and relaxing her muscles starting from her toes and imagining what she would say to Hopper when she found him, but nothing worked. She couldn't relax and sleep, not when they were so close to getting this done. When she had Hopper here, when she'd hit him for leaving and kissed him for coming back and thrown herself into his arms and held on like she was never going to let go ... then she could sleep.