A World Turned Upside Down: A Will X Reader X Mike (ST)

The Hobbit and Hopper

Joyce
"I have been waiting over an hour, Hopper!"

He sighs. "And I apologize again."

"I'm going out of my mind!"

"Look, boy his age, probably just playing hooky, okay?"

"No, not my Will. He's not like that. He wouldn't do that."

"Well, you never know. I mean, my mom thought I was on the debate team when really I was just screwing Chrissy Carpenter in the back of my dad's Oldsmobile, so . . ."

How is this guy the sheriff?

"Look, he's not like you, Hopper," I dismiss. "He's not like me. He's not like . . . most. He has a few friends, but, you know, the kids, they're mean. They make fun of him; they call him names. They laugh at him, his clothes—"

"His clothes? What's wrong with his clothes?"

"I don't know; does that matter?"

"Maybe."

"Look, he's . . . he's a sensitive kid. Lonnie . . ." I sigh. "Lonnie used to say he was queer. He called him a fag." I add the last part more quietly. {No wonder they divorced. He's an awful father.}

"Was he?"

Oh my God. "He's missing, is what he is!" I stick my cigarette in my mouth.

"When was the last time you heard from Lonnie?"

I scoff and sit across from Hopper at his desk. "Uh, last I heard, he was in Indianapolis. That was about a year ago. But he has nothing to do with this!"

"Why don't you give me his number?" Hopper asks, grabbing a pencil from his cup.

"You know, Hopper, he has nothing to do with this. Trust me."

"Joyce, ninety-nine out of a hundred times a kid goes missing, the kid is with a parent or relative." {But, honestly, why would he run away to someone who called him queer and a fag?}

"What about the other time?" {What about the one time?}

"What?"

"You said, 'ninety-nine out of a hundred.' What about the other time, the one?"

"Joyce—"

"The one?"

"Joyce, this is Hawkins, okay? You wanna know the worst thing that's ever happened here in the four years I've been working here? Do you want to know the worst thing? It was when an owl attacked Eleanor Gillespie's head because it thought her hair was a nest."

"Okay, fine. I will call Lonnie. He will talk to me before he talks to—"

"What, a pig?"

"A cop!" Jesus, this guy. "Just find my son, Hop! Find him!"

Dr. Brenner
"Dr. Brenner," one of the men greets, shaking my hand.

"This way, gentlemen," I say, leading them through the building. "The entire east wing will be evacuated within the hour. We've sealed off this area following quarantine protocol."

One of the guards unzips the curtain and I bring the men inside, where we suit them up for the quarantined room. We ride the elevator down, flashlight in hands. We walk through the hall, inspecting the walls, floors, and ceilings for any trace of the monster. Blood and goop splatters on the wall indicate it's come through here.

Going further inside, we eventually come to what looks to be its nest.

"This where it came from?" one man asks.