❛ 𝔦 𝔡𝔬𝔫'𝔱 𝔴𝔞𝔫𝔱 𝔱𝔬 𝔰𝔴𝔦𝔪 𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯, 𝔴𝔥𝔢𝔫 𝔦𝔱'𝔰 𝔠𝔬𝔩𝔡 𝔦'𝔡 𝔩𝔦𝔨𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝔡𝔦𝔢. ❜
→ * . & ━━ a girl by the name
of sar, who can walk through dreams, finds
herself drawn to her hometown and into a
bigger m...
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↬ ↬ LISTEN TO 'EULOGY' BY KYLE DIXON AND MICHAEL STEIN ↬ ↬
WHEN SAR STEPPED OUT OF THE BATHROOM DOOR, HAVING REARRANGED HER HAIR AND SQUEEZED THE BLOOD OUT OF IT, JAMES CLOSE BEHIND HER, SHE STOPPED JUST BEFORE THE FIGURE OF HER FATHER.
"Sara," Hopper breathed. He had a small scuff across his eyebrow, but otherwise he was fine. He too, was wearing the same hospital outfit Katie and Mike wore. Hopper embraced her tightly, crushing her against his chest. Sar still felt light-headed, but she let out a sniffle and smiled widely.
"Hey, Dad," she said softly. Her lips were stretched into a smile as he held her, warm and safe.
He just tightened her arms around her. "Steve brought you to us. We thought you were dead, when we first saw you. Jonathan had to shove me in the car because I was too insistent on checking you over." He was smiling. "You gotta stop doing that, kid."
She touched his shoulder in a light push as she backed away from him, playfully. "I'll try not to do it again." She shot him the Hopper mischief smile and he returned it, warmly. His blue eyes shone.
When he tore his gaze away from his daughter's face, he seemed to remember something. "Excuse me, Sara," he said, touching her shoulder as he passed. "I have to call the military." She trailed him as he went to the Byers' phone, dialling a number.
The room was in a deep state of melancholy. Katie had returned back to the room, curled up on one of the armchairs. The kids were slumped against the coffee table, quiet. She hadn't seen what had happened at the lab, but she'd known what Bob had done. It was enough.
Everyone seemed silent. The Byers' clock ticked second-by-second at the kitchen counter, tedious and solitary. Nancy sat on the floor with her back pressed to the living room wall. Her head rested behind her, knees drawn to her chest, and her pointed lips were pulled inwards, upset.
Sar sat on the edge of the couch beside a tired Steve, who had been swinging his bat around only moments before. Now it lay against the wall, and Sar propped her feet up on the arm rest of the couch to lay her back against Steve's side. She was so unbelievably tired, and by the way Steve's body sagged against hers, he was too. One of his hands came to touch her golden hair as she leant her head up against his—he'd always seemed to love her hair.
Her head still thrummed with a soft ache, and her mind felt like it had been spilt wide.
"You okay?" Steve asked her softly, touching her where she slumped against his side.
She nodded, and breathed a, "yeah," letting her eyes slide closed. It was soft and perfect. Her marked wrist fell to his side.
Sara could hear her father talking into the phone from behind her. "I don't know how many people are there. I don't know how many people are left alive!" Sara let her head burrow into Steve's shoulder, still tired. "I am the police. Chief Jim Hopper!" There was a pause, in which Sar breathed out. "Yes, the number that I gave you. Yes. 6767. I will be here."
