Jailbird || Stranger Things

eleven ➵ bad dreams are made of this

Finishing Junior year was honestly a blessing to Teresa. Although it meant more free time, she already filling out papers for a job at the pool, finally flexing her lifeguard qualification.

    But just a couple of weeks into the summer, and she found herself needing a day off.

    "Hey Reese," Flo shot her a warm smile the moment the girl stepped foot into the station.

    "Hey, Flo. Dad said I had mail?"

    "Yeah, one moment."

    The woman disappeared into the office, while Reese leaned on the counter the separated the entryway and the bullpen. She spotted Powell and Callahan immediately, who were in a light conversation about something she thought was their social lives, but she wasn't really paying attention.

    The folder in her bag was weighing a ton, and she was still on edge about opening it.

    "What are you doing here?"

    Jim gave her an odd look, but the moment he spotted the way she'd covered her neck with what looked like a bandana, he decided to not ask again.

    "Post. Do you have some time to catch breakfast?" she asked, raising a hand to lift the cloth to cover her neck completely.

    "I can."

    "Please."

    "Are you okay?"

    "I just need to talk to you," she tried, and after a moment, Jim gave her a nod, reaching for his car keys on Flo's desk.

    "Here you are, sweetheart. Came all the way from California. Friend?" The woman asked, shooting Teresa a look.

    "Lifeguard papers," Reese smiled, opening up the envelope and sifting through the papers. "Thanks, Flo. Is it okay if dad clocks out now? Get breakfast before I gotta make an appearance at the pool?"

    "Not the diner!"

    "All right, not the diner," Reese laughed, watching her father roll his eyes as he picked up his jacket.

    "Can't even live my own life."

    "Better you than me," Flo mumbled to the girl, who only laughed again.

    "Trust me, you're doing a great job," she assured her father's secretary before she glanced at her dad.

    "It's a slow day, take your time! We'll radio if it gets bad."

    "Thanks, Flo!"

    The moment the two stepped outside of the station, Jim turned to his daughter, already reaching for his cigarettes. "Home?"

    "No. Somewhere quiet," she asked, further confusing him.

    "Are you sure you're okay?"

    "Never said I was," she replied with a tone that was entirely too light as she approached her car. "Meet you by the quarry?"

    Jim really wasn't prepared for the information that was about to be unleashed.

──────

"They just told me to draw whatever I was dreaming of. Because I'm really not a great writer, but drawing was like— I don't know, it got my thoughts and the images out and onto a page, and then I could just— You know, push them away. But it's only been like this once."

    Jim was in the middle of looking through a sketchbook he'd seen lying around the house many times but never touched. Reese was blunt, but she never had to tell her father to not touch her things. It was just understood. One of the things they were good at; communicating without words.