Chapter Text
ELEVEN
Henry is mean, she decides. He helped her escape the laboratory, but now he won't let her leave him. She wishes she had never listened to him. At least Papa didn't make her wear a scratchy pink dress stolen from something called a 'yard sale' or call her by the wrong name, and he always had a good reason why he had to hurt her. She thinks of this as they walk through the forest, leaves crackling under their feet. She had seen pictures of leaves before, though those were green. The crackling sound these brown ones make brings a smile to her face. It falls as soon as she sees the older boy stop walking up ahead.
"Alice." He says again, sounding impatient. She stops walking. It makes her feel bad, like she did something wrong, but she doesn't know his rules like she knew Papa's. What is she doing wrong?
"Yes, Henry?" Eleven asks, trying to address him politely in case it will make him less angry with her. She does not tell him her name isn't Alice again. He had waved her off her feet with his power and refused to speak to her for a while after she had said so before, and there was still mud on her legs. It itches.
"You need to walk beside me, so I can keep you safe. Do not fall behind." He says, and it sounds like he has said it a lot, like when the nurses recite what they are going to do to you from memory. Eleven wonders what she needs to be kept safe from. He is the scariest thing around. Uncomfortably, her mind shows her the image of the broken bodies of the safety officers. Henry had hurt them all, even the nice one who always tried to be gentle when he had to restrain one of the subjects. She blinks it away, and with it the aching feeling that makes her eyes wet when she lets it stay.
"Yes, Henry." She says quietly. They start moving again. A part of her is angry, wants to point out they'd probably be there already if he hadn't stopped to do… Whatever it is that he did, when his eyes rolled back and his body went limp. He'd told her that he was going to 'look around'. Where he looked or what he was looking for she was not sure. She could tell that his mind had wandered just like her own could, for most of it. But for a part of it, she was unable to feel him at all, and she did not like that. Especially when it had taken a while and she had felt scared, looking at the darkening sky, that someone would find them while Henry was so far away.
Eleven does not know where they are going now, but she hopes it has food. The growling of her hungry stomach does not feel very good, so she listens very hard to the birds singing and pretends it is the bird song tape she used to listen to in the rainbow room sometimes after all the subjects had eaten lunch. It is almost enough to make the feeling go away. Almost.
BILLY
Billy blinks awake to the sound of a neighbor getting in their car and immediately groans, rolling over and shoving his face back into the thin cover he'd thrown over himself last night. It's no good, he knows. No matter how little he's slept, he won't be able to go back to sleep. For as long as he can remember he's been a light sleeper, able to wake up at the drop of a pair of keys a room away, and it had stayed the same when his hearing grew sharper. So now he's sleeping even worse than he used to despite the reason he'd learned to wake up easily being dead as a fucking doorknob. He rubs his eyes, perhaps a little too aggressively, and sits up.
To be honest, it hasn't quite sunk in yet. He knows he's put on a good face - several of the California wolves had said as much to him, had complimented him for handling everything so well - but in his own mind he'll admit it. It feels wrong to think of himself as a werewolf or to call himself one. He hasn't had an issue accepting that others exist, but when it comes to himself there's a little voice that has been screaming in denial since the night he got bit. Because some part of him had known, and another one had ruthlessly shoved it down. Come on? A giant fucking wolf - and there aren't supposed to be wolves in California in the first place - biting him as he walked back to his car after a date? He's watched more than his fair share of horror movies. The word werewolf had popped into his mind more than once.
The bite had been nasty, and far more painful than it would've been if it wasn't from a werewolf. He'd nearly blacked out from pain driving home that night, and if Max hadn't helped him get cleaned up he might've actually had to be taken to a doctor, because he'd been in no state to do so himself. Billy had been so unspeakably grateful he'd gone out of his way to be less of an asshole to her no matter how much of a mess he became as the month went on. And thank fuck he did, because Max is the only thing that's kept him sane throughout this unfortunate series of events.
He stares at his hands. The sun isn't up yet, but things are brightening just a bit, and with his enhanced vision he can pick out every washed out detail, from the scars on his knuckles from too many fights to the constellation of freckles on his left thumb that kind of looks like a bird. In his mind's eye these hands are clawed and covered in blood. Viscera. Neil had ripped apart under his hands like he was made of paper. The memory prompts a whine, low in his throat, and suddenly he hates this unwanted change in himself so much he wants to rip out his own throat. His body betrays him, now, in ways it didn't before. It's hard to lie to yourself and pretend you aren't grieving for the piece of shit dad who used to beat you when your body will just go ahead and vocalize your sadness without your permission.
Billy hadn't wanted to kill him. He'd hated Neil as much as he stubbornly loved him like the nine year old within him who'd thought his dad hung the moon, who'd thought that if he could just be better his dad would love him back. But Billy had stopped being in control of himself, like a switch was flipped the moment Neil had laid a hand on Max. No. Cub. No.
He'd been so, so lucky that a tiny group of wolves had been passing through the area and heard him howling after he'd fled the house. If they hadn't found him, hadn't held him down and reminded him over and over that he was a person, he would've literally lost his mind and become an animal. The human part of him would have disappeared and just like that, Billy Hargrove would've been dead and a feral wolf would've been left in his place. They'd been so afraid of it that they'd nearly initiated a pack bond with him, a total stranger, to prevent it, but he'd come back to himself just before they did. It was just too fucking much. What the fuck was he supposed to do with that? All these could-have-beens felt like boulders on top of his chest, so heavy he couldn't breathe. He couldn't handle them.
Billy makes himself take deep breaths. In through the nose and out through the mouth. Repeat, repeat, repeat. Doing so jars his memory of the night before, of slapping Steve when he was hyperventilating. His face colors at the memory. He'd tried to get the guy to model his breathing but he'd been too out of it to hear a word Billy had said, and it was the only thing he could think of at the moment. Vividly he could remember the salt-wet smell of the tears and how he'd desperately wanted to make them go away.
He couldn't deny he felt a sense of kinship with Steve, and Eddie as well, considering their similar experiences. Billy would never have shared his own story otherwise. It had felt completely right to open up in a way he rarely felt. Interacting with them felt easy. Maybe that's just how it is when Billy lets himself be himself without any pretenses, maybe it was their company in particular. Perhaps it was a combination of both. They'd both had almost startlingly pleasant scents compared to anyone else he'd gotten a whiff of so far. It made the animal part of his brain want to roll around in their smell, but he'd no idea how that would translate into a socially acceptable activity. The closest he'd gotten was slowly, carefully rubbing his wrists on the throw pillow he'd held in his lap. The instincts were foreign, the urges awkward, and his self control in the face of them was abysmal. Billy hoped like hell that Eddie had not seen him do it.
Shaking himself, he stood up and walked to the kitchen. He needed to fix Max breakfast. After that, once he'd made sure she was taken care of, he'd allow himself to go over to Eddie's trailer and check on the two of them.
EDDIE
Eddie calls the police department at 9AM on the dot, two hours after it opens again for the day shift. One of his customers had told him once that Chief Hopper usually comes in two hours late and the situation with Steve is a big enough mess that he figures the grizzled old wolf will get involved.
The man in question is still soundly asleep in Eddie's bed, wearing some of his old pajamas and hugging a pillow. It's admittedly quite a satisfying sight. He likes to take care of people and he likes when people let him take care of them. It's especially lovely when that person is someone as attractive as Steve. If he keeps that up when he's not in shock following a traumatic attack, Eddie might just get ideas.
The receptionist answers the phone and after he gives her a summary of the situation, she tells him Chief Hopper will call him back in a minute.
"He just got in, so it shouldn't be long." She says, and Eddie thanks her and hangs up.
While he waits he taps out a beat against his thigh, not quite nervous but not quite not. The primary reason he's doing this is for Steve's sake. The secondary reason he's doing this is because he's already gotten several drug offenses on his record and he really does not want to add 'harboring a suspected murderer' to the list of his crimes.
The phone rings. "Hawkins police department, this is Chief Hopper speaking. Is this Eddie Munson?"
"Yes, sir." Eddie says.
"Alright. I already got an earful about it from Flo, but I'd like you to tell me what happened last night." Hopper says, sounding tired. It makes Eddie wince in sympathy.
So Eddie tells him. He keeps it short and to the point. 'Steve Harrington was wandering around outside his house covered in blood and Eddie invited him inside because he was concerned. Steve was in shock, so Eddie gave him food and water and sent him to sleep after hearing his story about being attacked at the party he threw.'
"I believe him when he says it was self defense, Chief. I figured it would still look bad for him the longer he waited to call the police about what happened, though, so I decided to get a head start on that. He was too out of it to realize he needed to do so last night."
"You were right to call. I'll send some officers over to the Harrington residence. Is Steve still at your house?" Hopper asks.
"He is."
"Expect me at your door to record both your statements in half an hour." The line goes dead after that. Eddie snorts at the abrupt ending of the conversation and immediately heads to go wake Steve.
STEVE
The memories of the night before don't come flooding back, because they never left. He'd slept like shit. In his nightmares, Barb had turned into Nancy, into Dustin, into people he cares about. No matter how much he tried to resist his body would kill them while they begged him not to.
Sluggishly his head lolls to the side and he gets a view of the bedside table. It's covered in weird little carved doodles and mysterious stains, and there's a glass of water and an aspirin set out for him. The thoughtfulness is unexpected, but appreciated. Although after last night he's not sure why he's surprised. The fact that Eddie had bothered to check on him in the first place was kind on its own, and on top of that he'd sat and listened while Steve told him about one of the worst nights of his life - comforted him when he lost his shit, even. He's not sure how to deal with that. Many people he doesn't know around town are nice to him but it's shallow, done for the sake of his name rather than out of any genuine feeling.
Sitting up, he downs the aspirin, swallows, and stretches. It's as something in his back cracks that Eddie pokes his head - and just his head - around the door. Steve just blinks at him sleepily. He's not a morning person and he never will be. Before he gets his morning coffee he's usually very quiet. His mind needs fuel to come online.
"Good morning, sleepyhead! I've been waiting aaaaall night for you to wake up." Eddie says, and Steve rolls his eyes and ignores the weird little squirmy feeling the words evoke. Of course Eddie's been waiting all night, it's not like he would've slept.
"I made coffee, if you want some." Eddie adds, and now he has Steve's attention. He trips over himself getting off the bed in his haste and suddenly Eddie's fully in the room and catching him before he hits the floor.
"Thanks." Steve says, embarrassed.
The coffee is nice and hot, and Eddie's mildly disgusted face as he continues to add more and more sugar to his cup is hilarious. It takes him nearly the whole cup and half the bowl of cereal he's been provided with before he thinks to ask why a vampire has coffee, or food, on hand.
"I live here with my uncle Wayne. He's on a work trip at the moment and he'll be back in a few days. He made the lasagna you had last night a day or two before he left." Eddie answers him with a smile. Steve nods in response. It feels weird to be eating breakfast but the older man was insistent that “humans need to eat breakfast” and Steve had caved with an ease that he refused to examine much. It just feels nice to be taken care of. His parents had certainly never been around enough to make sure he developed healthy habits.
"Okay, so. Don't freak out, but the police Chief will be here to interview you soon." Eddie says, and Steve's entire body tenses for a few seconds despite the warning. He knows he had to defend himself last night, but a part of him is afraid that other people won't see it that way. For a moment anger flares at Eddie for arranging this without telling him first, but he lets it go. He would've called the police himself if he'd thought to, and he's been told now, so he can't fault Eddie for it.
"Okay." He says, breathing the word out until all the air leaves his lungs. Then he resumes eating, shoveling more cereal in his mouth. This is happening, no matter how much he wishes it wasn't, and he's going to finish his breakfast before it does.
There is a knock on the door seconds later and Steve turns to Eddie questioningly. Chief Hopper's already here? But when the apparently unlocked door swings open without waiting for an answer, it's Billy at the door.
"Hey. I figured I might as well come check on you two. Is everything alright?" Billy asks. His arms are crossed almost defensively and he's sort of grimacing, eyes switching between him and Eddie as if silently demanding the answer be yes. Jeesh. This guy is really bad at trying to be nice, and Steve is forced to admit it's kind of adorable.
"Oh, we're just peachy. It's a good thing you're here, though!" Eddie says cheerily. "I'm sure the police will want your statement as well. The officer will be here any minute now."
"There's a fucking cop coming?" Billy groans. "Fuck. Do you think I have enough time to run over and tell Max?"
Steve tries not to, but he laughs. Billy glares at him and he laughs harder. This whole situation is such a mess.
JIM
Flo had all but pushed him to his office when he came in the door this morning at work. Joyce Byers sat at his desk, so angry that she had her fangs bared in a snarl at Officer Callahan. The somewhat timid satyr didn’t normally work night shifts and he looked like he was halfway to pissing himself. Phil was an asset to the team, his ability to commune with plants and animals second to none, but Jim couldn’t help but roll his eyes as he waved him away. The out was taken the second it was offered.
“Hopper!” She says, sharp eyes boring into him. “My son is missing and Officer Callahan,” at that she jerks her thumb at Phil as he trots out the door, “insists that it’s too soon to round up a search party.”
“Well, how long has he been missing?” Jim says, trying not to sound like he’s humoring her. Callahan does know the department’s policy, after all. The satyr could probably recite it, actually. Frontwards and backwards. In pig Latin.
He evidently fails because she hisses at him. “Don’t use that tone with me, Jim!” Oops, the first name has been pulled out. “He’s only been gone one night.” Before he can finish opening his mouth to tell her that means his fellow officer was correct, she talks over him. “But! I can’t feel him, Jim. Even if he was - even if he was half the world away, I’d still be able to feel him. He’s my boy, psychic links are always stronger with blood.” And with those words, he feels a pang of dread.
“Well,” he says slowly, “In that case, we need to start looking right away.” Joyce Byers is one of the strongest psychics in the town. Her gifts had only grown stronger after she’d been turned. So if she’s telling him she can’t feel her own son, something is truly and deeply wrong, and it’s his responsibility to get to the bottom of it. Jim doesn’t voice the worst case scenario - that if his mother can’t feel him, the boy is probably dead.
He doesn’t get even a full minute of asking Joyce for more details before Flo is running into the room and telling him that someone’s called to report that there’d been an attack on the Harrington boy by an allegedly possessed girl that resulted in her being killed in self defense, and Jim buries his face in his hands and sighs. He’s too old for this shit.
When he gets off the phone with Eddie Munson, he looks at Joyce wearily. “Would it be alright if I ask you more questions in the car? I’ll have Powell call a meeting to arrange the search party, but we’ll still need to go over any pertinent information, and I need to go deal with this as well.” The only reason he has to ask this at all is because they’re so short-staffed after the repeated budget cuts to the department, and he has to hold back a growl. Mayor Kline might very well be seeing him soon. Thankfully, Joyce says yes. Powell is even worse at interviewing witnesses and suspects than he is. Joyce would eat him alive.
The young man who answers the door of the trailer is not Eddie Munson. Jim’s seen Eddie several times at this point in a variety of less than flattering circumstances. This one smells like a wolf, but not any he knows. The unknown kid stares and sniffs at him so obviously that Jim reflexively growls lightly at the impoliteness. Blue eyes avert their gaze quickly and he mumbles an apology as Jim steps through the door.
“Chief Hopper!” Eddie says, spreading his arms. “Welcome to my humble abode! Please forgive my dear Billy, he’s apparently been a wolf for all of two weeks so he’s not been socialized.” Exasperation at Eddie’s antics is a familiar feeling and he huffs, turning to Billy, who is soundlessly mouthing, “my dear Billy” with a confused expression on his flushed face. Lord save him from twenty year olds. They’re almost as bad as teenagers.
Jim feels a little shitty about growling at the kid, now. He didn’t know he was being rude, and that kind of thing needs to be fixed as soon as possible or Billy is going to end up having a difficult time settling into Hawkins with how many toes he’ll step on. The majority of the town are werewolves or vampires, so he’ll run into plenty of other wolves.
“The integration team told you that the Sinclairs volunteered to be your intermediary with the local pack, right?” Jim asks, and at Billy’s nod he continues. “Did they give you their number?” This question earns him a shake of the head. “Of course they didn’t. Practically useless, the lot of them are. Here.” Like as not they did it on purpose, offended that Billy had refused to actually join the pack, but he doesn’t say that. He pulls out one of the cards for the police department that Flo has badgered him into carrying around and writes down the Sinclair family’s phone number. And, after a moment of hesitation, his own. Being a lone wolf is difficult. He knows that intimately, considering that he’d split with his own pack over a decade ago.
“The second one is mine. As I’m sure you’ve smelled by now, I’m a wolf as well. If any of the others give you too much shit, feel free to call me.” Jim may not be a member of the Hawkins pack, but before he’d left his own he had been second only to the alpha in the hierarchy. And he still had a good relationship with Benny, the local alpha, even if many of the others spurned him. They all still respected him regardless - it’s been close to two years since he’d had to put some sneering wolf or arrogant pup in their place, the challenges dwindling over the years when he won every time. Among vampires and other creatures it was often different, but wolves valued the strength of tooth and claw over other markers of status.
Billy looks suspicious and grateful in equal measure, but all he does is nod. That’s good enough for Jim. He clears his throat as he turns to Steve, who has been waiting patiently in an armchair this entire time, and sits down to interview him.
As the story comes out, Jim doesn’t interrupt. Steve looks pale and shaky as he tells what happened the night of the party. If he were any good at giving comfort, he might try. No one should have to go through something like that. When it’s done, Jim asks a few clarifying questions. Would anyone else have been there to witness this? Not that Steve is aware of. Is Steve willing to submit himself to either a fae or a mind-reader to confirm he’s telling the truth? Yes.
Jim finds himself believing the kid, for now. There’s always a chance the truth confirmation will reveal he was lying, but Jim’s got a pretty good sense of people and it seems like a legitimate case of self-defense. The fact that that means some poor girl was possessed and used as a puppet to attack someone she knew is incredibly disturbing.
He then interviews Billy about his part in the previous evening, having already gone over everything with Eddie on the phone, and finds himself silently approving of the kid’s instincts. Freshly in possession of his paws, not even really knowing what he’s capable of, but insisting he needed to know what was going on despite the fear he’d likely felt so he could protect his sister? That’s as smart as it is brave. Perhaps he’ll do well for himself after all.
“Do you have somewhere you can stay for now, Steve? Your house is currently a crime scene. And we’re likely to be calling a curfew tonight for everyone not in the search party because in addition to what happened to you a young boy has gone missing.” Delivering that lovely news isn’t pleasant, but Jim’s got a lot of practice saying shit people don’t want to hear.
“I guess I could stay at my friend Robin’s house? Or, wait, no I can’t. They already have family visiting. Shit. I can’t stay at Nancy’s, she and Barb were best friends. I - do you think whatever did this is going to attack me again?”
“We aren’t certain of anything, at this point.” Jim is forced to say, knowing it's true but wishing it wasn't, and watches Steve’s hands begin to clench and un-clench on his cup repeatedly.
“You can stay with me.” Billy says gruffly, not looking at any of them. “If you don’t mind sleeping on the recliner, or the floor. Max’s room doesn’t have a bed yet, so she’s just sleeping on the couch. And I’m already involved in this.”
“So am I.” Eddie says. “You’ll have a spot at Casa De Munson as long as my uncle doesn’t disagree, and considering the circumstances I don’t think he would. I guess we can take turns?” Eddie and Billy look at each other and nod, and Steve looks overwhelmed. Jim decides to wrap things up and take his leave. He needs to get back to the car. Joyce Byers needs to be dropped off at the meeting for arranging the search party and he needs to head over to the Harrington residence.
“Alright. You have a place to stay. More than one, it looks like. I know where to call you and where to find you. You have the number for the department, right?” He confirms that they do.
“We will notify the Holland family of Barbara’s death and investigate to see if we can find out what did this to her, what did this to you.” He addresses Steve. “An approved fae or mind reader will come by to confirm you are telling the truth within the next three days. Do not go somewhere that isn’t the Munson or Hargrove residence without notifying us before then, or we’ll be forced to treat you like a suspect on the run. Would you like us to notify your parents as well? You’re an adult, but we will if you’d like.”
Steve gives an immediate and emphatic no. “No, it's not like I’m not hurt - and even if I was - they’d just bitch at me for interrupting their work and probably call and threaten the police department with a baseless lawsuit on my behalf for good measure.” Jim already dislikes the Mr. and Mrs. Harrington, but his regard plummets to a new low upon hearing their own son describe his poor expectations of them so bluntly.
“We’ll be in touch. Thank you for your time.” He says, rising from his seat and making his way to the door. “Take care.” Jim calls over his shoulder as he leaves.
He inhales deeply while walking to the car, categorizing everything he can. The sweetness of the lilies in someone’s earthy-smelling mulch bed, the damp musk of wet dog fur belonging to the mutt in the doghouse across the road, the sour tang of garbage spilling out of a bag ripped open by what smells like a raccoon, and the burning smell of gasoline leaking from someone’s car all blend together but he forcefully picks them out. It’s from a technique his old therapist taught him, just adapted to only use the one sense.
This day is only going to get longer, and he needs to stay grounded.