Chapter Text
Steve’s got one job.
All he has to do is hold this thing off for thirty more seconds until El can rip Vecna—Henry, One, Whatever’s—head off and end this shitshow for good. Yeah, well, easier said than done. Henderson can pull all the defensive tactics he wants out of his ass, but the one thing Steve knows to expect at this point is the whole plan will always, always go to shit. Like the molotov cocktails they’ve got stockpiled, because Vecna’s weak to fire, and the people-meat monsters hate the heat? Those run out fast. So now it’s just him, Robin, and Henderson, hauling ass in a way that seems far too familiar, like why the fuck does Steve get stuck on the menu for these things every goddamn ten months of his life? And Robin trips, because of course she does, so Steve pulls out the big guns, ‘cause it’s gotta be soon, right? El’s gotta be close to finishing this, and even if she’s not, Robin’s not getting ripped apart by a giant tentacle— not on his watch.
Starting fluid in one hand, lighter in the other, he jams down on the nozzle, shooting a fireball right at the fucker. The thing screams— sounds like ten different horror movie voices at once, and Steve almost drops the can.
The pavement shakes as it stomps its giant spider legs, but Steve holds his ground, flicking the lighter open and raising the can again— only to have it slapped clean out of his hand. He moves to grab it, then jolts. He looks down, and it feels like it happens in slow-mo. There’s this stabbing pain, his eyes struggle to focus on the fleshy tentacle buried in his gut, and he stumbles back as, a second later, it’s yanked away. Robin and Dustin both scream his name, and Steve’s legs instantly give out.
“Oh God. Ohh… fuck.”
Steve feels like he’s watching his own life through a coke bottle, sitting up and slowly looking down at his stomach, the blood pooling around this big, nasty slice down his middle.
“SHITSHITSHITSHIT—“ Henderson’s next to him, yanking Steve forward, and Steve pulls his eyes back to the thing that shanked him. It’s falling back, Robin torching it with her own flamethrower until the whole thing’s lit up like the world’s nastiest Christmas tree.
“Steve. Steve.”
Henderson’s pawing at his jacket, shaking him like he’s a million miles away. Shit, man. He kinda feels like it.
“We’ve gotta get it out, Steve. Now.”
Steve’s tongue feels like a lump of gauze, and it barely moves when he tries asking what the hell Henderson is on, and then he feels it. And looks down.
Higher than the gash on his stomach, there’s a lump under his skin. And as Steve watches, it starts to squirm. What’s he supposed to do, not scream his fucking head off?
“STEVE!” Henderson’s trying to pin him down now, and even though his head feels less Russian-Truth-Drugs than it did a second ago, the kid’s words are not sinking in. “This same thing happened with El! Mike told me about it, we just have to get in the wound and dig it out before—“
Henderson doesn’t get to tell him before what. The ground stops feeling solid, and Steve, Robin, and Henderson all get bounced around like they’re inside a blender. Yeah, Steve’s getting real sick of how good he is at recognizing earthquakes these days. Not exactly a talent you’re supposed to be able to hone in fucking Indiana. It’s a big one this time, and the best Steve can do is sit up and try not to let his brain vibrate out of his ears as the whole world gets jerked around.
This is it. The buzzer beater. The concrete starts feeling like pudding against Steve’s hands, the freaky red lightning storm lets loose all across the sky, the two-story meat monster that just stabbed him howls bloody murder while it burns to a crisp—
And then it all… stops. Not, like, in two seconds flat or anything, but it’s a quick turnaround. The thing collapses, dead as a doornail, just like the demodogs in the tunnels. The ground gives a couple shakes, but then it stops, and starts feeling like you could walk on it. The clouds are a little less ‘portal to hell’—more ’overcast’.
“Did she do it?” Robin’s whispering, like she thinks she’s gonna jinx it if she talks too loud.
They all hold their breath for a few seconds, and then Henderson scrambles to his feet, staring out across the rubble. He’s real quiet for a minute, but then he jumps straight up in the air, as if someone lit the seat of his pants on fire. “SHE DID IT!” Henderson kicks a chunk of rebar as hard as he can, then picks up a rock and chucks it in the other direction. “FUCK YEAH!”
The three of them just sit there, panting, up until the part where he's got a giant hole in his stomach starts to catch up with Steve. “OhhhhGod, ow! Shit!”
Henderson snaps out of his little victory dance, sprinting back over to Steve and dropping to his knees. “Okay, okayokayokay— so. I’m gonna have to cut into you and dig this thing out so you don’t turn into a flayed and melt into goo. Do you want something to bite down on?”
“Stopstop— what?” Steve tries to scrabble away from Henderson, but the kid’s already shoving him down. “Wait— Wait a second, man!”
“There’s no time! Robin, grab his arms.”
“Look, I am ordinarily all for senselessly torturing Steve, but—“
“Ahh, shit.” Henderson shoves a hand onto Steve’s stomach, forcing him to let out an oof. “We might already be too late. Steve, if you’re gonna scream, try not to rupture my eardrum.”
“I’m not gonna scre—Henderson, get your hands off m—“
Henderson’s finger digs into the wound. And Steve?
Steve fucking screams.
*
“Looks like one of you kids had fun playing doctor!” The head lab guy— Owens, that’s what his name-tag says— pulls on a couple of plastic gloves. Even though he said he’s not gonna dig in there like Henderson did, Steve flinches. “You’re not allergic to latex, are you?”
“Uh, no.” Steve sucks in air through his teeth as the guy pushes down on his skin, putting pressure everywhere but the gash.
“Feel any type of movement? Deeper pain, or pain outside of the immediate area?”
“Nnnnope.” Teeth gritted, Steve watches Owen’s fingers poke around. Man, does he not wanna see something crawling around in there, but it’s impossible to tear his eyes away. Like seeing a train wreck, or Robin trying to smooth-talk Vickie.
“Good, good.” The guy holds up a tiny flashlight, shining it down at the hole in Steve’s stomach. “Honestly, you’ve been dealing with this subject for a while now. You could probably give me a few lectures! You probably already know, but these lifeforms die immediately when the connection to the Upside Down is cut. Even if you were to close a gate, then instantly re-open it, that wouldn’t reanimate whatever creatures happened to be running around Hawkins. I’ve also got my own theories, that there’s a sort of— how can I put this—radius, a— a tether that has a maximum length beings from the Upside Down can travel before they’re simply too far away to function. So, even if, say, a gate existed in another part of the world—“
Steve starts to sit up, but he only makes it a couple inches before that ‘I just got stabbed with a giant meat stinger’ feeling gets in the way. “Listen, man— I don’t wanna be rude, but can we skip to the part where you get this thing out of me?”
“Here, try not to blink.” Owens moves the hand with the flashlight and blasts the light in Steve’s face. “I want you to follow the light. Good— that’s good!” Steve screws his eyes shut, shaking his head while Owens keeps blabbing. “Feeling any urges to do something hazardous— consuming toxic substances, household chemicals—“
“Not planning on it— are you—“ Okay, that’s it. He’s had enough. “Can you just tell me where this thing went, and can you get it out already?”
“The thing about that, Mr. Harrington—“
“Just—” Steve waves a hand like he’s surrendering. “Just Steve.”
“Alright, Steve. The thing is, none of this is guaranteed. It’s all guesswork. We’re doing our best with the information we have from— from the last few years of cleaning up these messes. But as far as I can tell, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”
This is the part where he tells Steve he’s got nothing to worry about because he’s gonna die, right? “… Bullshit.”
“No, no! Really!” The flashlight goes dark, and Owen starts peeling the gloves off, which— no. Why is he doing that? Steve doesn’t like how that seems like they’re done here, because they are not done here. “I brought up that whole ‘connection to the gate’ refresher because it’s important. See, the lifeform that stabbed you was very similar to the creature found in the Starcourt mall— the one made out of reconstituted human tissue. When that being wanted to reproduce, to make more— as Mr. Wheeler put it, flayed— it would inject a pseudo-larval piece of itself into the victim. However, that little piece is still entirely reliant on not only the connection to the Upside Down, but direct control being given by— by the ‘Mindflayer’, Vecna, what have you…” The gloves are all the way off, and Owens is full-on packing it up. “Without that, the sort of… control center telling it what to do, what to be… Well, it’s very likely it went inert and was then expelled back through the wound.”
“Gotcha.” You know what? Nope. Steve does not ‘gotcha’. “… What does that mean?”
“It means— and I’d like you to remember that this is a less-than-ideal situation for a medical exam, but… ” There's a pause while Owens snaps the latches on his first aid kit. “—I’m almost certain your little ‘slug-thing’ died moments after you were injected, and that you’ve already bled it out.”
“Oh.” Not sure why he couldn’t have led with that. “Okay. Cool.”
“Of course, that’s the best case scenario. We could still be looking at a severe bacterial infection, becoming immunocompromised, or that wound turning septic…” Owens points towards downtown. “Now, it won’t exactly be the The Plaza Hotel, but my people are salvaging as much equipment from the old lab as we can, and cordoning off a wing in the hospital. I’d like to see you there in a few hours when everything’s ready— provided you don’t notice any huge changes before then. I’ll have someone patch you up in the meantime, and then we’ll make sure everything’s hunky-dory.” He pats Steve’s shoulder, slowly getting to his feet. “But— considering you’re not gulping down pesticides, I’m feeling optimistic!”
*
“I’m not gonna lie to you, kid:” Jim Hopper stares Steve down from behind his desk, jiggling his hand over the ashtray like this whole idea is spiking his blood pressure. “I get the feeling you’ve got no clue what you’d be getting into. This isn’t like Police Academy. It’s a small agency, we can’t afford our own training grounds, so we rent out the space from another department, and cram as much as we can into as little time as possible to save on costs. You ever wonder why you see the same three faces every goddamn time anything happens in this town? Because ‘intensive’ doesn’t even begin to cover it. Most recruits don’t make it the whole six weeks.” Man—this whole ‘lecture out of nowhere because he had the balls to ask a question’ sure takes Steve back. Now, if Hopper was a giant douche, Steve’d think he was talking to his dad! “Everyone says it sounds easy enough, until they’re actually doing it. And look: I know what you’re thinking. How’s an obstacle course and learning to shoot hold a candle to going toe to toe with some of those things from the Upside down? Well, believe me, there’s more to it than that.”
“What, like— the test?” Sure, Steve’s not exactly the Honor Roll type, but it’s just one time and then he’s in—right? “You think I’m gonna flunk it?”
Hopper leans back and takes a long, slow drag. “… The thought may have crossed my mind. But I think you’re missing my point. This isn’t your average shift at the video store. You’re not gonna have a life outside of this. It’s a month and a half of getting your ass kicked, from the butt-crack of dawn ‘til eight every. Single. Night. You’re learning weapons, deescalation, emergency response… You’ve gotta be on, for all of it, and you’ve got to be committed. You’re not up to snuff, and you’ll get dropped.”
“This, uh…” Steve drums his fingers on the armrest of his chair a couple times. “This training program. Has it—Have you guys… updated it in the last few years?”
Hopper raises an eyebrow. “… You’re asking this why?”
Steve cranes his head around, looking back through the open door, where the officer with the Groucho stache is telling the secretary that all the quakes were probably caused by too many people plugging in their hairdryers at the same time.
“… I see your point.” Groaning, the chief drags a hand down his face, then chucks the butt of his cigarette into the ashtray. “Alright, Harrington. I’m not gonna try and stop you— but this is not going to be an easy ride, you got that? I don’t believe in nepotism.”
“So… “ Steve thins his lips together, staring at Hopper for a second. “… I’m in?”
“No. But I’m not gonna bar your entry, either.” He jerks a thumb towards the secretary. “Go see Flo. She’ll get you an application.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. I’m not sure I believe it, either.”
“Oh, shit. Listen, I really appreciate—“ Steve jumps up, holding his hand out for a shake, but the chief waves him off.
“Don’t mention it. Just do me a favor and clear out. I’d like to have a minute to myself before the next twenty meetings I have with people who swear they saw some kind of giant shadow monster running around during the quakes.”
Steve nods, clearing out fast, and as he rushes out the door, Hopper yells after him.
“And make sure you STUDY!”
*
“Ohhh, dear, sweet dingus. This may actually get you killed.”
That was Robin’s heartfelt vote of confidence, when Steve first pitched the whole idea of joining the force. And right now, as he’s running up the same flight of stairs for the seventh time, 180 pound dummy slung over his shoulder, those words are knocking around in his skull, because of course they are. Perfect timing.
“Out of my way, Harrington!” Barnes shoulder checks him about a second after, pounding up the steps past him. “If you’re gonna shit your pants and pass out, make sure you don’t block the whole staircase!”
Steve growls under his breath, craning his neck up as Barnes clears the flight above him. “You’re a real class act, man! Anybody ever tell you that?” Robin may have mentioned to Steve that he’s been stuck on the ‘high school mentality’ for the last three years— yeah, whatever that means— but he’d looooove to see how she’d analyze this guy after being stuck in a room with him for two weeks. Five freaking people in this whole training program, and he’s gotta turn it into some kind of shitty competition with Steve specifically, just ‘cause he remembers Steve kinda had it going on when they were Juniors.
And Steve… didn’t really remember Barnes, at all, which probably pissed him off. So— yeah! Now he’s living out the guy’s ‘Bitter Rivals’ wet dream, instead of just making it through this crap in one piece.
Hiking the dummy up higher, Steve puts on another burst of speed, sprinting up the last flight and passing Barnes just in time to reach the top, spin around, and dart past him on the way down. And if his dummy’s leg slaps the guy’s face, well, Steve’s not gonna beat himself up about it.
“Hey, Barnes!” he calls behind him. “If you’re gonna trip and fall on your ass, try not to block the whole staircase.”
*
“So… you did it?”
“Yup.”
“And it’s— legit, right? Like, they didn’t hand you a certificate that said, ‘Thanks for Trying, Better Luck Next Time’, and you just didn’t read it carefully—“
“Yes, Henderson! It’s real, I passed, and I start next week. I mean—“ Steve gestures around the apartment, then throws his hands in the air. “How the hell do you think I’m even affording this place?”
“The thought of an extensive money laundering scheme involving Family Video did occur to me. I just thought it seemed a little above your… capabilities.” Robin tries to scoot the mattress forward, giving it a couple jerky shoves before giving up. “Jesus, this thing is heavy. Did you have to get a queen?”
“Yes, Robin, I did. No woman wants to spoon on a twin XL, which you would know if you and V—“ Steve catches himself just in time, eyes bugging out at Henderson.
Too late. The little bastard is already gawking at Robin. “You and… Vee-Something?” Kid leans against the other side of the mattress and starts heckling her. “Vee-lentino? Vee-ctor? Vee—“
“Oh, look! Got my second wind!” A grin breaking out on her face, Robin steamrolls the mattress into Henderson, knocking him flat on his ass.
“Okay. You two are total shit at this.” Steve shoves Henderson over with his foot, grabbing the other end and helping Robin slide it towards the bedroom door. “Remind me to never get your help with moving again.”
“Beggars can’t be choosers, Steve!” Curling up like a pill bug, Dustin rolls forward so he can start pawing through more of Steve’s stuff. “Besides, who else would take such lovingly good care of these issues of—“ Hand stuck deep in one of the cardboard boxes, Henderson shoves the contents around. “—People, and Sports Illustrated: Swimsuit Edition, and— hello!” Henderson yanks one of the magazines out, breaking out in a huge grin as he starts to rifle through—
Steve jolts, diving across the room so he can rip the Playboy out of Henderson’s greasy mitts. “WHOAWHOAWHOA— HEY! Not that one!”
“Eughh, Steve. That is repulsive.” Robin scoots the mattress to the wall, putting her hands on her hips while Steve plays keep-away with the girly mag. “… Where’s the bed frame?”
Steve pants as he finally gets the Playboy away from Henderson, then bends and yanks the whole box out of his reach for good measure. “What bed frame?”
Robin gawks at him like he just made a pass at her. “You didn’t get a bed frame?”
“No?” Steve shrugs, lifting the box over his head with one arm and shoving Henderson back by the face with the other. “Why would I bother getting a bed frame?”
“You’re the one who just stressed the importance of appealing to any future female house guests!” She rolls her eyes, then jerks her arms towards the mattress, like Steve’s supposed to magically see what the hell she’s talking about.
“Yeah, I’m not following.” Steve groans, giving Henderson one last push before he carries the box over to the kitchen and sticks it up above the cabinets, completely out of the shithead’s arm reach. “Anyway, you are not gonna get to me today. I’m through the training, I got my check, my own place, I am finally out from under my old man’s thumb— things are looking up, people!”
After a couple of useless hops where he tries to pull down the box, Dustin sighs and gives up. “You know, I admire your optimism, but pride goeth before a fall, Steve.”
“It’s not pride, it’s just— “ Steve shrugs, pulling a box of plates over to him so he can load them into an open cabinet. “Karma! Right? I have been through way too much bullshit and babysitting not to rack up an insane amount of good karma, and I am finally cashing it in.”
“I don’t think Hawkins cares about karma.” Picking up another box, Robin carries it into the kitchen and pulls out the plastic McDonald’s cup she finds inside with this grossed-out look on her face. “I know Vecna… Henry… One is dead, and the Mindflayer is equally deceased, plus all those gross monsters and people-meat-creatures, demogorgons, etcetera… But— I don’t know! I feel like we’re waiting for the regression to the mean.”
Steve blinks. “The re… what now?”
“Regression to the mean.” Henderson pipes up, because of course he knows what the hell Robin means when she starts speaking in tongues. “It’s like— no matter how good or bad things get, they’ll always go back to just being… boring. Things always go back to normal.”
“Right, but…” Robin turns around, and tries to two-point the Hamburglar cup into the trash. (She misses, and that, Buckley, is why you took band.) “You ever think that Hawkins’ version of normal is considerably more bizarre than the typical American suburb?”
“Ooookay. Both of you need to stop talking like that.” After swiping the cup off the floor, Steve sticks it in the cabinet with his shot glasses. “First of all, you’re ruining the moment. Second— you said it yourself, Robin! He’s gone! The burnt-up psychic zombie Hitler guy is deader than a doornail, the Upside Down is closed off forever, and there’s no way El’s opening up another portal even if it kills her. And even if she wanted to, guess what? There’d be nothing in there anymore! At least, nothing we can’t handle. So let’s put a pin in it, get back on track, and help me move the rest of my ghlp.” Steve clamps a hand over his mouth. He’s got about a half a second to think about the feeling that just came over him— lightheaded, guts burning, this jerking sensation in the back of his throat— before it blindsides him.
Next thing he knows, he’s doing a 180, turning and bending over the kitchen sink as he pukes his guts out.
*
“So, what would we like to hear first?” Owens flips through what’s gotta be Steve’s chart— guess he has one of those now—before setting the clipboard down on the desk. “Good news, bad news, or scientific marvel the likes of which we’ve never seen? Ah, who am I kidding, it’s a package deal.”
“… And we’re talking about me here, right?” Steve sits with his legs hanging over the side of the exam table, nods, then shakes his head, muttering, “Jesus Christ.”
“Now—relax! Everything is going to be okay. Remember everything I said about your little worm ‘thingy’—“ The guy pulls out the air-quotes. “—going dormant and not being able to control your body?” Steve glances to one side, then nods again slowly. “That’s still true. Nothing like that is going to happen to you.”
“… Okay? And?” Steve starts jiggling his ankle nervously. “C’mon, man. I know there’s a ‘but’.”
“Smart kid.” Owens scoots back on his wheely stool, turning towards the desk and patting the thick manila folder sitting on it.. “We recovered as much as we could before Sullivan’s crew started to quarantine the area. Luckily, one of the specimens we’ve been studying was the big fella who got you.” Steve winces, the scar on his stomach throbbing from some kinda muscle memory, but Owens doesn’t notice. “So, the— what do you kids call them? The demogorgon reproduces by having its young germinate in dark, moist places. When it comes to humans, the larva will be implanted in their digestive system, and get vomited back up— or, if the victim’s deceased, the pollywog will find its way out on its own. Then you’ve got the ‘flayed’— the tentacles would inject the larva into the victim, which would eventually break down and be absorbed, taking over the host’s mind and body.
“The creature that injured you, on the other hand, doesn’t quite fit into either category. The physical makeup was something like the ‘flayed’; it had components which, at some point, were most certainly human. But as for that little slug it tried to inject you with— it wasn’t meant to assimilate you. We think the end goal was more like… Well, have you seen that Alien movie? The one with Sigourney Weaver.”
“You kidding me?” It’s a certified blockbuster, and Steve put it on at least five times when he worked at Family Video. Besides: “She runs around without her pants on for half the movie, of course I’ve seen it.”
“Great! So, you know that part towards the beginning, with that awful crab thing that grabs John Hurt’s face? Remember how the alien baby just sorta—“ Owens mimes fireworks going off in front of his chest. “Explodes out of his ribcage?”
Steve’s stuck on why the guy’s going off on this weird tangent, and then… Then it hits him. “Oh, SHIT!” He sits up, panicking, and starts pawing at the front of his hospital gown.
“Nonono— not ‘oh shit’!” The guy hops up, putting a hand on Steve’s shoulder and forcing him to hold still. “Relax, relax…” Once he’s sure Steve’s not gonna flip out again, Owens pulls his hands back and shoves them in his pockets. “Now, that is what would have happened if our very talented friend Eleven hadn’t managed to destroy One and sever all connection with the Upside Down. Luckily for you, she pulled it off. And, trust me, if that were still going to happen to you, we wouldn’t waste time sitting here, having this conversation.”
“So… Why are we having this conversation?” Steve sputters, grabbing at his head and curling his fingers through his hair. “Why—Why am I hurling like a freshman every morning, like, non-stop— What… What’s wrong with me?”
“I’m going to do my best to explain it in layman’s terms.” Owens says that real slow, like he knows Steve can’t catch half the big medical words and sciencey shit he talks about. “And I want you to remember, before we get into any more detail, you’re not in danger. This isn’t going to kill you, and it shouldn’t have many detrimental effects on your health.” With this big sigh, he goes on. “When that creature implanted that little chest-burster—“
Steve’s eyes roll back in his head. “Please call it something else.”
“Sorry, the larval form. Because this happened mere seconds before Eleven closed the gate and eliminated One, it never developed into its next stage. In fact, it started to sort of… deviate, drawing from its more human biology. Sort of like cells changing type after being given orders— except, they weren’t being given any. Honestly, it’s absolutely remarkable, this—“ It makes him kind of sick, watching this huge smile break out over Owens’ face. “The only way this could’ve ever happened would be the exact sequence of events, taking place in the exact window of time that they did—“
“H-Hey, I know this must be exciting for you, but this is my life we’re talking about. Can you PLEASE—” Steve swallows, throwing his hands up and ducking his head. Okay, breathe, Harrington. He stops shouting and starts toning it down. “… Can you just tell me what’s going on?”
“Hey, if I were you, kid, I’d just be happy to be alive!” The guy pulls his hands back out, miming as he finishes. “But, point taken. When the gate closed, that ‘worm’ lost contact with what amounts to its nervous system. And when that happened, it took a cue from its human biology and began developing on a different path. Which, for whatever reason, wound up being human stem cells.”
“… What?”
“As far as I can tell, Mr. Harrington—“
“Steve,” Steve croaks.
“Steve. You’ve got human tissue growing in your abdomen. And from what I can make out in the ultrasound, it resembles… Well—a zygote.”
Steve’s stomach drops out through his ass. What the hell is that, some kind of tumor? “So— get it out!”
“Trust me, that would ordinarily be the safest option. But this… really isn’t your typical, cut-and-dry case.” The stool creaks as Owen sinks back onto it. “This ‘zygote’ created its own protective barrier, and that's attached itself to your abdominal wall, along with a lot of blood vessels. If you weigh the risks between tying off a couple hundred of those in a three-hour surgery, versus waiting until the protective sack gets large enough to avoid cutting through that area altogether… Well, let’s just say your odds of survival go up the longer we wait.”
“… S-So what, I just—” Steve’s throat’s drying out bad enough to make his voice come out all raspy. “I just wait and let this thing grow inside me?” And if he forces Owens to cut it out now, he could die? How the hell is any of that okay? “H-How long? How long until you can—”
“Let’s see… You would’ve been infected— or, maybe implanted’s a better word—a little over seven weeks ago. As far as I can tell, the development’s about double the rate it would be in a normal gestation. But, like I said earlier, it’s still… human tissue! It doesn’t make a whole lot of logical sense, but hey, that’s our M.O.” Leaning forward, Owens clasps his hands together, and Steve’s just gotta say, whatever kind of bedside manner this guy has, it sucks. “Now, how about this: you come back here every couple of weeks— sooner, if anything changes or if you’ve got any more concerns— and we’ll keep checking up on things. And if it looks like we might be able to remove it any earlier, then we’ll get something set up to do so. Sound good?”
“Uh no.” Steve shakes his head, hands clenching on the exam table so bad, the weird tissue paper cover starts ripping. “No, it doesn’t— It does not sound good. It sounds like— like shit!”
“Steve, I realize that this is a very challenging situation to navigate. But you’ve got to understand— I’m trying to please a lot of different people at once. Some of them being a lot higher up on the hierarchy than I am! I’m not going to lie to you, the opportunity to research and document what’s happened to you is something we’re very interested in— but everything I’ve said up until this point is also true.” The guy grabs the clipboard, clicking the pen and writing something down like he didn’t just ruin Steve’s life. “Removing this little… passenger would, at this point, be a high-risk and potentially life-threatening procedure. But if you want to take that risk, that’s your prerogative. And if the risk level goes down sooner than what I’ve predicted, you’ll be the first to know.”
“Yeah? And what are you… predicting right now?” He said it’d get safer to remove it eventually, no matter what— right? “When do I get this thing taken out of me for sure?”
“Provided the rate of development stays the same… three more months, give or take?”
Steve thinks he’s gonna puke again. “Three months?”
“Well, at least it’ll still be coming out, am I right?” Owens finishes scribbling, and gives Steve this smile that’s probably supposed to make Steve feel better. “Things could’ve gone very differently. So come in if you’ve got any questions. I wouldn’t recommend calling; not a lot we can discuss over the phone. Oh! That reminds me. You’re employed at— what was it? The Family Video?”
“I’m a cop.” Y’know, an hour ago, it would’ve felt good when Steve said that. “I mean— trainee.”
“Oh! Well, congratulations!” Owens rolls back, nodding, and writes something else on a sticky note. “Anyway, you’re going to want to go on medical leave soon. It would be best for all of us if you could stay out of the public eye until this is resolved. We can have some documents sent over— but I’m sure the chief knows the drill by now.”
“… That’s— That’s it? You’re just gonna leave me like this?”
“We’re not leaving you with anything! A long time ago, I told a few of your friends that all those people— the ones who made those bad decisions that led to the Upside Down in the first place— were gone. This time, I don’t have the luxury of pinning the blame on them. This is our mess, but you’ve got my word, we’re doing everything we can to clean it up. That includes this situation.” The guy goes still all of a sudden, and for the first time since he got here, Steve feels like he’s talking to a real person. “You won’t be dealing with this alone. You’ve got my word on that, too.” He claps his hands together, perking up. “Alright! And on that note, I’ll grab you a print out of some possible symptoms to expect. Of course, we couldn’t get too into detail, we have to keep things under wraps, and you never know who might wind up getting a peek if you happen to lose track of ‘em, but— just try to read between the lines.”
*
“Well, this is just thrilling.” Steve reaches under the chair, feeling around for the lever so he can make it recline. Then he catches the look on Hopper’s face and— ooookay, got it. No reclining.
“Would it kill you to tone down the sarcasm? I live with a sixteen-year-old, I’m overdosing on it.” Hopper drums his fingers on the dash, but he’s not looking at Steve as he talks. Nope— he’s busy staring down Mrs. Dunnigan’s flamingo infested front yard. “This is gonna be the highlight of our entire week, so please, try to contain your enthusiasm.”
“I’m just saying— who the hell would waste their time doing something like this?” They got a call to catch whatever dipshits keep knocking Dunnigan’s birdbath over— even though it could just be, like, an extra fat squirrel— and instead of telling her, no, they can’t help, because they’ve got real police shit to do, they’re having an honest-to-God stakeout. Which is pointless, for about a hundred reasons, but mainly— “Seriously, it’s Friday night! Midterms just ended, there’s a kegger at Jason Lewis’s house, and I guarantee that meathead’ll give even the most pizza-faced Chess Clubber free entry as long as he swipes his dad’s Marlboros first. Nobody over the age of 14 is gonna be anywhere near this dump—” Wait, shit. He has to be polite and crap, officer-civilian relations— “I mean, house. Nice, normal-looking old lady’s house.”
Hopper does this big, dramatic sigh, taking another slug of his coffee. “Hate to break it to you, kid, but as for our Friday night? This is pretty par for the course.”
“Okay, fine! So—let’s jumpstart this shit! We bait the kid, put a decoy out—“
Hopper looks at him like he’s braindead. “A decoy birdbath.”
“Yeah! One that looks— I dunno— extra tempting. Super ugly, maybe, one of the ones with a bunch of plastic animals on top. Anyway, kid’s just gotta smash it to pieces, and then— boom!” Steve mimes trashing an invisible birdbath, doing a little explodey motion when it hits the ground. “We got our perp.”
Jim gives him this look like Steve just told him they should piss in Dunnigan’s hydrangeas. “… I think we’re gonna need to go over the difference between a ‘stakeout’ and ‘entrapment’.”
“No, see you’re not— you’re not visualizing it! Like— I get it, you’ve been doing this for forty years or whatever, you’re set in your ways, but, y’know—maybe some fresh blood, bringing in some new ideas.” Hands up in this kind of ‘gimme a chance’ gesture, Steve shrugs. “It might get the ball roll—“
He jolts, curling up as a wave of nausea slams into him. He tries to grab the door, get his head out the window, do something in time to save Hopper’s detailing, but it’s projectile. Worse than the night he got crowned keg king, worse than Russian truth drugs, Steve’s upchucking his whole dinner onto the floor of the cruiser.
“Jesus Christ!” Hopper jerks back like Steve’s infected with the plague. “What the hell’s wrong with you, Harrington?”
It takes everything in him to sit up and wipe his mouth, but Steve forces himself to do it. “I-I can explain!”
“You been drinking tonight? Getting warmed up for that kegger you mentioned?” Hopper’s hand tightens around the steering wheel. “I swear to God, if I find out you fudged your drug test and you’re on some kind of—“
“What? No! I’m not—“ Steve’s not trying to sound like the biggest square in Hawkins here, but— “I don’t mess with that stuff!”
“Oh, so it’s just rapid-onset food poisoning?” Yeah, Steve recognizes that tone. It’s the ‘you seriously expect me to believe that crap’ one.
Steve’s starting to feel screwed here. He’s trying to wrap his head around how, exactly, he’s gonna say this to the chief in a way that makes sense, when— “W-Wait! The documents. Owens—The lab. The lab guys. They sent these documents over to you, right?”
With a groan, Hopper falls back against his seat, thumb picking at the steering wheel. “Damn it, kid! You know how many of those I get a week? There’s some new missing piece of equipment or lost sample from the Upside Down every other goddamn day— and they’re all full of this bullshit, read-between-the-lines type of crap to keep things classified.” Hopper swears under his breath, opening his door and stomping over to the front of Dunnigan’s house. Steve watches as he bends down in the garden, twists the faucet on, and drags a hose back over to Steve’s side of the car, yanking the door open. “I’m sure they sent something over, but even if they did, I couldn’t tell what the hell it says.” The guy motions for Steve to get out, then shoves the dripping hose into his hands. “Now: tell me what this has to do with you ruining the floorboard of my car— which, by the way, is coming out of your paycheck.”
“Alright! Alright, just— chill out, okay? It was an accident.” With his thumb wedged into the hose to up the water pressure, Steve starts spraying the puddle at the foot of his seat. Great. He’s fuzzy on the details. The only part he feels like he gets is that it’s humiliating. But here goes. “So. When I got stabbed by that thing while all the ‘end of the world’ stuff was happening, Owens said it was supposed to kill me, and explode out of my guts or something, but El closing all the gates and offing Vecna made it die, basically, so I figured, alright, cool! Not gonna die, and now I have a sick scar that makes me look like a badass—“ Even though he’d literally never be able to tell any girls the full story. But that was fine, he was workshopping a pretty good cover up. “A-Anyway, I thought that was it, and then… a couple days ago, I did—“ He gestures to the puddle on the floor. “—that all over my new place, so I went to see Owens and—“
Okay, see, this is the part where Steve’s a little less clear on what Owens said. “I guess it’s not dead, but it’s not a slug— it might be a tumor? Like, a ‘zygon’ or something—“ Isn't that the word he used? Steve’s not a medical professional, okay? Why would he know that shit? “And they can’t operate on me to get it out until it’s bigger, ‘cause otherwise I’d bleed to death, so that’s cool, but—“ He’s sensing some major motormouth energy coming from himself right now; Robin’s definitely infected him with something, but realizing that at least gets him to shut up. “It’s not gonna kill me, so. That’s the game plan. I guess.”
Hopper cranes his head back, closes his eyes, and lets out this long, pissed-off breath. “… And you didn’t think to tell me about any of this until after you projectile vomited in my car.”
Steve shrugs, leaning into his side of the cruiser so he can get at the last few chunks from a better angle. “I didn’t think it was gonna come up.”
“You didn’t think it was gonna come up.” Hopper repeats. “You’ve been aggressively throwing up because there’s an Upside Down monster tumor growing in your stomach, and you didn’t think it was gonna come up. Wait— Wait a second.” Hopper slides his palm down his face and stops to grab at his chin. “Did you say zygote?”
“My memory’s not exactly photographic, but—maybe? It was definitely zy… something.” Steve sticks his head out again to take a look at the chief. “Why?”
“Because, Harrington. A zygote isn’t a tumor, it’s a—“
There’s a crackle from the scanner that makes both of them jump, and suddenly Callahan’s voice is blaring out, “Chief, we got a 311, along with a possible 647g near the old Hawkins Lab. Individual was last seen heading up Collins Drive and seemed to be acting aggressively, proceed with caution.”
“Shit.” Hopper yanks the hose out of Steve’s hand and chucks it, stomping around the front of the cruiser and getting in. “This is not end of discussion, are we clear? We will be circling back.”
Steve salutes, sliding onto his seat as fast as he can without getting his shoes more puke-y than they already are, and as soon as he slams the door, Hopper floors it. They’re only half a mile away from the lab— probably why Callahan radioed them—and Steve wracks his brain, trying to remember those codes. ‘Public Indecency’ and… what was it? Trespassing? So, what? Probably a homeless guy having a little too much fun with himself outside what’s left of the lab, and the lab people got a little nervous and called them to come take care of things. Is Steve looking forward to hauling the guy who fits that description downtown? Not exactly, but it beats staking out grandma’s garden by a long shot.
Hopper rounds the corner, and Steve scans past the headlights for anything unusual. There’s a mist coming off the swamp on the side of the road, and the visibility slowly turns to shit, until Hopper’s forced to slow down. Even though the guy’s barely going twenty, the shape of a person seems to pop out of nowhere in front of them. The brakes screech, and Steve lurches forward, catching himself on the dash in time to look up and see what— who— they almost hit.
The guy’s definitely indecently exposed. Steve’s never been gladder that Hopper’s cruiser’s so far off the ground, otherwise they’d both be getting an eyeful of his ass crack. The perp’s buck naked, covered in some kind of greenish liquid, and after Hopper almost slams into him, the guy whips around and—
Steve knows he and the chief are on the exact same page. They’re both thinking it, but Hopper’s the one who actually manages to spit it out:
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
Steve’s gotta say, Hopper took the words right out of his mouth. Because the naked guy in the road, who is very clearly alive, is supposed to— not be. He’s supposed to be dead. Steve knows that because he’d recognize this freak anywhere. Kind of hard to forget the face of a psycho who smashed a goddamn plate over your head. But here he is, walking, breathing, and glaring through the windshield at Steve and Hopper like a loose tiger.
Billy fucking Hargrove.