DRIP, DRIP, DRIP.
The sound of rain steadily falling outside the vehicle lulled Ana into a stupor. She casually watched the night darkening around Hawkins Laboratory as she drifted in and out of endless thoughts. She'd accepted that after this little detour had concluded, she and Hopper needed to have a serious heart to heart. If today proved anything, it was that they had quite a bit of shit to trudge through together.
As Ana's unfocused gaze rested out over the building's parking lot, a blurry figure wandered into her peripheral. At first, she assumed it was Hopper, the height was similar, but upon further inspection, she realized the build and attire wasn't that of her boyfriends.
Eyes squinting to better make out the person through the bleakness and the rain, Ana instinctively leaned forward in her seat to get a better view before realizing all at once that this wasn't an individual she knew. Wasn't someone who was supposed to be exiting Hawkins Lab while Joyce and Hopper were seemingly still inside.
So, Ana did the only thing she could think of at that moment, she laid on the car horn. The harsh sound rang through the darkened evening air, effectively drawing the stranger's attention to the source of the noise, the awaiting vehicle, and her.
Her posture stiffened in the front seat as Ana made eye contact with the still unknown figure through the windscreen. The man hesitated for a moment before he began trudging towards the vehicle with purpose. Ana had been right, he was tall like Hopper, but his build was more brawny than stocky. He donned a black leather jacket, she would have made a joke about villain cliches had it been a more appropriate time, and his blonde hair was cut in a style that seemed almost militaristic.
In the moments it took her to appraise the stranger thoroughly, he'd advanced on the vehicle significantly. Shit, Ana realized she hadn't really thought this plan through at all. So, ripping her eyes away from the approaching figure briefly, she dug beneath the passenger's seat for her concealed revolver. At least with a gun in her possession, she'd have some form of defense against the looming threat. She knew there was no way she could take the brute in any sort of hand to hand combat, not with his domineering stature nor with the confidence held in his lumbering stride.
Once she had wrapped her hand around the cold steel, Ana brandished her only weapon and quickly exited the vehicle. Slamming the door behind her, the booming sound again echoed above the still steadily falling rain.
Planting her feet and squaring her shoulders, as her father had taught we during youthful trips to the range, Ana lifted the gun in her hands and pointed it purposefully at the stranger. The sight had him halting in his steps, some fifteen feet in front of her.
"Who are you, and what are you doing at Hawkins Lab?" Ana shouted to be heard over the rainfall. The question sounded lame as it fell from her lips, but it certainly wasn't the time for creative quips. She had no idea where Hopper and Joyce were, and no way of knowing whether or not they'd encountered the same visitor while still inside the building. She knew nothing, other than the leather jacket wearer wasn't where he was supposed to be, wasn't where anyone was supposed to be, including them.
The man made no move to walk further, but a slight smirk graced his features as his head tilted in appraisal of Ana. He was observing her at a distance with tempered amusement, finding her little show of dominance seemingly entertaining. She found that the prospect of not being taken seriously while holding a gun to someone annoyed her.
Taking two steps forward, Ana's finger gently caressed the trigger while she held the revolver as steadily as possible in her hands. She hadn't shot anyone since the government woman chased her and the children through the middle school when the Demagorgan had first appeared, but if it came down to necessity, she was more than willing to do the same.
"Answer the question, or all start shooting," she shouted again. Ana didn't so much hear his chuckle, as she watched it bubble up from his chest, through his throat, and past his still smug, smiling lips.
Alright, this cocky motherfucker was really starting to piss her off. But, as Ana's finger began slowly pressing down upon the trigger, a noise to her right drew all attention away from the obstinate stranger.
The lab's doors were flung open as Joyce came rushing out, calling her name. "Ana, it's Hopper, you need to get in here quickly!" Taking in the sight in front of her, Ana standing outside the vehicle with her gun trained on thin air, had Joyce pausing in alarm. "What are you doing with that gun?" She questioned, wide-eyed, and concern apparent in her voice.
Ripping her gaze away from Joyce, Ana glanced back at the now vacant spot the imposing figure had previously occupied. Her eyes frantically searched for any sign of the man, but the sound of a motorcycle engine revving in the distance told her that he'd made his escape during Ana's momentary distraction.
Tucking the revolver into the back of her jeans, Ana quickly followed Joyce through the winding maze that was Hawkins Lab, while the older woman explained that Hopper had been attacked, and now lay unconscious in one of the rooms.
Yet, none of this was supposed to happen. Coming back there was supposed to be a formality, a way to shut Joyce up about the stupid magnets. Those idiotic, pointless fucking magnets.
But, looking down at her battered, bruised, and unconscious boyfriend, Ana wanted to cry. Hopper was supposed to be their pillar of strength. Nothing and no one was supposed to possess the ability to best him, but he lay there on the floor before her, limp like a discarded rag doll.
This wasn't the way anything was supposed to turn out.
Carefully leaning down next to Hopper's beaten body, Ana checked his pulse and breathing. At least her first aid and CPR training for lifeguarding had amounted to something. His breaths were shallow but steady, and she could feel his pulse thumping the same beneath her two fingers at the side of his throat. "We've got to get him into the car and back to the cabin. I can't do much to help him here," Ana instructed after ensuring he was well enough to travel.
"How are we going to do that?" Joyce asked, and it was a fair question. Joyce was small, to say the least, short and willowy. Ana was taller and stronger in comparison, but not by much.
"Slowly," Ana conceded, before grabbing Hopper's arms while Joyce took his legs.
It took some time, but when they'd finally deposited Hopper's unconscious body on the couch of their cabin, both Joyce and Ana were utterly spent. Dragging around a 6'3", two hundred something pound comatose man was not the easiest of tasks on the best of days, and it definitely hadn't been the best of days.
"I'm making him go on a diet," Ana grumbled while slowly beginning to strip Hopper of his wet clothes, with Joyce lingering awkwardly at the bottom of the sofa, watching on uncomfortably. Even if the older woman wasn't keen on seeing him undressed, the last thing they needed was the police chief getting sick after passing out in his drenched uniform.
Pausing in her actions, Ana turned to Joyce and told her, "you can head home if you want, I've got him from here." Joyce hesitated briefly, before begrudgingly agreeing to the idea.
Nodding her head in thought, Joyce made no move to leave, despite her agreement, and Ana watched her uncertainty. "Was there something else...?" Ana asked, letting the question linger in the air between them.
"Yes!" Joyce exclaimed, before moving around the living room in search of something. Locating a notepad and pen, she began jotting things down while Ana resumed unbuttoning Hopper's shirt.
After the article was removed, Ana threw the sopping item onto the floor with a resounding splat before beginning to ease Hopper out of his undershirt, which was equally soaking wet.
Continuing her undressing with clinical precision, she didn't pay the other woman much mind until Joyce eventually returned to the foot of the couch, brandishing the borrowed notepad with a sense of pride. The series of numbers, letters, and dashes had Ana looking at her questionably. "What's that supposed to be?"
Joyce scoffed at her apparent confusion. "It's the guy's license plate number. I caught a glimpse of his parked motorcycle through the upstairs window." Joyce seemed delighted with her minuscule discovery, and Ana didn't have the heart to dash it.
Grabbing for the pad, Ana looked over the information while Joyce rambled on about how some of the numbers could have been letters, and that, maybe, part of the plate had been rubbed off. She cut her musings mercifully short, stating, "that's great, Joyce. I'll give it to Hopper as soon as he wakes up," before dropping the notepad on the coffee table beside her.
Again, the air between the two women became stale. The awkwardness was thankfully interrupted by Hopper grumbling next to Ana on the couch. Grumbling was good, grumbling meant he hadn't died on her just yet.
Lifting up from her kneeled position on the floor, Ana retrieved the bottle of painkillers from where Hopper had thrown them on the kitchen table the day prior, and a glass of water, before forcing the medicine into his mouth during the brief period of consciousness. As soon as the pills were swallowed, he lost consciousness again, and much of her hope deflated along with his mental state.
Ana wanted to cry again. The tears were welling up in her eyes at the sight of all the darkened bruises coloring Hopper's shirtless chest. However, she would be damned if she was going to break down in front of a captivated audience.
Her voice was small as Ana told Joyce she should go home and check on her own kids. Her eyes never leaving Hopper's ragged frame as Joyce gently bid her farewell. She didn't even blink until she heard the front door close, the sound of Joyce's car starting up, and, finally, backing out of the drive. Only then did Ana take a deep breath, and let the tears fall.