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.*･｡. A DEAL WITH GOD! .*･｡.
————THE POLLYWOG
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010.
CHECK.
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"Good to see you again, Ashley."

   Ashley said nothing.

   She stared at the ceiling with a blank expression, trying her best to pretend that she wasn't there: laid on a medical cot in Hawkins Lab, a bunch of wires stuck to her head and an orchestra of those who claimed to care about her, but not enough to leave her be. No, instead they barraged her out of the house that morning despite it being cruel and completely against her will. Her father didn't care, however, and nor did Jim. At least, they did a really good job in not showing it.

   Or, maybe Ashley was blind to it — the way they cared for her, and her health. Maybe she couldn't find an ounce of love in their actions because she was too lost in their reason; in the way they'd refused to listen to her, and let her make this decision for herself. If they were doing this for her; for her well-being; then why couldn't they just listen to her?

   Her father and Jim were so adamant to find an answer, to solve what caused these episodes, that Ashley began to wonder if it was even about her at all. Or, whether there was some other reasoning.

    "Somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning," Jim said, tone slightly mocking.

   He wanted a reaction.

   Something — anything, just to know whether there was anybody even inside Ashley Miller's body, or if she was just a vacant shell. It was hard to tell when she hadn't uttered a single word since being forced into her father's squad car. They might as well have put her in handcuffs with how prosecuted she felt.

She had spotted Dustin biking toward town as they drove off, a sense of urgency in his pedalling. Ashley had wondered where he was going so early, perhaps something to do with his big scientific discovery — the one that meant she was left Yurtle-sitting his tiny tortoise, which had been quite the make-shift arrangement. Ashley did her best for the little guy. After temporarily homing him in an old glass baking dish under her desk lamp, Ashley had provided a small assortment of fruit she found in the fridge. It wasn't much of a holiday home, but it was all she could do on short notice. If her dumb neighbour had notified her in advance about Yurtle's trip to Casa de Ashley, then maybe she could have given the tortoise a little five-star luxury.

Though, she supposed it wasn't the worst thing having to Yurtle-sit. It gave her some company through the night, and oddly made her feel just about safe enough to sleep.

   As if a tortoise could shield her from Will's mind.

By the time she had woken up, however, Ashley felt like she had hardly even slept a wink.

"Long night trick-or-treating?" Owens joked.

   Ashley blinked.

Did he know she was seventeen?

   Realising she wasn't going to speak, the man cleared his throat. He rubbed his hands together and adjusted how he was sat in the wheeled stool, "Okay, so— how this works is relatively simple, kid. These sensors," he pointed to the numerous sticky patches on her forehead, "Are gonna record all the electrical signals produced by your brain. That information is stored on here," he showed her his paper, proud of the contraption.

"And what does that tell us?" Her father asked with his knotted brows, unsure of the odd machine. He did want to know what was wrong with his daughter, but it looked... unnerving. "This won't hurt her, will it?"

    "No, no, of course not." Owens waved him off, "It's just gonna monitor activity on both sides of the brain and indicate whether it has anything alarming going on, in there." He explained, "It gives us a better picture of the stuff we can't see. While the routine tests came back clear last time, there's still a couple things I'd feel much happier if we could rule out."

   Things.

   As the men nodded, Ashley wondered if she was missing out on something important. Something they knew about, that she didn't.

    "We'll just talk about these episodes and see what your brain tells us," Owens turned to the teen, raising a brow. "Is that alright with you, Ashley? Are you comfortable?"

   Comfortable? What about this could possible be comfortable? She was sprawled out on a medical cot in a scratchy gown and socks, a bunch of wires stuck to her head like she was some sort of science experiment, being watched by her father, Jim, and a whole crew of doctor-looking people, while she talked about her latest traumas in search of a medical condition that she knew, for a fact, didn't exist.

   Why wouldn't she be comfortable?

   But there was nothing she could do. Ashley had no way out of a situation of this calibre. Even if she struck Owens over the head so she could make a run for it, her father would only catch her. She'd no other choice, despite the terribly unsettling feeling building deep in her stomach; the fear she had felt the last time; the pure fear that she knew wasn't her own.

    "Rule away," she muttered.

    "Alrighty," Owen nodded his head at her.

   He whispered a few things to the staff around him, using many terms that Ashley didn't understand, before grabbing a clipboard and pen. He tapped it against the paper, hearing it click, and sent her a reassuring smile that she didn't reciprocate.

    "Tell me about these episodes,"

    "I did," Ashley said.

    "I wanna hear about them again," the man responded cooly, as if she were a child he could fool.

    "I don't remember them," Ashley lied.

    "Nothing at all?"

    "No," the girl glanced back at the ceiling, "It just goes black."

   Doctor Owens hummed.

   She wasn't sure what that hum meant, but she didn't like it. The sound made her shuffle awkwardly, did Owens know she was lying? If he did, he didn't make a big deal about it.

    "How about you tell me everything you can remember?" When she readied herself to insist that she didn't remember anything, he continued; "Your father tells me you might have had one last night at a party," Owens watched her body stiffen, fists curling, "It's okay. It's alright, we know you just want to protect yourself," he really had no idea how much, "But you don't have to. We're here to protect you, all of us," he gestured to himself, Jim and Stanley. "Nothing's gonna happen to you, we just want to know as much as we can to figure it out. To find a way to solve this."

   You can't.

    "So, why don't you tell me what you can remember about this episode from last night?"

   Ashley was quiet.

    "Just tell me anything you can remember," he said.

    "I don't remember."

    "What about how it starts? Before you black out?" He searched for a way in.

   Ashley could tell he wasn't going to give in. Whether that was in knowledge of her lies, or just a genuine attempt at trying to figure out a way to help her, she couldn't tell. But she could tell that there was no way out of this; not until she met him in the middle, or just somewhere close by.

    "I—" she pressed her lips together, unsure. Her throat felt as if it was about to close over, "I don't know..."

    "Tell me what you do know."

    "I know that—" Ashley's fingers tapped an absent rhythm over the cot, and she faintly recognised it as Every Breath You Take. "It all comes out of nowhere," not technically a lie, "It just... it just happens."

"Do you know when it's about to happen?" Owens asked, head tilted in his interest. "Do you get any signs? Anything warning you even if it's last minute?"

"No," she said. "I just... it's an eery feeling. I get goosebumps," Ashley's words had Stanley's eyes darting to Jim, both men staring at Owens with the same look. "But not like I'm cold," Ashley told him, "Like I'm... like someone's watching me, or something. But I turn around and nobody's there."

"Paranoia," Owens murmured, nodding along.

"It all just happens so fast..." Ashley trailed, gulping deeply as she recalled all the unwilling ventures into Will Byers' head. Ashley, Ashley, Ashley. DING. DONG. DING. DONG. DING. DONG. The ash, the lightning, the silhouette. Her eyes burned at the memories, the weight of them piling onto her chest. "One second I'm here and I know I'm fine, and then..."

"And then?"

   Her boot slipped on a streak of water and she hit the ground, a bump to the head forcing her eyes shut. She grimaced at the pain and raised a hand to her jarred neck, hoping to soothe the freshly tender area, but her body halted when her fingertips traced bumps across the skin. Ashley's spine tingled and her blood froze, cooling her veins like blooming pools of ice.

    "And then..." she whispered.

Pulling herself to a sit, Ashley went to wipe her face, but found herself focusing on her hands. She flipped them over, rubbing the tips of her fingers on her small palms. These weren't her hands. They reached up to her head, trembling fingers hoping to skim over the thick braid she had tightened across the crown of her head, but in its wake was the familiar brown strands tickling her forehead. This wasn't her hair. Her eyes slowly glanced at her clothes, only to find a beige boiler suit and a camera at her side. That wasn't her poncho nor her boots. None of it was right. As was this reoccurring pattern, she found the difference becoming more distinctive with every time in Will Byers' head; she was too slight and too short and she couldn't rid the goosebumps on her neck.

   He was always in the same place, too; Hawkins, but not Hawkins at the same time. A tainted version of their town with demon skies and swirling storms.

    "Ashley?" Owens watched her eyes glaze over.

    "And then..."

  Far up ahead of her, highlighted by the runway of fiery lights, a plume of smoke migrated across the sky, filling the air with a dark cloud of threat and anguish. Then that plume of smoke grew and materialised; turning anthropomorphic with large tentacles; limbs of spiders; spear-shaped head.

    "What happens, Ashley?" The doctor's glance travelled over to EEG machine, watching the metal arm fly sporadically across the paper. It was fast and only gaining speed, and he feared it may just snap from the pressure it was under. Her brain activity was almost un-mappable.

Thunder cracked.

Her breath logged in her throat.

The figure crawled towards her.

   She tensed.

   And just as Ashley's body had turned to run—

    "Stop!" She yelled, flying up to sit. The movement brought an array of dark sports to her vision, her chest heaving, head shaking back and forth. "Stop!"

    "Woah— okay, kid." Owens stood from his stool, trying to ease her sudden skittishness. "It's alright,"

    "No— I want to stop!" Ashley reached to rip the sticky patches from her skin, hardly wincing as one plucked hairs from the edges of her eyebrow. Her eyes welled with tears, but not from her pain.

    "Ash," her father tried to intervene, gut knotting as he watched her distress. "Hey—"

    "No!" She quickly smacked him away when he reached out for her, feeling nothing but unfathomable contempt for him. She had said that she didn't want to do this. Ashley had made it clear but no one had listened to her. No one could take her word and respect it, no one could let her make this decision for herself. "I didn't want to do this! I don't want to!" The words fell from her lips like water out of a broken faucet, "I'm done!"

    "Ash—"

   She glared, "I'm done."

    "You're done," Jim agreed, calmly.

    "Hop—"

    "Kid's done," he told Doctor Owens with a dark look. Maybe he didn't know what was going on with Ashley, but he knew what trauma looked like; how it felt. Something about these episodes got to her. They dug at her like chisels.

   Ashley didn't wait for the men to stop her, or try to tell her that everything was okay, or that she just needed to sit back down and try again — she wasn't going to. Not a chance in hell. So, instead, Ashley stormed out of the room with trembling hands. She didn't wait for a nurse to follow. Ashley was out of there quicker than she could say gone. And as her father watched her leave, guilt gnawing at him in punishment for his decision, Ashley threw herself onto a seat in the hallway with a loud sob. It wracked her body, punching her ribs, burning her throat.

   Her blurry eyes cast upon her hands.

   She thumbed at the dinosaur bandaids, just to make sure that she was still here.

————

Ashley glared at the pill bottle.

ANTI-SEIZURE.

She quickly shoved it into her bag, burying it beneath her pencil case— right at the bottom where nobody could find it. Far enough that she hoped to forget that it even existed.

That was what she had been prescribed by Owens.

Anti-seizure medication.

   Because that's what they were calling them now, apparently: she was having seizures of some kind, ones that were leaving her with a fistful of trauma with every occurrence. The team at Hawkins Lab weren't so sure what was causing these seizures, or even what form of seizures they were, but seizures was their best guess. The bloody nose, the eyes rolling back, the supposed memory loss. Owens gave it a good shot and, had Ashley not known what was going on, she'd have probably believed him.

   Her father and Jim were less convinced.

   But something was finally being done about her episodes, and the medication should hopefully dull the side effects of the seizures, as well as how often they occurred. Just in the meantime, Owens had assured, just while they figured out what was really going on in that curious head of hers.

   Ashley thought her father would have been more pleased, but it looked the opposite when he dropped her off at school at the end of second period. Or maybe that was simply the guilt that riddled him now, having seen what happened in that room after he forced her there. Ashley didn't know whether she should feel glad that he felt guilty since he was only trying to help her, but she did feel glad — even if just a morsel. Although, Ashley also felt dread; now that they had seen her freak out, her father was going to be plenty more adamant to figure out what was really wrong with her. If anything, this would simply push Stanley Miller harder. She had seen the pure determination on his face through the rear view mirror. He wouldn't give it up.

Even if she begged.

"Ashley!"

The girl snapped out of her thoughts, forcing a fake smile onto her lips. She waved.

"Sorry I'm late, girls!" Ashley greeted the cheer squad.

"Only by a half hour," Tina mused.

Ashley's smiled tightened, aching her rosy cheeks. She felt quite embarrassed that she was late when she was always the one telling everyone else not to be late; as cheer captain, it wasn't the look she was going for.

She placed her bag down on the bleachers, not having had time to throw it in the locker room — changing into her gym clothes at Hawkins Lab hadn't shaved off enough time.

"We were just warming up," Chrissy intervened with her usual preppy grin. She didn't appear fazed when Tina rolled her eyes at her sugary tone. Then again, Chrissy never seemed fazed. She had a way of keeping herself upbeat and sweet, and it brought Ashley to a place of mourning for her own ability to do that— where had it gone? Where was the girl she used to be?

Was she already dead?

Ashley cleared her throat, "Great!"

Her eyes flickered around the gymnasium. The basketball team were warming up for a friendly match of shirt VS skins to get ready for the upcoming games.

A few of their subs were sat on the bench pretending to pay any ounce of attention, more subs than usual, and her gaze travelled to inspect the team; the best players were out there, Tommy H, Chance, Jason, Patrick, Andy, but she noticed somebody new on the court — somebody who was replacing Dylan as their point guard and who was clearly gunning for Steve's usual position as the power forward, judging by the crab dribbling drills he was running. She squinted a scrutinising eye, sparing a second to frown at their toned back and blonde mullet, before the newbie turned his head to met her stares head on. Billy Hargrove. A moment passed where Ashley was frozen and unable to look away, too surprised. But then he smirked like a cheshire cat, glowing skin ablaze with slick and perverse eagerness, tongue swiping devilishly across his lips.

Ashley swiftly looked away.

   Slightly frazzled, she cleared her throat and turned back to her squad. She sucked in a breath.

    "Chrissy! Could you, uh, lead everyone through the routine, for tonight?" Ashley asked the blonde, whom nodded happily. "I need some time to warm up." When they murmured agreements, heels spinning as they turned to get into their formation, Ashley smiled, her white teeth shining.

    "Is everything okay, Ash?"

    "Yeah," she turned to look at Chrissy, nodding. "Yeah— I'm all good," she lied swiftly, because how could she ever tell the truth? It was impossible. "Everything's good."

    "Are you sure?" Chrissy's voice was so gentle, "It's just— you're never late to practise."

    "I had an appointment with the doctor," Ashley then revealed. To anyone else, it sounded completely normal. Chrissy didn't even bat an eye. If only she had known why Ashley was seeing a doctor and where. Then, maybe, this would have been an awfully different conversation. In that moment, Ashley prayed that Chrissy never in her life had to know why Ashley was seeing a doctor. For her sake, not Ashley's. "I just feel kinda tense," she said, jabbing her thumb over her shoulder; "So I'm gonna warm up. You're alright to lead this routine, right?"

    "Sure!" The girl chirped.

    "Great," she breathed out, "Thanks, Chrissy."

   Smiling sweetly, Chrissy gently squeezed her arm and walked to where the rest of their squad stood. Ashley watched, face pinched.

   She was slacking.

   Not intentionally, but slacking nonetheless.

   Ashley couldn't afford to start slacking. Not so close to the end of the season. Not when college admissions felt like they were around the corner. Not when she desperately needed something in her life to feel normal when everything else felt like she was falling apart. It was messy right now, and she was hoping that cheer would make it a little better. Just a little.

Sighing to herself, Ashley tightened her ponytail and started her favourite stretches. Her muscles felt tight and she wondered if that was from the tension of her appointment with Owens, or whether it was just a nasty side effect of drinking too much then slipping in Tina's bathroom the night prior.

   Perhaps it was the episodes.

   She wasn't sure, but she was relieved to stretch out the tension in every limb.

   It was cathartic and when she got into her regular flow, Ashley's mind started to clear. For the first time since the party, Ashley had a chance to breathe. Everything was lighter; her ankles no longer in invisible shackles, weighted shoulders ridden.

   As she reached up high and bent over to touch her toes, hands hooking loosely around each ankle as she slowly alternated sides,  she failed to spot watchful eyes.

    "Flexibility? Check," Billy muttered, tongue tapping the roof of his mouth. Tommy H snickered and slapped his back, while their amusement went ignored by the other basketball players; most of them actually respected Ashley Miller. Whether that was because of her popularity and status, because they were all Hawkins Tigers, or because they genuinely liked her— it didn't really matter. But they had way more class than to make comments like that. Or, at least, if they weren't as respectful as they claimed, they didn't make them where anybody could hear them. And not in front of their captain, Steve Harrington, whose respect for women has increased tenfold since dating Nancy Wheeler— who had expertly pointed a gun at his head and spooked any trace of misogyny right out of him. But Billy Hargrove didn't seem to get the memo; "Man, she's playing a hard game to get."

    "Maybe she just doesn't want you."

   Billy's eyes flitted to Steve, arching a brow.

   Steve brushed the new kid off. The two were yet to formally get acquainted, other than him and Tommy H rubbing Steve's loss of Keg King in his face like children. Unsurprisingly, Steve wasn't very interested in meeting him.

   He strolled past them while the rest of the team got ready for a game, picking up his pace to a jog as he headed over to the Tiger's cheer captain. Admittedly Steve hadn't really put a lot of thought into this decision, but after last night, he wanted to check in. She was probably getting sick of it, he knew she was, but he couldn't stop himself. Steve kept on finding Ashley Miller in worrying situations and while they weren't friends and it didn't really concern him, he still felt the compulsive need to.

Maybe he felt like he owed it to her, or maybe it was the fact he felt like losing the title of king would only be really worth it if he'd made a real effort to actually care about people, or perhaps he did genuinely care— about Ashley Miller, and why he always seemed to find her bloody and shaken, and whether she was alright.

Steve couldn't decide why.

"Hey."

Ashley lifted out of her stretch and turned, oh.

"Hi," she said.

"Uh—" Steve suddenly wasn't sure what to say. He found that often happened around Ashley. They didn't know each other too well, so he supposed that was the reason. "How's, uh— it going?"

"It's going," she nodded, watching him rub at the very nape of his neck. Steve did that a lot when talking to her, she'd noticed. It made the corner of her lip twitch up, despite not wanting to find out what he had to say, no doubt about the night before. She was hoping that his drunken girlfriend had distracted him enough for the incident to slip his mind, preferably as quickly as she'd slipped in Tina's bathroom. And as hard.

"Cool," he responded. "Great party last night, right?"

"Totally."

It, in fact, had not been a great party. For either of them.

Ashley'd had another episode and entered Will's mind, adding to the already growing stack of trauma, meanwhile Steve's girlfriend had basically yelled to the world that he, and everything about the relationship they'd had, was utter bullshit.

The party was terrible.

Ashley pursed her lips, deciding to nip this in the bud before he asked anything; "Well, until I slipped and hit my head. That was a little... less great."

"Oh shit," Steve's eyes widened.

"Yeah," she chuckled, awkwardly. It wasn't a lie, technically. She did slip and hit her head, which definitely made the party less great.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm good," Ashley said quickly, "Bitchin'."

Steve smiled.

"Bitchin'," he hummed to himself, a small laugh passing his lips. His eyes went to his feet as his cheeks warmed.

Ashley's forced grin suddenly threatened to turn real.

"Well, uh, my night wasn't so bitchin'." The boy confessed, and Ashley's brows married in confusion. "But hey, who cares?" Smile now as forced as Ashley's often was, Steve shook his head casually — like what he had said was no big deal. His words weren't a bid for female attention; they sounded genuine. But, she didn't have a lot of time to ponder it.

    "Harrington!"

   They both turned.

    "Let's go!" Jason yelled, "C'mon!"

   Steve sighed, "I should—"

    "Yeah," Ashley gestured towards the cheerleaders behind her, nodding. "Me too."

    "Yeah," Steve echoed. He started walking backwards, slowly, as if reluctant to leave. "I just wanted to," he grimaced as the words left him, face pinched. "Check in."

   And despite her current contempt toward being checked in on, and despite her having lied about being fine, Ashley couldn't find it within herself to frown. In fact, as she watched Steve head back to the game, she sort of felt... okay.

   As his back faced her, Ashley bit her lip.

    "Hey, Ste—?"

    "Steve!"

   Her word were drowned out by a very angry, and less drunken, looking Nancy Wheeler. Steve's eyes immediately darted over, his body stiffened. When Nancy gestured for him to follow her, in an obvious rush to find answers to her questions, he sighed and went immediately; like a dog to a bone; like she hadn't so cruelly broken his heart the night before; like the organ wasn't fighting to beat in his empty, cavernous chest.

   And as he went, Ashley's gaze followed him. She breathed out a light sigh.

   Thanks for checking in.

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