༉˚*ೃ ᵒ⁹. 𝐅𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐃 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒!

"𝐖𝐄 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐍𝐎𝐓 buying guns right now," asserted Sar, as Steve exited the driver's seat of his car. She stayed sat in the passenger side for a moment, still not used to the plush leather of the BMW, before she realised that he wasn't coming back, and opened her own side door. "Steve."

          He turned back towards her as she shut the door behind her, shoving her hands into the pockets of her jacket. "Look, you said your handgun did nothing to that thing. But it did distract it, right? And this Hawkins Lab place, if it really is tied in with this, it could be dangerous."

          Dangerous, mused Sar. Oh, Steve Harrington, you don't know the half of it. Still, Sar's lips were twisted into a frown. She was silent for a moment, and Steve took that time to turn back and cross the street. The second that Sar snapped out of her thoughts, she hurried after him, dodging in front of a moving car. They were both tall, but his legs were a little longer, and she was still limping—she ran to catch up. "You know what—I actually decided, going to the lab is probably a bad idea."

          Steve glanced back at her, at this strange Chicago girl with blonde hair and frightened eyes and a limp. He looked confused. "What do you mean a bad idea?"

          It was her second day with Steve Harrington. The first, yesterday, had been spent completely in the library. They'd gone back to his place after, pieced together all the bits they'd found so far. Not much, to be fair. They barely knew anything about the monster, and all Sar knew was that it definitely had something to do with Hawkins Lab. But how could she tell that to Steve without telling him everything? And telling anyone anything was bad news—it was dangerous, and against every rule that she and James and Katie had ever set. So she'd just gone along with saying it was a hunch, and Steve had believed it. He'd asked if the monster was maybe some kind of illegal experiment, and all Sar could say was, "I don't know." Eventually, they'd gone to sleep, with Sar on the same mattress on the floor. Now, Sar's agreement to head out to Hawkins Lab was about to bite her in the ass. She was beginning to panic.

          Sar felt sick to the stomach. She was biting the inside of her cheek so much that it hurt. Steve looked at her curiously, and Sar sharply inhaled. "Look, shooting someone, on the property of Hawkins Lab, is not going to look good." A mustard-yellow sweater was snug on her form, and now Sar toyed with the loose wool at the sleeve. "It's, like, government-owned."

          "Shit, the government's in on this?" Sar grimaced in despair—maybe that wasn't the right thing to say. "Look, the guns are just a precaution, alright? Intimidation factor, you know?" That wasn't how it worked, but Sar didn't know if she could tell him. She looked a little miserable, her wide eyes afraid. Sar still entered the hunting store with him. The store smelled of strong leather and wood and something like tar, not a scent that Sar particularly enjoyed. Jim Croce was playing on the overhead speakers. She followed Steve as he beelined towards the front counter—hanging back a little bit to inspect the various trinkets she came across.

          Near the front of the shop were a small row of cheesy keychains, like 'HAWKINS: Home of the bear cubs!' and 'I survived the Sattler's Quarry!', which made Sar think Hawkins wasn't such an interesting place at all. Huh. None for 'Home of evil laboratory with kidnapped child experiments'. She rolled her eyes and resisted the urge to steal a neat pair of hiking boots that looked her size. Criminal habits died hard, but there were much severer consequences here than in Chicago. After pausing briefly to decide that, no, she did not need that fluffy coat even despite how close it was to Winter, Sar chased after Steve once again.

          He was at the counter, speaking with the cashier. The cashier was a gruff, taller man with a grey beard, trucker cap, and a red nametag reading 'Joey'. By the time Sar got there, it appeared Steve had already detailed out what handgun they'd wanted, because the man looked less than impressed. Apparently, the legal age to buy firearms in Indiana was eighteen—Sar wouldn't know, she'd never bought firearms legally—and Steve came just under that. She slid up next to him as he debated with the cashier. "Hey— hey, Joey, y'know me. Steve. You, uh, you used to go to school with my dad—John Harrington." Steve grinned awkwardly, clearly trying to play it cool. Like maybe it would get him some points.

          The man's voice was gruff. "Yeah, he's an asshole."

          "Y—... yeah," Steve stumbled, words deflating out of him. His fingers tapped on the counter nervously. "So, anyway, if you could just do us a favour here..."

          "You're not eighteen," said the man matter-of-factly, looking a little dark. His finger pointed harshly towards Sar. "And my bet is that she's not either. If you think I'm gonna do a favour for John Harrington's son, you must not take much after your daddy." It was a blow that looked like it hurt, and Steve's deceptively cool exterior fell.

          Had this been his whole plan? "Um," Steve continued to fumble with his words. Sar took pity.

          She stepped in, hand flying to his chest. Next to his ear she murmured calmly, "Stand down, Harrington. I've got this." Sar pushed her hand lightly against his chest, forcing him to take a few steps back as she took his place at the counter. The gruff man stared at her, unimpressed, smoking cigarette still hanging out of his mouth. She propped her elbows up on the counter. "Joey, just give us the guns." Sar smiled crookedly at him, close-lipped, using just a little push. We're definitely eighteen years old. "Would we really be trying to buy guns if we were underage?" Of course not, we're eighteen. "And you know Steve." Definitely trustworthy, would never tell a lie. She stared him down innocently as she planted the thoughts in his head, one after the other. "They're just a couple of handguns, we're no trouble." No trouble at all.

          It took a moment of staring for the thoughts to really be stuck in his mind, and then he blinked, in a sudden clarity. He brushed off his hands and loosened his posture. "Of course, sorry for the hostility, folks." No registration needed, either, Sar assured, and he didn't even ask. "I'll fetch them for ya now." He stepped back for a minute to retrieve the guns they'd requested from the glass case.

          Steve waited till he was gone to speak what was on his mind, eyes focused in awe on Sar. "How the hell'd you manage to crack Joey? That guy's always been a prick," murmured Steve to her, looking positively marvelled. He was leaning with his spine pressed against the counter, turned towards her. Then his brows furrowed. "Hey, you're bleeding again."

          Sar's nostril was leaking a line of red. "Mmm, nosebleed," Sar murmured back casually, wiping the red on the back of her hands as she hopped on the balls of her feet. "Like I said."

          Steve looked like he was trying to figure it out—momentarily glancing back to see where Joey had gone. "You are something else, aren't you?" His expression fell into one of even more peculiarity. "But I don't get how—"

          "Here you go," said Joey, appearing with two compact handguns that looked dangerous in all the right ways. He slid some holsters onto the counter too. "You know how to use 'em?" When Sar and Steve nodded in unison, the man asked, "Any of you's a felon?"

          Sar blinked for a second, before offering him a wide grin. "Nope."

          "Great, they're all yours. That'll be $1,100."

          Steve looked at him blankly. "Pardon?"

          "The guns, holsters, ammo, that's $1,100." He rang it up on the register and waited expectantly.

          The Harrington boy reached for his pockets, in which was definitely not enough money to cover a grand, and so Sar rolled her eyes and pulled out her own wallet. In bills, she passed him the exact amount, and handed Steve his gun. "Thanks a lot," she told the cashier as she put her own in her holster and shoved it into the waistband of her jeans. She was still holding onto his mind a little, and did even as she dragged Steve out.

          Only when they got past the line of keychains did she let go, when Steve said, "Alright, how'd you do that?" He was fitting his own into its holster, but peered at her. "Like I said, Joey's stone-cold—and you somehow manage to convince him we were eighteen? And what student carries around $1,100?!"

          "Just 'cause you're broke, Stevie, doesn't mean I am," grinned Sar, as the two hopped out onto the street. She had a tiny skip in her step. Steve looked relatively disgruntled at the nickname, but Sar cut in again before he could tell her not to call him that. "And there are a lot of things you don't know about me."

          They fit surprisingly well into Hawkins as a pair—Sar didn't stick out like she'd expected to. Steve was pretty tall, and Sar was too, maybe an inch or so shorter than he was, but other than that they looked like any normal pair of Hawkins teens. Steve tucked his hands in his pockets, and Sar did the same in her coat. They passed by other loitering teens and families in the cold November air. Steve asked, "Still don't think going to the lab is a good idea?"

          One of her eyebrows raised at him. "Will you listen to me if I tell you the truth?"

          "Yeah, 'course." He turned towards her, slowing with his hands still tucked in the front pockets of his jeans.

          "Good, 'cause the answer is no." Steve's face fell a little. "Listen, what— what I've read about that place, it's bad news." The girl swallowed, twisting her fingers together. "They have, like, a bunch of lawsuits against them for allegedly kidnapping kids, and—"

          "Well that's what we need, isn't it?"

          Sar paused, her blue eyes blinking at him. "Huh?"

          "I mean," Steve rocked back on his heels, glancing at her, "we're looking for some missing kids. Wouldn't there be the first place to start?" Shit, shit, shit. She knew it was—she knew that screwed-up place was the first place she'd ever look for magically vanishing kids, and she knew they probably have them. But that meant... going back. "And come on, we're not really kids. We could fight them off, the two of us, yeah?"

          No, thought Sar. She hovered on her words uncertainly. Maybe they could, but she wasn't so sure if she'd be able to if it came down to it. She'd never been able to before. And that lab... that lab had messed her up. If only Steve knew the half of it. The night terrors, the phobias, the unbridled terror of being in scientist hands once again. And she wasn't sure if she trusted this boy well enough to know that he wouldn't just hand her over at the first sign of danger. Two days wasn't exactly long to get to know someone. Sar was visibly uneasy, her lips downturned and her brows pinched inwards. "Look, Steve, I don't know..."

          "Hey, Sar, it'll be fine. We'll just poke around the perimeter. If we find anything, we could take it to the police and the chief. Nothing dangerous." Her face looked miserable, all pouty and eyes all sad and afraid, and Steve gestured ahead gently to indicate they keep walking. "Plus, I play basketball. So, totally bodyguard material." It made her smile a little, despite the nervousness gnawing at her expression. God, she'd only known him for two days, but was he always this much of an endearing idiot?

          Sar went to follow, glancing around. Hawkins was strange. It was her first time downtown, but she felt such a strong sense of déjà vu that it was almost nauseating. Tucking her hands into her jeans, walking after Steve, her gaze turned to her right.

          Across the road there was an ice-cream parlour. Its exterior was painted a lovely shade of blue, and it had a striped awning stretched over the door. Painted on it, a cup of vanilla and strawberry ice-cream scoops. Sar just stopped and stared.

          "I want ice-cream!" She tugged on a man's hand as he laughed a little—a low, hearty sound. "Please, Dad?" It seemed like she wouldn't take no for an answer, pulling him closer to the shop, somehow, with her tiny strength. Her mother was at her side. The woman had blonde hair, teased and feathered out around her head. It was blowing in the wind. Sar couldn't recall their faces.

          She was jumping on her feet, ready to sprint across the road. "Careful, kiddo." Her father held her back, making sure she wouldn't dash out and be struck by oncoming traffic. Her mother held her other hand. Sar could remember their grips, warm and steady. When the motorists cleared, Mom tapped her arm with a smile, and Sar ran across. She dragged her father across by the hand—letting her pull him despite their vast differences in size and weight. Behind, her mother followed with laughter. Sar had the same laugh.

          She hopped up and down in front of the ice-cream parlour's glass door, waiting for her mother to reach the sidewalk. The moment she did with a fond laugh of, "You'll give your dad a run for his money, Sar," Sar was pulling her father inside the store. It was cool and had that ice-cream smell that Sar loved. The moment she stepped into the threshold, she let go of her father's strong hand and pressed herself up against the display glass, staring with heart-eyes at the array of different ice-cream flavours. There were so many. She looked back at her mother and father with a hopeful face.

          "How many can I have?" she gasped excitedly.

          Her father smiled and placed his hand on the top of her head. "You'll make yourself sick, kid." She shook her head stubbornly. He looked back at her mother, who sighed defeatedly in a light, playful way. Her arms were crossed.

          "You can have two scoops, only if your father and I get to have some bites." Her mother's voice was light and warm. Sar huffed and narrowed her eyes at the woman suspiciously—feeling like she was being conned. Then, she slowly nodded. "What flavours do you want, Sar?"

          "Hmm." Sar pressed her face against the glass, not very hygienically, eyes flicking between the different options. "Strawberry," she decided, turning back to look at her father with her left cheek squashed against the glass. "Both scoops." She pouted and her dad ruffled her short blonde hair. Her father paid for the ice-cream and in exchange she got handed the ice-cream cup, smiling toothily with glee. When her mom knelt down to steal a bite, she hugged Sar from the side. Warm, loving arms wrapped around her.

          For a second, she almost felt it.

          "Sar?" It was Steve's voice, breaking her out of whatever memory that was. She came back to herself almost immediately, starting, eyes wide. She hadn't realised she been standing frozen on the edge of the curb—just watching. And what... what was that? She'd had little memories, every now and then while living in Chicago: of a woman's voice, or of an old house, or sometimes racing through a field of grass at a height where she could barely see over the tall weeds. But she'd never remembered anything as vividly as that. That wasn't just a snippet. Steve was standing a few feet away from her, watching with a hint of worry. "You okay?" She glanced towards him and then back towards the ice-cream parlour. Something else lingered there on the edges of her memory. So, she'd... She'd been here before?

          "She gets all the energy from you, Diane," her father chuckled, as her mother kissed her on the forehead. Then, to Sar. "We love you, kid."

          Sar bit the inside of her cheek and turned back around to face him. "Yeah, I'm fine." He was still looking at her like that, and Sar didn't like it. Someone viewing her like she was a helpless thing to be fixed had never sat right with her. The memory still hung in the back of her head—like something on the tip of her tongue. Her eyes turned apprehensively to where the gun stuck out of Steve's waistband. "... You even know how to shoot that thing?"

          Steve held up the handgun loosely, fingers far away from the trigger. "Yeah, my father used to take me out to shooting ranges when I was a kid. I haven't done it in a while, but I used to have pretty good aim." He tucked it back into the purchased holster at his jeans. "Perfect against interdimensional monsters." Then, Steve shot a wink at her. "Plus, we might run into some evil scientists." That cold hand was back on Sar's throat, the invisible grip of fear, and with a stony face she nodded slowly at him. Apparently, she didn't find his playful joke that funny. 'Cause it's true, she thought to herself, but just rubbed her arms surely.

          "Okay," she gave in again.

          God, she was an idiot. It was all she thought when she got back into the car: I'm an idiot, I'm an idiot, I'm an idiot. She didn't want to go, and yet she did so badly. Because no kids deserved to be trapped in Hawkins Lab, and if she was Will and Barbara in there, how badly she'd want someone to break her out. Sar didn't know them, but she couldn't just leave them with Dr. Brenner and the rest. Sar swallowed, gripped the handgun in both of her fingers, squeezed it. She wished it was the tiger toy. No, she had to be brave. She had to be brave, because she was probably the only person in Hawkins who knew the truth about the national laboratory, and maybe she was the only person who could find those two kids.

          She had to.

༉*ೃ༄

𝐒𝐀𝐑 𝐃𝐈𝐃𝐍'𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 to get out of the car. She was starting to regret just about every single life decision she'd ever made up to this point. Far beyond the window, peeking through layers of trees, was the great walls of the infamous Hawkins National Laboratory. Lights shone from inside the windows. She sat, and stared, and let fear course through her veins.

          "You coming?" Shit, Sar, man-up, she thought to herself, taking a few breaths. It's just a laboratory and some ghosts of the past. You're stronger than anyone in there. It comforted her a little bit, and so Sar opened the car door and stepped out. She was holding the gun tightly. Its safety was on, but she still clung to it like a lifeline. There was like... an air here. It felt off, the atmosphere. As if a building itself could have an aura of evil. Sar hadn't been this close to the lab since the day she'd escaped.

          Sar's heart pounded wildly.

          And then told herself, you're fine, Sar, you're fine. You're stronger than they are. She told herself it, knew it deep down that she was probably right, but Sar was still terrified down to her bones. Steve noticed her apprehension, looked from her back to the line of the lab against the night sky. "You know, you don't need to be freaked out. Even if they do have the kids, and are connected to the monster, I'm sure we're not in any real danger." She really wished he'd stop saying stuff like that. "We'll just be in and out."

          Another shiver ricocheted down her spine. It made her feel frozen in her own skin. She'd always been way too scared to come back. And now...

          Sar pulled the new handgun out, made sure to load it. This time, she wasn't going to screw it up. So God help any monsters or scientists that crossed her. Her fingers were shaking. Steve retrieved his own, too. "Ready?" he asked her.

          Nodding steadily, she turned her blue eyes to him. "Ready."

༉*ೃ༄

NOTE FROM PRESENT: PLEASE don't criticise me for being wrong about the process for buying guns. i'm australian, not american. we don't have guns here full stop. and researching the process of purchasing a gun in the US is hard enough, let alone the process in the EIGHTIES. so, just, don't please! i get enough comments about it already

the way i used to upload 5 or 6 chapters a week for this story,, WHEW, current me could never

word count: 3,455

originally posted, 23.12.2017.

revised and rewritten, 10.11.2020.