𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 : 3.9k

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𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐍'𝐒 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐃𝐒 𝐅𝐋𝐔𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐅 𝐀 𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐄 filtered into her consciousness. The sound drifted around within her mind, almost going undetected. However, the peacefulness as she lingered in the space between a dream and reality didn't last long before the familiarity of the ringing jolted her awake. The gasp that was ripped from Owen's lungs made her sound as if she had been held underwater for days on end. Her eyes blinked rapidly as her gaze darted about the complete darkness encasing her, now accompanied only by the sound of her own harsh breathing.

But in a strange way, Owen recognized the nothingness.

She had been here before – the night after dinner at Hollands'.

Her eyes dropped to her feet, wanting to see if this world beneath her was as she remembered. Owen swallowed thickly, seeing her Converse submerged in the same shallow pool of water. The water's surface carried no reflection, merely mirroring the darkness above it and around it. Experimentally, Owen waved her hand above the watery floor, desperately looking for any sign of permanence in her being. But despite every movement of her hand, the water remained one-dimensional, a sea of shadows looking back at her.

Unable to quell her curiosity, Owen sank closer to the water at her feet. Her hand stretched out slowly, timidly. Shaking fingers connected with the blackened water, causing small waves to ripple away from where she stood. But she needed to know where the water ended, how she was standing firmly on top of it. Owen pushed her hand even further into the water, submerging everything up to the bend of her elbow before realizing that there was no end. She pulled her hand back instantly, losing her ability to understand this world around her. As the cherry on top, when her hand was retrieved from the depths below, the usual shiny remnants of water upon her skin were not present.

But that didn't make sense; none of it did. If it were truly water that she was standing in, she would have been able to see her own reflection. If it were water, she wouldn't be able to stand upon the surface. If it were water, her arm would be soaking wet. Alarmed by what such a revelation would mean, Owen's eyes trailed along the ground, looking for anything to make sense of the situation.

But a single, deafening chime from a grandfather clock stole her attention, forcing her head to snap up. Looking away from the endless shadows beneath her, the same payphone from the last time she visited this place sat a few strides away. She slowly rose from her crouched position, standing at her full height once again to inspect the payphone. Distantly, Owen thought that it looked like it had always been there.

But it hadn't, and she knew that. She had even made sure to remain in the same spot this time, meaning that she would have seen the payphone the moment that she opened her eyes.

However, this time, the phone wasn't ringing impatiently at her like it had last time. Instead, the machine sat silently in front of her, as if they were each waiting for the other's next move. Owen's head cocked to the side, daring the phone to ring. She needed answers – answers about her past, about these dreams, about her nosebleeds, about the tunnels, about all of it. Except Owen didn't actually expect the knell of the payphone to begin so soon after she willed it to.

Still, not wishing to waste even a moment, Owen's feet carried her to the phone, cold fingers lifting the receiver to her ear.

Owen opened her mouth to speak, before being cut off by the same question the voice had asked her last time she was here. "Do you know who you are?"

Her jaw clenched as she heard that eerily familiar, rough voice make its way through the speaker. She pulled in a breath through her nose, eyes narrowing as she focused on the numbers lining the payphone's keypad. She refused to let that question send her into another spiral.

"Do you know who I am?" she returned, trying to keep her voice level.

"Oh, I do, Owen. I do," the voice said with a dry, taunting chuckle. The mocking lilt held delight in harboring such information out of Owen's grasp.

"How do you know me?" Owen fired back, ignoring the voice's question yet again. A lump formed in her throat as the voice disappeared momentarily. "I said, how do you know me?" she reiterated, her tone venomous. She had always thought that the silent treatment was for cowards, anyway.

"I'm not sure you've answered my question yet, Owen," the voice challenged, sounding both human and not all at once. The condescending curl in his words caused the hairs on the back of her neck to stand on end.

"I thought it was pretty clear that I have no idea who I am. But apparently, you do, so I'm really not sure why you keep asking me," Owen fumed, tilting the speaker closer to her lips so that each enunciated syllable made it to his end of the phone. "So, maybe you can give me some actual answers about some of the shit I've been going through."

"Would such answers be nearly as rewarding if you didn't have to seek them yourself?" the voice rebuked. But this just caused her lips to curl into a scowl, unhappy with such an answer.

"Yes," she snapped, bluntly. "This is my life we're talking about. If you know anything about me, then I deserve to know." Owen took the silence on the other end of the line as a chance to continue berating whoever she was talking to. "And besides, why the hell do you keep bringing me here if you aren't going to impart some actual wisdom?"

"In time, you will have all of your questions answered," the voice promised, tone teetering between forcibly calm and genuinely annoyed. "But for now, you must be patient, Owen."

Her fingers tightened around the plastic of the payphone's receiver, growing increasingly tired of every word leaving the other's mouth. She had hoped that this was a chance to get some answers – some actual answers. But all of that came crashing down upon itself in an instant, leaving her standing amongst the rubble of her own stupid optimism.

"I don't think you actually know me at all. I think you believe my life is some game that you can just toy around with whenever you want," Owen seethed, blinking back tears.

"I have so much planned for you. But for now, you must survive," the voice warned. Owen had had enough of the disembodied voice's rhetorical questions, nonexistent answers, and consistently degrading tone. She allowed a chilling silence to hang in the air as she intentionally funneled every ounce of built up anger into her last words.

"Oh really? You've got everything planned out for me?" she repeated, caustically. "You know, if you really knew me at all, you would know that I never appreciate being told what to do." And she almost left it at that. But instead, she looked around the dark corners of the void, wishing she could make sharp, deliberate eye contact with the voice's owner – but alas. "And just so you know, I've always fucking hated riddles," she gritted in finality, slamming the receiver back into place.

Then, as if the ground fell out from beneath her, Owen felt herself fly backwards, tumbling through the shadows. Her arms flailed wildly around her, blindly searching for anything within reach. Instead, her fingers just continued to card through the air billowing around her frame as her world fell through.

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The moment Owen reconnected with her body, it felt as if she had gotten the breath knocked out of her all over again. She almost thought that she had awoken in the void again with how dark it was inside the tunnels, but the sight of those damn particles drifting through her vision reminded her of where she was in the first place.

Owen bolted upright, panting heavily while her eyes darted around the tunnels in search of Hopper. She didn't see any signs of him, but she knew he wouldn't just leave her here. As Owen stood to her feet, the only thing she could remember were the distant sounds of his coughs when she first knocked out.

She knew that he had most likely been moving away from that awful growth on the wall of the tunnel that had spewed particles at them in the first place. And if he was anything like her, he couldn't have made it very far. With her recollected shovel in hand, Owen's unsteady feet carried her back through the tunnels, looking for any sign of Hopper along the way.

As expected, it didn't take long for her to locate the glow of his flashlight, the only illumination in the darkness of the tunnels. Thankfully, Hopper and his trusty hat were scattered just a short distance away from the flashlight. Although she was relieved, Owen's lips still twisted into a grimace at the sight of the chief face-down on the slimey vines covering the ground, dirt and grime caked onto his skin. Although, she wasn't sure that she looked any better.

Leaping over especially large vines to get to him, Owen reached down to take hold of Hopper's shoulder, abruptly shaking him awake. Just like she had when she came to, his eyes snapped open and he sucked in a sharp gasp, followed by wheezy puffs of air as he attempted to regulate his breathing.

"It's just me, it's just me," Owen soothed, lowering her face into his field of vision. She watched as Hopper's eyes flitted all around the tunnels, any context about his whereabouts likely having slipped from his mind in the time that they were unconscious. "I think we ingested some of those particles. I... don't know how long we've been out, but... we've gotta get out of here," she explained, hoping to anchor him to reality once more.

Hopper nodded as best he could against the vines pressed against his face. But then, much quicker than Owen thought was possible, he was flattening his palms against the earth beneath him and pressing upwards. With a grunt, he shakily lifted his upper body from the ground below. However, he didn't make it too far before he retched, throwing up a thick, dark liquid in the process. Owen stepped back, accidentally bumping against the wall behind her to thoroughly give him his space.

Hopper groaned loudly, the sound echoing throughout the tunnels, before he tried to spit the bitter taste out of his mouth. With a final push, he shoved himself off of the ground, only to be hunched over when he made it onto his feet. Owen swiftly bent to pick up his hat and flashlight from the ground with her free hand, but he snatched them both from her in an instant.

"Where..." Hopper panted, eyes fixed on the ceiling of the tunnel. "Where is the..."

He began to stumble down the passage, shining the flashlight upwards. His height even allowed him to reach his arm up, hand scraping against the vines that covered every inch of the space above them. Naturally, Owen followed closely behind him, even as his speed picked up and his eyes began to look crazed.

"The opening... it's..." she trailed off once they reached the end of the tunnel. Both of them stared upwards in total disbelief, the realization that they were stuck finally sinking in.

"Shit!" Hopper bellowed, spinning in every direction, just to make sure they had gone the right way. In the split second that he was facing her, Owen thought that she could see tears sitting at the edge of his eyes.

Oh god, this is bad. This is really, really bad.

Still, Owen studied Hopper's every move, hoping he would know what to do next. She watched as the cogs turned in his mind, weighing all of their options. What she didn't anticipate was the sight of him pulling a Swiss Army knife from one of his pockets, flipping it open in front of her eyes.

"We don't know what these particles are or how long we'll be down here. We'll need masks if we're gonna make it for any length of time," Hopper explained, already slicing into the sleeve of his uniform. The final words of the throaty voice in the back of her subconscious came flooding back to her: I have so much planned for you. But for now, you must survive. Owen's jaw tightened at the memory, watching Hopper as he tucked the flashlight between his teeth and tugged at the tear in the fabric.

He handed the knife to Owen, eyeing her as she glanced around her clothing for the best and easiest place to begin cutting out a makeshift mask. Without another thought, she pulled the edge of her olive green thermal taut and dug the blade through the material, sawing against the shirt's thick, waffle-knit.

Once the knife was back in Hopper's possession, Owen wrapped the fabric around her head, tying a poorly-done bow in the back to secure it around her face. Some of her auburn strands of hair must have gotten stuck in the knot, causing a tug against her scalp that made her wince. But Hopper was already moving deeper into the cavernous passage before she could fix it, forcing her to scamper along in order to keep up.

Just beyond the area in which they had knocked out, the road diverged into two separate tunnels, going in opposite directions. The chief sent a sideways look in Owen's direction, seeing if she had any input about their next move. She blinked between the two, nearly identical, pathways, trying to trust her gut about which seemed like the best option. Wordlessly, her finger lifted to point down the left tunnel, unable to ignore the intense feeling that arose within her when she peered in that direction. She wasn't sure if such a feeling was good or bad, but she would've felt foolish to disregard it.

Owen's eyes flickered to Hopper as she watched him pull out a pack of his usual cigarettes. "Are you serious, chief? Right now?" she gawped, brows furrowing at him. But his eyes rolled dramatically at the accusation as he reached into the small box, plucking out one of the smokes.

"You ever read Hansel and Gretel? With the trail of breadcrumbs?" he asked. Owen nodded, still looking at him with narrowed eyes. Raising the cigarette to her eye level, Hopper snapped the stick of tobacco in half. "Well, we're working with what we've got," he explained, dropping the stub at their feet.

"Hopper, you're a genius," she announced, hoping that the glint in her eye was visible with the light emanating from the flashlight. With a raspy chuckle and a shake of his head, Hopper turned away to carry on down the tunnel, dropping pieces of cigarette along the way.

With every step further into the growing system of tunnels, Owen couldn't shake the increasing feeling of unease that was rising within the pit of her stomach. Her hands had grown sweaty against the wooden handle of her shovel, her only instrument of battle in case something went wrong. But god, she really didn't want anything to go wrong. She was the one who had led them in this direction, after all. The last thing she wanted was to be the reason they walk straight into certain death.

"Does anybody copy?" Hopper all but shouted into his walkie talkie. Owen had to stop the audible sigh from escaping her lips. They were so far out of anyone's range at that point – not to mention an indiscernible distance beneath layers of soil. There was no way anyone was picking up his signals for help. "Look, if anybody copies, this is Jim Hopper, Hawkins' Chief-"

"Hopper, look."

The narrow tunnel had widened into a more expansive space, but nearly every inch of the ground beneath their feet was covered in bones. Well, mostly bones. Upon minutely closer inspection, some of the carcasses still had fur and dried blood adorning them, creating a wretched stench that could even permeate through their masks. Hopper reached his boot-clad foot out to poke at the remnants of an animal that still appeared to be breathing, both of them leaping back when the remains twitched violently.

Upon slamming his back against the wall of the tunnel, something seemed to catch Hopper's attention. He leaned closer, inspecting the vines as they slithered along, in what seemed to be an intentional, constant entanglement. Owen peered over his shoulder as the small flame from his lighter flickered into view, his hand easing it closer to the wall. He wasn't able to get too close before the vines screeched and hissed, slinking away from the blaze in his hand.

"Hold this," Hopper instructed, shoving his flashlight  into Owen's hands. She did as asked, but watched closely as the chief began to work through the possession of an idea. With a gut-wrenching crack, Hopper broke a thick bone off of one of the decaying skeletons. Owen's lip curled at the sound, flinching away as her stomach turned. Next, Hopper tugged off the button-up top of his beige uniform, firmly wrapping it around one end of the bone. Finally, he brought the lighter up, causing the fabric of his uniform to go up in flames at the end of the bone, bringing warm, orangey light to the tunnels.

Hopper wordlessly shoved the lighter into Owen's hands before he swung the homemade torch back towards the wall, prompting even louder shrieks from the vines as they contorted around the flame. Owen's eyes widened at the sight, amazed that Hopper had found a way to control some aspect of this environment they found themselves in.

"Here, hold this," he requested once more, drawing Owen's attention away from the vines as he held the torch towards her. Her eyebrows creased as she glanced down at the collection of items being tactfully balanced in her hands – a shovel, a lighter, and a flashlight.

"Goddamn, Hopper. You must think I've got a third arm or something," she muttered, deciding to settle her shovel on the ground for the time being. With a crinkled nose, Owen took the torch into her now-freed hand, holding it as close as possible to keep the vines at bay.

Hopper started digging into the exposed walls, tearing away at the once-protected, filmy layers. His hands scooped deeply against the slimy substance, allowing what he discarded to pile at their feet. At some point, the outer layer gave way to real dirt, dirt that caked underneath Hopper's fingernails as he dug away at it.

The more the chief burrowed into the Earth, the more soil crumbled at their feet. But despite the growing hill of dirt scooped away, it barely translated into any real progress out of the tunnel. Of course, this didn't stop Hopper, who continued dragging handfuls of soil out despite his rapidly declining energy.

When he finally came to a halt, breaths leaving him in heavy puffs, Owen honestly thought something was wrong. He had slumped into the rather shallow hole he created, pressing his weight against the tightly-packed Earth in front of him. Her eyebrows raised and pulled together as she leaned forward, poking his shoulder with the flashlight in her hand.

"Yeah, yeah. I just"—Hopper released a throaty cough—"I need a second, okay?"

"Oh, no rush. I just thought you might have passed out again. Or, like... died," she explained with a shrug. Pulling his head from their only prospective exit, Hopper cast an incredulous look over his shoulder, eyes narrowing in her direction. But something on the ground caught his attention before he could parlay some biting, sarcastic remark in response.

"You had a shovel this whole time?" he growled, gaze fiery even in the dark.

"Um... yeah?" Owen replied, sheepishly. "I thought you knew!"

Hopper's nostrils flared, his eyes drifting shut in an attempt to calm himself. "You thought that I just preferred to dig a hole with my bare hands?"

"Maybe?" Owen offered a lopsided smile with a shrug of her shoulders. She could admit, it sounded stupid out loud. But he had literally watched her set the shovel down to hold his goddamn makeshift torch.

Hopper's back slid as smoothly as possible down the wall of the tunnel, in need of even a second off of his feet. His head lolled back, grunts leaving his lips as he tried to settle in despite the ache in all of his limbs. He even let out a few of those signature old man coughs – the ones that make you flinch and wonder if this will be one of their last moments.

"Give me that," he panted, nodding towards the lighter clutched between her index and middle fingers. It was then that Owen noticed the resurgence of his pack of cigarettes. She firmly pressed her lips together before reluctantly extending the lighter towards the waiting stick of tobacco.

Before the two could connect, a tingle zipped up the back of her neck, dispersing like the fingers of a lightning bolt when it reached her skull. Her head whipped towards his feet, eyes widening as she saw one of the vines snaking around his ankle and up his calf.

"Oh shit... Hopper!" she choked out.

"Son of a bitch!"

As he scrambled to his feet, Owen tried to swing the torch as close to his feet as possible, hoping that any amount of heat would scare the freakish vines away. But the fear of literally setting him on fire caused her to fall short, allowing the vines to completely encase his legs. Hopper used the blade of his Swiss Army knife to slice through a few of the vines, but there were too many moving too quickly for him to overpower them. With a final thick vine wrapped around his torso, Hopper was slammed back onto the ground.

"Wait. Wait. No, no! No! No!" he gritted, trying to fight back with all of his might.

Suddenly remembering her instrument of war, Owen made an attempt to grab her shovel from the ground nearby. However, the sneaky fuckers had begun their ascent up her denim-clad legs, effectively tethering her to the floor. Her dark eyes narrowed on the shovel just out of reach, determination coursing through her body.

She needed that damn shovel – now.

Owen desperately tried to lift one of her feet off of the ground, forcing herself to pretend that she was just fighting against the toughest sidewalk gum of all time. But before long, the vines encircled her waist, crawling around her shoulders shortly after and flattening her to the ground. The torch and the flashlight fell at her feet, their light shining within her peripheral vision.

She released a garbled yell as the vines tightened around every square inch of her body. More than anything, Owen was angry with herself for being so totally unprepared. The tools for survival were just out of reach and it was all her fault.

Eventually, her eyes squeezed shut in an attempt to block out the sounds of Hopper's struggling beside her. Vaguely, she could hear one of the vines sizzle and hiss when it met the tears rolling down her cheeks.