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“Can you please put that photo back where you found it? I have a very delicate organization system in place.”

WHO: @calcunningham & chance WHERE: the cunningham residence WHEN: late night, immediately after the town hall/junk yard shenanigans

if chance hadn’t already been sold on the idea that there was something dark-sided and supernatural happening in hawkins, the ‘rabid’ dogs at the junkyard would’ve been confirmation. the group he’d been with all night had narrowly escaped getting mauled by the hounds and it was only once they had finally driven off in a rickety bus, towards safety, that chance loosened his grip on the gun he’d been clutching since they arrived at the junkyard.

the journey back to his house was a blur. he couldn’t remember where they parked the bus or how he and chrissy got back to his truck, but at some point in the dead of night, the two siblings made it home. chance’s plan had initially been to just collapse into bed the second he got back...but the sight of his cal and his ambulance in the driveway quickly altered those plans.

“yo,” chance greeted hoarsely, waiting for chrissy to enter the house before approaching cal who was doing god-knows-what inside the ambulance. without waiting for an invitation, chance hopped into the back of the vehicle himself and plopped into the seat that he figured was meant for an EMT or a relative of whatever patient was being tended to. “you’re up late,” he observed. cal looked as tired as chance felt (and looked, probably). he figured that meant that the excursion to hawkins’ lab had been almost as harrowing as dealing with the junkyard dogs. clearing his throat as he rubbed at the back of his neck which was definitely sore, he asked, “what happened at the lab?”