Chapter 14: Joyce's Offer
POV: Adam
Three days post-Barb, and Adam hasn't returned to St. Mary's—can't face Sister Catherine's kindness after his failure, can't pretend to be the grateful orphan when he's really a broken god who couldn't save one teenage girl from a monster he knew was coming.
Instead, he's been living rough, sleeping in an abandoned Buick behind Melvald's while Scout recovers from wounds that refuse to heal properly. The creature's loyalty remains absolute despite the disaster Adam led them into, but his movements are slower now, more careful, and sometimes Adam catches him flinching at shadows that shouldn't frighten an Upside Down native.
I broke him. I broke my first real friend trying to play hero.
The guilt sits in his chest like a tumor, growing larger with each passing hour. His system continues to provide updates and tactical assessments, but the notifications feel hollow now, stripped of meaning by the certainty that power and knowledge mean nothing if you're too incompetent to use them effectively.
[SUBJECT STATUS: MALNOURISHED]
[EMOTIONAL STATE: SEVERE DEPRESSION]
[SCOUT RECOVERY: 65% COMPLETE]
[RECOMMENDED ACTION: SEEK SUPPORT STRUCTURE]
Support structure. Like anyone would want to support a failure like me.
November rain drums against the Buick's rusted roof with the persistence of judgment, each drop carrying the weight of accusations he can't answer. Through the cracked windshield, Adam watches Melvald's customers come and go, ordinary people living ordinary lives untroubled by the knowledge that monsters hunt in the spaces between heartbeats.
They don't know how lucky they are.
He's been surviving on stolen snacks and rainwater collected in discarded soda bottles, too ashamed to return to the orphanage where Sister Catherine probably paces the floors with worry. Every few hours, Scout limps off to hunt small prey in the woods, sharing his kills with the dedication of a creature who refuses to let his pack leader starve even after leading them both into disaster.
Even he's more loyal than I deserve.
That's when Joyce Byers' voice cuts through the rain and self-pity like a blade made of concern.
"Sweet Jesus. Child, what are you doing out here?"
Adam looks up to see her standing beside the Buick's driver-side window, rain plastering her hair to her skull and worry etched into every line of her face. She's clutching grocery bags against her chest like armor, but her eyes are fixed on him with the laser intensity of a mother who's found something that needs protecting.
She recognizes me. The orphan boy from the store.
"I'm okay," Adam lies, his voice coming out cracked and raw from disuse. "Just... needed some space."
Joyce sets her groceries on the Buick's hood and yanks open the door with the kind of authority that doesn't accept refusal. "Space? Honey, you're burning up with fever and you look like you haven't eaten in days. Come on."
Before Adam can protest, she's bundling him out of the car with gentle efficiency, her hands warm against his chilled skin. The movement disturbs Scout, who emerges from the shadows with hackles raised and flower-face petals unfurling in protective threat display.
Joyce freezes, staring at the creature with wide eyes that should be filled with terror but somehow aren't.
"It's okay," Adam says quickly, sending calming thoughts through the bond. "He's... he's mine. He won't hurt you."
Please don't scream. Please don't call the police. Please don't make this worse than it already is.
But Joyce just nods slowly, as if telepathically controlled monsters are just another Tuesday in her increasingly complicated life.
"Can he ride in the car? Because we're getting you both someplace warm."
She's not afraid. How is she not afraid?
The drive to the Byers house passes in feverish blur, Adam drifting in and out of delirium while Scout curls protectively in the backseat and Joyce provides a steady stream of reassuring chatter that sounds like maternal instinct made audible.
"Sister Catherine's been worried sick about you. Called the police, organized search parties. We all thought..." She trails off, unable to finish the thought that ends with a twelve-year-old boy found dead in some forgotten corner of the world.
Will's alive, Adam wants to tell her. I promise you he's alive. I can feel him fighting to survive in a place that exists between the spaces of reality, and every day he stays strong is another day you have to find him.
Instead, what comes out is: "Will's alive. I promise. I can feel him."
Joyce's hands tighten on the steering wheel, her knuckles white with the effort of not breaking down completely. "How can you... how do you know that?"
Because I've seen the episode where you and Hopper rescue him from the Upside Down. Because I know exactly where he is and what's been done to him and how much time you have left before the damage becomes irreversible.
"I just do," Adam whispers. "Real love doesn't break, even across impossible distances. He can feel you looking for him."
Tears start streaming down Joyce's face, but her expression hardens into something that might be hope made flesh. "You're right. You're absolutely right. He's out there, and I'm going to find him."
The Byers house smells like coffee and determination, worn furniture and the kind of love that doesn't require wealth to feel rich. Joyce settles Adam on the living room couch with blankets and hot soup while Scout positions himself near the door like a furry sentinel, still alert for threats despite his injuries.
That's when Hopper arrives, filling the doorway with the weary authority of a man who's seen too much and believes too little.
"Heard you found our missing orphan," he says, his cop's eyes taking in every detail of Adam's appearance—the fever, the malnourishment, the way Scout tenses at his presence. "Convenient timing, considering what else has been happening around town."
He suspects. Of course he suspects. I keep showing up at exactly the wrong moments with exactly the wrong knowledge.
"Kid appears right when weird stuff happens?" Hopper continues, his voice carrying the kind of suspicion that comes from decades of connecting dots that most people prefer to ignore. "Missing boys, strange animal attacks, government cover-ups. That's not coincidence."
"He's a child, Jim," Joyce says with fierce protectiveness that makes Adam's chest tight. "A scared, alone child who needs help."
She's defending me. Someone is actually choosing my side over reasonable suspicion.
Hopper notices the way Adam flinches when he raises his voice, recognizes the involuntary responses that come from a childhood spent dodging adult violence. His expression softens slightly, cop instincts warring with basic human decency.
"Look, kid," he says, settling into the chair across from the couch. "I've seen enough missing children to know the signs of someone running from something bad. You want to tell me what you're really running from?"
Government scientists who turned me into a weapon. Interdimensional monsters that hunt human children for sport. The knowledge that everyone I care about is going to suffer unless I can figure out how to be the hero this story needs.
"Bad men," Adam says instead, borrowing Eleven's phrase because it's true enough to feel honest. "They hurt me. Did things to me. I can't go back."
Hopper's jaw tightens. "What kind of things?"
Experiments. Torture disguised as research. The casual cruelty of adults who see children as laboratory equipment rather than human beings.
"I don't remember," Adam lies. "I just know I can't let them find me."
It's Joyce who makes the decision that changes everything, her maternal instincts overriding every reasonable objection.
"He's staying here," she says with the kind of finality that admits no argument. "At least temporarily. I'll call Sister Catherine about fostering paperwork."
Hopper stares at her like she's suggested adopting a wild tiger. "Joyce, you don't know anything about this kid. What if he's dangerous? What if he's involved in whatever happened to Will?"
"Look at him, Jim," Joyce says, gesturing toward Adam's fever-flushed face and the way Scout curls protectively around his feet. "Does he look dangerous to you? He's a baby. A hurt, scared baby who needs someone to take care of him."
She sees what she wants to see. The traumatized orphan instead of the monster in human skin.
But Hopper watches the interaction between Adam and Scout—the wordless communication, the way the creature responds to his unspoken commands—and his expression grows thoughtful.
"That thing with you," he says carefully. "It's not exactly a normal pet, is it?"
Here it comes. The moment where everything falls apart.
"He's mine," Adam says simply. "He protects me. I protect him. We're... family."
The word hangs in the air like a bridge between worlds, carrying more truth than Adam intended to reveal. Because that's what Scout is, isn't it? Not just a tamed creature or a strategic asset, but the first real family Adam's had since waking up in this impossible life.
Hopper nods slowly, some internal calculation reaching a conclusion that doesn't quite show on his face. "Family. Yeah, I can understand that."
He's going to let this slide. Somehow, impossibly, he's going to let this slide.
"But," Hopper continues, his voice carrying the weight of compromise, "if anything weird happens—anything at all—you call me immediately. Deal?"
"Deal," Adam agrees, meaning it more than Hopper could possibly know.
[JOYCE BYERS RELATIONSHIP: MATERNAL PROTECTION (55%)]
[HOPPER RELATIONSHIP: WARY CONCERN (20%)]
[QUEST PROGRESS: FOUND FAMILY (40% COMPLETE)]
[SAFE HOUSE LOCATION: UNLOCKED]
[EXPERIENCE GAINED: +800 XP]
That night, Adam sleeps in Will's bed, surrounded by drawings and toys that speak of a childhood cut short by forces beyond any child's ability to comprehend. Scout curls on the floor beside him, the creature's steady breathing a lullaby that speaks of loyalty beyond species, beyond reason.
This is what safety feels like, Adam thinks as sleep claims him. This is what it means to be chosen, protected, wanted.
He dreams of the Upside Down, of Barb's terrified face and his own complete failure to save her. But when he wakes crying, Joyce is there instantly, holding him against her shoulder while she whispers promises that everything will be okay.
And for the first time since transmigrating into this borrowed life, Adam believes it might actually be true.
I failed to save Barb. But maybe that's not the only measure of whether I deserve to be saved.
Outside the window, Scout maintains his vigilant watch, and in the distance, something vast and patient stirs toward wakefulness in the spaces between dimensions.
But tonight, Adam is safe. Tonight, he has family.
And that has to be enough.
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