Chapter Text
The room wasn't locked like it usually was, when Eleven carefully peeked her head through the little cracks, a space between the door and the wall that was only wide enough for a child's head to peek through without being too obvious. She wouldn't want Papa or anybody (especially Papa) to catch her do something she shouldn't: sneaking around.
The corridor seemed empty. Empty and lonely like it always was, even when Eleven was in line with the other kids at daytime. Go back now, the voices inside her little head almost sounded like Papa's. You shouldn't be wandering around when it's past your bedtime, Eleven.
She did the opposite. Eleven knew it was wrong, against the rules, to be sneaking around unsupervised like this. But something was different. Something felt wrong, and she couldn't pinpoint what it exactly was. The air just felt... wrong.
She only made it five steps forward, into the lonely hallway, when she heard it: a muffled scream, like the sound was blocked by a wall, a closed door, still it sounded close enough.
Turn around now, the voices said. Turn around before you get caught.
Eleven heard it again, the scream. She'd grown accustomed to pain, and to having experienced others get put through pain in her seven years of age, to know how to spot an agonizing scream when she heard one. She was never the brave kid, always avoided getting into trouble, even if trouble seemed to frequently find a way to get her, but Eleven couldn't turn around now. Not when someone was in need of help.
The sound came from a room to her left. She'd walked past the room for a hundred times and more, when Papa led her and the other kids to where they'd be practicing their abilities, that was what Papa called, and the door was always closed. It wasn't any different now, but there was a little window. And thankfully she was tall enough to see through the glass.
"Please, please!" The man cried, begged. Eleven saw him now, though she couldn't tell who it was just yet, just that he was a man, with his back facing her. There were two other men in front of him, the man who was kneeling -- held down -- on the floor, and in their hands electroshock weapons of sorts.
Eleven watched, in silence and in secret, as they shocked him, as his scream was abruptly cut short by excruciating pain, no doubt.
Though she remembered him, even just by the back of his head, not the man who was being tortured or the other two guards but the one -- the other one -- who was seemingly observing, supervising as it all happened: Papa.
The man, the poor man that'd by this point gone quiet, wasn't moving. And even though Eleven couldn't tell why, something in her chest ached. She never liked seeing someone get hurt.
She quickly hid behind the corner when the door then opened. The two guards manhandled the guy, now unconscious, dragging him away, down the long corridor. Papa followed. He looked her way for a second, and for a second Eleven thought she'd got caught, only that Papa seemed to fail to notice her when he, too, walked the other way.
Only when she was certain she wasn't being seen, did Eleven allow herself to look. That was when she saw him, that poor guy. She knew him. Peter Ballard. Eleven called him the friendly orderly, because he was the only one, besides Papa, who always helped her. The friendly orderly was kind, compared to the other guards who never once showed her a hint of a smile. And sometimes, Eleven feared the kindness, given to her by Peter, was the very reason he seemed to always get himself into trouble with Papa. Things were just... never this bad. Or, Eleven hadn't seen it got this bad.
She watched them drag him away. And she knew she, too, would get into trouble, had someone were to see her out here like this.
Eleven knew better. Papa taught her better.
But Peter was hurt, and she needed to know he was okay.
Instead of retreating to her room and pretending she didn't see anything, Eleven secretly followed.
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She always maintained a safe distance, making sure she was quiet. She watched, when they gracelessly dumped him in a room, a cell, to be precise. His cell.
Once or twice, Eleven caught herself thinking: if the guards, doctors and nurses in Hawkins lab were more prisoners than they were employees. But Papa wouldn't...
She could worry about that later, she supposed. After Papa and the other two guards walked away, before the metal door could close all the way in, Eleven caught her foot in there.
As quietly, she slipped the rest of her body inside, and let the door shut all the way in, after her. She'd never been here, inside Peter Ballard's cell, and obviously, she wasn't supposed to be in here.
But Peter... Eleven quickly dropped on her knees next to him. Peter was lying on his side on the ground, curling in on himself. And for a moment, Eleven had no idea what to do. She reached her hands out, but was too scared, too unsure to touch him. She was young, she'd never been in a situation like this: a situation where she was deliberately breaking the rules, and Papa wasn't here to tell her what to do.
She would've started panicking, hadn't a soft, painful groan from Peter kind of helped her got herself together, in some way, at least a little.
(Though Eleven couldn't tell, if Peter was aware of her presence here. He still seemed too out of it, like he was only half conscious, but was clearly in great pain.)
"Are you okay?" Eleven said, eventually, her voice shook. (She was aware, this was a stupid thing to ask, but she was... clueless as to what she should do, to help, to make it better for him.)
Peter was blinking. His eyes were unfocused, and it took him a while for his gaze to land on her. She thought... Eleven thought he didn't even know whether she was really here, or if she was a hallucination of sorts.
"Wha..." He slurred, eyes half closed. "What are you... doing here?"
"I... hold on," Eleven helped lift him off the ground. It was a struggle, yes, she was much, much smaller than him, but somehow she managed to get him to his bed, which was thankfully nearby.
(The cell wasn't big, just four while walls and a bed and that was it. It was similar to Eleven's own cell, and Eleven didn't know why she thought a guard -- an orderly -- like Peter would get some kind of a special treatment, a privilege, that'd give him a better place to sleep in.)
"You shouldn't be here," Peter said, as Eleven basically tucked him in, adjusting his head on the pillow.
"They were... hurting you." She said, voice small, like always. Papa was hurting you.
"Nothing new," Peter chuckled, then he started coughing, and then he couldn't stop, and it was clear he was hurt, so deeply hurt.
Eleven didn't know what to do. She looked around, trying to stay calm. There was a glass of water on the nightstand, the only piece of furniture other than the tiny bed, apparently. So she held the straw to his lips, gently lifting his head off the pillow to make sure he wouldn't choke, as he drunk the cold water down his throat. It helped, so that was a relief.
"Thank you," Peter said with a soft smile, after the glass was pulled away. His voice sounded better, and that, too, was a relief.
"Are you gonna be okay?" Eleven asked, and there was worries in her voice, genuine care, something that was rare in this place.
"I am now." Peter said, soothingly, reassuringly, because even though he was the one who was hurt, somehow, it was Eleven who needed the sense of comfort.
Eleven nodded. There were many questions in her head: why they were hurting Peter, though deep down, she guessed she might even know just why. Peter's friendship with her was most likely it. A guard wasn't supposed to have any kind of a friendship with any of the children here. Which meant she was, in some way, responsible for Peter's punishment.
"Hey," Peter's voice broke her out of her trance. "It's okay. I will be okay. You should get back to your room, before anyone finds out,"
The thing was, Eleven didn't want to leave. She wanted to stay and make sure he was okay, but she knew that was simply too risky. I will be okay, Peter had said, and it had to be enough a reassurance to get her through the night.
"Will I see you tomorrow?" She asked.
"Of course, you will." Peter promised, his hand rested lightly on her arm, comforting her. Somehow, even Papa couldn't give her this sense of safety, of trust.
Eleven nodded again, before she slowly backed away, before turning around. She needed to go back to her room now.
"Eleven," Peter called out, just before she reached the door.
Eleven turned around to look at him. Their eyes locked, and for a moment, no one said a word, until Peter broke the silence, "This place is not safe, but you know I will always protect you, right? No matter what, I will always protect you." He said.
Eleven wordlessly gave him another nod, then, after a moment's silence, she eventually walked out, quietly closing the door behind. And it was just Peter in his room. His cell.
I will always protect you, Peter had said, my little sister. That was a promise he made with himself, from now on.
And he would do anything to keep that promise.