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Eleven let out a whimper of discomfort. Her body was one big ache and, and she pressed her face into the fur of her stuffed lion, seeking relief. Now that she was away from the ruckus of her siblings and the workers, everything was more bearable, but only just. The lights above still seemed to sear her eyes, making her throbbing head feel like it was going to explode from the uncomfortable pressure. Her throat hurt, her nose hurt, and she couldn’t stop shivering though she was too hot, her skin clammy beneath the blanket.
“Eleven.”
Peter’s soft voice spoke somewhere above her, but she just curled tighter with a whine.
“Eleven.” A hand touched her shoulder, gentle but insistent. “Does it hurt?”
“Yes,” she mumbled against her lion.
“Where?”
“Everywhere…the light.”
Peter’s hand left her, and she heard his footsteps. That got her to raise her head, afraid he was going to leave her, but by the time she opened her eyes everything had gone dim. The overheard was off, the room’s light coming from the softer table lamp in the corner.
“Better?” Peter asked from his position by the light switch.
“Yes.” Eleven blinked dazedly, trying to adjust to the darker atmosphere as the pain behind her eyes began to diminish.
Peter returned to her bedside, crouching to her level. “I know you want me to stay, but I need to go get some medicine to help you feel better.”
Eleven eyed him worriedly, fidgeting with her stuffed animal. “Will you…be quick?”
“As quick as I can be.” Peter turned, pointing to the clock hanging on the wall. “Do you see where the longest hand is, between the six and the seven?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll be back before it reaches the nine.”
Eleven considered it for a moment. “Okay.”
“Brave girl.” Peter gave her shoulder a squeeze, and then he was leaving the room, the door swinging shut behind him.
Eleven waited, watching the long hand creep towards the nine. It was hard to focus, her body shivering no matter how much she tried to stop it, and every minute dragged by like an hour. Finally, when the hand was worryingly close to the nine, he returned, carrying a case.
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” he asked gently.
“No,” she mumbled.
Peter set the case down on the table next to her bed. “Can you sit up, just for a few minutes?”
Eleven wanted to complain, but Papa didn’t like complaining, so she pushed herself into a sitting position despite the tremendous effort it took. Peter gave her a thermometer to put beneath her tongue, which was a feeling she didn’t particularly care for, but she bore it quietly. After a few minutes had passed, Peter took the thermometer back.
“You definitely have a fever,” he said.
Eleven’s brow furrowed. “Bad?”
“It’s not dangerous, so you’ll be fine,” he promised.
Eleven nodded slightly as he passed her a pill. He had to help her get a drink of water, her hands too shaky to hold the glass on her own, but she managed to get the pill down.
“That should help with the fever and the pain,” Peter said. “You can rest now, if you want.”
Eleven needed no second bidding, sinking down against her pillow with a small, shaky sigh. Peter reached over, rearranging her blanket so it covered her more completely.
“I’ll stay for a while, but then I have to leave,” he said, brushing a cool hand across her forehead.
Eleven frowned, anxiety beginning to rear its head in her mind. “Why?”
“I have to, because it’s my job, ladybird. If I could, I would stay with you all day, but I’ll make sure someone comes to check on you. I’ll be back this evening.”
Eleven’s gaze drifted to the clock. “When?”
Peter understood what she was asking. “When the smallest hand reaches seven.”
“Seven,” she echoed, trying to hide her disappointment. The smallest hand moved the slowest.
“Just try to rest. I’ll be back before you know it.”
The combination of the gentle rhythm of Peter’s thumb running across her head and the medicine made Eleven’s eyelids feel like lead. Part of her wanted to stay awake, but giving into sleep seemed far better than feeling bad. She let her eyes fall shut as she was carried away to peaceful oblivion.
“You’ll be okay, ladybird.” Peter watched with quiet relief as her body relaxed and she fell asleep. That would at least be a brief reprieve from the sickness, he hoped, and help her recover faster. He remained a little while longer, just to make sure she didn’t wake up, before making a hushed exit. As much as he didn’t want to, he would have to tell Brenner to keep them both out of trouble.
Eleven woke up to the sound of her door opening, and Peter was gone. A nurse came in, followed by Papa, who gave her a reassuring smile.
“I understand you’re not feeling well, Eleven,” he said.
“Yes,” she replied, her voice thick with sleep. As much as she liked seeing Papa, she wanted to rest. Her body still felt too hot, her sheets sticking to her skin, and her head throbbed with an unpleasant pressure.
“Don’t worry. In a couple of days, you’ll feel better, and you’ll be stronger than before.”
Eleven certainly didn’t feel strong. The nurse made her sit up to take her temperature and blood pressure, which only made her feel worse. She glanced at the clock, and saw with great disappointment that the smallest hand was only at two.
The nurse seemed to take forever, doing things Eleven had gone through so many times before, but she tried to be patient. She was given a glass of water and another pill, and a couple of biscuits to eat. Swallowing hurt and she didn’t feel hungry, but she ate obediently, and the nurse finally started packing up her first aid kit.
“You’re doing very well, Eleven,” Papa said. “You don’t need to worry about tests until you get better.”
Relieved, Eleven nodded, feeling lightheaded as she moved to lie down, even more tired than before. Papa did not rearrange her blanket or stay until she had fallen asleep, but she was too exhausted to care. As the door shut behind him and the room fell quiet, she drifted off once more.
But this time, her sleep was not undisturbed.
It was dark. Eleven normally didn’t like the dark. She didn’t like not being able to see, and something about it made her feel scared. But this dark was different. She somehow knew that it was empty, and there was nothing scary in it. She felt in control.
She took a step forward, not sure if she was still asleep. It didn’t feel like a dream, but this wasn’t her room anymore. A spot of color against the dark caught her eye, and excitement bubbled in her when she saw it was Peter standing in the distance, his white clothes standing out brightly.
“Peter?” She spoke aloud, but he did not seem to hear her. He was moving, as though he were in the middle of doing something, but she could not see the objects he was working with. Curious, she walked closer, and she became acutely aware of the feeling of Good and Safe coming from him. She always felt it around him, but now it seemed stronger than ever.
She tried calling his name a few more times, but he still did not reply. Perturbed, she closed the distance between them. Even if he couldn’t hear her, she still wanted to be with him.
As she got close to him, something changed, making her stop in her tracks. It was barely there at first, a ripple beneath the Good, and it was new. Now more curious than ever, she focused on the feeling, digging for it like she searched for her favorite crayon in the box. She chased it with her mind, the Good beginning to fade into the background, and she reached out, unconsciously trying to take hold of it.
The feeling surged up, startling Eleven and breaking her concentration. Now it seemed to be all around her, pressing in like too many people, and her heart started to pound as she realized this feeling was not Good. It didn’t feel nice, and it may have even been…
“Bad,” she whispered shakily.
A shape began to form out of the darkness. Eleven watched as it hovered near Peter like some funny cloud as he remained unaware. The cloud started to grow things like legs, long and thin, and there were more than she could count. Something like a misshapen head took form atop the legs, and the only thing she could think of was the spider in one of the picture books she had read.
A cold, awful feeling prickled at the back of her neck, and her stomach lurched with fear as the long legs moved in Peter’s direction. Now the feeling was pushing down on her, making her feel frozen, and it seemed to come from the not-spider.
“Stop!” she cried as the legs grew near to Peter. Now she knew for certain that the feeling was Bad, and so was the not-spider. She had never felt more afraid, and it did not stop, reaching towards her friend.
“Don’t!” She tried to make her feet move, to get to Peter before the not-spider did, because something very bad was going to happen if it touched him. All the Good was gone, replaced by cold, horrible Bad. “Stop! Bad!”
“Eleven?”
She came flying back into the waking world with upsetting suddenness and a tremendous jerk. Her head buzzed, her throat sore and prickly, and she was crying. The not-spider had gotten Peter, she was sure of it, and a frightened cry burst from her mouth.
“Eleven?” Hands took her by the shoulders as she tried to sit up, steadying her. “What’s wrong?”
Eleven went still as her mind finally caught up with her body. She was in her room, on her bed, her sheets twisted around her legs. Peter was in front of her, his expression worried, and there was no Bad feeling or not-spider anymore. But despite the safety and familiarity, she started weeping in earnest, too frightened to answer Peter’s question.
Peter was saddened but not surprised when she broke down. He had found her crying out in her sleep, tossing restlessly and drenched in sweat, likely from a fever-induced nightmare. Freeing her from her entanglement in her sheets, he lifted her into his arms. Heat radiated from her body, but she quivered like she was freezing, both from weeping and from sickness.
“Was it a bad dream?” he murmured, holding her close.
“Bad,” Eleven sobbed against his shoulder, “bad…”
“It was just a dream. You’re safe now.” Peter tried hard to keep his voice light, though he had never seen her in such distress before. He briefly considered taking her to the infirmary, but decided that might make matters worse for her.
Eleven held onto him so tightly her fingers started to hurt. She was safe, and so was he. There was no Bad now, only the Good she knew, but she still didn’t want to let go of him. What she had seen hung heavy in her mind, and she feared that if she let go he would be taken away by the Bad.
In an attempt to calm her, Peter did his best to call to mind one of the songs he remembered from his childhood, murmuring the words in what he hoped was a soothing melody. “Though things may look very dark, your dream is not in vain…for when do you find the rainbow? Only after rain…”
Slowly, Eleven began to relax, her body coming down from the high of such stark terror. Peter’s voice rumbled pleasantly through her head, though that did little to banish the malaise that she was becoming aware of once more as the shades of the nightmare began to dissipate. She sniffed and swallowed, letting out a whimper as her throat burned in response.
“Here.” Peter ended his song, reaching out to the forgotten tray of food he had brought for the glass of water. “This might help you feel better.”
Eleven took the water, and though it hurt to drink at first, it soothed the pain in her throat and the heat in her body. She realized just how thirsty she was, and would have drank the whole glass in one breath if Peter hadn’t stopped her.
“Easy,” he said, pulling the glass away from her slightly. “You might choke yourself.”
Eleven frowned but obeyed, sipping at the rest with more control.
“You can tell me what you saw,” Peter said softly. “Sometimes telling someone else makes things less frightening.”
Eleven hesitated, trying to come up with the words. “You were there.”
“I was?”
Eleven nodded. “There was something else, and it was cold, and it was going to take you away.”
Her description stirred something in the depths of Peter’s muddled memories from his life before the lab. It was a memory of a cold shadow composed of mist and dread, and it had hunted him, chasing him across waking and sleeping until…until. He wasn’t sure if it had ever caught him, but trying to remember sent a chill crawling up the back of his neck.
“I tried to make it go away,” Eleven continued, her voice catching, “but I couldn’t, and it was going to…to…”
“It’s okay,” Peter murmured, pushing the odd half-memories out of his mind. “It was just a dream. You know how I know that?”
Eleven shook her head, her eyes wide and shining.
“Because I’m not going anywhere, and nothing is going to take me away.” He couldn’t leave despite the fact that he wanted to, but he spoke truthfully. If he made it out of the lab one day, he was going to take Eleven with him. “I’m staying with you.”
“Staying,” Eleven echoed thoughtfully, her fear fading a little.
“Sometimes when your body gets sick, it does things to your mind too,” Peter went on. “That’s why you had such a bad dream, because your mind is dealing with your body being sick.”
“Will I…dream again?”
“I’m not sure,” he murmured. “I’m sorry.”
Eleven furrowed her brow, regarding her bed with new hesitancy. Rest didn’t seem so nice now, not if it mind send her back to that scary dream.
Peter could tell where her thoughts were going, her emotions written plainly across her little face. “Even if you do, I’ll be here. Your Papa said I could stay and look after you while you’re sick.”
Eleven looked up at him in surprise. “He did?”
“Yes, he did.” Brenner’s manipulative intent behind Peter’s endearment to her was completely lost on her, but he couldn’t help a smile at her guileless surprise. “Does that make you feel better?”
“Yes.” She answered with no hesitation.
“How about we get you a change of clothes and some fresh sheets?”
“Yes,” she said after a moment of consideration. She still felt tired and achy, but the terror of the dream was beginning to diminish into just that, a dream. Peter was with her, and everything would be okay.
Eleven did feel far better after getting clothes and sheets that were not drenched in sweat. Peter took her temperature again, and told her it was lower by a bit, which was good. She didn’t want to go back to sleep for a while, and he let her stay awake later than she ever had been before. The smallest hand on the clock passed eight, then nine. He brought food for both of them, and they ate together. It was a funny experience to her; she had never eaten with anyone but her brothers and sisters, and she tried her best to emulate the way he held his utensils to varying success.
After that, she still wasn’t ready to sleep yet, so he told her a story about a boy who tried to climb a tall tree and broke his arm. It was a simple tale, but she was enraptured by it. She had never seen a tree tall enough to climb, nor had she realized that she could break a bone doing it. He didn’t say it, and she didn’t ask, but she quietly wondered if the story was about him. As he spoke, he seemed a little sad, but she didn’t say anything. Papa didn’t like it when she asked too many questions, so Peter might not like it either.
At some point, she drifted off, but she felt completely at ease with Peter there with her, and she slept undisturbed. She woke up briefly, expecting to be alone in her room once more, but found she was not. Peter was still there, but now he was asleep too, seated in a chair in the corner with his legs stretched out and his head leaned back against the wall.
Eleven just looked at him for a while. She had never seen him—or anyone else, for that matter—sleeping before, and he seemed so peaceful. She felt like she was seeing something special, something secret, and she felt almost happy despite her discomfort.
She fell asleep again, and the next time she woke up, it was to Papa and the nurse. Peter was gone, but she didn’t feel worried this time. He would come back.
She endured the nurse’s poking and prodding, and Papa told her how well she was doing. The nurse said her fever was down, and she felt better than the day before, anyway. Her throat wasn’t as sore and she didn’t feel as hot and uncomfortable.
The nurse took her to the bathroom to take a shower, which she normally didn’t care about, but this time it felt nice to get clean. On the way back, they crossed paths with Peter, and she broke away from the nurse to run to him, grabbing his leg.
“I was just on my way to your room,” he said, running a hand over her head. “How do you feel?”
“Better,” she said.
“I can tell.”
Peter brought her some things from the Rainbow Room to keep her entertained now that she had more energy, which made her happy, but he also brought her food, and she was not thrilled at the choice. She had never liked oatmeal, and though she had been forced to choke it down before, she felt like she could voice her objection to Peter.
“Not hungry,” she told him, though she just wasn’t hungry for oatmeal.
“You have to eat something, ladybird, and you won’t risk upsetting your stomach.”
Eleven shook her head. “Not hungry.”
“Just five bites, please? I know you can do that.”
Eleven just shook her head again, remaining steadfast.
Peter stood there for a second, and an expression she was unfamiliar with flickered across his face, something almost devious. “I suppose I’ll have to keep this candy for myself, then.”
A gasp of utter betrayal flew from Eleven’s mouth as she dove for the bowl. As she angrily stuffed a spoonful into her mouth, she heard a small huff of laughter, and she turned a withering glare on him.
“Mean,” she grumped.
“I’m sorry, ladybird, but I can’t have you starving to death.” Peter’s smile did not fade as he reached into his pocket, pulling out the promised candy. “I won’t bring oatmeal next time, okay?”
Eleven tried very hard to maintain her irritation, but gave up shortly, accepting the candy. “Okay.”
Over the next couple of days, Eleven’s health continued to approve. She had no more nightmares, and Peter did his best to make her recuperation less boring. Papa came to see her every day, and he told her she would soon be rejoining her brothers and sisters.
“What should I draw?” she asked Peter one day. She felt mostly fine now, save for the lingering scratchiness in her throat, and she had been struck with the desire to use the paper and crayons Peter had brought to her
Peter gave her a small shrug of his shoulders in answer. “You can draw whatever you like.”
Eleven blinked, turning the notion over in her mind. Typically, Papa told her to draw something like a triangle with her eyes closed, using her mind. She rarely had the freedom to choose. After considering the matter, she made her decision and got to work, approaching her idea seriously. It took her some time, and she did her best not to write any letters backwards, but she wasn’t sure if she had done it right. Nevertheless, she finished the piece, and held it out to Peter hesitantly.
Peter took the paper, not knowing what to expect, and he couldn’t stop the smile that appeared on his face. It was a drawing of him, albeit a crude stick-figure version of him, but she had drawn his eyes in blue and his hair as a yellow scrawl. She had written his name in the corner (the R was backwards, but he would correct her later).
“This is the best drawing I’ve ever seen of myself,” he said earnestly. It was the only drawing, really, but she didn’t know that.
Eleven eyed him skeptically. Sometimes, her older brothers and sisters laughed at her drawings in a bad way, and she couldn’t tell if he was too. “…Lying?”
“No, I’m not lying,” Peter said, trying not to feel offended by her doubt. “Thank you for drawing me.”
“You…are welcome,” she replied, because that was good manners. When Peter tried to return the drawing, she shook her head. “For you.”
She was going to be the death of him, Peter knew. It amazed him that she could be so kind, when all she had ever known was life in the lab, and he hoped, perhaps in vain, that she would never become jaded.
“Thank you, ladybird,” he said. “I’ll keep it.”
She smiled, a rare sight, and that alone made the long nights he had spent awake for her worth it.
The RV bumped and rattled loudly as Steve drove it down the gravel road towards Hopper’s old house. Where he had gotten the RV, Eleven didn’t know, but she didn’t ask. All her attention was focused on the man sitting on the couch beside her. Peter was bedraggled, covered in the filth of the Upside Down, but he was alive.
Eleven didn’t want to take her eyes off of him, lest he disappear in some sick twist of fate. The others were looking at him too, but more out of curiosity and apprehension than outright concern. Mike especially seemed wary, and it had taken a great deal of arguing and cajoling for him to give them some space. Peter had been distrustful of them all at first, but she had convinced him to get in the RV. He was barely lucid enough to stand on his own two feet, anyway.
“Are you sure we shouldn’t take him to a doctor or something?” Steve asked, glancing at the pair in the rearview mirror.
“No doctors.” Peter and Eleven answered in unison, equally forceful.
Steve raised a hand in surrender. “Alright, fine.”
The RV rumbled raucously over another pothole, and Eleven reached out, placing a steadying hand on Peter’s arm. She wasn’t sure if it was the years of being in the Upside Down, or if she had just gotten bigger, but he seemed smaller.
She stretched out a hand, grabbing Dustin’s backpack with her mind and ignoring his protests as she dragged it to herself. Once it was at her feet, she rifled through it until she came up with a granola bar of some sort, and held it out to Peter.
“What’s that?” he asked with a frown.
“Food,” she said.
“I’m not hungry.”
“When was the last time you ate something?”
Peter was quiet for a moment before answering softly, “The day I tried to free you.”
“Seven years ago,” she said, emphasizing each word. “You should at least try.”
Peter gave her a look that she now remembered clearly, exasperation and fondness rolled into one.
“Just five bites, please?” she asked, the entreaty springing from a half-memory of a time long ago. “I know you can do that.”
A slow smile appeared on Peter’s face, and she knew he remembered too. “I never thought you would ever use my own tactics against me.”
“And I never thought I would see you again. Please, eat a bit.”
“Alright, ladybird.” He took the granola bar, working at removing the wrapper. The movement sent something fluttering from his dirtied clothes down to his lap, and Eleven grabbed at it, thinking it was a piece of Upside Down refuse, only to discover something else entirely. It was the torn remnant of a drawing, a stick figure done in a child’s inexpert hand, and only then did she remember that entire stretch of sickness where he had sat alongside her.
“You…kept this?” she asked, holding up the scrap for him to see.
Recognition lit up Peter’s eyes above a melancholy smile. “Of course I did.”
“You had it…that day.”
“Yes. I was sure I would never see you again.” He looked down at his lap. “That’s what almost happened anyway, but not in the way I intended.”
“It’s not your fault.” She thought she had cried herself dry already, but a fresh wave of tears blurred her vision as more memories trickled back, moments of warmth interspersed through the hardship that her mind had forgotten but her heart never had. “I sent you away.”
“I don’t remember, but I know I didn’t give you a choice.” Even now, after so much, he reached out instinctively to comfort her.
“You’re staying this time.” Eleven took his hand, and she could feel him, his mind, his Good like she had before, only it was magnified tenfold by the powers no longer rendered dormant. “You’re staying.”
It was odd to Peter now, how the roles had been reversed. She was the strong one, and he weaker, but she still wanted him to stay no matter the change. It heartened him, easing the guilt of what had happened seven years ago, to see her care for him, as he loved her not an ounce less than that last day in Hawkins Lab, the little sister who gave him a purpose.
“I’m staying,” he said, squeezing her hand, and her smile was all the sweeter to see.