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“Don’t jump on the bed, ladybird.”
Eleven’s face dropped into a frown. “Why?”
“Because it’s against the rules,” Peter returned calmly.
“Why?”
“Because you could hit your head, and hurt yourself.” Peter sighed as Eleven’s frown turned into a small pout. The camera in the corner of the room bored into his head as he gently caught her under her arms, setting her on the floor.
He had come to understand over time and experience that children possessed large amounts of energy that could be quickly burnt off, and Eleven was no exception. Normally, Brenner’s tests kept a lid on Eleven’s energy levels, leaving her with just enough to play quietly and obediently, just the way the doctor liked it. But sometimes, as with all children, she had little bursts of activity that came in tandem with rebellion against the strict rules of the lab.
It was these moments that Peter dreaded. It was normal for a child to want to run, to be loud and wild and stubborn, and part of him was glad that tendency remained in Eleven. But Brenner did not like things he could not control, which likely included the innate curiosity and liveliness of young children, and Peter feared that Eleven would one day suffer for her little acts of rebellion.
If it were up to him, he would let her do whatever she wanted as long as it wasn’t dangerous. He would gladly encourage the little hop-skip that told him she wanted desperately to run down the hallway just because it was long. He would even race her to let her give into the need to run (and let her win). Maybe, he would let her jump on the bed, just because she had been deprived of such small but impactful joys.
But here in the lab, their every move was watched, so he watched Eleven in turn to make sure she never overstepped some boundary that would land her in trouble. She was not perfect, and he did not expect her to be, but Brenner’s version of correction went far beyond a scolding. He bore the scars to prove that himself, and he never wanted Eleven to experience that herself, so he watched her like a hawk and devised ways to satisfy her outpourings of childish want.
It was exhausting, more often than not. Every day, he dreaded that Eleven might do something that would incur consequences he could not protect her from. The cameras burned against his skin like the tasers he was familiar with, and Eleven’s blissful unawareness of them remained a double-edged sword.
“Remember what I said?” Peter crouched a little to put himself closer to Eleven’s level. “If I say no to something, it’s because it’s…”
“…bad.” Eleven finished, fiddling with the hem of her sweatshirt. “Not good.”
“That’s right, and I wouldn’t want you to do something bad.”
The crestfallen look on her face was unreasonably disheartening to him. It wasn’t even petulance like he sometimes saw in her. It was just the sadness of many squandered desires. She should’ve been out on some playground somewhere, screaming her head off and getting dirty, and that was likely what she wanted, even if she wasn’t aware of it. To play for no other reason than to play, to move unhindered by orderlies and guards, to not think about tests and practice.
“Cheer up, ladybird.” He wiggled his fingers under her chin, earning a giggle. “How about I figure out something better for us to do together, hm?”
“Yes.” She gave him a little smile, and he hoped he would be able to keep it safe.
The sunrise wasn’t anything terribly impressive, merely milky grey light taking hold of the sky before the flaming rays of the sun appeared above the horizon, but Peter watched it nonetheless. He would never take the sunrise for granted again, after years of not seeing the sun followed by years in a place without the sun at all.
He found himself sleeping intermittently and at odd times. His body had not regulated to a normal rhythm after being trapped in that other place, the Upside Down, so he was up early enough to see the dawn from the very first inkling of pale light. There were a couple of windows in the cabin that had not been boarded up, the glass remaining intact, and one of them faced eastward, so that was where he stationed himself most mornings, soaking in the mundane after being deprived of it.
Behind him, the two other occupants of the cabin slumbered on for a while longer. The Byers had found lodging elsewhere, since housing three people in a cabin meant for one was already stretching it. After his initial recovery and acclimation to being in the regular world, there had been a small stand-off over who would keep using the one bedroom. He did not feel right, depriving Eleven of the personal space she had never been afforded in the lab, but she steadfastly refused to let him sleep on the couch. Eventually, Hopper flipped a coin after ensuring there would be no invisible meddling, and the bedroom fell to Peter, though he maintained it would be temporary.
Despite the cabin’s ramshackle state, he liked it. The boarded windows and broken pieces were such a far cry from the white, sterile perfection of the lab. But he still found himself glancing at the ceiling corners to find cameras, watching Eleven’s every move like a hawk, and hesitating before he did anything himself. In his mind, it had not been long since he was in the lab, and nearly twenty years of suffering had yet to release its hold on him.
As the first glimmers of the sun began to streak through the trees, Peter sensed Eleven stirring behind him. He felt it before he heard her move, her mind brushing against his gently. It was still a funny feeling for him; he didn’t get a chance to experience his powers in full seven years ago before everything turned on its head, but he was growing accustomed to it. It was as though an invisible thread connected them, and it helped him be assured of her safety even when he couldn’t see her.
Socked feet whispered across the creaky floorboards, and Peter looked over as Eleven appeared at his side, blinking sleepily. It was still a bit startling to see her standing closer to his shoulder than his waist, and it made him ache a little to think of all the time he had missed. She was dressed in an oversized plaid flannel and pajama pants, something he never would have imagined on her but fit her surprisingly well.
“Hi,” she murmured, leaning heavily against the windowsill.
“Hi,” he returned with a smile.
“How long have you been here?”
“An hour, maybe.”
“You’ll sleep later eventually.”
“I don’t mind it. I like watching the sun rise.”
Eleven looked out at the trees, the sun beginning to paint fire across the dull colors of night. “When I first got out, I did too, but now I like sleeping late.”
Peter let out an amused huff. “I suppose I can’t blame you.”
“Have you eaten yet?” Eleven asked after a moment.
“I haven’t,” he confessed. Hunger gnawed at his stomach, but he had learned to ignore it and wait for the assigned times to eat with few exceptions.
She gave him a knowing look. “You can eat whenever you want now. You don’t have to wait.”
Both she and Hopper had told him that before, but the notion still felt foreign and wrong to him. “I know, I just…”
She nodded, pushing herself off the windowsill. “Come on.”
Peter followed her across the cabin to the little kitchen. She was the one looking after him now, it seemed, making sure he had what he needed in this new place. But he saw not everything had changed as she tried to reach into the cabinet, stretching on her tiptoes to try and reach the bowls before he stepped in and got one for her.
“We have more food now,” she said. “Do you want to try some cereal?”
“Sure.” Peter grabbed another bowl for himself. So far, nothing he had eaten had been remarkable by normal standards, but he was so accustomed to the bland food in the lab that everything seemed intensely flavored by comparison.
Eleven put the three cereal boxes out on the counter. Joyce had delivered some necessities the day before, which included some of Eleven and Hopper’s favorites. “Which one do you want?”
Peter stared at the boxes. Cheerios, Cookie Crisp, and Mini-Wheats all meant nothing to him. “I don’t know.”
“Then try them and see what you like.” Eleven grabbed the Cookie Crisp box, opening the top. “This one is my favorite.”
Peter blinked as she held out the box to him. “You mean…just reach in and take some?”
“Yes. It doesn’t matter here.”
Peter hesitated a moment longer before reaching into the box. He supposed there was no such thing as strict portion control outside of the lab, and grabbed a couple of the cookie-shaped cereal pieces, popping them in his mouth. He blanched at the unexpected explosion of sweetness, and Eleven gave him a worried look.
“Are you okay?”
Peter swallowed with a little effort. “It’s too sweet.”
Eleven’s face dropped with dismay. “How?”
“I’m not used to it, ladybird.” He pointed to the Cheerios box. “Let me try that one.”
“It’s Hopper’s boring cereal.”
Peter couldn’t help a chuckle at the indignance in her tone. “I’m trying them, right?”
“Okay.” She frowned at him, but there was no sadness in it, only mock displeasure, and he was glad to see it.
“How’s he doin’?” Hopper asked softly.
Eleven glanced through the ajar bedroom door at Peter. One of the boys—she could never remember which one had what—had loaned her some comic books that she had handed over to him to look through. She couldn’t tell if he was truly reading them or merely looking at the pictures, but he seemed engrossed in them nonetheless.
“He’s…okay,” she murmured.
“He likes Cheerios,” Hopper observed.
“Yes,” Eleven paused for a moment, considering how to put her thoughts into words. “I think he is scared. He thinks he still has to follow the rules of the lab because that’s what he remembers. He barely remembers being in the Upside Down.”
Hopper gave a contemplative hum. “That doesn’t surprise me. You were like that, at first.”
Eleven nodded. “So how could I help him?”
“Just do what we did, I’d say. Play games, watch TV, all that stuff you never got to in the lab. That helped you, didn’t it?”
“It did,” Eleven said, thinking back over her first days and weeks staying with Hopper.
“Tomorrow, Joyce is gonna take me to the doctor for a follow up about this thing.” Hopper gestured to his bad ankle. “I’ll be gone most of the day, so you have my permission to go crazy and do whatever you think will help him.”
A mischievous gleam entered Eleven’s eyes. “Go crazy?”
“Not too crazy,” Hopper amended. “I don’t want this house in more of a wreck than it already is, and don’t do anything dangerous. But if you end up moving furniture around I guess I won’t complain. Sound good?”
“Sounds good.”
Eleven spent the rest of that day in consideration, picking through the bits and pieces of entertainment that had remained untouched by the weather. There was a deck of cards she still didn’t understand how to use, and a chess board she didn’t think either of them would want to play with. She dug deeper into the junk piled in the corners, and finally found two worthwhile things: Hopper’s record collection, and the Scrabble game he had bought for her.
The next day, after Hopper had left, she approached Peter as he flipped through her comic books. “I found some of Hopper’s old records. Do you want to look at them?”
Peter looked up at her, unable to help the paralyzing hesitation that took hold of him as his brain rushed to the scenario of unpleasant consequences. “…Will he mind?”
“No. He doesn’t even look at them, and he wouldn’t get mad anyway.”
Peter looked down at his hands. It was tempting, but things from the outside had never been allowed, for him or the other children.
“Nothing bad will happen, I promise,” Eleven said softly. “I was the same way at first.”
“Alright,” Peter said after a pause. Her relaxed disposition was enough to win him over, and he followed her into the living room.
“Some of them are newer, but there are plenty of old ones you might know,” she explained, showing him the haphazardly stacked records.
Peter smiled slightly. “I would know the old ones because I’m old?”
She gave him an innocent look. “Yes.”
With a small huff, he knelt, beginning to sort through the records. As Eleven had said, some of them were newer songs from the decades he had spent in the lab, but he came upon some that stirred memories from his childhood. A nostalgic ache grew in his chest as he found one from before his family moved to Hawkins, when things were far simpler.
“You have a record player, I assume?” he asked, showing Eleven the record.
“Yes.” She squinted at the label. “…Frank Sinatra?”
“A singer who’s old like me.”
Eleven pulled the record player out and did her best to dust it off. Still unfamiliar with how the mechanism worked, she let him handle the rest of the process. It came to him surprisingly easy, having done it before many times in his childhood, and it wasn’t long before the first strains of Where Are You? crackled through the cabin.
A band of pain squeezed tight around Peter’s heart harsher than he had expected it to. His family had become a distant memory, but hearing the familiar song dredged up things he had long forgotten. His father, his mother, his sister together with him when he was Henry Creel. It had not been all good, for he had known suffering through various means, but he was sure that they had loved him…and they had died.
He had long ago come to terms with the fact that he had killed them. He did not remember it clearly, but he did remember the dark thing in control of his mind sending a surge of power flowing through him, spilling over to his family to a detrimental end, and he recalled clearly the exchange that had taken place in his mind before unconsciousness found him.
“You lied to me!” he had screamed at the shadow as the blood of his family surrounded him.
Lied? said the monster, its voice like a cold breeze. No. We—I—saved you.
“Peter?” Eleven’s voice broke him out of his thoughts. “Are you okay?”
He looked at her, blinking away the wetness at the corners of his eyes. “I…I’m okay, ladybird. I’m just…remembering some things I haven’t thought of in a long time.”
Eleven nodded, scooting closer to him. “What are you thinking about?”
Peter paused, letting Frank Sinatra’s voice carry his thoughts for a moment. “My sister had this record, and it was her favorite. She thought it was romantic.”
Eleven had only heard about his family through Nancy’s harrowing tale. She didn’t expect him to remember them, much less talk about them. “What was her name?”
“Alice.”
“That’s a pretty name,” Eleven said sincerely. “What was she like?”
A small smile played at his lips. “She was a lot like you.”
“Really?”
“Yes. She was more outgoing than you, but she was kind, confident…and incredibly stubborn sometimes.”
Eleven frowned. “I’m not stubborn!”
“Yes, you are, but that’s not a bad thing. It’s just…frustrating occasionally.”
She gave him the most serious glare she could muster, but he just laughed a little.
“Alice would look at me like that sometimes, and I’m pretty sure I returned it.”
“Do you remember her well?”
“Some things,” he said. “There’s still a lot I’m missing, I think. But I’m not sure I want to remember everything. I’m…afraid of what I might see.”
“I know how that feels,” she murmured.
“I’m glad I can remember her at all, and I want to keep what I have for a while.” He gave her a little smile. “Besides, I have another sister I need to take care of now.”
“You don’t have to take care of me now,” Eleven said.
“I know you’re older now, but I don’t think I can help myself after all that time.”
Eleven’s half-hearted indignance faded and his sincerity. The song on the record faded away with a short crackle before switching to the next one.
“Do you want to play a game?” she asked, remembering her mission.
Peter gave her a vaguely wary look. “What kind of game?”
She shuffled over to a miscellaneous pile, pulling the Scrabble box out. “It’s called Scrabble, and you make words. Hopper got it to help me learn.”
Peter eyed the box. Bright colors were just as much of a trap as sterile white walls. “No other reason?”
“No.” Eleven could guess what he was thinking. “No tests, no abilities. Just for fun.”
Peter considered it. “Wouldn’t you rather be talking to your friends on your radio?”
“Walkie-talkie,” she corrected, “and no I wouldn’t.”
“Are you sure?” The last thing he wanted to do was take her away from the friends that clearly meant a great deal to her.
“Yes.” To assure him, Eleven retrieved the walkie-talkie, raising the antenna and switching it on. “Listen.”
Voices burst through the speaker loud and clear. Sure enough, the argument she had left a half-hour ago was still ongoing.
“Look, man, I’ll just suffer through it,” Steve’s voice said.
“What about playing D&D is just suffering for you?” Dustin’s voice hollered back, sounding dangerously close to gargling his microphone. “I have to play with you—!”
Eleven shut the transmission off with a snort. “They’ve been arguing for an hour.”
“Your friends are certainly…interesting,” Peter said, highly amused.
“They’re good most of the time, but sometimes…they’re mouthbreathers.”
That startled a laugh out of him. “I see.”
Eleven set the walkie-talkie aside. “So, do you want to play?”
Peter felt as though an oppressive weight on his shoulders had been lessened ever so slightly. Maybe it was okay to do things just for fun. “Alright.”
“That’s not quite right.”
Eleven paused with her hand hovering above the scrabble board, letter tile in her hand. “How?”
“You switched the ‘i’ and the ‘e’,” Peter said, pointing to her word. “It’s the other way around.”
“Are you sure?”
There was a slight pause. “I think so.”
Eleven side-eyed him, reaching for the dictionary for the fifteenth time in their round of Scrabble. As it turned out, neither of them were very confident in their spelling abilities, but Peter still knew more than her in general. She flipped through the dictionary until she found the word “receive”.
“You’re right,” she grumbled, switching the tiles around. “I didn’t think you’d be good at this.”
Peter huffed. “Hoping for an easy win?”
“Maybe.”
“I did go to school for several years…before,” Peter said, picking out his own tiles. “And it’s not like I never read at the lab, so I have that to my advantage.”
“You taught me to write my name, didn’t you?” Eleven thought aloud. “Before Papa did.”
“I believe so.”
“I know you were better at teaching me than him.”
A small smile curled at the corner of his mouth. “I’m glad you think so.”
Eleven watched him consider his next placement. “I’m getting a drink. Do you want one?”
“No, thank you.” Peter finished arranging his tiles as Eleven went to the kitchen, and he leaned back against the couch as he waited for her to return. He felt somewhat relaxed for the first time in what was probably decades. He couldn’t remember a time when he had done something just for the fun of it in the lab, and as Eleven promised, there was no ulterior motive to the game. It was just that, a game, and he was enjoying himself.
He glanced towards the kitchen as Eleven opened a cabinet, and his sense of relaxation vanished when he saw her stretch out a hand, an invisible force sending a plastic cup from a high shelf flying into her grasp. The old instincts came roaring back; inappropriate use of abilities outside acceptable parameters was one of the worst offenses, and it was met with painful consequences.
“Eleven!” he said, his voice sharp with panic as he got to his feet. “What are you doing?”
She shot him a confused look. “Getting a drink?”
“You can’t use your abilities like that. If someone sees you…” As Peter spoke, he realized his mistake and trailed off. No one was watching and Brenner was gone. They were not imprisoned anymore.
Drink forgotten, Eleven approached him. She was not surprised by his reaction; he was only looking out for her, and she had once felt the same way.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, letting out a shuddering sigh.
“It’s okay.” She leaned against the arm of the couch next to him. “As long as I don’t use it in front of anybody who doesn’t know, it’s not wrong.”
“That does sound better,” he agreed.
“You could use yours too.”
He looked down at his hands, mottled with pale scarring. “Not yet.”
Eleven nodded, wishing she could do something to assure him. She thought back over the years, little flashes and hazy memories of him alongside her, doing his best to keep her safe even when it frustrated her.
“You wouldn’t let me jump on the bed,” she said.
It took Peter a moment to remember. “Are you still upset at me?” he asked, half-seriously.
“No.” She took his hand, tugging him towards the bedroom. “Watch.”
Peter watched as she clambered up onto the bed, pushing away the little prickle of fear.
“Nothing bad,” Eleven said, spreading her arms, and she gave a little twirl to prove her point. “No one will hurt me.”
“I understand,” he said, his heart rising a little at the sight of her participating in the small joys that had been withheld from her before. “I’m just not…used to it.”
“You’ll get better,” Eleven said. “That’s why I asked you to play Scrabble, so you could get used to just…having fun.”
“Well, it’s working,” he admitted softly, “it just might take time to fully adjust.”
Eleven plopped down on the mattress with a bounce, swinging her legs over the edge. “Hopper says something is better than nothing.”
“He’s right.”
“There are lots of fun things we can do.” Eleven’s thoughts took a mischievous turn as her eyes landed on the pile of pillows in the corner.
“Like what?” Peter asked.
Eleven flicked her head back, sending a pillow flying into his back with just enough strength to make it noticeable. He jumped at the sudden impact, looking between her and the pillow.
“Ever heard of a pillow fight?” she asked.
Peter’s surprise quickly turned to understanding, and as he looked at her, something shifted in his mind. She grinned at him, so unlike the small, restrained smiles he had received from her in the past. Her eyes gleamed with unhindered light, a joy he had wished to see but never thought he would, as though what lay behind all the years of suppression had come out full force. It was true proof of her freedom, of a life no longer controlled.
For a second, Eleven wondered if she had made a mistake and gone too far, until Peter said, “I have heard of them, and I’m going to win.”
“Wait a s—” Eleven’s words ended in a scream as Peter grabbed the pillow and lunged at her. She shot off the bed, narrowly avoiding him as she escaped into the living room with an indignant cry of, “Cheater!”
“Speak for yourself, ladybird!” Peter shot back, unable to help but grin as he pursued her.
Scrabble tiles went flying everywhere as Eleven accidentally kicked the bag in a bid to get a pillow from the couch, but neither of them cared. They were caught up in trying to dodge each other, and they laughed until it hurt.
When Hopper returned in the evening, he found the cabin quiet. Worry was his first reaction, followed by suspicion. It was never completely quiet unless something had happened, or someone was up to something.
As he stepped inside, he realized both his assumptions had been wrong. The cabin was—fortunately—as he had left it, except it was a good bit messier. A Scrabble board lay forgotten on the floor, tiles spread everywhere next to his record player and a stack of discs. Some stray feathers skittered across the floor as he shut the door behind him, stepping up to the couch.
The two culprits were splayed on the couch, asleep and dead to the world. Eleven clutched a pillow to herself like a teddy bear, curled in the crook of Peter’s arm, who held her close.
Hopper couldn’t be mad at the slight mess. He had told her to go crazy, after all, and this was better than some of the more extreme alternatives he could imagine. It seemed she had been at least somewhat successful, judging by their relaxed dispositions.
Grabbing a spare blanket from his own bed, Hopper draped it over the slumbering pair and left them to rest.