Chapter Text
If there was a sight that Peter could hate more than the white coats of the doctors, it would be the suits of the government agents that sometimes came to visit. When he was a test subject, they were barely in his periphery, a presence skirting on the edge of his awareness that was nothing in comparison to the trials he faced beneath Brenner. But as an orderly, he became more aware of them as they came to observe his successors, and he immensely disliked the clinical, detached interest with which they watched the children. It was somehow worse than the doctors, for they seemed to at least have the tiniest acknowledgement of the children’s humanity. The government agents, however, did not. They saw the children as living weapons and nothing more.
When the agents came, Brenner gave demonstrations for their benefit, and it was not lost on Peter that this was done in an effort to retain whatever funding the doctor had received. He had not been subject to any intentional demonstrations; they only began with Two and the others that came after him, and he wondered if his failure as a subject had made the government keep a closer eye on Brenner. He didn’t know for sure, but he decided to accept that in his mind for the sake of a sense of grim satisfaction.
They did not come often, maybe once or twice a year, and with all of Peter’s other concerns, they typically stayed out of his thoughts. But the day came when he spotted the telltale suits, and his heart sank. Eleven had been excluded from past demonstrations, but she was five now, and had greatly increased in her abilities. She would likely not be spared this time.
His suspicions were confirmed when he stepped into the Rainbow Room. He did not even need to seek out Eleven, because she came running to him with surprising speed for such a small child, and he caught a glimpse of the worry written plainly on her face before she latched onto his leg.
“Hey,” he said, keeping his tone light as he bent a little to touch her shoulder, “what’s the matter?”
“Papa said I have to show people what I’ve practiced,” Eleven whispered. “He said it’s a dem…demons…”
“A demonstration?” Peter finished as she struggled to find the word.
Eleven nodded against him, her grip tightening.
Peter disentangled her from his leg and crouched, bringing him closer to her eyelevel. Now, he could see the true length of her concern, written in the deep crease across her brow and the nervous shuffling of her feet. He took her hand, pressing his thumb gently against her palm.
“Your older brothers and sisters have already done this test,” he told her. “There’s nothing to be worried about.”
“But what if I can’t do it?” she asked.
“You can.” He tried to smooth away the worried wrinkles in her brow. “But even if you couldn’t, it would be okay.”
Some of the worry drained from her face. “Really?”
“Really.”
“You would still like me?”
“I could never dislike you.”
Eleven’s lips quirked upwards slightly. It wasn’t a full smile, but to Peter it was better than nothing.
Shortly after that, Brenner arrived with some more orderlies, ready to escort the children to the demonstration. Eleven clung to Peter’s hand the entire way, and he did his best to mask his concern for her and his disdain for the government officials they passed in the halls. More agents waited for them inside the testing room, and Eleven pressed hard against him when she saw them.
“Go stand with your brothers and sisters,” Peter urged her. “I’ll still be here.”
Eleven looked up at him, her eyes wide and doubtful. The sight made him want to spirit her away from the cold, watchful eyes of the agents and the lab altogether, to free her from the fear of being nothing more than an object. But he merely squeezed her hand before letting go, nudging her forwards. With reluctant steps, she shuffled to join her siblings in a line against the cold wall, and Peter sequestered himself in an empty corner to remain as unobtrusive as possible.
“Now we will conduct the promised demonstration,” Brenner told the agents, his tone curated in a way that reminded Peter of the salesmen he had seen on TV in the distant past. “I have been making great progress with all my subjects, which now number fifteen. Two will be the first to demonstrate.”
Two stepped forward, ever eager to please Brenner. A simple metal can waited on the table in the middle of the room, and with an outstretched hand, Two lifted it into the air, lifting it almost high enough to touch the fluorescent lights before lowering it down again. When the can touched the table, he clenched his fist, and the can crumpled beneath an invisible force.
The agents did not react to the display except to write things down on pocket notepads, not that Peter expected them to. He recognized some of them from previous visits, so abilities like these were clearly of no surprise to them.
“Well done, Two,” Brenner said.
Eleven stared at the crumpled can as an orderly stepped forward to replace it with a fresh one. She could barely lift a toy car a couple of inches off the ground. She was nowhere near Two’s level, and her only comfort was that some of her siblings closer to her age also were not nearly as good as the older ones. She pressed her back against the cold wall, glancing towards Peter, and caught his eye. He gave her a faint smile, and she resolved to do her best for him.
Three went, then Four, and on down the line. As they got closer to Eleven, her nervousness increased, though she was relieved to see some of the others struggled as well.
“Alright, Eleven.” Papa gestured to her. “Your turn.”
Eleven shuffled forward at his command, staring at the can. The eyes of the strangers in the room made her feel even more uncomfortable. At least she knew them, even if they were mean sometimes.
“You don’t have to crush the can, just lift it, understand?”
Eleven nodded mutely, not looking at him though his instructions relieved her. If she did look at him, she would see the strangers too.
Peter was unsurprised by Brenner’s leniency, though it did nothing to quell the intense undercurrent of hatred he felt towards the doctor. Much like himself, Brenner seemed to have a soft spot for Eleven, and as revolting as the idea was, it afforded her the occasional reprieve. His interest was likely more clinical than anything, that would likely one day result in a lot of pain for her, but for now it was better.
Eleven stretched out a hand towards the can, putting all her strength into making it move at her will. It quivered slightly, and she clenched her teeth together so hard her jaw ached. Her heartbeat roared in her head almost as loud as her thought. She wanted to do well so desperately she could cry.
Her nose stung, and she felt the warm wetness leaking onto her face. Her vision blurred a little as her fingers trembled, her audience and the bright room seeming far away. The can shivered and wobbled, then slowly ascended into the air as though tied to a shaky string.
“Well done.” Papa’s voice cut through her concentration, shattering it. The can clattered against the table as she let go, looking over at him. “You may step back.”
Eleven let out a huge breath, feeling a bit dizzy. She stepped back into her spot as he asked, relieved that it was over and happy that she had managed to lift the can higher than ever before. She looked over at Peter, and he smiled at her. She smiled back this time, reaching up to wipe the blood from her nose.
Peter was glad she had managed to surpass her previous limits. It was strength she would need one day to escape. Her show had not been terribly interesting in comparison to the older children’s standards, and her lack of skill would hopefully keep the government’s interest away from her.
The remaining four children had their turn, the amount of skill they demonstrated on par with Eleven. As Fifteen stepped back, one of the agents spoke for the first time, some new recruit Peter did not recognize from previous visits.
“The numbers start at Two,” the man noted. “Where is your first subject, One?”
Peter’s breath froze in his lungs. He did not dare look at Brenner, keeping his eyes trained on the floor. A heavy air settled over the room, and the children ceased all fidgeting as the forgotten, forbidden number was spoken aloud at last.
“Children,” Brenner said after a dreadful pause, “it’s time to go back to the Rainbow Room.”
Some of the children murmured affirmatives, but Peter barely heard them, fixated on the conversation that was now continuing in hushed voices on the other side of the room.
“I have made no attempt to hide what became of my first subject.” Brenner’s tone did not waver from its calm, collected timbre. “Previous visitors have been well informed that my first subject was a failure, and he was deemed too dangerous to continue in the program. I had him terminated.”
“What makes you think these kids will be any different?” the man asked.
A hand tugged on Peter’s own, turning his attention away from Brenner. He looked down into Eleven’s pale face, feeling like he was in a dream.
“Peter…” she mumbled, swaying a little from the exertion of using her powers, “…feel bad.”
That broke him from his trance, and likely saved him from being punished by Brenner later for eavesdropping on a conversation he was definitely not meant to hear. The rest of it would probably make him angrier, hearing whatever lies Brenner spun about him to appease the government.
“Don’t worry. Let’s get you cleaned up,” Peter said, focusing fully on her and the blood smeared on her face from her clumsy attempt at cleaning it.
Eleven raised her arms in a wordless demand, one he could hardly ever bring himself to refuse. She relaxed into his hold as he picked her up, her arms settling easily around his shoulders as he bore her out of the testing room and away from the prying eyes.
“Was I good?” Eleven whispered, her breath soft against his ear.
“Very good,” Peter assured her, hoping she would quickly forget about the testing. He had wondered what Brenner’s intentions were for the children for a long time, and through observation he had managed to piece together the awful picture by himself. They were to be living weapons, able to listen and gather enemy intel, or if need be, carry out assassinations without ever laying a finger on anyone. The older children were likely too far into the scheme, thoroughly indoctrinated by Brenner’s careful manipulation, but Eleven was not there, not yet. If Peter managed to get away with it, she never would be.
He brought Eleven back to her room, setting her on her bed. Fortunately, she had no issue sitting up, and he knelt in front of her as he tried to clean off the blood from her face with some tissues from his pocket.
“Do you still feel dizzy?” he asked.
Eleven shook her head. “Tired.”
“You can rest soon. Your Papa will be very busy for the rest of the day.”
Eleven nodded, swinging her legs a little as her energy started to return. Now that the test was over, and she no longer had to worry about the strangers, she thought about what she heard the man say before they left. “Peter?”
He paused. “Yes?”
“That man talked about One.” Eleven’s face pinched in a curious frown. “Where is he?”
Peter kept his face carefully neutral. She hadn’t heard Brenner’s lie about his death, or hadn’t understood it. “I don’t know.”
Eleven tried to hide her disappointment. Peter knew just about everything. “Five said he’s not real. He’s only a story.”
“I don’t know if One is just a story or not.” The lie came easier to Peter than he wished it did. “But if he was real, I think he would like you.”
“He would?” Eleven brightened a little, but an apprehensive furrow remained on her brow. “The others don’t like me. I’m not strong enough.”
“It doesn’t matter to me how strong you are, and I don’t think One would care either.”
“Why would he like me?”
“Your heart.” Peter pointed to her chest. “This is who you are, and it’s the reason I like you. How strong you are won’t change that.”
Eleven folded a hand across her heart, feeling it beat beneath her fingers and greatly comforted by Peter’s words. She tried to imagine One, what he would be like, and the care he would have for her, but when she tried to imagine his face all she could think of was Peter. She hoped One, if they ever met, would like her just as much as Peter did, even if she wasn’t as strong as her brothers and sisters.
“Who I am,” she whispered to herself. “Is it good?”
“Yes,” he assured her with all sincerity. “Very good.”
“There’s some of those frozen dinners in the fridge, but I think the oven’s still broken so don’t try to use it. Use the microwave instead.”
“But the microwave doesn’t cook them as well!”
“I know, kid, but you gotta deal with it, and don’t use that as an excuse to not eat anything healthy. When I get back, I want to see some real food missing.”
“Fine…”
Peter smiled to himself as he listened to Eleven and Hopper go back and forth from his position on the couch. Hopper’s uneven steps clunked across the floorboards as he gathered the last items he needed for the trip, followed by Eleven’s lighter ones as the conversation continued.
“If you need to communicate, don’t—“
“—use the phone. Radio or walkie-talkie.”
“That’s right. If you need anything, call that Harrington kid. He’s the only one I trust to not screw up and draw a bunch of attention. No one else.”
“But yesterday you called him a dumb—“
“I know what I said, but he’s better than some of those other idiots with cars. Just be careful, and make sure to refresh your brother on everything.”
Your brother. It amazed Peter how easily Hopper accepted his relationship between them, but the more he learned about Hopper’s experiences, the more he realized that the other man was no stranger to Brenner’s program and the trials the subjects faced. Peter was continually grateful for him every time he saw something new and good in Eleven that Brenner certainly never nurtured, and even more grateful that he was willing to accept the bond between them, though there were no blood ties to be had.
“I don’t need to tell him because he’s heard it a million times, too!” Eleven said, exasperated.
“You can’t blame for being careful.” Hopper’s voice softened. “I just got you back.”
Peter glanced away from the TV in time to see him wrap an arm around her shoulders, and for a moment all annoyance and exasperation was gone between them. That was something he had to get used to again, how swiftly even the most powerful frustrations gave way in a matter of moments under the greater pressure of love. Somewhere along the way in the two decades beneath Brenner’s hand, he had forgotten that little but heartening detail.
Hopper caught Peter’s gaze. “Keep an eye on her.” He spoke seriously, but not enough to stop Eleven from rolling her eyes.
“Of course,” Peter said, trying to hide his amusement.
With a few more words of warning, Hopper was finally out the door. Eleven closed it behind him, leaning against it with an exasperated sigh.
“Annoying?” Peter asked.
“Yes.”
“More annoying than me?”
“No.”
“That hurts, ladybird.”
“Really?” she asked, half-seriously.
“No. I wouldn’t be doing my job if I wasn’t a little annoying.”
Eleven frowned at him with halfhearted impudence, flopping onto the other end of the couch. Beyond the walls of the cabin, they both heard the rumbling roar of Hopper’s truck in the distance that swiftly faded away.
“How many times has it been?” Peter asked.
“Four.”
“Do you think he’ll find a place this time?”
Eleven shrugged. “I don’t know. I hope so.”
“I don’t mind it here.”
“I don’t either, but I miss going outside.”
Peter glanced at one of the few intact windows, a thin strip of the morning light visible between the shades and the sill. He had been outside a couple of times now, but each instance had been brief and tense. Eleven was being hunted by the government, and though neither he nor Hopper had seen her pursuers yet, they fully believed her.
“I wish we could go out, but it doesn’t matter as long as you stay safe,” he said.
Eleven dropped her head against the back of the couch. “I wish things could be normal.”
“Has it ever been for you?”
“Last year, for a little while, things felt…good. I didn’t have to worry about anything other than what clothes I wanted to wear. But that didn’t last long.”
“I suppose I didn’t help with that.”
“I’m glad you’re here,” Eleven said firmly. “But sometimes I just feel…tired.”
Peter knew how she felt, the bone-deep weariness of constantly being on alert, fearing making the wrong move. He had lived through twenty years of it.
Eleven moved her attention to the TV, watching the morning newscast play out on the screen with the volume just loud enough to be audible. When she got bored of the mundane news, she flicked her head, switching the channel to some bright cartoon.
“I was watching that,” Peter protested halfheartedly.
“Were you really?”
“Sort of.”
“You could change it back.” Eleven glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.
“But then I would have to get up.”
“Not that way.”
She saw him tense a little. The subject of his abilities had remained relatively untouched. He didn’t want to use them, but they both knew they were there. She could feel his mind, and he hers, but he did nothing beyond that.
“Not yet,” he murmured.
“You won’t get in trouble.”
“I’m not worried about that so much. I’ve never done anything good with them, and I’m afraid…”
“Afraid of what?”
Peter locked eyes with her, and for a moment she saw how haunted he was. “I’m afraid he’s still there somewhere, watching me.”
“He’s not,” Eleven insisted. “I’m sure of it.”
“There’s too much I don’t remember about being in the Upside Down.” Peter flexed his fingers, the action driven by some phantom muscle-memory. “So I can’t be sure.”
Eleven could offer no comforting reply. What she had seen and heard of Vecna had frightened her, and her friends even more so. She had feared her powers once, afraid that they made her a monster, so she understood what was in his mind. But there was so much more that he had been through that made her own suffering look like nothing in comparison.
He was not Vecna anymore. To her, he never really had been. He was her brother, and she wished he would see himself that way.
“I can change the channel back,” she offered quietly.
“You can leave it. It was pretty boring.”
Eleven huffed and scooted closer to him, her shoulder touching his in wordless compassion, and she hoped it would be enough.
Housing a Russian fugitive was never a position Murray imagined himself in, but after everything he went through to get Hopper back, it seemed like far less of an issue. Antonov seemed like a good man, something Murray would be hard pressed to admit aloud given the bitter rivalry between their two countries. The only complaint Murray had was that Antonov could outdrink him, which he didn’t think was even possible before. Since learning that little detail, Murray had spent many days nursing a king-size hangover after a failed attempt the night before to heal his injured pride.
This was why Murray slumped into his chair at his (probably illegal) radio setup closer to afternoon than morning, a glass of water hanging in his hand. Ever since returning from Russia, Hopper had him on watch, monitoring the radio frequencies around Hawkins for anything that would endanger his superpowered daughter (and her equally superpowered brother?) It didn’t make a lot of sense to him, but not much did anymore with all the messed up things he had uncovered.
For the past couple of weeks, Murray had picked up plenty of military chatter around Hawkins, but nothing he would deem threatening to Hopper. The place had been through an “earthquake”, the true nature of which had been carefully concealed from the public, but thus far no one seemed interested in anyone named “Eleven” or “Jane Hopper”.
It was only the threat of dealing with Hopper’s frustration that kept Murray listening after the first couple of weeks, and the hangovers sapped his motivation considerably. But with the image of Hopper’s angry face hanging in his mind’s eye, he slipped his headphones on and twirled the knob on the radio, voices beginning to cut through the haze of static as he caught some of the usual frequencies.
Murray sipped at a glass of cold water, different conversations filtering through one ear and out the other. The throbbing pain in his head took most of his attention, and he changed the frequency occasionally on a whim. What he heard was most of the same drabble if anything at all, bits of music, newscasts, unintelligible garble. He almost slipped into a doze until he heard something that jerked him wide awake. He dove for the control board as the words disappeared into static, and for a moment he wondered if his muddled perception had caused him to imagine it.
After a few tense moments of fiddling with the frequencies, he found the radio waves again, and his heart dropped as he realized he had not imagined it, the words coming through broken, but what he heard was enough.
“—one target—female—avoided capture in Nevada—psionic—Hopper—”
Murray dove for his microphone.
From a distance, the cabin was barely even visible in the forest, a manmade footpath the only indication it existed from the main road. It looked dilapidated from the outside, and though the holes and broken windows were repaired with boards, it didn’t look like a place anyone would want to live.
Sullivan knew better.
Owens never cracked himself, and Sullivan respected his tenacity, but once it became apparent that no information was to be gathered from the doctor, he began digging deep for any possible whereabouts of Eleven, the only one of Martin Brenner’s experiments left alive. The first location they tried was the address in California, which proved to be a bust. No one had been back to that house since the shootout. So Sullivan turned his attention back towards Hawkins, that had been rocked by an earthquake of startling magnitude not long after Eleven had escaped from Nevada.
It had taken some time to figure out where she was, because Owens had been very intentional about hiding her location. But everything had a trail, and an unnaturally-powered girl left one that was easy to follow once found.
Jane Hopper had been living in California for the past several months, but before that, she had lived in the cabin Sullivan now stared at through binoculars. They had checked the electricity and water, which were still being paid for, and being used enough to indicate someone was living there in addition to the occasional burst of radio activity. Eleven had not been spotted yet, but Sullivan was taking no chances with wasting time getting a visual on such a dangerous individual.
“Sir.” A soldier’s voice crackled through Sullivan’s walkie. “Someone is trying to contact the occupants. We’ve intercepted radio transmissions.”
“Move in,” Sullivan ordered. “We can’t risk letting them get away.”
Murray shouted into his microphone until he was out of breath, but all he got in return was whining static that made his ears ring. The signal was jammed, and he banged a fist on the desk, staring at the array of knobs and dials before him in desperate thought. His gaze slid to the landline waiting not far from his radio set up.
It was dangerous, considering calls could be traced more directly than radio signals, but he had broken into Russian prison. What was one more threat to his life?
Eleven was almost dozing against Peter’s shoulder when the phone rang. It startled her a little, but both of them ignored it. No one important called in or out; all communications were done by radio until further notice, but occasionally a random call would come in, likely from a telemarketer. It had taken Peter a little bit to get used to the abrasive sound, but now he too had learned to tune it out.
Eleven closed her eyes, waiting for the ringing to end so she could chase after the comfortable doze again. The ringing stopped, and she sank more heavily against Peter.
Then it rang again.
She sat up straighter this time, confused. Had she imagined it the first time? She craned her neck to look at the phone as it rattled against the wall mount.
“What is it?” Peter asked, noticing her confusion.
“Twice,” she said. “It rang twice. It never does.”
Now that she had pointed it out, Peter saw the inconsistency. He turned to look at the phone as well, a feeling of unease settling over him. Any number of things could have happened, but his mind pitched towards bad scenarios. Was Hopper in trouble? One of Eleven’s friends?
The phone rang on, and Eleven stood from the couch, approaching it slowly.
“Eleven…” Peter said warningly.
“I’m not going to pick it up yet.” Eleven glanced at the radio. The lights were on, but she hadn’t heard a sound from it.
The ringing stopped again, and this time the silence was loud and tense.
Peter jumped when it rang a third time. Eleven reached out to pick it up, but hesitated, her hand hovering over the receiver. It could’ve been Hopper, Will, Mike, anyone…
Peter stood up, the disquiet only growing. “Shouldn’t we leave it?”
“It could be a friend.” Eleven bit her lip indecisively, and before the ringing stopped, she reached out and grabbed the receiver, bringing it to her ear. “Hello…?”
On the other end, Murray was momentarily startled by the young, female voice that answered. “Where’s Hopper? Are you his kid?”
Eleven frowned. She had heard this man’s voice before on the radio as he talked to Hopper. He was loud and weird, but Hopper trusted him. “Out, and yes.”
Murray’s dismay at the situation only strengthened the urgency of his next words. “You need to get out of there, now! Those military guys, they’re—“
Eleven’s blood went cold as the line was cut off, the tone droning in her ear. The receiver banged hard against the wall as she let it drop, running to one of the intact windows.
“Who was it?” Peter asked, his disquiet turning to dread as he saw her expression. “What happened?”
Eleven did not answer, carefully lifting the shade to peer out into the woods. At first she saw nothing but trees, but then she spotted something strikingly familiar: the long barrel of a rifle. It was attached to a soldier in heavy camouflage, and once she saw one she saw them all. She could see at least five men in her view, and there were likely many more.
“The military men,” she breathed, backing away from the window. “They’re here. They’re coming.”
Peter’s breath caught in his throat. “What?”
Eleven ran into the bedroom to look out through the portion of the window that remained intact. Sure enough, there were just as many soldiers on that side if not more. Raw fear raged inside of her as she tried to think. Trying to escape into the woods now would get them shot. There was one door to the cabin, but they could leave through a window if they had to. She just had to give them an opening.
“Get back.” Eleven marched back into the living room. With a forceful wave of her hand, the couch went rumbling across the floor to sit in front of the door. Several more large pieces of furniture followed, creating a barrier. Then she stood, and waited.
Peter felt like he was being electrocuted by Brenner all over again, unable to move. He watched the furniture stack itself at Eleven’s will as she took up a defensive stance in the middle of the now empty living room floor, looking all around her at every window she could see.
“We have to go!” he burst out.
“They’re all around. Not yet.” Eleven waved a hand and a force pushed him back against the wall. “Get back.”
Everything stilled. Peter’s knuckles whitened as he clenched his fists, caught between panic and the need to help her.
The door rattled as something heavy crashed against it. Eleven lashed out, finding the soldiers standing beyond the door and sending them flying backwards into the dirt.
The boards on one of the windows splintered, struck by brute force from the outside. Eleven whirled, flinging her hand out and being rewarded with the startled cry of the soldiers on the other side as they were thrown away.
Then it seemed they were coming from every direction, trying to break through every window, and Eleven tried to keep track of them all, turning in a wild dance as she forced them all back. Blood roared in her ears and seeped from her nose as she fought to make an opening that would allow them to escape.
Peter watched it all, feeling hopelessly paralyzed. It was clear she was used to fighting by now, but he had been powerless, barely able to protect himself for twenty years.
Outside, Sullivan saw his men being thrown back from the cabin by an invisible force. Some hit the ground hard enough to be dazed or knocked out, but others managed to get to their feet again. More soldiers closed in, and eventually she would not be able to hold them all back. She would slip and give an opening.
“Detain. Don’t neutralize unless necessary.”
There were more men than Eleven thought, and no matter how many times she pushed them away, more kept coming. She couldn’t see an opportunity, not yet.
Glass shattered as a baton was thrust through one of the remaining window panes. Eleven pushed at the man on the other side, but he fought back, reaching through the broken window to grab onto the sill and resist. That, coupled with the other two men behind him, kept her back turned from the other points of conflict for longer than before.
Movement in Peter’s periphery caught his attention. A soldier had a rifle aimed through one of the windows that had been broken, pointed straight Eleven, and Peter saw it just as the trigger was pulled.
A pained cry ripped from Eleven’s mouth as searing heat exploded in her back, followed by the agonizing currents of electricity that froze all her muscles. The floor shook as she fell, but she barely felt the impact for the shocks coursing through her, and through the chaos she knew the soldiers would be on them in a matter of moments.
The electricity stopped, and she gasped for air, her breath sobbing in her throat. She felt a stirring in the outskirts of her mind, where her perception of Peter rested. The soldiers shouted and screamed, and she heard several loud crashes like they had been thrown away, but she knew she hadn’t done it.
The rough hands she expected to grab, forcing her away, never came. Instead, something else touched her, lifting her up, but she felt no hands at first. Through the daze of pain, she forced her head to turn as she sought out Peter.
And she saw it was him who held her, but not with his arms.
Peter’s fingers curled as he pulled Eleven towards him. It was like using muscle that had gone unused for a long time. He was shaky, but he instinctively knew what to do.
Eleven flopped into his arms, but she couldn’t speak, too busy trying to breathe through the aftershocks coursing through her. Peter quickly lowered her to the floor, and with a murmured apology, he pulled the taser barbs that had struck her out of her skin. Eleven let out a whimper, but the pain quickly faded.
Peter’s heartbeat roared in his ears, but his fear now lay dormant. Fury drove him now, and the yells of the soldiers outside only made him angrier as they tried to regroup from being tossed like ragdolls at his whim.
The sight of Eleven being electrocuted had been the breaking point. It was that which he had suffered for so long and what he had feared she might receive in the lab. But the lab was gone, as was Brenner, and all that remained was the government that wanted to use her, or be rid of her. He was not about to let them tear away her peace, nor his.
He looked for the minds around him, like Brenner urged him to do long ago, but now he was far stronger. The rushing sensation in his head from entering the mind of another was terribly familiar, and it brought up flashes of vines across his flesh, his fingers like talons, but he pushed the images away.
He would give them a reason to be afraid.
It was as though the sun had vanished. Beyond the confines of the armored car, all Sullivan could see was blackness. Alarmed, he opened the door and stepped out, only for the car to vanish as well. Then he stood alone in the void, nothing and no one around him.
He grappled for the radio on his belt, bringing it to his face. “Come in! Does anyone copy?”
“No one can hear you.”
Every soldier surrounding the cabin, each suddenly trapped in a formless darkness, heard the voice speak to them.
“So listen to me, carefully.”
The voice was low, calm, and it seemed to come from somewhere behind. Sullivan whirled, searching for the source, and found nothing.
“I don’t want to kill you, only because I’ve done enough harm,” said the voice, behind him again, “so I will give you all this chance to leave. You will never try to search for Eleven again. Every danger you think she poses is only because of people like you.”
Sullivan turned in a circle, seeking any direction or salvation as panic began to take over. He did not know this voice at all. Was this some trick by Eleven, or was it someone else?
“She has suffered enough, and you won’t make her suffer anymore.”
Sullivan thought he saw someone in the corner of his eye, but when he looked, no one was there. The voice seemed to be getting closer, approaching from all sides.
“So you will leave, and you will forget everything about Brenner and his subjects. If I see any of you again, you will wish you had forgotten.”
“Who are you?” Sullivan shouted.
“No one.” The voice sounded almost amused. “A failure.”
Cold sweat broke out on Sullivan’s skin as something touched his shoulder. He looked down and saw gray, malformed talons.
The voice growled right in his ear, almost inhuman and tinged with rage.
“Run.”
Peter’s feet lifted from the ground.
The guns in the soldiers’ hands twisted and broke as they were sent tumbling backwards.
The lights in the cabin glowed blindingly bright.
Sullivan came back to the real world just in time to see the armored car lurch backwards, the front dented as though it had been struck with a giant, invisible fist.
“Fall back!” he yelled. It was a useless order, because everyone was already running for their vehicles as though they were being chased by the monster they had glimpsed. They shouted, pushing and shoving to put distance between themselves and the cabin. Tires screeched against the ground, and soon the woods were quiet and empty, the broken guns on the ground the only trace of any military presence.
Eleven watched in awe as Peter returned to the floor, his hands lowering. “Peter…?”
Peter barely heard her, her voice sounding like it was far away. Horror shivered through him as he brought his mind back to himself, but it was a new dread.
Using his abilities for the first time had opened the last gate in his mind, and he remembered everything at once, the memories pouring into his mind like water from a broken dam.
He saw himself killing every child in the lab, their eyes weeping tears of blood as their bodies broke. He felt their minds writhing with terror as their lives were snuffed out, consumed by the monster.
They’re still with me. In here.
He saw the broken, hellish scape of the Upside Down, and the Mind Flayer looming tall and terrible. He remembered fighting in his mind, but the Mind Flayer beat down all defiance. It was his world, and he was in utter control.
Join me.
He saw everyone he had ever hurt, everyone the Mind Flayer made him take, those who had lived and those who had died. He remembered their suffering, their screams. Will Byers, Barbara Holland, Billy Hargrove, Fred Benson, Chrissy Cunningham…
The torrent of pain and horror was too much, and Peter thought he might shatter beneath the pressure of it.
“Peter!”
Something forced its way into his mind, disrupting the deluge. His eyes snapped open, and he found himself staring at Eleven. She stood on wobbly legs, holding him by the shoulders.
“Peter!” she said again. “What’s wrong?”
His legs gave before he could speak, and Eleven barely saved him from hitting his head with her abilities, lowering him to the ground. His consciousness was fading rapidly, the metallic taste of blood heavy on his tongue.
“I remember them…” he mumbled.
Eleven leaned over him, the frightened look on his face concerning her. “What?”
“I remember…all of them.” He choked on the words, blinking as bitter tears rose in his eyes. “Everyone. All of them. I’m…so sorry.”
A cold weight formed in Eleven’s stomach as she began to understand, but it quickly ballooned into panic as his eyes fell shut. “Wait, Peter! Stay awake!”
He could hear her calling for him, but he was too tired. He had overexerted himself, but she was safe, and that was all that mattered.
“Peter! Henry!”
He slipped into unconsciousness.
Eleven bit back tears of her own, his condition topping off the horror of the past fifteen minutes. He was still breathing, but that was all she knew.
Only then did she notice Murray’s voice shouting from the radio, the signal unjammed with the military’s departure. She limped over and tearfully imparted the situation to him, then tried to radio Hopper. Fortunately, he was in his car to hear her, and assured her he was on his way back.
She sat down next to the radio and carefully dragged Peter over to her, holding him close until help arrived.