Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

November 1979, five hours before the massacre.

"What if this was a mistake?" I whispered. The words filled my bedroom, ricocheting off stucco ceilings and tiled walls. They sounded much heavier than I intended. Greeted by nothing more than a hesitant sort of silence. 

The mattress groaned beneath Peter's weight as he turned to face me. In the darkness, his face was barely visible. "A mistake?" He repeated, as if tasting the words on his tongue. "That implies that this wasn't intentional."

"That's not what I meant."

"I know."

"What if we get in trouble for this?" I asked, "What if you get in trouble for this?"

Somewhere in the darkness, his fingers found their way to my skin. He cupped my cheek in one impossibly warm hand, thumb ghosting over my cheekbone. I don't know why the contact made my heart pound as it did. The moment we shared only minutes prior had been far, far more intimate, and somehow the smallest brush on his fingertips had me reeling.

"I think it would be worth it," he told me. His voice was thick with tiredness, spilling from his throat as slowly as honey slipped from a bottle. 

I'd given him sleeping pills, after all.

My heart clenched at the thought. "Don't say that, Peter."

"It's true."

"It shouldn't be," the words were sharp, easily slicing through the air between us. "I don't want to be the reason you get tased. And surely you don't want that, either."

"Careful, Sixteen," he rasped, "I might start to think you like me."

I rolled my eyes, "I'm being serious."

"I know." He sighed, "You so rarely are. It's hard not to notice."

I absently brushed at the blonde hairs which had fallen into his face. A low, rasping sound fell from his lips. "I don't want you to leave," I whispered, giving voice to my fears, "And if we aren't careful, Papa will make you."

He stared at me for a little while, and I stared at him. The room was perfectly still. "I'm not going anywhere."

"You don't know that."

"I do."

His breath was a breeze against my skin. I could feel it lingering in the air, obscuring my better senses and going straight to my head as though it were wine. "Usually I'm the one worrying about you. Not this time, though." Despite himself, he grinned, "It's refreshing."

"You know, sometimes I start to like you and then you open your mouth and I'm reminded why I don't," I turned away from him and smiled into my pillow. I wanted time to stop. I wanted to sit here with him in the dark until my eyes couldn't stand the light anymore. We could be nocturnal, wake with the moon and live our lives wrapped in bed sheets.

"You say the loveliest things," He whispered in my ear.

He gathered me in his arms, warm as could be and horrifically inviting. I melted against him until everything ran slow and saccharine. Lips pressed against my temple, and then I felt the weight of his head as it dipped onto my pillow.

"Peter?"

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"Why can't I shake the feeling something bad is going to happen?"

I waited, but his response never came.

September 1985, Modern Day.

I hadn't ever been fired before. 

That sentence repeated in my mind over and over until I couldn't stand the taste of the syllables. I chocked on them the entire walk home, eyes glued to the ground as I carefully stepped over the cracks in the pavement. 

The air was still warm despite the silent creeping of fall. It infected the leaves of the surrounding maple sugar trees with growing redness, more persistent with each day. I relished in the sound of my shoes as they met the pavement, a reminder that I was still here. That I wasn't a ghost.

I hated the fall.

I hated it.

With autumn came September 8th, a day that should've been nothing more than a number on a calendar. But it wasn't, and so every year when it's anniversary came around, I lost my mind. Too paranoid to sleep, too tired to even try. I'd stay up all night, staring at my bedroom door. Sweating with fear, trembling at the sound of the wind as it howled, my house as it creaked. No noise was ambient when I anticipated the door to be thrown off its hinges.

Sometimes I felt stupid for that. Five years had passed. The dragon was slain and yet I was still just as scared of monsters. 

Today was September 8th.

Over the years, I found that nothing and no one could help when today came. Nothing except weed, a particularly lovely plant I'd discovered a year ago after a patron left a dime bag in his booth. I remember wiping down the table after he left, collecting my tip and then catching it out of the corner of my eye. Without much thought, I pocketed the 'miracle drug' that I'd only ever heard whispers of-- one that could apparently clear my mind and soothe my aching muscles. 

 I worked at a little diner just off highway 112, frequented by truckers and those traveling in and out of Maine. I liked working. There wasn't any time to think about the past-- not when I had four tables waiting for food and two more to clean off. I worked as much as I could, whether it be early morning or late night shifts. I thought my manager loved me, but after the events which had just transpired, I suppose I was wrong. 

Getting high at work is a very bad idea, and I only ever did it when the situation was dire. Days like September 8th, when working wasn't enough to calm my belligerent nerves. Not even an hour ago, I had snuck off to the bathroom to do just that. The door had no lock-- which had to be a violation of some sort of code-- and my manager, Marge, barged in without asking. There, she saw the little buds of weed arranged neatly in a line on my rolling paper. 

And that was that. I was fired and 'lucky not to be in prison,' as Marge had so lovingly put it. 

So here I was, walking home in the dead of night, the only source of light being the joint in my hand as I breathed it into my lungs. The smoke clouded around my head, though it didn't have quite the soothing effect it usually did. It was September 8th, after all. And fuck, I still had the whole night ahead of me. 

I knew what that meant.

I only ever allowed his name to cross my mind on this one day. When my eyelids were too heavy to blink him away and my teeth were too worn to bite back his name. In my bedroom, awash in blue-tinted morning light, his face would flash across my mind and my insides would curl in on themselves just as they had that final day. I never slept on those nights. Sometimes I felt like I never slept at all. 

I hoped it would get easier as time went on. That maybe I could learn to think of what had happened without feeling like all the air had been stolen from my lungs. But it didn't, and I couldn't. 

My entire life felt like an endless cycle of wanting to forget what he did and trying to live in spite of it. 

Because of him, normality was unattainable. I had been reduced to nothing more than a shell of what I once was. I hadn't even attempted to use my abilities since that day. He took those, too. Somewhere along the way his ghost had snuck inside my body and stolen all that I was or ever could be. I was a woman robbed. Scraped clean of all that once filled me up. 

As I turned onto my street, I couldn't stop myself from being overcome by a paroxysm of hollowness. I just wanted myself back. There were parts I could settle without-- my abilities among them, but it was my heart that I needed. He held it for ransom, one that I wouldn't ever be able to pay because it's impossible to barter with a dead man.

That didn't stop me from trying. Every September 8th, I found myself with my fingers laced together. I pleaded with the stucco ceiling, maybe even with him, always acutely aware of my empty body and its echoing. Sometimes I even--

--Fuck.

I narrowed my eyes to get a better view of the cabin I'd been staying in-- to make sure what I'd seen wasn't just my mind playing tricks on me. Though my vision was partially obscured by green-colored foliage, there was no mistaking it. My front door was open. 

With sharpened vision and even sharper focus, I scanned the cabin windows in search of movement. Fuck me. Fuck my paranoia. I couldn't make out a damn thing on account of the blinds I'd put up a week ago. At the time, I found the buffer between myself and the outside world quite comforting, but right now I could've kicked myself. 

I could feel my sense beginning to slip away from me. My nails bit into the palm of my hand as I tried to calm myself down. I focused on the sting that it brought and inhaled. 

Maybe I forgot to lock the door. 

No, no. That couldn't possibly be it. I always locked the door. Especially on a day like today.

A million possibilities flashed before me, all worse than the last. Everyone who knew I existed was dead. If they weren't, I would know. I would've felt it.

Or maybe not. I was out of practice, after all. 

Fuck-- this is what I get for giving up on my abilities. 

I stood there for one moment longer, regretting every single decision I'd made in the past five years. The joint was bought to my lips one final time, where I inhaled with a vengeance before I crushed it beneath my heel.

I came upon the house slowly, feeling as my heart struggled to keep up with the panic. Suddenly everyone and everything was watching me. The trees were reaching forward, their jagged wooden fingers digging into my clothes. Fear climbed the columns of my spine like a ladder, going straight to my head as though it were wine. 

Soft yellow light spilled from the door and collected on the porch. I climbed the steps two at a time until I stood just before the entrance. Peering through the partially-opened door, I searched for any sign of an intruder. From where I stood, there was nothing to see but a floral couch, faded after too many years in the sun.

"Ma'am?" A voice called from somewhere inside. 

I winced away from the words as though they were some physical force. One moment passed, then another. 

"What the fuck are you doing in my house?" My voice sounded far too bold to have fallen from my mouth.

"I'm with the Hancock Country Sheriff's department." The sound of footsteps met my ears for a moment, and then someone pulled my front door open. "It would be best if you came inside. I have a few questions."

I took a hesitant step backwards as I eyed the man in front of me. He looked young for a police officer, likely somewhere in his middle to late twenties. "Cop," I said, though it sounded more like an accusation. 

"That's right." He narrowed his eyes and stepped aside, "I recommend you just cooperate and come inside."

A type of fear I hadn't felt in a long time swirled in my gut. There was something familiar about him-- the uniform he wore, the weapons holstered by his side. He carried with him a sense of menace I'd only ever felt trapped inside that stupid fucking lab. 

Or maybe he was just a cop, and I was far too paranoid for my own good.

"Come inside?" I repeated incredulously, "This has to be breaking some sort of law. Who the fuck gave you permission to go in my house? I know my rights. Do you even have a warrant?"

As though he had rehearsed this very interaction beforehand, he pointed through the living room and into the kitchen, "No, but I have reasonable suspicion. Want to tell me what I found on your counter?"

I glanced past him and inside the house, wracking my brain for anything that I could've done to warrant legal action. Just when I came up blank, my eyes landed on my kitchen table. There, in all of it's very illegal glory, was an ashtray full of joint buds with an empty dime bag laying beside it.

"For fucks sake," I groaned, running a hand through my hair before I finally did as he asked and stepped inside. 

He led me towards the kitchen table and gestured for me to sit down. As though this were some kind of interrogation, he took the place across from me and folded his arms. "Lovely home you have here."

"Lovely enough for you to break into, apparently."

"You're aware that possessing or consuming marijuana is illegal, correct? And punishable by up to ten years in prison?" His accusatory brown eyes met mine and annoyance shot through me. He spoke with all the self-importance of a police officer but none of the charisma. 

"Are you seriously going to arrest me for smoking a little bit of weed?" I tilted my head, "Surely you have something better to do... Serial killers to catch? You know, this is why it took them so long to arrest Bundy. No one ever has their priorities in order."

"So you admit to smoking it?"

"Uh, no--."

He interrupted me by abruptly reaching up and grabbing the device strapped to his shoulder. Black plastic glinted beneath the overhead light as he clicked a button and radio static filled the room. "Subject acquired. Requesting additional units."

I froze.

Additional units.

Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. The feeling had been creeping upon me since our interaction began, but now it was impossible to ignore. This wasn't normal. I was one girl, unarmed, who had done nothing but smoke something she shouldn't. Bitchiness wasn't a viable reason for 'additional units' to be requested. 

My eyes drifted towards the knife sitting in the kitchen sink.

He sat between myself and the weapon. I met his eyes once more as a sense of severity fell upon my shoulders. I needed him to move. I needed him to move and then I need to get that knife and do whatever-- whatever-- was necessary. 

"Additional units?" I questioned as my hand slipped into my back pocket, "That's a bit overkill. The Hancock County Police Department must be pretty bored."

"Well, it would be time consuming for me to look through your house alone, wouldn't it? Illegal contraband isn't something to be taken lightly. I think it's best if we're thorough-- comb through the whole place, y'know?" His eyes scanned my face, searching for a reaction. Of course, I had far too much experience to let him find one. 

Not unless I wanted him to.

"Oh, I understand," I feigned a break in my voice, which he would assume was panic. "So you haven't checked the whole house yet?" My fingers curled around the lighter in my pocket. 

Suspicion shone in his eyes. Good. "No... Should I?"

I spared a glance behind his head and out the window as though I were searching for something. "No," I said too quickly, not meeting his eyes, "No, that's not necessary." 

And because he thought he was smart, the officer turned his head to find whatever I'd been looking at. In one fluid motion, I pulled the lighter from my pocket and tossed it into the other room. It fell to the ground with a thud, one that was all-too-noticeable in the tense silence which surrounded the two of us.

The man's head whipped back around. "What was that?" He demanded, scanning the room behind me, "Is somebody else here?"

"I'm sure it was nothing," I laughed nervously, "It's just such an old house--."

"--I don't think so," he stood from his chair, fingers brushing against the gun in his waistband. Just a few steps more.

I abruptly stood up, acting as a buffer between him and the next room. "No, no, really it was nothing. Why don't we sit back down? Tell me some more things about yourself... what's your badge number?" 

He pushed me aside and finally angled himself between me and the next room rather than me and the knife. How clever he must have thought he was, catching me in some sort of lie. "Stay right here," he instructed, taking a few more steps into the next room. Right before he glanced down the hallway, he demanded once more, "Don't go anywhere unless you want to earn yourself a longer sentence."

I anxiously brushed the hair away from my face. "Okay, I get it."

Finally, he took a few steps down the hallway and out of sight. 

The hall was short. He would realize no one was there and he would come back. Knowing I had no more than ten seconds, I raced to the sink and grasped the knife between trembling hands. It was a small thing, sharp enough to cut through steak but even that could be a task-- the blade was too dull. 

But it would work. With some speed, force, and just the right angle, it would work. 

When I heard the man's footsteps returning, I pressed my body against the wall. My heart slammed against my ribcage, threatening to shatter bone and break through flesh. I felt like I was losing my mind. Every thought, every person, everything ceased to matter as my entire existence narrowed down to a desperate, rabid need for self-preservation. 

It wasn't the first time I'd felt something like it, and I had this terrible feeling that it wouldn't be the last. 

The moment that the blue of his uniform entered my line of sight, I turned the corner and raised the knife to his throat. My hands weren't trembling anymore. "Put your hands over your head," I demanded, pressing the blade into him. Not enough to break skin, but the threat was clear. "Right now. Don't make me ask twice."

When our eyes met, mine were ice-cold. I couldn't afford empathy, nor a moral compass. Not anymore. He did as he was asked without another word.

I reached for his belt and cast aside anything that could be used as a weapon. Taser, handcuffs, some sort of baton thing, and-- my hands froze when I felt the gun. 

There was a momentary lapse of sanity. 

My eyes went unfocused and a shaking breath fell from my lips.

I tucked the gun into my back pocket.

"Call them off," I told him. "The 'additional units.' Call them off right now and I won't kill you."

"I can't," He struggled to say, head tilted back as he desperately tried not to move. I pressed the knife forward, and it finally bit into his skin. A wince crossed over his face as a single droplet of blood spilled onto his collarbone. 

"What do you mean 'you can't'?" I hissed, "You called them, just fucking call them off."

"You don't--" He paused, gritting his teeth, "You don't understand. I swear I'd call them off if I could but this isn't what you think it is. They're already on their way." 

The moment the words left his mouth, it felt like the room was tilting upside down. 

I barely managed to balance myself enough to spit out the words, "You're not a cop, are you?" 

It was impossible to miss the conflict in his eyes as he grappled with the question. Which answer was less likely to get him killed? "I--," He sighed in desperation and shook his head, confirming the very worst of my fears. 

I stumbled away from him, "Fuck." 

I was losing my mind. I had to be losing my mind. Standing there, I could feel a thousand sensations that had been lost to me. Tasers, the fabric of a hospital gown, the sting of a tattoo gun. They hit me all at once, stimulating nerves which hadn't been touched in years. Suddenly my skin was too tight and the room was robbed of oxygen. In a moment, I relived every moment of every day trapped behind those terrible white walls. 

"I won't go back," I gasped, pointing the knife at him.

"I'm sorry," The man cried, raising his arms in surrender, "Please, I'm sorry, I didn't have a choice."

I shook my head in disbelief. Maybe I was dreaming. This was a nightmare. This entire fucking terrible day had just been a nightmare and I would wake up any moment now in my bedroom. Perhaps a little more paranoid than before, but ultimately I'd be fine. 

"If you run now you might be able to get away."

Or maybe this was real. A rendition of my worst nightmares brought to life, and now I had to ask myself the impossible and unavoidable question of what I was willing to do to prevent it. 

"Don't follow me," I addressed the man as I pocketed the knife, "Don't tell anyone what direction I went in. Do not let them find out you told me to run. If you care even a little bit about your life, tell them I got the upper hand and there was nothing you could do." 

My fingers wrapped around the cold, metallic handle of the gun. I didn't give myself time to think about how heavy it was or how familiar it felt grasped between the trembling palms of my hands. After one final glance at the man, I made a beeline for the door. 

It opened before I could reach it. 

I came to a screeching halt in the middle of the living room. No one moved. Not me, not the 'police officer,' not even the person who had thrown open the door. The sleeve of whatever jacket they were wearing peeked out from beside the doorframe as though they were trying to hide from me. 

I clumsily cocked the gun and took slow, careful steps back into the kitchen. Standing there, I had a better view of everything past the front door. Three hulking cars were parked in my yard. They blended almost perfectly into the darkness of the night, save for the glint of my porch light off their pearlescent surface. 

Fuck.

With a renewed sense of purpose, I canvased the little cabin. There were three cars, one entrance, and only four windows I could fit through. My distinct disadvantage was the fact that the front door was already open, and at least two people knew where I was. Think, think, think. Perhaps I could send police officer man out as a decoy? No, that wouldn't work. He'd turn around and join them the second he was out of arm's reach.

When an arm wrapped around my shoulder I almost screamed. I whipped around to face whoever had grabbed me and took as many steps away as I could. 

Police officer man raised his arms as if to show me he meant no harm. "Calm down, okay? This isn't--," 

"--Don't tell me to fucking calm down," I whisper-yelled and pointed towards the front door, "There is nothing calm about three car-fulls of people standing outside my fucking house."

"I know. Okay? I know." His eyes flickered to the door, then back to me, "But they've surrounded the house already. It's too late. You're going to get yourself killed if you attempt a shootout," he gestured to my gun, "Not to mention that thing only has eight bullets. I know this isn't what you want to hear, but if you surrender now--."

"--Okay, that's enough. You can stop talking now." I ran a hand through my hair, "If I had known you were such a bitch I would've killed you."

He took a few steps past me as though he were trying to run out the door. I made a move to grab him before he could manage, but he pushed me aside. A gasp tore from my throat when he shouted, "She's in here!" 

Fuck me. 

Cold sweat ran over my body as I pressed the barrel of the gun to the back of his head. "Fucking idiot," I berated. Of course they were waiting for his fucking signal. He tensed against the touch of metal on his skin, but I was all out of empathy. I grasped his shirt and pulled him back into the kitchen. 

Just like that, the entire living room was flooded with people. Guard after guard stormed in, all equipped with a variety of weapons I surely had no chance fighting against. Their footfalls were heavy, booming through the entire house like gunfire. My heart sank with dread as each new person entered, bringing with them a stifling sort of terror. 

I couldn't breathe. 

Oh, my god, I couldn't  breathe.

Everyone was watching me, and it wasn't just my paranoia this time. No matter where I looked, there was a pair of eyes boring right into my skull. Breathe. My lungs rattled in my chest, desperately trying to keep up with the rapid way in which I gasped for air. 

"Stay back," I shouted. My house was too small. There were too many people. There wasn't enough air. "I said stay the fuck back!" The officer flinched when I pressed the gun into his head. 

No one moved. Why would they? I could hold one of their own at gunpoint and no one would bat a single fucking eye-- not even if I shot his brains across the living room floor. Those were the type of people standing in front of me. There was no bargaining, there was no begging, and there was certainly no mercy. 

"You're outnumbered, daughter. Put your weapon down."

No. My heart fell swelled out of my chest and up my throat. I met his eyes before I could muster up a semblance of composure. Martin Brenner was supposed to be dead. He was supposed to be buried in an unmarked grave, rotting away until he was nothing but bone. He wasn't supposed to be standing in the living room, guards parting the way for him as though he were some sort of Messiah.

I stumbled backwards, foolishly abandoning the man I'd been holding captive. He sprinted away from me and into the arms of the awaiting guards without interference. My sanity was slipping through my fingers. Slowly, at first, and then all at once. Black spots danced across my vision as I raised the gun towards the undead man standing ahead of me. 

"You're dead," I spat. My voice trembled. I was cornered. "This isn't happening. You're dead."

"Not quite," His voice was just as I remembered it. The key difference being it never made me so nauseous in the past. I felt like my knees were going to give out. "I have missed you, despite how we left one another. I was relieved to find you weren't among the dead--."

"--Stop it."

"I know this must be difficult for you, Sixteen, and I know you must be scared," He took a few steps closer. They were hesitant, as though he were nearing a wild animal. "I'm back for you. I know that I've done wrong in the past, I'll admit that, but it can be different this time. We can work together."

"I would rather.." My voice gave out. I had to pause, close my eyes, and take a deep, shuddering breath. My vision was sharper when it refocused on him, "I would rather die than go anywhere with you."

Brenner stepped closer. Nothing about him had changed. Not the crispness of his suit, the condescension of his speech, nor that feeling he gave me. He was everything terrible personified, staring me right in the eyes. It was enough to make me regret making it out five years ago. 

"I thought you might say that," he gestured to one of the soldiers beside him. "I'm afraid it isn't much of a choice. It won't always be this way, Sixteen, but for now I just need you to come with me. I'll explain everything soon. I promise. Just put down the gun."

"I don't want your explanations," I seethed, "I should kill you."

"Maybe you should... But then what?" He glanced around the room, "They would still take you back all the same. With or without me. But if you come willingly... peacefully... I can be your advocate. I can look after you."

"So I can be a prisoner again?" I demanded. My fingers paled around the handle of the gun. How could he make me feel so weak when I was holding such a weapon in my hands? "So you can manipulate me and experiment on me and hurt me? You must think I'm stupid. I won't go back."

When he stepped back, something ominous twisted in the air.

"That's your problem, Sixteen... You never did know when to quit." Brenner raised two fingers and the room went dead silent. I couldn't shake the feeling that he was holding an unpinned grenade in his hand as he signaled towards me. 

And then every single guard in the room was rushing towards me. I didn't even have time to think as they closed off the distance between us. I shot mindlessly into the crowd, desperation surging through my whole body as the first hand clasped my arm. "No," I screamed,  "No, no, get off of me!"

My voice ripped through the air as the gun was ripped from my hands. I kicked and scratched and bit with every fiber of my being, but it was too late. I was too late. I screamed into the open air as though my voice alone could would cut down every single guard, saving me from a fate far worse than death.

I can't go back. I can't go back. I can't go back.

For the first time in a long, long time, I reached for my abilities. They laid forgotten in a pit at the bottom of my stomach. I urged then to come to the surface, to warm my skin as they had so many years before. I told myself I wouldn't ever use them again after that day, but as I saw it, there was no other choice. With every muscle in my body, I reached.

But nothing came. No warmth, no electricity.

There was just nothing. 

HI GUYS HI HI HI HI HI IM BACK!!! I lowkey wasn't planning on writing a sequel but you guys were so nice to me and I didn't realize I would miss writing so much!

OKAY! so let me go into a little bit of detail on how the story is gonna work.

The first 10-15 chapters are going to take place on the site of 'Project Nina,' while the rest of the story will take place in Hawkins. ALSO Henry went to the upside down but he didn't get vecna-ified. HE'S STILL HOT!! WOOOOOOOOO!!!

He'll probably make his first IRL appearance in chapter 3 or 4.

Expect semi-frequent updates roughly every week. 

I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter :)) Can't wait to show you more! 

Feedback is always appreciated <3

Chapter Text

---OKAY, BEFORE YOU READ. THIS IS SORT OF EXPOSITION BUT ITS IMPORTANT TO HOW TO STROY WILL PLAY OUT!--- I know my fellow whores r here for henry so he will be pretty relevant in the next 2 chapters, promise.  OKAY ENJOY!!!

I think I lost my mind somewhere between Wyoming and Utah.

I was drugged beyond the point of comprehension for the entire ride to the Nevada Desert. I didn't remember much; just an overwhelming fear and a desire to escape the stifling heat. Whenever light started to swell before my eyes and my consciousness began to return to me, the sensation of something sharp digging into my skin stole it all away.

By the time I woke up fully, I knew my little life in Maine was gone for good.

Minutes turned into hours locked behind a military-grade metal door. Not knowing where I was, what was waiting for me, or how to cope with it. Each moment that passed, I slipped further and further from the grasps of sanity. An endless parade of tears poured down my face while I rocked myself back and forth, head tucked between my legs. The room I sat in was empty; devoid of anything aside from a metal table and two more metal chairs. It reminded me of the lab. This entire ordeal was a relentless, never-ending reminder of the lab.

I didn't want to give Brenner the pleasure of watching me lose my mind.

I tried to stay composed, at first. I sat there with tears in my eyes for about an hour, glaring daggers into the door ahead. It didn't stay that way for long. Soon tearful sighs turned into screams, and screams turned into throwing chairs at the door. I choked on my composure as the last shreds of my dignity were engulfed by flames of panic. I begged for someone to open the door, to come see me. Anything.

Then I reverted to a heap in the corner of the room, trying not to breathe too heavily for fear the room would run out of air.

"I can't breathe," I would whisper, breaking the all-encompassing silence ever so often. The words would collide with the metal walls and disappear, making me wonder if I'd ever spoken them into existence in the first place. "I can't breathe."

I'd heard plenty of stories about soldiers going off to fight in wars and getting 'shell shocked'. They'd, no doubt, behold the worst that humanity had to offer and return home changed because of it-- whether it was a friend getting shot in the face or an encampment being set on fire. I remember seeing one man on the news who ran around Maine for two months, fully believing he was still trapped on the Gulf of Tonkin.

Now, I'd never been to war, but if I had to guess what it would feel like to be 'shell shocked,' then this was it. My entire body trembled while I struggled to adjust to the transitions from freezing cold to burning hot. Nightmares flashed before my eyes, all derived from a doomsdays-like terror that was no doubt about to befall me. Ever so often, my ears rung and my eyes went bleary. It wasn't long before I lost track of the time.

When the door finally opened, I was so overcome with emotion I felt I would collapse. Everything inside of me screamed as I failed time and time again to process what was happening.

"Sixteen?" A voice called from across the room. I heard the sound of the door clicking shut behind them.

I must've been quite a sight to behold. I looked up at whoever had entered through bloodshot eyes and tear-bleached skin. "Why didn't anyone come?" My voice cracked and broke like a flightless bird trying to rise off the ground. "I called. I've been calling. Why did you all just leave me alone in here?"

"I didn't know that you were here. I would've come earlier if I had, I'm sorry." The man walked towards me. Unlike Papa, there was no hesitance when he approached. He was was an older man with greyed hair and crows feet around his eyes. A warm smile came to his face when we made eye contact, but even that scared me. I remember how Brenner had smiled at me when I was first taken to the lab. It was all a rouse meant to steal away my guard. I wouldn't be manipulated again.

He reached towards me and I pressed myself into the wall, heart thundering with panic. His smile faltered. "Will you let me help you up, Sixteen? We have a lot to discuss... preferably not on the ground but we could stay here, too, if you'd like that better." He gestured towards the two metal seats laying on the ground behind him. One of the legs was bending the wrong way, a result of being thrown one too many times.

"I can do it myself," I whispered, dropping my gaze to the ground. He stood there for a moment longer, watching me. My stomach turned beneath the weight of his eyes until, finally, he turned around.

I listened to his footsteps as they receded to the other end of the room. Metal screeched against the ground when he lifted the chairs and attempted to situate them around the table. I flinched at the sound, all-too-loud after I'd just endured hours of almost complete silence.

I finally managed to pull myself to my feet. My knees trembled beneath my body weight, leaving me to wonder if I even had the strength to carry myself all the way to the other end of the room. But, of course, I'd rather scrape up my knees and slam my face into the ground than ask for help, so I persisted.

I staggered to the table and collapsed into one of the chairs. When the man sat down, I hugged my knees into my chest. Perhaps if I made myself small enough, I'd be able to disappear entirely.

"I know you must be scared," The man murmured. Unlike Papa, he didn't try to hold my hand or establish any sort of skin-to-skin contact. "More than scared, actually. You look terrified. And after everything Brenner put you through, you have every right to feel that way. Things were supposed to be different this time around... You were supposed to come here of your own volition after understanding the risk that came with it, but it seems Brenner had a different plan. I'm here to explain everything to you, and apologize on his behalf."

"I don't need your apologies. I'll do whatever you want. Just don't let him take away my memories again. You can't--," I paused, choking back the urge to fall to my knees and beg, "--You just can't let him take my memories away, okay?"

The man looked at me in silence. His expression was soft, his eyes were softer. "No one is going to mess with your head. Not me, not Brenner. I promise."

"Okay," I whispered. I didn't believe him. Not for a moment. But, right then, I figured I'd stop torturing myself for a least a minute and listen. I could recall so many days where I sat in my bedroom, wondering if, given the chance, would I choose to rip all memories of Papa and the lab and him from my head? Back then, I said yes. Without question. But sitting there now, I knew I would fight tooth and nail to prevent such a thing. Forgetting would be a dishonor, I figured. To be a sole survivor was one thing, but to forget surviving entirely would be murdering them again. I didn't want to be a murderer anymore.

"Okay," The man replied, and offered his hand to me, "My name's Sam Owens. Call me whatever you'd like."

I glanced at his hand, then back at his eyes. It was with great effort that I finally manage to stop my fingers from trembling and shake his hand. The moment the gesture was finished, my arm returned to its place wrapped around my knees.

"I understand that you don't want to trust me, especially knowing that I'm associated with Brenner, but I promise this will be different than your time at Hawkins Lab. You can go wherever you'd like, whenever you'd like." He rested his elbows on the table and assumed a more lax posture, "You're in the Nevada Desert. Right now, we're on the site of a defective ICBM. Ever heard of one?"

I shook my head.

"It means 'Intercontinental Ballistic Missile.' It's much more simple than it sounds, basically just a big missile that can travel long distances. There are a bunch scattered all throughout deserts around here, but right now we're standing in one that's been emptied. There's no bomb at all, so it's basically just a big open space that we've counterfeited to be our base of operations," He explained.

I glanced at my surroundings once more. Pipes and wires of all sorts ran along the walls, rusted with age and corrosion. I was too busy panicking to actually try to understand what any of it meant when I first arrived, but now I understood. Unlike the lab, the walls weren't blindly white. They were spherical, alternating between a washed-out yellow color and dark grey.

"Who's 'we'?" I asked.

"Dr. Brenner and myself. There's also a collection of staff; you know, guards, nurses and such. Not to keep you stuck here, but to protect you."

"Protect me?" I spat out the words distastefully. Of course there was a catch. Of course. 'Protect' as in drag me through hallways, inject me with drugs and guard any possible exit at any moment. I could feel it all over again; a make-believe leash wrapping around my neck, stealing away my free-will as it had so many times in the past.

"Yes, protect. I know it may be difficult to understand, but there are factions in our government who are working directly against people like you."

"I thought everyone else like me was dead," I murmured. A single, delicate flame of hope was ignited inside me, warming my skin as I let my feet fall to the floor and leaned forward. "Is there... someone else?"

A face flashed in my mind, as vivid as the day that I left him.

Mr. Owen's smiled at the change in my disposition. Finally, I showed something other than fear. "Yes, actually. I know you're closely connected with the September 8th Massacre, probably more connected than anyone else, and so I figured you could work with Brenner and myself as a consultant of sorts."

"I don't really have access to my abilities anymore," I told him, "I haven't used them in years. I don't know if I can be much help."

"I'd disagree. You have a unique perspective on what it means to have abilities like yours, and you've also been mistreated in the past. Brenner and myself can work to help someone, but we can't fully understand what it is they're feeling or dealing with." Mr. Owen's said, "There's a little girl coming on site soon, you may know her as Number Eleven. I think she was around nine years old when you last saw her, but now she's fifteen. Unlike you, she's had a very... active... experience since she escaped the lab."

I was stunned at the flood of emotion that poured over me as he spoke. I didn't know Eleven. In fact, I hadn't ever said a word to her until that final day in the lab. But to know someone like me was alive-- someone who had experienced that terrible day just as I had a lived in spite of it-- it made my stomach turn with a grave sort of comfort.

"So she's coming here?" I asked. He nodded. I thought back to my experience coming here, trapped in my mind as I hyperventilated in the back of a car, unable to move or escape or do much of anything other than sit there and stew in my own thoughts. "You won't... do what you did to me to get her here, right? She'll have a choice?"

"Yes, she'll have a choice. You were supposed to have a choice, too, Sixteen. Martin figured you'd be less agreeable, so he took matters into his own hands." I didn't miss the spike of anger than punctuated his words, "If I'd known, I would've stopped it."

I gnawed on the inside of my cheek, "So if I'm just here to consult... why is she coming?"

"It's a long, long story, kiddo. I think it would be best if she explained it all to you," He sat back in his chair, "To put it simply, she used too much of her abilities at once, and they've been defective ever since. This place-- Project Nina-- is an elaborate plan to get her powers back. There's an... infection of sorts running through Hawkins, and if she isn't able to access her abilities, then there could be rather grave implications for the rest of us."

"What sort of implications?"

"Basically an 'end of the world' scenario."

"Oh," I stared at him for a few moments longer, waiting for a laugh or a smile or anything to imply that he was joking. When nothing came, I frowned, "Oh shit, you're serious?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

I blinked. "So Eleven is going to save the world?"

"If all goes as planned, yes," He replied. There was a twang of uncertainty in his words, like he didn't even believe the story he was telling me. "What you went through, the massacre, it's a lot for anyone to process. Trauma has a funny way of sticking with you. It lives in the body, too, not just the mind. Eleven was so young when she experienced something as mentally strenuous as the massacre, and so she coped with that with an advanced form of compartmentalization. She doesn't remember anything that happened that day. Brenner and I believe, if the right stimuli is applied and she's allowed to remember what happened, she might be able to access her powers again."

"How do you plan on making her remember again?"

"Well, as you know, the cameras in Hawkins Lab were functional for almost the entirety of the attack, meaning there's video footage of the events that transpired there and the months which led up to it," he gestured with his hands as he spoke, "There's a way to make her... relive the events in the tape, but only if she agrees to it. It will be like she's back in the lab all over again. We'll go for about four hours a day, with intermittent testing of her abilities, and progress from there."

"I see," I drummed my finger against my thigh as I struggled to process all the information being fed to me.

"There's one more thing, and I'm not sure if you'll like it," Owen's voice pulled me from my thoughts. Our eyes met, and he continued, "Tomorrow, there are plans for you to go in one of the sensory deprivation tanks. I'm sure you remember them from--."

"No." I heard the sound of my heart as it thundered in my ears. I couldn't easily forget what it was to be trapped in one of those metal abominations. Floating in that too-cold water, surrounded my nothing but darkness with no end in sight. It was a feverish sort of hell, something that felt too real to be a dream but too fake to be reality. "I'm not going in one of those things ever again."

"Sixteen--."

"--Why is that even necessary? It's not my powers this place is hinging on, it's Eleven's."

Dr. Owen's looked me through contemplative eyes, searching for the right words to say whatever it was he wanted to say, "You're right. Eleven is the main focus of Project Nina, but you weren't brought here solely to be a consultant. Brenner and I believe steps could be taken to help Eleven's rehabilitation process not only work, but work fast. If she were to train with someone like her, someone she felt comfortable with, she may be more receptive to the process."

"I can't," I shook my head, "I already told you my powers don't work. Don't you think I would've broken down that door by now if they did? Either way, I told myself I wouldn't use them again."

"I understand why you're scared, Sixteen, but--."

"No, you don't," The words came out far angrier than I intended.

Instead of getting defensive, he sat forward in his chair, "Then explain it to me."

"Why?" I whispered, "So you can tell Brenner? So he can use my fears against me?"

Owens didn't know what to say. I could see it on his face, eyes going blank as he searched for the proper response. What does one say to someone in a situation like mine? If I were him, I'd be at a loss, too.

"You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to," Owens began, mouth opening and closing as he soundlessly came up with the right words, "I know this isn't what you wanted, and I know it isn't fair to put something like this on your shoulders, but this is bigger than just us. Everyone hangs in the balance. Not just you, or me, or Eleven, or Brenner. Everyone. Your experience in the tank won't be like it was last time. You'll be drugged, yes, but I will explain every single thing to you along the way. What you're looking for, what your goal is, how the drugs will affect you. And if anything becomes too much, just say the word and I'll take you out. No questions, nothing. That's the difference this time, Sixteen, you have a say in everything."

My brain ran far too fast for me to keep up with. A million thoughts, fears, and objections popped up, but before I could fully process them, a million more took their place. There was so much to be afraid of. "Why the tank?" I whispered, "If you want me to help her train, fine. But why the tank?"

"Think of it like a battery of sorts," He began with a small smile, "When someone like you goes too long without using their abilities, they can forget how to access them entirely. It would take a long, long time to re-teach everything to you. Time we don't have. The tank is sort of like a jump-starter. It allows you uninhibited access to your power without distractions like sound, sight, or even touch. We can ballpark where your abilities are after five years, and then how they compare to Eleven's without the extra time it would usually require. Make sense?"

I nodded, drumming on my thigh with growing vigor.

"Now, I know you have a lot to think about, so I'll leave you to it. Just know Brenner and myself are here if you have anymore questions or worries or if you just need someone to talk to," Owens stood unsteadily from his chair-- the one with the bent leg-- and smiled at me, "Thank you, Sixteen. I know how overwhelming this is, but your contribution is everything. Thank you."

I met his eyes and allowed the corner of my mouth to twitch up into the closest thing to a smile that I could manage.

My mind was spinning.

Chapter Text

I didn't sleep that night. Not even for a moment. 

Over the years, I came to find that the one benefit of living in Maine-- aside from the surplus of forest-- was that I had an excuse not to think about the lab or any of the events which transpired there. My days didn't revolve around supernatural training sessions or meetings with governmental figures. It was so much easier to push away thoughts of tasers, hospital gowns, and white walls when there was nothing to remind me of them. 

Nevada, however, was different. There was no choice but to think of all those things I'd stored into little boxes in the back of my head. There was no choice to accept the very, very real possibility that I was about to live through such things all over again. And it scared me. So fucking badly. 

I think I nearly died last time. Somehow, though, I managed to rise to my feet despite what I endured. I didn't know if I could take a second round of it all-- my legs were still so shaky. 

I didn't really remember the first few months after escaping the lab. I fell into something of a 'dark period,' I suppose. There was still breath in my lungs and my heart still beat away in my chest, but I wasn't really there. I went through the motions, I existed, but that was all. Those first six months were indecipherable. Most days bled into the next, an impossible blurring of the lines that I had no way of differentiating. Other times weeks went by without me even realizing it. I became so very stagnant, kept on earth only by the gravity which coaxed my feet to the floor. Everything was stifling. It was tedious work piecing myself back together, navigating the neurons of my shattered mind and picking up shards in hopes of someday piecing everything back together. 

It didn't stay that way, of course. Things got better. The paranoia stayed, the panic attacks stayed, but things were still better. It was around then when I told myself I would stop agonizing over the lab and needlessly torturing myself with memories so impossibly out of reach. My life there was over.

It was for the better.

I knew it was for the better.

Because if it wasn't, that would mean I had outgrown the best days of my life, and what was the point of sprouting any further if my roots were so very rotten?

A pounding at the door pulled me from my rather macabre thoughts. I took a moment to comb my fingers through my hair and wipe the tiredness from beneath my eyes. "Come in," I called, standing from my bed. Although the t-shirt and sweatpants I'd been given were hardly flattering, they were different than the ones from the lab. The shirt had some band sprawled across the front, one that I wasn't at all familiar with but at least it wasn't that awful plain grey color from the lab. 

The door slid open carefully, as though whoever stood on the other side was afraid of me. I rolled my eyes and turned to my bed where I began tucking my sheets back into place. 

"Hello," A familiar voice called, "I've-- uh-- I've been assigned with bringing you to Brenner's office. If you could come with me, that would be great."

I spared a sidelong glance at police-officer-man, "How's the neck?"

"It's great, thanks for asking."

"You're welcome," I hummed, walking past him and into the hallway, "I still think you're a bitch, by the way." There was a sigh of annoyance from behind me, but that was all. My footfalls were rather loud against the metal grate that ran the length of the floor. 

"I think we got off on the wrong foot," He called, hurrying to keep up with me.

"Do you?" I asked, "Wow... I didn't realize I was speaking to Sherlock Holmes."

He didn't reply to my passive aggressive remark, instead opting to hold out an olive branch,"I just mean that tensions were running a little, um, high when we met... And I don't have any hard feelings. I'm not even mad at you for putting a knife to my throat."

"How gracious."

"No, seriously. All I'm saying that maybe we could, y'know, restart? We're gonna be seeing a lot of each other for the next few weeks so we might as well be... cordial."

I gave him a once-over out of the corner of my eye. There was a small, scabbed over wound on his neck, a result of the the more undistinguished events of our meeting. Now, I was no fool. After the disaster that was my last experience in captivity, I knew to hold anyone and everyone at an arm's length. But... Perhaps it would be better if he thought we were on good terms. At least then he'd have no real incentive to work against me given the option.

After seeing that damage people like Two and Four could cause, I figured it was best to avoid butting heads with anyone.

Before I could dwell on the pair any longer, I grimaced and forced my attention to turn towards police-officer-man. "Fine. We can restart," I said, "Starting with your name. And I mean your real name. I'll know if you're lying."

"How?"

"Well if I told you that would defeat the whole point, wouldn't it?"

He seemed lost in thought for a moment, then he nodded, "I guess that makes sense. My name's Beau."

"Like the hair-ribbon thing?" I questioned.

"No, not like the hair-ribbon thing," he grumbled.

"Kind of sounds like the hair-ribbon thing."

Disquiet gnawed at the back of my head. Something about him just felt... odd. I was so used to the guards at the lab, standing in stoic silence for hours on end. Sometimes it was like they could see right through me. Police officer man-- or Beau, I suppose-- seemed like the exact opposite. Now that I really thought about it, everyone here had been quite welcoming. Warm, even, as though we were all old friends meeting up after far too much time spent apart. Was it another manipulation tactic?

"Here we are," Beau's voice pulled me from my thoughts. 

My insides cringed at the thought of having to speak with Papa. I. wished I could say I knew myself-- knew how I was going to react to him or how long I'd be able to keep myself together-- but to say any of that would be a lie. Staring at that unassuming metal door, I felt nothing but the desperate, vehement urge to turn heel and sprint in the other direction. Beau wasn't much taller than me, maybe an inch or two, and I truly believed I could beat him to the exit if I really tried. 

But no, I wasn't to let Brenner of all people scare me away.

"Thanks for the escort, Beau," I addressed him as my hands grasped the doorknob, "And sorry for calling you a bitch."

"It's no prob--."

I pulled the door shut, abruptly cutting off his words. 

It was colder in Papa's office. Just as I entered, the ventilation purred to a stop, and then it was only us and the silence. My palms were slick with sweat as I looked at everything in the room aside from Brenner. His office was a bit more cluttered than the last one, but it still held that  empty, impersonal perfection that made my stomach turn. There were a few bins of files arranged neatly in the corner of the room. Aside from that, a desk took up a majority of the space, the same metal as everything which surrounded it. 

"It's nice to finally get a chance to speak to you, Sixteen," Brenner called. With no other choice, I begrudgingly allowed my eyes to meet his. I hope I didn't wince. "I know you've probably been dreading this interaction given our last. I wanted to say I'm sorry for the methods used to bring you here. I realize now that perhaps I was a little too forceful... Take a seat, daughter."

'Daughter.' A sour taste filled my mouth, but I did as I was told. I feared if I really sat down and allowed myself to think about the enormity of seeing him again, of what that meant for me and all those who'd died in the lab, I'd lose my mind all over again. It was better to keep my wits about me, I figured. If Brenner gave me a reason to rethink staying so very sane, then I'd just have to cross that bridge when I got there. Perhaps burn it down once I was safe on the other side. 

"I'm going in the tank today, right?" My eyes cut to his. 

A tense blanket of silence fell over the room. He knew how I hated that stupid fucking machine  best of all. How could he not, after being the one to put me through it so many times?

I hated him. Oh, god I hated him so much I almost couldn't breathe. 

"That's right," Brenner's face was grim with understanding. Feigning sympathy-- perhaps even guilt-- just like he had a million times before. "I'm sure Dr. Owens has informed you of a few changes in procedure. Your time in the sensory deprivation tank will be a little different than it was in the lab."

"Yeah. I have a choice this time, if what Dr. Owens said is to be believed." My nails bit into my palm. The sharp spike of pain that followed was just as sobering as I remembered, "Is that right, Papa? Do I have a choice?"

He got that look in his eyes. The one that used to make me curl in on myself in the lab. It was a prerequisite to tasers, to loud voices, to guards grabbing at my arms and locking me away. I was stunned at his ability to make me feel so very small, even after all these years. 

"Of course you have a choice." That look disappeared, replaced all-too-quickly by a smile. I was certain, if I didn't know him, I'd be compelled to wonder if I'd just hallucinated the whole thing. That was his game. It always had been. "You're still so slow to trust, Sixteen. Doesn't it get tiring?"

"Not at all," I said, tone so sweet it was almost saccharine, "What's tiring is people giving me reasons not to trust them... But, of course, you wouldn't ever do that, would you?"

His eyes narrowed, "Never."

"That's what I thought you would say," I replied, meaning all things. 

"Good, well... How about we go over the procedure for your time in the tank?" He offered, the smile returning to his face, "As you know, you'll have to change into a specially designed wet suite. I've upgraded the panels on the inside, so Owens and I will be able to see your body temperature, BPM, and oxygen levels without any extra equipment. Fair warning, the panels may pinch your skin when you put the suit on... Aside from that, it will be business as usual, if memory serves. Any questions?"

"A few," I replied, "What sort of drugs will I be on, and how will they affect me?"

"I'm not so sure--."

"Owens promised that I would be permitted to know every detail of the procedure," I cut him off.

Brenner's lips were agape as he searched for a justifiable reason not to answer me. When he did not find one, he frowned and said, "I suppose I'll have to speak to Owens next time around... Keep him from going and making anymore promises."

I stared at him blankly for one moment, then two. And he wondered why I was 'so slow to trust.' "I believe I asked a question, Papa. Or should I call you Brenner? I'm not really sure how this whole kidnapper-child dynamic is supposed to work now that I'm older."

He scoffed, "Don't be ridiculous, Sixteen."

"Wouldn't dream of it. What're the drugs?"

"You'll be injected with two different needles before you go into the tank," Brenner sat up straight in his chair and spoke as though the last exchange hadn't happened. That was another one of his talents; avoidance. I was surprised he got anything done in his life, considering his steadfast refusal to do much more than talk and give orders. 

"The first needle will be a mix of Alprazolam and Adderall. The alprazolam will increase the effects of a neurotransmitter in your brain called gamma-aminobutyric. In simpler terms, it will relax your mind and allow the adderall to run its course." Papa spoke as though the words physically hurt when they escaped his lips. I fought the urge to smile as I watched him stumble his way through the final bit, "The adderall will keep you focused through the effects of the final drug, which will be administered with the second injection."

"What's the final drug?"

"This one you might be familiar with. Does the term 'Lysergic Acid Diethylamide' ring any bells? Considering what was confiscated from your home in Maine, I have to assume it does--."

"--I've heard of it. LSD." With narrowed eyes I added, "And I smoke weed, not LSD. I don't even know how that would work. They're two very different things."

"They're both illegal, Sixteen. You know that," he shook his head in disapproval. 

I shot him a glare, "Let's not throw stones in glass houses, alright?"

"If you could at least be cordial, Sixteen, that would be very much appreciated," He spoke, as though he hadn't been provoking me this whole time. "We're going to be stuck together for the foreseeable future... May as well make it bearable for the both of us, hm?"

"May as well," I echoed, hoping my voice didn't sound as angry in his ears as it did mine.

"Great, well... Before you go, I have one final piece of advice," He sat up straight in his chair and addressed me with a type of severity that had been absent before, "There's no definite target for you to search for, so you'll have to choose something yourself. I know you may feel inclined to think about the lab or, perhaps even him, but do be careful not to. You may stumble across something you're not prepared to find. This spat of ours aside, I don't want you going in over your head."

Unease pooled in my stomach, but I nodded nonetheless. 

My breaths were far too shallow. They echoed all around, growing more and more faint as the minutes ticked by. My arm stung where the needles had broken skin, but soon that faded too. 

Sitting in the tank, the lines between today and five years ago began to blend. I couldn't differentiate anything anymore. My heart thundered. Nothing made any sense, and no matter how hard I tried to focus, all that came to mind was the task that I'd been assigned with. 

Trauma lives in the body, I'd been told. It lays dormant like some volcano, until its triggered and then it explodes, eating away at everything its path with a fiery, boiling sort of vengeance. I couldn't stop myself from burning alive. One would think the water which surrounded me, freezing cold as it was, would do anything to soothe my feverish skin. To great disappointment, it did not. 

When I first entered the tank I thought I would die. I watched with thinly veiled horror as a doctor stuck a needle in my arm, whispering words of comfort that I did not hear. She smiled at me, and then Papa took her place. Whatever advice he gave I soon forgot, washed away in a current of my own panic. 

I just knew I couldn't let them see me cry.

So that's all I focused on. Even as the tank closed over my head, trapping me in endless, metallic darkness, that's all I thought of. 

That was twenty minutes ago. I could feel the drugs beginning to take effect, making my mind run slow and syrupy. My face was warm as I blinked back tears and tried not to breathe too hard in fear of running out of air. Soon terror gave way to euphoria, a transition that I was not at all prepared for. My entire body trembled beneath the weight of it all. 

Water lapped gently against my skin, and I allowed my eyes to fall shut. 

If I focused just right, the icy cold water was the ocean. I could taste salt in my mouth, bitter against my taste buds but such a sweet reminder of home. I was weightless, floating in an endless pool of blue, the smell of summer blooming like a flower as I breathed it into my lungs. 

When I opened my eyes, I expected to find myself in the scene I had created, but there was nothing. I was still in that dark, empty, metal tank. 

Fuck.

Perhaps my abilities had simply gone away. Maybe Papa was wrong, and this whole ordeal was just as pointless as I feared. I remember how they once felt, my abilities. Cathartic and warm, like a blanket surrounding me or a mother's kiss. Unfortunately, I had neither a blanket nor a mother, just electricity in my veins and no idea how to access it.

I tried to call out, but I could not speak. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth, unmoving despite my best attempts. I was helpless, but I couldn't bring myself to mind. Where there should've been fear, there was calm. For a moment, I couldn't help but be thankful for all the drugs flowing through me. 

Maybe I could stay like this forever. 

But I still had a job to do.

A soft breath fell from my mouth. It echoed around the emptiness, and then it disappeared. I closed my eyes and reached for the concentrated electricity coiled in the bottom of my stomach. It slipped away from me. Once, twice, three times.

I could feel something there. My fingertips brushed against it, sending the smallest little shockwave through my whole body. Each time I thought I was close enough to finally get a foothold, I'd slip and end up further away than wherever I'd started. I gave it one more go, relishing in the most microscopic breath of heat as it warmed my skin. Something in my arm began tingling, but that was it. I broke with grunt, and I knew all that effort was for nothing. 

I sighed in irritation. The water mimicked me, slamming with a bit more force against the metal which enclosed it.

Laying there, I knew I had two options. Option one, exit the tank having made no progress. Papa would certainly give me a mouthful and Dr. Owens would be disappointed, but was that really so bad? I didn't think so, but then my thoughts shifted over to Eleven. All of this for a girl I hardly even knew. 

A girl who was just like me, and didn't have a single soul on this planet looking out for her.

I suppose there wasn't really any choice but to move on to option two. Fuck me. 

Emotion equals power... I knew that, and yet I didn't want to think about the man I'd left bleeding in Hawkins Lab. How he had painted the colorless white floors burning red. Truthfully, I didn't want any of this. They should've just left me alone. I couldn't shake the feeling that everything would be so, so much better if everyone just left me alone. 

But I had no choice, and that's how things had always been. 

I closed my eyes and took a deep, gulping breath of air. 

The moment his name crossed my mind, there was a palpable change in energy. I felt my body being constrained as though I'd been stuck into an airtight bag. And then I was falling. My stomach dropped and dropped and dropped until I was certain I could be sick, but then, all at once, it stopped. 

I gasped, and my eyes snapped back open. Fever burned through me as blood crept beneath my skin and rosed my cheeks. Surrounding me was expansive, never ending darkness. It wasn't like the tank this time. It was darker, bigger, echoing with furious vehemence. Water ran along the floor, black as ink and almost impossible to differentiate from everything else.

I scrambled from my spot on the ground, hastily tucking my hair behind my ears. I craned my neck to the sky in search of whatever was lighting up the void, but there was nothing to see. "Hello?" I shouted, the word echoing around me. 

Nothing moved. Darkness persisted. 

I felt something brushing against the skin on my leg. I looked down only find the water had gotten deeper. Before, it had been no more than an inch, but now the murkiness had risen to my knee, moving higher still. 

"Shit," I gasped. 

The water was harder to move in than I would've expected. When I tried to make a break for the other side of the room, it latched onto my skin as though it were trying to hold me still. It wasn't long before my entire waist was engulfed. It was the kind of cold that bit away at your nerves and painted your skin blue, rising higher and higher with each passing second. 

"Fuck me, fuck me," I cursed uselessly, running with renewed desperation towards what I hoped was land. Truthfully, I couldn't tell. Everything blended together in the darkness. I couldn't see the water rising, but I could feel it. My vision sharpened and suddenly the drugs didn't feel so calming. 

"Stop," I whispered, as though the flood would heed my wishes and sink back into the floor, "Stop it. Stop."

When the water met my chest, my struggling grew in intensity. This hadn't ever happened before. How many times had I navigated the black void in the lab? Tens, maybe hundreds of times. Standing there, it may as well have been my first as the water rose and rose and rose, trapping me beneath water so cold I feared it would turn to ice at a moment's notice. 

"Let me out!" I shouted helplessly, hoping my voice was transcend the void and get Owens' attention. "I don't want to do this anymore, okay? Please just let me out!"

The water had reached my neck by then. I kicked desperately at the depths below, but all I seemed to do was sink deeper. My hands grabbed at nothing in a last-ditch attempt at saving myself. "Help!" I screamed, voice raw with panic. The tears that I'd been holding back began slipping down my face as I tilted my head back and drank in air like I'd been dying of dehydration.

It felt like there were weights tied to my ankles, pulling me deeper into the water even as I fought to stay above the surface. "Someone fucking help me!" I screamed one final time, the words ripping through my throat and hammering into my eardrums.

A moment later and my head was beneath the surface. The tears pouring down my face seemed never-ending, lost in a flood of murky black water. My head pounded, and not even the lack of oxygen could distract me from the pain. My fingers brushed against the back of my skull, running against a gash that had long-since healed over. Somehow it burned, as though it had been ripped back open.

This time, when my hand grasped for something solid to hold onto, there wasn't nothing. 

A hand wrapped around mine, so warm it was almost burning, a terrible contrast to the water I suffocated beneath. 

Whoever it was, they pulled until my head was above the surface, and then my feet met something solid. With the person's help, I managed to pull my body onto some sort of ledge, though it was just as black as anything else. I collapsed onto my hands and knees, coughing so violently I expected the void to fall apart right there. 

My lungs rattled as water escaped them, collecting in a small puddle just ahead of me. I heaved in desperate, greedy mouthfuls of air as I tried to pull myself together. 

"Sixteen," the person called to me.

I froze. 

No.

"I was wondering when you were going to reach out," His voice was just as I remembered it, Cool like an autumn morning, crisp like leaves crunching beneath your feet. "I've missed you."

An abysmal sense of dread pooled through me, so palpable I felt I could drown in it. 

His name was barely a whisper falling from my lips, something I hadn't had the courage to say in over five years. 

"Henry."

Chapter Text

I had awoken into a nightmare, I realized. 

The black void was gone, but my reality was no better. When the lid of the tank had been lifted I stood there, surrounded by guards and doctors and scientists, all calling out to me but I could not hear their voices. My hand shot to my chest as though my palm would guide the air into my lungs. It didn't, and so I stood there gasping for breath until black spots filled my vision and my knees threatened to buckle beneath me. 

Hands came from all directions, forcing me out of the tank. Voices I didn't recognize called to me, the lights flashed overhead. Everything happened all at once. I couldn't breathe. Oh, god, I couldn't breathe.

Years worth of terror and longing and endless desperation flooded through me all at once. The contrasting emotions pulled my brain in far too many directions, stretching neurons to their breaking point. My existence was a raw, gaping wound and every doctor dug their nails into it. Is this what it is to be torn apart?

"Get out of the room," A voice shouted over all the chaos, cutting like a knife through my panic. "Everyone get out!"

Just like that, the hands on my body disappeared, and I was permitted to cave in on myself. My bleary vision finally focused, and though my body trembled and my lungs begged for oxygen, I managed to cling onto a semblance of sanity. I dug my nails into it, fought with every inadequate breath not to let go. 

Brenner was by my side a moment later, and just like that the room was deserted.

"What happened, Sixteen?" Papa asked, reaching down as if to help me off the ground, "What is it? What did you see?"

His hand met my arm but it may as well have been red hot. As though I'd been burned, I rose to my feet and staggered away from him. "He's alive," I whispered, partially to myself. The more I had time to process it, the worse it became. Hatred laced every syllable of every word as I spat, "He's alive and you knew it the whole fucking time."

Papa didn't look the least bit surprised. His face remained impassive as ever, a stark contrast to mine. "I assume you're referring to Henry," He answered cooly, "You're far too predictable, Sixteen. I warned you not to think about him, but of course, you ignored me. This is why I didn't tell you. I knew you couldn't handle it."

"Oh, god." I turned away from him and bit my tongue, doing my very best not to lash out. But I was filled with such anger and so little grace. Perhaps in a different life, I had more self control. Unfortunately, I only had this one. "You have to be fucking joking. Do you even hear yourself?"

"Yes. Quite clearly, in fact," He replied, eyes cold and empty as ever. "It's best that we talk about this once you've calmed down."

I fought to keep my legs in place as my every instinct demanded I do something. Hit him, kill him. They both seemed so satisfying. "I am sick of your lying and your condescension and your half-truths. I'm predictable? Give me a fucking break. How can a person have so little self awareness?"

He took the words without flinching. They lingered in the air, letting us both stew in it for a few moments more. "Let's not throw stones into glass houses, Sixte--."

"--Are you not ashamed of yourself?" I demanded, taking a few steps closer, "Because you should be. All of this is your fault. Every single fucking problem I've had in the past five years is your fault. What happened to Henry was your fault. You have to be guilty. I can't--," a shuddering breath fell from my lips "--I can't be the only one."

Finally, the faintest hint of emotion crossed over his face. Brenner's ability to make me feel so, incredibly small seemed to worsen during our time apart. "Always the victim, Sixteen. Aren't you?"

I opened my mouth to reply, but the words got caught in my throat. I choked on them.

Anger is ugly. It twisted up my face and made my blood run hot. There were so many things I had to say, but to verbalize them was another beast entirely. Standing there, I knew I was a hideous thing, rotten beyond recognition. "Can't you just be good?" I asked, desperation beginning to seep into my voice, "I keep hoping one day I'll wake up and you'll finally understand all that you've done. But it never happens. It never fucking happens."

"It seems we've both been disappointed," He shook his head, "I hoped, with time, you'd grow up. This entire ordeal is only difficult because you fight it with such ferocity."

"I never wanted this," I said hotly, "I never wanted any of this. You brought me here. You brought me to the lab in the first place. Why can't you just leave me alone?"

"I can't leave you alone because you're dangerous!" His composure slipped away as he got up in my face, his words echoing around the room. I felt a surge of fear rip through me as he grabbed my arms with a force I wasn't at all prepared for.

And although I wanted to curl in on myself or perhaps sink into the ground below me, I met his eyes without flinching. "Don't raise your voice at me," I whispered, "Ever."

"That's your problem, Sixteen. Your avoidance. You refuse to acknowledge all the wrong you've done and instead blame everyone else," His voice only got louder, ringing through my ears like gunfire, "You blame me for what happened to Henry? Tell me who pulled the trigger. Go on, Sixteen, tell me. Right now."

"Or what?" I asked, lashing out with anger to avoid the raw sting of his words. They felt like a knife in my gut. "You'll hit me? Go on, Papa, hit me. Show me all that fucking fatherly love you claim to have."

One moment passed, then another. We stood utterly still, his grip growing tighter with each second. I felt my arms beginning to go numb but showing my fear felt like defeat, and I refused to lose. I'd already done it so many times.

"Brenner!" A voice shouted from the other side of the room. Both of our heads turned towards Owens, who stood at the entrance with wide, angry eyes. He crossed the room a moment later, pushing Brenner off of me. "What in god's name do you think you're doing?" He seethed.

Brenner, for once, seemed out of sorts. It took him a few seconds to grasp at the strings of his composure, "This is a private matter between Sixteen and I. Please have some decorum and mind your business."

Owens carefully placed himself between Brenner and I. Instead of addressing him, Owens turned to me, "Are you alright?" He asked. 

I took a moment to wipe the flecks of spit from my face. With the adrenaline slowly beginning to fade, my hands trembled. "I'm fine," I replied, though it didn't sound nearly as convincing as I would hope.

Owens eyes scanned over me, searching for any sign of bodily harm. There was a light bruise on my left arm, though I was sure it would worsen with time. Unlike Papa, Owens' eyes held genuine warmth, and for a moment I got a sliver of what fatherly love was supposed to be. 

"How about we take a walk to the nurse's, Kiddo," He muttered, patting my shoulder and turning to his colleague. His tone was significantly less warm when he said, "We'll talk about this later, Martin."

And with that, he guided me out of the room. Before the metal door slammed shut, I spared a glance at Brenner. We made eye contact for one moment, then another. There was fury in his eyes the likes of which I hadn't ever seen in him. I was almost ashamed of the realization that I was happy not to be left alone with him. 

When we turned into the hallway, I could almost swear I saw a familiar white suit disappearing around the corner.

~

The sun had set long ago. When exactly, I couldn't be sure. 

I lost track of time early in the night, and soon enough it was three in the morning. Hours passed pacing the length of my bedroom and fighting not to lose my mind. When it was just me and the silence, my thoughts were far too loud. They ricochetted off one another in an infinite loop until the inside of my skull cried out for relief-- something that I could not afford to give it.  

Henry was alive. 

The phrase made me sick to my stomach. Fear and rampant confusion mixed together in my gut until I couldn't differentiate one from the other. Memories I'd long since laid to rest began crawling up from their dirt-ridden graves, demanding to be thought of. I didn't want to, but my mind didn't give me much choice in the matter. Soon I had relived every touch, every kiss, every word whispered against my ear. They weren't so comforting anymore. My guilt was never ending, because each time I thought of him, I thought of Six and Two and all those who had laid on the floor of the lab in a mass of blood and bone. 

There was also humiliation. Red hot humiliation that made me hate myself more than I could ever hate him. Because, despite all he'd done and how much he had hurt me, there was also relief. 

Like sunshine after a storm, rain after a forest fire. 

I hated him for it. I hated him for so many things. And the worst part of it was that I could not let him go. Even now, I cannot let him go. I don't think I ever will. There was a tear in my soul that would stay there long after I died, one that he had ripped open. 

I wished that he stayed dead. 

But he hadn't, and I paced in my room because I knew if I sat down, I wouldn't be able to control my urge to reach out to him. I had not forgiven him, I never would, but after five years of grieving, he had risen from the dead. It was stupid of me to wonder. Fuck, maybe I was just stupid. 

"Sixteen?" A voice called from the entrance of my room. I turned to see Beau, who had been standing guard outside my room all night. After the fight between Brenner and I, Owens had instructed him to keep watch just in case. 

I looked towards him and clumsily brushed my hair behind my ears, hoping to pull myself together at least a little bit. He must've thought I was insane, having spent hours on end walking the length of my bedroom. "What?" I asked sharply. Guilt sprang through me a moment later. I didn't mean to be rude. "Sorry, that was harsh."

"No, it's okay," He muttered, taking a few steps into my room, "I heard about what happened in the observation room today. Yikes."

"Yeah. Yikes."

"Are you schizophrenic?" He asked. 

I blinked. "What?"

"I mean you've just been like walking around your room all night and whispering to yourself. Looks a little schizophrenic if you ask me," He elaborated, "No judgment by the way. My mom's schizophrenic." 

"Thanks for clarifying," I replied sarcastically, "And no, I'm not schizophrenic. Just can't sleep."

"I could get you something to help with that. They've got a lot of drugs here. Like a shit ton--."

"--No," I said abruptly. "No, I'm good. Thanks though."

He looked at me for a few seconds, as though he wanted to say something but he wasn't sure if he should. Eventually he reached into his pockets and produced a cardboard box. "Want a cigarette? They might give you cancer but you'll probably be fine if you just have one."

"Very reassuring." I muttered, "Sure, I'll take one. Do you have a lighter I could borrow?"

Beau nodded and brushed a black sting of hair out of his face. A moment later, I had a cigarette and a light in my hand, and he was gone. 

I took a seat on my bed and placed them on the nightstand beside me. The mattress groaned beneath my weight, and I had to assume it was the same one from the lab. At least, here, the blankets were thicker. I sunk into my pillows and let my eyes drift over to the table once more. 

What if I reached out to Henry right now?

I shouldn't. I knew I shouldn't. 

But what if I did?

It's not like there was anyone to stop me. My abilities were back. Perhaps not as strong as before, but I could feel them turning beneath my skin, just waiting to be called upon. Who was going to stop me? I just wanted to see him, that's all. I could be there and then gone before he even saw me. Perhaps then my curiosity would be quenched and I wouldn't have to wonder any longer.

I couldn't fully understand the desire to reach out to him. I knew better. And If I was honest with myself, the idea of seeing him filled me with a sense of dread that made me wonder if I'd been the one to die all those years ago. But now that I knew he was there-- that I could see him, the urge to do so was unlike anything I'd ever felt before. It was an ache in the back of my mind, irrational and inconsolable. 

Perhaps it was muscle memory.

"This is a terrible idea," I whispered under my breath. And, despite knowing better, I rose from my seat and made my way towards the light switch. Through the little window in my bedroom door, I could see Beau bumming a cigarette. His eyes drifted shut every few seconds, and then he jumped up as if he'd been electrocuted and took a drag. He wouldn't be a problem.

I flipped the lights off and returned to my place on my bed. Once I'd arranged my pillows in a such way that I could sit up and still be comfortable, I crossed my legs and let my eyes drift shut. A soft sigh fell from my lips.

Oh, god, I was going to regret this, wasn't I?

It was too late by then. My fingertips had already grown warm as my abilities crawled beneath my skin. They crept into my bloodstream and dissipated through my whole body. A thundering pulse made my head ache, reminding me that I was much weaker than I had been before. Certainly that would change with time. My face twisted up with effort as I pushed myself harder and harder. 

Then it happened.

My whole body went numb and suddenly I was falling. Whether I was going up, down, or sideways, I couldn't be sure. Soon I'd transcended the bounds of reality and found myself in a deep, dark void somewhere in my subconscious. I focused on lazuli eyes and hair-- bright as the sun and soft as the clouds. My breaths surrounded me, coming from all directions without any discernible origin point. 

I opened my eyes, and there I was. Darkness closed in on me, spanning as far the eye could see. The only difference this time was the lack of water. Thank god.

I called out through the emptiness, but only silence greeted me. I rose to my feet and spun around, searching for the person I'd envisioned but he was nowhere to be found. The ball of anticipation which had crawled up my throat slowly disappeared. My heart ceased its endless hammering.

No one else was here. 

A bullet dodged, I told myself. I had to stop making impulsive decisions when I was upset.

Something warm dripped onto my lips. Internally, I flinched, the smell of blood all too familiar. I I wasn't surprised to see blood on my fingertips when I swiped at my nose. Something inside of me cringed knowing how much weaker I was. I never particularly wanted my abilities, but if I had to have them, then I at least wanted them to be strong.

"You've gotten yourself into quite the predicament, haven't you?" 

Fuck.

Henry's breath was warm against my neck. All of my thoughts ran screaming from my head as I gasped and stumbled away from him. My calm disappeared all at once. Panic ripped through me, and I finally made up my mind far too late. I didn't want to be here. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I hadn't thought this through. I'd jumped in head first without taking a goddamn moment to look at the water below. I met the waves and I met them hard, casting the air from my lungs and spilling the blood from my veins.

Something like hurt and nostalgia overcame me when my eyes fell to his. Bruises long since healed over suddenly ached as the ghost of his breath pressed into them. This was self sabotage. This was sickness. This was a ghost standing right in front of me, and I'd betrayed myself by being the one to summon him. 

Five years, and his blood had still not dried beneath my fingernails. 

There was no metaphor for this ache. 

"You're trembling, sweetheart," He said, taking careful steps towards me. His eyes were just as I remembered. All of him was just as I remembered. From the white of his suit to the easiness of his smile-- as sickeningly beautiful as the day that I left him. "Are you frightened?"

I wanted to be sharp as I had in the past, but staring up at him then, I'd never been so dull. My voice was almost shamefully soft when I whispered, "You're supposed to be dead."

His lips twisted into a smile. And although Henry tried to hide it, I could see the emotion turning in the depths of his eyes. He looked afraid, too, but beneath that fear there was anger. "You would think that, wouldn't you? After all, you were the one who killed me. Well, almost."

I winced at the memory, blinking my eyes in hopes that I'd open them and he'd be gone. Henry never looked away once. He devoured my every movement with discernment and something like curiosity. He wanted to watch as his words pierced through me.

"I never wanted to hurt you," I told him, head shaking side to side, "You didn't give me a choice."

He raised his eyebrows, a cruel smile filling up his face, "Is that what you tell yourself?"

My heart dropped into my stomach, "Henry--."

"--I've watched you," he interrupted, voice ricochetting through the surrounding infiniteness. "Every day. Parading around like you're one of them, only to go home to that sad little cabin and drown in your own guilt night after night... You see me everywhere, don't you?"

I opened my mouth to reply, but no words came out. He'd been there the whole time. Shame burned through me as I remembered those nights staring at the ceiling, mouthing his name in silent, desperate grief. God, I was fucking stupid. How had I not felt him?

"I don't think I've ever seen you speechless before," He hummed, tilting his head to the side. His voice echoed all around, making me relive the sting of his words over and over. "You would've known I was there if you hadn't given up on your abilities. I've always wondered what made you quit them. Was it guilt? Spite, perhaps?"

"I didn't want to hurt people anymore," I told him, my voice shuddering with a type of vulnerability that was utterly unfit for his ears. I'd abandoned my composure in the real world, and staring at him then, I wanted nothing more than to have it back.

A smile tugged at his lips, and the hardness of his features softened. "How sweet," Henry said, condescension practically dripping from his tongue, "Though, fighting against your nature tends to backfire on you, doesn't it?"

He tried to come closer once more, but I wouldn't allow it. 

At that, he drew back his shoulders and stared at me in a way only he could. "Some things never change, Sixteen. You're the same bird, just trapped in a different cage. I only hope you manage to get out before someone clips your wings." 

Something dark, ancient, and angry twisted in the air. My words were not nearly as passive when I hissed, "I'm not a fucking idiot, Henry. Keep your pity. I have no use for it."

At that, he laughed. The noise was sharp, finding solace deep in my eardrums. "You're so angry, sweetheart. Do you have any idea how strong you could be if you just focused it into the right place?"

I opened and closed my mouth, desperately searching for words that continued to elude me. What was he playing at? He spoke as though he were trying to help me, but how could he possibly have any wish to do so after I shot him? My wind whirled as he danced around me, searching for an angle in and I had no way of stopping him. 

"I hate you," I said to him. "I really hate you."

His eyes delved into mine and when he stepped forward, I didn't bother to step back. 

A tense silence fell between us. He leaned closer, and my skin crawled. The butterflies that he used to give me were nothing but ash on the floor of my stomach. I stared at the precise blue of his eyes, and suddenly their dust woke into consciousness. It was not a pleasant feeling. Something like disgust, desperation and shame accompanied every flutter of their wings.

I had never felt so sick as he whispered the words, "Say it again."

Chapter Text

I didn't wait for Beau to escort me to Brenner's office the next morning. The silence of my bedroom was all too stifling, and I was certain I'd die in there if I stayed a moment longer. Nervous energy coursed through my body. My hands fidgeted endlessly by my side as my legs led me in what I hoped was the right direction.

I couldn't shake the feeling that I was doing something very wrong. Each guard I passed smiled at me, and when they did, sweat came to my hands and my heart thundered in my chest. I would smile back, wondering if perhaps they could read my mind and see the treacherous, abysmal glint in Henry's eyes just as I had. They wouldn't be smiling at me if they knew what I had done.

There was something wrong with me. I was either too stupid or too stubborn to accept that Henry had never been Peter. I mourned what never was and never would be. And the worst part of it was that he still ignited a fire in my veins. Before, it had warmed me, but now it burned. And I, always the fool, relished in the flame. Fuck, I hated him.

I was a mess of crisscrossing thoughts and aggravated nerves, held together by sheer spite and nothing more. At some point, my grief had turned to embarrassment, and I wondered if everyone else could see how truly pathetic I'd become. I blamed Henry. Fucking asshole.

When I found Brenner's office door, relief ran over me. Of course, the last thing I wanted to do was talk to him, but at least Owens would be there and my thoughts would pause for a few minutes. Without giving myself time to change my mind, I knocked.

The metal made a low, resounding boom when my fist came in contact with it. The sound echoed down a few hallways, and just when it stopped, the words 'come in' took its place.

I pushed open the door and entered the soulless husk that was Papa's office. My eyes followed the exposed wiring on the wall as I scanned the room. Much to my dismay, Owens was nowhere to be found. "I thought Dr. Owens was gonna be here," I said, taking my place on the opposite end of the desk. The plain metal chair groaned beneath my weight.

A moment passed. I shifted uncomfortably.

"Yes, well, he had a more pressing matter to attend to," Brenner replied. If he was at all unsettled by our last interaction, he didn't show it. "Let's get started, hm? I'd like to discuss your experience in the tank."

I nodded, "Okay."

He glanced at me expectantly, and my mouth stayed closed. A few more seconds passed. "That means you have to tell me about it, Sixteen."

"Oh, right," I muttered, sitting up straight in my chair. Was this his plan? To ignore the events of our last meeting altogether? I wanted to handle this entire situation with grace, but I didn't know how much longer I could pretend to tolerate any of this.

"So, at first I tried to do what you told me. I didn't think of, uh, you know who, and tried to picture a beach. I focused on that for a little while but then nothing happened," I explained, "So after a few more minutes of trying, I gave up and turned my attention to you know who. At first, nothing happened, but then I felt myself falling, and when I opened my eyes I was in that black void thing. And... Yeah. That's it."

Brenner's eyes flitted between mine and the notepad on the desk. He wrote down everything I told him verbatim, going so far as to detail my intermittent pauses and stuttering. His handwriting was just as I expected-- neat, without any idiosyncrasies to be found. I wouldn't be surprised to find a font named after him.

When he was finished writing, he straightened his posture and looked at me. "Go on, Sixteen."

I blinked, "I'm finished. That's all that happened."

"That's not true," He replied. A grimace slipped past his solemn exterior as he forced out the words, "Tell me about Henry. How did you find him?"

A tense moment passed between us, and my mouth stayed shut.

I knew this spat between Brenner and I couldn't continue. I didn't have to like him-- I couldn't even if I tried-- but to provoke him as I had been wasn't a sustainable way to exist in this place. Henry's words, unwelcome as they were, sounded in my ears, 'you're the same bird, just trapped in a different cage. I only hope you manage to get out before someone clips your wings.' Once more, my eyes met Brenner's. I wasn't in the lab anymore. I didn't have Henry to protect me and I didn't have the safety net of naivety to fall into. Brenner was capable of overstepping Owens-- that was abundantly clear-- and I couldn't put it past him to do away with me if push came to shove.

Which meant I had to cooperate. Just like in the lab, I would have to swallow back my pride and play along without faltering. My insides cringed at the thought of having to give away what little autonomy remained.

Forcing the words out of my throat was much more difficult than before, and so my voice broke before I began to say, "Henry and I have always had a-- uh-- connection. In the lab, sometimes I could feel him through walls or lingering in places where he had just been. So that's basically how I found him."

"Was this connection mutual?" Brenner questioned.

"I think so," I answered, "I mean, at the time I didn't know about his abilities, but I never felt anything like it with any of the other kids in the lab. Not even Six."

He pursed his lips and replied, "Curious... I had suspicions that Soteria wasn't fully functional. Perhaps that's how he realized how much potential you had."

"You had suspicions?" I asked unevenly. The significance behind the words was not at all fitting of the nonchalant way in which he said them. My stomach turned at the realization. "And you didn't do anything about it?"

Any warmth that once heated his face quickly turned cold. He didn't like that. "So you realized he was alive because you felt his presence. Is that it?" He questioned, masterfully redirecting the conversation.

I felt unimaginably stifled as I fought not to press the matter any further. Conforming was worse than it had been before. Once I had sampled what it was to have free will, it was nearly impossible to rid the taste from my mouth.

But, with effort, I spat it out.

"No. When I arrived in the void, there was water on the ground. I just dismissed it at first, 'cause in the past, there was always something in there that was slightly different than before. But when the water started to rise, I knew something was wrong. It kept getting higher and higher, and I reached for something to pull myself out but there was nothing," The memory was an unpleasant one to relive, and I had to remind myself that I wasn't there anymore. Instead, I was sat in Brenner's office, recounting this story against my better judgment. "When the water got over my head, a hand grabbed mine and pulled me out. It was Henry."

Brenner seemed lost in thought for a moment. He stayed silent and then turned his attention to his notepad one more time. He jotted something down and, before I could read it, flipped the page. "Have you tried to contact him since?"

"No," I said, the lie coming to my lips with ease.

He let the pen drop from his hand. It hit the table with a surprising amount of force, and when my attention turned back to Brenner, he was already looking at me. "Are you sure?" He pressed.

I allowed the question to linger in the air for a few moments before replying, "Positive."

"I certainly hope that's true," He said cooly, folding his arms in front of him, "At our next meeting, we'll discuss the matter further. Before then, I'd like to run a few tests to see how your abilities are functioning after such a long dormant period. I imagine they're weaker than before."

"What sort of tests?"

"You'll see when the time comes, Sixteen."

Before I had any time to object, the little black box that was fastened to the wall behind Brenner made a noise. It crackled to life, and after a few moments, a grainy voice came from the speakers. I frowned, not having noticed the intercom system until then.

Brenner immediately stood from his seat. He made his way toward the box with an air of urgency that wasn't present in him before. I could almost swear I saw his hand tremble before he pressed down on a little red button located on the side. "Is she here?" He asked vaguely.

I couldn't hear much of what the man on the other end was saying, but I thought I heard the word 'yes' through the mess of grainy audio. They exchanged a few more words-- also indiscernible-- and then Brenner muttered a 'thank you' and turned to me.

"Do you recall the 'pressing matter' Owen's had to attend to?" He asked, taking a moment to readjust his cufflinks. I nodded. "Good, well, that pressing matter is named Eleven, and she just arrived. We are going to go welcome her."

Without waiting for my response, he pulled the door open and began into the hallway. I sat there for a moment longer, watching his back disappear. Was he just gonna leave? I figured I had no other choice but to follow him, so I rose from my seat and raced to catch up.

 My footsteps were especially loud on the metal grate, but Brenner didn't even seem to notice them as the two of us fell in step. I struggled to keep up with his pace, demanding the occasional 'slow down,' but he never heeded it. 

I studied his face, twisted up with what I had to assume was nervousness. Eleven must've been quite powerful to elicit such a feeling, especially from someone like Papa. For a moment, I wondered what I was getting myself into. If I was supposed to train with her, it would be quite humiliating to be thrown against a wall by a girl a little more than half my age.

My thoughts traveled back to those first few weeks in the lab, having to train with all the other kids. Being the oldest and having a fraction of the power of everyone else. Even the littlest kids were stronger than me. I cringed at the memory of beady eyes and judgemental laughs. How Two and Four would whisper to one another when Papa eventually allowed me to go back to my place in line, having accomplished nothing. 

The black and yellow walls blurred together as I tried to rid such thoughts from my head. I wasn't in the lab anymore. The bleached white tile was nothing but a ghost in the back of my mind, haunting me only because I allowed it to. Suddenly I grew quite fond of the grate beneath my feet, reminding me things were different now.

You're the same bird, just trapped in a different cage.

For what had to be the fifth time, I swore I saw a white suit and blonde hair disappearing around the corner. I glanced at Papa, hoping to see some recognition on his face, but there wasn't any. I cursed under my breath. Maybe I was going crazy.

"You will not speak to Eleven about Henry," Brenner called, pulling me out of my own head. He was not at all out of breath, despite the brisk pace he insisted on keeping. 

It took me a few moments to fully register the words. By then, we had reached the upper level of the observation room. A guard, clad in an off-black uniform and a baseball cap, pulled the door open for us. Brenner walked passed him without a word, while I turned and muttered, "Thank you," before rushing to keep up with him.

"Why not?" I demanded. Truthfully, I hadn't ever planned on discussing Henry with Eleven, but now that I didn't have a choice in the matter, it bothered me.

"I don't have time to explain right now, Sixteen. For once in your life please just listen," He said, waving me off as though he no longer had time for me. I guess I wasn't his favorite 'child.' And for a reason that was far, far beyond me, his dismissiveness stung. I never much liked Brenner, but apparently, threads of our connection still remained. They'd been pulled taunt over the years, but some of them hadn't yet snapped. The fact made my face twist up with disgust. 

I stopped walking for a moment and stood in silence. The occupants of the observation room buzzed all around me, but I had never felt farther away.

 I ran a hand through my hair and gathered my wits. 

The observation room was the best modern-day science had to offer to the world. In the center of the room was a large, enclosed tank with a two-way mirror for viewing purposes. Along the side of what I assumed was the steel outer cage, the word 'NINA' was printed in bold, black letters. Desks and machinery surrounded the tank. Doctors weaved to and fro, devotedly tending to little machines with bright, glowing buttons that I couldn't begin to understand. 

I stood on one of the observation decks suspended on the upper floor of the room. A set of metal stairs would lead me down to ground level, but Brenner blocked my way. He watched the door with discerning eyes, awaiting Eleven's imminent entrance.

As if on cue, the sound of the door hissing filled the air, and Brenner's posture straightened back up. 

There, in all their glory, stood Owens and Eleven.

The ambient chatter in the room suddenly fell silent, and all eyes turned to the girl.

Eleven didn't look half as intimidating as everyone else's silence seemed to suggest. In fact, she looked quite the opposite. Five years had passed since we last interacted, and she had changed quite a bit. Her brown hair had grown a little longer than shoulder length, pulled neatly behind her head. The one thing about Eleven that hadn't changed a bit was her eyes. They were exactly as I remembered them, colored like sunflower pistils and filled with such wonder. 

She surveyed the room with both curiosity and hesitance, but without the fear that I had when I first saw it. She trusted Owens, I gathered. For her sake, I hope it wasn't misplaced. 

"What is it?" Eleven questioned, head tilted back as she took it all in. She had a sweet voice, one that fitted her perfectly. 

"If we told you, it would ruin the surprise," Brenner called, voice splitting through the room and pulling her attention to him. Immediately, the curiosity in her eyes faded away. What replaced it filled me with a terrible sense of deja vu, and suddenly it may as well have been me standing in her place-- fear.

Owen's eyes fell on Eleven with apprehension. Perhaps even a little guilt. Good, I thought spitefully. He should feel guilty. It was clear that Eleven hadn't been warned of Brenner's presence. Her lip trembled as he began down the stairs, face growing paler with each step he took.

"Hello Eleven," Brenner greeted. The words were so meager, and yet they felt unbelievably threatening as they filled the room.

Eleven's breathing was heavy as she met his eyes, barely fighting off the panic that had no doubt flooded her entire being at that moment.  

Brenner's eyes briefly fell to the ground. He almost seemed hurt at the look of terror on her face, but I knew from experience that it couldn't be real. "I know," He muttered quietly, before meeting her eyes once more, "You're frightened of me... Perhaps in our time apart, you may have even grown to hate me. But all I've ever wanted to do is to help you."

I flinched at the words as though they were a physical force. 

"And, right now, I think you very much need my help," He said, advancing on her as though she were a wild animal. It was all too familiar, making me sick to my stomach as I watched her relive a moment that had no doubt only found solace in her nightmares. "Your gifts have been stolen. I believe I know why. And I believe I know how to get them back... Let us work together again."

He reached the bottom of the stairs and made his way toward her. He towered over Eleven and stared down with a stare so sovereign I was amazed she didn't collapse beneath it. "You and I..." His hand fell to her shoulder, and tears of sheer terror filled her eyes. "Daughter and Papa."

I began down the stairs as quietly as possible, sensing danger in the air as the tension became unbearable. Eleven stared at him for a few moments longer, body trembling under the weight of his hand. Just when I was convinced we'd all collapse beneath the pressure, Eleven ducked away from him.

Time paused for a moment, her widened eyes falling on mine. A single nod of my head, and she turned on her heel and sprinted in the other direction.

The room immediately erupted in chaos. By the time I reached Brenner's side, all of the guards had abandoned their positions to chase after her. My heart hammered in my chest as I followed after them, not knowing what I planned to do or even where I was going. 

When I reached the hallway, a gasp tore from my throat as an alarm sounded overhead. The same one as before. Suddenly I was in the movie room again, staring out at a hallway of dead children and bloodied walls. It pierced my ears just as it had that final day in the lab, and suddenly my legs couldn't move any longer. I leaned against the wall for support, overcome by memories long since laid to rest and dread so intense it was almost palpable.

Oh, god, what was happening to me?

I heard screaming in the distance, likely Eleven's. I was too far gone to register any of it. The room spun around me as I tried to cast any thoughts of the lab from my head. They only grew more vivid, intruding upon my body like a disease. The smell of blood hit me all at once, but none had been spilled. 

A million pictures flashed in front of my eyes, each one worse than the one before. Broken bones, distant screaming. A promise of something so very terrible that I'd rather rip my heart from my chest than face it-- It surrounded and killed me. 

I can't breathe. I can't breathe. I can't breathe. I can't breathe. I can't breathe.

A light shattered overhead, spilling glass onto my shoulders and into my scalp.  

When my mind returned to me, it didn't feel like my own.

~

Somewhere between consciousness and sleep, Henry visited me. I knew it wasn't actually him. It couldn't be, because he wrapped me up in his arms and whispered sweetness in my ear. He held me as I cried and screamed and begged for this all to be over, knowing full well it never would be. I was a fool for this. I was a fool for many things. If I was stronger, I would've cast the dream from my head and allowed reality to set in. Henry was not sweet, or gentle, or loving. 

But I could pretend. 

And so I did, because if I didn't, I worried my mind would finally fall into ruin. I allowed him to lie to me, to tell me he loved me, and I allowed myself to believe it. At least for now. He poisoned my skin with each breath that fanned down it. His touch was arsenic, and I eagerly swallowed. For now, I would allow myself to be ravaged. 

Lies can be beautiful, liars even more so. Dishonesty had never sounded so lovely as when it fell from the lush pink of his lips. Longing and disappointment were two entirely different emotions, battling in my mind as his fingers combed through my hair. This wasn't real, but the way he looked at me was enough for me to forget that fact. Blue eyes met mine in such a way, I felt the earth had frozen and the universe had paused just to let me look right back at him.

If he was a river, I would kiss the water, and if he was a fire, I would kiss the flame. 

It's a strange thing, to be held by one's murderer. 

That's all he was. A murderer. But, for now, I would pretend otherwise. 

Chapter Text

"Heart rate's now 120 BPM," A blonde doctor announced to the room. Owens and I exchanged brief eye contact. I didn't have to speak to him to know what he was thinking. Putting Eleven in the tank without any preparation or warning of any kind was a complete oversight on Brenner's part. Owens had tried to dissuade him, but we were on a considerable time crunch. Apparently, we couldn't spare three hours for Eleven to regain consciousness after being drugged into submission.

I watched her through a little television located in the enclosed-viewing area of the observation room. She floated in a white bathing suit similar to the one I'd worn, save for the extra equipment strapped to her person. The tank was serene in nature, and looking at her face, I could almost say she looked calm. But her heart rate proved otherwise.

As did the abundance of screens around the room, showing different angles of camera footage from the lab. In bright, red letters on the left corner of each screen was 'May 5th, 1979.' 

Through the use of the tank and all sorts of technology I couldn't begin to understand, Brenner managed to insert Eleven into the events of the tape. At first, I watched her. She awoke in the lab with no recollection of how she'd gotten there. Her breaths had filled up the emptiness of her bleached white prison, and I could do nothing but stare at the ceiling and try to collect myself. It was wrong to make her go back there. This entire situation was so, very wrong. 

I could only stomach so much of it at once. 

"She's rejecting it," Owens muttered, eyes flitting between the television set and the printer beside him, displaying her ever-quickening heartrate. 

"Give her time," Brenner said dismissively. 

"No, no, no." Owens replied, gesturing towards the television, "We shouldn't have just thrown her in like this. She's gonna drown in there."

"No," Papa replied with a grin, "No, she is going to swim."

My eyes shot toward him, "You care so much about saving time but this is counterproductive. If you hadn't drugged her, we could've explained the situation to her so she wouldn't be so scared. Who put you in charge anyways?"

Brenner sent me a cutting glare, "She was only drugged because she tried to escape. Please, Sixteen, keep your conjecture to yourself."

"Maybe she wouldn't have tried to escape if you all were just honest with her," I countered, 
"This could be so much easier if--."

"Well, well," An all-too-familiar voice suddenly sounded from the TV. My words died in my throat as I turned to face the source of the noise. "Look who finally decided to join us... someone's a sleepyhead this morning." I didn't have to look at the screen to know it was Henry-- or Peter, I suppose-- but I couldn't stop my eyes from zeroing in on him.

My thoughts traveled back to the night before. Over the years, Henry had only ever shown up in the very worst of my nightmares. He would wear his blood-stained suit, and his eyes would meet mine with the same azure-colored rage I had spent months trying to forget. He would mock me, hurt me, and laugh as my knees met the ground. 

But last night had been different.

A terrible sort of 'different' that made me mourn his cruelty. I recalled the way his breath felt against my ear, warm and horrifically inviting, just like before. All that could've been, presented to me in a dream only for the hard hand of reality to take it all away. His evilness I could tolerate, but his intimacy was unbearable. I grieved the sting of his hand across my cheek, a greater comfort than his fingers combing through my hair could ever be. There was no guilt when he hurt me, at the very least. The same could not be said for when he loved me. 

When I had gathered my bearings once more, Brenner was gone. Owens briefly placed his hand on my shoulder, and then he returned to his work. If anyone else noticed the conflict raging through me, they did not show it. Internally, I thanked them for their mercy.

"Sixteen," Someone called to me. 

My head whipped toward the source of the voice, but no one was there. 

Just as I turned back towards the television, something changed. In the back of my head, a force I had only just noticed began surging forward. My eyes narrowed as I took a few steps backward, my back meeting the wall. 

"Sixteen," The same voice-- Henry's voice-- called once more.

The room began flickering right in front of my eyes. One moment, I was in the observation room, listening to the steady beeping of machines and the chatter of doctors, and the next I found myself in the void. 

This wasn't right.

I glanced in all directions, willing the room back into focus, but it didn't work. At least not for long. As soon as my hearing tuned back in and I found myself back in my physical body, I was pulled right back out. Darkness closed in on me from all directions, and Henry called to me once more. 

"Stop fighting me," His disembodied voice echoed all around, "I just want to talk to you, Sixteen."

"How are you doing this?" I demanded, heart pounding in my chest. From my experience, I could only ever enter the void If I willed it. Now here I stood, desperately trying to do the exact opposite, only to find failure time and time again. There was one brief moment of respite when I returned to the observation room, but just like it was gone.

I furiously scanned the void for any physical sign of Henry, but I came up empty. "What are you doing?" I spat.

I felt a shift in the air around me, and I didn't have to turn to know Henry was there. "We have a connection, Sixteen. You can deny it all you'd like, but if it wasn't there then I wouldn't be able to call to you," He spoke from behind me. When I faced him, my reaction was just as visceral as the night before. My feet instinctually put distance between the two of us.

"We have no connection, Henry," I hissed, "Get out of my head."

His lips twisted up into a grin. I recalled the way they'd met mine the night before. "Why should I?" He questioned, tone light with amusement. "I'm much stronger than I was before. If I can see you, then I will."

"This is my mind."

"And I control it. Must you always be so stubborn?"

I closed my eyes and turned away from him. My abilities stirred in my veins, eager to come to the surface. "You don't control anything, Henry." With those words, I urged my mind to bend to my will. My skin grew warm with the resurgence of power, and just like that, I was returned to the observation room. 

It was different, this time. Owens stood in front of me, worry written across his face. Two of the doctors had abandoned their posts to stand around me. First, there was confusion, and then there was embarrassment. I was on the ground. "What just happened?" I demanded, rising to my feet and canvasing the room.

"Your eyes rolled to the back of your head," Owens answered, eyes flitting over my body in search of any harm, "And you weren't responsive."

"It looked like a seizure," A doctor chimed in.

"She should go to the infirmary," The other one said.

"No," I replied, probably too abruptly, "No. I'm fine. I just need a minute." 

Without another word, I practically threw myself at the door. My body spilled into the hallway as the sounds of my own breathing filled my ears. 

I could still feel him inside me. Behind my eyelids, between my teeth. Seething, waiting, desperately trying to get a foothold in my reality and force me back into his. Something was wrong. I suppose something had been wrong ever since I arrived here, but now it was amplified. Made worse by the incessant, unrelenting presence of Henry all around. 

I squeezed my eyes shut and allowed a frustrated sigh to fall from my lips. 

"What's wrong?" Another person suddenly called. 

I gritted my teeth. I couldn't ever be alone, could I? "Nothing is wrong. Go away."

"Doesn't look that way," Beau hummed, taking a few steps further down the hallway. He had to be positioned outside the observation room, but judging by what I assumed was a joint grasped in his hand, he was in no position to be working. 

"What are you smoking?" I questioned, both out of curiosity and to change the topic.

Like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar, he immediately hid the joint from view. "Nothing. I'm not smoking anything."

I stared at him blankly. "I can smell it, Beau."

A moment of silence passed. He pursed his lips, "Oh."

"Yeah."

"Are you gonna tell on me?"

"That depends," I replied, feeling far more bold than what was wise. I needed a distraction desperately, and if Beau could offer it, then some light blackmailing was okay. Necessary, even. "Are you gonna let me smoke with you?"

His eyebrows shot up, "Absolutely not."

~

The kitchen on the site of Project Nina was much like the kitchen in the lab. Stainless steel as far as the eye could see, sterile beyond belief. It looked like something out of a magazine and a psychiatric hospital, which was a pretty bizarre combination. Beau lay beside me on the kitchen table, staring up at the ceiling. A discarded box of toaster strudel sat on the floor a few feet from his head. 

If it weren't for the smoke curling around the room, I'd have been incredibly uncomfortable in that room. The ventilation was so loud it almost hurt, but the more I brought his joint to my lips, the more it quieted. Soon it was nothing more than a light summer's breeze, and if I closed my eyes, I could even smell freshly cut grass and feel the give of sand beneath my feet.

I coughed, the foul after-taste filling my mouth as I handed the joint back to Beau. 

"What should we talk about?" He asked.

I glanced at him, "We don't have to talk about anything."

"Why not?"

"The whole point of getting high is that you don't have to think about things. Talking makes you think."

"Huh," He began, pausing to take another drag, "I disagree. We should talk about something."

If I were sober, his insistence would annoy me. But I wasn't, and if I had to tolerate some awkward small talk to rid Henry from my head, then that's exactly what I would do. "What's your favorite color?" I asked. 

He let out a wheezing laugh interlaced with smoke, "Are you serious?"

"Fine," I muttered, raising my hands in defeat, "I bet it's shitty anyways."

Another brief silence passed. I had never been very good at keeping up conversations, and it showed even more when I wasn't in control of my thoughts. I blew a sigh from my lips and turned to snatch up one of the toaster strudels Beau had so expertly prepared. 

"What's the meaning of life?" He asked.

Now it was my turn to laugh, "Oh, god, that's the best you can come up with? Come on, Beau. I'd rather not have an existential crisis today. How about you tell me what you did before all this?"

"Drug dealer."

I stared at him for a moment, waiting for him to laugh. When he didn't, I clicked my tongue, "Oh, you're serious."

"Yeah."

"Cool."

"You think so?"

"Well, I don't know enough drug dealers to say whether being one is cool or not," I took a bite of my strudel and continued, "Was it like a soldier-by-day drug dealer-by-night situation?"

He laughed, and handed the joint back to me, "You're close. I grew up in a rough neighborhood. It was me and my mom, so I had to figure out a way to make money. When she found out, she got real angry. Sent me off to the military."

"Are you mad at her for that?"

"My mom? No. I could never be mad at her. She wanted me to straighten myself out and so that's what I did. I got sent out to Japan, and then I rose up the ranks pretty quick." His voice seemed far off, as though he were reliving a particularly fond memory. "It didn't last long though. I had a drug problem... Living like that isn't sustainable."

I frowned and sat up. The joint between my fingers felt particularly heavy when I asked, "Should I be worried?"

"About weed? No," He shook his head, "This is the easy stuff."

I offered him a sidelong glance and laid back down. "So you got kicked out of the military?"

"Dishonorably discharged," He corrected, a frown coming to his face, "Before I could come back home, Brenner entered the picture. I would've gone to jail for dealing if he hadn't found me. He promised me a lesser sentence if I agreed to leave my mom and come here, so that's exactly what I did."

"Do you trust him?"

"Who?"

"Brenner."

His breath hitched, "No, not really." 

I nodded, eyes turning back to the ceiling. Sometimes it was frustrating to know when people were lying. "You don't have to lie. It's okay if you do. Just be careful around him."

He seemed hesitant for a moment, mouth opening and closing as he searched for the right word. "He did me a solid. I figure I owe him my trust. How did you know I was lying?"

"Just a guess," I lied right back, leaving out the fact that I heard his breathing waver right before he'd said it. 

"Well," He shrugged, "Now you know how I got here. Your turn."

I brought the joint up to my lips and took a deep, steadying drag. The air burnt as it entered my lungs, but I relished in the heat. I held my breath until black spots danced across my vision, and then I exhaled. "I don't want to dampen the mood."

"I'd argue it's already pretty damp."

I laughed. When I looked back at the ceiling, the stucco was much more interesting than it had been before. I traced the peaks of valleys of the vermiculite with my eyes, and then I opened my mouth to speak. "I don't remember much. Just what Brenner told me."

Beau furrowed his eyebrows, "You mean you don't remember coming to Project Nina?"

"Oh, no, that I remember," I said. If anything, I remembered it all too well. "I meant I don't really remember how I got involved with Brenner. Or I guess what led up to it."

"Why's that?"

"It's a long story."

"We have time."

I hesitated for a few moments. The last time I'd trusted someone with my past, they ended up dead. Then there was Henry, who had done something far worst than just die. I suppose I could give him some half-truths, but that was all I could manage. 

"Before Nina, I was a test subject. That's why everyone here calls me Sixteen."

"I thought your mom just hated you," Beau hummed.

I elbowed him and continued, "I got to the lab and I had a seizure. Sort of."

"How do you sort of have a seizure?"

"Another long story," I said dismissively, skin prickling at the memory, "I don't remember much. Anything before the seizure is just kind of... black. I was 18, so that's a majority of my life and I don't remember a second of it."

A silence passed. 

"Your parents. Do you remember them at all?"

"Nope," I replied. 

"Did you ever look for them?"

"I didn't see a point in it once I got out," I replied, "I think it would be cruel of me to search them out again. To have your child go missing is one thing, but to have your daughter return to you after years as someone you don't even recognize? That's much worse. They're better off without me.

"Either way, they'd be in danger if I came back. I basically just stuck to myself when I got out," I finished. The cold fingers of grief closed around my steadily beating heart, and I thanked the weed for my ability to fend them off.

"You're leaving something out, aren't you?" Beau said, taking me by surprise. He laughed at the bewildered expression on my face, "You're not the only one who can notice things. What happened?"

"I met someone," I told him, "In that lab. He was a staff member."

"Damn. That's some Romeo and Juliette shit."

I laughed, but it didn't quite meet my eyes. I suppose the throughline of tragedy was Shakespearean, but Henry and I were certainly nothing like Romeo and Juliette.

"What was he like?"

I thought of Peter when I answered the question. Not Henry, but Peter. "He was everything," I muttered. "Smart. Like really, freakishly smart. And he was kind, too. All the other staff there treated me like some kind of animal, but he was always patient with me. Even when I wasn't as powerful as all the other kids, he always saw something in me. I only believed in myself because he believed in me."

Beau smiled, "He sounds perfect."

"He was," I said, "But it's not a good idea to put so much of yourself in someone else's hands. I relied on him too much. It made me blind." 

I could physically see as Beau began putting the pieces together. Slowly, his smile faded into a frown. My eyes went unfocused. "So he's what happened," Beau whispered, as though he thought speaking too loud would make the words hurt more than they already did, "What did he do?"

I spoke the words into existence before I could shy away from them, "He killed my best friend. And a lot of other people."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Where is he now?"

"Dead."

"How?"

"I killed him."

Beau met my eyes and, despite how horrible it was, he smiled, "Fucker had it coming."

"I suppose he did, didn't he?" I replied, a question that was not at all meant to be rhetorical. But that's how he took it. "You kind of remind me of her."

"Who?"

"My friend," I replied. Six's gap-toothed smile flashed in front of my face, and my heart sunk further than it did before. "Six. She was funny like you are. She had this talent for drawing, and it was really impressive in the lab because she was entirely self-taught. She could've painted the Mona Lisa if she wanted to."

"I bet she's still drawing," Beau replied, unwrapping a toaster strudel of his own, "Up in heaven. They've got all the paper and ink you need up there."

I furrowed my eyebrows, "You're religious?"

"Mhm," He replied, taking a bite of the strudel, "My mom's been bringing me to church ever since I can remember. I got closer to God in Japan. He reminded me of home. Made me feel less lonely. I think I'd be lost without my faith. It gives me a purpose."

"That's beautiful," I hummed. This time when I stared up at the ceiling, I tried to picture someone like God staring back down at me. Instead of comfort, I only felt bitterness.

"What about you?" Beau asked. 

"Nope," I said and left it at that. 

I figured it would be bad form to tell Beau that, if there was a God, I hated him. That if this was all his plan, then there was no comfort to be found in the arms of such a nurturing terror. I envied the connection that Beau had, but I could not set aside my anger. No amount of rosaries and prayer would get rid of the ink in the skin. I figured, by now, it was too late anyway. My soul was stained a deep, dark black, and there was no making it pure again. 

I stared at the ceiling and I felt nothing but a lingering discomfort that I always carried with me.

"I should probably get back to my post," Beau muttered, sitting up from his place beside me. The metal of the table groaned beneath his weight. "You should get back, too. We'll both get in trouble if you're caught in here."

I glanced towards the door, then back at the ceiling. The idea of getting up and walking to my room was far too much. "I'll head out soon. I wanna finish my soda. You can go on without me." 

He lingered at the door for a moment, as though he wasn't sure if he could trust me on my own. Eventually, he made up his mind and straightened out his uniform. A second later, he was gone, and I was on my own again.

I chewed on the inside of my cheek, immediately regretting all that had just transpired. I had this awful habit of letting my common sense get away from me when I was high. Beau couldn't be trusted. Even with the most minor details from my past. 

I groaned and turned onto my side. 

I didn't want to live like this. To hold all that I was or ever had been close to my chest as though someone was trying to steal it from me. There was no trusting Beau, or Papa, or Henry, or Owens, or anyone-- I was sick and tired of waving my paranoia like it were some kind of flag.

Things shouldn't be this way. It was all so very unfair, and sitting there, I couldn't help being bitter. My tastebuds burned with something sour and angry, growing worse with each second. Sometimes, if I squinted my eyes just right, I could see why Henry lost his mind in that lab. To stew in such feelings for decades on end was something else entirely. A fate far, far worse than death.

For a moment, I could almost understand why he did what he did. 

My thoughts came to a halt when I felt that same surge in the back of my mind that I'd felt in the observation room. There was a rush of energy that I hadn't tried to conjure, and soon heat crawled beneath my skin. A presence I recognized all too well breathed down my back, and when I sat up, there Henry stood.

"What do you want?" I muttered annoyedly. Through bleary, red eyes, it took me a moment to process the fact that something was wrong. We weren't in the void this time. Henry stood in the kitchen just as I did, clear as day like he was physically in the room with me. "Wait... I'm confused."

Perhaps the moment of silence that stretched between us wasn't as long as it seemed, but it was then that I realized I wasn't nearly as sober as I thought. Maybe it was better this way. The bone-deep terror Henry typically inflicted wasn't quite so debilitating, and looking at him then, I could almost think clearly. 

He stood on the other side of the room, leaning against the countertop and watching me with a pensive sort of curiosity. "Who was that boy you were with?"

I sighed annoyedly and pushed myself off the table. The sound of my feet hitting the ground was strikingly loud. "Why?" I sent him a cutting glare, "Jealous? That's too bad."

"Answer the question."

"Say the magic word, Henry, and then I'll think about it."

"Answer the question, Sixteen," He repeated, his tone not at all kind. 

"You're quite prickly for a dead guy."

"I'm not prickly, just curious." He took a few steps closer, blue eyes glued to mine the entire time. A familiar sort of fear sliced through my inebriated haze, but it wasn't enough to make me step away. I was far too bold under the influence. "And you're avoiding my question."

"He's my friend, Henry. And even if he was more, it doesn't concern you in the least."

His lips twisted up into a frown. This time, when he stepped closer, I didn't hold my ground. He had that look in his eyes, one that I'd seen before. A mixture of anger and hurt swirled around until it made me dizzy to behold. 

"But it does... concern me," His voice dipped low. A scream nearly fell from my mouth when my back met the counter. Without any more space to back up, panic crawled up my throat until I choked on it. "You know that," he murmured.

He was too close. Far, far too close. I could feel my skeleton straining beneath my skin, desperate to get away from the cutting way that his eyes met mine. Certainly, I'd split in half if this went on for a moment longer.

It took me a long while to swallow back my fear. Once I had, its taste still lingered on my tastebuds. "How are you here?"

His features softened as though I'd something especially sweet. "You still have so much to learn, sweetheart. Our abilities go far beyond the scope Brenner has shown you." He leaned closer, trapping me against the counter. I pushed myself as far from him as I could, freezing cold metal biting through my t-shirt. "What's that on your breath, Sixteen?"

I ducked away from him, and suddenly I could breathe again. "What do you think? Don't tell me you're one of those uptight, anti-drug people... As if you could get any worse."

Henry frowned, "You shouldn't be taking handouts from him."

"I'm not taking handouts," I replied, "I had to blackmail him."

He laughed, and it sounded just as it had all those years ago. My heart clenched uncomfortably at the memory. 

"So not much has changed then," He hummed. When he reached towards me, I couldn't help but flinch away. Henry paused, the humor in his eyes giving way to guilt. He looked to the ceiling for a moment, as though he couldn't bear to see me.

"Not much has changed except this," he gathered his bearings and combed his fingers through my hair. Before I could react, they were gone, "Long hair suits you, my love."

"Don't call me that," I said sharply, "I'm not stupid anymore, Henry. I know all your compliments are hollow. Please, for both of our sakes, just stop. I've felt you reaching out to me all day. Tell me what you want so I can get this over with."

A moment passed. I could see a million thoughts swirling in his eyes-- too many words to say and not enough time to say them. I doubt he could've even if he tried. "I want the same thing I wanted five years ago," His gaze met mine, meaning all things, "But it's clear you're still not willing to give it to me."

I scoffed, "Save the melodramatic 'join me' speech. It gets a little repetitive, don't you think?"

His lips pulled into a lazy grin, "You'll change your mind in time, sweetheart. But until then, the only thing I want from you is your eyes."

"My eyes?" I questioned, "Is it for a potion you're brewing?"

"Something like that," He replied vaguely.

"Some more detail would be appreciated, Henry."

"I already explained it to you, Sixteen. Our abilities are stronger without the inhibitions Brenner places on them," He leaned against the counter almost lazily, "Mine especially. I have this... ability to see what people are thinking. Even you, believe it or not."

"Okay, well, I don't believe it."

"I could go inside your mind and prove it to you if you'd like."

"I would not like."

"That's what I thought you'd say," He smiled once more, "Either way, your abilities enable you to know when I'm searching through your thoughts. Surely you've felt it already... a power surge, perhaps a sharp pain in the back of your head.

"So you've already looked through my mind?" I questioned wearily.

"I have," He almost sounded proud, "But don't worry, sweetheart, I can only see your negative memories. That's how I know Number Eleven is with you. It's wrong, what they did to her. I never much liked that tank."

I winced at the thought of him invading my mind, the one place where I could exist and be completely autonomous. "Stay out of my head, Henry."

"I don't like it any more than you do, Sixteen," he furrowed his eyebrows as he recounted the memory, "It's a rather dark place. Though, I can't say I'm surprised... Either way, don't worry your pretty mind, I don't plan on invading it often-- only when I need an update on the happenings in Brenner's program. It's a shame I didn't manage to kill him in the lab."

I tried to ignore the sting of his last comment. "I'm not going to help you, Henry. Stay out of my head."

"Unfortunately, you don't have much of a say in the matter. Think of yourself as my own little spy." When he saw the bitter look that crossed my face, he straightened out his posture, "Don't fret, sweetheart. I'll only take what I need. With the proper training, you'll be able to look through my mind, too."

"I have no interest in your mind," I hissed.

"Keep telling yourself that," He hummed, "maybe you'll start to believe it."

"Why can't you just leave me alone?" I demanded. Anger twisted up my insides, and as much as I wanted to hold onto my composure, I knew it had no fighting chance. Not with the intoxication of both Henry's presence and the drug running through my system. It had been a grave error, reaching out to Henry that first day. I had this terrible feeling that I'd opened a floodgate, and now the force of a thousand oceans was rushing through and I didn't have the strength to close it again.

"I've tried," He whispered, voice disarmingly raw, "Believe me, Sixteen, I've tried. I just can't."

"Try harder, Henry," my eyes bore into his, gaze so intense it almost hurt, "Please."

The bits of sincerity that had peeked out between the buttons in his suit quickly ducked back into their hiding place. His eyes turned stone cold. "It's not an option anymore. I need the intel you can offer me. I need you."

Before I could reply, he was gone.

Chapter Text

I really hate awkward silence.

The phrase repeated over and over in my head as I sat opposite Eleven. The training room was completely deserted. I was going to murder whoever had the bright idea of sticking the two of us together like this. No warning, no introduction, nothing. At first, I figured Brenner was just running late, but soon thirty minutes passed with Eleven and I sitting in unbroken silence. That motherfucker had set me up. 

By the time I realized, though, it was too late to turn heel and walk away-- a guard had been promptly stationed outside of our door.

So now we sat opposite one another, two paper bags situated on the circular table between us. Mine remained untouched, while Eleven had opened hers immediately upon sitting down. Inside, she found a pack of lays chips and a sandwich on soggy-looking bread. She didn't eat either of them.

I was too stubborn to start a conversation. Or maybe I was just too tired. Last night had been spent tossing and turning, replaying my and Henry's interaction until I couldn't stand to think of him any longer. Of course, my mind never much cared to heed my wishes, so the thoughts of him persisted. 

I listened to the tap of Eleven's fingers against the table. Soon, the ambient noise filled up the room until it was more of a nuisance than anything else. I gritted my teeth to stop myself from snapping at her. Our training was supposed to go on for another hour and a half. I saw only two options-- we could sit here in silence while her incessant tapping slowly drives me insane, or I could initiate conversation.

I was going to go with the first option, but I very quickly lost my patience.

"So where did they find you?" I asked.

The tapping stopped. Her brown eyes snapped to mine like she'd been anticipating my words this whole time. One moment passed, then another. She didn't reply.

I sat forward in my chair. Truth be told, I didn't have much patience for anyone at that moment, but for Eleven, I would try. I hadn't seen someone like me in five years, especially not in the flesh. I figured I owed it to both of us to extend an olive branch.

"I was scared too," My words lingered in the air for a few moments before I continued. Eleven tensed as I leaned toward her. It's like she expected me to lash out or something. "They took me from my house... Drugged me, too. I woke up here and I had no idea where I was, and then Owen's told me I needed to help some girl I didn't know perform a world-saving miracle. I couldn't believe it."

"Truth be told, I still don't entirely believe it. But I chose to stay anyways," I paused. Eleven turned to face me. It was a subtle gesture, something I would've missed if I hadn't been looking for it. "You need friends in here, Eleven. So do I." I gestured to the door, "The people out there don't understand what it means to have abilities like ours. Now, you can continue giving me the silent treatment, if you'd like, but when something bad happens-- and it will happen-- I'm not going to be here to help."

She watched me in silence for a few moments longer. I could see the gears in her head whirring, assessing the risk factor that would come with choosing to trust anyone in a place like this. I was floored by the sense of familiarity that fell upon my shoulders. If I squinted my eyes just right, it was me sitting in her place, wide-eyed and terrified, desperate not to make the wrong move and get myself killed.

"In a police van," She eventually murmured.

I blinked. "What?"

"You asked me where they found me," She elaborated, pausing to carefully consider her words. "I was in a police van."

"Why? Did you kill someone?" I asked, half-joking, half-not.

A grimace passed over her face as she remembered whatever it was she did to wind up in police custody. "I hit someone."

"Who?"

"Angela."

"I don't know who Angela is. You're gonna have to elaborate."

"She was... mean to me. She threw a milkshake in my face," Eleven's eyes fell down to the table before meeting mine once more, "So I hit her with a rollerskate and she got a concussion."

"Oh," I muttered, "So she deserved it then."

She fumbled with her hands, "She didn't. I just got angry."

I shrugged, "Sounds like she deserved it to me."

Another silence passed. Eleven's mouth opened and closed as though she wanted to say something but she wasn't sure if she should. The words strained against her teeth before she eventually opened her mouth and let them free, "I've seen you."

"You've... seen me?"

"Yes. I saw you yesterday in the tank. You were sitting with Number Six." She explained. I fought the urge to grimace at the sound of Six's name. "You were in the lab with me."

I furrowed my eyebrows at the seemingly obvious observation, "Of course I was. We... spoke once or twice." My thoughts shifted to the day in the movie room, murdered guards lying on the floor and the smell of blood wafting through the air. Eleven had spoken to me then with a hiccuping voice and wide, watery eyes. "Do you not remember?"

"No, not really. Papa called it a trauma response... He said my mind wasn't able to handle whatever I'd seen, and so it shut it out."

"Oh," I murmured, surprised to find a spark of jealousy beneath my skin.

"Do you remember?"

One moment passed. Then another. "Vaguely."

That was the first lie I told Eleven, and it probably wouldn't be the last. If I weren't a liar, then I might've told her I remembered it so vividly I could replay each second in my mind if I so pleased. I might've told her I could still feel the gash in the back of my head bleeding acutely, or the coldness of a trigger beneath the heat of my finger. I did not want to remember any of it, and so I was forced to remember all of it.

"Can you tell me what happened?" She asked, almost eagerly. I got the sense she'd been waiting to ask the question since she first saw me.

"I don't remeber enough to give you an accurate story. It's better I don't put ideas in your head," I said with an apologetic smile, "You'll figure it all out soon, don't worry."

She didn't seem satisfied with my response.

"Who have you interacted with... in the tank?" I questioned.

"Papa," she said, "and an orderly. Two spoke to me a few times, but he wasn't very nice."

"An orderly?"

"Yes, his name is Peter. He was one of my friends," she replied, pulling open her bag of chips. The sound of plastic giving way filled the room, and then it fell silent again. "You know him, too."

"Do I?" I questioned, careful to maintain an expression of neutrality.

"Yes. I saw you two talking," She said matter-of-factly, popping a chip in her mouth. "He... looked at you a lot. I think he thought you were pretty... You're prettier now, though."

A soft smile came onto my face as a bittersweet ache rotted between my teeth. "Thank you... You're pretty, too. Do you have a boyfriend back at home?"

Almost instantly, she smiled. "Yes. Mike." A few moments passed, and it started to fade.

"Uh oh," I commented, "what did he do?"

She looked at me for a few moments, a mixture of anger and hurt swirling around in her eyes. Eventually, she spoke up, "I don't want to talk about it."

I nodded, and another long stretch of silence filled the room. For what had to be the third time that day, I felt a surge in the back of my mind. Henry. He said that when I felt such a thing, it meant he was looking through my thoughts. Did that mean he was in my head right now? 

A spike of annoyance pierced through me as I tried my best to rid all thoughts from my mind. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. I hated this new dynamic between him and me. In the lab, he would have to carefully read my face to understand what was going on in my head, but now he could just come and go as he pleased. And I, with my abilities weak as ever, had no hope of stopping him. 

I knew it was a mistake to reach out to him that first day. Somehow, I'd opened a connection between us and now I had no idea how to close it. Late at night, I'd wake with my skin prickling as though someone was watching me. My eyes would snap to the shadowed corners of my bedroom, and for a fleeting moment, I swear I could see him standing amidst metal walls and grated floors. And just like that, he would be gone, taking the rest of what would've been a peaceful night's sleep with him. 

This was all so confusing. And, in spite of myself, I preferred that confusion over the grief of believing he was dead. Fuck, what was wrong with me?

"Show me him," I said to Eleven, desperate to rid my own racing thoughts from my head. What if Henry was still watching?

"What?" Eleven asked.

"Show me what Mike looks like," I elaborated. A suspicious look crept upon her face. I realized, perhaps, I'd been a little too forward. I'd be suspicious if I was her, too. "If you don't want to you don't have to. I just figured it might help pass the time."

"I don't have any pictures of him," She said, a small frown playing at her lips.

"We don't need pictures, Eleven," I said, offering my hands to her. She looked between my open palms and my eyes, confusion evident on her face. She would have to work on that. "You can show him to me."

She placed her bag of chips on the table and furrowed her eyebrows, "You want to... spy on him?"

I smiled and shook my head, "Of course not. Even if I wanted to, I doubt my abilities would be strong enough the way they are now. But you could show me a memory if you want to."

Ever-wide brown eyes flitted between my hands and my eyes for a few seconds longer. Briefly, I wondered what happened to make her so scared to trust, so worried that I had ulterior motives. I suppose that was the consequence for anyone who fell under Brenner's care. 

I buried the discomfort that rose inside me beneath yet another smile, "Come on, it'll be fun. If it's not, we can stop."

Eleven was still so hesitant when she took my hands in hers, "I don't have my abilities... are you sure this will work?"

I shrugged, "Not really, but worst case scenario, we can just sit here in silence for another hour. Just picture a moment between you and Mike in your head. Try to think about the layout of the room around you, maybe what you said to one another. Focus real hard and I can see if I can bring both of us into that moment."

Unconsciously, she squeezed my hands, "Okay."

With that, her eyes fell shut, and so did mine. I focused on the meeting of our hands and the distinct warmth of her palms. Slowly but surely, electricity began buzzing in the pit of my stomach. A gentle, lulling heat ran up my arms, originating from her hands and into mine. I could feel her power, too. It was something distant and yet so very close. I wondered, if I just tried, would I be able to touch it?

I didn't have time to wonder for long. Soon after the thought crossed my mind, a familiar sense of falling made my stomach drop. I held Eleven's hands tighter, desperate not to let go as we fell through intangible depths. My body felt condensed, and just when I worried my eyes might pop out of my skull, it stopped. 

I opened my eyes, and there we were. 

"Holy shit, it worked," I exclaimed.

Surrounding us was a gymnasium of sorts. I assumed it was a school dance, considering the plethora of children surrounding us. They looked a little younger than high school age, all packed onto the gym floor. An archway made of various blue-colored balloons sat at the entrance. Circular tables were set up all around the gym with similarly colored centerpieces and white tablecloths. An air of excitement filled up the room as kids buzzed to and fro, chattering lightheartedly amidst silver streamers and some cheesy love song. 

Through the entrance walked Eleven-- a younger version-- who anxiously scanned the crowd for someone she knew. Eventually, she found whatever she was looking for. A bright smile filled up her face as she made her way toward a boy I assumed was Mike. 

Modern-Day-Eleven shifted beside me. Her smile mirrored that of her younger self. She grabbed my hand, uttering a 'follow me' before she pulled me towards the boy. Without another option, I followed, trying and failing to deal with the culture shock of an American school dance. 

 "Do you wanna dance?" The boy, Mike, asked as soon as Eleven reached him. A few strands of carefully gelled black hair fell over his face, which he uselessly blew aside every few seconds. 

Younger Eleven glanced around sheepishly. "I... don't know how."

Mike shrugged, "I don't either. Do you wanna figure it out?"

A laugh fell from my lips as I watched them. There was a youthful sort of awkwardness in the way they interacted, and it didn't take a genius to know it was their first try at any sort of 'romance.'

Mike grabbed younger Eleven's hand, clumsily pulling her with him as he tripped over his own feet. They eventually found their place on the dancefloor, where they stood and awkwardly peered at one another until, finally, Eleven wrapped her arms around his shoulders. His face went bright red, and before he did the same, he wiped his undoubtedly clammy hands on his suit.  

Beside me, Eleven furrowed her eyebrows, "Don't laugh."

"I'm not, I'm not," I assured her, trying and failing to keep the smile off my face.

"Yes, you are."

"It's cute, that's all. You're both so awkward."

When she realized I wasn't mocking her, a small smile came onto her lips, too. "Maybe a little... It's nice to see him again."

"When was the last time you saw him?"

"He came to visit me for spring break," She replied, "And we got in a fight."

She didn't have to say the words for me to understand what she was thinking. They got in a fight, and now she was worried she wouldn't be able to see him again and work it all out. I looked at the ceiling for a moment, trying to fight off the surge of anger that rushed through me. The more I thought about this entire 'Nina' situation, the more I hated it.

"I know what you're thinking," I told her with a sidelong glance, "Don't worry. Whatever happened, you'll be able to solve it as soon as this is all over."

"I know," She replied. She'd have to get better at lying, too. 

As Eleven watched herself and Mike on the dance floor, I watched her. Owen's said she was meant to save the world. Standing at a little over five feet, petite as could be, I struggled to picture her saving much at all. Maybe it was her timidness that betrayed her. Or maybe it was the fact I still had no clue what was threatening the world in the first place.

 "Eleven?" I asked.

When she answered me, her eyes remained glued to the scene ahead, "Yes?"

"I know you're here to... save the world, and everything, but I still don't understand exactly what you're saving it from." Briefly, my thoughts traveled to the conversation I had with Owens when I first arrived. After hours of hyperventilating in that god-awful room, he busted in like my very own saving grace and spoke to me of some prophetic girl who was fated to save a dying planet. "Owens briefly talked to me about who you were and what your goal was, but that's all."

Finally, her eyes met mine. As if on cue, all of the other children in the room disappeared. Laughter echoed for a few seconds more, and then there was only silence. "Owens said there was..." She paused, trying to remember the right words, "...a storm brewing in Hawkins."

"A storm?" I repeated slowly, "Like a natural disaster? How would you stop a natural disaster?"

"No," She laughed at my cluelessness. "No, a different kind of storm."

"Like what?"

"Like... a different world is bleeding into ours."

I blinked. "I'm confused."

She gingerly took my hands, "I can... show you."

I eyed her carefully as her lids fluttered shut. A different world. It sounded almost biblical... Which I suppose made sense of it was an end-of-the-world scenario. Soon after the thought crossed my mind, I allowed my eyes to close. The warmth of my abilities was ever-present in my veins, and so it took far less effort to call upon it this time. However, with the surge of energy, a bolt of pain shot through my head. Suddenly I wasn't so sure if I'd be able to bring us to whatever memory came next. 

My skin had grown clammy by the time the falling sensation overcame me. A new wave of pain crashed against my head as each second passed. Part of me wanted to opt out now, but the other part was horribly curious about what this all meant. Certainly, I could power through for a few minutes longer. 

When Eleven's nudged me to open my eyes, it took me a little while to adjust to the sudden change in brightness. We stood in what I could only assume was a conveyor belt of sorts, overlooking a big, bright crack in the earth. Heat rolled over the two of us, making sweat run down my back as I tried to shield my eyes from whatever it was.

When I opened my mouth to speak, a low groaning filled the space around us. It originated from the epicenter of the gash in front of us. The more my eyes adjusted to the brightness, the more I noticed. Whatever the opening was, it was textured by black-colored vines emerging from either side. Around us, dust floated in the air. I almost thought it was snow at first, but upon further inspection, I realized it was completely sedentary, just floating in the air, moving side to side rather than up and down.

"What the fuck," I muttered beneath my breath, abandoning my place beside Eleven to peer over the side of the conveyor belt. The platform we stood on had guardrails on either side and so I grabbed one and leaned as far over as I could manage.

The gash was... moving. It almost looked like it was breathing, omitting groans every few seconds. They were low and haunting, shaking the ground below us and filling the space with a threat of a looming danger. What appeared to be spider webs ran the length of the gash, clinging to either side as though something had torn the space between them.

A strange sense of familiarity overcame me as I watched the ebb and flow of the crack. I felt like I'd seen it before. I furiously scanned my mind for anything like it, but nothing appeared. Confusion overtook me as I opened and closed my mouth, trying to come up with the right question, but another one would fill my mouth before I could begin to ask it. Why was the dust just floating? Why was there a fucking crack in the earth? Why did Eleven know about it? Why couldn't I shake the feeling that I'd seen this before?

"What is this, Eleven?" My face twisted up with both confusion and worry. Alarms blared in my head, filling me with a sense of dread I had no way of understanding.

"It's called the upside down," She replied, and I could barely hear her over the groaning.

"How... I don't--," A million thoughts raced through my head as I struggled to comprehend what this all meant. Another world bleeding into ours, meaning this hell-like land was invading Hawkins. That's why she was here. To keep whatever unknown terrors lay on the other side of the gash at bay. 

"It's a mirror world. That's what Dustin calls it."

I turned to her to ask who Dustin was, but I figured that was the least important part of what she had said. "A mirror world?"

"Yes," She replied, almost breathlessly, "It looks like our world, but it's different. There's... monsters and vines and it's always dark."

"I don't understand," I whispered, shaking my head incredulously. 

"I can't really explain it... You have to see it yourself. I could show you more if you'd like--."

Before I could reply, something shifted on the other side of the gash. The spark of light suddenly dimmed as a shadow passed over it, and I could not shake the terrible feeling that it was reaching for me. The pain in my head increased tenfold, and then I couldn't stand. My legs uselessly stumbled back, but that didn't stop me from collapsing onto the ground. 

My ears rang incessantly, and I knew I couldn't keep this up any longer. The groaning intensified, splitting my neurons apart until I was convinced I would die. Bright, white lights filled my vision, blocking out Eleven and everything else that surrounded us. The hotness grew and grew and grew until I knew nothing but bright, endless light and an unendurable heat.

After that, everything else was gone, too.

A million images flashed in front of my eyes. A world, red and fiery, with spears of rock splitting through the ground. A creature with blackened skin and tendrils wrapped around its body. Bright blue eyes, a charred white suit. 

The pictures came faster after that, and with each new image came a fresh wave of pain in my head. A spider-like monster stretching over blood-colored clouds. Broken bodies, bones bent at unnatural angles. Screaming, begging, pleading. A deep, growling voice and then-- over all of it-- the ticking of a clock. It surrounded and killed, and with each chime, the breath flew from my lungs. My palms pressed into my ears as I tried to block it out, but nothing worked. It just grew louder and louder and louder as scenes of mass destruction flashed before my eyes. A volcanic gash grew across a town, coming from four different directions, splitting the earth apart and swallowing everything in its path. 

And just when enduring another moment would doubtlessly drive me mad, it all stopped. My body met a flat surface, and then my eyes flew open. The smell of blood was everything. I could taste it. 

"Sixteen?" Someone called to me, but I still couldn't see, "Sixteen, what's happening? Sixteen!"

I gasped air back into my lungs, wide-eyed and horrified as the white slowly began to dissipate. I was back in the training room, my breaths echoing all around. Blood spilled from my nose and into my mouth, staining my shirt and pooling on the table. Cold sweat made my clothing cling to my body, activating every nerve until the overstimulation promised to make me vomit. 

I furiously tried to wipe away the blood, looking at Eleven with terror written across my face. "What--," I tried to speak, but my vocal cords were graveled and charred. I couldn't think. "What was that?"

Eleven's hand was extended towards me as though she wanted to touch me but she wasn't sure if she should. Her lip trembled, big brown eyes saturated with fear as she watched me for a few moments longer. "I don't know," her voice trembled. 

I shook my head. 

I didn't either. 

Chapter Text

Mine and Eleven's training was rather boring the next day. Owens had summoned us into room G302-- a training room-- around 11 am, where we promptly passed three hours ball parking our abilities. Most of the attention went to Eleven, whose performance was 'mediocre,' or so Owens had jotted down after she failed to so much as flicker the lights. 

I felt guilty for her. Eleven was strikingly perceptive for such a young girl, and if anything even remotely significant was going on, I could count on finding those dark bright eyes of hers glued to the scene. The pitfall of that, however, was her ability to notice each and every frown or sigh that escaped Owens' warm exterior. By the time training reached its conclusion, her cheeks were pink with what I could only assume was embarrassment, and she basically ran to collect her things.

"Eleven," Owens called to her, that all-too-familiar smile on his face, "You have about an hour and a half of free time, and then you'll have to report to Brenner for your next session in the tank. Try not to be late, kiddo."

She was quick to hide the disappointment on her face. I couldn't imagine how tired she was, having to run from training to the tank over and over every single day. Not to mention the emotional toll that came with returning to the lab in the first place. 

She nodded and turned to leave once more, but this time I was the one to interrupt her. "Good luck today, Eleven." She paused at the door, her eyes flickering to mine. "Maybe you should use your free time to sleep. Get your energy up before your time in the tank, hm?"

"I will try," She told me with a soft smile, and I didn't believe a word. 

Just like that, she was gone, leaving Owens and me alone. I'd been waiting to speak to him for a while now.

I figured I had a good grasp on everyone else who was relevant in the lab. I knew, vaguely, what to expect from them, and more importantly, I knew who I could and could not trust. The former was practically nonexistent, truth be told, but it was still nice to know. Eleven was slowly creeping her way onto that list, but I doubted I would ever fully trust her-- I made a similar mistake once, and the consequences were far too abysmal for me to ever make it again.

Owens was difficult to get a pulse on. Honestly, I had no idea where his allegiance lay. It was clear he didn't like Brenner, which should've been a good sign, but Henry never liked Brenner either, and look where that got me. He hadn't done anything overt enough to make me distrust him, but that did not clear him of suspicion. Not in the slightest. 

And so, once I was sure Eleven was out of earshot, I turned to Owen's with an expression of practiced neutrality. "She isn't progressing as quickly as you hoped she would," I observed, careful to keep my tone light and conversational.

Owens stayed quiet for a few moments longer. His eyes flickered between the door and my face. "No, she isn't," He muttered. Finally, his cheery exterior fell away. He looked much older, then, as his face fell and his hand came up to massage his temple. "Brenner is suggesting that we... speed things up. Move her a few weeks forward in the tank so that she can confront Number One, but I'm worried it will overwhelm her."

"She's already overwhelmed," I muttered, "I don't think speeding things up is a good idea."

"I know," He replied, "But you know better than anyone what Brenner is like. He went behind my back once-- that's why you're here-- and when it comes to Eleven, there's just no telling what else he's willing to do."

I didn't reply for a little while. To say mine and Brenner's relationship was... strained would be an understatement. There was something different about him and Eleven though. Something that, despite every awful thing he had done, I envied. There was genuine care where she was concerned, perhaps even love. But it was Papa, and so of course, it was a bull-headed, exploitative sort of love. 

"Do you think Eleven knows not to trust him?" I asked.

He sighed, running a hand through the sparseness that was his hair, "I don't think Eleven fully trusts anyone, but they have history. A lot of it, and I wouldn't put it past Brenner to use that to his advantage."

"What about you?" I asked, my eyes snapping to his.

He didn't seem surprised by the accusation in my voice. It was almost as though he'd been expecting it. "What about me, Sixteen?"

"Well, surely you have an angle. What do you want from her?" 

"What do I want from her?" He repeated my words slowly as though he were tasting them in his mouth, "What I want, Sixteen, is for Brenner's entire little experiment to have never existed in the first place. The entire reason why we are in this situation is because men of science, men like Brenner, don't know when to stop. I'm surprised you don't want the same."

"There's no point in wanting something that you can't have," I said coldly. I took a step closer to him, watching alarms ring in those grey-blue eyes of his. "I don't trust you, and I don't trust this Mother Teresa act you're putting on. Tell me honestly, what do you gain from this? From helping Eleven? Is it money?"

He watched me for a few seconds in complete silence. And, just when I thought he wouldn't reply, pity filled his gaze. My insides curled uncomfortably. "Brenner really did a number on you, didn't he?"

I exhaled sharply. "You're avoiding my question."

"That's because you're not asking the right questions," He replied, "People can be good, Sixteen. Believe it or not, I don't have any ulterior motives. I've known Eleven much longer than you have, and that girl has been through more than anyone can comprehend... anyone except you."

"I don't--," I tried to speak, but he quickly interrupted me.

"--I understand why you don't trust me. You've been manipulated by every authority figure you've ever met, and the effects of something like that won't go away solely because I'm telling you that I am not like them. If you're not going to trust my words, then trust my actions. I have been and will continue to do everything I can for that little girl."

I stared at him in complete silence, my mind racing as I tried to find a pitfall in his reasoning or a lie to be detected. 

"I'm not her enemy, Sixteen," He murmured, taking a step away from me. "And I really, truly hope you realize that I'm not yours, either." 

He made his way towards the door, pausing briefly to meet my eyes. This time, when he smiled, I couldn't find dishonesty spilling out from between the cracks in his teeth. In the back of my mind, I wondered if there had even been any in the first place. "You're just going to have to sit with it," He told me.

And just like that, he was gone, leaving me alone with my own racing thoughts.

~

My furious breaths echoed around.

Henry would not stop. He was incessant. All throughout the day, I felt him twisting and turning in the back of my mind, demanding to be felt when I wanted to do the exact opposite. 

When I left the dining hall, I saw his suit disappearing down a hallway. I had called out to him, demanding he leave me alone, but he was insistent. I kept catching him in the corner of my eye, a grin on his lips, and then I would turn, and he would be gone. 

My anger piled higher, and higher, and higher until I feared I would explode if this didn't stop soon.

This time, when I saw him disappearing down yet another hallway, I did not call out to him. I tapped Eleven on the shoulder, wished her goodnight, and told her I had to return to my room. And that's exactly what I did.

The moment she could no longer see me, I broke into a sprint, chasing that awful white suit around every corner. My feed pounded against the metal grate, echoing all around but I couldn't be bothered to quiet myself. My body collided with a nurse, who demanded to know what my problem was, but all I could do was mutter 'I'm sorry' and keep on running.

He led me all the way to my room, always just out of reach. 

Finally, I was convinced I had him cornered, and so I slammed my bedroom door shut. When I turned, there was nothing there. My unmade bed felt as though it were mocking me, sitting so very still and unperturbed. 

Blood had begun spilling from my nose, but I didn't take the time to wipe it away. "What are you doing to me?" I shouted at the emptiness. One moment passed, then another. The only response I got was the ever-fading echo of my own voice.

I didn't even take the time to shut my lights off. Too many thoughts were running through my mind, drowning out what little rational thought I had remaining. I wanted to shout at Henry until my throat was raw and my tongue was bleeding. In my mind, I played through each slap I would give him, each curse that would fall from my lips, and even then, I would not be fully satiated. I never would be. 

If he was going to keep egging me on only to disappear, then I wouldn't give him a choice but to stay. 

I collapsed on my bed, fully prepared to enter the void and release my anger on the one who had been so insistent on creating it. 

Instead of focusing on my abilities, I focused on my rage. I allowed it to strengthen my power and light up my veins like lightning. I felt it strike and I leaned into the burn that followed. The light above my head flickered-- once, twice, three times-- and it was then that I felt myself falling. I pictured the void in my head, its inky black vastness, and then I pictured Henry. 

When I opened my eyes, there I was. My head no longer pounded. With black surrounding me on all sides, I allowed my anger to surge forward. It blocked out anything else, completely becoming me just as I became it. There was no reasoning with Henry, and standing in the blackness, I was fully prepared to be just as unreasonable.

"Henry!" I shouted his name as loudly as I possibly could. It echoed with furious vehemence, fueling my rage until I was on the verge of going up in flames. 

I felt the air around me shift, and I didn't have to look at him to know he was there. His presence was all-encompassing. It pushed on my every nerve, demanding to be felt and I was so very happy to indulge him. 

"Sixteen," He greeted, a soft smile filling up his face. His eyes scanned mine, and after a short silence, he said, "You're angry... I'm in trouble, aren't I?"

I did not dignify him with a response. Instead, I took a moment to scrape up everything inside of me that was ugly or resentful and I allowed it to strengthen me. My skin buzzed as I thrust my hand towards him, power going straight to my head as though it were wine. 

He hit the ground and he hit it hard. A thud echoed through the emptiness as a gasp slipped from his lips. I flexed my fingers, letting his pain run over me like ice-cold water. It cooled my joints and relieved my aching muscles-- I wanted nothing more than to relish in it further.

Henry propped himself up on his elbows, breathing labored. I drank him in with torturous indolence, eyes trailing up his legs, then his waist, then his chest, then his neck. The expression on his face was not what I had hoped for-- instead of looking at me with fear, he was grinning. A broad, mocking grin that only fueled the pyre which would very soon burn him alive. 

"I was wondering when--."

"--Keep your fucking mouth shut," I seethed, using my abilities to pull him towards me only to throw him on the ground all over again. This time, he didn't recover nearly as fast. A groan fell from his lips as he tried to pull himself up. Instead, I pushed him back down.

"Have I ever told you--," He paused, a wince crossing over his features, "--have I ever told you how beautiful you look when you're angry?"

"Stop it," I spat, practically trembling with rage. In response, he offered me that same exact grin. 

Something ominous twisted in the air as I neared him. My body felt lighter than air as I imagined wiping that smile off his face. I wanted to see him beaten down and bruised, his once lovely blonde hair a tangled mess around his head. I imagined running my fingers through the strands only to grasp them in a fist and slam his head into the ground. He would bleed so beautifully. I wanted to hurt him until he was begging for mercy, and then I wanted to laugh in his face and deny him. 

This place as making me lose my mind.

The smallest, most insignificant opposition arose in my mind from the one part of me that still loved him. Right then, it was far too easy to ignore.

I crouched beside him, watching as worry creased his features. Finally. "What?" I asked mockingly, my head tilted to the side, "Scared?"

He stayed silent for a few moments longer. His eyes ran over my body before flicking right back up to meet mine. His lip trembled, and just when I could taste victory in my mouth, something changed. Slowly, the terror in his eyes shifted into an entirely different emotion. The grin that captured his lips was almost animalistic, all teeth and no kindness, "Terrified, my love."

Before I could reply, he sprang forward, hands grasping at my arms. 

A gasp slipped past my lips as the sensation of falling overcame me. I immediately knew he was trying to bring us somewhere else-- somewhere beyond the void. I tried to push his arms away from me before he could manage, but it was then that I realized how much stronger his abilities were. He'd been goading me this entire time. Once more, my anger crescendoed.

That was until I opened my eyes and realized where he had brought us. 

My simmering anger was immediately doused by something like nostalgia and hurt. My head pounded, and I knew right then I had overexerted myself. I could've cried. How weak I had become. 

When I brought Eleven into her memories, we could only observe the moment as outsiders. Ghosts haunting a distant past, invisible to anyone who passed us. With Henry, it was different. I found myself physically inside my body--a memory that had been lost to me-- looking at him as though no time had passed. 

I knew this moment like the back of my hand. We sat in my old bedroom, blue floodlights spilling in beneath the door. I listened to the give of my mattress beneath my weight and the ever-looming pur of ventilation. Something angry and hurt and desperate crawled up my throat and took residence on my tongue, and I allowed it to sit there for a long while.

Neither of us said a word. Five years ago, we had sat in this moment, wearing nothing but our skin, bodies turned to glass so the other could see every thought that crossed our minds. There was no betrayal, there was no death, only the press of his fingertips on my skin and the caress of his breath on my cheek. 

Now, it was different. We still did not wear any clothes, but neither of us seemed to notice. Now, our eyes met in complete and utter silence, and we may as well have been ghosts. I once called us parallel beings, divinely crafted for the other, but perhaps I'd misinterpreted that. Perhaps, the entire time, we had nothing but the unspoken agreement that we were alone, but at least we were alone together. We could kiss one another's bruises, but once our lips had left the other's skin, the marks were still just as blue. 

And so we sat there, trading glances instead of words, grief making my insides turn cold. 

"Stop it, Henry," I whispered. The words were so quiet, I wondered if he even heard them. I had shouted at him at the top of my lungs only moments prior, but now I feared we would split apart if I spoke too loudly. "You have to stop."

He stayed silent. Those awful blue eyes watched me, emotion sparking up his pupils and widening his irises. "Stop what?" He asked, the smallest smile finding its way to his face. It wasn't like the grin he'd given me before-- it was melancholic, each tooth in his mouth rotted with mourning. 

"You have to stop messing with my head," My gaze lowered. I almost couldn't stand to look at him when he was so naked. I felt neither of us deserved to see the other bare anymore. "You're making me feel like I'm fucking crazy."

He tensed but never said a word.

"I can't keep going on like this, Henry," I spoke the words as though we were still lovers, as though any amount of poetry could change things, "I can't keep seeing you everywhere I go."

His breath wavered, and I didn't have to look up to know his eyes were on me. "I know," he replied, his hand lifting from his side and finding its place on my thigh. I did not push him away. His touch was gentle, hesitant like he worried I might explode if he pressed into me too hard. His thumb traced over the scar Two had given me, feeling the peaks and valleys of my dead skin. "I waited for you every day. Perhaps it's selfish of me, but I hoped you would want to see me."

"Of course I don't want to see you," I met his eyes once more, the words firm and sure despite my own uncertainty. I watched as hurt crossed over his face and his lips fell open to take a sharp, sudden breath. The hand that had been tracing my scar stopped.

When he tried to preserve his own heart and put distance between us, I cupped his jaw in my hands. His skin was hot under my touch. It almost burned. His eyes went wide at the suddenness of my actions, and once more, he tried to pull away from me. I didn't let him. 

"I know Papa did this to you," I whispered, my fingers tracing over his jaw. His eyes never left mine, and I couldn't possibly miss the dread that filled them as I spoke."He took everything that made you good and he just... he twisted it up. And now you're alone and you're suffering because you don't know how to move on."

 Henry's eyes fell to the ground. He stayed silent for a few moments longer, chest heaving up and down as he struggled to understand the emotions pooling through him. He told himself he was a God, and Gods shouldn't be stained by the ink of mortal men. For the first time in a long time, my heart ached for him.

His words were low and rasping as though it hurt just to speak them, "Is that what you tell yourself?"

"It's not what I tell myself, Henry. It's what I know."

Again, he tried to pull away from me. I shook my head and gathered his jaw once more, looking him straight in the eyes before I spoke. The look on his face was one I hadn't seen since he was laying on the Rainbow Room floor, blood spilling from his body and staining porcelain tile. I had left him there and regretted it every day since. He died alone and scared, having reverted to the child he never got the chance to be. When I looked at him, I knew breath still filled his lungs, but something had surely changed. Part of him had spilled out onto the tile that day, staining my palms red and my memory even redder. 

"I am not the answer," I shook my head, "I can't take your pain away."

With those words, I let my hands fall away from him. I could feel his heart hammering away in his chest, desperately trying to power a body that had been hallowed out and empty for far too long. When he met my eyes once more, there was still a sadness within them, but also something else. Wanting, perhaps even desperation. 

His hands returned to their place on my thighs. They pushed into my skin and clung on as though he were afraid I'd slip away. There was no lust, despite our nakedness. No expectation. "You can't truly believe that," He rasped, eyes boring into mine as though he could see right through me, "I had nothing before you, Sixteen. Life was unbearable."

I shook my head, "Henry..."

"And then you showed up and you showed me what it is to be happy and I can't go back to living without that."

My eyes fell shut as though his words were a physical force, "Stop it, Henry. Please don't say that."

Two fingers were placed beneath my chin, making my eyes snap back open before he guided my gaze to his. At that moment, he was inescapable. "You can deny me, Sixteen." He told me, "You can call me obsessive and deranged--."

"--Henry, stop--."

"--But the fact remains," He whispered, "You are my happiness."

I didn't want to cry. I didn't want my tears to water the garden he had destroyed so many years ago, but when his eyes stared into mine with such intensity, I couldn't help it. Acid rain spilled down my face, melting my skin and spilling my blood until I didn't have any more to give. "Happiness shouldn't hurt this badly," I breathed.

"Oh, Sixteen," He sighed, his thumbs wiping away my tears as they fell from my eyes. "For there to be happiness, there has to be hurt, first. It's what gives all of this a point."

The sound of his voice calmed the particular terror that would usually come with his words. He'd always had the ability-- to curl pretty flowers around ugly words until they, too, sounded beautiful. Like another sweet nothing whispered against my ears, saccharine enough for my teeth to rot out of my skull.

"Christ, Henry," I uttered the words with pure and complete loss. I didn't realize, until then, how truly fragmented he was. How twisted up and broken his mind must have been to think of human connection in such a way. 

To him, love was violence. And the worst part of it was that I understood every word.

He pressed his forehead against mine, and I didn't have the strength to pull away. I breathed into his parted lips, and I knew in that moment we had both lost our minds. My fingers combed through his hair, soft as ever and so perfectly contrasting the abrasiveness that was his mind. 

"This is wrong," I told him, "This is so wrong."

A low, rasping sound left his mouth. "It couldn't be anything else even if we wanted it to be."

Oh, god. My heart dropped as I realized the permanence of this. That whatever we had-- it would never go away completely. The words 'I'm sorry' and 'I hate you' fought on the tip of my tongue, desperate to shatter my teeth and be spoken into existence. 

Before they could, though, his hand had risen from its place on my thigh. His fingers were warm as they met my cheek. There was severity in the way he touched me, but there was also dread. Like he wanted me more than anything and he hated me for it. "I will never ask for your forgiveness," He whispered, all breath, "Hate me, Sweetheart. Curse my name. Treat me as terribly as you'd like, so long as you're treating me."

I looked in his eyes and I saw a mirror, and fuck I hated my reflection.

And, in spite of everything, I nodded.

Chapter Text

One Week Later.

Eleven and I were careful to be quiet that morning. We woke just before dawn when bleary-eyed doctors had not yet dared to venture into the hallways. There were guards in the hallways, of course, but I'd been here long enough to know which ones would ask questions and which would not. The one slight benefit of Nina was its comparably lax rules. In the lab, I could hardly leave my room without an orderly stopping me, armed with accusative eyes and prepared to question me into oblivion. 

Eleven needed a break. We hadn't spoken much outside of training, despite our careful creeping toward an alliance, and I feared Papa's influence was beginning to take hold of her. She needed friends in here--  friends who didn't want to manipulate her for their own ends or steal what little power she had began coming into. 

And so I had greeted her at her bedroom door, a light smile on my face that I hoped she would see as a harbinger of my good intentions. We walked in almost complete silence, but it wasn't nearly as awkward as the last time. We were both nervous. I could feel her eyes on me every few moments, but whenever I glanced at her, she had already looked away. 

She didn't trust me. I did not mind, though, because I didn't trust her all that much either. 

"Thank you," She suddenly spoke up, breaking our tentative silence. 

My steps slowed until we walked side by side, "For what?"

"Coming to see me," She said, keeping her eyes on the floor. I didn't miss the flush of her cheeks, as though she were embarrassed at her words. "Papa and Owens are the only ones who talk to me. I think the other doctors are... too scared."

I smiled softly, "They're not scared of you, Eleven. People are weird with things they don't understand... chances are they just don't know what to do with you."

She furrowed her eyebrows, "What does that mean?"

"Well, they don't know how to talk to you. They think you have nothing in common with them because you're powerful," I shrugged, "It's a shallow way of thinking, but it's human nature to be a little shallow. If I were you, I wouldn't take it too personally."

She frowned, "I want them to like me, though."

I stared at her, my thoughts racing. This was the one disconnect between Eleven and me-- her desire to be liked. I believed it was partly why she was so scared of being seen as a villain. To me, the dislike was inevitable, perhaps even mutual. I wasn't afraid of being a villain, nor had I ever been-- sometimes one has to get their hands dirty. "Why does it matter if they like you?"

She shrugged, "They left their lives behind for this. I want to be... worth it."

"You're putting too much pressure on yourself," I told her, "You being here makes you worth it. The only thing you have to worry about is your training, not random people and their tedious opinions... How has the tank been, by the way?"

She blew a breath from her lips as we turned in the direction of the kitchen. "It's been okay."

"That's good," I said, "Now why don't you tell me how it's really been?"

Before she could answer, I tugged on the kitchen door. The groaning of metal filled the hallway but the doors didn't open. I tried once more. Fuck. "It's locked."

As soon as the words left my lips, footsteps were heard turning the corner. "Sixteen?" A voice called from the other end of the hallway. 

I turned to him with a smile on my face, "Hi, Beau."

"What are you doing up so early?" He asked, wiping the tiredness from his eyes. When his gaze fell to Eleven, his hand immediately dropped to his side. I watched as he transformed from a tired, nonchalant boy to a guard, his posture straightening out. I fought the urge to laugh. "Eleven," He nodded to her.

Eleven nodded back, partially hidden behind me. 

"You can both stop being so professional," I turned to Eleven, "This is Beau. He's not nearly as intimidating as he's trying to look right now."

"Hey," Beau frowned, "Yes I am."

"Keep telling yourself that," I hummed, "Anyways, do you have the keys to the kitchen? Eleven and I want food."

He proceeded down the hallway, speaking as he did, "Nope. It's probably gonna stay locked unless someone's in there cooking. Brenner wasn't too happy about--," He glanced to Eleven, then back at me, "--our little, um, misadventure." 

Eleven looked at me expectantly, hoping for me to elaborate. "We got high in there a little while ago," I told her, then turned to Beau. "Which we have not done since... right, Beau?"

He nodded, "Right."

"If the kitchen is locked that means we get to go on a little adventure. Beau, bring us somewhere interesting."

He shrugged, "We're in a military facility. There's not much to see."

"Come on, there has to be something."

He went quiet for a moment. "Well... there is one place."

"This is the place?" I deadpanned. 

Eleven peered at the storage room over my shoulder and seemed comparably unimpressed. "What is it?"

Beau's good mood wasn't deterred by our understated responses. He proceeded into the room with a broad grin on his face and gestured around. The room didn't seem to be much more than a mess of carelessly placed wooden crates and boxes, stacked into precarious piles that looked as though they might fall down if one breathed too hard on them. Unlike the rest of the facility, the floor was composed of spruce wood. It creaked noisily beneath Beau's work boots, but he didn't pay it any mind. 

"This," He began, sweeping his arms dramatically, "Is the best place in the entire facility beside the kitchen. And we're technically not allowed to be in here, so you two are either in or out, make up your minds."

Eleven and I made brief eye contact. She shrugged, "We're in," and pushed past me. 

Without another option, I allowed the door to close behind me. The moment I had fully entered, the smell of mildew hit me. Now that I looked carefully, I could see something dark and green peeking out between the cracks in the floorboards. Whichever part of Nina we now found ourselves in, it was old and quite neglected.

Beau turned to me, "Do you wanna see the best part?"

I shrugged, "Do I have a choice?"

"No, you don't," He told me, and then turned to Eleven, "She's so mean." 

She smiled amusedly as we both watched him make his way toward one of the bigger boxes on the other side of the room. It stood at about three feet tall, and there were maybe a dozen well-defined gashes on the outside, as though someone had tried to pry it open one too many times. 

He pushed off the lid and, inside, there were maybe another dozen little boxes. "These are probably the best America has to offer," Beau hummed as he produced one. Big, red lettering spanned the length of the box, reading 'Little Debbie's Snack Cakes.'

"What are they?" I asked, furrowing my eyebrows. 

"Snack cakes," He replied.

"Yes, I can see that, I mean like what flavor?"

"Most of them are vanilla."

"Ew," Eleven murmured.

"What do you mean 'ew'?" Beau turned his attention to her.

"Vanilla doesn't taste good," She said, "Chocolate's better."

"Eleven's right," I hummed, "But I'm more worried about why Brenner and Owens are stockpiling snack cakes."

"Maybe they are poison," Eleven suggested.

"Unfortunately, they're not," Beau replied, "I've eaten two boxes already, and I'm very much alive. I'm more curious about what's in the other crates... I've tried to open them," He gestured to another collection of scrape marks on the crate to his left, "But they won't budge and I don't have a crowbar."

"It's probably more of the same," I said, "But we can try to open one if you'd like."

"I was hoping you would say that," Beau grinned, "Can one of you use your weird voodoo to push it open?"

I looked to Eleven, "You wanna do it or should I? Also, it's not voodoo, dumbass."

"I can try," She said. There was something like nervousness and curiosity on her face as she neared the box Beau had failed to open.

"Be careful not to strain yourself," I told her, "You don't want a headache for no reason."

She nodded, and Beau took a step back to watch her work. Eleven's eyes narrowed in on the crate, which was sealed shut by a piece of wood that crossed between the body and the lid. She flexed her fingers, and then something shifted in the room. It wasn't incredibly noticeable, but it was there. Beau most definitely hadn't felt it, his face remaining unchanged as he stood watching Eleven.

A low grunt fell from her lips. The crate shuttered a little bit, but that was all. 

Soon a few seconds had turned into a minute or two, and the energy in the room began dwindling. She still wasn't strong enough. Pink crawled up her neck and heated her ears, originating from both the strain of her abilities and embarrassment at her lack of progress. 

My insides curled up at the memory of standing in front of the other kids in the lab, hand outstretched, waiting for a block to move or a light to flicker, but it would never happen. I didn’t much remember how Eleven faired in training, but if the furious blush on her face was any indication, she was no stranger to the humiliation that came with it.

I allowed my own abilities to surge through me, making sure to keep my face blank and my eyes ahead. They warmed my skin in a similar manner as they warmed Eleven's. I waited for her to turn around and face me, signaling that she felt my power, but she never did.

I looked towards the box and used a single finger to gesture toward me. There was a noisy groan, and then the attached piece came rocketing away. I was careful to make the splinters fall at Eleven's feet, and when they did, she turned around with a grin, thinking she had done it.

"Holy shit," Beau muttered, jaw agape.

"You're getting stronger, Eleven," I met her eyes with a smile.

She grinned broadly, and it only grew wider when she locked eyes with Beau. His mouth was practically touching the floor.

"So what's inside?" I questioned. I wiped my sleeve beneath my nose in a subtle attempt to clear the blood that had begun dripping onto my upper lip. No one seemed to notice.

Beau and Eleven both peered inside. I watched their faces fade from ones of excitement to discontent. A laugh bubbled from my lips, “I told you both it would be more of the same. Listen to me next time, I’m never wrong.”

Beau shot me a glare, “Yeah fucking right.”

I gasped, my eyes flitting over to Eleven, “Language!”

He scoffed and began shuffling through the container, pulling out its contents for me to see. It seemed to be a collection of miscellaneous medical supplies. Stethoscopes, bandages, gauze, an ointment of some kind– nothing of note.

Eleven frowned, “Can we open another?”

Beau shrugged, “I guess.” He addressed Eleven, “Is it tiring when you do your mind thing?”

“Sometimes,” She hummed, scanning the room for another box to open. “It depends on what I am doing. My powers are still very weak.”

“For now,” I called over to her.

She faced me and smiled, “Yes. For now.”

Beau shuffled through his pockets and pulled out a little box. He turned to Eleven with what I’m sure was a well-intentioned smile, “Want a cigarette?”

I crossed the room a moment later and yanked the package from his hands. “No, she doesn’t want a cigarette,” I hissed. Beau reached for them, but I pulled my hand out of reach. “She’s five years old, Beau. Good lord.”

Eleven frowned, “I’m fifteen.”

I waved her off, “Same fucking difference. You’re not getting a cigarette.”

“What happened to watching our language?” Beau asked, the corners of his lips tilted into a smile.

I threw the cigarettes at him. “I think you dropped something, Beau.”

They hit him in the chest and fell to the ground. A murmured, “Asshole,” escaped his mouth as he bent over to pick them up.

“Which one next?” Eleven asked, edging towards the closest container to her left. “Or do you have more cigarettes you want to offer me?”

Beau groaned, “Look what you did, Sixteen. Now she’s making fun of me too.”

“Don’t blame me,” I shrugged, “It’s the obvious choice. Isn’t it, Eleven?”

“It is,” She hummed. Beau sent her a glare, but she only smiled in response.

“Okay. You and Beau get to work on a box, and I’ll look for another. First come first serve if there’s food inside,” I told them. They nodded, and then Eleven gripped Beau’s sleeve and pulled him towards the box she’d been eyeing.

I laughed as they began bickering over which box to open. Turning away from the pair, I searched for my own until their fighting became nothing but background noise. None of the containers particularly stood out, so I got to work on shoving them to see which made the most enticing clatter.

I got through about five containers before something interesting finally revealed itself. The fifth was probably in the best shape of all, and when I shoved it, nothing happened. Literally nothing happened. Whatever was inside, it didn’t clack against the inside of the container or shift in the slightest. I ran my fingers over the dulled corners, only now realizing the smell of rotting wood was especially prevalent where I stood.

I took a few steps back and braced myself.

When I called upon my abilities, there was a tingling sensation in the back of my head.

My breath caught.

As soon as the feeling was there, it was gone. I frowned. Not Henry.

He hadn’t reached out in a week. I didn’t think I would ever be able to miss the somewhat parasitic way he invaded my thoughts, but the last few days had proven me wrong.

Most of that night was a blur. Emotions blended together like colors until the entire thing was so diluted I couldn’t differentiate one memory from another. We had sat there for a long while, bathed in blue, the silence broken by nothing but our slow, labored breathing. His fingernails had dug into my skin until I was painted red, but then I woke up the next morning and the marks were long gone. I could still feel them vaguely in my memory, but with each day that passed, the sting began to fade. I wondered if it had even been there in the first place.

He didn’t reach out after that night. Not in my dreams, not in the back of my head, not anywhere.

Whatever happened, it scared him. It scared me, too. 

Temporary insanity was an awful habit of mine. It was around Henry when I should’ve been at my most calculating, my most collected, but what I should have been was far out of my reach. Each time my eyes flickered to his, my thoughts would spill out from my ears and collapse in a pile on the ground. They were left there, discarded and cold until he finally left and I had to pick them back up again. As soon as they were shoved back into my head, shame would come along. It was a process as sure and definitive as the transition from day to night– it was out of my control.

Or maybe that’s just what I told myself to make me feel better about continually betraying all those people who had died at his hands. Six’s face flashed across my mind, and a shaking breath fell from my lips. How can I be better when I don’t know where to start?

That was a question for another day. I tried my best not to think too much– it only complicated matters– but I found myself failing far too often. For now, the only thing I should’ve been asking myself was what was inside the storage container before me.

I raised my hand from my side, and my abilities buzzed to the surface. I was still far too weak, but with the abundant stimulus that was my own guilt, there wasn’t much focus required to gather my strength. Another shaking breath fell from my lips, and then I directed my power to the wooden plank adjoining the lid with the body of the container.

There was a careful rise in my body temperature, a stirring in my veins, and then finally a surge of energy. I broke with a grunt, and the plank came crashing to the floor.

I made quick work of the lid.

Inside, I had expected to find some more food, or perhaps a bunch of clothes if I was lucky. Instead, my eyes latched onto something else. Holstered in a metal skeleton of some sort, there was a collection of cold, black, glinting aluminum. Guns. And not just one or two of them, there were dozens. The feeling that I had discovered something secret, something forbidden that I had no right to see, made my palms run with sweat.

“Find anything interesting?” Beau’s voice pulled me from my shocked stupor.

I painted over the shock on my face with a smile. “Nope, just more medical supplies. I’ll keep looking.”

I didn’t quite know why I lied, but there wasn’t much time to dwell on it before the door to the storage room came flying open.

A collective gasp filled the room, and everyone paused what they were doing. Everyone except me as I kicked the wooden plank out of sight and tried to fit the lid back on the container as though it had never been broken in the first place.

In rushed a group of guards. Four of them, headed by a man I didn’t recognize wearing a deep green suit. Eleven’s eyes flashed over to me, widened with the realization that we had been caught. I tried my best at a reassuring nod and faced the head of the group.

“Hartman,” The head guard called. Apparently, that was Beau’s last name. His back immediately assumed an uncharacteristically rigid posture as he turned to face the man who had called his name.

“General,” Beau replied, giving him a courteous nod that was entirely out of place among the guards’ accusative stares.

“What do you think you’re doing?” The general disregarded any sort of formalities, his skin wrinkled like a raisin as he scrunched up his face, “Who gave you clearance to enter the storage room? Especially with them.” His cold brown eyes briefly ran over Eleven and me as though we were an entirely different species. “I know it wasn’t Brenner, and it certainly wasn’t me.”

I couldn’t help but remember the last time I’d been caught in such a position. Before, it was Henry who had found me, trailed by four guards after I broke into Brenner’s office. I could almost feel the hard plastic tape ever-clasped in the palm of my hand, the words ‘04/01/79’ branded into my fingertips.

But it wasn’t like last time, and that thought compelled me to take a step between Beau and the General, “It was my idea,” I murmured, painting an expression of faux guilt across my face. “I was bored, that’s all. I practically had to drag them with me.”

The general’s eyes flickered over to me. “Is that so?” They returned to Beau.

Beau looked at me, worry evident on his face. I offered him a single nod, and then he turned his attention back to the guard. “Yes, it is. Sixteen can be obstinate at times, I was just about to escort her out before you came in.”

“I see,” He muttered, and then promptly raised his hands from his side. He looked between the guards and me, “Escort them out, please. Be sure Sixteen is returned to her room.”

I tried to ignore the clenching of my insides and the desire to run away as the guards neared me. I could stomach them latching onto my arms, yanking me to my feet, and pulling me away. What I could not stomach, however, was the third guard, who grabbed– no, manhandled– Eleven. I put up the slightest bit of resistance as I rotated my head to see her.

“She can walk on her own,” I called over my shoulder.

When the guard ignored me and pulled her along with him, I jerked my neck to the side and watched as he stumbled backward. He looked stunned at the intangible force which had pushed him, but soon the shock had turned to accusation as his eyes met mine.

“She can walk on her own,” I repeated.

We continued out of the storage room. No one grabbed onto Eleven. 

~

The metal of Brenner’s office door was cool against my ear. No matter how intently I tried to focus on the fervent whispers coming from the other side, they were far too quiet to discern. An annoyed huff fell from my lips as I pressed myself even harder. When I strained, I could hear a light mumbling on the other side, and maybe even a full word if I was lucky.

They were talking about me.

I didn’t know whether it was Beau or Brenner who had said my name. Whoever it was, they were promptly shushed by the other. I had assumed Beau and I were called down to be interrogated about our little misadventure in the storage room, but perhaps I was wrong. Or perhaps Beau was closer to Brenner than I thought.

I tried my best not to let my thoughts run wild. There were so many reasons why Beau could’ve been discussing me with Brenner– it didn’t mean they were working together. Fuck, it might not have meant anything. I cursed the familiar twisting of my stomach, reminding me of how little I trusted the people around me. I wanted to love and allow myself to be loved without the burden of the past. It was everpresent, though, and so I was forced to relive history whenever I heard an air conditioner or saw the color blue. 

A gasp fell from my throat when the doorknob lurched to one side. I took a step back and tried to wipe the worry from my face. Not a second later, Beau was in the hallway, the door promptly slamming shut behind him.

He nearly pushed me over in his hurry to get away from Brenner's office. Any color that once reddened his face was merely a memory, and when his eyes fell to mine, he looked like he could get sick. "Sixteen," He exclaimed, the word breathy and pitched far too high. 

"Is something wrong?" I asked, allowing some of the worry to creep back onto my face. 

His breath hitched. Before he even spoke, I knew he was lying, "No. No, nothing's wrong. I really have to get going, sorry. I'll see you later."

And just like that he maneuvered around me and practically ran away. I watched his back recede and felt my stomach drop farther with each step he took. By the time he disappeared around the corner, I worried I might collapse.

My eyes remained glued to the now empty hallway, staring at nothing. Perhaps that's all it was-- nothing. But I knew the feeling that swirled around in my gut, and I knew it far too well. Something was wrong. Had I been tricked again? 

No. 

My voice of reason was startlingly loud when it punctured through my thoughts. I couldn't jump to conclusions. I couldn't be hasty. I owed Beau-- my first and only friend in five years-- the benefit of the doubt. And so I would give it to him. For now.

I turned to Papa's office and braced myself for what would surely be a dreadful interaction. If I could deal with Brenner of all people, then I'd be perfectly fine. My knock rang through the hallway, and was promptly answered by a 'come in.'

Papa's office was significantly colder than the rest of the facility. No matter how many times I entered, I was always taken aback by the distinct emptiness of the room. There were no knick-knacks, no pencils out of place, no colors to be seen. It was like entering a black-and-white film, and I had to blink a few times just to be sure I hadn't become color-blind. 

"Daughter," Papa greeted. There was a certain sharpness to the word. "Please, take a seat."

I did. And before he could begin his lecture or fill me in on how bad of an influence I was, I spoke up. "I was the one who instigated yesterday's trip to the storage room. Beau and Eleven had no part in it."

A short silence passed. Everything was still so tense between us. The fight we'd had in the observation room loomed over us, filling the room until I worried we'd both be crushed beneath the weight of it. 

"I didn't think they did," He said. The look in his eyes was warm, despite the coldness he spoke with, "I wonder if you fully grasp the gravity of our situation. There isn't any room for play, Sixteen. Not when life as we know it hangs in the balance-- for now, I'm going to let you off with a warning. This is your second and last chance. Going forward, you will not speak to Eleven unless she approaches you, and you will not drag her on any more adventures. Are we clear?"

I swallowed the urge to fight him on the topic. "Yes, we're clear."

"Good," Brenner seemed pleasantly surprised by my obedience. Of course, I didn't plan to live up to it, but for now, I could offer him some appeasement. "Good, Sixteen. I'm happy that you're seeing reason."

I nodded and tried my best to attempt an apologetic smile. 

"Now, that's only part of the reason why I called you in today."

"Okay..." I sat forward in my chair, "What else?"

His eyes brimmed with meaning when he said, "I'd like to discuss your relationship with Beau."

I frowned. "My... 'relationship' with him?"

"Yes, Sixteen, that's what I said," Brenner rested his arms on his desk and lowered his voice. "I know the two of you have been spending quite a bit of time together. I'm glad that you're making a friend, Daughter, but you must be careful not to forget yourself."

I knew where this was going, and still, I muttered, "I don't know what you mean."

"The doctors have seen you with him. The guards, too." He took a deep breath, "I only want what's best for you, Sixteen, and to remind you how easy it is for your priorities to fall out of order when feelings come into play--."

"He's no one," I interrupted him. It took nearly every ounce of my willpower to keep my voice level. "There are no feelings to come into play. We're friends. That's all. Just know it will remain that way."

Brenner's eyes flashed with something malevolent. His words were an accusation. "Yes, well, as much as I would love to believe you, you said something similar about Henry, and look where that brought us."

My hand jerked beneath the table. "Stop it," I said lowly, "I don't want to talk about this. We don't have to fight. Just stop now."

"I'm warning you, that's all," He watched me carefully, gauging each and every reaction I had to his words. Though I tried to keep my face devoid of emotion, I couldn't control the angry red that freckled across my skin. "I don't want you to make the same mistake that killed your siblings-- nearly you, too."

"Mistake?" I whispered. He spoke as though it were I who chased them down like animals and killed them like one, too. "I had no part in that. You know I had no idea what Henry would do--."

"--I'm not entirely convinced," Brenner interrupted. My nails bit into my palm. Was this why he had called me to his office? To accuse me of past transgression as though that would change anything?

"Stop. Right now. I'm giving you an opportunity to s--."

"--You saw him. You knew him. You felt him. Surely you had to know something was wrong," His eyes ravaged mine with all the ferocity of a wild animal. 

The light over my head flickered. My composure spilled from my mouth alongside the question, "Did you?" 

He stayed quiet for a few seconds longer. His silence only gave me more time to process what he was saying, and the more I did, the angrier I became. He thought I was to blame as though I hadn't been in that terrible place for only seven months while he oversaw it for nearly two decades. "You knew him better than anyone," I said carefully, "You knew how sick his head could be. If anyone should've known, Brenner, it's you."

I watched a shadow cross over his face. It sucked all the light from the room until we sat together in a stormcloud. Thunder roared through my ears, a warning that would not be heeded. 

"I know you've been seeing him," Brenner stood from his chair and stared down at me with all the self-importance of a man in his position. "Poor Sixteen. Always naive, always the fool. He's been manipulating you all over again, hasn't he? What has he said to you? That I'm the big bad monster who's manipulated him and hurt him--."

"--You are a monster," The screech of my chair filled the air as I stood. It sounded more like a bowl of thunder. "And you did hurt him. His mind is the way it is because of you."

I thought of Henry, a little boy who was never evil, just sick in his mind. And instead of treating him or caring for him like a real father would have done, Papa had stuck him in that lab and reduced him to nothing. "How long did you know something was wrong with him?" My voice was quiet, a terrible contrast to the storm brewing in the air, "How long did you pretend it wasn't there? How long did you look the other way while that boy suffered at the hands of you and your men?"

"Suffered?" Brenner asked incredulously, his face twisted up into something that was entirely lacking in benevolence. "Henry has never known suffering. I fed him and clothed him and raised him every single day for nearly two decades. He got, for free, what others would kill to receive. All I asked for in return was his cooperation." His eyes scanned over me as though I were something trapped on the bottom of his shoe, "But just like you, he chose to bite the hand that fed him."

"And what else would you have him do?" I leaned over the table until I could see each pore in his face. The hurricane we created turned dark and angry, and soon the room was filled with so much electricity I feared lightning would strike at any moment. Wind whistled through my ears as I spat, "You 'fed him' from the palm of the same hand that strapped him down and locked him away. If he's never known suffering then what was that?"

"Necessity, Sixteen. It was a necessity," Spit flung from the corners of his mouth as he spoke with growing vigor. Each vowel was sharp as a knife, each consonant just the same. "He killed his entire family. What else could I do? Henry was a threat that I had to neutralize, and so I did."

"There is nothing neutral about what you did to him," My trembling hands formed fists by my side. The light overhead flickered with growing ferocity. "How old was he when you stuck that chip in his neck? 15? 16? He was a fucking child."

"He was a threat," Brenner seethed. The room went absolutely silent. Our chests rose and fell as we glared at one another with a hatred that was nearly tangible. When he spoke again, his voice was almost incomprehensible, "You didn't know him like I did. He never felt anything, never made a friend, never so much as cried."

A shocked, bitter sort of laugh scraped from my throat, "Is that what you tell yourself? Some bullshit allegory to make you feel better? You act like he and I are some kind of monster." I spoke the words slowly and carefully, enunciating each one with agonizing slowness, "At least I know what I am. I know what I've done. I've killed, and I will kill again if I must. Can you say the same? Or do you think you're some sort of messiah?"

His silence was the only answer I needed. Soon, one second turned into ten. He opened his mouth and disregarded my words entirely, "There's nothing to say. You have no right to stand here and lecture me about my decisions. Every single one I've made was to protect--."

"Protect who?" I whispered. "The kids? The nurses..?" I neared him once more, face inches from his, "Tell me, Papa, how did that work out?"

A clap of thunder split the room, twisting and turning as his palm slammed into my cheek. The slap echoed through my mind as red-hot pain seared through my face. Everything stopped. Furious, astounded tears filled my eyes.

At that moment, something changed. The little girl inside of me had once grasped onto him with desperate, longing hands, but he was always just out of reach. Perhaps, if she stretched herself far enough-- if she said or did just the right thing-- she'd be able to feel the fleeting touch of his suit against her fingertips. But, like always, he would step away, and she'd be left reaching all over again. 

Right then, she stopped. She dusted herself off and rose to her feet, and instead of reaching, she repelled him. She closed her eyes and prayed she'd open them and his brains would be blown across the floor. 

"You forget yourself," Brenner said lowly. I did not meet his eyes. My face throbbed with a type of pain that I would not forget anytime soon. "You're still alive because I let you. You live or you die by my will. Do you understand, Sixteen? Can you understand that?"

I stood there for a few moments, rubbing my cheeks and pressing on the bruise that had only just begun forming. I basked in the pain, I sat beside it and let it become me. When my eyes met his once more, I abandoned my morals. I abandoned all that I once told myself I would hold onto without ever letting go. "I could kill you," I whispered, "Without a second thought. Without hesitation. And then I could sleep soundly at night knowing you are rotting beneath the ground."

"You're just like him," Papa watched me with something like dread, "You are just as evil."

"You made us, Papa," I murmured, "You have one to blame but yourself."

~

My hands trembled the entire walk back to my room.

The lights over my head flickered, announcing my presence each time I turned down a new hallway. Tears welled up in my eyes, longing to escape but I wouldn't let them. 

Everything inside of me pulsed, red and angry and relentless. A type of rage I hadn't felt in years bubbled up my throat. I could feel it straining against my larynx, but I swallowed. And I kept swallowing until that rage found somewhere else to go. It rested in my stomach, a knotted frenzy that twisted and hissed, seeping through my pores until I could not control it any longer. 

I tried to breathe. I tried to remind myself that this feeling would not last forever, but soon that knot had traveled from my stomach to my brain, and there was no more reason to be found. 

Breathe. Just breathe.

I was boiling over. 

My bedroom door closed behind me, trapping me with my mind and lifeless metal walls. 

I hadn't intended to destroy anything, but soon I had destroyed everything.

My dresser was the first time to come crashing to the ground. My arms gestured wildly, throwing things this way and that without ever touching them. I felt the blood as it poured from my nose, but I was overcome. Soon low huffs had turned into crying, and crying turned into screaming. 

I waited for someone to throw open the door and demand my silence, but they never came, and so I basked in the cacophony. The sound of metal hitting the ground was like an orchestra, and it crescendoed and crescendoed until my entire room was leveled. 

It was not a pretty thing, to lose my mind. 

Soon my cries had quieted, and I found myself on the floor, furiously scratching at the '016' on my wrist. It was burning me. If I just scratched hard enough, if I just tore off my skin, I knew the pain would stop. If blood had to spill for the fire to be burnt out, then I would spill it. 

"What are you doing?"

At the sound of Henry's voice, I only scratched harder. I did not feel that buzzing in the back of my head that typically announced his presence, but I knew he was there. I couldn't be bothered to speak to him.

It felt good to bleed. It felt good to scratch my skin off-- all I ever wanted was to feel good. 

"Sixteen," His voice lost its kindness if there was any to be found in the first place, "Stop."

I didn't.

I saw the black of his shoes as they neared me, but all I knew was the black of my wrist. I wanted it gone. I wanted everything gone. 

He lowered himself to my level, knees meeting the hard floor in front of me. 

It felt good to bleed. It felt good to bleed. It felt good to bleed.

His hand latched onto my wrist, and suddenly my vision sharpened. I backed away from him as though it were he who was setting me on fire and not my own skin. "Stay the fuck away from me," I heard my own voice hiss, charred beyond recognition. 

"What are you doing?" He repeated, and I swear it almost sounded like he cared.

"I want it gone," I spat, nails going back to work on my skin, "I want it gone."

I indulged my madness. I leaned into it with every seething breath. To him, I must've looked out of my mind, kneeling on the ground and peeling myself away until I was trapped beneath my own fingernails. It felt good to bleed.

"Stop it," He tried once more, egging towards me with widened eyes, "Stop it, Sixteen."

I simply shook my head until he had no choice but to make me stop. There, amidst my shattered room and fractured mind, his hands latched onto my wrists. And no matter how powerful I was or how desperately I tried to push him off, it did not work. No amount of curses or ugly words would make him set me free.

He set me on my bed and lowered himself in front of me. He was reluctant to release my wrists, but once he had, I did not try to cut into myself again. I stared at my lap and listened to the gasps of air falling from my throat. It was an ugly moment, made uglier by his kneeling in front of me. He watched with careful discernment, unsure of what to say, prepared to grab me should I try anything again. 

"Look at me," He said. I winced at the sound of his voice.

"Leave me alone," I clasped my trembling hands into fists. A sharp sting of pain accompanied the words, "I want nothing to do with you. Leave me alone."

He took the words without flinching. They had to hurt. Selfishly, I intended for them to hurt. But if they did, he didn't show it. I felt entirely overcome, and his presence in front of me was too much to bear. 

"Please, look at me," He whispered, the words no longer a command but a plea. There was a desperate sort of gentleness in his tone. It cloyed the air between us. My gaze turned to the ceiling as I blinked away tears that had started as anger, but soon quieted into something I couldn't quite place. 

When I finally looked at him, a sense of loss settled over me. The feeling was not at all foreign. "Whatever you're going to say, don't."

His eyes doused the fire on my skin. "Why not?"

"I can't--," I opened my mouth, not knowing what to say nor having the words to say it. "I can't stand the sound of your voice. Just stop."

A soft smile came to his face, but there wasn't any sort of happiness to be found in it. "I suppose you'll just have to cover your ears."

My head fell into my hands. The muscles in my neck were not strong enough to hold the weight of my own thoughts, growing heavier and more incessant as the lights flickered in tandem. 

His fingers met the scar on my thigh-- the same place he had touched all those days ago. I tensed. I wanted to tell him off, to demand he leave me alone for good this time, but my mouth couldn't form the words. Despite my better intentions, I relaxed into his touch. 'Always the fool' Brenner's words echoed through my mind. He was right. I didn't have enough room in my head to be anything more than foolish. 

"What happened, Sweetheart?" His question ran over my skin, an icy hot chill that brought the tears back to my eyes. 

It took all of what little strength I had left to look at him and hiss, "Like you don't know."

"I don't," He confessed, blonde hair falling out of place as he shook his head. "I've left your mind alone, Sixteen. Just as you asked. I could go in there now and find the answer for myself, but I'd rather hear you say it."

I looked to him, the catalyst of everything. His eyes felt like another note in a song I'd been singing for far too long. My throat hurt. I didn't know how much longer I could go on performing. "Brenner," I said, the word barely audible as though it were some curse I had no business speaking. 

Henry's eyes sparked up just as mine did. It felt good to look at him and know I wasn't alone in my hatred-- we sat in it together, side by side, the tattoos on our wrists aching like a wound that never healed over. The weight of his silence was particularly heavy, until finally, he broke it, "What did he do?"

I stared down at him, unable to muster up much more than a shake of my head. 

His hand left its place on my thigh. There was something grounding about his touch, and when it disappeared, I felt the loss stronger than I anticipated. But as soon as it left it was back again, this time on my cheek. His fingertips brushed over my bruise, blossoming across my skin like a bellflower. "Was it... this?" Henry asked gently, "Did he do this?"

I felt the inexplicable urge to laugh. I nodded. 

His hands fell away from me. There was a visible change in his demeanor, a shift in his eyes that was as tangible as the bed beneath me. The locking of his jaw made my stomach turn. "He has no right," he whispered, voice shaking ferociously enough to level my room all over again, "No right--."

"--I hate him." I felt there were no amount of words to fully encompass just how much I did. "I hate him so much I can't bare it." I took a deep, centering breath, but all it did was breathe anger into my lungs, "I think about it all the time. I don't just want to kill him. I want him to hurt like he hurt us. I want him to feel every second of what he did to us."

"I know," He muttered, and there was no questioning if he understood, "I know."

"There's nothing I can do. I just have to sit with it," I shook my head hopelessly, "Even if I did kill him, the guards would turn right around and do the same to me. There is nothing I can do. I'm not strong enough to fight them anymore. I stand entirely on my own in here."

"I stand with you."

"No you don't," I murmured, "You never have."

"Fine," He hummed, fingers returning to their place on my thigh. His touch said what his words could not. "Would you rather I kneel? Would you have me then?"

"No, I wouldn't." The lie was so convincing I could almost believe it. One moment passed, then another. "I just wanna feel good again."

His finger ceased its brushing against my leg. "I can make you feel good," He said carefully. His eyes flickered to mine, as though he was unsure if I'd let him continue or not. "Let me make you feel good."

A shaking breath fell from my lips as I realized what he meant. The hand on my thigh began traveling higher. It was a slow gesture, hesitant. "Henry..." I whispered, having half a mind to tell him to stop. But the word never passed my lips. 

"Please," He spoke lowly, voice breaking off. 

I watched him, something like dread and desperation swirling around inside me. 

"I won't ask for anything in return," he whispered.

"Are you..." The words died in my throat as his fingertips tugged the strings of my pants. My thoughts quieted into nothing more than a low, indiscernible murmur. "Are you trying to get something from me? Is this a trick?"

His head dipped low and I felt the feigning touch of his lips against my knee. "There's no expectation when I touch you," he spoke softly, "No trick. This is all there is."

Unconsciously, I leaned into him. Alarms blared in my mind, warning me not to do this. Not to cave to baseless desires that I'd surely regret by morning. But I wanted to feel good. And only Henry knew how to make that feeling a reality. "I shouldn't," my eyes fell closed.

"You're right, you shouldn't. But that's not what I'm asking," He looked to me for permission. His eyes were practically begging, "Do you want me to make you feel good?"

A lovely kind of terror ripped through me. I feared him, and I feared him pointlessly just as the iron fears the rot. There was no avoiding him, there was no denying him. I watched helplessly as he crawled and consumed, higher and higher until I was utterly overcome. Despite my better sense, I nodded. 

The look in his eyes changed. Soon desperation turned to greed, and he rested his head against my knee. A laugh escaped his throat, and I felt it ricochet off my skin and thunder between my legs. "Hm... that's what I thought you would say." Uninhibited by my doubt, his fingers moved quicker. They crawled between my underwear and my skin as he murmured, "Do you want these off, Sweetheart?"

I was caustic. I nodded.

"Verbally, please."

I spoke with a shameful sort of breathlessness, "Yes."

He grinned, and soon I wore nothing more than a shirt. Bare before him, a blush crept up my cheeks, but he would not relent. My diffidence only watered him, and soon his touch became corrosive. He gently coaxed my legs apart, breath fanning down further and further.

My fingers combed through his hair. Gently, at first, until I grasped it into a fist. His eyes went wide and glazed over. "This doesn't change anything," I told him, voice nothing more than a rasp, "I don't forgive you. We're not friends."

He smiled and looked at me in a way only he possibly could. "You say the prettiest things."

Before I could reply, his fingers touched me like nobody else ever had. Five years. Other men had touched me, too, but never there. I never allowed them to get that far. There was something medical about anyone else, something foreign. But Henry's fingers fell right into place as though they were molded just for me. If this was decay, then perhaps I was better off in shambles. 

"Lay down," He ordered lowly.

"Why?"

"Because I told you to, Sweetheart."

"Ask politely and I'll think about it."

His eyes sparkled, and then he got off of his knees. I watched as he raised himself to his full height, growing taller and taller until it was almost ridiculous to behold. A feeling that had been lost to me for far too long suddenly came back, and it pulsed between my legs. I almost couldn't bear it. That day in the lab, I thought it would never come back. Sandwiched between our first hello and what I thought would be our last goodbye, it was everywhere. There was something about him that I could recognize anywhere. I would know him in death-- at the end of the world. 

And it was terrible. He was terrible. But, for tonight, I could live in terror. 

"Lay down," He repeated, and although the words were cold, there was comfort in knowing he spoke them. Comfort in the dread he brought. "You can either do as you're told or... I can leave."

I blinked. "Are you serious?"

He bent down and pressed his lips to mine, "I think you already know the answer."

"I thought you were going to make me feel good... You don't have to be such a little fuck about it." He didn't reply to my words, instead watching me with a self-assured sort of expectancy. I rolled my eyes and collapsed onto my bed. 

Soon he was on top of me all over again. Deja vu made my mind run sweet and saccharine as his fingers pressed into me. His eyes didn't leave my face. Even as shameful sounds began falling from my mouth, he did nothing but watch. He enjoyed seeing me fall apart on his fingers, and he did not bother to hide it. Playing with my body as though it were his favorite game, tugging me this way and that to see how I would react. 

Just before I reached a great precipice, he pulled away.

I opened my mouth to curse him, but before I could, he lowered his head between my legs.

"Stay quiet for me," He whispered, and I felt his lips brush against me with each word. His mouth was warm and horrifically inviting as it found solace between my legs. 

My rational thoughts were long gone, decayed by his corrosion, rotten beyond the point of return. 

Always the fool. 

Chapter Text

I awoke in a rush the next morning.

My bedroom was a mess. Though, I guess 'mess' was a kind word for it. Come morning, my mind had returned to me and Henry had not, leaving me with a cold bed and no time to prepare for training. Beau knocked incessantly, as he had been for nearly five minutes now, pausing only to tell me to 'hurry the fuck up' with increasingly colorful language.

I combed my fingers through my hair hurriedly, watching myself in my now-shattered mirror. There was too much color in my face. Surely, Beau would know what happened as soon as I stepped out into the hallway. I glanced towards the underwear bundled up in the corner of my room-- the only physical evidence of last night's crime-- and winced. I could still feel him all over me, feel his fingers inside me. At this point, I couldn't even feel guilty anymore. I was just embarrassed. Did I truly have so little self-respect?

I made eye contact with myself through the mirror. "Whore," I whispered, half-joking, half-not.

"Jesus Christ, Sixteen! I will drag you out of here myself!" Beau's shouting pulled my attention away from my reflection. I cursed once more under my breath and finally made my way toward the door, tripping over my fragmented nightstand in the process.

I wrenched the door open wide enough only to slip through, and then slammed it closed. No one else had to see my temporary lapse of sanity from the night before. Once I was in the hall, Beau gave me a once-over. "You look like shit."

"Fuck you."

"I'll pass," He waved me off and began speed-walking down the hall. I groaned under my breath, far from eager to do any more physical labor, and followed him nonetheless.

"What happened?" Beau asked, glancing at me sidelong just before we turned down another hallway.

I frowned, "What do you mean?"

"Your wrist," He said, gesturing towards the scratches from last night. "You suicidal or something?"

I ran a hand down my face, "Jesus Christ, Beau."

"Is that a yes?"

"What is wrong with you? It's ten in the fucking morning."

"Yes, it is," He confirmed, "Too early to be suicidal."

"I'm not going to dignify that with a response," I told him. We turned down one last hallway, and I had to jog just to keep up with him. It wasn't long before I was out of breath. "Can you please slow down?"

"No, Sixteen," He said. Even though I stared at the back of his head, it was impossible to miss the smile in his voice. "Because you decided to spend ten fucking hours getting ready, and now we're gonna be late. I'm already on Brenner's shit list after yesterday-- so no, I can't slow down."

The smile on my face slowly dropped as I remembered what had happened before entering Brenner's office. Hearing the two of them whisper conspiratorially, and then questioning Beau once he had left. I recalled the distinctly guilty look on his face, the way his breath hitched when I asked him about it. Every liar had a tell, and his was almost impossible to miss once I knew what to look for.

"Who's uh--," I paused, "Who's in charge of training today?"

Beau sent me a glance, feet clanking against the metal grate beneath him, "Owens, I think. That's good, right?"

"Right," I agreed. I looked ahead of him, towards the end of the hall as it grew closer. There was no point in delaying it any longer-- we had nearly reached our destination, "What happened yesterday? In Brenner's office?" I tried my very hardest to make the question seem nonchalant, nothing more than a passing thought as though it hadn't been lingering in the back of my mind this entire time.

His steps stuttered. If I hadn't been watching so intently, I surely would have missed it. "What do you mean?" He placed the words oddly.

"I mean... what did you guys talk about? I heard my name."

His breath hitched, and my eyes immediately fell to the ground. I knew that look he got when he was about to lie. "Nothing." He said, attempting a dismissive wave, "He just told me off for taking you and Eleven into the storage room." He abruptly stopped walking, "Alright, here we are."

I should have taken more time to brace myself. I shouldn't have asked him the question so prematurely, because I didn't have any time to prepare myself for the possibility that he might lie. That my suspicions might have been right, and Beau was just another person I could not trust.

But I didn't prepare myself, and so when he did lie, I didn't have time to gather my composure. I stood there in that hallway, staring up at him, wracked with a dreadful sort of nostalgia that stung like alcohol on a wound. Slack-jawed, like an idiot, I couldn't help but replay all of our interactions in my head. I knew better than to trust him in the first place. I always knew better, and yet I always fell for the same tricks. How many times did I have to learn the same lesson before it got through my thick fucking skull?

There was no one I could trust but myself. That's the way it had always been, and that's the way it would remain. As that realization dawned on me, I kept my face blank and my eyes on his. Now wasn't the time to slip up, especially not when I was on full display.

"Thanks for walking me," I said to Beau, and we exchanged one final look before he turned and walked away. I watched his back disappear down the hallway, biting my tongue and fighting back the urge to call out to him-- to demand his honesty for the sake of my own sanity. But I didn't. I was calm, I was collected, and there was no point in wasting my energy on an exercise in futility.

'Later' I promised myself. I would find out what he was keeping from me later.

And with that single word in mind, I allowed the issue to disappear from my mind as quickly as a breath of air would disappear in the chilled winter.

I pushed open the training room door. Dingy, yellowish light spilled onto my skin. I felt the sigh of ventilation and let it run over me before my eyes scanned the room. Eleven was there, as I expected, but so was Brenner.

The bruise on my cheek ached when I said, "I thought Owens was running lessons today."

The door closed behind me, and both pairs of eyes met mine. Eleven smiled warmly, but the look Brenner gave me was cold enough to paint the rest of my skin just as blue as my cheek. "Unfortunately, Owens is otherwise engaged today," he replied. "Now, please come in. We have much to go over today."

I sent a weary glance Eleven's way, but her eyes were glued to Brenner. I was on my own for now. Immediately upon stepping further into the room, something felt wrong. Two guards were stationed on either side of the room, staring ahead in perfect silence. Their moss-green suits posed a stark contrast to the metal wall behind them. Instinctually, my eyes lowered to their belts, where each one had a baton holstered.

Something is definitely wrong.

"Sixteen, I'm sure you're aware of Eleven's progress in the tank these past few days," He looked at me briefly, but he seemed entirely focused on Eleven, "Eleven, with the resurgence of your power I'd like to test your response to more... direct stimuli. The threat in Hawkins is less of a monster and more of a man, so you'll need to take more combative measures when it comes to it."

She nodded eagerly. My stomach turned. The glimmer in her eyes was reminiscent of the children in the lab, who would fall over themselves just for a morsel of Brenner's affection. She should know better.

"Direct stimuli?" I questioned.

"Yes, Sixteen," He said shortly.

If Eleven noticed the coldness in his tone, she didn't show it. "Does that mean Sixteen is going to... use her powers on me?"

Papa smiled gently, a gesture meant for her and her alone, "Close, Eleven. You're both going to use your abilities on the other, but don't worry. I won't allow it to get out of hand. You both have the power to seriously injure one another should it come to it, but today, you're going to try and exercise restraint. For now, your sole focus should be pushing the other backward."

"Are there any parameters we should keep in mind?" I asked.

He nodded and took a step back, gesturing towards some lines that were drawn out on the ground. I hadn't noticed them until then, but there were two circles drawn out in what appeared to be black paint on the ground. They were about two yards away from each other. Just as they were in the lab.

"I'm sure you're both familiar with this particular exercise," Brenner looked towards the both of us with a small smile, like we were all in on a little secret. "In the lab, it was much less controlled, and the playing field was a bit more uneven. Here, both of you have a fighting chance... Please, find your way to your circle. I'll give you a countdown and then you'll both begin."

Eleven looked towards me sheepishly. I couldn't tell whether she was scared of hurting me or scared that I would hurt her. She wouldn't have to worry about the latter, though. Before I'd even reached my circle, I decided I'd throw that day's training. I had nothing to gain from throwing a fifteen-year-old girl across the room for some geriatric asshole.

"Don't hold back," I told her lowly, sending my best reassuring smile her way, "I can take it."

"I don't want to hurt you--."

"--You won't, Eleven. I'm telling you not to hold back."

Before she could reply, the guard stationed behind her had moved from his spot. He held a white cloth in his hand as he neared. The guard stationed behind me began walking, but Brenner stopped him and took the cloth from his hand.

My spine went rigid as Brenner made his way toward me. I felt his presence stronger than I would have liked.

"Are you okay?" Eleven suddenly spoke up. I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion, and she gestured to my face, "Your cheek."

I could almost laugh at the irony. I practically felt Brenner tense up. "The bruise?" I tilted my head and smiled innocently, "Ask our Papa."

"She fell on her way out of my office yesterday," Brenner was quick to remedy the situation. Before I could deny it, he pulled the cloth from his side and secured it over my eyes, "Silly girl." He hummed, before tightening it far more than what was necessary.

Soon Eleven was blindfolded, too. The world turned white, and then black as I let my eyes fall shut. I felt breath on my skin, and then the blood in my veins crawled as though it were trying to get away from him. "Behave, Sixteen," Brenner whispered lowly in my ear, "The guards are here for a reason. Surely you've noticed their weapons."

I stayed quiet. My heart thundered in my chest.

"Disobey, and I will not hesitate to put them to use." With that, he was gone, and the words were no more tangible than a shudder running down my spine.

I bit back my anger, swallowed it down my throat, and felt as it festered on the floor of my stomach. 'Calm down' I reminded myself harshly. Now wasn't the time to lose my composure, especially not when I was supposed to be using my abilities on Eleven. The last thing I wanted was to let my emotions get the best of me and hurt her.

My senses were hyperactive without the ability to see. Each time a guard shuffled in their place or Brenner stepped in either direction, my lidded eyes would shoot toward the source of the noise. I could feel them in a way that went beyond my five senses.

"Alright, girls," Brenner's voice sounded somewhere between Eleven and me. "You both know the rules, I'm sure. Your goal is to try to push the other out of their circle. Control is of the utmost importance-- don't let your abilities become so overwhelming that they hurt your opponent... Now, please begin."

Before I could fully process the words, a wall of power slammed against me. I dug my heels into the ground and clenched my jaw shut, calling upon my abilities. They came to the surface faster than I would have imagined.

I remembered what it was to have power, and I remembered it vividly. Between bleached white walls nearly five years ago, I was at my strongest. There were no memories of broken bones and empty eye sockets to weigh down my abilities back then. Now, whenever I called upon my power, I remembered everything. Every fluttering pulse of energy brought my mind further and further into thoughts of September 8th. The carnage was all-consuming. It was difficult to focus when my skeleton was fighting to break out of my skin-- when my mind felt like it was on the edge of imploding.

I couldn't be powerful when I couldn't stand my own power.

And so, as could be expected, Eleven got the upper hand in mere moments. I didn't try to reorient myself as her abilities pressed against me harder and harder, forcing me out of my circle one inch at a time.

Seconds later, she stopped, and I pulled my blindfold off. It was no shock when I found myself standing on the outside of my circle, but then I remembered there were still eyes on me. I reminded myself to frown and look disappointed. When I was sure it was convincing enough, I look back up to Eleven. Her blindfold was off, too.

"Good job, Eleven," Brenner spoke before I could. He was practically beaming as he went up to her, "Good job, indeed. You doubt yourself far too much, daughter. A week ago you couldn't move a soda can... Now look at what you accomplished."

"He's right," I piped up. Eleven's eyes snapped to mine, "You're stronger than you think."

"Thank you," She smiled briefly before wiping it from her face, "Were you... really trying?"

Oh shit. "Of course I was," I told her, "Give yourself some credit. You've been practicing nonstop-- it pays off, Eleven."

"Yes, it does," Brenner agreed, and a light frown creased his face, "But I'm afraid Eleven's worries might not be void." He looked at me. "Feelings aside, Sixteen, you're a force. You always have been... I don't believe that you'd fall from your circle so quickly. Were you really trying?"

"I was. I've just fallen out of practice since..." A moment passed, "You know."

Brenner nodded, filling in the blanks for himself. He turned to Eleven once more. There was a kindness in his demeanor that was entirely foreign to me. When he spoke to her, he smiled-- I mean, he really smiled-- and she smiled back. In my mind, I knew I was lucky not to be in her situation, brainwashed by a man who had only the worst intentions. But that didn't stop me from noticing a familiar emptiness in my stomach.

Significance was found only when I chose to search for it. I could choose not to watch them, but that would require a level of willpower that I didn't have.

And so I watched, until finally, Brenner gave her one last smile and told her to put the blindfold over her eyes.

He turned to me next. I prepared myself for the kindness to disappear from his face when he looked at me. And it did.

"You're holding back," He said simply, not a question but an observation.

"I'm not."

"You are."

"What do you expect?" I narrowed my eyes at him and lowered my voice, "I'm not throwing a fifteen-year-old girl across the room. I don't know what to tell you."

A moment passed. Without a word, Brenner reached up and pulled the blindfold back over my face. I tried to ignore the feeling of vulnerability that crept up my spine as he pulled it tighter than was necessary.

He spoke lowly in my ear, "Let me make this easy for you. Either you do as you're told, or I will make you. My threats aren't void, Sixteen. You know that better than everyone."

A bitter laugh fell from my throat. I reached up and tore the blindfold from my face. "What're you gonna do, Brenner? Have your men beat me in front of her?"

Eleven shifted nervously where she stood. She likely only heard the final half of what I'd said, but it was enough to make her reach up to pull the blindfold from her face. Sensing danger in the air, Brenner placed a hand on Eleven's shoulder, "No need to take the blindfold off, Daughter. You remember what I told you. Sixteen's having another one of her outbursts."

"Outbursts?" I demanded lowly. I hadn't tried to shove Brenner aside, but the moment my head turned to face him, an invisible force made him stumble back. We were both caught by surprise. Pins and needles stabbed into my skin, and out of nowhere, I felt a surge of power that I hadn't even tried to call upon.

One single, silent moment passed. Brenner and I stared at one another without so much as moving an inch, eyes burning with mutual disdain.

The guards broke our silence before I could so much as blink. The lights flickered overhead, growing more and more ferocious as two pairs of black work boots came upon me. I didn't want to hurt anyone. I hadn't even tried to use my abilities on them, but in a moment, my head pounded with a power I hadn't felt in a long, long time.

They both dropped before they could reach me. On the ground, I watched them writhe in pain. I tried to take a deep breath, to compose myself, but the room only continued to surge with electricity until I worried we would all be electrocuted.

"What's happening?!" I looked to Brenner, my eyes wide with fear.

He stayed silent, and then I noticed blood slipping onto my lip. By now, Eleven had pulled her blindfold off. She looked at me with wide, terrified eyes as though I were something to fear. My hands trembled. The light above my head burst, spilling onto my skin in the form of white-hot sparks.

Stop, stop, stop.

I chanted the phrase over and over and over in my mind, desperately trying to get ahold of the power echoing through my hallowed insides. "I'm not trying to hurt them!" I gasped, looking between everyone in the room as though they could help me, "I can't stop. Oh, my god, I can't stop."

I pressed my back into the wall and took my head in my hands. The guards struggled on the floor with growing ferocity, their cries filling my ears. Stop it. Stop. Something was wrong with me. Something was so, so wrong. It was as though my abilities had a mind of their own, heedless of my desperate pleas for alleviation. Blood continued to slip down my chin, and then I realized this was going to kill me if it went on much longer.

Hands grabbed my shoulders. Brenner stared at me with wide, worried eyes, and for once I couldn't find any hatred inside them. "Breathe, Sixteen. You're losing control."

I shook my head in disbelief, trying to heed his warnings but my rational thought was slipping away more and more with each second. "I can't. I don't know what's happening. I can't."

"You can, Daughter." His grip around my shoulder grew tighter, and the pain was enough for me to snap back into reality.

Soon power was slowly replaced by exhaustion. My entire body trembled.

What was happening to me?

~

I stayed up thinking most nights.

Sometimes I hated being in my head, but tonight it wasn't so bad. I stared up at the empty ceiling, and it stared back at me. I was alive in my bedroom, and it was a calm, silent sort of living. There wasn't any moonlight to spill into my room, but out of the corner of my eyes, I could see the soft red glow of the clock on my nightstand.

When I stared at the ceiling long enough, stucco morphed into little white stars. I would trace them with my fingers, recognizing shapes that weren't there, galaxies made of vermiculite. The day had been trying, but I'd already spent so many hours wondering about the same things and asking myself the same questions. For now, I allowed myself to think of something other than Brenner and Eleven and whatever end-of-the-world scenario we were narrowly avoiding.

I liked being on my own. There was an intimacy that came with being in my head where I was understood so completely. It was the kind of intimacy that I couldn't find anywhere else-- anywhere except Henry, I suppose.

Things were going to change tomorrow. Whether it was going to be for the better or for the worse depended on the answers I managed to get from Beau. I didn't plan on speaking to him directly. Instead, I would enlist the help of Henry and see if we could find a way into his head. I needed to know what he was doing with Brenner. Truthfully, I wasn't fully convinced that I'd be able to get Henry to help me, but I wasn't strong enough to search Beau's mind on my own. I needed Henry's help. There weren't any other options.

I thought of Henry, too. Sometimes I felt like that was all I could do. Before I knew he was alive, I used to stay up and imagine what life would be like if Henry never did what he did. In my mind, the picture was always so clear. We would have left the lab together that day. Things would be rough for a little while, surely, but I would be comforted by the knowledge that he was with me. In body, in mind, in every way possible, he was with me.

And then, in my head, one day we would figure everything out. It would take time, but together, existence was far from finite. I pictured us bathed in the afternoon sun, his eyes brighter than I'd ever seen them. He would kiss my lips and I would kiss his. I would feel love on his breath, taste it on his tongue. We'd pass a perfect afternoon, and there would be twice as many stars as usual that night. I'd hold his hand in the dark, memorize his fingerprints. We would laugh, despite everything, speaking of how much violence it took to become so gentle.

We would live a soft life.

I didn't like to imagine that stuff anymore. There's no point in wanting something I can't ever have.

A knock on my door pulled me from my thoughts. My eyes flickered to my clock, reading '2:00 am.' I furrowed my eyebrows and sat up, "Hello?" I called.

The door opened slowly. A timid hand could be seen pushing it open, and then a face peeked in. "Sixteen?"

"Eleven," I called back to her, "Why are you still awake? Don't you have training tomorrow?"

She spared a nervous glance behind her, and then entered my room. Once the hallway light disappeared, it was dark again. "I can't sleep," she spoke gently.

It took my eyes a little bit to readjust to the darkness. Once they had, I saw her silhouette fumbling nervously with its hands. "Are you okay?" I asked gently.

She hesitated. A long silence passed between us until finally she took a deep breath and asked, "Can I sleep in here? I can stay on the ground. It will be like I'm not here."

I briefly remembered Brenner's warning to avoid her. If I was smart, I would've laughed in her face and told her to get out of my room. Luckily, I'd never been all that bright. I rolled onto the left side of my bed and pulled my blankets aside. "You're not sleeping on the ground, Eleven. Just come here... But if you snore I'm kicking you out."

She gave me a timid smile and made her way towards me. I tried my hardest to make enough space for her on my twin bed, but not much could be done. When she was settled, I was practically lying in the crack between the bed and the wall.

"Comfortable?" I asked.

"Not really."

"Me neither."

"Guess that means neither of us are gonna be able to sleep."

"That's okay," She told me. Although she was laying facing the other way, I could hear the tiredness in her voice.

Another few minutes passed. I tried to close my eyes and fade off, but it didn't work. Soon I found myself staring at the ceiling all over again, but my mind was quieter this time around. It felt good not to think.

"You did well in training today," Eleven's voice was so soft I could barely hear it.

"I lost control," I told her with a small frown, "I don't think I'd consider that 'well.' Thank you, though."

She stayed quiet and then turned to face me. "I want to be as powerful as you."

When the words met my ears, I flinched. There was something warm in her voice, something like adoration. "You're plenty powerful on your own. I'm not someone you should be looking up to, Eleven. "

"Why not?"

I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

"Sixteen?"

"I'm not a good person," I told her softly, "You don't know why yet, but you'll find out soon."

She stayed quiet.

In the silence, I heard deja vu creeping up next to me. It appeared soundlessly, like a shadow, and it took me a long time to realize it was there. As I blinked, the quiet twisted into a memory of big, brown eyes staring into mine. Suddenly she was nine again, half her height, blood stained on her hospital gown as we spoke lowly in that tv room. I remembered every word we had traded. That memory was a punishment my mind had replayed for me time and time again over the years.

She looked at me then. For help, for guidance, for reassurance that we were okay. And to her face, I had lied, giving her exactly when she wanted as though she wasn't about to walk through a hallway full of dead little boys and girls. As though I wasn't the one who had caused all of it. Blindly, I had pulled that chip from Henry's next-- unaware that a love like that came with mourning that consumed me just as wholly as he did.

Now here we were, sitting with one another so many years later. It was mortifying to be the only one who remembered what had happened. The world around me changed and shifted but I was still the same petrified girl, staring down a hallway painted red, having destroyed and betrayed myself for a man that was my very own undoing.

"I'm sorry," I told her. My voice was trembling.

"What?" She frowned, "Why?" I didn't know how to tell her that all of this had been my fault, in one way or another. That blood was still drying beneath my fingernails, and it belonged to her and Henry and Six and all the rest of them.

"I don't know," I lied. "I'm just so sorry."

Chapter Text

Eleven and I stayed up talking for another hour or so, mostly about her life at home and the hellscape she'd introduced to me as the Upside Down. I'd been in the middle of telling her a story about something that was probably inconsequential when I realized she was asleep. I remember laughing to myself and then turning my gaze to the ceiling. Alone again, just me and the silence, I knew better than to try and fall asleep. My mind was always hyperactive, buzzing with thoughts of all that I could not control, and with what I had planned for the morning I knew there was no way I'd get any sleep.

Around eight in the morning, I gently nudged her awake. She groaned and turned away from me, and so I figured I could offer her another thirty minutes of rest.

Half an hour later, I woke her up. She was groggy at first, clearly exhausted from her less-than-ample sleep, but I reminded her we'd both get in trouble if she was caught in my room.

Now here I was, alone once more.

I sat on my bed until 2:00 pm or so, gathering the courage to reach out to Henry. I was anxious. Sometimes I felt that's all I could ever be. My morals and my common sense battled one another in my mind. I knew, on paper, it was wrong to go into someone's mind without their knowledge. I'd been in this same dilemma before, knelt next to 'Peter's' bed after the first night we spent together. I remembered it distinctly-- how his eyelashes brushed the top of his cheek, how his chest rose in a peaceful, soundless slumber. I'd gone in his head despite my better intentions, and even now, I couldn't decide whether I was better or worse off because of it.

But Beau was different-- I didn't love Beau. At least not like I loved Henry. I told myself, at the very, very least, things could never end as badly as they did at the lab. Back then, I didn't have much to lose, but now I had nothing at all.

I needed to know what Beau had done with Brenner, and I needed to know now. If his trust had to be betrayed then that's what I would do. And if I was right, if he was working against me, then that was that. I was done.

And so, with that single thought in my mind, I waved to the light switch across the room and watched as my surroundings fell into darkness.

Henry. I repeated his name over and over in my mind as my eyes fell shut. I harnessed all the energy that came with the word and used it to pull my abilities to the surface. I was nervous at first, scared to lose control like I had the day before, but that would only hamper my strength. So I turned that fear into fuel and devoured it one anxious thought at a time.

It wasn't long before I found myself where I wanted to be.

The moment my breaths could be heard echoing all around, I knew my task was accomplished.

My eyes opened, and there I was. Surrounded by an ocean of blackness, rising to my feet on trembling knees. My head pounded, confirming the fact that I wasn't strong enough to search Beau's mind on my own. If I couldn't even stand in the void without nearly collapsing, then there was no way I could do that.

"Henry?" I called.

No response. He was here, I could feel him. "I know you're here. Can we talk?"

Another moment passed, and he stayed silent. I kept catching him out of the corner of my eye, smiling broadly as though we were playing some game of hide and seek. I'd turn to face him, and he'd be gone.

I urged myself not to get angry. If I wanted his help, I'd have to be diplomatic about it. "Henry," I repeated once more, almost coaxingly. I tried not to think about the way I'd called his name only a few nights before, how his fingers had felt digging into the flesh of my hip.

I gasped when I felt his breath on my neck. I turned, wide-eyed, and then he was gone again. "Having fun?" I called bitterly. One moment passed, then another. I opened my mouth, prepared to curse him out as I usually did, but then I paused.

Calm down, Sixteen. I cursed Henry's ability to wind me up like some toy. "I know we haven't spoken since... you know... but I really have to talk to you," I spun on my heel, searching for him amidst the darkness, "You have no idea how much it hurts my pride to say this, but I need your help."

"My help?" I turned to my left, and there he was. Henry smiled at me the way he always did-- too gently, so that if he curled his lip just a little more he'd look starving, almost predatory.

"Yes, your help," I said, trying to ignore the inherent weakness that came with the request, "I know we aren't really on the best terms, but I can't do what I need to do without you, so--."

"--We're not friends, you said it yourself," He threw my own words back at me, amusement glittering like a diamond in his eyes. "Why would I help you?"

My eye twitched. Stay calm, Sixteen. "Because I'm asking you politely," I told him.

He watched me for a few moments, gaze so perceptive I felt he was looking through me. "That's not true," He tutted, "Where are your manners, Sixteen? Not so much as a 'please,' that's not polite."

I blew a breath from my lips. "Fine. Please, will you help me? Happy now?"

He grinned at my admission, at the way I clearly had to lay aside my pride to say the words. "Overjoyed, Sixteen."

"I'm glad," I said bitingly, "I need to search someone's head, and I'm not strong enough to do it on my own. So... can you help me?"

"I thought you were opposed to going into people's minds. Privacy and all that," The soft, mocking edge behind the words made my insides curl.

"Why are you being such an ass?"

At that, he furrowed his eyebrows ever so slightly, "Careful, Sixteen," He rasped, "I thought you wanted my help."

"I did. I do." I ran a hand through my hair and tried to calm myself down, "It's just been a very long week, and I'd rather just rip the bandaid off and figure out what I need to figure out. It's Beau--."

"--The guard?" Henry's eyes narrowed. A wave of silent anger crept up on him quicker than I could've imagined, "Why are you concerning yourself with him?"

"He's my friend, Henry," I told him, shifting uncomfortably beneath the weight of his stare, "At least I think he is. That's why I need your help."

One moment passed. Then two. I could see that mind of his racing, trying to separate emotions from logic. It was all so inexplicable... he was jealous. The thought felt ridiculous as it crossed my mind. After all we had been through, after what we had become, something so small and naive as jealously felt sorely out of place between us. What I couldn't understand was my urge to reach forward and reassure him that he had marked me-- however painful that mark was-- in a way no one else ever could.

"You're afraid," Henry's voice sounded louder than before, "You're afraid he's working with Brenner, aren't you?"

The surprise showed clearly on my face. "How did you know?"

Henry's lip tilted upwards, creating the smallest hint of a smile, but his eyes weren't looking at me. When he spoke, his voice was far away, unsteady. "You forget how much time he and I spent together." The implication made my stomach drop. "His tricks haven't changed much in twenty years."

My response was sudden. Decisive, as though I'd been waiting to say it. "I never forgot, Henry."

A silence passed. Something twisted between the meeting of our eyes, a mutual understanding, and a mutual anger. I was reminded of those words which had crossed my mind when he brought us back to that night in the lab. It will never go away completely.

He stepped closer. For once, I didn't step back. "Then you know Brenner won't stop," He said carefully, perceptive eyes never leaving mine, "Not with Beau. If he's already recruited one person to keep tabs on you, this is only the beginning. If you're right about this, if that guard is truly what you think he is, then he'll just send another in his place."

My eyes fluttered shut at the sting of his words. I took a deep, grounding breath, horrified at the permanence of it all.

At the feeling of Henry's hand on my skin, my eyes snapped wide open. He brushed my hair from the side of my face and spoke quietly, as though the truth would hurt any less if he said it in rasping breaths, "You're smart, Sixteen." He smiled, almost proudly beneath the saddened curve of his eyebrows, "Irritatingly smart. You know he won't ever truly let you go, don't you? Especially not when there's so little distance between you two... He can control you so easily."

I wanted to tell him no. That I wasn't so easily subdued, but I knew I would be lying. "I know," I whispered, my expression mirroring his, "Believe me, I know... But there's still a chance, right? Maybe I'm wrong. I really hope I'm wrong."

Henry watched me with that look that was always in his eyes. It was difficult to see some days, but if I searched, I would always find it. It was sadness without specificity, everpresent and undeniable. "Selfishly, I hope you're not."

A better woman would've realized how wrong it was for him to say that. A better woman wouldn't even be standing before him in the first place. I was relieved not to be her. "It doesn't matter either way, Henry." My words were low and rushed, "There's no one else."

The words died away into silence.

"So you'll help me?" I asked, before adding, "It's not like you have anything better to do."

He laughed, despite the atmosphere. "I will... on one condition."

"Which is?"

"You owe me."

"Owe you what?"

He took a step back, "I haven't decided yet. We'll call it a blank cheque, hm?"

I frowned at the idea of 'owing him.'

"Oh, come now," His eyes ran over my face, "Don't look at me like that. I would never make you do anything too unfair, Sweetheart. You know that."

"Do I?"

He smiled serenely, "Maybe not. I guess you'll just have to trust me."

"That's not exactly reassuring, Henry."

"Oh, I know," He smiled and beckoned me closer. "I never said it was. Don't worry about it for now, let's just focus on the task at hand, hm?"

I obliged and took a few steps closer, trying to ignore the deja vu that hit me as he spoke. Here he was, guiding me all over again, telling me to 'focus'. I remember hating those words in the lab, growing weary of hearing him repeat them over and over after hours in a bleached white training room.

"You have to stop doing that," Henry said, pulling my attention back to him.

"Doing what?"

"Thinking. Remembering." His eyes flickered to mine, "You dwell on everything far too much."

"How do you know?"

"Because I'm the same way," He said dismissively. Before I could reply, his hands latched onto mine. I gasped at the suddenness, eyes snapping to his. "So jumpy," He smiled, "Relax, Sixteen. If you want this to work, we have to have some sort of skin-to-skin contact. Unless you have something else in mind?"

I smiled sweetly, "Maybe I could hit you. Would that work?"

"Maybe next time," he said, thumbs running over the back of my hand. "Envision the guard in your mind. Focus on a moment between the two of you with as little distractions as possible. Oh, and Sixteen?"

"Yes?"

"I'll know what you're thinking," His eyes met mine, "I can... try not to focus on your thoughts, but if we're in your mind it's inevitable."

Worry crept along the columns of my spine, but I tried to keep my face straight. "Can I see yours?"

"You could," He confirmed, smiling ever so slightly, "But I'm not going to tell you how. I don't think you'd much like the innerworkings of my mind."

I narrowed my eyes at him, "I can't say I missed your vagueness."

Something smug filled his eyes, and his grip on my hands tightened, "It's much more difficult to lie to me when I'm in your head, Sixteen. Better stop trying, hm?"

I scoffed indignantly, but it didn't much help my case.

Instead of pressing the matter further, Henry gave me an encouraging nod. I pushed aside how much it reminded me of 'Peter' and the way my insides ached at the memory.

Focus.

I pictured Beau in my mind. His cropped black hair, how his green suit hugged his body. That moment in the kitchen came to mind, the way smoke curled around his head as he handed the joint back to me. I really hoped I was wrong.

"I think that's enough," Henry said. I looked back towards him. "Now that I have some image of him, I should be able to bring us both into his head. He might... feel a headache coming on, but that should be the only physical affect he'll feel."

"You're sure?" I asked, "I don't want to hurt him."

I didn't miss the slight downward tilt of his lip. "Positive."

"It'll be your power taking on the majority of the burden. I wish I could offer more but... well, I'm sure you know already."

"You're weaker than before," He finished my thoughts for me. My stomach turned at the words. It had always been Henry encouraging me, telling me I was more powerful than I knew. Now here he was confirming my own worries. As the thoughts crossed my mind, he tutted, "What did I say about you and your overthinking, Sixteen?"

"Force of habit," I told him, "Sorry."

He smiled softly, and suddenly I could feel the press of his hands in mine more vicerally than before. "You're still just as powerful as you were. I never embellished it back then, and I won't do it now... You have the same problem. The only thing holding you back is yourself."

I exhaled gently, "And I take it you have the same advice? Focus, believe in yourself, make me proud. That sort of thing?"

"Not exactly. Your problem is the same, but the reason you have it has changed."

"Enlighten me, Henry."

"You're guilty," He said outright, "That's holding you back. You can't be powerful if you hate your own power."

With him in my mind, I didn't let myself linger on his words. I tucked them away in a file in the back of mind, one which I would open up and scrutinize once I was free to think without Henry to see.

"Maybe," I replied, eyes falling to the ground.

His hand left mine and sought solace beneath my chin. I fought the urge to pull away, and he knew it. He kept his grip lax, as though he were trying to leave me the option to free myself. "We don't have to wonder about that right now. All you have to do is think of the task at hand, and I'll take care of the rest. You're doing perfectly... Just keep your eyes on me."

I was reminded of those dreams he used to give me, the way he would mock me all while kissing my lips and whispering words so sweet they made my stomach turn. I hated how much I loved it then, and I hated how much I loved it now. I'd always been spineless.

When a shuddered breath fell from his lips, I forced the thoughts out of my head.

"Focus," I reminded him softly.

The look he gave me was darker than I would've expected, blue eyes turned black as though they'd been bruised. "I'm trying," He whispered, using what was left of his willpower to tear his gaze from mine. There was a silence, and then he murmured, "You're making it difficult."

Before I could respond, Henry gripped both of my forearms. A moment later, that feeling of falling overcame me. We both knew if we lingered there any longer, we'd never got accomplished what we had to-- thankfully, Henry had the strength to press on. I closed my eyes as I felt myself being pressed into something new. Maybe it was someone new. The air was cast from my lungs and suddenly there wasn't any solid ground for my feet to stand on. I held onto him tighter, squeezing my eyes shut until, finally, it stopped. 

My head pounded. Surely, if I were in my physical body, blood would be pouring from my nose. It took me a long while to finally gather my composure and open my eyes, but once I had, a gasp fell from my throat. 

"What the hell?" The words fell from my lips almost instinctually as I took in my surroundings. Wherever we were-- it was a deep, menacing red as far as the eye could see. Wind whistled in my ears with no discernable origin point. In the distance, I could see blurry figures and jagged rock, but as the wind picked up, it all disappeared. It was as though I were in a crimson sandstorm, blocking out my view of the world around me. 

"Henry?" I grasped onto his sleeve without thinking, searching for some sort of familiarity in such an unfamiliar place. "Henry, what's happening?"

Had I been tricked again?

I let go of his sleeve and took a few steps back, whatever warmth I'd started to feel for him immediately doused. Henry looked at me with eyes that felt far too piercing to only be in my mind. The corners of his lips pulled into an amused smile. He enjoyed seeing me lose my composure-- he always had. "So paranoid," He tutted, "If I wanted to trick you, Sixteen, I would... But we made a deal, remember? I have no reason to trick you."

I gave him a once over, maintaining a safe-enough distance between the two of us. This back and forth was giving me a headache. One moment he was lifting my chin and assuring me all would be well, and the next he was like this. Grinning like a maniac, words biting into me with razor-sharp teeth. 

"Where are we?" I asked shakily.  

He never broke eye contact-- not once, even as he walked towards me one careful step at a time. He regarded me like some rabid animal who would attack him at any sudden movement. "You wanted to see into your guard's mind, didn't you? Well, here it is."

I broke eye contact to take in my surroundings once more, but they were just as indiscernible as before. The sandstorm seemed to have picked up, surrounding us in a world of red. It was the oddest thing... I couldn't feel it as it came in contact with my skin. I reached my hand forward, bracing for a million little grains to bite into my flesh, but it never happened. I was... repelling them, somehow. 

I shook my head, "I don't understand."

"Look, Sixteen." 

"I am fucking looking. Your vague directions are not helping."

"It's that simple," He breathed. I winced when he rested his hands on my shoulders. "All you have to do is look."

I shook my head in disbelief, feeling incredibly stupid as I focused harder on the sandstorm. One beat passed, then another, and still, nothing could be seen. I pictured Beau in my mind, specifically that moment when he ran out of Brenner's office, wide and eyed and guilty in a way I hadn't ever seen him before. 

And then, something changed.

Among the millions of grains of sand passing us by, something emerged. It was a bright, glowing red, taking shape slowly at first, then all at once. I watched it focus and unfocus, a gasp falling from my lips as voices began sounding all around. When I turned my attention away from whatever it was-- a jagged outline of two figures-- there were dozens of others all around us. 

"Are these... memories?" I asked, wide-eyed as I tried to understand what happening. 

"Look at you catching on so quickly," Henry's voice sounded right next to my ear. I could hear the smile in his words. "Now, what else do you see?"

I followed his gaze to the first picture which had shown itself. It flickered, the red dimming and then returning to full brightness. I stared, willing for anything to happen. As the moments ticked by I felt Henry's presence stronger and stronger, and with it, the desire to impress him. I could almost laugh at the naivety of it all. 

My name was whispered harshly from the picture ahead. I recognized it the moment the syllables hit my ears-- this was the memory we'd been searching for. As the realization hit me, the picture grew brighter, and then two concrete figures emerged. It expanded until it was nearly life-sized, displaying Brenner and Beau engaged in a tense conversation, both of their faces twisted up with anger.

"This is it," I turned to Henry, "This is what we're looking for."

He smiled at my accomplishment, lightly squeezing my shoulders before his hands dropped back to his side. "What did I tell you? All it takes is a little focus."

"Yeah," I murmured, turning back to face the picture, "I guess I just didn't wanna risk feeding into your ego."

He laughed. Watching him then, I realized I was far more proud of my ability to make him smile than my ability to find the right memory. I couldn't decide whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. 

"What now?" I asked.

"Now," He grabbed my hand once more and gently pulled me towards the image, "We watch."

Before I got the chance to reply, his palm made contact with it. There was a bright, blinding flash of light. I brought my free hand up to shield my eyes, but it was pointless. As soon as the light was there it was gone again, and we were somewhere new.

I was disoriented for a little while before I realized where we were. Once my vision had fully adjusted to the change in brightness, there was no more red to be found. We were inside the image we had just been looking at. 

So this is what it's like to be inside a memory.

My eyes swept across Papa's office on the site of Project Nina. It wasn't all that remarkable. After all, this memory had only taken place a day ago. The space was still just as annoyingly perfect as it had been before, except for the fact that Beau's face was distorted. I remembered going into Henry's memories all those years ago-- how his own face had been indiscernible-- and a million more questions filled my head. I was happy to follow Henry's lead when I had to, but I still wanted to understand how this all worked. The more I learned about my abilities, the more confusing they became. 

I was about to ask Henry one of the many questions floating around in my mind, but when I looked at him, I paused. He scanned the room through hooded eyes, his skin slightly paled as he took in his surroundings. When my gaze fell to our intertwined hands, I realized his knuckles had turned white. In my mind only moments before, he had been the picture of composure, standing with broad shoulders and a straightened spine. Now, something had changed. If it weren't Henry I was talking about, I would almost say he looked afraid.

'You forget how much time he and I spent together.'

"Henry," I called, squeezing his hand slightly. 

His eyes snapped to mine. It was as clear as daylight between the crystallized flecks in his eyes-- fear. I didn't have to be in his head to know what he was remembering. Scratchy hospital gowns, colorless hallways, the rev of a tattoo gun. A million sensations and memories he had surely been pushing away for years now, all unfolding before him as though he were reliving them once more. 

"It's not real," I reminded him gently, "Brenner has no idea where you are, remember? You're safe now."

In the blink of an eye, he pulled his shoulders back and assumed that rigid posture he always insisted on holding. I watched as the color slowly returned to his face, and the pit in my stomach started to go away. "I know," He replied absently, his gaze glued to the room ahead. And even if he did 'know,' he gripped my hand tighter and did not let go. 

"I'm doing what you asked," Beau's voice whispered harshly, pulling my gaze away from Henry. I tried to focus on our task, but I couldn't help looking over at Henry every few seconds. I remembered my first day in Project Nina. Even if he wasn't actually here, perceiving a place like this was just as visceral as reliving it in his memory. 

"What I asked?" Brenner returned harshly, staring at Beau in a way he had stared at me many times before. "This is the second time you've deliberately ignored my directions. First, you smoke with her. Now this? Prohibited areas of the facility are not to be visited under any circumstances, especially not without the proper clearance. I asked you to befriend her, not encourage blatant disobedience."

"Well, what else do you expect me to do?" He demanded, "The only reason she's willing to talk to me now is because of those things. If she thinks I'm supportive of you and your rules, she'll never trust me."

"She's not in Hawkins anymore. She knows Nina is less restrictive, there's no reason for you to prove that by going directly against pre-established rules."

"You don't understand," Beau said exasperatedly, shaking his head.

"Don't I?" Brenner sat down in his chair, taking a moment to collect himself before he continued. He spoke down to Beau as though he were yet another misbehaving child. In response, Beau fidgeted nervously with his hands. "I'm sure I don't need to remind you why you've been given your position. The only reason you're not sitting in a jail cell is because I need someone to keep tabs on her when I can't."

"I know--."

"--There's too much riding on this for you to be reckless. Sixteen is a flight risk and you know that. Need I remind you how dangerous it would be for her to disappear again? Who knows what havoc she could wreak on the outside world."

Beau went quiet, but Brenner's question was not at all rhetorical. He stared are Beau with cold, unfeeling eyes, prepared to sit in silence until he was offered a satisfactory answer. 

I didn't breathe, or move, or think. The reality of what I was seeing hadn't quite crashed down on me yet. Beau was a liar. But instead of betrayal, I only felt bitterness. Of course, he wasn't on my side. Of course, the one friend I had made in nearly five years was never my friend at all. I should've been angrier. I wished I was angry. Perhaps rage would lift me to my feet, push me forward a few steps. Instead, my grief was silent. I didn't wail or scream or rage, I just stood there and watched, my mind blank and my insides crawling with a feeling that was not at all foreign to me. 

Sometimes I looked back at my life and wondered why things happened the way they did. When I really thought about it, though, the answer came so clearly. This was just a punishment for everything else I'd done. How could I ever expect the world to treat me kindly when I had lashed out at it every chance I got? I was born to be a puzzle piece shoved awkwardly into place, bending and creasing to make space for the pieces around me. 

I was sick of waiting for things to get better when I knew they never would. 

"I just don't understand," Beau murmured suddenly, pulling me from my thoughts for the second time that day.

I watched them, my expression glazed over. At that moment, I felt nothing, and I felt it completely. 

"Don't tell me you're getting second thoughts," Brenner's voice was low and threatening. 

"You act like she's just going to go on a rampage the moment she leaves your control," Beau spoke slowly, choosing his words one careful vowel at a time. "But you followed her for five years and she never even got a parking ticket. How can you be so sure she's a threat?"

"Have you forgotten what happened in Hawkins?"

"All you told me was that there was a murder and she was responsible. Do you even know why she did it?" He leaned forward in his chair, "That boy she got to know-- Peter-- she only hurt him because he killed her best friend. I just... Maybe I'm wrong about this, but I don't think she's what you think she is."

Brenner laughed. I winced at the sharpness behind it, the murderous intent that came just before whatever terrible words he was about to sputter out. "Is that what she told you?" His face lost all of its humor. "Peter didn't kill her 'best friend.' She did."

"That's not true," I spat, dropping Henry's hand and storming towards the desk. There it was-- the anger I'd been searching for so desperately. I waited for Beau to look at me, to let me explain, but he never did. It was a memory, after all-- a memory that I had no control over, and so I had to stand there and watch Brenner lie. Sit there and watch him misconstrue the story as though she didn't beg me to kill her, as though Henry hadn't left her at death's door and forced me to pick up the pieces. 

"Sixteen..." Henry's voice sounded behind me, but at that moment it was the last thing I wanted to hear. He reached for my forearm as if to pull me away from the scene. He sensed danger in the air. So did I.

"Don't touch me," I hissed, jerking away from him before his hand could touch me. And he didn't. He stepped back, worry creasing his features as he watched all the progress we made begin to unwind. We had reached a mutual understanding, a tentative friendship, but it was built on a foundation of sweetened words that really meant nothing, broken bones, and the ashes of our past. I could feel it beginning to crumble in on itself. 

"That's not..." Beau's face twisted up as he tried to understand the abridged version of the story Brenner was telling him. I was a moment away from falling on my knees and begging him to listen to me, to let me explain myself whether he was able to hear me or not. 

"She lied to you, Beau," Brenner spoke almost coaxingly, dumping coal into a fire that had only just been set ablaze. With each moment that passed, I could see it roaring in Beau's eyes. I watched him lose faith in me, and I could do nothing to stop it. 

"Why would she... I don't understand," He shook his head in disbelief.

"She's sick, Beau. And it's not an affliction of the body. There are no symptoms, nothing you could see with the naked eye. Whatever you think she's capable of, it's nothing compared to what she's done." Brenner pulled open one of the drawers on his desk. He shuffled through something I couldn't see, and after a few moments, he produced a folder.

It was tan. Devoid of any defining details except for a date scribbled across the protruding tab-- September 8th, 1979.

The blood drained from my face. "Take us back." I looked at Henry. He didn't move, didn't so much as blink. He stared at the folder with a dark fascination I had only ever seen once before.

"Henry, I want to go back. Take us back."

But he didn't. I wondered if he even heard me. 

Beau reached forward and took the file in his hands. "What is it?" He asked, nervously shifting its weight between each hand. Even if he didn't know exactly what the date meant, he could sense that there was something ominous lurking between the worn, tattered binding. I watched it carefully, feeling my heart sink deeper and deeper into other depths of my stomach. 

"If you're unsure of who exactly we're dealing with, then I think this should lay your doubts to rest," Brenner didn't even look upset. He watched Beau's face as he slipped a finger under the top half of the folder, and he didn't so much as flinch as he began to open it.

The motion was nothing more than a flick of his wrist. Something inconsequential, the moving of joint and muscle, and yet I knew he had just opened Pandora's Box. It wasn't natural, what emerged between tanned covering. No man, not even one as soulless as Brenner, should have had such pictures lying so casually about.

At first, I couldn't exactly tell what I was looking at. The pictures were black and white, grainy to the point of eeriness. One had to stare at them for quite a while to discern what exactly they were. And, after he did just that, Beau's jaw went slack. He was looking at a child. Which one exactly, I couldn't be sure. It was a child whose body was so twisted up, so maimed, that it was almost beyond the point of recognition.

Almost.

And Henry didn't wince, didn't blink, didn't look away. Maybe it would've been better if he hadn't had a reaction at all-- instead, though, he stepped closer. He craned his neck to get a better look at the corpse encased on printer paper. 

"Can we please go?" My voice was trembling. My head was spinning. I could smell blood in the air all over again, stale and metallic as it entered my nose, my mouth, and my lungs. "Henry, please."

Beau went through the pictures faster than before. After the initial shock, his hands stopped trembling, and he trudged on with furrowed eyebrows and disgust in his eyes. I saw all those who had died. All those who only emerged in the dark crevices of my mind, rearing their heads only to disappear and return a night later. I felt bile twisting around in my stomach, crawling up my throat one moment at a time. Ten, Twelve, Four, Two. My mind filled in all the missing moments, all the hallways stained with blood that the pictures hadn't managed to capture.

It was like I was back there all over again.

And then Beau turned the page. There she was. Six. The picture must've been taken a day or so after her death when her features had settled and her joints went stiff. Unlike the other children, her eyes were still there. They were blank, empty, staring at nothing and everything. Her jaw was agape, and it almost looked unnatural. There was no pigment in her skin. No life or laughter or anything. 

I didn't wait for Henry to take us back. I wiped the tears from my eyes and tried not to let the horror show too clearly on my face. I pushed away thoughts of Six's drawing, of her laugh, of her face after it had settled in death. I allowed my mind to go blank and my eyes fell shut.

My abilities were most active when my mind was on the brink of collapse. 

A moment later the memories were gone. The red sand, the office, the folder. It all disappeared as I tried to force myself back into the void. I didn't intend for Henry to come with me, but when I opened my eyes, we were in the same position we had been in before entering Beau's mind. Our hands interlocked, facing one another. 

He opened his eyes to mine. A millisecond passed like a century. I looked for guilt trapped beneath his frozen irises. Regret or shame or anything that might allude to him being sorry for what he just saw. There was desperation in the way I searched, a wanting to find something redeemable, and a knowing I wouldn't. In his eyes, there was just nothing.

I let go of his hands and I stumbled away. The blackness surrounded us in all directions, and for once, it was fitting. 

He didn't speak. It was a mercy, I decided. The only one he ever cared to afford me. If I let him, he could probably justify anything. As long as he smiled at me while he gave his excuses, as long as there was some poetry to be found in all of it. But just this once, he didn't speak. 

"What are we doing?" He knew what I meant the moment the words left my lips. What were doing together? Pretending like the world hadn't been burnt down by our hands, acting like he didn't still hold a match. "What am I doing?"

"Sixteen..." He finally broke his silence. He stepped forward as if to reassure me, but for the first time in a long time, I didn't let him. 

"What the fuck am I doing?" 

"I'm sorry he wasn't who you thought he was," Henry whispered. I could almost laugh. Beau was the farthest thing from my mind at that moment. "And I know this isn't how you wanted things to turn out, but maybe it's better this way. Now you don't have anything keeping you from leaving, right?" I didn't reply. Instead, I stared at him, wide-eyed, my tongue glued to the roof of my mouth. "I'm sorry--," He started, but I didn't let him finish. 

"How can you be sorry?" I demanded. My skin felt too tight. Every sensation was overwhelming. "We never would've had to be in that position if you hadn't-- I saw your face, Henry, you weren't even--." Too many thoughts swirled through my mind, overlapping each other until my words were nothing but a stream of consciousness. My trembling hand covered my mouth, and the most comprehensible thing I could muster was, "Oh... my god."

"I'm sorry," He said, the words so earnest I was almost tempted to believe them. "I didn't respond well to those pictures, Sixteen, and I know that... But I've been trying to make things right. This entire time, that's all I've wanted to do. Can't you see?"

He tilted his head to the side, and his expression was so raw I wondered if his skin had been scraped off. "I had to leave, Sixteen." We weren't talking about Beau anymore. Henry's eyes were more vivid than anything I'd ever seen. I could pinpoint every emotion inside of them, every desperate wish for me to just understand. 

His tongue swelled with all the words he wished he could've told me that day in that lab. The ones he never got the chance to say, and the ones that were better off unspoken. "I know I hurt you," He said, "I know I was selfish, but I want to be good for you. You have to imagine what it was like, Sixteen. I did what I had to. You've never been weak like I have, you can't understand--."

"--Of course I understand!"

 I felt my body couldn't contain me anymore, nor the river which rushed through my veins. I was drowning in my own skin, and all we could do was stand there and stare at each other, chests swelled with air we held onto like someone was trying to steal it away. 

My voice was low. Somehow, though, he could always hear it. "I understand you're a victim in this, too." I edged toward him slowly, "I understand you deserved a lot better, and your life can never be normal after what was done to you. And, believe me, I understand how empty that feels... But that doesn't change anything. There's still so much blood on your hands. Do you think just because I understand you, I can't see it anymore?"

His face dropped. He spoke with an iciness I'd only ever seen in his eyes, "I'm not the only one of us who has hurt people. But I never judged you for it, I never--."

"--You never had to find all the people you love twisted up," My hands were trembling as I spoke. I blinked back my grief and every memory that demanded to spill from my eyes. There was no place for teardrops born from death rattles and violence, not when Henry was the only one who could see them. "Six. Gloria. The children-- you never had to hear anyone beg you to kill them. We could've left, Henry, we could've loved each other the way we were meant to. But instead, you ruined everything all for what? Revenge that was never yours to take? Some delusions of being a god?"

"I ruined everything because I had to!" His yelling filled the darkness, and then it died away into silence. It felt good to see him trembling. To see him angry and hurt like I had been for years. "How do you think those children would have lived the rest of their lives? Happily? Do you think Brenner wouldn't have hurt them just as badly, if not worse after we left? Look at the two of us. You call this a life?" He met me in the middle of the room, eyes dark and lifeless just like mine, "I've been in your mind. I know all those times when you wished I would've killed you just like I killed them. Call it the hand of god, call it evilness, but I did what I had to and I would do it again."

"So it was mercy?" I almost laughed in his face, "You hunted them down like animals to save them?" I shook my head in disbelief, "You are out of your fucking mind. Is that how you see yourself? Like some kind of savior?"

He didn't falter. Didn't wince as I stared at him with all the rage of a burning fire. "It's the truth, Sixteen." He raised his hand as if to touch me once more, but I slapped it away. At that, he furrowed his eyebrows and took one final step forward. I didn't dare step back, didn't dare give up ground that he had no right impeding upon. "The other truth is that I love you, and my only regret is hurting you like I did. I am sorry, despite what you might believe-- just not for what you want me to be sorry for."

I ignored the hollow ache in my chest. I wanted to look away to collect myself, but intentionally or not, all I could do was catch his eyes. 

I believed, since he did what he did, I had been pantomiming life. Motioning as I thought I should, watching the way people breathe and doing the same. I thought, in some ways, I was a mockingbird, humming a song that wasn't my own and hoping it wasn't off-tune. Somewhere among the chaos, my voice slipped away. I didn't remember exactly when I stopped singing, all I know is that I did, and now my vocal cords didn't work anymore. There wasn't much of myself remaining-- but I saw it in him, sometimes. Maybe that's why I dug my nails so deep. It's dirty work, denying someone who was your reflection. 

I tried not to think too hard about it as I whispered, "Get out of my head, Henry."

He drew sharp breath. "Sixteen, please--."

"--I love you and you know that and I need you to leave," I looked up at him, unflinching, "Get out of my head, Henry."

He stared at me, and I knew leaving was the last thing he wanted to do.

But he did.

And soon, so would I.

Chapter Text

I just had to move forward.

One unsteady foot in front of the other. Night had only just fallen. The dayshift guards slugged off to bed with cigarette-stained fingertips and emptied out styrofoam cups. I didn't acknowledge them as I passed. Escape had never felt so close. I could taste it in my mouth, feel it in my joints. All the privileges I'd been denied emerged in the back of my mind with growing clarity-- soon I would have them all.

I felt Henry, too. At first, I wasn't sure if it was him, but then there was that surge in the back of my mind confirming his presence. It made me angry, but perhaps I was better off angry-- if something was gonna fuel my abilities, then Henry would make potent kindling. I tried not to think about the pit in my stomach that came with him, nor the possibility of seeing Beau's face down a metallic hallway.

It was all said and done now. My mind was made up.

But of course, there was still one person I had to consider. Eleven's sleeping quarters were not far from that storage room she, Beau, and I had visited a few days prior. First, I'd go back to the storage container piled high with guns-- pistols, if my Laymen's knowledge of firearms could be trusted. My entire plan relied on the presumption that they were still there. If memory served, I had fitted the lid of the storage container on well enough, but I still couldn't be sure.

The closer I got to the storage room, the fewer and farther between came the guards. I gave them the best 'nothing going on here' smile I could manage, and thankfully no one seemed the wiser.

Soon confidence had faded into anxiety. I was angry-- angrier than I had been in a long time, but my that made me nervous. Anger always lended to impulsivity. I couldn't afford any slip-ups. My pace picked up, feet slamming into the ground as deja vu made grated floors seem like white tiles all over again.

I wasn't there anymore. Things couldn't possibly end as badly as they did before.

Both Project Nina and Hawkins lab had been a pillow covering my mouth and my nose. I had suffocated between four walls-- whether they were metal or tile-- one day at a time. Having more liberties here didn't save me from the knowledge that I was just as stuck as before. Owens had promised me the opportunity to leave if I liked, and though I trusted his words, Brenner had the power to overrule him.

Just like before, I had to take matters into my own hands.

And so I stopped at the storage room door and glanced down yellow and grey hallways. They were blissfully empty, but I knew that could change in a moment. So I made quick work of the lock, closing my eyes and urging my abilities to the surface. They were unusually active, sensing danger in the air and acting accordingly.

There was a soft click of a lock, and then I pushed the door open. Just like before, the storage room smelled of rotting wood and mildew. I didn't dare waste more time than what was necessary. I closed my eyes for a moment, tried to gather my bearings, and pressed on in spite of the ever-looming fear which twisted in my gut.

My eyes zeroed in on one of the wooden boxes in the corner of the room. It was seemingly untouched, which I took as a good sign as I pressed further inside. The floorboards creaked beneath my steps. Barely noticeable, but in my mind they may as well have been bowls of thunder.

I pulled the lid off unceremoniously, more than glad to find it hadn't been drilled shut. I searched the contents of the container, my chest swelled with a breath I didn't dare release.

It was empty.

"You won't find them," A voice called, followed by a soft, ominous click.

My head snapped up, and there stood the one person I prayed I wouldn't see. Beau and I watched one another in a moment of silence that felt like a year. His breaths were heavy, filling up the quiet and making me fear there wasn't enough air in the room for both of us. His dark eyes glinted with something hateful and angry.

In his hand, there was one of the missing guns. And it was pointed directly at me.

My thoughts went silent until all that reminded was a dark and frenzied pit in my stomach. "Beau," my voice trembled when his name left my lips.

"Raise your hands. Back against the wall."

"Please, Beau, you don't understand--."

"--Now!"

He clicked off the safety. My hands trembled and I obliged without thinking. The wooden wall was biting cold against the thin fabric of my t-shirt.

"You thought you could trick me, Sixteen?" He spat my name at me like it was acid in his mouth. "I know you went in my head. Brenner warned me about you. He warned me you couldn't be trusted."

"He's manipulating you, Beau, please just listen to me!"

"Shut up!" His voice rang through my ears and echoed off the walls, "Not another word. Brenner told me if you got hostile, if you tried to leave, I had permission to kill you. After what you did--" His voice broke. He paused and looked back at me with enmity so intense I felt it like a physical force. "--After what you did, I think you'd be better off dead."

I shook my head desperately, "Please, please, you don't--."

"I said be quiet!" He raised the gun to my head, and my words immediately died in my throat.

"I can't believe I almost fell for it," A bitter laugh scraped out of his throat. I blinked back the tears in my eyes, too afraid to do so much as move. The lights over our heads flickered in tandem with each shaking breath that fell from my lips.

"I saw what you did to those kids. To Six. You told me she was your best friend and then you just... you killed her like she was nothing," The hand holding his gun trembled. I closed my eyes as though it would shield me from the sting of his words. "You're a monster, Sixteen."

"Don't say that," I whispered, "Please don't say that."

"It's the truth," He seethed, "And it wasn't just her either. Y-you acted like that lab twisted you up and made you do all the bad things that you did. But you killed before you even got there! Brenner showed me what you did to those three men, too. You killed them just for getting too close to you."

When I first arrived at the lab, Brenner informed me that I was responsible for the deaths of three men. Until now, I nearly forgot about it. And the worst part was that I couldn't defend myself, couldn't reason with him because I didn't even remember the actual act of killing them.

"I was a child, Beau, I was just trying to survive."

"You were a murderer. And a bum living on the street," He spat, "So you lashed out at the world and you killed them, then guards in Hawkins lab, then every other test subject." His breath hitched, "They were children, Sixteen."

"I didn't kill the children," I cried, taking a step forward. When he raised the gun once more, I froze in my place. "Papa-- Brenner is lying to you. Yes, I killed, but only out of self-defense. You know me! Do I seem like someone who would slaughter a bunch of kids?!"

Without giving me a moment to think, he slammed the butt of the pistol into my temple. I stumbled off balance, wide-eyed as pain erupted through my skull. "You can't lie your way out of this, Sixteen," His voice trembled with rage. One moment passed, then another. I leaned against the emptied-out storage container for support, my breaths ragged and labored as I tried to gather my bearings. Beau's voice was soft, almost incomprehensible as he said, "You deserve everything that's coming to you."

"You--," My voice died out. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to speak through the pain. "You trust Brenner over me? W-what had he done to make you believe he's worthy of your trust? You know that he dragged me here against my will. You've watched him force Eleven into that tank day after day even when she was too tired to even walk. How could you possibly take his word over mine?"

"He's not a murder, like you."

"He's the reason behind every single fucking murder you're blaming me for!" I cried in exasperation. I briefly lifted my arm from the storage container, showing him the tattoo on my wrist, "Look at what he did to me. He tied me down to a fucking chair as I yelled and cried and begged him to stop. And all those kids you're trying avenge-- he did the exact fucking same to them! How could you possibly--."

"--Enough!" He shouted, raising the gun towards me once more, "I don't want to hear it! Every word that comes out of your mouth is fucking lie. I know it, Brenner knows it, I bet even Eleven knows it."

"Please, Beau, you were my friend," I cried, "You know me. You know I'm not this evil person Brenner is trying to make me out to--."

"--I was never your friend, Sixteen," The words were quiet, spoken with a terrible kind of finality. "Why would I ever be friends with someone like you? You're a monster."

I shuffled in my place. By my feet, I noticed the discarded plank of wood that once attached the lid of the storage container to the body. Horribly guilty and all out of options, I took one more deep breath. "You're wrong," I breathed, and in the blink of an eye, I ripped the plank off the ground and slammed it into his outstretched hand.

The gun clattered to the floor.

We stared at one another for a single moment, thousands of memories flickering between our stares. The way he had consoled me in the kitchen, the smiles we shared between breaths of smoke, the sounds of our laughs as we walked to training in the morning. Whatever friendship we had, it was gone. I could see it in the eyes, replaced by a decisive hatred that I had no way of talking him out of.

Horrifically sorry and full of grief for what once was, I made a dash for the gun on the other side of the room. So did he. I felt the cool metal as it met my palm, but in a moment he was on top of me, trying to wrestle it from my hands. We struggled for a little while, but it was a losing battle. He was taller than me, stronger than me, and I was still far too disoriented from the wound on my temple.

He had the gun to my forehead in an instant. I struggled as best I could, but pinned beneath him, there wasn't much I could do.

I stared into his eyes, and he stared into mine. Through all the hatred, all the betrayal for the crimes I never committed, grief peeked into his eyes. He pressed the gun into my head, and he was no longer trembling.

"Goodbye, Sixteen."

My body was trembling. Tears spilled down the sides of my face. "Goodbye."

And then a snap filled the room.

Beau fell limp on top of me.

My skin prickled as the surge of my abilities died away. I lay there for a moment, unmoving. His neck was broken. I couldn't feel his breath against my skin anymore. A teardrop fell onto my body, and it wasn't one of mine. I stared at the ceiling, urging my composure to return to me.

I gently pushed his body off of me. My head ached. I ran my fingers over the scar on the back of my head, the one I'd gotten that final day in the lab. Life had a terrible way of repeating itself.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, knowing he couldn't hear me. My hands gently brushed through his hair, fixing it up as best I could. His eyes were wide open, staring up at the ceiling. I remembered his mother-- how he had done all of this for her. How she was still waiting for her son to come home, and now he never would. I grieved for a woman I didn't know. I grieved for the lazy Sundays and the birthdays that she would pass without him.

I closed his eyes and stood from my place on the ground.

And then I turned around, leaned over the abandoned storage container, and emptied my guts inside of it. I gagged on the memory of bones snapping, on my guilt, on the blood spilling down the side of my face.

I wiped my mouth and stood back up. Trembling, and guilty beyond words, I bent over and picked Beau's gun off of the floor. I tucked it into the waist of my sweatpants and tried not to think about how familiar this all was, how things were repeating themselves in a way I hoped they never would.

But I just had to move forward.

So I left him there, growing cold on rotten floors, knowing soon he would rot just the same.

~

Another thirty minutes passed before I was able to collect my composure. There was a voice in the back of my head chastising my every move, screaming that every moment spent breathing through my panic was a moment wasted. I knew that voice was right, but that didn't make it any easier. My thoughts kept going in all the wrong directions, blurring the lines between today and five years ago until I wasn't sure which time period I was standing in.

Things were worse than I thought they would be. Killing for the first time in so long was far, far worse than I thought it would be. Cold sweat spilled down my back as I traveled through the hallways, only acutely aware of where I was going. My mind was clouded with a feeling that was both overwhelming and omnipresent. It made me feel like I was walking through a nightmare, turning every corner only to find another endless, metallic hallway waiting with cold and empty arms. They beckoned and repelled me. Everything felt swollen and wrong and out of place.

"It's fine," I heard my own voice whispering ever so often, "I'm fine. It's fine." Over and over again, the words more of a plead than a state of being.

I needed to find Eleven. That was the one thought that kept me from snapping. I couldn't leave her here with them. Especially not after what I had done. People were too easy to influence-- they'd see me, a person with abilities, and assume Eleven was just as bad. They'd find Beau's body, his neck snapped the wrong way, and make me a monolith for people like me. I couldn't allow Eleven to go through something like that, nor could I leave her to succumb to Brenner's influence.

I turned down one final hallway, steps stuttering as I struggled to walk in a straight line. I didn't knock on Eleven's door. I pushed it open, welcoming the cool breath of the air conditioning against my skin-- trying to ignore how loud it was-- and entered the room without announcement. Eleven stirred in her bed, and a glance at her clock told me it was 10:00 pm.

"Sixteen?" Her voice was groggy, hoarse from what was no doubt an exhausting day in the tank.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to rid the headache pounding at my skull. There was blood on my temple. I wouldn't be surprised if I had a concussion.

"We have to leave," I told her, opening my eyes and crossing over to her as quickly as possible. "Now."

Her eyebrows knitted together as she sat up in bed, more alert upon hearing my words. "Leave? Why?"

"It's a long story, I'll tell you later. But we really have to go--."

"What happened?" Worry seeped into her voice as she pushed her covers aside. "Your head. It's bleeding."

"I got hit," I said dismissively, desperate to make her understand the gravity of our situation, "Beau's dead. They're gonna find him any minute. We have to leave and we have to leave now. We won't get another chance after this. I know this is confusing but I really need you to trust me right now."

I watched a million different emotions pass over her face as I spoke. Those brown eyes went wide, holding much more fear than anyone her age should've been able to feel. I fought the urge to apologize, to get sick, and to turn heel and run regardless if she came with me or not. My entire body was buzzing. I couldn't wait any longer.

"But I don't--."

"Please, please, there's no time for arguing right now," I spared a glance behind me, prepared for someone to throw the door open and drag me off kicking and screaming. "I know you don't know me that well, but I promise I'm just trying to help you. We can't waste any more time, please just get up!"

I grabbed her arm and pulled, trying to save both of us from a fate I couldn't verbally express to her at that moment. Instead of complying, though, she dug her heels into the ground. I turned, exasperated as she told me, "I can't leave, Sixteen."

"Yes, you can," I cried desperately, "You don't owe anyone here anything. How can we even be sure Brenner isn't lying about this whole 'end of the world' thing? He's fucking insane, you can't trust a word that comes out of his mouth."

"I've seen it," Her voice was gentle, a stark contrast to mine. "If I leave without getting my abilities back to full strength my friends... my friends will die. I can't go with you, Sixteen."

I ran a hand through my hair, nervous energy making it impossible to stand in place. "Eleven, please. You don't understand what they'll do to you if you stay. Brenner isn't who you think he is. He's--he's violent and manipulative and he will do to you exactly what he's done to me. We don't need him, okay? I can help you and your friends. We can practice together, I'll help you get stronger."

"Sixteen," She said my name softly. I knew the answer was no before she could even finish her thought. "This is not about me or you. It's everyone. Papa understands our abilities, and I need him if I want to get strong again. Owens will help, too... You don't have to worry about me, I can take care of myself."

"I know that Eleven--."

"-Trust me, okay?" She was almost begging me.

"This isn't about trust," I shook my head, "I can't leave you here. Every other person like us is gone. They're all dead, or hiding, or worse. I wouldn't..." My voice broke. I paused, took a deep breath, and tried again, "I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if I left you alone here and something happened."

"I'm not alone," She shook her head, "I have Papa--."

"--He doesn't care about you!" I cried, the words louder than intended. I watched hurt cross over her face, and my heart sank, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm not trying to be mean. I've just... I've seen how this ends, Eleven, and it's not how either of us would like. You're going to get hurt if you stay here, and it's not a question of if. It will happen."

"I know the risk," She looked to the ground, "But I owe it to my friends to try anyway."

I felt like I could get sick again. I'd left her on her own once, and all it resulted in was another five years of being poked and prodded and hunted by men like Papa. What if I left and she disappeared again? What if I was right, and there was no 'greater evil' for us to fight against?

"Eleven, please."

"I will be okay," She assured me, "You should go now. While there's still time."

I knew there was no point in debating the matter any further, but standing there and watching her, I couldn't quite muster the strength to turn around. Forcing her to come with me would be just as bad as forcing her to stay. I knew that, and yet it didn't make the decision any easier.

"How can I help you?" I asked, "If I'm not here, there must be some way for me to still help, right?"

"Sixteen--."

"I can't go home. There's no one waiting for me in the outside world. If there is anything I can do to help you outside of here, then let me do it."

She stayed quiet for a few moments, eye flitting from me to the door behind me. "My friends."

"Your friends?"

"They're in danger."

"How?"

She paused, uncertainty creeping into her tone, "I don't really know... but you could help them, couldn't you?"

I stayed quiet for a moment, my mind buzzing. "Why would they need my help?"

"They... get involved a lot," She said, carefully choosing her words, "They usually have me to help them, but not this time. You're powerful, you could keep them safe."

"Then that's what I'll do," I muttered, my eyes flickering to hers, "Where can I find them?"

She gingerly reached forward and grasped my wrist. In a moment, a face flashed in front of my eyes. It was a girl I didn't recognize, likely one of Eleven's friends. Bright red hair caught my attention most, followed by blue eyes and a dusting of freckles along her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. When Eleven let go, the picture disappeared.

"Look for her," she said hurriedly, "Max. She lives in Hawkins. If you find her, you'll find the rest of them. Tell her you know me and you're my friend."

I played with my hands anxiously. The idea of returning to Hawkins was not one I relished. But for her, for the only person other than Henry who could possibly understand what we were facing, I would try. "Okay," I muttered, "I'll find her."

Goodbye lingered on the tip of my tongue, but before it could pass through the barrier of my teeth, Eleven pulled me into a hug. I stood there for a moment, unsure of how to react. It wasn't long before I conceded and wrapped my arms around her, too.

"Be careful, okay?" I whispered, "If things get bad, leave. Don't stay long enough to wish you had."

She nodded, "I will. Thank you, Sixteen."

I smiled, despite how terrible things had become. We embraced for a short while longer, but as the moments ticked by, I could feel the gravity of the situation beginning to rest upon my shoulders once more. When she let go, that was that. I would leave her behind and have to face men armed with guns and accusations and every other thing I had wished to avoid for the rest of my life.

"Stay in your room," I told her, pulling away, "I don't want to hurt anyone, and I don't want things to get messy when I try to leave, but one way or the other, I will leave. I don't want you to see that."

She stayed quiet for a moment, and then she nodded. "Okay," She muttered, the tone of her voice dipping low as the implication hit her. "Do what you have to. Good luck."

I pulled the door open, giving her the best smile I could manage, "You too, Eleven."

And with that, I was in the hallway once more.

I was back in my head again. Back in the moment Eleven had briefly pulled me out of, looking down each hall in search of guards. That was when I first realized something was wrong-- there were none to be found.

I swallowed my reservations and felt as they burned their way down my throat. The panic had subsided, which I suppose was a blessing. Adrenaline pushed on the small of my back, guiding me in what I hoped was the right direction one step at a time. The halls were eerily silent. Even my footsteps against the metal grate seemed quieter this time around, muffled by the pounding of my heart in my ears.

When I passed the observation room, I knew the elevator-- my only escape route-- was just a few turns away. My heart rate picked up. Cold sweat broke out on my back. I was so close to getting out I could taste it in my mouth. My lungs rattled in my chest, desperate to breathe real, fresh air without the permeation of metal to poison my breaths.

I turned the corners quicker than before. Everything was happening too slow and too fast-- this was my last chance. I wanted so desperately to reshape the past, but now I knew I never could. I could make up for it, though. I could do what I should've been brave enough to do all those years ago and persist without help, without anyone to trick me into thinking the only key to freedom was clasped in the palm of their hand.

And so I turned one more corner, my feet moving so fast they hardly ever touched the ground.

And then I stopped.

In front of me stood the guards who had been missing from their places in the hallway. My head pounded harder, making the room spin in all directions as I desperately looked around, searching for an access point.

Owens was nowhere to be found.

Behind me, a single pair of footsteps clicked against the floor. I didn't have to turn to know they were Brenners.

"Sixteen," He tsked. I whipped around to face him, my chest inflating and deflating one heavy breath at a time.

The room was utterly silent. I wanted to back away from him, but that would only send me into the arms of the awaiting guards. When I briefly spared a glance over my shoulder, I counted at least two dozen of them leering at me. All holding batons, not guns. Brenner wasn't going to kill me-- he intended to make me stay here just as he had before.

The thought made my stomach turn. I would not be a prisoner ever again.

"Make them move," I told him, speaking with an authority I had no business impersonating.2

"Why would I do that?" He furrowed his eyebrows and stopped cautiously a few steps away from me. "You're a danger, Sixteen. How many times have we had this conversation? You said you would behave, and look where that got us. Another escape attempt, another innocent man slaughtered."

"Another death that could've been avoided if you just left me alone," I spat, my hands shaking by my side. "Make them move, Brenner, or you'll have to add more names to that list."

He didn't seem phased by the threat. His head tilted to the side. I was tired of talking with him, tired of chasing the same conversations in the same circles. I had nothing and everything to say to him, and it never got me anywhere. "Easier to murder children than it will be to murder armed adults. This doesn't have to get bloody, Sixteen."

"Stop it." I met the guards' accusative stares, growing more and more severe as Brenner tainted the air with the same type of lies he'd been spouting for years. "It never would've gotten bloody in the first place, but of course, you had to force my hand." The weight of the gun in my waistband felt significantly heavier when I spat, "I don't have to justify my actions to you, or anyone else. If you all think I'm a monster, then fine. I'll act accordingly."

My hand left my side, and before anyone could react, Brenner was pulled towards me. In a moment, I pulled the gun from my waist and pressed it against the underside of his jaw.

"Lower your weapons!" I shouted, my voice echoing down empty hallways. "Lower your weapons or I will kill him."

There was a collective murmur among the guards. I didn't look at them. Brenner didn't either. We stared at one another, trading glares instead of words. There was something soft in his eyes, but I didn't linger on it. It didn't change the fact that he was some rabid animal who had dug his teeth into me, tearing flesh from the bone and returning moments later to lick the wounds. I still felt the bitemarks in my skin-- saliva doesn't heal butchered muscle.

"Sixteen--."

"Don't," I said lowly.

The guards parted as I dragged him towards the elevator. I kept the gun pressed firmly to his head, now, clicking off safety as we stepped inside. It was yellowed and rusted with age, but that didn't much matter as I clicked what I hoped to be the right button and the doors slid shut.

The ride up was silent.

Tension saturated every breath I took. Brenner didn't dare move, didn't dare open his mouth as I stared at him with all the rage of a burning fire.

I felt, even if we stood there for hours, none of us would be able to come up with the right words. What was there to say? I'm sorry? I hate you? I don't understand how things got as bad as they did?

For the first time, I wondered what Brenner had gone through to make him the way he was. I could forgive his knife, but I could not forget his hands. Henry and I were bound to turn out the way we did-- bound to repeat the same cycle he had forced into us upon arriving in the lab. I was lucky to be saved as early as I had been, otherwise I surely would have turned out just like the both of them. Maybe Brenner's father had treated him that way, too. Maybe his father before that. Whatever it was, here he stood before me. All shaking fists and gnawing teeth, vicious even if he never meant to be. We were both guilty, but only one of us still pretended to be innocent.

"It's not your fault."

My stomach dropped. "What?"

"What happened in the lab. Six's death." He didn't meet my eyes, "It wasn't your fault."

I stayed quiet. The elevator shuttered to a halt, and the doors opened. The desert sky greeted us like an old friend, stretching wide overhead. Stars glinted as I stepped onto the awaiting sand, their glittering points sharp as daggers. The night was still.

"Then why do you keep telling me it is?" I wondered out loud.

He stayed quiet for a little while. We watched the galaxy glittering millions of miles away, all hydrogen and dust. Maybe in another universe, we could stand to look at each other. "It's easier that way," He muttered.

I tucked the gun away. He didn't move. I briefly remembered those words I had traded with Eleven before we visited the storage room-- it's human nature to be a little selfish.

"I am sorry, Daughter." He finally looked over at me.

"I'm sure you are," I stepped away from him. "Think about that next time you want things to be 'easier' for you."

He stayed where he was. My gaze locked on a black car parked a few yards away-- I needed to get out of here somehow. "Return to your men. Tell them you had no choice but to let me leave. Give me a few hours before you send anyone after me," I said simply, before I made my way towards the car.

"Goodbye, Sixteen," I heard his voice call a few yards away.

The night stayed quiet after that. 

Chapter Text

I had always been of the opinion that disappearing was an art form. It took more than just a change of clothes or dying your hair red. One had to be deliberate in their every action. Where you slept, where you showered, where you ate, where you threw away your trash-- nothing could be written off as unimportant. Especially when an entire government task force was riding your ass, and you were stuck driving their obnoxiously large, shitty car.

I never much liked the southwest, and that sentiment was only reinforced after seven hours on the road. Highways stretched endlessly beside the occasional small, run-down town. I would watch them through never-ending powerlines that disappeared into evergreened forests, searching for something other than a incessant, suburban reminder of American living. Of course, I never found it. 

I stopped paying attention after passing maybe a dozen churches, spring sunlight spilling through their stained glass windows. Picketed fences and farmhouses showed up every once in a while, but what I truly wanted was a gas station. 

I'd passed a few already, only to chicken out before I actually entered the store. Now, if I knew one thing, it was that I didn't have any money. I was of the firm belief that robbery was bad, but of course, there had to be a grey area. It's not like I actually intended to hurt anyone, I just needed some cash and some food. Maybe a pack of cigarettes if I felt like indulging myself. 

My eyes were glued to every sign I passed, desperately hoping for some indication that I was anywhere near another gas station. Instead, I was met with yet another 'Jesus Loves You' billboard, 'REPENT' on its backside. 

I groaned and considered just crashing the car and saving myself some trouble. 

But then-- just when I was convinced I would either starve or dehydrate myself to death-- there it was. A pain blue building with advertisements taped on every free surface. My saving grace. I switched lanes and pressed down on the gas a little harder than what was necessary. 

It would be a simple operation. Walk in, wave my gun around, and make some veiled threats. Hopefully, the store owner had some sort of insurance or loss prevention for that sort of thing. And, considering I was in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, and there were no other cars in sight, I hoped he had a car I could borrow for the time being. 

The drive from Nevada to Hawkins, Louisiana was about 29 hours, according to the sweet woman from the last rest stop I had failed to rob. Not knowing how much danger Eleven's friends were in, or exactly how time sensitive this whole thing was, I decided I would suck it up and drive the entire way in one sitting. 29 hours without sleeping was child's play at that point, so I wasn't too worried. 

I pulled into the gas station parking lot and found it completely abandoned aside from two cars. With that, I took the pistol from the glove compartment and stuffed it in my pocket. I tried to fix my hair in the rear-view mirror, but there was no helping it. 

Fuck, I needed a shower. 

I stepped out of the car, wearing sweatpants from Project Nina and an oversized t-shirt with the word 'Pepsi' in bold lettering, which I had managed to steal from the first gas station I visited. I figured it would be best to at least change my clothes and make myself less recognizable. 

I slammed the car door behind me and tried to make myself as unassuming as possible. With each step I took, I could feel the weight of the gun in my pocket, thudding against my outer thigh as I crossed the parking lot. 

Arizona spring felt like hell. In Maine, the temperature around this time of year was in the mid-fifties to sixties range, but here it had to be at least eighty. I cursed under my breath and scanned the gas station ahead. Peeling blue paint could be seen peeking out between the dozens of advertisements taped up on the wall. Marlboro Reds for $2.50 a pack, six-pack Budlights for $4.57. 

I pushed open the door and nearly cried in relief as I stepped inside. Cool air kissed my skin, and a bell chimed overhead, announcing my entrance. There was a counter to the left, where a man stood, fiddling with the register. He turned to me and offered me a smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes.

"Afternoon," He said, voice deep and rasping. A smoker, I surmised. 

"Hi," I replied and did my best to smile back.

With that, I grabbed one of the black shopping baskets arranged in a pile near the entrance and disappeared down the aisles. Before I began stuffing it full, I searched for the owner of the other car which had been parked in the lot. I found him in the back of the store, elbow-deep in one of the walk-in refrigerators. He sported a six-pack of Coronas in one hand and propped the fridge door open with the other. 

He was old. As was the man at the counter. I didn't mind my odds of dealing with both of them, should it come to that. I only planned on using my abilities as a last-ditch effort. They'd been a bit... unreliable, recently, and I didn't want to risk badly hurting someone if I lost control again. Besides, a gun should work just fine. 

With that thought in mind, I scaled the aisles one by one, grabbing all that I needed and a little more. Pops Cereal, deodorant, some brush that probably wouldn't help my hair situation, Coke, beer. After the week I had, I figured it was only fair to treat myself. I grabbed more snacks than I could eat on my own, another dozen sodas, some water, and only then was I satisfied. 

I lingered for a moment, trying to gather my courage, before promptly marching up to the register.

The man smiled at me once more, "How's your day?"

"Great, thank you," I replied, trying to keep my voice from shaking, "Could you throw in a pack of Marlboro blues, please?" 

"Of course, honey," he said, with a familiar southern tilt in his speech. I watched him turn around and comb through the display of cigarettes behind him. I put my hand in my pocket, resting precariously against the grip of my pistol, and then he turned back around. "Anything else, today?" He asked politely, dropping the cigarettes into my basket and then pulling it towards him.

I blew a nervous breath from my lips, and replied, "No thanks. So, I know this is really-- sorry-- I know this is really inconvenient, but I'm robbing you."

He paused for a moment, but the smile didn't quite leave his face. He thought I was joking. "Sorry?"

Instead of replying, I pulled the gun from my pocket and pointed it in his general direction. "I'm so sorry about this. If you could just move away from the register that would be appreciated. Again, I'm sorry, I hope your insurance covers this kind of thing."

He looked unimpressed. Instead of being afraid, he simply frowned, appearing more concerned than anything else. "What's a little thing like you doing with a pistol?"

I frowned, "I think that's beside the point."

He leaned over the counter to get a better look at the parking lot. "Where are your folks?" He stepped back and looked towards me, "Did you steal that off your dad?"

"No... No, I stole it from--," I paused, running a hand through my hair, "--Actually, it doesn't matter. I'm seriously robbing you. Please step away from the register."

He stared at me for a moment. "No."

Fuck, could he do that? "Please?"

"No, I don't think so." He frowned deeply and turned to the beige phone beside the register. "I'm gonna call the police. You just stay right there, alright?"

"What?" My eyes went wide, "No, you're not calling the police. I'm holding a fucking gun, what's your problem? Just step away from the register for like two minutes. I'll be in and out."

He gave me a hard look and pulled the handset to his ear. I knew Brenner and his men had to be able to intercept calls, and so a new kind of desperation flooded through me. I reached forward and tried to yank the phone from his hands. 

"Hey, Dale?" The man at the register shouted to the shopper in the back of the store, presumably Dale. "We have a problem up here."

Dale made his way up to the register, having abandoned his six-pack and his pursuits in the refrigerator. His brown eyes flitted over the two of us, our hands playing tug-of-war over the phone. Then, his gaze landed on my gun. 

"What the hell's going on here?" He demanded, cautiously placing his hand near his waist.

When I saw what was equipped on his belt, my face dropped.  

Fuck, I forgot about open carry in Arizona. 

I abandoned my efforts to steal the phone away from the man working the register and instead turned to Dale. Before he could pull his gun from his belt, I dashed over to him and produced mine. Fuck, fuck, I really didn't think this through. 

"Put your hands up," I told him sharply. I wanted to be nice about this whole thing, but I suppose it was stupid of me to think something like robbery could ever go easily. Dale stared at me for a moment, looking more confused than afraid. Eventually, he raised his hands.

I reached for his belt and unholstered his handgun, tucking it into my pocket without another word. "Just get on the ground," I told him with as much authority as I could manage, "Don't make me do anything rash." 

He didn't move a muscle. 

"Go, now!" I nudged his shoulder with the barrel of my gun, and his face paled. He dropped to his knees unsteadily and then rested his chest on the floor. I stepped away from him, a relieved breath falling from my throat, "Okay. Thank you. Stay right there."

I turned back to the register, only to discover the store owner trading harsh whispers with someone on the other line. "Grey sweatpants... white 'Pepsi' cola shirt--."

His voice faded off when we made eye contact. 

My heart dropped into my stomach as I realized Brenner most likely knew exactly where I was now. Fear ripped through me, and before I could even threaten him with my gun, a snap filled the room. 

For a moment, all went silent.

And then the man dropped his phone and screamed, holding his newly broken wrist as his face contorted with pain. My abilities buzzed in my veins, abysmal and angry and entirely unwelcome, having not been summoned on purpose. 

It took me another few seconds to realize what I'd done.

When he looked at me, there was fear on his face. True fear, like he was staring at some sort of monster. My eyes went wide and I tried to step closer as if I wasn't the one who had just broken his wrist. "What're you?" Spit flew from his mouth as he spat out the words, "Some kind of devil?!"

Dale, who had abandoned his place on the ground and pressed himself against the wall, cried out as well, "Lord have mercy!"

"Fuck," I whispered under my breath. The lights flickered overhead, harder and harder as my heart rate picked up. This wasn't what I wanted. This was supposed to be an easy operation, get in, get out, wave my gun around, but no one was ever supposed to actually get hurt. 

They both shouted back and forth, pleading to god and cursing me as some sort of demon. I didn't hear a single word, my body alive and reactive as adrenaline took over common sense. 

This time, when I made a mad dash for the register, no one tried to stop me. The man behind the counter threw himself across the room, shouting all the curses he could manage as he continued to nurse his wrist. The two of them kept shouting over each other. It was clear all of our composure had given way to panic. 

I pulled open the register and dumped every single dollar I could get my hands on into my black basket. I didn't bother to count, knowing time was running out and Brenner was practically ever-present. The police would be here soon, too, and then I'd be truly fucked.

I grabbed my basket and turned to Dale. "You!" I shouted.

He stopped his shouting, and his face went pale. He didn't reply.

"Give me your car keys!" I shouted, pointing the gun toward him. I could still hear the sniffles of the man whose wrist I had broken a few feet behind me. Dale looked sick as his eyes flitted between the store owner and me. It was clear he wanted to avoid the same fate. He dipped a shaking hand into his pocket, before sliding them across the floor.

I bent over and picked them up. "I'm so sorry about this. We can trade! You take the big black car in the parking lot, and I'll take yours."

Without another word, I dashed for the door and spilled out into the parking lot.

My breaths were shaking, as were my hands. 

Something was very wrong. My abilities were becoming more and more unpredictable. Visions I couldn't explain, hurting people without meaning to, flickering lights at the smallest spike of emotion. I'd nearly killed two guards in front of Brenner and Eleven only a week ago. I had hoped escape would help me, that my loss of authority over my own power was stress-induced, but it was obvious I was wrong. 

Clamoring into a rusted pick-up truck, all out of luck, I had this awful feeling that things could only get worse. 

Chapter Text

It was early morning when I reached my destination, around three o'clock.

As soon as I saw that unassuming, pinewood sign, it greeted me with the words, 'Welcome To Hawkins.' As I passed it, I felt a tangible shift in the air that weighed heavy on my skin for the remainder of the night. In a last-ditch effort to distract myself, I turned on the radio. It crackled to life, loud enough to keep thoughts from spilling into my head. 

I didn't think about the last time I saw that sign. How I had stumbled in bloodied clothing, my head pounding and my thumb aching after hours of trying to hitchhike a ride.

It would be better this time, I told myself. 

With that thought in mind, I had pulled into an empty parking lot and gone to sleep. 

I hoped my sleep would be dreamless. Black and empty, a momentary respite from reality before the next day came. I was wrong.

I dreamt of the lab. Panic surged through me as I stood, surrounded by white walls that were now only a short drive away. When I chose to live in Maine, I was comforted by the knowledge there were now thousands of miles between myself and my past. I couldn't lean into that fact anymore. 

My legs were heavy as I stumbled around the Rainbow Room. I held my breath and looked to the ground, but there were no bodies this time. My shoulders relaxed. The blood had been scrubbed off of the floor, lingering only in my memory and the glare of cameras overhead. I silently thanked my mind for having some mercy on me.

The room buzzed with an energy I couldn't quite place. It was familiar and not. Whenever I thought I finally had a firm enough grasp on whatever it was, the feeling would disappear. Moments later, it would resurface and force me to start to process of identifying it all over again. 

And then it heard it. 

A low, menacing chime. I recognized it the moment it reached my ears, having heard the clock before. I recalled that day when Eleven and I first had a conversation and she showed me the Upside Down. A vision had flashed before my eyes, so vivid I may as well have been living it. 

I turned to the source of the noise, and my breath caught.

There was something ominous about that grandfather clock, embedded into the tile like some kind of virus. The wall around it was splintered and cracked, glowing a bright red that cast the entire room in a deep, crimson haze. It looked like a smaller version of that gash Eleven had shown me. When I stepped closer, my legs felt leaden. Another chime sounded, but it seemed to be coming from everywhere but the clock. 

There was movement in the Earth behind it. Through the deep red, I could see a shadow passing on the other side. 

When I reached for the clock, it chimed for the third time. My outstretched fingers hesitated a few inches away. That energy I'd been sensing, it was stronger the closer I got. Whether it was coming from the clock itself or the world behind it, I couldn't be sure. Perhaps it was both.

When I pressed my fingers onto its smooth, mahogany surface, the room around me disappeared. 

A loud, high-pitched ringing filled my ears, and I stumbled back. I knew what was going to happen before it did. 

Just as I anticipated, visions began flashing before my eyes. That same creature from before, tall and darkened with cracked, decayed skin-- its eyes snapped open. I heard the sound of my name being called all around, low and menacing as though it had been uttered from something inhuman. My heart thundered in my chest. 

I saw the insides of a house. There was something familiar about it, the sweeping archways and the stained glass rose on the door. I wanted to linger on it longer, but just like that, the picture was gone. Next, there was an attic, dark and empty with candles arranged on some makeshift altar.

"Sixteen," The same voice called my name once more. 

The visions came faster, this time. So fast that I couldn't pinpoint any specific images. The ache in my head got stronger and stronger until I couldn't stand another second of it. Chimes filled the room once more, and then that stained glass window showed itself once more. 

And then everything was gone, and I was left with nothing but a dull thud coming from somewhere I couldn't pinpoint. 

My eyes snapped open, and I was in that rusted pickup truck once more. I sat up straight and searched my surroundings in a panic. My head pounded, as did something on the passenger side door. 

"Hey!" Someone called from the window opposite me. I turned to see a man I didn't know, wearing a tan uniform I immediately recognized as a cop's. He knocked on my window every few seconds, and once he noticed I was awake, he made a motion for me to roll it down. 

The adrenaline pulsing through my veins ebbed away, and I moved to roll down the window. The officer's eyes were hard and accusatory, reminding me that I was still driving a stolen car. "Fuck," I murmured under my breath.

Thankfully, I had enough foresight to know that panicking wouldn't get me anywhere. I plastered a nervous, unassuming smile on my face. "Can I help you, officer?" I asked.

He gave me a once over and then looked at my car. Fuck, fuck, fuck. "You've been parked here for a few hours."

"I have," I said, nodding innocently, "Am I in trouble?"

He went quiet again. Soon, the suspicion in his eyes faded into pity. "This is a no-loitering zone, Sweetheart. Do you know what that means?"

My eye twitched, but I kept on smiling, "No, I'm sorry. You wouldn't mind explaining it, would you?" 

He laughed dismissively, "It means you can't linger here for an extended period of time. For now, I'll let you off with a warning. Try not to let it happen again."

"Of course, Officer," I nodded apologetically, "Thank you."

"You really should be more careful," He added, sparing a glance at his surroundings, "With everything that's been going on recently, a girl like you shouldn't be out all on your own. It's not safe."

Just smile, Sixteen. Just smile.

"You understand?" He raised an eyebrow in my direction.

"Yes, of course. You're right, I don't know what I thinking," I flashed him one last grin, "Thank you for this, by the way. I'll be more careful where I park next time."

Before he could reply, I had started the car and rolled up the window. 

~

Eleven failed to mention that her friends were hiding out in the woods.

I cursed them over and over again as I tried and failed to traverse a forest I hadn't ever seen before. Soon ten minutes of searching turned into twenty, and the next thing I knew, a full hour had passed. My shoes were less than optimal considering the circumstances. When I robbed that gas station, I'd been wearing a shitty, stained pair of slippers from the lab. After getting Dale's car, however, I had been glad to find a pair of sneakers waiting in the trunk. Admittedly, they were in similarly poor shape, but the soles were much more solid than my slippers. The pitfall of Dale's shoes, however, was the sheer fucking size of them. There had to be at least two inches of extra space in the shoe, meaning I had no choice but to stumble around the forest looking like I'd broken out of some kind of circus. 

I was working off nothing but brief glimpses of the redhead girl Eleven had shown me. I could recognize her face well enough to close my eyes and search for it, but considering how much power it took, I couldn't summon the image very often. I knew vaguely where she was, within a mile radius if my abilities could be trusted-- which they couldn't on account of their recent unpredictable nature-- so my search was far from precise. 

The climate in Louisiana only managed to sour my mood further. It was far too humid and far too warm for the spring, and I was admittedly overdressed. The temperatures had to be in the mid to late seventies, meaning I had to tolerate that all while being trapped in three-day-old sweatpants that insulated me much more than I would have liked.

On top of that, the forest stretched endlessly in all directions. A single bug kept circling around me. I would hear it buzzing near my ear and swat at it, only for it to return on the other side of my head a moment later. My failed game of whack-a-mole, on top of the weather, proved to be a rather annoying stimulus. 

The next time the bug came into eyesight, it stopped midair. Then, it fell to the ground, dead.

Perhaps my abilities having a mind of their own wasn't all bad.

That was when I heard the soft, susurrant sound of rushing water a few yards away. My spirits lifted ever so slightly. I pushed my aching muscles faster until a small stream of rushing water revealed itself. I kneeled by its side and cupped it in my hands. I splashed my face, relishing in the coolness as it met my feverish skin. 

"...I tried to call you guys, but uh, my walkie was busted, man. Drenched."

At the sound of voices a few feet away, I froze. My vision sharpened and I slowly raised myself from the ground. Consciously or not, my breaths became silent and the warmth of my abilities pooled in my fingertips. I walked towards the source of the noise with all the silence of a ghost, stepping over branches and shrubs with feather-light steps. I sought refuge in the shadow of a large, overhanging collection of rocks. 

"So, uh, I did the thing that I do now apparently. I ran." The same voice sounded once more on the other side of the rocks. I carefully got to my knees and peered through a small gap between the larger two. There, I saw a man-- maybe in his early twenties-- knelt in dirty white sneakers and a leather denim jacket. A few feet behind him, near me, was a collection of emptied-out chip containers and a dark, brown bag. 

"Do you remember what time this was? The attack?" A woman's voice sounded this time. I hesitated for a moment, knowing that if I could see them, they'd also be able to see me. 

These couldn't be the people I was searching for. They sounded young enough, but Eleven was only fifteen, and the redhead looked to be the same age too. What were the chances she was hanging around with a bunch of college kids on her spring break? Fuck, I really should've asked Eleven for some more information.

"Yeah, no, I know exactly what time it was," The same man as before turned ever so slightly, and I ducked back behind the rock. My heart hammered in my chest. "My walkie wasn't the only thing that got soaked."

I risked another glance at the back of his head. His curly black hair was somewhat unkempt as he fumbled with the watch around his wrist, and then threw it to someone I couldn't see, presumably the same woman from before. 

A small silence followed, and then she muttered, "9:27."

A new voice piped in, "The same time our flashlights went kablooey." 

I leaned a little further until I could see the first woman who spoke up. She looked young, too, maybe eighteen or so. Curly brown hair surrounded her head as she peered down at the watch the man had thrown at her. 

"Which means... what exactly?" Another new voice chimed in. I withheld a groan. How many of them were there?

"That the surge of energy was Vecna attacking Patrick," The brown-haired girl replied. She threw the watch back to the black-haired guy. 

I picked up bits and pieces of the conversation, but it didn't make much sense. Someone was 'attacking,' but was that just some fight that had occurred between a few kids, or was it a literal attack? The cop who had pulled me over the day before did mention that something had been disturbing the town lately, but I didn't want to jump to any conclusions. When they mentioned an attack subsequently followed by a surge of energy, however, I paused. 

"Well, we're one step closer," The second woman murmured. Her hair was shorter than the other girl's, and she had an expression of discomfort written across her face, "We know how Vecna attacks."

"And where he attacks from." Was that a fifth person?

"So now we just have to sneak into his lair in the Upside Down and drive a stake through his heart." Great, a sixth. On the bright side, I most definitely had the right group of people. 

"If he even has a heart," The woman with short hair murmured. 

"A stake is he like a vam... Is he a vampire?"

The sixth person could be heard sighing, "It was a metaphor."

A black-haired guy spoke up, "A bullet should work on him, right?"

The fifth person chimed in again. I was getting a headache trying to keep track of their unhinged conversation. "I say we chop his head off."

The first woman spoke up again. From what I gathered, she seemed to be the voice of reason. "Yeah, I say all of the above, but we can't do any of that 'til we find a way into the Upside Down."

"We need El to get her powers back," The sixth person sighed.

Okay, there's my cue. I stood from my place behind the rock and carefully crossed onto the other side, lingering for a few moments as their conversation continued. 

"Everything was like way easier," A man with brown hair and a yellow shirt addressed the black-haired guy, "We had this girl. She had superpowers."

"Superpowers. Yeah, you mentioned her."

My nerves kept me from moving for a few moments. I'd traveled a day and a half, nonstop, all for this. I should've been jumping at the opportunity to introduce myself. Instead, I hesitated, playing with my fingers as I worked up the courage to stop being a little bitch and introduce myself.

I did my best to comb my hair with my fingers and pat down my pants before I finally stepped out into the clearing. "Hi."

A collective silence fell over the group, and then black-haired guy ducked into the opening between the rocks. All of them visibly paled. My eyes landed on the redhead girl I'd been searching for all along, 'Max.' Her hair was tied neatly into two braids, which flung over her shoulder as she snapped her head to face the girl I deemed 'Voice of Reason.' "Shit, what do we do?"

"Run?" Yellow-shirt suggested.

"From me?" I asked, my eyebrows shooting up, "Do I really look that intimidating?"

Voice of Reason girl took a careful step forward, "What are you doing out here? Are you with one of the search parties?"

"I was looking for you guys," I said, trying my best at a reassuring smile. 

"Shit," The owner of the fifth voice muttered, bringing his hands to his head and cursing a few more times under his breath. He ran panicked fingers through his top-fade hair and turned to Voice of Reason girl once more, "We can't just run. She saw Eddie."

I frowned slightly and turned to face the curly black-haired guy, who was sloppily hidden between the gaps in the rock. "Is that guy Eddie?"

He looked terrified, and he didn't say a word.

"Listen, I don't know what you've been hearing on the news, but Eddie had nothing to do with any of those murders," Voice of Reason girl said, her eyes betraying her desperation. "The police are saying something else, but--."

"--I honestly have no idea what you're talking about," I deadpanned, my eyes flitting between black-haired guy, Eddie, and her. "What, is he like Dahmer or something?"

Another silence passed. The group traded frenzied looks amongst each other, appearing more confused than frightened at this point. I gathered 'Eddie' was some sort of big news story in Hawkins, given everyone's shock that I didn't know him. So what were Eleven's friends doing hanging out with an accused murderer? She had said they liked to get 'involved,' but I supposed I underestimated the extent of that.

"So... uh, clearly we're all feeling a little tense," I said. My palms were sweating. Why was I so nervous? "If it's any consolation, I don't know anything about a search party. I realize now that I probably should have led with this, but I'm a friend of Eleven's."

I could physically feel the change in atmosphere. Their shoulders relaxed and, for a moment, they looked like they weren't about to throw up. Eddie slowly emerged from his place between the rocks, "The one with superpowers?"

"Well, I mean, I don't know if I'd necessarily call them superpowers--."

"Why would she send you?" Max asked, an air of suspicion surrounding the question.

"Because she can't be here herself," I replied, trying not to think too much about it before I continued, "Look, all I know is that there's apparently some greater evil threatening your town, and I want to help Eleven in whatever way I can. And if that means tracking a group of random kids through a forest in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, then so be it."

Another moment passed. Max stepped back and addressed the group, "I don't trust this."

I frowned, "Why not?"

"Look, she has one of those tattoos," The boy standing next to her muttered.

I glanced down at the '016' on my wrist, then back up at the two of them.

"How do we know it's not fake?" Yellow shirt guy asked, pulling my attention towards him. He took a careful step closer, "You wouldn't mind if I... looked at it super quick, right?"

The girl with short, brown hair raised her eyebrow, "Now's not the time to hit on her, Steve." 

"I'm not." Yellow shirt guy, who was apparently named Steve, replied annoyedly. He took a few steps closer and gingerly took my wrist into his hands. "Ignore Robin." He rubbed his thumb against my tattoo and then glanced at me precariously. When it didn't smudge or leave any residue on his skin, he stepped back, "Tattoo seems real."

"That's probably because it is real," I crossed my arms.

"What's your name?" Voice of Reason girl asked, eyeing me with as much suspicion as anyone else. 

"Sixteen."

"I mean your actual name."

"I don't know."

"How do you not know your name?" Eddie questioned.

I fought back the urge to get defensive. "It's a long story. Just call me Sixteen."

"I say we trust her," Short hair girl, Robin, spoke from a few feet behind me.

"Yeah, me too," I agreed. 

"Just think about it, guys," Max spoke up again. She seemed to be the more abrasive one of the group. "We don't know her, and Eleven's never mentioned her. Now suddenly she's showing up in the middle of the woods after someone got murdered, claiming Eleven 'sent her' without any proof. I don't buy it."

"Are you saying she's Vecna?" The boy next to her questioned, furrowing his eyebrows.

"I'm not saying it," She replied, "but we can't rule anything out, Lucas."

"I don't know who 'Vecna' is, but I gather they're probably responsible for the murders you're all so worked up about... I mean this in the most non-threatening way possible, but if I wanted you all dead, then you would probably be dead," I smiled, "But you're not! So, that's gotta count for something."

"Wait, wait, wait," Steve piped up, "There's a simple solution to this."

"There is?" Robin asked.

"Yes," He turned to me, "Move something. With your mind powers."

I furrowed my eyebrows. Steve seemed a little dumb. "I don't think the point of contention is whether I have abilities or not." I faced Max, "You're worried you can't trust me."

She shrugged, "It's nothing personal."

"No, I know. If I were you I would feel the say way," I said, "Luckily, I'm not asking any of you to trust me. Eleven asked me to look after you guys, and so my only goal is to keep you all from getting murdered. Believe me or don't, it doesn't make much of a difference."

Another tense silence passed. I never much liked hanging out in big groups, and that sentiment was only reinforced as I uncomfortably shifted from one foot to the other. I don't know what I expected-- it's not like I planned to meet them and sing kumbaya, but I hadn't really anticipated an interrogation. 

Though truth be told, I'd do the same thing in their position. 

"You all have terrible manners," The girl I now knew as Robin stepped forward and locked her arm with mine. I fought back the urge to pull away. "I say we keep her. Paranoia aside, she has superpowers. I think we'd be a lot better off if we had someone with superpowers."

"That's a good point," Steve nodded. 

The other members of the group stayed quiet. Max and Lucas shared meaningful looks between themselves, eyes saying what their mouths did not. It was only then that I noticed another kid around their age, pacing back and forth all while mumbling to himself manically. I hadn't even seen him until now.

Voice of Reason girl seemed to be deep in thought, watching me with careful discernment. Eventually, she muttered, "Fine, she can stay."

Max's eyes went wide, "Nancy!--"

"--We need all the help we can get." Voice of Reason girl, now Nancy, said, "Besides, without El, the playing field's hardly level. Maybe she can help even it out."

"I'm glad we're all in agreement," I said and then turned to face Eddie. I pointed at the six-pack resting near his feet, "Can I have one of those, please?"

"Help yourself," He replied, the caution in his eyes beginning to diminish.

I did so, and then addressed the group, "Anyways, so I was eavesdropping before you guys saw me, and I'm a little confused. Who is 'Vecna?' And why would somebody name their kid that?"

"He's like an evil wizard," Steve said, "And he's been killing a bunch of kids with this weird curse that makes them have visions. Ask Max, she can explain it."

I opened my mouth to ask one of the dozen questions that came to mind, but Eddie interrupted before I could. "On that topic, Henderson's not, uh, cursed is he?" I followed his gaze to the boy who had been silently pacing the forest throughout our entire interaction. 'Henderson' briefly paused to straighten his hat, and then glance at something in the distance. 

"Cursed? No, no, he's fine," Steve crossed his arms and gave Henderson a once-over, "Mental? Absolutely."

Henderson raised his arms over his head, and then shouted, "Boom!"

"Eleven really didn't tell you anything, did she?" 

"We were on a bit of a time crunch."

"Did she mention the Upside Down to you at all?" Robin asked, "It's like Hawkins except dark and dusty and full of creepy monsters."

My mind was racing. I stayed quiet for a few more seconds, and then spoke, "Yeah, she mentioned it. So I'm assuming a gate is like... a portal to the Upside Down?" She nodded. "Oh, shit... and you're saying there's another which I'm assuming is a bad thing? Is that the greater evil Eleven and I heard about? That would be cool, it's like armageddon."

"In any other circumstances, it wouldn't be cool," Dustin replied, "The last time we saw something like this, it was a gate. And I hope this time it is because then we'd have a way to Vecna."

"Or a way to get eaten alive by monsters," I hummed. 

"It's the only shot we have at freeing Max from this curse." He countered, offering me yet another new and alarming piece of the story. This is why they were involved. Someone was going after their friend all while ripping holes between worlds in their town. I wasn't really sure what I expected, but this was a new concept entirely. However bad I thought things could be, I would've never anticipated this. 

Before anyone could reply, Dustin turned and began treading down the beaten path behind him, deeper into the depths of the forest. Steve took a cautious step forward and called to him, "Where are you going?" When Dustin pressed on, Steve cried out, "Hey, hey, hey, hey. Eddie's still a wanted man. We can't just go for a hike in the woods."

Dustin finally stopped and faced the rest of us, "This little steel capsule might be the key to saving both Max and Eddie... What say you, Eddie the Banished?"

I turned to face Eddie, who was sitting precariously on a rock a few feet away. He seemed deep in thought for a moment, likely weighing the risk of getting caught against the risk of helping both himself and Max. After a few moments, he spoke up, "I say you're asking me to follow you into Mordor. Which, if I'm totally straight with you, sounds like a really bad idea." 

There were sounds of agreement all around.

"But, the Shire..." He looked up at the sky, "The Shire is burning."

Dustin could hardly contain his excitement, jumping up and down as Eddie rose from his spot on the ground. "So Mordor it is."

Just like that, the entire group began following Dustin's lead. I hesitated in the clearing for a little while longer, unable to fully understand what the fuck I was supposed to do, or what exactly was going on. I felt like a puzzle piece shoved awkwardly in place, bending to accommodate the pieces around me. What shitty decision led me here?

I would have time to mull this whole thing over for tomorrow. For now, I decided I would spare myself some thinking. 

Without another option, I ran to catch up with the group, "Wait, what's Mordor?"

Chapter Text

We'd been walking for hours.

My legs ached and my feet blistered. I'd been tempted to ask someone to trade shoes with me, but I felt far too out of place to actually do so. I trudged on with a smile on my face and the most welcoming attitude I could manage. For the first hour or so, the group joked and laughed amongst each other, referencing things I wasn't aware of all while I nodded along as though I understood any of it.

I had always considered myself something of a self-sufficient person. My sense of self never relied on making people like me, and so I was never all that good at it. Now, I felt like a grade school child trying to fit in with all the others. It was, frankly, embarrassing. 

Things like this always made me think of Henry. During the five years when we were apart, I tried not to think of him. Sometimes, though, he managed to sneak into my mind. Like when all my colleagues at my old workplace went to dinner, and I sat awkwardly beside them and didn't say a word the entire night. Or when I'd been asked out on a date, and he tried to take me home the very same night. Henry was so unlike other people. He was able to coax me out of my own head in a way that no one else could. Talking to other people often felt like work-- it was a nightmare, navigating small talk and avoiding eye contact, stressing out about what I was going to say next, missing social cues.

It didn't feel like work with Henry, though. It never had. 

I came upon an unfortunate realization about two hours into our voyage. I missed him.

It felt disrespectful even as it crossed my mind. 

I'd been burning for two days and two nights. I'd been so caught up in the flame that I didn't have time to think of Henry much at all. The realization was almost horrifying as it came to me, as was the grief that soon followed. I missed bright blue eyes and their cold divine. I missed fighting with him. 

And I felt so fucking stupid for it. 

I hoped he was doing fine, wherever he was. I hoped he was sorry for what he had done, and agonizing over every mistake he'd ever made, but I hoped even more that he was doing fine.

Two more hours had passed since then. I got to talking with Dustin and Eddie, who were actually rather inviting, considering the circumstances. They had tried asking me about myself-- I'm sure, at first, they planned for our conversation to be a covert interrogation-- but when I kept giving them monosyllabic responses, they gave up. 

Soon interrogation had turned to conversation, and I forced them to answer my questions instead.

"So all the other monsters you've dealt with were kind of like smoke and mirrors," I said, trying to wrap my head around all of it, "and Vecna's the first humanoid one."

"Exactly," Dustin smiled after a rather trying hour of questions, "I mean, humans were kind of involved before, but that's only 'cause the Mind Flayer virtually possessed people's bodies. Sort of like a parasite and a ghost at the same time. Vecna's different... He's like the five-star general of the Upside Down."

"Oh, I see... and do these monsters like tell you what they want to be called or do you come up with the names yourself? Or is there some sort of handbook?"

"We come up with them," Dustin beamed, "Have you ever heard of Dungeons and Dragons?"

I went quiet and vaguely recalled a conversation I'd overheard between Marge and another one of my coworkers. It was the first time I'd ever heard of the game, and from what I remembered, they didn't much like it. "It's like a board game, right?"

"Sort of," Eddie said, "But it's a lot more complicated than your usual board game."

"Doesn't it make people go crazy and kill each other?"

A short silence followed, and I gathered I said the wrong thing. 

"I mean I'm obviously not sure," I quickly corrected myself, "And killing each other isn't always necessarily a bad thing! Sometimes we need to kill each other."

"It's the media, man," Eddie looked to Dustin and shook his head, then he turned to me, "You've been brainwashed."

"Brainwashed?" I repeated, trying to keep a straight face.

"You're opening Pandora's box right now," Dustin muttered, "He gets really revved up."

"Shut up, Henderson," Eddie elbowed him, and then looked down at me, "I'm just trying to enlighten you, that's all."

"I'm honored," I said earnestly, "But how about we save the enlightenment for later? Dustin hasn't answered my question."

"Oh, right," Dustin started. He paused, for a moment, to glance down at the compass in his hands. Throughout our walk, it had become more and more erratic. The needle jerked this way and that, pausing every once in a while only to sputter and redirect in a dozen more directions. "We're close."

I felt this nagging presence that grew stronger as Dustin led us god knows where. It was the same energy I'd felt when I first entered Hawkins, and then later when I dreamt of that clock in the lab. There was something eerily familiar about it. Sort of like a Siren's Song, I could feel it calling out to me, coaxing me closer with something intangible and indescribable. I was afraid to mention it to the group, and risk somehow making myself look guilty. They already didn't trust me much, and if I said I somehow felt connected to the horrorshow we were trying to navigate, I knew it wouldn't look good. 

"Anyways, Vecna is one of the most powerful characters in Dungeons and Dragons," Dustin continued, pulling me from my thoughts as I stepped over a thorned plant along the ground. "In the game, he's been destroyed for a long time, but before that, he was basically a dark wizard who could control the dead and alter reality at will."

"Oh, shit," I exclaimed, "he sounds cool."

"He is," Eddie agreed, "But not so much real life."

"So you named Vecna after the Dungeons and Dragons character because he's like an evil wizard," I thought aloud, "How creative."

"Thank you," Dustin smiled.

"Is there anything else I should know?"

He went quiet for a moment, seemingly deep in thought. "Well, there's also the issue of the Creels, but we aren't really sure how they're connect--." I stopped dead in my tracks, whipping my head to face him. Dustin had stopped, too, but only to look down at his compass with an incredulous look on his face. The needle had started moving faster, whirring around before redirecting to true north. "Something's happening." 

Before I could reply, or ask any more questions, he sprinted ahead. Eddie followed right after him, but I was still stuck in my place. 

Fuck.

Suddenly, I recognized that house from my dream as Henry's. How had I ever managed to forget it? Those archways had looked so familiar, that stained glass rose. It had been years since I'd seen it, knelt before my bed at the lab, Henry's body wrapped up in my bedsheets. I remembered how scared I was then, watching the way his eyelashes brushed against his cheek, wondering what would happen if they parted and he realized what I was doing. All this time later, and suddenly a bunch of kids somehow knew about it.

My head pounded trying to wrap around what this meant. 

What did the Creel family have to do with this?

What did Henry have to do with this?

Before I could work myself up into a panic, Lucas and Max ran past me, following after Eddie and Dustin. I heaved an exasperated sigh and followed suit, unsteady on my feet as my brain reeled, barely able to pull itself together enough to make my legs move in front of me.

We reached the mouth of a lake. The water was barely discernable from the earth in the near-complete darkness that surrounded us. 

"Oh, man," I heard Steve mutter once I was rejoined with the group. "You gotta be shitting me."

The night was cloudy, stealing the moon and the stars from the sky. The lake was so dark it almost looked black. Onyx water lapped against the shore, soothing and perturbing at the same time. I hadn't even realized, but I was one step away from tumbling into the water. A comparably dark forest could be seen on the other side of the lake, but the trees and forestry blurred together to form a jagged, neverending shadow. 

"I thought these woods looked familiar," Eddie said.

I glanced at their faces, all transfixed on the water ahead. I truthfully had no idea what was so shocking. 

"Lover's Lake," Robin exclaimed, almost breathlessly. 

The pieces clicked together. This was where the last murder had been, the third victim of Vecna. His name was Patrick, if what Eddie said could be trusted.

"This is... confounding," Dustin's mouth was agape. 

I leaned forward ever so slightly, trying to discern what we were seeing, "So there's... a gate in the lake?"

"Whenever the Demogorgon attacked, it always left an opening," Nancy spoke up. I glanced towards her, face slightly illuminated by the yellow glow of her flashlight. "Maybe Vecna's the same way."

A look of dread crossed over Steve's face, "Yeah, only one way to find out."

He turned away from the lake and scanned the shoreline. I watched him as he moved, unsure of what he was planning to do. Suddenly, he paused. He must've noticed something a bit deeper in the woods. He took a few steps forward and then dragged a rather heavy-looking thing out from beneath the foliage. Whatever it was, it was concealed beneath a white tarp. I wondered how he even managed to see it in the darkness. 

He dragged it to the shoreline, as everyone looked on in similar states of confusion. Everyone except Eddie, who leaned forward and pulled the tarp away to reveal a little row boat of some sort. A small engine sat precariously on the back of it, dirtied and rusted. Surely, this thing wouldn't be able to actually turn on.

He and Steve carefully pushed it toward the water. "Easy," Steve called as Eddie dropped it into the lake. It banged against the rocks. Perhaps it was just the tense atmosphere, but the resulting thud sounded much louder than it should've been. "I said easy, man!" Steve chastised. 

"Sorry, dude," Eddie muttered as the two of them tried to steady the boat. 

"Wait, I'm sorry, you guys don't plan on looking for the gate right now, do you?" I asked, eyebrows furrowed. 

Steve looked at me blankly. My mouth fell open.

"There's no way. It's the middle of the night and the water is pitch black," I looked at the group, "This seems like a really bad idea. Are you trying to drown?" 

"Most of our ideas are bad ideas," Robin told me with a smile as she passed by. The boat rocked side to side as she used Eddie and Steve's heads as leverage to pull herself onto it. "Don't worry, we usually get out fine."

"Usually?" I echoed, staring at the lot of them in disbelief. 

Eddie shrugged and stepped onto the boat, "For what it's worth, I think this is a bad idea, too, but they're going to do it with or without us. You learn to just accept it."

Nancy, too, stepped forward. She looked a little worried but persevered nonetheless.

"Good, you got her," Steve said, slightly out of breath as she stepped forward. I watched him as his eyes lingered on Nancy for a few seconds longer than was normal.  

"Wheeler," Eddie muttered as he helped her onboard. 

Dustin looked at me and shrugged. It seemed I was the only one with good, plain common sense. I hoped he, as smart as he was, wouldn't indulge in this either, but apparently not. He made a move to step onto the boat, only for his forehead to be flicked by Eddie. 

"Hey, hey, hey, you trying to sink us?" He asked, trying to feign authority, "This boat holds four people tops, okay?"

He turned to me and held his hand out, "Alright, come on. You're next."

I hesitated for two different reasons. One, I may have had suicidal ideations at one point, but that didn't mean I wanted to drown in the middle of Indiana of all places. Two, my powers would certainly not be any help to anyone, especially given how uppity they'd been recently. 

"Oh, no, I don't think you want my help on this one," I shook my head and took a step back.

"Why not?" Steve looked at me, "You have superpowers, don't you?"

"Well, yeah, but they've been on the fritz lately."

He tilted his head, "What does that mean?"

I hesitated once more. How would I put it into words without sounding like a loose canon? "It means they've been kind of... unpredictable this week." When no one replied, I begrudgingly elaborated, "Okay, so this is going to sound really bad, but I was, uh, visiting this gas station and I accidentally broke this guy's wrist. And before that, I accidentally almost killed two guards during a training session... I mean, it's no big deal, but I don't think Eleven would be very happy with me if I accidentally killed one of her friends, y'know?"

Another silence followed. 

Nancy nodded, "Yeah, maybe you stay back. We'll talk about this later, okay?"

"Sure, I shuffled uncomfortably, "Sorry."

"It's fine," She assured me. I got the sense it wasn't fine. Nancy looked between Max, Lucas, Dustin, and me, "You guys stay here with Max. Keep an eye out for trouble."

"You keep an eye out," Dustin snapped. Nancy tilted her head, eyeing him like a misbehaving child. She really was intimidating. Dustin was much braver than me, apparently, as he mocked her expression and continued, "It's my goddamn theory!"

Robin clicked her tongue, "You heard Nance."

"Who put her in charge?" 

"I did."

"She's also kind of scary," I added. 

"Thanks," Nancy said, and then stepped forward and held out her hand to Dustin, "Compass?"

He frowned and dipped his hand into his pocket, clearly feeling the pressure. Once it was secure in Nancy's hand, she retreated into the boat. Steve did the same, pushing them off the shore and then throwing his backpack at Dustin. He stumbled back as his face caught it much more than his hands, "Ow."

"You said four!" He called after them as Steve hopped onto the boat. At that point, they had already rowed a few yards away. They rocked unsteadily as the oars moved this way and that, but it didn't seem like they would capsize. 

Robin waved and called out to me, "Make sure they're in bed by nine!"

"That's a little late," I called back, waving her off. 

"Bye, kiddos!"

~

Another twenty-five minutes passed before anything close to interesting happened. Max, Lucas, Dustin, and I watched the boat teeter precariously side to side as the other half of the group rowed further and further away. Their chatter faded into the distance just as they did until, eventually, we couldn't hear or see them at all. 

That's when Lucas pulled out a pair of binoculars. Max and I scoffed at first. It was barely light enough for us to make out our surroundings, let alone people a hundred yards away. Apparently, though, these were some special kind of binoculars and 'expensive as shit,' as Dustin had put it-- meaning they enabled us to see despite the darkness. 

Now Lucas stood at the edge of the lake, peering into the distance. He and Dustin traded the binoculars ever so often, occasionally bickering over who they belonged to and who had gotten the longer turn last time. 

Max and I sat on a nearby rock, watching the two of them as though we were at some zoo. We didn't say a word to one another. I didn't mind the silence though. I tried to pay attention to the lake, at first, but once Nancy and the others had disappeared from view, I got distracted. 

Thoughts of the Creels swarmed through my mind. I knew I had a habit of overthinking, but I also knew my gut was always right. And right then, my gut was telling me that I needed to find that house. If there was one thing I learned from Henry's tampering with my mind, it was that my dreams often had real-world implications. Every time I had a vision in the past or dreamt of an exchange in excruciating, life-like detail, it always represented something more. Why would I dream of Henry's house after all these years if it wasn't somehow related to all of this? And why--

"Where is she?" Max's voice interrupted my thoughts. 

For a moment, I wasn't sure if it was me she was talking to. "What?"

"Eleven," She elaborated, glancing down at her hands as they fidgeted in her lap. "You said she sent you. Where is she?"

I didn't miss the undertone of worry in her voice. She tried to pass the question off as something passive, just a thought that had crept into her mind. But I got the sense she'd been waiting to ask it for a while now. 

"She's fine, if that's what you're worried about," I offered her a sidelong glance. Her shoulders relaxed ever so slightly, "She's in Nevada."

"Nevada? Why would she ever want to go there?" 

I smiled at the question, "I doubt anyone would ever want to go there if the circumstances weren't dire." A moment passed. I wasn't sure what exactly I should share with her, given it was classified government information and all. "Eleven's trying to get her powers back. There's this... program that picked her up. I was brought in to help her."

I watched Max absorb the information. She went quiet and then opened her mouth to speak. Nothing came out. She tried a few more times, clearly unable to choose what exactly to say. Eventually, she made up her mind, "She always gets dragged into this kind of stuff. It's not fair."

I blew a breath from my lips, "I know. Believe me, I know, but this time she had a choice."

"She did?"

"Yeah," I said, "She's doing it all for you guys, you know. She was warned about some prophetic danger in Hawkins, so she's sticking it out with a bunch of uptight government assholes to help you guys out."

"Of course she is," Max muttered, shaking her head. "Are they treating her good, at least?"

I clicked my tongue, "Uh... Well, I mean, it could be worse. I can't say I'm exactly a fan of the company she's keeping, though."

"How did you get out?"

"Huh?"

"Of the program. You said they brought you in to help. Did they just let you walk out the doors?"

I shrugged, "Something like that."

She gave me a disbelieving look. I couldn't help but laugh, "Don't look at me like that. I took matters into my own hands. Believe me, you'd've done the same if you were there."

"Would I?"

I nodded, "You don't seem like someone who puts up with a lot of bullshit."

She smiled and looked back at her hands. By now they had stopped fidgeting. This time, talking to her didn't feel like an interrogation. I didn't intend to become best friends with any of these people by any means, but it was nice to not be entirely disliked by them. And, for what it was worth, they didn't seem entirely awful. They were friends of Eleven's, after all. They had to be good in some capacity. 

"Did you know she got arrested?"

Max's head snapped towards me. Her blue eyes looked almost black in the surrounding darkness. "Eleven?" She raised her eyebrows, "Arrested? What, did she jaywalk or something?"

"Nope," I grinned and sat back, "This girl from school was being mean to her, and she hit her in the face with a rollerskate."

"No shit." She exclaimed. "Good for her."

"That's exactly what I--."

"--Wait, wait, wait, why are they stopping?!" Dustin's panicked voice interrupted our conversation. Max and I traded a glance before we stood from our place on the rock and approached the shoreline. He handed off the binoculars to Lucas and reached for the walkie-talkie in his back pocket.

Static briefly sounded as he extended its silver antennae, "Guys, what's going on?" A silence followed, "Come on, talk to me."

I tried to peer into the distance to get a visual of what exactly was going on, but just like before, I couldn't see. I was reminded of that energy from before. The more I thought of it, the stronger I felt it.

A voice crackled to life on the walkie-talkie. It took me a few moments to recognize it as Robin's, "Uh, Dustin, your- your compass has gone from wonky to wonky with a capital 'aah!'" 

"What does that even mean?" I muttered.

A silence passed, and then Lucas spoke. "They're talking. It looks tense. Wait, what's he-- Steve's taking his shoes off."

"What? Why?" Dustin furrowed his eyebrows.

"Maybe he's going swimming," Max offered.

I shook my head in disbelief, "If one of them drowns I'm going to say 'I told you so.'"

"Ugh," Lucas' face twisted up in disgust. Once again, I pointlessly peered off into the distance to see what was going on. "I think Steve's actually gonna go in the water. He just took his shirt off... When'd Steve get so hairy?"

I had never wanted a pair of binoculars more.

"Right?" Dustin agreed, somehow missing the appeal. Lucas pulled the binoculars away from his face to look at the three of us. "I keep telling him he needs to tame that jungle, but he claims the ladies 'dig it.'"

Max gave me a look. Knowing exactly what she was thinking, I nodded.

She stepped towards Lucas and stole the binoculars away from him, "Let me see." They briefly wrestled over them, but Max was determined. 

"What?" Lucas muttered, clueless.

Dustin was in a similar state, "Max what're you..." 

She brought the binoculars up to her face and stared off into the distance. One moment passed, then two. I laughed at the scene, made better by the other's confused expressions. It didn't take a rocket scientist to see that Steve was good-looking. But, as always, I couldn't help thinking of  Henry in comparison. I'd done it for years, always to reach the same conclusion that he had to be the most beautiful thing on the planet. First, he gave me a seizure, then he ruined every other man for me. Asshole.

After Dustin's confusion wore off, and Max finally lowered the binoculars from her eyes, he spoke up. "You guys realize, if there's a gate down there, it's technically a water gate." He looked towards us with a smile. Max and Lucas rolled their eyes and returned to staring at the boat. 

"Real funny, Dustin," She muttered.

I frowned, "I don't get it."

"You know what I mean," he was still smiling, "'Watergate?'"

My face remained blank, "I still don't get it."

His smile disappeared a little bit, "Do you live under a rock?" I blinked at him once more and didn't reply. "Come on, you know Watergate. Nixon? The political scandal in 1974?"

"'74?" I tried to recall what he was speaking about, but nothing came up. I didn't much pay attention to the news after my escape from the lab, let alone news from before then. The only bits and pieces I gathered were from Marge, who happened to harbor a deep hatred for the democratic party and an infatuation with random serial killers. "I don't remember anything from before '79. I have amnesia."

Dustin didn't seem impressed. Perhaps he was butthurt because I didn't like his joke. "Funny."

"I'm not joking."

He said something once more, but I only heard the first half of it. A light flashing in the corner of my eye stole my attention away from the group and brought it further into the woods. There, I saw a collection of flashlights erratically scanning around the woods a few yards away. My heart sank into my stomach, and I nudged Dustin a little harder than I probably should have, "Guys... guys, look."

Lucas turned, too, noticing the lights just as I had. "Shit." He hissed. The semi-calm atmosphere we'd just achieved was nothing but a memory, quickly replaced by panic as we all filed in behind the rock Max and I had just been seated on. My heart pounded in my chest. 

"Down by the water!" A voice called. As it got closer, footsteps and then radio chatter surrounded us on all sides. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"It was on this shoreline," Another voice announced. We all took turns cursing beneath our breaths, shoulder-to-shoulder as we tried to peer over the top of the rock.

"Do you guys want me to take them?!" I asked, looking at the group for approval.

"No," Lucas shook his head, "We can't risk hurting anyone. That'll only make things worse."

As if on a terrible, stupid cue, Robin's voice began chiming in from Dustin's walkie-talkie. It was far too loud, and I knew the moment I heard it that were compromised. "Dustin, Dustin-- you're a goddamn Einstein. Steve found the gate--." That was all that came through before Dustin hurriedly turned it off, Max and Lucas' faces twisted up in horror. The sound of a police siren wailing cut through the forest.

"Fuck."

"Cops," Max muttered.

"I really can't get arrested," I panicked, half tempted to dive into the water myself at this point, "I'm literally a fugitive. I can't get arrested."

"Shit, shit, shit."

Lucas' voice trembled as he spoke, "We can't let them find Eddie."

"Stay with me," Max whispered to the group before she abruptly stood from her place and called out, "Hey, officers!" Looks of panic quickly turned into demands for her to 'sh' and, as I so kindly demanded, 'shut the fuck up.' "This way! I found the killer!"

Without another option, and figuring it was better to run from the cops than just sit there and let them take us, I stood, too. 

Soon, all four of us were running in the opposite direction, quickly becoming disoriented by the forestry and the darkness.

Then, like the first person to die in any cheesy horror movie, Dustin tripped.

~

Max, Lucas, Dustin, and I sat shoulder to shoulder on Lucas' couch. 

We were all understandably panicked, but I felt as though I could be sick. The lamp beside me flickered on and off with growing force. Everyone else was far too distracted to pay it any mind, but Max knew. She kept sending me glances, silently telling me to get a grip. I tried to-- I really tried-- but my thoughts were racing too fast for me to get a hold of them. 

I sized up the group of adults standing in front of us. Two officers stood, eyeing us suspiciously as a tense silence fell upon the room. The one dressed in tan, 'Powell', as his badge would suggest, seemed to be the higherup of the two. The other officer was dressed in blue, with funny-looking glasses and a gun holstered in his belt. Neither of them seemed incredibly threatening, and I knew if it came to it, I could take them.

It didn't have to come to that. 

The entire ride there, I tried to convince myself of that fact. They were just doing their jobs. I didn't want to hurt them. But no matter how much I tried to rationalize it, I'd been in this situation before. Everything boiled down to 'them' or 'me.' Beau's face flashed before my eyes, sweaty and murderous as he held a gun to my head. I killed him without thinking. At that moment, I could feel the weight of his body as it collapsed on top of me. So heavy and yet so, incredibly light. Far too easy to push away, all so that I could escape.

I killed him to get free, and I would not allow his death to become yet another meaningless pursuit all so I could get caught once more. I knew, if I went to jail, that was that. Even if Brenner wasn't actively here, he surely had people stationed in Hawkins. It was the epicenter of everything, there was simply no way he'd leave it without an informant of some sort. 

And if Brenner did manage to find me again, to drag me kicking and screaming back to Nevada, I knew I wouldn't be able to get away again. Perhaps he'd kill me. Worse than that, perhaps he'd stick Soteria in my neck just like he'd done to Henry. My insides curled up at the idea of being reduced to another guard, forced to keep Eleven behind closed doors after getting tased into submission. 

I would not let it happen. I couldn't.

"What exactly were you all doing at the lake?" Powell's voice pulled me from my thoughts. I glimpsed at him, and then over his short, buzzed hair to the adults standing behind him. It was a blessing to have Nancy, Lucas, and Dustin's parents here. If I didn't have anyone to advocate for me, then at least they'd advocate for their kids.  

I traded glances with the others on the couch. We didn't have time to come up with a concrete alibi in the back of the police car, especially not with those two officers listening like we were running some national drug operation or something. 

"Uh..." Dustin clutched a pillow to his chest, looking as though he could get sick. The four of us opened and closed our mouths, waiting for someone to come up with an excuse. 

"-It's comp--," Lucas began, only to be immediately interrupted by Max.

Thank god.

"We were..." Max paused and looked toward the rest of the room. Her poker face was surprisingly convincing, "We were just going for a walk." 

The officer with the glasses, his badge marked 'Callahan', raised his eyebrows incredulously, "A walk? At 9 pm?"

"Yeah," I piped up, glancing at the others, "It's really nice out and we felt a little couped up, that's all."

"It's true," Dustin agreed. Unlike Max, he hardly had a poker face. His voice came out a few octaves higher, and his face was almost comically expressive, "A walk to the lake."

Callahan tilted his head to the side, mouth agape. 

"We were gonna take a little swim," He explained, looking between his sweating palms and the others. Lucas looked about ready to hit him, whereas Max rested her face in the palm of her hand. "Little night swim."

"Dusty!" One of the women on the couch cried out, clearly distressed. Despite the atmosphere, I had to fight the urge to laugh. Her dirty blonde hair was a mess around her head, and her cheeks burned bright red. "Someone was just murdered there!"

"Rest in peace," I said solemnly.

Lucas nodded, "Tragic." 

"Yeah, we... we didn't realize that until we got there," Dustin hugged the pillow closer to his chest, appearing even more nervous at his mother's disapproval.

"That's why we didn't swim!" Lucas rushed out, looking to the rest of us for approval. We nodded. 

"And Nancy..." A pretty woman with curly blonde hair spoke out, "Was she with you at this night swim?"

"No," Max said.

Dustin spoke, nearly in unison. "Yes."

A moment passed. I put a hand over my mouth to keep from smiling. Yes, I was scared shitless, but that didn't make the situation any less comical. When I left for Hawkins, I would've never expected to find myself sitting in some random woman's house beside a group of rogue teenagers. 

"Yes, uh..." Max tried to correct herself.

Lucas' eyes were so wide, you could see the whites all around them. He was tense as could be, fumbling with his hands in his lap, "We're not sure."

"She was there," I quickly abridged, "And then she left because she got scared. The woods are like pitch black, straight out of a horror movie."

"And then you guys came," Lucas added, "It's all a little blurry."

"Right, and then she dared me to say what I said," Max looked at me, and I quickly nodded. A series of awkward laughs subsequently fell from our mouths as we tried to pass this all off as some ill-advised joke. 

"And who are you?" Callahan pointed a pen at me, almost threateningly.

"Uh," I dropped my wrist labeled '016' at my side, and quickly spoke, "Me? Oh, I just... I go to school with them."

"You don't look fifteen," He narrowed his eyes.

"Okay, rude," I crossed my arms indignantly, "I'm a senior."

"You're all lucky you didn't get shot!" Nancy's father spoke up, looking at us through a thick pair of glasses.

"Thank the lord," I agreed.

"Alright... Let's all focus, please. Have you had any contact with Eddie Munson?" Powell addressed the four of us, desperately trying to pull the reins of this conversation in the right direction. I had a feeling it was a losing battle. 

"That psycho... freak... killer?!" Dustin asked, face twisted up with righteous indignancy. It was an embellishment, sure, but the adults seemed to eat it up. "God, no. Nope."

"Absolutely not," Lucas nodded. 

I shook my head, "Never. He has dumb hair." Truthfully, I didn't mind his hair.

"No, we haven't heard from him in ages," Max added, fumbling with her walkman.

"No way."

"We barely know the guy."

"Who?"

"Oh, that's a bunch of bull," A new person stepped forward, half the size of the adults standing around her. She wore a frilly pink dress, with her hair tied up neatly in buns atop her head. She stepped closer, and I knew we were moments away from getting our asses handed to us. 

Lucas' mother and father looked at her with wide eyes, crying out in unison, "Erica!" It seemed like 'Erica' had a habit of speaking out of turn. 

She just shook her head and gestured to the lot of us exasperatedly, "I mean, you realize they're lying."

We all immediately disagreed, our hard work going down the drain just like that. I wasn't able to keep the smile off my face. "Oh, my fucking god."

"The whole couch is on fire," She said, shaking her head in disbelief. 

"Erica," Her parents repeated helplessly.

She raised her hands in defense, "Just the facts!" 

Dustin's mother looked at him, somehow redder than before. "Are you... lying to these policemen, Dusty?"

"No!" He cried.

"Lying to the cops is a crime, son," Lucas' dad said sternly. 

"I'm not lying!" Lucas whined.

"The fire is consuming us," Erica continued. Dustin gave her a look that was practically pleading with her to shut the hell up. 

"Threaten them with a little jail time," Nancy's dad readjusted his position on the couch, "Maybe that'll loosen their lips."

"Okay--," Dustin muttered annoyedly.

"--I am not going to jail," I said plainly, sitting back on the couch. 

"You wanna send our kids to jail?" Lucas' mom glared at the man, clearly offended at the suggestion.

"They need to take this seriously."

"He didn't mean it like that!"

Just like that, the room exploded. Every adult, child, and officer argued with one another until their voices overlapped, creating a cacophony of complaints and curses. It was impossible to keep up with all the conversations, and Officer Powell looked about ready to hit someone. The four of us looked at each other, somewhat relieved and somewhat more panicked as the focus was taken off of us. My lips kept tugging into a smile, only for me to force it back down to avoid looking more guilty than we already did. 

I knew I had to leave soon. My alibi and my identity would hardly hold up under scrutiny, and it was clear the task would be easier than I anticipated. 

"Shut up," Officer Powell muttered, but the demand was quickly lost in the frenzied arguing that filled the room.

Max rolled her eyes, "Oh, my god."

"You have to admit it's a little funny," I said to her, but she didn't seem to think so.

In a moment, Powell was raised from his seat. His eyes were closed and his head tilted towards the sky as he shouted over all the chaos, "Shut up!" 

Everyone simultaneously went silent. I laughed, and quickly hid it behind a cough as I readjusted my place on the couch. 

"Jesus," Nancy's mother whispered, clearly surprised at his outburst.

Callahan quickly shushed her. 

"We're gonna try a more civilized approach," Powell muttered after another moment of silence. He looked to the four of us and crossed his arms, "We're gonna try a more civilized approach... One at a time." He pointed at Max, "You first."

"Wait what?" She cried out exasperatedly, "Why me?"

"Follow me," He replied, clearly not in the mood for any more arguing.

She scoffed and sat forward on the couch, "I'm not even in the hellfire club!"

Officer Callahan put his hand on his hip and pointed at her, "Do I need to cuff you?"

Max looked taken aback, meeting his eyes with a mixture of disbelief and indignance. 

"Up!" He said, "Chop-chop." 

Max groaned under her breath and stood.

~

Shortly after, they gathered us all in a room upstairs. We had argued, for a little bit, but the officer's minds were already made up. For a little while, Dustin, Lucas, and I spoke amongst eachother in hushed whispers. We tried to come up with some sort of plan, but with Max being the one to go first, we had no idea how to coordinate an alibi without making her look guilty.

Once we had given up and resigned to a mopey mess of complaints and an overall attitude of being completely fucked, I told them I had to leave. They argued it was a bad idea, at first, and that I would look even more guilty if I just disappeared, but soon I'd convinced them. I didn't have a real name except for the woman whose identity I'd stolen shortly after escaping the lab. My excuses wouldn't hold water, especially when they'd already begun sinking. I could pass off as a high school student if I really tried, but in a town where everyone knew everyone, it wouldn't work out for long. 

Eventually, they agreed that it was for the best, and I promptly snuck out the window. 

What I didn't tell them, however, was that I also needed to break away from the group to locate the Creel's house. I'd been walking for a little under an hour when I eventually found it. Working off of glimpses of the house and powers that were hardly strong enough to direct me where I needed to go, the process of locating it was long and tiresome. 

Now, I stood on the front lawn. Blood trickled from my nose, but I wiped it on my sleeve and pressed on nonetheless. 

In the memories I'd seen when visiting Henry's mind, the house had been a grand, polished building with dark blue paint and beautiful white shutters. Standing before it now, though, that beauty was just a forethought. Each and every window was boarded up with wood, jaggedly covering each entrance as though it were trapping something behind those decayed blue walls. In the dark, it may as well have been screaming at me to turn around. Ivy had crept up the left side of the building, and now it stretched across the whole front-facing portion like green-colored veins, making the house look alive and haunted in a way that didn't seem fitting of real life.

Something dark and powerful twisted in the air. That energy I'd been feeling ever since I passed the 'Welcome to Hawkins' sign was stronger here than it had ever been anywhere else. I could feel something calling to me, gesturing me forward with a siren's song that promised to twist me up just as it had twisted up the last family to occupy those dark blue walls. 

My breaths were labored, and my head still ached from the task of locating the house in the first place. 

Without a plan, and without any clue why this place had been calling to me, I made my way up to the front door. 

That stained glass rosed was shattered, and inside I saw nothing but shadows. 

I stepped into the house with one final look at the streetlights behind me. The door closed and they disappeared. 

Chapter Text

The walkie-talkie Lucas had given me crackled incessantly. Its static cries went uninterrupted the entire walk to the Creel house. When my shoes finally met the creaking wooden floorboards in the foyer, I clicked it off. A silence settled over me, but it was hardly a comfortable one. The air felt charged with something intangible and oppressive. 

Something was watching me. 

I came upon that realization as soon as the door shut behind me. The stained glass rose-- which had been partially shattered, probably by vandals--  allowed the faintest hint of light to pour onto the oak wood floors, but the night was unrelenting. It persisted throughout the home, shrouding everything more than five feet away in near-complete darkness. I was essentially blind, and my nerves and overactive mind hardly did me any favors. 

From my place against the front door, I could see adjoining rooms to my left and right. Ahead, there was a hallway that opened to a larger room, probably a kitchen or living room. Closest to me was a grand staircase made of dark mahogany wood. Moonlight illuminated the first few steps, but the end of the staircase seemed to ascend into nothing but darkness.

The rooms beside me, their open door frames, made me feel all the more vulnerable. It was so dark I couldn't tell where one room began and the other ended. I was walking through a nightmare, feeling the promise of something dark and lethal without knowing what it was or where to find it. The sensation of eyes on my skin made my palms sweat and my heart hammer in my chest. 

I slowly leaned down and dropped the walkie-talkie beside me. I never looked away from my surroundings, not even for a moment. Though I couldn't physically see it, I felt the presence of something all around. Watching me, waiting for the moment I lost control. I may not have known what exactly the threat was, but I knew I wasn't safe. The lack of definition, the unknown, made my paranoia even worse.

I clicked on my flashlight-- courtesy of Lucas-- and the hallway ahead was illuminated. Anything outside of the beam of light was completely indiscernible, blurring into the shadows. Still, the flashlight offered me a modicum of comfort and I'd be damned if I was just gonna turn around now. 

I took a deep, centering breath and persisted down the hallway.

The house itself was in a state of disarray. Dust bunnies and shattered glass littered the once beautiful, polished wood floors. Cobwebs had collected in every corner. The only movement I was able to discern was that of spiders, creeping away from my flashlight as I tried to take in my surroundings. I swore I kept seeing something in the corner of my vision, but each time I whipped my head to face it, it was gone. 

My paranoia brought the darkness to life. It made the house seem alive and breathing in a way that wasn't possible. I tried not to peer into the shadows for too long, afraid my mind would conjure up a face made of cobwebs or the sound of shallowed breathing. 

I shined a light on a tilted mirror, then a painting that had been faded after years in the sun. 

A gasp slipped past my lips when the flashlight showed me a clock. I nearly dropped it. 

"Fuck," I whispered under my breath. I pressed a hand to my hammering heart and tried to collect myself. Fuck, I really should've waited until the morning. 

That grandfather clock looked so unassuming in the hallway. All of the furniture surrounding it was dark and wooden, and the clock was no different. There was an energy omission from it. Frenzied. I wasn't sure if it was just in my head, or if it was my abilities picking up on something that my five senses could not. I wiped my hand over the glass separating the face of the clock from the base. Dust collected on my fingertips

"Sixteen," A harsh whisper sounded from somewhere behind me. 

Cold sweat rushed down my spine. I gasped once more and pressed my back against the clock, desperately shining my light all around. My abilities rushed to the tips of my fingers, warming my skin and making me feel even more on edge than before. 

"Who's there?" I demanded. When no answer came, I closed my eyes and focused on the flow of energy in the house. I felt someone's presence closer to the front door, somewhere in one of the adjoining rooms. My hands trembled as I shined my light into the room on my right.

Then I saw it.

Eyes. Peering at me, just beyond the reach of my flashlight. They were wide and empty, glazed over. The irises faded to near colorlessness, but a hint of brown still lingered once I searched hard enough. They stared at me, and I stared at them. Neither of us moved. Heavy, labored breathing reached my ears. Their lungs rattled in their chest, making each inhale shaky and rasped. 

"What are you scared for?" The person asked once more. My muscles tensed. For a moment, I thought I recognized the voice. No. No. She was dead. "It's me, baby."

My heart stopped, for a moment. Something like desperation and disbelief made my voice tremble when I called, "Gloria?"

I stepped nearer, feeling entirely overcome with too many emotions I didn't care to discern. This couldn't be real. I saw her that day. I remembered it all so vividly, leaving Henry on the ground, and rushing out of the Rainbow Room. I'd found her body near the nurse's office. Henry hadn't taken the time to snap her limbs like he'd done to the other children. She died quickly, neck snapped to the side, left in an unnatural position for anyone to stumble across. I remember how my breath caught when I saw her. The distinctly human way her hands were outstretched, reaching towards something. I didn't know what until I saw Eighteen around the corner. She died trying to protect him.

 So I knew whoever this was, it wasn't her. But they sounded just like her. They called me 'baby,' just like her. And it was so irrational, but I prayed to the sky above that it was her. 

"Gloria?" I called her name once more, my pace picking up as I approached those bright, white eyes. "Is that you? Please tell me that's you."

Once I was close enough to illuminate the figure with my flashlight, my breath caught.

It was her. 

Her, if she had been dead for a few months. If her eyes had sunk into her skull and her skin had been decayed. Her fingertips were blackened, her cheeks hallowed and sunk in. Maggots and bugs of all sorts ate away at open sores all over her body. Just like the last time I saw her, her neck was snapped sideways, skin stretched grotesquely over the broken bone. 

Tears rushed to my eyes, and I was too horrified to even scream. 

"What's wrong?" The woman-- no longer Gloria, no longer my caretaker-- smiled, "Haven't you missed me?"

Before I could reply, my flashlight began flickering. On, and off, on and off. My eyes stung with tears and I backed away from those wide, white eyes staring into mine. The smell of death poisoned the air, and then just like that, she was gone. 

What fear the silence left me with-- the empty space of where she had been. The quiet, wooden promise that something was coming. The world paused, for a moment, breathed into the shadows, and brought them to life.

And just like that, the silence was gone.

 Voices filled the empty air. All around, a chorus of people whispering harshly, crying out for something I couldn't hear. They pleaded with the silence they filled, growing louder and louder until, all at once, they stopped. One moment passed. My breaths were trembling. They returned again. Louder than before. The room spun around me. 

Mumured prayers and pleas to god. The voices grew more distorted with each second that passed. 

The room began tilting sideways. I stumbled back and grasped my head, feeling as it pounded with a dull, resounding thud, only adding to the chaos all around. Through the pain, one single thought took precedence in my mind. I had to leave. 

I made a break for the front door. My feet slammed against oakwood floors, crushing broken glass under my heel. The praying grew more desperate, faster. As soon as my hand met the door knob, everything stopped. 

I heaved deep, shuddering breaths. Without taking a moment to collect myself, I pulled at the door. It groaned heavily in its frame, but it didn't open. My stomach dropped. I tried once more, harder this time. Still, nothing happened.

"Fuck, fuck." I tried to call on my abilities, but the pounding in my head made it nearly impossible. After casting a panicked look at the darkness surrounding me, I shouldered the door, cursing lowly when it didn't give way. The sensation of eyes on me only grew stronger. 

"What are you doing here?" A voice broke through the silence, louder and clearer than the whispers had been. My entire body tensed. The words echoed with furious vehemence, and as soon as they died away, a clock chimed. 

The chiming seemed to be coming from everywhere but the grandfather clock. 

"Were you looking for me?" The voice spoke again, coming from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. The pieces fell into place as the grandfather clock chimed once more. This was the creature who had been haunting Max, murdering those kids. For some reason, 'Vecna' had been calling out to me all this time. 

I didn't understand any of this. My mind was reeling.

"Don't be scared, Sixteen," The voice called once more, coming from somewhere up the stairs. I took a deep, steadying breath. Vecna-- whoever he was-- left me with no other choice but to face him. He'd been calling out to me, beckoning me to this house for weeks now. The door wasn't going to budge anytime soon, and neither was he. 

I followed the voice up the stairs. Fear rushed through my veins, and somewhere along the way, it mixed with anger. I ascended the stairs faster, two at a time. Heavy breathing sounded from one of the bedrooms, and the clock chimed once more. 

"It's not me you're scared of, though, is it?" Vecna's voice was mocking, now, filled with faux-pity and condescension that only fueled my fire. "I see you, Sixteen-- chasing after purpose in Eleven, then her pathetic little friends. You're terrified that you'll hurt them, just like you hurt that guard."

"Shut up," I hissed angrily. Rotted wood groaned beneath my feet, trembling as I shook the house's foundation. 

"It must get tiring, lying to yourself." The heavy breathing picked up. Once I reached the top of the stairs, a hallway stretched in front of me. Everything--  the wood, the lamps, the cobwebs--  buzzed with energy, overwhelming and unseen. Somewhere among the mahogany wood and moth-eaten curtains, a low cry sounded. My heart thundered. "You're not like them. You keep pretending like this world will accept you if you just say or do the right thing, but it won't. I know it won't. Deep down, you do too."

"You don't know anything about me," I spat, making my way closer to the source of the crying. A single, unassuming door sat at the end of the hallway. It was spectral in nature, made worse by the dark, blue-ish moonlight that spilled onto its surface. 

"Don't I?" 

I reached the door and unceremoniously threw it open. I was greeted by nothing but shadow, whispering incoherently, drawing me to them. Light spilled onto the walls as my flashlight illuminated the darkness. The whispering stopped. 

And then I heard it again. Crying.

I swept my flashlight over the ground, and there he was. Lying in a pool of blood, clutching his stomach as he drew in soft, trembling breaths. Henry. The lights began flickering all around, plunging us into darkness before pulling us back out. The whispers resumed.

I hadn't prepared myself to see him like that. I didn't want to see him like that. 

"Sixteen," My name was barely a whisper falling from his lips. It was weak, pleading. How could a person say so much with just one word? I remembered this moment so, very clearly. The pain on his face, the fear in his voice. The call of death and the terror of not wanting to answer. That wasn't the worst of it-- no, in my memory, that had never been the worst part. It was the tenderness with which he begged for me. He had bled for me, and even then, mine was the name that he called. 

I approached him slowly.

When his eyes met mine, my breath get caught in my throat. The air sat, for a long while, growing stale in my trachea until a shuddered breath let it free. I fell to my knees beside him. His hand grasped onto my wrist, cold to the touch.

"Don't leave," Came his desperate voice, so very weak. I knew how this story ended. I knew it, and yet I still sat beside him. I still held his hand in my mine, well aware that this wasn't real, but unable to stop myself. I remembered how it felt to watch him slip away. Silent, like a shadow passing behind a window. What love we had, what died between us. There was such excruciating desperation on his face as he relived every moment, holding onto me knowing I was the poison, praying I could also be the cure. 

I closed my eyes against the past. This wasn't real. Somehow, he had managed to live on after that day, but I couldn't help remembering the years when I thought he didn't. He did what all ghosts did. He haunted. Perhaps it was a quiet, unseen type of haunt, but it was still haunting nonetheless.

Now, Vecna was trying to use him against me. 

I dropped Henry's hand and stood, furiously searching the scraps of wallpaper around me. Vecna was a coward, hiding behind visions and ghosts. Rage swelled in my chest. I would not succumb to a creature who was nothing more than flashing lights, low voices, and empty hallways.

"Does this make you feel good?" I shouted, my abilities warming my fingertips once more. It was only then that I realized my headache had disappeared. "Does it get you off? I know you're here. Stop hiding."

A deep, menacing breath sounded behind me. I turned, and instead of seeing Vecna, I only saw my own reflection. The lights flickered once more, faster this time. Heavy breathing echoed in my ear. When I looked in the mirror once more, Henry was behind me. 

My eyes went wide with surprise, and when I turned, he was gone. 

"Always so lude, Sixteen," The same voice picked up once more. I dug my fingernails into my palm. "Nothing ever really changes, does it? You're still the same terrified girl stuck in a hospital gown. Afraid of the world, afraid of your own power. Your abilities... they've gotten so unpredictable, haven't they? Who knows who you'll hurt next."

I closed my eyes and tried to tune him out. If he wasn't going to come to me, then I would simply find him myself. There was energy all over the house, pulsing and angry. But there had to be an epicenter somewhere. I felt the flood of power downstairs, in the hallway. It was weaker there. Somewhere else, though... somewhere above me, I could feel it practically hemorrhaging. My eyes snapped open. 

He was in the attic. 

I turned down the hallway, ignoring the incessant whispers of shadows reaching toward me. There were doors everywhere, their golden handles glinting in the light of my flashlight. I passed four of them before I finally came across the correct one. It was darker than the others, and the knob was coated in dust. The floor in front of it was scraped, likely from the force of the door being opened one too many times. 

I took one more deep breath and turned the knob. The opening was narrow, meaning I couldn't see anything other than a steep set of stairs ascending into the attic. It was, of course, darker than the rest of the house. Fear lingered in the back of my mind, but it was overshadowed by anger. I knew I was stepping into dangerous waters, and yet I persisted without hesitation.

The stairs creaked noisily, and once I reached the top of them, the door slammed shut. 

I exhaled shakily, but I was far from deterred. I shone my light all around, taking in the attic one foot at a time. It was a mess up there, a collection of broken furniture, discarded clothing, and miscellaneous boxes. The roof slanted downward on either side and a patch of broken ceiling allowed moonlight to shine into the middle of the room. If it weren't for the circumstance, I may have found the sight rather enchanting. Instead, the moonlight only served to paint the room in a ghostly, pale glow. The corners of the attic were completely dark. 

The adrenaline in my veins slowly ceased pumping. No one was up there.

"Did you expect it to be that easy, Sixteen?" 

"Can you please stop talking," I spat angrily, glaring at the open air around me. 

He did, for a moment. I was left with the silence long enough to search the attic a little more thoroughly. At first, it was just more of the same. Spiders, cobwebs, dusty furniture. After searching for a little while longer, though, I paused. 

There was... an altar, of some sort.

I spared a timid glance behind me before I approached it. Candles of all kinds were arranged on what likely used to be a coffee table. Some were burnt down to nothing but butts, whereas others only appeared to be used once or twice before being abandoned entirely. Decades-old wax clung to the table's melamine coating. I tried to scratch it away with my nails, but it clung like a second skin. Odd.

"I asked you a question," Vecna's low, haunting voice sounded again, closer this time, "Did you expect it to be that easy?"

"Did I expect what to be that easy?" I replied, knowing full well he wouldn't answer. For a short while, he didn't. After making sure no one was behind me, I resumed studying the altar. There was a collection of dark, leather-bound notebooks arranged on the corner of the table. They were somewhat frayed with age, the leather cracked and peeling in some places. 

"Running," Vecna spoke. I paused for a moment. "This isn't the first time you've had to uproot, is it? Always scared, always checking over your shoulder. Now, look where you are. Roped into someone else's problems all because you don't know how to leave well enough alone. You've always been this way, haven't you?"

I was almost tempted to reply, but then, my light revealed yet another discovery. An audible gasp fell from my throat. A small mason jar allowed light to spill through it and onto the wall behind. Crystalline shards of light appeared all around the attic, disappearing once I repositioned my flashlight. Inside the jar, there was a spider.

It was dead, forever suspended on its own web. It wasn't that which took my breath away, though. It was the dark red hourglass shape on the underside of the spider's abdomen.

A Black Widow.

"What the fuck?" The words passed my lips the second I saw it. I dropped the container and hurriedly backed away. Placebo made my entire body crawl, as though a million spiders were crawling all over my skin. 

A cry fell from my lips when my back met something solid. The flashlight which had so bravely lit the way shattered in a burst of energy that I felt all over my body. Like a thunderstrike, there was a flash of light, and then darkness. I turned to face whatever I'd made contact with, shattered glass crunching beneath my shoe. 

"I could make it easier for you, Sixteen. I could make it end."

My entire body thrummed with energy when I saw him. Vecna. It was the same creature from my dream. His empty, white eyes stared into mine. Power practically hemorrhaged off of his decayed, withered skin. In my dream, I thought it was cracked, but upon closer inspection, I realized it was... burned. My breaths halted when I saw his body. A mass of dark, living vines. They moved almost fluidly, twisting and turning beneath the moonlight. 

My hands trembled. I urged them to stop. 

Vecna's presence was alive. More alive than everything I'd ever felt. It clawed and filled the air around us, almost stifling in its intensity. He loomed over me, a mass of burned skin and vines. His physicality wouldn't have been nearly as frightening if it weren't for the sheer force he omitted, nor the look in his eyes as his gaze swept over me. 

I tried to rid the fear from my face. It was as though he could see the thought as it passed my mind. His maimed face twisted up. He... smiled. "Oh, but you're far too lovely to kill."

I didn't reply. My mind was reeling. My feet moved in an act of self-preservation, stepping away until I was out of arm's reach. My face remained blank, but my actions betrayed my terror much more than I would have liked. All words had abandoned me. 

"I've been waiting for you," His eyes never left mine. Not once, and no matter how many times I tried to compose myself, I met those eyes again and all my efforts were lost. They were white and empty, brimming with an intensity that was nearly unfathomable. 

"What do you want?" I demanded. My voice sounded much braver than I felt. 

A moment passed. He stared, but never replied. 

My stomach tied itself into knots. I straightened my spine and tried to hide it as best I could. "You've been calling out to me for weeks," I took a careful step closer, gauging his reaction. That blackened face remained empty. "How did you manage to get in my head?"

"There's no point in asking questions you already know the answer to," He replied after another silence. The floorboards creaked as I shifted my weight between my legs. I waited for him to step forward or lunge at me, but he never did. He just stood there, and he stared. Somehow, that was more unsettling than anything else. 

"I wouldn't have asked the question if I knew the answer to it," I narrowed my eyes, "How did you manage to get into my head?"

I could barely make out the sound of the vines moving to and fro on his body. Like a snake, they crawled and moved without any clear pattern. Aside from that, he stood completely still. "Don't play dumb, Sixteen."

I scoffed in disbelief. Was this why he had called out to me? To be dodgy and vague about all of my questions? Of course, I knew how to theoretically get into someone's mind. I'd done it with Henry and Beau, but the creature standing before couldn't possibly have abilities like mine. I would've remembered a swamp monster if there had been one in the lab.

"I'm the least of your problems," He tilted his head, those white irises flitting from my eyes to my hands, then back up again. "I've been watching you. Hurting people on accident, killing things. Perhaps your lack of control is what this town should truly be worried about."

I felt my pulse pick up. Anger crept through me, but I didn't let it show. "Your shitty mind games aren't gonna work on me." One moment passed, then another. When it became clear he wasn't going to reply, my gaze swept over him once more. It was only then that I noticed his hand. It was a large, lithe thing. My interest was mostly sparked by those dark, slender fingers. They had protruding joints and nails that looked more like claws, glinting dangerously in the blue-ish moonlight. 

"What are you?" My words filled the empty air.

His head tilted to the side, "You're asking the wrong questions, Sixteen."

"What are you?" I repeated. 

"I'm like you."

I didn't reply for a moment. My mind reeled trying to understand what that meant. Sure, he looked humanoid in nature, but his decayed skin and the vines curling around him couldn't be explained. "Are you?" I asked lowly, my gaze sweeping over him once more, "If you were like me you'd have normal-sized appendages... and your skin wouldn't be burnt-up. Maybe you should invest in some moisturizer." 

"No, Sixteen," I watched with bated breath as Vecna raised his hand from his side. Those claws glinted ominously in the blue light, barely turning toward me. I could feel my abilities rushing to the tips of my fingers. His movements were almost torturously slow before a rush of energy filled the room. My left arm was jerked forward, but the rest of my body stayed in place. I tried to pull it back, but an invisible force kept me still. I glanced down at my outstretched wrist, the numbers '016' almost indiscernible in the poor lighting. "I'm like you," He repeated. 

Like me. As in marked, like me. Another one of Brenner's lab rats, like me. Perhaps he was lying. I met his eyes, which had not left my face even once. I searched for dishonesty within them, or anything to indicate that he might be lying, but I didn't find it. I was surprised to find a wave of emotion rolling over me, "But how are you... what happened?"

His gaze was cold. "You know what happened."

"Stop being vague," I said harshly. The force holding me in place lessened, and my arm fell back to my side. A million thoughts ran through my mind. "Is that why you've been reaching out to me? Why I've been dreaming of you? Because we're alike?"

He was utterly unreadable. Not even a sliver of emotion slipped past his icy cold stare. It almost felt familiar. "Yes," he answered after a short pause, "I wanted to see you. We weren't on good terms the last time I saw you. Perhaps I wanted to mend it."

A thought passed my mind, as bright and feigning as a shooting star. 

There was no way.

There was no way, but here we stood in Henry's home. Here we stood, staring at one another in silence. Vecna's abilities felt alive and animalistic as they rushed over me, just like Henry's. But I saw him just a few days ago... how had he turned into this?

It was impossible, I decided. Vecna had the ability to see people's worst memories. To dig into one's mind and extract every little horror they'd ever endured. He must've seen Henry when searching my mind, must've seen what lived and died between us. This was all just another trick, wasn't it? 

And I almost fell for it.

"You're tricking me," I spat. The light overhead flickered with my onslaught of anger, "You've been in my head. You've seen how I feel about Henry and you're trying to twist up my mind just like you twisted up Max's and those other kids. Do you think I'm stupid?"

He stepped closer. His abilities mixed with mine, making the air charge with power. "You've always been so desperate to make excuses for me," he murmured, those words holding a significance I didn't care to look into. 

"Stop it," I hissed, "I know what you're trying to do."

"Come now, Sixteen," He enunciated each word with a type of venom that only Henry could spout. But there was no way. "You have to have felt me. I've been calling out to you all this time."

I shook my head and stepped back.

"You know I'm telling the truth," He countered my efforts to put distance between us, stepping closer still, "Those visions... nightmares you can't explain... I wouldn't have had to resort to such drastic methods if you hadn't shut me out."

My hand left my side, and a flick of my wrist sent him stumbling back. "You're lying."

He seemed utterly unphased. With the way he stood there, composed and undeterred, I got the sense he only allowed me to push him back. There was such power hemorrhaging from him, and compared to that, my abilities barely held a candle.

"What reason do I have to lie? Is it so difficult to believe I just wanted to see you?" He raised his arm from his side, and my entire body froze. A smile twisted up his face, and despite my best efforts, I couldn't move an inch. "I felt you the moment you entered Hawkins. Your thoughts were... racing. Have you always been so anxious?"

He stepped closer. My insides curled up, but I was just as stuck as I had been before. "Stop it."

"I suppose I already know the answer to that," He dismissed my objections with yet another wave of his hand. I watched as he neared me, one slam of his foot at a time. The floor trembled beneath our weight. "It must have worsened after the massacre, though. Your thoughts are so loud."

I closed my eyes against this reality and searched for another. If this was Henry-- really, truly Henry-- I'd be able to feel him. My mind raced trying to find something other than familiarity. Vecna's presence was stronger than anyone else's, more tangible than Henry's had ever been. But... it had been years since I'd last seen Henry face to face. I knew he lived on after the massacre, but to think he'd gained such power. How was that possible?

But then I felt it.

Beneath the layers of anger, hatred, and overwhelming force, I felt it. Henry. His warmth of life, his cool of night. My eyes snapped open and when I searched Vecna's emptied-out pupils once more, I knew it had to be him. The way his eyes bored into mine was so very familiar. 

I didn't want to believe it. "Henry?" I called his name with such softness, it may as well have been yet another shadow passing through the darkness. 

"There you go," He came upon me all at once. With the force he used to hold me in place, I could barely tilt my head to meet his eyes, "You were always such a bright girl."

My insides didn't warm at his words. Terror pushed up my throat and strained against my larynx, but I did what I could to swallow it back. "I don't understand," I whispered, "What happened to you?"

"What do you mean?" He asked. The words had an edge of mockery, as though he somehow found amusement in all of this. There were no bright blue eyes to seek solace in, no brush of vanilla hair. This... creature... was barely Henry at all. 

He was in my head. I could feel it.

"Oh, you look so frightened," He tutted at the expression on my face, the terror of trying to understand what exactly I was looking at, "This face is just in your head, Sweetheart. All of this is."

I shook my head. I didn't know what to do other than plead for the man who used to spend his days by my side, "Henry--."

"--You're scared," He said simply. A fact. "Don't be."

"That's not--."

"--It's pointless, lying to me," The words were stern, leaving no room for debate, "You're scared, and you have no reason to be."

Another spout of anger rushed through me. I could feel my abilities stirring beneath my skin, and it was with a considerable amount of effort that I finally managed to move the muscles he'd forced in place, "Maybe I wouldn't be scared if you didn't look like a burn victim," I spat.

Before I could fully understand what was going on, the lights began flickering once more. Suddenly the warm glow of lightbulbs drowned out the moonlight, only for them to dim away a moment later. Once the attic had gone dark again, Vecna was no longer standing in front of me.

It was Henry. My Henry. White eyes replaced by blue, vines replaced by smooth, lovely skin. I remembered how it used to feel beneath my fingertips. Suddenly the thought of us wrapped in bedsheets didn't feel so comforting. 

He saw me looking at him, and he smiled, "Better?"

I didn't reply for a moment. My thoughts rushed, trying to piece all of this together. Henry... was Vecna. The creature haunting random children, murdering them without a clear motive, had been him all along. Not only that, he'd been forcing visions into my head all so he could lure me here for a reason I still didn't understand. Instead of feeling comforted by his blue-eyed divine, I only felt anger. 

"It's been you this whole time?" I took a cautious step closer. He never moved, "The visions Max has been getting? Those dead kids?"

He made a small, controlled sound and nodded. Those eyes pierced into mine, scrutinizing every expression that crossed my face. "What difference does it make?" The corner of his lip dipped, and he frowned, "This isn't your battle, sweetheart."

"What difference does it make?" A bitter laugh fell from my throat. I almost couldn't believe this was happening. But of course, it was. All of this was so, very Henry. Of course, he stayed in Hawkins. Of course, his twisted mind left him to seek revenge on a town that hardly remembered him. "First the kids in the lab, now-- now this?"

He stayed silent, eyes forever fixated on me. I couldn't bring myself to be unnerved this time. "I can see you're disappointed," He murmured.

I furrowed my eyebrows and took another step closer, "Why are you doing this?" His expression didn't falter. His jaw clenched as he watched me, trying to anticipate what I might do next. "Are you really just that... bored? You have to go out and slaughter a bunch of kids because you have nothing better to do?"

"Don't be naive, Sixteen," The words were cold once more, as were his eyes. Everything he said or did was controlled and intentional. "This goes far beyond boredom. Perhaps I'm just trying to make things right."

"Make things right?" My eyes went wide, "In what fucking way does murdering people make anything right?"

He smiled and tilted his head, "I want to balance the scales, that's all."

I lowered my head. "Jesus fucking Christ, Henry."

"Why are you so surprised?" He stepped closer, "You know who I am. It's not my fault if you choose not to believe it."

"And you're proud of this?" My eyes snapped up to his, "It makes you feel good? Going after a bunch of kids?" My thoughts shifted to Max, the fear lingering inside her, the fact that Henry was the one to place it there. "You're a sadistic fuck. You think you're tough or something? Does this get you off?"

He stared at me in a way only he could. As though he could see everything I ever was and ever would be, and he knew I saw the same. "They're collateral damage. That's all."

I bit the inside of my cheek. I wanted to stay composed, but I was very clearly losing the battle, "Oh. I think I understand now."

"You do?"

"I do," I nodded. I stepped closer to him until there was barely a foot of space between us. He stared down at me with something like fear and need. I watched his hands twitch by his side, as though he were barely holding himself back. "You don't care about me, you don't care about you, you don't care about... anything. And for some reason, I keep tricking myself into thinking there's more to you. But there isn't, is there?"

He smiled ever so softly. When he leaned forward, his breath rushing over my skin, I didn't step back. Not for a lack of fear, but for an abundance of pride. I wasn't going to let him see me falter. "Maybe not," He hummed, "I'm sure it would be much easier for you if you truly thought that."

I shook my head, too angry to get a word out. 

He reached forward and took my head in his hands, looking at me as though he couldn't believe I was standing right in front of him. "I missed you."

"That makes one of us," I muttered. With a gesture from my hand, he stumbled back and fell to the floor. I watched him hit the ground, and I felt nothing. It took him a moment to collect himself. 

"I grieved you," I stood above him and watched as he tried to gather his breath. "For years, despite what you did. And then you showed up again and I thought my prayers had been answered. But you are just as selfish as before. Is this how it's always going to be?"

His eyes snapped to mine. Slowly, he stood. My eyes followed his the entire way up. At his full height, he stared down at me. In the lab, it made me feel safe. Now I just felt small. His hand left his side almost lazily, and then it was my turn to stumble. "It doesn't have to be like this, Sixteen. Once everything is over with, I'll find you. Then no one else will have to get hurt."

My knees met the floor in front of him. 

His abilities were so much stronger than mine.

He took my chin between his thumb and forefinger. I stared at the black of his belt, then the blue of his eyes. "You asked me if it gets me off, hurting those people." His eyes gleamed with something dark and angry, "No, sweetheart. But seeing you like this..."

Instead of using my abilities, I used my hands to push him away. Once more, I stood, meeting his eyes without blinking. "That's too bad," I spat, "Because I think I'd rather die than touch you again."

He laughed. As though he knew I was lying, as though he knew me better than I knew myself. "I'll let you believe that, for now."

"How gracious," I spat. 

"Only for you," He hummed, before finally putting some distance between us. He went silent, for a moment, and turned to face something behind him. Exactly what, I couldn't tell. When he turned back, all of the humor was wiped off his face. 

"I did you favor, Sixteen. You remember that, don't you?" His eyes flickered to mine. I offered him no response other than a cautious nod of my head. Whatever he was going to say next, I got the sense it couldn't be good. "You owe me, and what I want in return is simple. You're not going to interfere with anything I do in the next week. Don't raise a hand against me, and don't let yourself become too attached to any of your new 'friends.'"

I opened my mouth to object, but he interrupted me.

"No complaints. We made a deal."

"I think you're overestimating the value of what you did for me," I muttered angrily. 

"Maybe I am," He tilted his head, "Let me simplify. Give me seven days, don't get involved. You're only going to get yourself hurt if you don't listen to me."

My expression remained blank. "And if I do get involved?"

He turned to me. A gesture from his hand had me bracing, but instead of being shoved backward, my eyes were forced shut. A familiar sensation of falling overcame me. My head pounded, and my muscles tensed. His final words to me were almost indiscernible as I fell faster and faster. "I'll take away your choice in the matter."

When the sensation finally stopped, my feet met solid ground. 

It took me a short while to collect myself, trembling breaths falling from my lips.

When I finally managed to gather my composure, I scanned my surroundings. I was still standing on the porch of the Creel house, walkie-talkie and flashlight in my hands. The realization of what just happened made my stomach drop.

Henry got in my head.

I never even entered the house.

Chapter Text

"Is anyone there?" My hands were clammy around Lucas' walkie-talkie, gripping it as though someone was trying to steal it away. I shot a paranoid glance over my shoulder, towards the Creel House. Once Henry had finished with me, and I found myself back on that porch, I didn't waste any time getting out of there. The house was merely a shadow at the other end of the road, now. One which got smaller and smaller as my legs worked to put as much distance between it and myself as possible.

The night air was cool. It breathed against my skin, humid as though it were mid-July and not late March.

My mind thundered with thoughts and anxieties that I had no clear method of dealing with. For a moment, I wondered if all that had just transpired was merely a dream. I wished it was just a dream. Here Henry was again, putting me in an impossible situation, forcing my hand. I knew better than to be upset, I knew better than to be surprised, but that didn't make it any easier.

Truthfully, I felt a little stupid. I should've known.

That didn't matter, though. I had bigger issues to deal with, the most concerning one being whether or not I was going tothe group about who Vecna truly was. On one hand, it would help them understand his motives better, and what exactly they were dealing with. I knew Henry, and I knew they were bound to get hurt if they kept pursuing him. Perhaps I could dissuade them from getting involved any further, tell them about his genius and all he had done in the lab. I had a nagging feeling that it wouldn't make much of a difference, though.

On the other hand, if I told them about Henry, I risked compromising myself in the process. I liked to think that Eleven's friends were warming up to me a little bit, but everything was still so tenuous. Perhaps they'd think I was working with him this whole time. How would I explain this to them? I snuck away from the group, lied about the reason why, all so I could meet Vecna on my own. Even if my intentions were pure, they had no way of knowing that. If I were them, I wouldn't trust me either.

"Guys, where are you?" I called into the walkie-talkie once more. It crackled incessantly, and I could do nothing but wait for someone to respond. Perhaps they got taken to the police station, and there were officers on the other end of the line, listening to my desperate pleas for someone to answer. "Someone please answer. This is important, okay, please just answer."

One moment passed, then another.

"Sixteen?"

I nearly cried in relief as Dustin's voice filtered through the speaker.

"Dustin?" I called, "Where are you guys? I don't care if I get in trouble anymore, just tell me where to find you."

Another moment passed. For a second, I thought he wouldn't reply.

"We're at Eddie's trailer. Steve and the others might've gone through the gate in Lover's Lake."

My face fell, "What? Why would they do that?"

"Because they're stupid," He replied, "I think I might know how to get them back. I'll explain everything once you get here, okay?"

"Where's his trailer?"

"Use your superpowers."

"Wait, Dustin--."

I heard a click on the other end of the walkie-talkie, signaling he'd turned his off. I tried to call out to him a few times more, but when no response came, I knew my efforts were in vain. I cursed under my breath, well aware of my headache which had only just begun ebbing away. Using my abilities would be difficult after my and Henry's last encounter.

"Little shit," I spat pointlessly, shutting off my walkie as well.

~

By the time I finally arrived at what I hoped was Eddie's trailer, my entire body ached with exhaustion. Blood spilled from my nose. At first, I took the time to wipe it away, but the parade of red just kept coming until I eventually gave up.

I hesitated outside the front door. Eddie's trailer was a tattered, run-down place. The paint-- which I'm sure was once a bright, sparkling white-- had been stained and peeled away after too many years going unkept. Plants and shrubs of all sorts stuck up from his yard, which clearly hadn't been mowed in a long time. I wasn't one to judge, though. Not after all those shitty motels I lived in before I eventually found my footing after the massacre.

Either way, it wasn't the outward appearance that I had to worry about.

I heard murmured voices inside the trailer, and I didn't have to use my abilities to know it was Dustin, Max, and Lucas. There was another voice, though. One I couldn't quite recognize, but it sounded familiar.

I didn't bother to knock before persisting into the house.

I made it about four feet inside before I halted in place.

Just as I suspected, Dustin, Lucas, and Max crowded in the middle of what I believed was the living room. All of them looked slightly out of sorts, and considering the fact that they probably had to run from the cops to make it there in the first place, I wasn't surprised. What did surprise me, however, was the sight of Erica standing amongst them. That, and the large gash in the ceiling above them.

"Hey, you made it," Lucas was the first one to take notice of my presence.

I nodded to him in greeting and joined them in the center of the living room. My eyes remained glued to the incision in the ceiling overhead. It looked to be about five feet wide or so. There was a certain energy emanating from it, once which I felt the moment I stepped into the trailer. Black veins ran along its length, sprawling outward a few inches before they stopped.

"What is this?" I asked, eyebrows furrowed.

Dutin shuffled beside me. It was only then that I noticed the broom in his hand. "A gate. Like the one in Lover's Lake," He said.

My eyes fell to his, "How is that possible?"

"Confounding, isn't it?" He murmured, gaze tracing over the blackened part of the ceiling, "You remember what I told you about the murders? Where they took place?"

I nodded.

"This is where Chrissy died," Max spoke up.

"So... Patrick died on the lake, and there was a gate in there, and then Chrissy died here. Does this mean there's a gate at every murder site?" I asked, my mind reeling. Why would Henry want to make gates? 'I want to balance the scales' he'd said. Was this balancing the scales? Cutting holes throughout town for anyone to stumble across?

"That's the running theory, yeah," Dustin replied.

If Vecna was in the Upside Down, that meant Henry was too. Had he been there this whole time? All alone? Trapped? Were these gates all just attempts for him to make it back to the real world? No, that couldn't be. Henry was far too smart to allow himself to be trapped once more. If all he wanted to do was to return to our world, then he would've done so after the first gate opened.

My heart pumped faster. Whatever he planned to do, I had a feeling it would be cataclysmic compared to what he'd done in the lab. If that was even possible.

"This is... really bad," I muttered dumbly, "So why are we here exactly?"

"Steve's a moron," He replied without elaborating any further.

"I gathered."

"Dustin was annoyingly vague when he filled you in before," Max spoke from beside me, referring to our rather one-sided walkie-talkie conversation, "Eddie, Nancy, Steve, and Robin went through the gate--"

"--Watergate," Dustin corrected.

She shot him a dirty look. "I'm not calling it that."

"Why not?"

"Because it's stupid," She said dismissively, "Anyways, they're trapped in the Upside Down and..." She looked at the gash in the ceiling, "Dustin thinks this is the key to bringing them back."

I chewed on the inside of my cheek, "How do you know they're trapped? Maybe they just... swam across the lake or something. Or drowned."

"They talked to us through the lights," Lucas said casually.

One moment passed. Then two. I was at a loss for words. "That's... I'm not sure I follow."

"It's a really long story," He smiled apologetically.

"I'll explain it later, but right now--," Before I could reply to Dustin, he took his broom and slammed it into the gash on the ceiling. A startled gasp fell from my throat as I took a step back. The rest of the group seemed unphased.

He reeled back his arm and stabbed the broom through the hole once more. The sound it produced was almost... wet, like the handle was breaking through water instead of metal. I took a cautious step closer.

He took a deep breath and gave the ceiling one last almighty hit, and then it split apart. Black and red webbing separated for the wooden handle, revealing what seemed to be another room. It was different from the one we stood in. Darker, with vines and black-colored soot all over its surface.

Something dark and red-- with the appearance of blood, but I doubted it actually was-- spilled from the new hole in the roof. Though, it didn't exactly 'spill.' It seemed to... rise through the air on the other side of the gash, as though gravity was working as an opposite force.

Oh.

That's why it was called the Upside Down.

Right when my nerves had settled down slightly, they emerged stronger than before at the sight of movement on the other side. Something flesh-colored appeared just out of sight. There was a collective deep breath, and then an exhale when Steve's bewildered eyes met ours.

Nancy, Robin, and Eddie followed in quick succession.

It was one of the most bizarre things I'd ever seen. They stared at us while standing on what should've been the roof, but wasn't. It was upon further inspection that I realized the dark world where they stood was a reflection of Eddie's trailer, overcome by vines and blackness that littered virtually every surface.

Beside me, Dustin laughed a relieved sort of laugh.

I waved at the group on the other side, bewilderment evident on my face. Max and Lucas did the same.

"Hi there!" Dustin called, grinning ear to ear.

"Hi," The four on the other side echoed wearily.

Dust could be seen floating around on the other side. At first, I thought it was falling, like snow, but it seemed to just be aimlessly floating this way and that, neither falling nor rising.

"Holy shit, this is trippy," Robin was slack-jawed staring up at us. Everyone seemed to share in her sentiment.

"What the hell?"

"How is this possible?"

"This is the coolest thing I've ever seen."

"How about we ogle later?" Nancy spoke up. Her face was painted with dirt and grime, sweat glistening on her skin. Now that I really looked at the group standing beside her, they were all comparably disheveled. Flyaway hairs and dirtied fingernails could be found on each one, and Steve was bleeding from a wound on his side. It had been sloppily patched up by a scarf, but already, there were cloves of blood seeping through the fabric. 

"Good idea," Dustin murmured, before turning to face Max, "Go get the mattress on Eddie's bed, they're gonna need a landing zone."

"Landing zone?" Max questioned.

"Yes. Now go on, go."

With an annoyed glare, Max left the three of us standing in the living room. I made brief eye contact with Steve, who looked so anxious I would've expected him to throw up. 

"I'll go help Max," I muttered. With a final glance at the group standing over my head, I called, "I'm glad none of you drowned."

I practically ran after Max, more than glad to have an excuse to break off from the group for a moment. Speaking to them, I felt the weight of my last interaction with Henry. It was surprisingly difficult not to buckle beneath it. My skin was too tight, my thoughts too loud. It felt like a betrayal to keep my mouth shut knowing who Vecna was. Perhaps, if they knew Henry's part in this, they could figure out a way to stop him. I knew that I didn't owe them my honesty, but to choose Henry over them after all he'd put them through was about as morally bankrupt as I could get. 

Would it even make a difference, though?

I didn't linger on the question long. I heard Max grunting at the end of a narrow, wooden hallway and quickly followed after her. Through a rather short archway was Eddie's room, which was unsurprisingly a mess. Clothes, trash, and dirty laundry littered the already-stained blue rug. His bed was no different, with a red quilt lazily spilling across the mattress-- though it mostly hung off the side-- and onto the floor. Max had already gotten to work clearing his bed off, throwing long-since flattened pillows onto the ground. 

I wordlessly crossed the room and started to help. My mind was racing with questions as I gripped the end of Eddie's quilt. What had Henry shown her? How had he toyed with her mind? I remembered what he'd done with me, showing me visions of Gloria and himself, things I never wanted to see. I hoped, at the very least, what he did to her wasn't as bad. 

When my eyes flickered up to Max, she was already looking at me. Once she'd been caught, she didn't bother to look away. "What happened?" She asked, throwing the final pillow away.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know," She shrugged, averting her eyes and getting to work on another one of Eddie's blankets, "I mean, I thought you were gonna haul ass after the cops got involved. I heard you and Dustin talking on the walkie-talkie. What made you decide to stay?"

I could still feel the press of Henry's fingers beneath my chin, yanking my head up, when I replied, "Nothing, I just figured you guys might need my help."

Max gave me a strange look.

"What?"

"Are you sure nothing happened?"

I chewed on the inside of my cheek. One moment passed, then another. "Yes."

She nodded and finished pulling off the final blanket. Now, the mattress was barren aside from a stained set of sheets, which likely used to be white but had faded into a creme color. It was my turn to watch her. 

My eyes gravitated toward the pair of grey headphones hanging around her neck. Dustin had briefly explained the role of music in all of this, how it connected a person to their reality, but I still didn't fully understand what that meant. Why would music stop Henry from hurting someone? Why would he just let her go free after all the effort he'd put in trying to kill her? I wanted to lie to myself and say that he left her alone simply because I asked him to, but I knew that probably wasn't true. 

"Why did Vecna choose you?" I asked Max halfway between lifting the mattress onto its side. She paused, for a moment, leaving me to pick up her slack. 

She almost looked guilty, timidly meeting my eyes for a moment before looking away, "I don't know."

"Yes you do," I said. Less of an accusation, more of an observation.

She shrugged and bent over to pick up the mattress. I took the hint to drop the matter and lifted the other side off the ground. We proceeded in silence. 

"He chooses people who've had bad things happen to them." She muttered, still not meeting my eyes. I was surprised she said anything at all.

"Bad things?"

She cautiously began backing into the hallway as we juggled the mattress between each other. "Yeah," She said vaguely, "It's different for each victim, I think, but they were all hurting in some way. He thinks he's helping them... at least that's what he says." I didn't miss the way she spoke about the victims, trying to separate herself from them like she wasn't hurting, too. Like he strayed from his pattern, and she was just unlucky. I wondered what happened to her. 

I knew better than to ask.

We returned to the living room soon after. Dustin was staring at the ceiling, bickering with one of the others in the Upside Down. Probably Steve. Lucas and Erica knelt beside a tan-colored blanket, tying knots in the fabric every four feet or so. They seemed to have finished whatever they were doing as soon as Max and I entered. 

We dropped the mattress right beneath the hole in the ceiling. I was still just as taken aback at the sight of Nancy and other others practically hanging upside down on the other side. 

Eddie's face looked a little red when he took in the sight of his mattress, along with the dozens of dark-colored stains strewn about his sheets. "Those stains are, uh," He made brief eye contact with Robin, "I don't know what those stains are."

"I have a guess," I said, the corner of my lip tilting into a smile. 

"Gross," Robin murmured, shaking her head in disapproval.

Beside me, Dustin stepped beneath the hole in the ceiling, gripping the bed sheets Lucas and Erica has been situated around moments before. "Not quite sure how these physics are going to work," He bunched up the sheets, "but, uh, here goes nothing."

With that, Dustin took the tail end of the fabric and threw it through the gate. It rose into the air, two, four, six feet, before reaching the point where gravity should've pulled it back down to earth. Instead, the sheets unrolled on the other side of the gate and simply... hovered there.

"Holy shit," Max muttered. 

Beside me, Erica shuffled, pushing forward to get a better view, "This is the craziest shit I've ever seen," she exclaimed, "and I've seen some crazy shit."

We all subsequently stepped onto the mattress, taking turns grabbing at our end of the sheet. It was surprisingly sturdy for something hanging between two different worlds. Dustin yanked on it once more before he finally let go, allowing it to hang limply without any sort of support. 

"Alright, yank on it," He called up to Nancy and the others, "See if it holds."

The four on the other side exchanged looks, silently debating who would be the first to go. After a moment, Robin stepped forward, jacket hanging loosely off her shoulder as she yanked at their end of the sheets. She grunted, putting all her weight into it. Unsurprisingly, the sheets held. 

Beside me, Dustin and Erica high-fived. I couldn't help smiling as they all allowed themselves a moment to bask in their newest little victory. It was nice to see something finally go right for a change, even with the weight of Henry's truth at the back of my head. 

"Guess I'm the guinea pig," Robin murmured, trading glances with Steve and Eddie before she grabbed hold of the sheets. She jumped and looped her shoes around one of the many knots Erica and Lucas had made. She made the process of pulling herself up look surprisingly grueling, grunting and groaning the entire way up. 

Nancy cautiously raised her arms as though to spot Robin. She'd made it about a foot away from the mouth of the gate when I stepped away from the mattress. Dustin, Erica, Lucas, and Max were far too caught up in the wonder of what was happening to realize Robin was moments away from falling on them. "Guys," I called, "You have to move or she'll fall on top of you."

"Oh, yeah," Dustin muttered, keeping his eyes glued to the ceilings as he stumbled away from the mattress. Lucas and Max followed suit. 

It was the weirdest thing. One moment, Robin was straining against the pull of gravity, desperately trying to make it onto our side. The next, her head had passed maybe an inch or two through the gate, and her hair abruptly fell around her face. Gravity began working as it usually did, and instead of pulling on the sheets, she began falling. Right down onto the mattress, where she cried out when she met its plush surface. 

For a second she sat on the mattress, eyes clenched shut. When she realized she'd made it down safe, she opened her eyes and laughed. "Oh, thank god," She exclaimed breathlessly. Lucas reached out a hand to help her up. "That was fun."

Once she was successfully off of the mattress, only Eddie, Nancy, and Steve were left on the other side. They traded expecting glances, waiting for one to step forward and follow Robin. When no one did, Eddie eventually shrugged, "Alright, I guess I'll go."

And so he did. He seemed to have a much easier time pulling himself up the length of the sheet, quickly rising up one knot at a time. I couldn't help watching Steve, whose eyes hadn't left the back of Nancy's head for more than a second this entire time. 

Now, I wasn't one to care about other people's relationships all that much, but I'd have to be blind and dumb not to notice whatever was going on between those two. 

My attention was pulled away from them at the sight of Eddie's body falling through the air. He inhaled sharply once his body met the mattress. "That was fun," He laughed a slightly panicked laugh, taking my hand as soon as I offered it out to him.

Once his feet were securely on the floor, his breath was still slightly irregular. I didn't ask what had happened on the other side of the gate, but judging from the relief on his face and the state he was in, I imagined it wasn't anything good.

"You alright?" I asked, quiet enough so the others standing beside us couldn't hear. 

"First time in another dimension," He replied, "A little overwhelmed."

I smiled, "I can imagine."

Steve and Nancy were still having a conversation on the other side of that gate. They looked somewhat dazed, and I wasn't sure whether it was from whatever they'd just gone through or the sight of one another.

"Are they fucking?" The question slipped out of my mouth before I could stop myself. 

Beside me, Eddie's eyebrows shot up, "Wheeler has a boyfriend." 

"Oh, sorry, I didn't--."

"--don't apologize. To answer your question, no. Not yet."

I laughed, but before I could reply, Steve's voice caught my attention. My eyes shot up to the gate, where he was standing in front of Nancy, firmly grasping her shoulders. He seemed to be shaking her, as though she were asleep and he was trying to wake her up. "Nance?" His voice was slightly panicked. He shook her again, harder, "Nancy? Can you hear me?"

"Is she okay?" I called, stepping onto the mattress to get a better look at what exactly was going on. 

The rest of the group followed in my footsteps, crowding around the mouth of the gate.

Steve didn't reply, "Hey, hey." He called to her, voice trembling slightly. I could only see the top of Nancy's head from the angle I stood at, but Steve's face gave me all the information I needed. Something was very wrong. "Stay with me, stay with me," Steve shook her harder, but it became clear his efforts were futile, "Nancy, wake up. Hey!" He finally looked away from her and toward the seven of us, "We need help."

While the rest of us stared, dumbfounded, Max quickly understood what was wrong. With a single word, the entire room erupted into chaos. "Vecna."

For a moment, it felt like my body wasn't my own. Everyone was shouting over each other. Voices overlapped until everything around me blurred into a cacophony of screams for help and thudding footsteps. The sound of my heart pounded in my ears. 

If I was going to choose a side, I knew now was the time. 

I didn't want to fight Henry, but if it was either that or stand here and watch him twist up Nancy just as he'd twisted up Six and all the others, then the decision was clear. He would be furious with me, once all this was over. Furious that I chose a brief, practically nonexistent friendship over whatever it was that he and I shared. 

I couldn't wait around for him to be good. People were in trouble now, and no amount of hoping would make him stop whatever attack this was. I could've stood there forever, frozen, gathering root and nerve all while my mind warred with the idea of fighting against him, but that wouldn't save Nancy. That wouldn't give me peace of mind. There were fields on fire, and I couldn't allow myself to lay burning.

"We need music," Eddie's voice tuned back in just as the rest of my surroundings did the same. 

"I can help her," I looked towards the group for permission, but my voice must've gotten drowned out in the chaos all around. I allowed the words to disappear as though I'd never spoken them, and grabbed onto the sheets myself. 

I took a deep, heaving breath and pulled myself up.

Eddie gave me a panicked glance before disappearing down the hallway, following Robin, Lucas, and Max, who had begun ransacking his room in search of music. Their shouts spilled through the doorway and back into the living room, where Erica paced back and forth, casting worried looks through the gate.

I pulled myself up the length of the sheet as fast as my trembling muscles could go. I was still so weak from seeing Henry, and that fact was made all the more obvious as I struggled to pull my weight. By the time I made it to the mouth of the gate, Steve had gone from shaking Nancy to screaming in her face, desperate pleas for her to 'wake up' and 'stay with me.'

The shift in gravity as I passed through the gate was unlike anything I'd ever felt. It was like all the blood in my veins suddenly turned, making me lightheaded and dizzy. I did what I could to hold on as I fell headfirst into the Upside Down, gripping the sheets to soften my fall. 

I met the ground hard. 

"What are you doing?!" Steve's panicked voice offered me no time to gather my bearings. 

I took a breath and pulled myself up, giving my surroundings a once over. As I expected, Eddie's trailer was darker in the Upside Down, overcome with dirt and vines of all sorts. I coughed on flakes of dust in the air, but very soon adjusted to the change in atmosphere. 

"I can help her," I muttered, allowing my eyes to run over Nancy. From the angle I was standing at before, I couldn't see her eyes. Now, though, I could see her face in its entirety. Those eyes were rolling into the back of her head. The lids fluttered as her body jerked and trembled ever so often. Her irises had turned a bright, striking blue that almost looked pearlescent in the near-complete darkness of the Upside Down. 

"You said your powers didn't work," He cried, eyes flickering to me. 

I wanted to sit there and explain everything to him, but I didn't know how much time we had. My adrenaline was beginning to cloud my judgment. "I said they were on the fritz, I never said they didn't work," I pushed him aside without another word. He made sounds of disapproval, but not before my hands had grasped onto Nancy's shoulders and my eyes had fallen shut. 

"Come on," I urged myself, feeling the lull of power running through my veins. It was weaker than it had been this morning, but there was no mistaking its familiar warmth. I urged it to the surface, focused on it with every neuron. Now wasn't the time to lose control. 

All at once, there it was. The sensation of falling, the tingling in my fingertips. I leaned into it and tried to grasp onto the feeling without letting go.

My hearing was the first thing to tune in. I heard... wind whistling, somewhere in the distance. Before I could figure out exactly where it was, my feet met solid ground and my eyes snapped open. A small headache pressed against my temples, but it wasn't difficult to ignore. 

My eyes were wide as I took in my surroundings. I'd been here before. This wasn't Nancy's mind, this was Henry's. Everything, as far as the eye could see, was painted in shades of red, trembling with dark, thrilling energy coming from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Pyres erupted from the ground like altars, and the more I looked at them, the more unsettling they became. Through the layers of rock and vine, I could make out-snapped limbs, bodies bent in unnatural positions, forever fixated in place like human decorations. Fragments of Henry's old home were everywhere, floating aimlessly around the endless red. A grandfather clock could be seen a few feet away, chiming four times before it went silent. 

I stood on a fragmented set of stairs. I recognized them as the once beautiful, oak-wood stairs from Henry's home. Now, they were shattered, with steep drops in some of the steps and nowhere to lead up. 

I nearly screamed when a hand grasped my wrist. 

"Sixteen?!" Nancy's panicked voice filled my ears. I turned to face her, a few steps above. Her clothes were stained red from both the lighting and another substance I couldn't quite make out. The hair around her head was a mess, tangled and dirtied. 

"I'm here to help," I tried to reassure her, once more glancing at our surroundings, "I can hurt him, if I have to."

"How was old, blind, dumb, Victor?" Henry's voice filtered into my ears. I gasped, turning to search for the source of the voice, but it was nowhere to be found, just like before. "Did he miss me?"

Whereas I didn't know what he was talking about, Nancy immediately paled at his words. Victor was Henry's father, if I remembered. When had they gotten a chance to speak to him?

Nancy grasped my wrist and sprinted down the set of stairs. With a panicked glance around, I followed, nearly tripping on my own feet in the hurry to get away. Where exactly she planned to run, I had no idea, but there wasn't much I could do to defend her until Henry actually showed himself. 

"I've been meaning to check back in, but I've been busy." Vecna's voice picked back up. He spoke with a type of hatred I'd only ever heard from Henry once, that final day in the lab. It made my stomach turn, reminding me of what it was to be prey. Henry always had the ability to make one feel hunted. "So very busy."

Nancy's footsteps halted at the end of the stairs. Now it was my turn to grasp onto her, but she wouldn't budge. She was frozen in front of one of the altars, staring ahead at yet another maimed, twisted-up body. 

Her mouth fell open. I gathered she knew this one.

"You can't help him, Nancy," I urged, yanking on her arm once more. "He's dead. There's nothing you can do. Come on."

Before either of us could take another step, the floor began trembling. One of the pieces of Henry's home that had been aimlessly floating about suddenly met the ground. It was a door, with a stained glass window pane which shuddered as it met the rocky earth. I didn't have to look long to know what it was. That same rose from Henry's home, now practically glowing as our surroundings began to shift.

One moment, we were in the hellscape that was Henry's mind, and the next, our feet met the floor in Henry's old home. 

"We're in a memory," I whispered to Nancy, breaths trembling as I took in my surroundings. 

"I warned you, Sixteen." 

My stomach dropped as Vecna's voice called my name. Nancy's eyes snapped to mine. 

"I told you not to interfere, and now that's exactly what you're doing," Henry knew what he was doing. He had to. I saw the doubt fill Nancy's eyes as she processed his words. She must have been wondering how he knew who I was, why we'd spoken before all this. Fuck, fuck. "I wanted to be gentle with you, but perhaps a little force is needed to remind you of the rules I put in place."

I stayed quiet. My mind was racing. A low, menacing laugh sounded, and I knew he was getting some sadistic kick out of poisoning her against me, forcing my hand. 

"What's he talking about, Sixteen?" Nancy's eyes were cold, her mouth drawn into a frown.

"I'll explain everything," I urged, releasing my grip on her wrist, "I promise, okay? Just trust me. I'll get you out of here--."

My words were interrupted by the front door being opened. In walked a familiar group of people. Henry's parents, a picture of middle-class suburbia, Alice, then younger Henry himself. I remembered this moment like the back of my hands, how panicked I'd been when I didn't know Henry and Peter were the same person.

"What'd I tell you?" Victor murmured to his wife.

"Wow," She exclaimed.

"This is amazing," Alice stared around in awe, honey blonde hair neatly braided behind her head. She held a single bag in her right hand and eagerly ran up the stairs. I didn't understand why Henry was showing this to Nancy. What would he gain from telling her about his past? What was the point?

"Alice, no running!" Her mother called.

"It's so big!" She called back, running nonetheless.

Henry's mother and father embraced, briefly, staring ahead at their new home. But it wasn't them my attention was caught on. It was Henry, who stood behind them, eyeing their new home like it was something caught beneath his shoe. There was a sadness in his gaze that was so, very familiar. I hadn't realized how long he'd been that way. Not until now, watching those icy blue eyes fall to the ground with a dissociative type of emptiness. 

"I know you've been looking for me, Nancy. Desperately trying to figure out who I am... Let me make this easy for you." 

Henry's parents proceeded into the house, leaving Henry alone with his bag and surely his racing thoughts. I watched the realization of who Vecna was dawn on Nancy's face. Her skin paled, slightly. When her eyes shot to me, she saw no change in expression, no shocked inhales. I already knew who he was. She knew that I already knew who he was.

Fuck, this really looked bad, didn't it?

"I didn't fit in with the other children," Henry's voice sounded once more, echoing through archways and mahogany furniture. With wide eyes, Nancy begrudgingly turned away, knowing now wasn't the time to press the matter. "All the teachers and the doctors said I was... broken. My family thought a change of scenery, a fresh start in Hawkins might just cure me. It was absurd. As if the world would be any different here."

 I'd heard Henry recount a similar story before, but with Nancy, he didn't bother to sugarcoat it. Even if his words didn't, his tone openly expressed his disdain for his family, for his life here. There was such anger, still, even after all these years.

The room shifted. Suddenly, we stood in one of the hallways upstairs. A bit of time had passed, it seemed. Young Henry's outfit had changed, and his hair was brushed to the other side. He walked through the hall with a placid, disinterested sort of expression on his face.

"But then," Vecna's voice sounded once more, "to my surprise, our new home provided a discovery... and a newfound sense of purpose..."

Nancy and I trailed after Henry, watching as he ducked down beside a vent in the bathroom. He hooked his fingers under the metal grate and pulled, producing something I couldn't quite see.

"I found a nest of black widows living inside a vent," He drawled, some life finally filling his voice, "Most people fear spiders. They detest them." I watched as younger Henry leaned back on his heels, bright blue eyes staring intently at the little black bug crawling around his palm. My stomach dropped, seeing that red hourglass on the spider's abdomen. 

"And yet, I found them endlessly fascinating..."

Beside me, a low whimper left Nancy's throat. She looked terrified, eyes wide, lips agape. Perhaps I was slightly calmed by the knowledge that Henry likely wouldn't hurt me, but confusion thrived where fear didn't. I couldn't understand Henry's goal here. Was he just looking to scare her? To scare us? 

I had a feeling he didn't plan on killing Nancy. Why would he go through the effort of explaining all this simply to kill her afterward? There was certainly a message he was looking to send, but what it was, I had no idea. All he was doing was elaborating on a story I already knew, filling in pieces my mind didn't need help sorting through. What was his endgame here? 

"More than that, I found a great comfort in them." 

Behind me, at the other end of the hall, footsteps sounded. Nancy and I both jumped. Unease ate at the back of my mind. Suddenly Henry was behind us, storming down the hall and disappearing in the direction of the attic. We exchanged panicked looks but followed him nonetheless. 

He opened a door to steep, rickety stairs ascending into darkness. Nancy hesitated before following him into the attic, but I didn't, climbing up two steps at a time. Soon, her begrudging footsteps sounded behind me.

Once in the attic, we discovered Henry kneeling in front of that makeshift alter from the day before. It was his. He gripped a pencil, furiously scribbling in a leatherbound notebook. I recalled seeing it the other day, its once flawless leather binding cracked and decayed after so many years in disuse. 

"Like me, they are solitary creatures," Once more, Vecna's low, drawling voice filled the room. Nancy and I sheepishly came upon Henry, peering over his shoulder to see what he was drawing. "And deeply misunderstood."

My stomach sank at the sight of a spider-like creature, the same one from my vision the other day. Its long, protruding legs stretched over the pale-yellow paper Henry drew on. Its dark, gravelly skin contrasted the notebook, the candles, even Henry himself. 

"They are gods of our world," When Vecna's voice returned, younger Henry dropped the pencil he'd been scribbling with. His fingers had granite on them, but he didn't bother to wash it off as he picked up one of the many jars situated around the altar. Inside, there was a dead spider. "The most important of all predators... They immobilize and feed on the weak, bringing balance and order to an unstable ecosystem."

I was at a loss for words, truthfully. 

I closed my eyes for a moment and searched for him through the facade. I could feel his energy, but just like when I explored the Creel house, I didn't know exactly where it was. 

I wanted to bring Nancy and me out of there, but I didn't know where to start. 

"Then... one day, I realized..." Henry paused. The sound of a clock chiming filled the room. All at once, the candles sputtered, growing larger. "I, too, could make my own rules. I could restore balance to a broken world. A predator... but for good." 

The room shifted for one final time. Nancy's nails dug into the flesh of my forearm as we both fell into unknown depths. My breath abandoned me, as did my vision. Another ten seconds passed before my feet met solid ground. Once they had, an awful energy surrounded me, familiar and not all at once. 

My eyes snapped open. 

The sound of a tattoo gun was not at all foreign to me. Nor were the white, tiled walls surrounding us. My head pounded as I realized where Nancy and I stood-- the same room where I'd been locked down to a chair and tattooed all those years ago. This time, it was not me in the chair. Instead, it was Henry, who was bound by tough leather cuffs. He couldn't have been older than twelve. Beside him, Papa sat, tattoo gun in hand, hair a light brown color that he'd lost over the years. 

I peeled my eyes away from the scene and let them travel to the ceiling. The urge to panic was stronger than anything I'd felt. 

"But there were others who sought to keep me from my true potential," Vecna's voice was far away when it returned. I took deep, calming breaths, and tried to block out the sound of the tattoo gun. "Men of science. Men like Martin Brenner... and when he realized he could not control me, he tried to recreate me."

"He created a program..." 

On the chair, Henry flinched, tears in his eyes as he tried to back away from Brenner. I tried not to think about the tattoo on my wrist, what it was to be the one strapped down to that chair. 

"And soon, others were born." 

I stayed quiet.

"For a long time, I thought there weren't any others who were naturally gifted with abilities like mine," Vecna continued. A few feet ahead, Brenner wiped a paper towel over Henry's newly tattooed wrist. "But then... You came along, Sixteen."

At the sound of my name, the blood froze in my veins.

"For the first time in nearly two decades, I saw a way out... In you, and in another test subject. Number Eleven. You remember her, Sixteen, don't you?"

My eyes fell shut. Beside me, Nancy's eyes pierced into my skin. I could feel her judgment, her suspicion that I was somehow a willing part of this. 

Finally, Henry paused. A minute passed, and he didn't speak. Then two. 

Nancy and I stood in silence, watching Henry writhe in that chair, wanting to escape but knowing it wasn't possible. His eyes were shut tightly against the reality ahead of him, as though closing them and praying would save him from the twenty years to follow. Despite it all, despite his awfulness, he didn't deserve that. I wondered what Henry-- real Henry-- must've been thinking, watching us watch him. Did he feel like getting sick, too? Did his breath come out shallow and did his mind swarm with thoughts he wanted nothing more to forget? Did he know I felt the same?

The silence was broken by Brenner, who had finally completed the tattoo on Henry's wrist. "All done," He hummed, rubbing a damp cloth over his raw, reddened skin, "Not so bad, was it? See?"

Henry's eyes fell down to his lap. He blinked away tears.

"There's nothing to be afraid of," Brenner murmured in that awful, cloying tone he always spoke with. Full of unwarranted parental expectations and faux adoration. He stared down at Henry's newly tattooed wrist as though he were in a daze. "Is there, Nancy?"

Beside me, Nancy tensed. I gathered that Henry was through with storytelling, now, and ready to make his point. I took a careful step in front of her as Brenner's eyes shot toward the two of us. They were bright blue, just as Nancy's had been in the Upside Down, and they stared right through me. 

"Why don't you take a seat?" 

By the time Brenner had finished speaking, his voice changed. Vecna's low, almost automated drawl took its place, unnatural and wholly terrifying as it fell from Brenner's mouth. 

Nancy was frozen, terror clearly displayed on her face. I knew now wasn't the time to freeze up, and so I gripped her wrist and sprinted for the door. 

In the hallway, the familiar sound of air conditioning whispered all around. I was relieved, for a moment, thinking we were temporarily out of harm's way. That relief soon disappeared like a breath of air in cold weather, evaporating as my eyes fell to the ground. 

Bodies. Everywhere. 

The lab's bloodied walls were forever cemented in my memory, but never as vividly as I saw them now. September 8th came to life as I took in my surroundings. Blood on the walls, the roof, the ground. Lights ripped from the ceiling, their circuits and wires hanging like guts from their exposed insides. The bodies of my siblings littered the ground. I froze.

For a moment, the world went wholly silent. 

"Sixteen," Now, it was Nancy who was gripping at me, trying to pull me in whatever direction she thought would get us out of here.

I felt bile rise up my throat. I swallowed it back. My palms were shaking. 

We turned down one hallway, then two. I tried to gather my bearings, but every time I thought I was fine, my eyes would land on another person. Another guard I knew by name, another child I'd watch play with the toys in the Rainbow Room. I knew I never fully recovered from what had happened in the lab, but I didn't know it would be so debilitating to see it again. 

How had Eleven managed to escape this? Why had Henry sought her out? Was I plan A, or was she?

My mind raced. My insides curled in on themselves.

Nancy led us toward a dead end. My eyes flickered from the ground, taking in the sight of an all too familiar set of double doors, the word 'EXIT' spelled out in green just above. I recalled walks through the hallway, staring at the sign and wondering what if. Back that, the idea of leaving felt so impossible. Now here I stood, very much free, but somehow stuck all over again. 

What was different this time, however, was the collection of boards across the exit. Wooden planks spanned from one door to the other, effectively trapping Nancy and me in the hallway. When she sprinted ahead, desperate to get free, I paused. Deep, trembling breaths spilled through my lips. 

I turned. 

At the other end of the hallway, there he stood. 

Not Henry, not his bright blue eyes. The monster he presented himself as-- Vecna-- glared with emptied-out eyes. He looked past me, towards Nancy. I heard her grunting with effort, crying out in fear as she desperately tried to pry the planks off the door. 

"Nancy," He called, looking all the more terrifying in bright, bleach-white lighting, "It's not time for you to leave." The ceiling lights flashed vigorously overhead as he stepped towards us. His pace was slow, lingering. Confident that we couldn't get away, that there was nowhere to run. Where Nancy wanted to do just that, I knew Henry wouldn't give us the chance. We'd have to hurt him, just like he planned on doing to her. 

"Stay back," I shouted, my arm extending towards him, "I don't want to hurt you." The light over his head jerked, already partially falling from the ceiling. I gave him one moment to do as instructed. When he didn't, I brought its metal frame down onto his head. Almost carelessly, he gestured with his finger, and the frame came rocketing towards me, instead. My abilities buzzed in my veins relentlessly. For once, they didn't feel like an animal fighting against their leash. They were docile, eager to respond to my panicked commands. 

With a wave of my hand, the frame was redirected against the wall.

"It's clear you need to be taught a lesson," Vecna-- or Henry, I wasn't sure what to call him at that moment-- spat, addressing me. He kept walking closer, an indomitable force I felt I had no way of fighting against. "My instructions were simple, Sixteen. Stay out of this, or there will be consequences."

"You're attacking her right in front of me," I cried. I dipped my head low, desperately using my abilities to slow his gradual process of nearing me. "You didn't give me a choice!"

He was so angry. So, very angry, that a hint of doubt crept into the back of my mind. I told myself he wouldn't hurt me. Perhaps I was wrong. "I wasn't going to kill her," Henry seethed. Behind me, Nancy's efforts to pull the planks from the door grew more vigorous, "But now... now that you interfered... maybe I should."

"If you try to touch her," I murmured, eyes boring into his, "I will hurt you. I've killed you once before, Henry, and I'm not above doing it again."

"Is that what you did?" He asked, the vines composing his body stretching as his head tilted to the side, "No, Sixteen... You're not nearly powerful enough to kill me. Especially not with how weak you've been these last few weeks."

Before I could object, his head gestured sideways, and my back slammed against the tiled walls. 

I struggled viciously. Like something backed into a corner, I cried out, and jerked, and struggled, desperately trying to harvest the power in my veins. It seemed my luck had begun running out. At the end of the hall, Nancy looked toward me in panic. She briefly abandoned her efforts to pull away the plank, running to try and help.

Henry noticed. He laughed. "So afraid," He tutted, looking towards her, "There's no need to run to her rescue. I won't hurt her, Nancy. Go on, Sixteen, tell her."

My body was trembling. I made brief, scathing eye contact with Nancy and shook my head. With my body pressed firmly against the wall, and my powers doing nothing but causing the lights to flicker overhead, I could only shake my head and insist she worry about herself, not me.

Henry smiled when Nancy returned to her efforts to pull the planks from the door. By now, three had come free. As he persisted down the hall, he took a brief detour and faced me. He stepped closer and closer still until he blocked Nancy from view. I tried to jerk my head away, but his hand caught my chin. The feeling of Vecna's maimed, vined skin against mine was enough to bring tears of terror to my eyes.

I blinked them back. 

In Vecna's eyes, there was no warmth to be found. No trace of Henry.

"Leave her alone," I gasped, once more trying to pull my arms free from the wall. At this, Henry inclined his head ever so slightly, and the pressure holding me still grew by a tenfold. A low cry fell from my lips. "I'm sorry I broke our deal, okay? I couldn't just stand and watch you kill her. There's no need to hurt anyone, Henry. Be reasonable about this."

"Why should I?" His grip on my chin was practically bruising. Everywhere I looked, there he was. "Clearly you only respond to shows of force."

I called on my abilities once more, desperately scraping my insides for any amount of power I could muster. It wasn't much, but it was enough for me to step an inch away from the wall. All at once, I felt Henry's power fall away. Now, it was his physicality holding me in place, not his abilities. Somehow-- despite his towering over me-- it was a relief. 

I raised my arms to push him away. When they met his flesh, though, something else happened. Pictures flashed before my eyes.

Him and Eleven kneeled in front of a plinko board. Blue eyes peering towards cameras in the corner of the room. Whispered conversation, his voice trying to convince Eleven that he could trust her. We're alike, you and I. Her wide, brown eyes meeting his, desperate for an ally or anyone who could save her from the emptiness of that lab. The images came faster, after that. Henry's hand offering her a red chip, whispering that Brenner was trying to get her killed. Broken bodies in the hallway, Henry on the ground, a wound in his stomach. His eyes clenched shut, as he raised a trembling hand and hovered it over his wound. Moments passed, and the pain on his face dimmed ever so slightly. Just then, the Rainbow Room doors opened. In walked Eleven, doe eyes wide with fear. The next image was her body in the air, bones beginning to stretch, moments from snapping. Then there was Henry, pressed against the wall, struggling, but unable to free himself. 

Last, there was a gate.

My hands fell back to my side. My vision returned, and Henry was still in front of me, looking just as surprised as I did. Nancy still struggled to pull the planks from the door. No time had passed, but Henry's expression had changed entirely. 

I didn't understand what I saw. I didn't understand any of this. 

"Henry, what--."

"I won't hurt her, Sixteen... at least not today." His voice was low. Nancy didn't hear it. "I just want to have a conversation, that's all."

Before I could reply, he released my chin and stepped back. "For now, you need to leave."

I knew what was about to happen. I felt the ground beneath me beginning to shift. He was trying to push me out, make me leave Nancy defenseless. "Henry. Stop it. Stop it right now--."

When he interrupted me, his voice was quiet. Almost soft, compared to the anger that laced his tongue when last he spoke. "This isn't your battle, Sweetheart." His fingertips met my cheek. There, and then gone. "I'll visit you soon, rest assured."

Before I could object, he extended his hand toward me, and the world went dark. 

Chapter Text

I awoke the next morning with a pain in my head like never before.

My entire body ached in one way or the other. Someone's breath sounded all around, weak and trembling like a broken fan's hum. On and off. On and off. I listened to it for a short while, the only marker of time as it passed by. There was a space between each inhale and exhale, maybe five seconds. Probably more.

With each new breath, I became acutely more aware of my surroundings. Inhale; I was lying on a bed of some sort. Who's it was, I had no idea. Exhale; my head was pounding. I already knew that. I'd felt it the moment I came to, but with every new nerve that came to life, the pressure against my temples grew. Inhale; fuck, I was tired. Tired as in I could barely move my eyelids, as in the idea of turning onto my side seemed practically impossible. Exhale; the breathing had been mine this entire time.

I stopped keeping track of my breaths.

The events of yesterday flickered before my eyes. For a moment, I allowed myself to believe it had all been some awful dream. Steve and the others had never made the stupid decision of crossing through the gate. Dustin had never stuck that broom through the gate in Eddie's trailer. Henry had never attacked Nancy. I never had to—

Nancy.

My heart dropped into my stomach as my eyes snapped fully open. Shit, shit, shit. My memories came back to me quicker, after that. I recalled Henry walking up to me, that look of anger on his face. He had said something, some threat I didn't remember, then forced me out of Nancy's mind.

Everything after that was blank.

Without any regard for the state I was in, I pushed myself off of the mattress. The bedding was red. The sheets were red. I was still in Eddie's home. His room, specifically. The shirt I was wearing had once been white, but now it was stained red and brown. Partially from dirt, partially from blood. The latter collected around the collar, and I quickly gathered that the blood was mine. My nose must've bled and got all over me.

When I stood, my knees buckled beneath me. My breath caught as I very nearly fell to the ground. Loud, high-pitched ringing cut through my skull like a knife. I gritted my teeth and did what I could to steady myself against the wall. It didn't help much.

I stood there for another ten seconds. Maybe twenty. Maybe a minute, really. Whatever it was, it went on for far too long before the ringing eventually died down. I didn't move for a short while after that, afraid of what would happen if I did.

When thoughts of Henry and Nancy returned to me, I let those fears fall away.

I balled my fists and gathered my strength. After another few seconds, I felt I had enough strength to cross the room and reach the door. I did. By the time my palms pressed against the cool, steady wood, I was out of breath again. My entire body ached. With a swallow, I fought the urge to throw up.

My hands wrapped around the door knob. The wearied muscles in my arm twisted sideways, but the knob didn't move. I paused. Whatever had happened, it weakened me to the point of near immobility. After another few deep breaths, I tried again. And again.

It was locked.

The door was locked.

Whatever fragmented bits of composure I clung on to began slipping through my fingertips, and I didn't have the strength to grasp at them again. I pulled at the door again, harder. It didn't give.

My breath picked up again. I was stuck. They locked me in here. Why had they locked me in here?

I tried not to panic. I knocked on the door. Gently, at first, but then another few moments passed and no one answered. The room spun around me. I tried the doorknob again. It didn't work.

Tears welled up in my eyes. I felt on the verge of collapse.

Just when I inhaled, more than prepared to begin screaming for help, the doorknob twisted. My breath caught in my throat.

Eddie walked in. He held a glass in one hand, a pill in the other. He looked shaken. My stomach turned.

"How are you feeling?" Judging from the look on his face as his eyes swept over me, he already knew the answer to his question. He regarded me differently than he had before. There was a certain hesitance as he stepped closer, subtly trying to block the door in a way that was not subtle at all. At least not to me. It was hard to disguise a cage from someone who had spent so much of their life looking through the bars of one.

"Why was the door locked?"

He paused. Eddie's brown eyes widened, and he tensed. His response never came.

I took a deep breath. It shook, but my voice was steady enough as I repeated, "Why was the door locked?"

The fear was clear in my voice. I didn't bother to hide it, it wouldn't get me anywhere. His hesitance turned into worry as he took in the sight me. I must've looked a mess, hair tangled around my head, clothes stained with my own blood.

"Sixteen..." he almost sounded guilty.

"You can't just..." My thoughts ran too fast for my own good. "Why would you—."

"We didn't mean to scare you." He took a careful step closer, eyes flickering towards the door and then back to me. "It's just a safety precaution, that's all."

I bit back the angry words that bubbled up my throat. "A precaution?"

"Yeah."

"Why would you need..."

My thoughts came to a halt when it all came back to me. Nancy's face as Vecna spoke about me, the accusation in her eyes. Henry made it sound so bad at the time, as though we were somehow united under the same goal. As though we weren't competing directly against each other.

My voice was quiet. "She thinks I'm working with him, doesn't she?"

He glanced behind him, as though checking to see if anyone was watching us. When he discovered no one was there, he nodded. It was a subtle gesture, a single bow of his head followed by a meaningful moment of eye contact. I wasn't exactly sure what he meant by it.

A long moment of silence followed.

My eyes fell to the ground. An awful, familiar feeling turned in my stomach. That was that, I guess.

I came here hoping to help Eleven's friends. I suppose it was foolish of me to think this third attempt at a new life would stick. My life in the lab didn't. Nor did the one in Maine... now this life was gone, too. Where would I run off next? Maybe Georgia, or California, or New Hampshire-- because there was certainly no way I could stay here any longer.

Nancy and all the others were already a paranoid group as they were, and this... This was something I surely couldn't come back from. To think I'd somehow be able to convince them I had nothing to with Henry's plans, that I was just as confused as they were, was inconceivable. And the chance that they would even let me try and explain was just the same.

My eyes flickered to Eddie.

If I weren't so weakened at that moment, I knew I could get past him with little to no effort. After that, I'd have to deal with the others. I couldn't just kill them like I would kill the guards at the lab. Unfortunate circumstances aside, they were Eleven's friends. And doing that would make me no better than Henry. I glanced at the window in the corner of the room. If I held my breath, I might've been able to sneak through it, and then--

"Here," Eddie's voice interrupted my thoughts as he held the glass of water towards me. I eyed him, then his outstretched hand. I didn't make a move to take it. "Don't worry. It's not poisoned or anything. See?" He brought the glass to his lips and took a sip. One moment passed, then two. I still didn't move.

"Okay, or not." He placed the glass on the floor. As though suddenly remembering the pill grasped in his hand, he held it out to me, "If you don't want to drink, that's fine, but at least take this. You hit the ground hard... passed right out after what happened with Vecna and Nancy."

I stared at the unassuming white pill in his hand. Papa used to give me one like it, back before he put me on benzos. "I don't want any medicine."

"It's just Tylenol. It won't kill you."

"No," I said, a little too harshly. "I'm fine."

"You don't look fine," He muttered. "No offense."

I didn't reply. My eyes couldn't help looking past him, towards the narrowed hallway just a few feet away. If I could just gather my strength, I'd surely be able to sprint past him without much interference.

His head tilted sideways, intentionally disrupting my field of vision.

He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, I interrupted, "What happens now?" My eyes returned to his, "Are they going to keep me in here? Or... or can I just leave town? I won't come back again, I swear. I know how this whole situation looks."

"Leave town?" Eddie's face twisted up with confusion, "There's no reason to leave town. What are you--." As though suddenly understanding the gravity of the situation, what was running through my head, he took a step closer, "Relax, Sixteen. No one knows anything for sure."

He stopped coming closer when I tensed. With every second that passed, he looked more worried.

"You know there's still a chance for you to explain everything, right?" His eyes flickered to the door, then back to me, "I mean, everyone's kind of freaked out, but we don't know for sure what you're doing with Vecna. And you're definitely not really working with him... right?"

"Of course not," The words were barely out of his mouth when I spoke up, "But why would you listen to a word I say?"

"You haven't given me a reason not to trust you so far," He shrugged, "Besides, you don't seem evil."

I stared at him for a moment. My mouth opened, but no words came out.

"Come with me," He stepped aside, leaving the door unguarded, "We've been waiting for you to wake up. Nancy told me not to let you leave but... well, I don't think you're much of a threat at the moment." At least Nancy was okay.

With a cautious glance at him, I stood. My head pounded. I inhaled sharply through my teeth.

"Careful," He muttered, "Need help?"

I shakily rose to my feet, and the pain ebbed ever so slightly. I pressed my hand to the wall for support. "No. I'm fine."

"Alright," He gave me a disbelieving look, but didn't press the matter.

We proceeded down the hallway one agonizing step at a time. I hoped, eventually, I'd get over the pain in my head or at least used to it, but that never happened. By the time we reached Eddie's living room, my breaths were labored and my heart was hammering in my chest.

I heard the tail end of whatever conversation the group was having. They didn't notice Eddie and I, at first, still standing at the end of the hallway. I peered into the living room, which would've been far more welcoming in broad daylight if it weren't for the panicked looks on everyone's faces. 

I felt the shift in atmosphere like a tangible force-- it hadn't been very comfortable to begin with, but whatever they were discussing seemed to worsen the mood by the second.

"...Four kills... four gates," Lucas' voice filled my ears. I didn't need much context to know they were talking about Henry, and surely how the opening of gates connected to whatever conversation he'd had with Nancy. "End of the world."

"If that's true, he's only one kill away," Now it was Dustin speaking. His words were met with a charged, tenuous silence. 

Ahead of me, Eddie's head dropped. The group hadn't yet noticed him. Clearly, I was missing something, because we'd gone from a few murders to 'end of the world' in the time between falling unconscious and waking back up.

"Jesus Christ," Eddie muttered.

I fought back the urge to elbow him for drawing attention to us. A moment ago, if I wanted to run I still had the chance. But now that all the heads in the room had shot towards us, that was out of the question. 

I felt their eyes on me. Angry, confused, perhaps even afraid. I hated it. I hated this entire awful situation. It'd been a few days of knowing these people, but the sinking sensation in my gut made it clear that, by some miracle, I had grown attached. Stupid. I was so stupid. Of course, my stubborn heart didn't care to listen to my mind. I knew better than to like these people. 

Especially when Henry already had his eyes set on them. 

"Nancy said not to let her leave your room," Steve spoke up first. I should've been angry that he spoke to Eddie as though I weren't standing there, but then he looked at me and muttered, "No offense, Sixteen."

I stayed quiet. I didn't have anything to say. 

Instead, Eddie did the talking for me. "Look at her, man," He gestured towards me. The sickness on my face and the blood still caked on my shirt was the only argument he needed, "I don't think she's gonna be attacking anyone anytime soon."

"We don't know that. Maybe--."

"--It's fine, Steve," Nancy spoke up. She looked like hell, too. I gave her a quick once over, searching for wounds or broken bones, but there were none to be found. My shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. For once, Henry had kept his word. "Sit down, Sixteen. We have a lot to talk about."

I gave Eddie a slightly panicked look, but he just shook his head. He nodded towards a recliner situated in front of the chipped, wooden coffee table the rest of the group was already crowded around. 

I let my legs move before my mind could convince them otherwise. I made a concerted effort not to meet anyone's eyes as I sat down. The chair groaned beneath me, it's scraped-up leather creasing as it struggled to support my weight. The entire trailer seemed on the verge of falling apart. 

Another silence followed. On the sofa opposite me, Max shifted. Beside her sat Lucas and Nancy. Robin, Erica, and Steve stood beside them, eyes trained on me. It felt like being a science experiment all over again, their medical eyes pressed against me with a bizarre mix of apprehension and curiosity. 

"I know how this looks," The first words I spoke to them were quiet. Almost too quiet to hear. I tried to ignore the pounding in my head as I finally allowed my gaze to meet theirs. 

"Is it true?" Dustin spoke up. I hadn't noticed him until then, plopped down on the ground beside the coffee table, "Are you working with him?"

"No. Never." I met his eyes decisively, "I swear."

"Well, we can't take you at your word," Nancy spoke once more. I shifted in my chair and tried to ignore the urge to get defensive. If I were her, I wouldn't trust me either. "You understand, right?"

A short silence. "Yes."

"So explain it to us."

"What do you want to know?" I wanted to lead the conversation in the right direction, but I didn't even know where to begin. This was all so deeply rooted-- convoluted to the point that even I didn't fully understand how we'd reached the point we were at today. 

The group all exchanged looks. It seemed that whatever Vecna did with Nancy had taken precedence over my affiliation with him. They hadn't had time to think any of it through. That should've been a relief for me, but instead, it only made me more worried.

What had Henry said to her?

"How long have you known who Vecna is?" Nancy asked, pulling me away from my thoughts.

"I only found out... last night," I replied. That confrontation with Henry in his old home felt like months ago, but it had really only been a few hours. "When I left Lucas' I walked around for a little, and I ended up at the Creel house."

"'Ended up?'" Steve repeated, suspicion shining in his eyes.

A sigh escaped from my lips. I suppose there wasn't any point in hiding anything from them, anymore. I was already involved, and if I had any chance at clearing my name, total honesty would be the only way to truly wipe the board clean. 

"I've been having vision for a few weeks," I muttered, sitting back in my chair. "They started when I was with Eleven in Nevada. I thought it was just a one-off thing, but... it kept happening. Over and over."

"That doesn't explain why you went to the Creel's," Nancy said. Her tone was surprisingly soft, given the circumstances. 

"In these visions, I saw Vecna and the Creel House... Hawkins, too." I met her eyes, "I didn't know what they were before, but I saw gates as well. The visions started to manifest as dreams, too, but I didn't understand why. Then, Dustin mentioned the Creel house, and... I felt like I was being called there." I paused for a moment, trying to keep up with my own thoughts, "I know how it sounds--."

"--Why would Vecna call out to you?"

I didn't reply for a moment. Somehow, despite everything, an incredulous sort of smile found its way onto my face. If only they knew. 

"Why are you smiling?" Steve questioned, eyes narrowed. He nudged Dustin with his foot, "Why's she smiling?"

"I don't know, man," Dustin shushed him, "Just listen."

"I'm sorry," I muttered, wiping the smile from my face, "I'm sorry, this whole thing is just so fucked, it's kind of ridiculous."

"He was in the lab with you." Nancy tried to reel the conversation back in. The accusation in her voice made my stomach turn, "One. Before he became... whatever he is. Is that why he called out to you? Because you guys are friends?"

"We're not friends," My tone was harsh. I didn't mean for it to be, but it was. "Maybe we were, in the lab, but now... No. We're not friends."

"Then explain it me," She sat forward in her chair, "Why would Vecna call out to you if he didn't think you were friends? He must've thought you could help him, somehow, otherwise he wouldn't have tried."

"The Mind Flayer targeted El because of her powers," Max finally spoke up, "Maybe Vecna's the same way. Maybe he was trying to lure her in to kill her." I was surprised to hear Max speaking out in my support. She was the first not to trust me the day we met, and yet somehow here she was, defending me.

"Vecna's not like the Mind Flayer," I said, eyes flickering between her and Nancy. "He's smarter, and stronger, and his motives are personal... But he wasn't trying to kill me when he called to that house."

"Then what was he trying to do?" Steve's attempts to be intimidating were growing less and less effective if they even were in the first place. He had settled down on the floor beside Dustin, and didn't look anywhere near threatening as he straightened his back and asked, "If he's not your friend, and he doesn't want you dead, and you're 'not' working with him then... what, does he have a thing for you?"

"I think you cracked the case, Steve," Dustin muttered sarcastically. 

Erica was quick to join in, "I didn't realize Einstein was in the room with us."

"Quiet, guys," Nancy shot the three of them a look, and they fell silent, "Let her talk."

I didn't speak for a moment. I didn't want to tell the story of Henry and I. There were so many chapters I tried to block out of my mind, so many ink stains that looked more like blood as I thought of them now. I'd have to get over it if I ever wanted to make things right with them, but still... I struggled to get out of my own way. 

"He said he wanted to see me," I looked at my hands, fumbling together and apart in my lap. "To... 'mend' things. I don't think the second part was true though."

"I'm confused," Now, Lucas spoke up. For the first time this entire conversation, his eyes shot to me, "So, you're not friends, and you're not working together, but he wants to 'mend' things with you. That doesn't make sense."

"The last time we spoke, we got in a fight," My nails dug into my palms. I figured it was pointless, telling them about the reason behind our latest fight-- what we'd overheard between Beau and Brenner, Henry's twisted attempts to justify what he'd done. They didn't need to know about that. It wasn't what got us here today. What Henry had done in the lab, however... that was the catalyst of all that had happened, and so I did what I could to prepare myself to tell them about it. "The kind of fight that you can't really come back from. We're not friends or accomplices, but back in the lab, we were... something like that."

The words hung in the air for a moment. 

"So I was right," Steve muttered, "He does want to bone you. Hear that, Dustin?"

"Shut up, please," Nancy gave him a pointed look. "Go on, Sixteen."

I had never been too keen to talk about Henry. Even with Beau-- before everything had gone wrong-- I danced around certain details and switched up others to make the story easier to understand. How does one express Henry's complexity in words? How would I encapsulate all those months of stolen looks, whispered words of encouragement, and tenuous friendship in a way that was easy to swallow? There was so much to say, and I didn't know where to start.

"I was taken to the lab when I was eighteen," I started. Before each sentence, I paused, sifting through my mind to find the right words, "When I got there, I didn't really conform to what Brenner wanted me to do, and I got punished for it. He... arranged for me to have a seizure. And I did. And then I lost all my memories of my life before the lab."

For a moment, I waited for Steve or Dustin to say something stupid and lighten the mood when it was needed most. A few more seconds passed. They never did.

"Henry was there to pick up the pieces," I said, gaze going back down to my hands. I couldn't sit still with all their eyes on me. "After a few weeks, my abilities were still weak, so Brenner had Henry train me in private--."

"Why would he have another one of the subjects train you?" Dustin questioned from the floor, "Isn't that like... a conflict of interest? Since One is evil?"

"It's not that simple," I muttered, letting my eyes leave my palms long enough to look at him. "And he wasn't a test subject, at the time. Brenner had his abilities repressed with a little chip called Soteria, and then stuck him in an orderly suit and made him oversee the newer subjects' training." 

"Damn," Eddie exclaimed behind me.

"I warned you. This entire thing is fucked," I said. Fucked was a nice way to put it, honestly. "So Henry started training me. And-- I know it might be hard to believe-- but he was... kind. Really, really kind. I probably wouldn't have made it out of there if it weren't for him." I wouldn't have had to lose Six if it weren't for him, either.

"I'm calling bullshit," Steve crossed his arms, "No way Vecna was a nice guy. I mean, have you seen him?"

"He didn't look like... that... in the lab," I replied, Henry's face flashing in my mind. I figured it would be bad form to tell them how pretty he had been. "Besides, he was manipulating me. I was naive, and stupid, and desperate for someone to trust in the lab. And he... did everything right, at first. He looked out for me, and he was patient, and I fell for it."

I tried to leave out the fact that I fell for him as well, but somehow Nancy figured that out herself, "You loved him," She said. A fact, not a question.

I looked at her. Eyes blue, like his. "Yes."

No one said anything for a little while. They were waiting for the catch. How I'd gone from loving him to... whatever I felt for him now. 

"What happened?" Nancy spoke up once more. There wasn't accusation in her eyes, anymore. The look she gave me was one of pity. It didn't make me feel any better.

"He wasn't who I thought he was," I said quietly.

That wasn't entirely true, though. Even then, I knew I had only scratched the surface of all that was him. If only I'd acted when I had the chance, maybe we wouldn't be here.

"One night, we were together in my room. I'd been having... doubts about him. I wanted to understand who he actually was, and so when he was asleep, I went through his mind," I made a point to leave out the part where I drugged him. "I found out who he was. Number One, someone with abilities like mine, not just another orderly... and we fought about it."

"He was really smart though. Smarter than I was, and he explained it all away. Maybe if I didn't love him so much I wouldn't have fallen for his excuses." I felt a familiar guilt in my stomach. I'd lived with it for years now, so deeply rooted in my mind that to pull it out would be impossible. No amount of brain surgery and reassuring words would ever change the fact that I should've known, and I should've been strong enough to do something about it.

"He said we were gonna escape together. Go off somewhere far away and live out the rest of our lives... I pulled out that chip in his neck. After that, there wasn't much I could do."

I couldn't stand everyone's silence. If I were them, I wouldn't have any words either, but that didn't make their quiet, respectful speechlessness any easier to sit in. 

I spat out the last words quickly. In one breath, before I could choke on them. "He killed everyone. The nurses, the guards, the kids." I couldn't stand to meet any of their eyes. "My best friend, too. I tried to fight him. I really, really did. And I thought I killed him in the end. I left him on the ground, bleeding out."

A shaky breath passed my lips. "But he didn't die that day."

I let my silence speak for itself. I was done telling the story, and they likely wouldn't hear it from me ever again. We all sat in the aftermath for a short while. I could practically feel all the questions bracing against their teeth, but they did what they could to hold them back.

Nancy, though, ever the voice of reason, let one of her questions slip, "After all that... he still tried to call out to you again?" 

"Yes." 

I sat up straight in my chair, letting my hands fall to my sides. It was time I got to the point of this entire thing. "So, no. I'm not working with him. I wouldn't."

Steve thought now was an appropriate time to speak. "I was right. That guy's a tool."

A small smile found its way to my face, "That's the polite way of putting it."

"Steve, are you capable of adding anything constructive to a conversation," Dustin shot him a glare. 

"I'm being supportive, man, can you stop--."

"--We have to go back there," Nancy stood from her place on the couch and addressed the entire room. We all waited for her to go on, not fully understanding what she meant, "Back to the upside down."

The gloomy atmosphere in the room immediately shifted. All at once, sounds of passionate disagreement sounded all around the room. Now Steve was standing, too. "Whoa, no, no, no, no, no. What?"

"Nope," Eddie sounded offended at the suggestion, "No way."

"Let's think this through, okay?" Steve spoke to her in what I knew was a fruitless attempt at changing her mind. 

"What is there to think through? You heard what Sixteen said. We can’t just let him go around murdering people after all he’s done,” Nancy exclaimed, eyes trained on Steve’s. I stayed quiet through this whole thing, trading a second of panicked eye contact with Max and gauging everyone else's reaction. I immediately knew Nancy was batshit crazy, and so did everyone else. 

"We barely made it out of there in one piece," Steve cried.

Nancy looked around for help. No one said anything. "Yeah, because we weren't prepared... but this time, we will be. We'll get weapons and protection. We'll go through the gate." More remarks born from disbelief filled the room, but she spoke over them. "We'll find his lair, and we'll kill him."

My heart stopped for a moment. I hoped it didn't show on my face.

"Or he'll kill us!" Steve cried. The more likely outcome, all things considered. "The only reason you survived in the first place is because he wanted you to. He's not scared of us!"

"And for good reason!" Robin, who had been concerningly quiet this whole time finally spoke out. "We were wrong about Vecna-- Henry... One. Sorry, what are we calling him now?"

"One," Dustin said.

Erica spoke simultaneously, "Vecna."

"One," Lucas countered.

"Henry," Nancy and I said at the same time. 

"Right," Robin sighed defeatedly, "We've learned something new about Vecna-slash-Henry-slash-One. He's a number like Eleven and Sixteen, only a sick, evil, male, child-murdering version of her with really bad skin." She was clearly getting carried away, her voice high with panic. She did what she could to reel herself back in, "My-- my point is, he's super powerful. He could turn any of us inside out with a snap of his fingers. It's not a fair fight!"

Again, everyone exploded in a fit of overlapping arguments that really got them nowhere. I listened, for a little while, my mind whirring. I knew Henry. I knew when he had his mind set on something, he got it. And I also knew these people-- these kids-- with nothing more than determination and half-cocked plans would no doubt die at his hands if they tried anything. Perhaps I should've been worried that they'd hurt him, but I knew better than to underestimate Henry. 

"She's right," I spoke, looking around the room. Somehow, in the chaos, my words found traction and their shouting ceased. "You're going to get yourselves killed if you try to fight him." 

"He's not invincible," Nancy started.

I was quick to cut her off, "Neither are you. And against him, he's far closer to invincible than any of us will ever be."

"If the odds are against us, then we don't have to fight fair, right?" Dustin spoke up beside me. Our eyes shot to him, "Robbin's right. He's like Eleven and Sixteen... But that gives us an upper hand. We know Eleven's strengths, but also her weaknesses."

"Weaknesses?" Erica repeated incredulously. I almost thanked her for being able to see reason. 

"When El remote travels, she goes into this sort of trance-like state... I bet the same is true of Vecna." 

I shifted nervously in my seat.

"That would explain what he was doing in the attic," Lucas exclaimed.

"Exactly," Dustin replied, almost excited to have someone to branch off of, "When he attacks his next victim, I'll bet you he's back in that attic, physical body defenseless."

"Defenseless, yeah?" Steve crossed his arms, "What about his army of bats?"

"Right." Dustin muttered, slightly less perky, "We'll have to find a way past them... Distract them, somehow."

"Good idea, Dustin," I couldn't help the sarcasm that slipped into my tone, "Maybe you could... play them some Kate Bush. Or tell a really interesting story while the rest of us go and murder the man who has quite literally killed children with the snap of his finger."

He gave me a look.

"What? Those options are about just as realistic as this entire plan is."

"Okay, okay, well let's just forget about the bats for now. We'll deal with that later." Dustin, ever the optimist continued. I groaned in disbelief. "Once they're gone, he doesn't stand a chance! It'll be like slaying sleeping Dracula in his coffin."

I hated hearing them talk about Henry like this. I hated being worried for them and being worried for him at the same time, and not being able to say anything because that would only make me look guilty. 

I could almost cry at the stupidity. 

"Okay, that all sounds good in theory," Robin began. For a moment, I thought she would be able to talk some sense into them, "but there is no pattern to Vecna's killings. I mean, at least not one that I can decipher. We don't know when he's going to attack next. We don't even know who--."

"--Yes we do." At the sound of Max's voice, my stomach dropped. Absolutely not.

"I can still feel him," She continued, eyes on the floor, "I'm still... marked. Cursed. I ditch Kate Bush, I draw his focus back to me."

"Funny," I said, "No."

"Max, you can't." Lucas was, thankfully, in the same boat as me. "He'll kill you."

The bluntness of his words only served to make my stomach sink further. This entire situation was beginning to feel so much like those final few days in the lab. 

"I survived before..." She said softly, "I can survive again."

My panic got the better of me. I stood. "Please, would you guys just think about this for a second?!" I looked between all of them emphatically, "Henry can see inside our heads. He-- he is stronger and smarter than all of us combined. Going after him is suicide." 

I turned to Max, desperately addressing her, "You've been through enough as it is. Don't risk your life for something you can't even be sure is going to work."

"I have to try, Sixteen," She spoke so quietly I almost didn't hear her, "Besides, I just need to keep him busy long enough so that you guys can get into that attic. Then you can... chop his head off, stab him in the heart, blow his head off with some explosive Dustin cooks up. 

I ran a hand through my hair, in a state of disbelief, anger, and worst of all fear.

"I honestly really don't care how you put this asshole in his grave. Just... whatever it is..."

The air in the room was charged and heavy, weighing on our already weakened shoulders. A minute more of this and we would surely cave beneath it.

"... Try not to miss."

Chapter Text

I sat on the steps outside Eddie's trailer.

A few feet away was a small, metallic trash can. I could hear flies buzzing around inside it, feasting on food that had been left to rot after that girl's death. It didn't bother me much. Behind me, I could hear the others talking inside. Their voices sounded much like the buzzing of the flies, frenzied and incessant. There was probably a metaphor to be found there, but I didn't care to search for it.

I liked the burn of cigarette smoke entering my lungs. I liked how rotten it felt to breathe out, to let it free. I tapped the ashes against the metal railing and watched them scatter in the lazy wind. Its cool fingers combed through my hair, carrying it across my face. I didn't bother to pin it back.

I considered leaving.

Ahead of me was a red pickup truck parked in someone else's driveway. The trailer park had been almost entirely abandoned. Most didn't want to live near a murder sight. Most didn't know how lucky they were to have to option to simply pack a bag and leave.

It wouldn't take much effort to steal that car. My headache had lessened a little, and my abilities had surely gotten some time to replenish themselves.

The heel of my shoe tapped against the steps. I listened to their dull thud, over and over, heart thudding in tandem.

It would be cowardly to leave now. I knew that, but I didn't quite mind the idea of being a coward. Cowards made it out alive, cowards didn't pretend to be something they weren't.

I toyed with the idea.

Of course, there was an alternative to leaving. I could stay and watch them all die. I wonder who Henry would kill first? Probably Max or Nancy. The others would most definitely follow. Or maybe, by some miracle, Henry would be the one to go. And I'd be complicit, and I'd regret it for the rest of my life. History had a funny way of repeating itself. One way or the other, I'd lose. No matter what I did, someone was being betrayed.

I hated myself for ending up in this position all over again. Everything I touched, I seemed to scorch. Maybe it was the other way around.

Now I could stay here, burning, or I could finish the cigarette clasped in my hands and get into that car. I'd be gone before anyone even noticed, and then the only penance I'd need to pay would be a prayer to an empty sky.

That was the safest option.

Nancy told me what Vecna had shown her. Visions of gates cutting through downtown, fire curling into the sky. He'd used Eleven in the lab, tricked her into some semblance of allyship when she was most vulnerable. It seemed even a nine-year-old wasn't out of his line of fire-- he manipulated her, too. I wondered which one of us was plan A.

I rose from my feet and glanced behind me, as though I expected someone to be staring through the window, reading my thoughts and knowing what I planned to do. But there wasn't anyone. The curtains were still drawn. The flies still buzzed.

I took a deep, steady drag from my cigarette. I held my breath, the smoke curling around in my lungs, and let it sit there as I crossed the street. Every few steps I turned, expecting-- perhaps even hoping-- to find someone standing on the front porch, prepared to call me back. No one was there.

One of Eddie's shirts had replaced my blood-stained one. I felt cleaner, now, than I had for a few days. I tried not to think about the people behind me, who had trusted me enough to let me stay, to share the clothes that once draped across their backs.

The pickup truck was unlocked. It was odd, considering the part of town we were in, but it spared me the effort of using my abilities so I was grateful nonetheless. It seemed like the universe wanted me to leave.

When I collapsed into the driver's seat, there was a shift in the air around me. I told myself it wasn't what I thought it was and ran my hands along the cool, cool leather that wrapped the steering wheel in brown. The rear view window was cracked. There were a few dents on the blood-red hood.

The truck would drive, though, and that's all that truly mattered.

"Running again?"

I didn't turn to face Henry, who spoke from the passenger seat. I had hoped I was wrong about the change in atmosphere, but I probably should've known to trust my gut.

My hands tightened around the steering wheel. I watched my knuckles turn white and took a deep, steadying breath. My voice was devoid of emotion when I muttered, "Go away, Henry."

"You know I won't," He said simply, settling against his faux leather seat.

I felt guilty being so close to him, knowing what Nancy and the others planned to do. He deserved all of it, and I knew that, but it didn't make me feel any better. I tried to push those thoughts from my mind. I knew how easy it was for him to see into my head.

He took my silence as an opening for him to continue. "You know, with the state you're in, I can't imagine how to plan on stealing a car."

My teeth gritted together. I wondered if he could hear it. "It's not difficult, Henry. You get in the car, you turn on the engine, and then you drive. Even you could figure it out."

"Oh, I'm sure I could," He tilted his head towards me and grinned. I saw that awful smile in my peripheral vision, but I didn't give in to the urge to face him. My eyes remained glued ahead. "You, however... I don't think your abilities have had time to replenish after our last meeting. Without them, you may have a hard time turning on the engine with no keys."

"Shut up."

"Try it, then. Prove me wrong."

I took a breath.

And then I turned, curled my fingers around the door handle, and got out of the car. It was too stifling, being so close to him. There wasn't enough air in that car for both of us.

I hoped he would take the hint to just leave, but then I heard the door slamming on his side of the car, and footsteps trailing after me. His voice called out to me from a few yards away, "You're upset about the other day."

I couldn't help the bitter laugh that fell from my throat as I made a beeline for Eddie's trailer. My pace picked up when I called back, "Yeah, Henry, I'm upset."

I was only a few feet from the trailer when I felt his hand wrapping around my forearm. He turned me around, grip firm enough to keep me in place but not enough to hurt me. I yanked my arm free and finally met his eyes.

"Talk to me," He said. It almost sounded like a plea.

"What could I possibly have to say to you?"

A few dozen things popped into my mind as the words left my throat. If we stood there all day, I still wouldn't be able to say all I wanted to. I could shout at him about threatening Nancy, but then he'd just say that he warned me. I could curse him out for grabbing me, but it still wouldn't change anything. I was so angry and hurt about so many different things that I didn't even know where to start.

"Don't you want to yell at me?" He asked, "Or hit me? Come on, Sixteen, I know you."

I tried to ignore the desperation in his voice, as though violence from me was a gift and not just that; violence.

"Now that I think about it, there is one thing I want."

His chest swelled with breath, "Yes?"

"I want to know if you were ever going to tell me how you manipulated Eleven in the lab, too." I took a step away from him, remembering all those visions Nancy had told me about. "Nancy told me what you said to her... what you showed her. I wasn't the only escape route you had mapped out, was I? I'm dying to know if I was plan A or plan B."

His face dropped, as though he hadn't expected me to know what I now did. "Sixteen--."

"--You know, I hate to give that balding fuck any credit, but Brenner was right," I couldn't help replaying all those times Brenner had told me to avoid Henry at all costs during my time in Project Nina. "He told me not to reach out to you. Not to get involved again. But I truly let myself think there was a modicum of you that had been real back then, and not just another manipulation tactic. I mean, I really believed it."

"Please just--."

"No, Henry. I think I'm finally seeing it clearly now," I brushed my hair out of my face and alternated my weight between my feet. I couldn't stand still. I felt like I was on the verge of exploding, "I was never special. I was just convenient, and stupid, and desperate and you manipulated me just like you manipulated everyone else. You never loved me."

The more I spoke, the more worked up I got. I was tired of feeling the way I did. "When I didn't work out, you just went straight to the next person. Fuck."

I tried to leave again. Instead of grabbing me, Henry quickly followed after, putting himself between me and the trailer. He held his hands up, desperately trying to block me from going any further. "She-- Please, Sixteen, she was a means to an end. She was powerful and I thought we could help each other. But then you came and... You were the one who was supposed to leave with me. She was a failsafe. It's you who I wanted by my side, not her."

"And that's supposed to make me feel better?" I scoffed in disbelief, "She was nine years old, Henry. Nine! And you tricked her into fueling your bullshit god-complex, just like you tricked me. How can you expect me to trust a word coming out of your mouth?"

"It's the truth, Sixteen."

"That's what you always say."

He opened his mouth. Once, twice, but no words ever came out. I think it was better that way, better that he didn't try to lie his way out of this for the millionth time. Instead of speaking, he moved closer, blue eyes boring into mine. My skin crawled.

I felt his breath fanning down my face. Upset and desperate, with no idea how to fix things. I wondered if he knew there was no point in trying.

Finally, he opened his mouth to speak.

I didn't let him. "Do you even remember what it felt like back then?"

He tensed.

I clung on to those five, perfect months when this all began. The whole point of him and I seemed to have gotten so muddied. Lost in translation with no hope of ever finding it again. I loved him once. Maybe I still did. But the past was just that; the past, and here we stood, freezing time and hoping an old foundation would be strong enough to hold us. It had been, for a while, but when I looked into those awful lazuli eyes, I could see it cracking. We wouldn't last much longer like this.

"Of course, I remember," His words were soft. Audible only for a moment, before the wind carried them away.

I didn't reply for a moment. The breeze ruffled his hair. I felt his presence and his absence like a knife. I couldn't help feeling for him more than was good for me.

My voice cracked a little, "You put me in an awful situation yesterday. Do you know that?"

He nodded. Hesitantly.

"I want you to stop trying to call out to me, Henry."

He flinched at the words, like he knew they were coming and the knowledge still wasn't enough to prepare him. "Don't do this, Sixteen."

I couldn't stand to see the look on his face. My hands wrapped around his, and I tried not to think about how perfectly they fell into place, and how awful it was that such a thought could cross my mind after all he'd done. "This doesn't feel good anymore. We can't just talk about the past forever. Whenever..." His hand squeezed mine. My words quieted for a moment. "Whenever we're together it just hurts both of us. We don't have to do this to ourselves. We can let go."

His lip trembled. Once, and that was all. He held himself together nicely. "Do you want to let go?"

"Of course not," I whispered, releasing his hand to press my fingertips against his cheek. I wasn't sure if I believed the words that had just spilled past my lips. I knew it was for the better. "But what other choice do we have? I don't think I'll ever be able to forgive you for what you did... You're never going to change, Henry."

For a moment, he almost looked like he was going to deny it. His words always had a soothing affect during times such as these. Like cool air blowing over a stinging wound, sometimes he made me forget that he was the one who broke skin in the first place.

"Don't make this worse by lying to me and saying you will."

"I wasn't going to deny it," He said. His back straightened once more. I marveled at how his spine could still hold him up after all these years. "I have no shame in admitting who I am. You're right. I won't change."

My gaze hardened. "So why are you still here?"

A frown captured his lips. His expression wasn't particularly sad; perplexed, rather. And a little disturbed. "I don't know."

I crossed my arms. "You don't know?"

"No."

"That's a first."

He shot me a look, "do you have any idea how intolerable you are?"

"Intolerable? Me?" I scoffed, "look in a fucking mirror, Henry. I'm not the one dragging this whole thing out!"

He turned away from me and put his head in his hands as though trying to tune me out. His dress shirt— which surely wasn't still that white after all these years; he must've been manipulating his appearance somehow— stretched across the muscles on his back. I could see his spine poking through, sharp and narrow like a knife. It pointed at me, almost like a threat.

"Don't turn away from me," I called annoyedly. 

His chest heaved as he took in deep breaths. His response didn't come.

"Henry!—"

"Do you think I want to drag this out?!" His words were loud. Loud enough to make me flinch when he suddenly turned around and hurled them at me. "I have been trying to get rid of you for years, Sixteen!"

He stood with his hands grasped firmly behind his back. Judging from the way his body tensed, he was trying to restrain himself. "After the lab, I fought against every urge I had to call you. I tried to forget the sound of your voice, to pull myself together and exist without being constantly reminded of you. And it was working, Sixteen. I stopped visiting your dreams, I stopped going into your mind to see how you were doing. And then you just— you called out to me that day in Project Nina, and you ruined it. All that progress!"

"So this is my fault?"

"No, Sixteen, that's the problem!" He stormed up to me, devouring the space between us one step at a time, "None of this is your fault. And that makes this entire matter so much worse. Do you know how much easier this would be if you weren't so good all the time?" He grasped my forearms in desperate hands, "I drag this out because no matter how hard I try, I can't... I just—."

He went quiet after that. I gave him time to finish his thought. He never did.

"I'm sorry." The apology spilled past my lips before I could stop it. I wasn't sorry, nor did I have a reason to be, but the words were spoken and there was no taking them back.

"You have no reason to be sorry," he sighed in aggravation and let his hands fall back to his side. "Sometimes I have to wonder if you're doing this all on purpose... To get back at me, perhaps."

His fingertips pressed against my waist. It was nothing but a small pressure, but it felt like the weight of the entire world.

"I suppose I deserve it, really."

I stood there for a moment. Watching him. More than anything, I wanted to be selfish. I wanted to risk everything and stand there with him until the sun disappeared and the moon rose into the sky. How could I not? After that declaration, how could any person not? I wanted him to tell me pretty lies and run his fingers over my skin-- but then... I couldn't be selfish anymore. Not when I had the lives of so many people hanging in the balance. There was no more postponing it or spitting in the face of the inevitable. If he wasn't going to leave on his own, then I would have to make him leave. Even if that was at the cost of my own sanity.

I took a deep breath. After one more lingering, mournful look, I closed my eyes. The headache still raging in my skull made it difficult to focus, but not impossible. I leaned into the throbbing pain, trying to think about that and not the blue of Henry's eyes and the warmth of his fingers still pressed against my waist. 

There was a connection forcing us together, a link that allowed him to come and go as he pleased. But if I focused hard enough-- if I finally did what I should have done all those weeks ago-- I could sever it. 

The moment he realized what I was trying to do, his hand left my waist. I felt his change in disposition. "Sixteen... Sixteen, what are you doing?"

I stayed quiet, heart rate picking up. Just focus.

"Stop it," His voice sounded far away, but even then, I could still hear the rawness with which he begged, "Please, don't do this. Just talk to me. Please--."

"You have to go, Henry."

I felt his powers bracing against mine. They clawed, far stronger than I ever was. I furrowed my eyebrows and pressed harder, gathering all of what little strength I had remaining. 

"You can't push me away," His voice had begun cracking-- both from emotion and the slowly breaking connection between the two of us. When I opened my eyes, his form was beginning to flicker in and out of view. "Please--."

I didn't reply. Instead, I thought of every awful thing he'd done. I thought of the lies he told me, the sweetness he whispered. He'd constructed a web all around me for years upon years, slowly restricting my limbs with every word and stolen glance. I hadn't even realized I was stuck until that day in the lab. And every day since, I had sat there, trapped, fighting the very things that had made me love him in the first place all while he stood and watched.

"Please don't push me away," He begged, reaching for me once more. His hand didn't meet my skin, though. It simply passed right through me as though I were a ghost-- as though he were. "Please... I love you."

My heart dropped into my stomach. Another web tied around my body.

But just like all the others, I allowed my abilities to act like a knife, and I cut it away.

There was a dramatic swelling of his voice, rising into a yell, begging for me. But just when I thought it would shatter my eardrums, it was gone. My abilities cresendoed and my focus finally gave way. Two moments passed, and the rush of power-driven catharsis ebbed away. My headache returned. Exhaustion hit me all at once.

I opened my eyes, and Henry was gone. 

I had never left the porch steps.

Just like when I visited the Creel house, he'd been in my head the whole time.

My breath was trembling. The cigarette-- which I thought I'd discarded before stepping into the truck, at least in my head-- was beginning to burn my fingers. I dropped it hurriedly and stamped it out. That red car was still parked across the way. 

I didn't realize there were tears on my face until I tasted one of them. An unsteady hand wiped them away. I had no time to think before the door behind me was pushed open. A low curse left my lips. The last thing I wanted was to pretend with the others right now. It was exhausting. 

But fate had a way of being against me, so I stood and watched Steve, Robin, Nancy, Dustin, Erica, and Max file out. Lucas trailed a few steps behind, eyes trained on the back of Max's head. None of them explained what was going on, though Dustin did usher me to follow them as he walked by. 

Eddie was the last to leave the house. He scanned the surrounding neighborhood with those wide, brown eyes. In his hands, he grasped a mask of sorts. He pulled it over his head before eventually exiting the house. 

"Why are you wearing a Michael Myers mask?" I asked, a small frown painted across my face. 

"I need it." He muttered. I gave him a blank stare. "What? I'm on the run. I can't just go around looking like me."

"Because a serial killer mask in the middle of March is so much more inconspicuous," I muttered.

"You have any better ideas?"

"Not really," I shrugged.

"Me neither. Now, come on. We're leaving."

"What?"

"Leaving. Let's go," Before I could ask him any further questions, he trudged ahead. The others were waiting for him and I at the end of the driveway, sparing nervous glances at the nearly abandoned trailer park around us. Nearly being the key word, there were still three or four campers parked a few hundred yards away. The people occupying them couldn't see us from where we stood, but if they got up and walked around, they could've. 

I lingered at the door for a moment, before running up to follow Eddie in the others. In a few moments, I was back by his side, armed with a dozen more questions.

"Where are we going?"

I could only see his eyes through little slits in his otherwise white mask. "The War Zone."

My response didn't come for a moment. "Is this like another DND thing, or..?"

"No, it's like a hardware store for angry hicks," He replied. We were making our way closer to the three occupied campers. For what reason, I had no idea. "They've got everything you need for, uh... killing things, basically."

"How American," I said, stopping abruptly when Eddie stuck his hand out. Before I could demand to know what was happening, he shushed me and hurriedly pressed himself against a tan colored camper. I didn't know why until I saw black shoes shuffling around on the other side. Whoever it was, they would've been able to see him. 

I pieced it all together when I saw Eddie sizing up the other two vehicles. They were all moderately large, but the other two appeared to be locked... They were planning on stealing one, weren't they? 

After that, we'd go to that store and get weapons, and then... that was that. Their plan-- which I still didn't know much about-- would begin. How much more time did I have with them?

"You're all really doing this?" I asked Eddie as he slowly edged away from the van, "Fighting him?"

"Yeah," He muttered. The lighthearted look on his face began to fade. "Yeah. I think so. Is there really another option?"

My composure wavered. "I guess not."

Noticing my change in expression, he gave me a small shove as we continued walking. "Come on, it's not the end of world. We've made it this far, right?"

I smiled. It was not at all convincing. "That's right."

With that, Eddie reached the unlocked door of the tan camper and rushed inside. The others quickly followed after him, one keeping guard while the other did what they good to stay quiet and not draw attention from the owners. I could hear them, having conversation on the other side and drinking a few beers.

I lingered for a few moments longer, sparing a glance back at Eddie's trailer. 

Time was beginning to tick out. I wished we could go back. 

~

The War Zone was much like I imagined it would be.

The first thing I noticed when those sliding doors opened, thrusting me into a world of body odor and ostentatious masculinity, was the smell of wood pallets coming from somewhere in the back of the store. The place itself was packed with every kind of beer-drinking, red-blooded Southerner one could imagine. It was essentially a microcosm of the Bible Belt, overrun with religious messaging and patriotic paraphernalia plastered all over the walls.

The wheels on one of the customer's shopping carts groaned loudly, splitting through the air and drawing a few eyes as the six of us stepped inside.

It felt, strangely, like entering new and dangerous territory. Perhaps it was because we had a stolen camper parked out in the lot, with a suspected murderer huddled in blankets in the back. Every step I took further in the store made me realize the sheer scale of the place. It was big enough to be a mall, and occupied like one, too. There had to be dozens of people browsing the isles, searching through ammunition, outdoor gear, tools, and other such goods.

It was certainly a sign of the times, given all the madness that had transpired here in the last few weeks. People were practically clamoring to get their hands on any instruments of self-defense that they could.

Advertised in bold lettering through the use of signs hanging in the aisles, there were 'KNIVES,' 'TENTS,' 'SURVIVAL,' and 'TOOLS/HARDWARE.' The knife section was particularly busy, which Nancy regarded with a slightly panicked widening of her eyes.

"So much for avoiding angry hicks," Robin's unsettled voice sounded to my right. Judging by the short silence that followed, none of us quite knew what to do now that we were surrounded by the exact people we had been working to avoid.

"Let's be... fast," Nancy, ever the optimist, suggested with a smile. "Yeah?"

Erica nodded, "Definitely."

"That's what I was thinking."

"Anyone else feeling unsafe?"

"Just blend, okay?" Nancy gave us all a tight-lipped smile and persisted down the aisle. We exchanged looks and followed after her, shoes thudding against the dark, concrete floor.

We separated after that.

Like the first one to die in any horror movie, I went off on my own. Perhaps I was slightly comforted by the fact that I'd never seen a horror movie set in a hardware store, but then again, one could never be sure. 

I didn't know exactly what I was looking for. My portion of the plan didn't require any sort of weapons. While wandering down an aisle, I wondered if maybe it would be smart to grab a pocket knife or something, just for protection's sake. Though, if I ever did end up in a situation where a knife was my best option, the circumstances must've been dire indeed.

Now, I was a creature of habit. 

After the lab, I was down on money and down on my luck. I wasn't exactly inclined to pay for things when they could conveniently slip into my pocket-- walking through that overcrowded store, with very few workers in sight, I figured there was no harm in slipping back into old habits. Besides, if by some miracle Nancy's plan did work, a stolen knife would be a small price to pay to avoid armageddon.

So I made my way towards the knife section, raising my head only to search for the others in the crowd. Robin and Steve were near a bunch of gasoline containers, eyes trained on a redhead with a pixie cut across the store. 

I bumped directly into someone, gasping in surprise.

"Sorry," I said hurriedly, offering a tight lipped smile to a boy-- highschool age, maybe a little older-- in a varsity jacket. The word 'Hawkins' was spelled out in gold embroidery on the left breast of his jacket, as was his name in a slightly smaller font on the right. 'Andy.'

"Don't worry about it," he said dismissively, but by then I was already a few paces away. 

I made it to the section labeled 'KNIVES' without giving the interaction another thought. I swore I felt eyes on the back of my head, but when I turned, there was no one looking. I figured I must've simply been paranoid and pressed on. There were dozens of people all around, anyways. One was bound to look at me for a second. 

I turned down the aisle, which had thankfully emptied out a little. 

There were a variety of knives set up on glass displays. Some were sheathed, some not, but they all glinted alluringly in the white-colored light raining down on me. I pretended to browse, the disinterested expression on my face covering up nervous, shifting eyes and an overwhelming feeling that we weren't safe here.

When I found the knife I wanted, I paused in front of the display. It was a simple thing-- not excessively large or colorful, just a stainless steel black handle with a matching black blade. I glanced sidelong and, when no one was looking, I grabbed it. 

Of course, I wasn't that stupid. I wasn't just going to slip it into my pocket with so many people in the aisle. I pressed a small button the the left side of the handle and folded the blade into place. After tucking it into my sleeve, I made a show of grabbing the knife that had been beside it on the display, and dropping it to the floor. 

It clattered to the ground. With all the chatter in the store, the sound was barely discernible. A nice looking old man glanced over, but when he saw me bending over to pick it up, he looked away.

I tucked the actual knife into the waist of my sweatpants, and grabbed the other knife off the ground with my free hand.

With that, I stood. 

"Dropped something?"

I nearly screamed when I heard a voice so close behind me. I turned, and was met with the sight of 'Andy.' I spared a glance to either side of me, now hyperaware of the knife tucked in my pants. Shit, how long had he been there?

"Yeah," I smiled and placed the excess knife back on the display, "Guess I'm a little out of sorts with everything going on." 

I hoped my appeal to solidarity would soothe any suspicions he might've had, but I was wrong. 

"It's crazy, isn't it?" He smiled and stepped closer. I had never been more thankful for my oversized shirt, which hid the stolen knife from view. "Some people take advantage of times like these... act out cause they think no one's looking."

"Some people," I said, shaking my head in what I hoped looked like disapproval.

"So, uh," He rested his arm on the display beside me, somewhat trapping me between him and the customers behind me. "Do I know you?"

I hesitated for a moment. How do I get this guy off my ass? "No, I don't think so," I offered him my hand politely, "I'm here on holiday."

He shook my hand once before promptly returning to leaning against the display. "Who are you visiting?"

"My grandpa," I said. If he was going to call me out for theft, I wished he would hurry up and do it already. 

"You, uh..." He took another step closer. My stomach dropped. "You come here with Nancy?"

I didn't know who this guy was, but I got the sense it would be better if he didn't know her and I were connected. "Nancy?" I asked.

"Wheeler."

"I don't know her, sorry."

"Oh, it's just... I saw you walk in here with her."

Fuck. 

I tried not to look unsettled, but the moment my lips tilted into a frown, I knew it was pointless. "What, are you stalking me?" I joked, though it was not at all a joke. 

"No, no. I just saw you two together."

My eyes flickered over his head, where I conveniently saw Nancy near one of the gun displays. She was locked in a heated conversation with another boy-- dressed in the same varsity jacket that Andy was. She had been examining one of the guns, testing its weight in her hands, when he walked up. Now, he stepped closer to her, roughly grabbing the barrel of the gun. I watched her eyes go wide and her face pale ever so slightly.

I laughed nervously and looked back at Andy. His eyes were carefully trained on my face, searching for something of which I wasn't quite sure. "Excuse me," I smiled, trying to walk past him and get to her. 

He stepped in front of me, nearly causing me to bump into him once more. I tensed and spared another glance towards Nancy.

"Why so nervous?" He asked, condescension slipping into his tone. I inclined my head to meet his eyes, growing more and more aware of the difference in physicality between the two of us. "I just noticed you, that's all. What's your name?" 

My eyes narrowed. "Not interested. Can you please move?"

"Come on, don't be like that," He smiled. Disquiet gnawed at me. "What's your name?"

I ignored him and tried to move once more. He stayed firmly in place. "Can you fuck off?" I asked angrily, "I have a boyfriend."

"Who's your boyfriend?"

I didn't reply, eyes still glued to Nancy. He followed my gaze, and didn't seem at all alarmed by the sight of her and that blonde boy's subdued arguing. The realization dawned on me, and with it, the knowledge that we had to get the fuck out of there as soon as possible-- this was a set up. 

"You seem pretty worried for someone who claims not to know her," Andy tilted his head and looked at me, blocking Nancy from view. 

"I don't need to know her," I met his eyes unflinchingly, "There are a lot of bad men in the world, and from the look on that girl's face, I'm guessing the blonde's one of them. It's called sisterhood."

"Oh, Jason?" He laughed, as though I were a child and just said something adorably stupid. "He's not someone you have to worry about."

"Certainly doesn't look that way."

"Take my word for it. He's harmless."

My expression went cold. I allowed any pretenses of cordiality to disappear and shoved him out of my way. A low grunt fell from his lips, but I didn't much care. I hadn't taken more than four steps before I felt his grip on my wrist.

I couldn't conceal the gasp that slipped from my lips when he turned me around. "I'm not done talking to you," He muttered lowly, trying not to draw any attention to the two of us. Beneath his hand, my skin crawled. When I looked over my shoulder for Nancy, she was gone. So was Jason. Shit. 

"If you don't let go right now, I'll scream." I could feel a familiar sensation beginning to filter into me. My abilities were building up; sensing danger and acting accordingly. I dug my fingernails into the palms of my hands and desperately tried to gain control of them. If he didn't let go soon, I wouldn't be able to stop myself. 

"And then what?" He leered down at me, "You think I don't know what you and Wheeler have been doing? Hiding that freak Eddie?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," I said lowly, "Let go."

"Make me."

"Betty!" The sound of Nancy's voice suddenly sounded from behind me. I turned, with a mixture of both relief and desperation, to find her walking down the aisle towards me. 

"Nancy," I called back, figuring it was best to play along.

"I thought you didn't know her," Andy whispered.

"I lied."

"Betty, I've been looking everywhere for you," She laughed, though her eyes clearly displayed her unease. She noticed his grip on my wrist, and her pace picked up a bit. "We have to go."

"I was thinking the same thing," I called back, a faux-smile on my face. 

"Andy," Nancy nodded towards him in greeting, before grabbing onto my other wrist, "If you could let her go, we really have to head home now."

Over her head, I noticed Steve and Robin beginning to file out of the store. Their shopping cart was piled high with gasoline, nails, and hardware of all sorts. Behind them was Max and Erica, who offered panicked looks towards Nancy and I before they, too, left the store. We really had to go.

Andy's grip on my wrist didn't relent. I noticed a few other green varsity jackets in the crowd, all beginning to make their way towards us.

"Let go."

"We were in the middle of a conversation."

"No we weren't, let go." I gritted my teeth, desperately trying to control the buzzing in my veins.

Nancy tried to pull me away. It didn't work. 

All it took was a tightening of his grip on my wrist, and pain bloomed across my skin. That was that-- the fuse was lit. 

Before I could stop myself, the light over my head flickered. Once. Twice. Then a crack sounded down the aisle, and Andy's grip on my wrist disappeared. Time slowed for a moment, and Andy's eyes flew to mine. His middle finger was cracked grotesquely to the side, and his face was twisted up in pain. 

Before he could begin screaming, Nancy was pulling on my wrist and we were sprinting down the aisle. The lights over our heads flashed on and off, creating a trail of flickering luminescence in our wake. We weaved through person after person, occasionally bumping into one but we never stayed long enough to apologize. I cast a panicked look over my shoulder and found Andy a couple yards away, holding a trembling hand to his chest and a deadly glare on his face. 

To our left, Jason began to close in. My breaths quickened.

"Do something, Sixteen," Nancy's frantic eyes met mine, giving me permission to do what I had to. 

I quickly gestured to my side, attempting to send a cart across the aisle to block Jason's way. Instead, it careened directly into him with a force that was not at all natural. He gasped in surprise and stumbled back, briefly losing sight on us. An onlooker-- the one who's cart had just hit him-- rushed over to check if he was okay.

Nancy and I were just barely out of the glass sliding doors when Andy tried to grab me. Without ever meaning to, the doors slammed shut, shuddering in their foundation. I caught his eyes for a millisecond. Hostility and anger were the only emotions I could find in them.

I peeled my eyes away when the stolen camper pulled up in front of Nancy and I.

The door flew open and there stood Max, a panicked look on her face as she held out her hand to the two of us. The camper never even came to full stop before Nancy was pulled inside. I barely had time to grasp onto the railing before Steve pressed the gas, and we were speeding out of the parking lot. 

Chapter Text

When Dustin told me the part I'd play in our plan, I laughed. And I kept on laughing until I noticed that he wasn't. Then I wasn't, either.

'You have to be joking,' I had told him, waiting for the others to smile or give me any sort of indication that he wasn't serious. Instead, the tenuous silence had continued, and I realized they were indeed not joking.

Steve had pulled over near a large, open field. It was secluded enough that no one would stumble across it, and provided us with ample foliage to hide the stolen mobile home behind.

There was a sense of dread that I just couldn't shake. At first, I thought I was the only one who felt it, but as time ticked by I realized I wasn't. They were just better at pretending it wasn't there. I could hear it whenever we lapsed into silence, and as we unloaded our weapons into the clearing, I knew they could hear it too.

That was about thirty minutes ago.

Now, here I sat, a few dozen yards away from the rest of the group. I watched them quietly, laughing with one another and bickering over who got which weapon. Nancy was getting to work sawing off the barrel of a shotgun while Max watched. The two of them seemed comparably less cheery, trading nervous glances and whispered conversation.

Eddie and Dustin were stood over the lid of a trashcan, hammering nails into the back of it to create a makeshift shield. Erica and Lucas sat with one another, tugging on a roll of string. Steve and Robin were somewhere out of sight.

My part of the plan didn't require weapons, nor an accomplice.

I was supposed to close one of Henry's gates. It would weaken him, Dustin said, cut off some of his power.

All I knew was that the gate was in the middle of some road, and Henry had killed a boy named Fred to make it. Dustin didn't seem know anything else, so I figured it would be pointless asking.

I didn't tell him that I had no idea how to go about closing a gate. I also didn't tell him I was probably too weak to do it. I just nodded along, praying my lies weren't too obvious, and praying-- in spite of everything-- that something awful would happen and we'd have to postpone the idiocy they had planned. 

A crow cawed somewhere over me. It kept breaking my focus, but I kept trying to ignore it. It circled me incessantly, as though I were its next meal. I gave in and watched it for a little while, its sleek black body gliding through the cloudy sky above.

I felt like I was watching ICU patients when I looked back at the group. I could feel the minutes ticking by, feel the heartbeats in their chests, knowing that they could be stopped by the end of the day. I had separated myself from them with the excuse that I had to meditate and prepare for my abilities for the task at hand. But, really, it was just a vain attempt to save face. Maybe if I stopped speaking to them right now, I could stop myself from growing more attached than I already was.

Watching them then, I knew it was fruitless. My chest clenched uncomfortably.

This was my fault, really. I got involved. Again. I got emotional. Again. And, just like last time, I would lose them. Again.

I figured the best I could do for them was at least try to close that gate. At least then, I might be able to minimize their deaths. Perhaps we'd lose one or two, but that would be a miracle, really.

I closed my eyes and focused on the coming and going of my breath. In the lab, Six had said that meditation was pointless. That it never really did much for her, but our siblings still insisted on it nonetheless. I thought of her when my lungs filled with air and breathed life into my abilities. Part of her had always stayed with me. My abilities weren't just mine, anymore, they were hers too. She had given them to me in her final act, and I knew she would've been disappointed with how I chose to use them.

The crow cawed once more.

I groaned annoyedly, shooting it a glare as though it would make a difference.

When I closed my eyes again, I remembered that vision I'd had back in Project Nina. The orange glow of fire as it spread through downtown Hawkins, originating from four different directions. I wasn't sure if there was a chance to prevent that from happening. All of the visions I'd had came to pass in time, and it terrified me to know this one could, too.

Strangely, though, my mind didn't focus on that. It focused on one of the gates I'd seen in my vision, the barrier of red beneath it. I had watched a dark, black shadow move on the other side of the gate... it felt more real than the rest of the vision did. I didn't understand what that meant.

When the crow cawed again, a surge of energy pulsed through me. I recognized the flow of my abilities as they sparked up my veins, and did what I could to keep them in check.

A dull thump sounded a few feet away from me.

When I opened my eyes, the crow was on the ground in front of me. It's neck was snapped to the side. It didn't caw, or move, or breathe. Those beady black eyes looked into mine, and I looked back. It was dead.

"How's it going?" The sound of Max's voice came from somewhere to my left.

I spared her a glance and looked back at the bird, "Watch your step."

Her eyes followed mine. When she saw the crow, she frowned. A tense silence passed. This was surely a bad omen, if there ever was one. Max peeled her eyes away and took a seat on the ground beside me, careful to avoid the dead animal.

"How's it going?" She repeated.

"Fine," I said, knowing that wasn't the answer she wanted.

I closed my eyes once more. To her, it looked like I was trying to meditate, but really I couldn't focus with her sitting so close. I could feel her eyes on me, and the way she bit her tongue against whatever question she surely had.

"What?" I asked after a short while.

I felt her gaze drop away from me. "Nothing."

Another second passed, and her eyes returned. She was uncharacteristically quiet. I couldn't imagine what someone in her position would be thinking. Her part of the plan was probably the riskiest. She was supposed to return to the Creel house and call out to Vecna. It was meant to be a distraction, but really there were a million ways it could go wrong. Henry was too smart.

"Are you scared for today?" I asked, opening my eyes to hers. She looked away, knowing she'd been caught staring. Or maybe it was what I said.

"No."

"Sure you're not," I said, a sarcastic smile coming to my lips. "There's no shame in being scared. It's better that way, means you'll be more careful."

She shrugged, "I guess... What about you? Are you scared?"

I laughed, though I wasn't at all joking when I replied, "Terrified. I'd be stupid not to be."

She furrowed her eyebrows, "But you said it yourself... Vecna won't hurt you."

I gave her a look. A moment passed.

"Oh my god," A smug smile came to her face, "Don't tell me you're worried about us!"

"Shut up," I said, looking away.

"Admit it."

"No."

"Come on, Sixteen, just admit it."

"This is why I hate kids."

"I'm not gonna stop until you admit it."

"Fine, yes." I conceded, looking to the sky to avoid the smug look on her face, "Yes. I'm worried about you. Obviously."

A second passed. The gravity of the situation rested back on my shoulders. Max's, too, "Don't be. We have weapons and a decent plan and with your help--."

"Don't be naive, Max," I muttered, meeting her eyes once more, "You have to know this entire plan is insane."

She looked at the ground. She nodded.

"Then talk them out of it," I said with an air of desperation, "You're one of them, Max, they'll listen to you."

She shook her head, "If we don't deal with that asshole now, no one will."

I already knew that she was going to say no, but it didn't make hearing it any easier. "It's not fair," I said softly, fingers fumbling with a bit of grass, "You guys are too young to have that kind of weight on your shoulders."

A soft wind blew my hair across my face.

Her response almost got lost in it. "So were you."

A slight ache grew in my chest. After years of people like Brenner and Beau telling me that I was to blame for what happened, that I could've stopped it, hearing her say the opposite was like a drink of water after the most awful drought.

"You're doing the right thing, you know. Helping us." She said after my response failed to come. 

"I know," I replied simply, offering a gentle smile.

"He deserves this."

"I know."

"And it isn't--."

"Max, please," I gave her a pointed look. "Don't beat around the bush. Whatever you want to say, just say it. I won't be mad."

She took a deep breath and started fumbling with her fingers. "My relationship with my brother was really complicated."

I didn't understand how this was related, but I nodded nonetheless, "Billy, right?"

"Yeah," She muttered. She made a point not to look at me, eyes focused on her palms. Whatever she was about to say, it made her face twitch and her throat fill with too many emotions to count, "He was... mean, and violent, and borderline abusive, but we don't need to get into that." I tried to speak, but she cut me off, "What I'm trying to say is that I understand why this is hard for you, and why you might be conflicted even though you probably know you shouldn't be--."

"--I'm not conflicted," I said, knowing very well it was a lie.

"Keep telling yourself that," She hummed, "You're not the only one who can notice things, you know."

I took the strings of grass between my fingers and tossed them at her. They mostly got carried away by the wind. "It's annoying how smart you are."

She laughed. I laughed, too, until a silence settled over us.

"I'm sorry about your brother," I breathed.

She took a breath. "I'm sorry about Henry."

Her choice to call him Henry instead of Vecna was not at all lost on me. He hurt her so much, and she could still see that he had it in himself to be good, just like her brother. She was so much better than I was.

"Don't say that," I told her, "After what he did to you, there is absolutely no reason for you to be sorry."

Another second passed. This time, when she opened her mouth, I was not at all prepared for what was about to come out. "Do you still love him?"

My breath hitched.

I had asked myself that same question a few thousand times. The answer was everchanging, as much as I tried to make it otherwise. I wanted to hate Henry. I really, really did. But sometimes it felt like giving up on him would be, in a way, giving up on myself. I knew, if I had been left to go crazy all on my own in that lab, I would've festered and rotted just like him. It felt like a curse, really, to regard him as human. To see and know his evil after seeing and knowing his goodness as though it were my own.

Once you know someone like that, once you see them, no amount of closing your eyes or passing time will get that image out of your head.

I didn't look at Max when I replied, "Love like that doesn't ever really go away."

Beside me, she nodded. I gathered she understood, to some degree.

Eventually, I met her eyes. "But it doesn't matter anymore. He made his decision, and so have I... I'm just sorry you got dragged into this."

"Guys!" A voice shouted from a few dozen yards away, interrupting our conversation. I turned and found Steve hanging out of the camper, waving at Max and me, "Come on, it's time."

The others had already begun picking up their makeshift weapons, leaving what wasn't needed to rot in the dirt. Nails and scraps of all sorts glinted underneath the feigning afternoon sunlight, which had begun to paint the sky a foggy orange color. Max stood beside me. We didn't rush. 

Our steps were slow, making use of what little time remained. I had half a mind to say something and break the heavily charged silence, but the words never made their way out of my throat. The silence persisted until we reached the camper.

"Please, try not to die," I said lowly, moving aside to let her in first.

She gave me a small smile and proceeded inside, "Can't make any promises."

"You're not funny."

~

The light over my head wouldn't stop flickering. 

In fact, most of the lights wouldn't stop flickering. I apologized to everyone else in the camper at least a dozen times, but they insisted on giving me looks as though I were about to explode. I didn't blame them for their unease, really. After what I'd done to that boy at the War Zone, and that bird not even two hours ago, it was clear my abilities were devolving at an alarming rate. I tried to press myself against the wall of the trailer and appear as small as possible, but that didn't much help the situation. The lights kept going. The silence pressed on.

Soon, no one took much notice of it.

The drive was silent.

A few hours ago, I could easily pick out an argument brewing or a joke being told from the front seat. Now, everyone sat in a fidgety, tentative silence, broken only by the low hum of music from Max's headphones and the crunch of tires on gravel. 

I didn't know what to say. It seemed no one did. Part of me was kicking myself for wasting what could very well be my last opportunity to speak with these people, but the other was too terrified to even try. I'd been here before. Everything about this car ride felt like that morning when Henry and I had planned to escape. The nervous, unending quiet, the looks of vacancy on everyone's face. 

I really hoped I wouldn't have to face Henry today. 

"Guys?"

The sound of Steve's voice from the front seat broke through the air. Lucas jumped at its suddenness. In a moment, all attention was turned towards the front. 

"Final run-through," He muttered, giving us all a look. As though we'd need a run-through, after the hours they'd spent bickering over every part of the plan. He pointed at Max and Lucas, "You two. Tell me what you're supposed to do. No hesitation, go."

Max frowned slightly at his tone. Neither of them replied.

Steve sighed. "Please?"

"We've been over this a thousand times, Steve," Max crossed her arms and took a moment to pause her music, "I don't think anyone here needs another run-through." She had a funny way of reading my mind. 

"Just indulge him," Nancy, who was sitting in the passenger seat, turned to face the rest of us, "There's no harm in being thorough, okay?"

With a grumble, Max sat back and rushed out, "Lucas and I are gonna go in the Creel House, walk around for a while, and then go up to the attic. Then we'll call Vecna and try really hard not to get murdered." She looked to Steve, "Good enough for you?"

He frowned, "It was a little vague--."

"Max is just nervous," Lucas quickly butted in, a small frown on his face, "We know what to do. Watch for Erica's signal, keep Kate Bush in arms reach, and... yeah, try really hard not to get murdered."

"Can I object?" I asked.

"No, you can't." Dustin replied, "You've already done it a million times."

"I tend to object to child endangerment."

"To be fair, I'm only doing this because the rest of you are," Eddie met my eyes, "You're the only reasonable one here." He looked to Nancy, "We could always do this another day, you know--."

"--We're not backing out now," Nancy, the most determined of all, replied. "We have a solid plan.  Steve, Robin and I have all the weapons we need. Once we get to the Upside Down, we just need to find the Creel house and we're basically home free... You all just need to stick to your roles, and everything will be fine."

Robin spoke for the first time in a while, "That's optimistic."

"More like delusional," Erica grumbled. Rightfully so.

"If I'm doing this, then you're all doing this," Max's face had been slightly pale this whole time, but she seemed pretty certain in her decision to risk her life. I didn't like that. Perhaps if she was more afraid, she'd be less inclined to go forward with this idiotic plan.

I'd already done all I could to dissuade them, but somehow my opposition seemed to have the opposite effect of what I intended. I really had no choice but to begrudgingly follow along.

"Yes, thank you," Nancy turned around for a moment and addressed Steve. She whispered something to him and motioned left. Soon after, the camper followed suit. Steve wasn't all that good at driving, though, so Eddie gave me a look before everyone in the car veered sideways.

"If Vecna doesn't kill us then Steve's driving probably will," Dustin grumbled loud enough for Steve to hear.

Through the rearview mirror, Steve sent him a scorching glare. "Can you shut up, please? Just this once?"

To most everyone's surprise, he did. 

We resorted back to a tentative, unsteady silence. It stayed like that until we reached Fred's road. 

~

The low rumbling of the camper's engine echoed long after it was out of sight. Once the headlights had disappeared, the night closed in from all directions. The street was empty. If it weren't for the caution tape pulled tight between two trees, there wouldn't be any indication that Steve had dropped me at the right place-- it looked just like all the other roads, potholed and cracked, decades having passed since someone last bothered to care for it. 

I stood on the curve of the road, still mustering up the courage to duck beneath the tape. It was too dark. There was too much forest. 

The only thing I had to defend myself was the knife I'd stolen from the War Zone. I'd tucked it into my bra and taped it in place, ensuring that it wouldn't fall out if the day became more... physically demanding. 

I couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching me from just beyond the treeline. Every few seconds I swore I caught something moving in my peripheral vision, then I'd turn, and it would be just another tree swaying in the cool, spring wind. 

The road itself was surrounded by forest on either side, which wouldn't have been nearly as frightening if it weren't for the sound of life moving around within them. Leaves rustled endlessly, and it was impossible to tell whether it was the wind or something else that was responsible.

I scolded myself for yet another stupid decision as I ducked beneath the caution tape. 

The moment I did, I felt a familiar pressure from somewhere above. 

Through dark green foliage, my eyes caught the soft red glow of a camera just over my shoulder. I stepped forward, and the lens followed me. It didn't take a genius to know why it was there-- surely, Papa or some other government official was keeping track of the gate just ahead. The general public probably avoided this street for the most part, choosing not to visit a teenage boy's murder site, but of course, someone was bound to test their luck and visit anyway. Schadenfreude tended to cloud one's judgment. 

I did what I could to ignore the prick of panic in the back of my mind, and turned my full attention to the camera.

I intended only to shut it off. My fingers waved in its direction, and as I waited for that red light to disappear, a low groan sounded. A second passed, and then the whole camera tilted forward and fell from its perch. I watched it descend, barely discernable until it hit the ground hard and shattered on the pavement. The sound that resulted was almost obscenely loud. Circuited innards peek out from beneath the camera's metal skeleton and fragmented lens--- at least the red light had turned off.

As though someone would hear it and come running out to catch me, I pressed myself into the shadowy woods. 

Only a few seconds passed before, somewhere deep in the forest, a stick cracked. If I hadn't been on edge before, I certainly was now. My mind turned against me as I whipped my head around, searching for the responsible party-- suddenly, every shadow was alive and every tree branch was reaching towards me. The weight of the knife felt even heavier as I debated reaching for it. 

I swallowed thickly and returned to the 'safety' of the road. Of course, the imaginary ghosts I  conjured didn't follow me out. 

The walk to the gate was a short one. At that moment, though, it seemed to last forever-- each step and glance over my shoulder lasted a lifetime. As I neared the gate, I could feel waves of energy lapping against me. My fingers fidgeted by my sides as my abilities responded unconsciously to the newfound stimulus. They rushed to the surface of my skin like they were desperate to escape it. 

Visually, the 'gate' was not all that noticeable.

If I hadn't known what it was, I would've discarded it as yet another blemish in the already neglected road. It almost looked like a scab, erected slightly from the surrounding cement to form jagged edges that spanned about four or five feet. The closer I got, the more violently my abilities seemed to react. 

I was maybe three yards away when a slight pressure on my side caused me to lose my footing. It happened so suddenly, I didn't even have time to be scared. My body staggered sideways, losing balance before it righted itself once more. In the woods, another stick cracked.

My head snapped towards it. 

Before I could be sure if I had tripped or if something had pushed me, I was shoved once more. 

I was quicker to recover this time. My vision sharpened. 

Another push from my left. My breath escaped me.

The next one was stronger. 

So was the next. 

I didn't have time to gather my focus. Too much was happening with too little time to react. Beneath my skin, my abilities surged, desperately searching the open air for something to defend against. 

The next shove was far stronger than any of the others. It pushed me forward, closer to the gate. A panicked gasp spilled from my lips, only to be cut off when I was forced even closer. There was nothing tangible for me to fight off, no single person or their abilities. Whatever this was, it was impossible to defend against. Pure power, with no thought or lividity to it-- it caught me off guard and woefully unprepared.

I tried to step back and regain some of my lost ground.

Instead, my knees met the pavement. Hard. A cry left my lips, and before I could think, my upper body was pushed to the pavement as well. My trembling breaths were the only thing to interrupt the near-complete silence as I struggled-- with slight terror-- to pull myself back up.

Seconds passed, and nothing happened. The force didn't return.

My heart was still racing when, ever so slowly, I lifted my head.

I wasn't on the street anymore. 

My breath caught in my throat.

The color red bled into my eyes. Dark-colored rocks, vines, and debris surrounded me on all sides. I blinked almost violently, praying that somehow, this was just a trick of the light or maybe I'd hit my head on the pavement. 

But no amount of blinking spared me from the absolute chaos that was Henry's mind. Wind screamed in my ears, picking up with every second I spent sitting there, desperate to comprehend what was happening. Just like that day when Henry had helped me venture into Beau's mind, scarlet-colored particles obscured most of my vision like a sandstorm with no discernible origin point. Various shades of red painted every surface, if they weren't entirely black. 

"Shit." I heard my own voice whisper. My knees were barely strong enough to keep me standing as I rose from the ground. 

I was in Henry's mind. 

Somehow, he must've figured out what exactly I planned to do-- close the gate and cut off his power, even for the dismal possibility that it would make a difference. He warned me that he'd get involved if I tried to work against him-- now, here he was, getting involved. 

And judging from the ever-increasing speed of the sandstorm around me, he was furious. 

My surroundings spun around me as my mind raced, desperate for even the slightest indication that there was a way out. There were no breakages in the wall sand; no parts less dense than the rest. Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

"Henry!" I shouted, angry and scared and not at all surprised that it came to this. "Henry, what are you doing?!"

He didn't reply. The wind picked up. 

"Sixteen!"

Somewhere far off in the distance, a voice called to me. It was shrill and terrified, and undoubtedly belonging to Six. My heart thundered in my chest as I turned to search for her. This was an old trick of Henry's, one he'd used in the Creel house with Gloria. He created illusions born from my own memories and then used them against me. I fell for it last time, but that wouldn't happen again. Now, we were both angry. 

"You're so fucking brave," I yelled into the open air, furious that he would resort to using Six as a puppet after what he'd done to her. "Too scared to talk to me yourself? Is that it?!"

"Sixteen, please!" Six's voice was louder this time, and much closer. My body whirled to face her, but she was nearly impossible to discern. I would've missed her entirely if it weren't for the small, barely noticeable shadow a few feet further into the sand storm. Clouded by particles of red, her form seemed to sputter erratically, taking shape and breaking apart every few seconds. 

"I know what you're doing Henry!" I cried, keeping a close eye on her as I tried to elevate my voice above the sandstorm. Every word I shouted only seemed to get carried away with the wind. 

When no response came, I closed my eyes and tried desperately to reach for my abilities. I could feel them, just below my fingertips, wanting to escape but somehow unable. Henry was doing something to me-- suppressing my strength somehow. 

The force which had shoved me to the ground only moments before was most certainly him. That wouldn't have been nearly as frightening if it weren't for the sheer might of it. It'd been unrecognizable, a strength unlike anything he'd possessed in the past. I felt incredibly stupid as I realized that that strength had been the ace up his sleeve this whole time-- that all those lives sacrificed had accomplished more than just the opening of gates.

If that was what we were up against, then surely none of us would make it to see the sunrise tomorrow. 

Ahead of me, the storm picked up. My stomach was in a free fall.

Here I found myself all over again. I had failed to close the gate, I had failed to weaken Henry. I'd failed them. Again. 

I refocused my attention ahead. 

I couldn't let Henry see into my mind and figure out what we had planned, and I couldn't get out of here on my own. With my abilities virtually useless at that moment, I'd have to find another angle in. The element of surprise was surely all Max, Eddie, and the others had left. 

I swallowed my fear down my throat, having nothing but my composure to rely on. I could distract him. If Henry called me here, then surely he wanted something. He must've already known that I planned to close the gate, but he could've just knocked me out and left it at that. He didn't need to bring me into his mind, and he wouldn't have done so unless he wanted something more.

I had to play along. Not for my sake, but for theirs.

I swallowed roughly and looked back at Six. She hadn't moved. 

I dug my heel into the ground and braced myself for a journey through the violent, stirring particles rushing past. My vision sharpened, and in a moment I was bounding towards her. I slammed my feet into the ground as hard and as fast as I could, holding my breath through the sand in a desperate attempt not to breathe it into my lungs. Six's shadow disappeared, for a moment, and my vision blurred. The sand was nearly impossible to see through.

She reemerged a few feet away, barely visible, but there was no time to sit and be sure it was the right person. It occurred to me then, sprinting with all my might, nearly losing my footing, that this could very well be a trap. It likely was. But what other option did I have? Trap or not, I was stuck here, and he would find me eventually no matter what I did. 

The sand started thinning. The wind slowed, but Six's pace only picked up. I called out to her, begging her to slow down, but she didn't listen. Of course she didn't. This wasn't Six. 

With one final push, I emerged on the other side of the storm. The sight that greeted me was a familiar one--

--Pieces of Henry's childhood home floated aimlessly in blood-colored air, jagged and distorted after too many years spent rotting in his mind. Altars made of rock were erected from the ground, each with a different person pulled tight against them. Vines lurched underfoot, moving fluidly along black, grainy dirt. My head jerked all around, frantically searching for Six but she had disappeared entirely. Behind me, the sand grew faster once more. Henry must've granted me passage.

I gritted my teeth, furious that I had to play his games, and even more so that he brought Six into them. I closed my eyes, once more trying to gather my focus, but I could still feel him preventing me from doing so. It hadn't ever been like this before. He'd been in my mind and I'd been in his, but each time, we both had access to our abilities at least in some capacity. Had he just been holding back this whole time? Playing with me, knowing he could end the game whenever he pleased?

His mind was his domain. He had the power to push me out, but I thought that was the fullest extent. 'Our abilities are stronger without the inhibitions Brenner places on them' he'd said. Is this what he meant? He had the power to fully disarm someone like us?

Before I could ask myself any more questions, a hand clamped onto my forearm. I gasped, my skeleton nearly leaping out of my skin, and faced the responsible party. When I met Beau's wide, brown eyes, I wasn't sure whether to feel guilty or furious.

I settled on the latter. "Let go," I hissed lowly, yanking my arm away. 

His eyes were dead. There was no thought behind them, no emotion. Henry could make up fabrications and play with people like puppets, but their eyes always gave them away. "No." He said, voice brooking no argument, "he wants to talk to you." With that, Beau's grip returned to my arm. 

I had two options; one, go along with him and see Henry, like I planned to do eventually. Or two; run. Henry would catch me soon enough, but at least then, I'd elongate the process and buy Steve and the others some more time.

Adrenaline pumped through me as I met his eyes. 

I slammed my heel into Beau's foot. His grip loosened ever so slightly, but it didn't waver entirely. He was almost inhumanely strong, likely a result of Henry's power which fueled him. "Don't fight this," He said. Henry's rage flowed through him, and I'd be lying to myself if I said I wasn't scared to face it. "You'll only get yourself hurt."

I cursed lowly under my breath and tried again, kicking his knee in with the hope of him toppling over. He didn't quite fall down, but he did lose his balance, giving me the opportunity to jerk my arm away and sprint ahead of him. 

I had only made it a few dozen steps before-- in the distance, I noticed something. There was a door situated on the other side of a small platform, where most of the pieces of Henry's old home were centered. I would've mistaken it as yet another rotten remain of the Creel house, were it not for the door being flung wide open. Through the frame, I could see a body lying on dark-colored pavement. My body.

The sound of my breathing picked up. There was still a way out. Maybe all wasn't lost-- maybe there was still a chance to return to my body and close the gate just as I'd promised. Maybe I wouldn't have to face Henry at all.

Footsteps behind me signaled that Beau was getting closer. I risked a glance, horrified to find him nearly within arms reach. In a millisecond I was running once more, now with a clear destination in mind.

The sound of footsteps receded, and I thought that I had managed to outrun him. Beau wasn't angry that I'd gotten the upper hand, though... in fact, he started laughing. A sinking feeling in my stomach compelled me to turn my head. A few feet behind, bathed in scarlet lighting, Beau's face was twisted up into a sharp, biting grin. A chill shot down my spine when those dead eyes met mine, and I wrenched my gaze away. 

I didn't have any time to wonder what exactly he was laughing about before my body collided with another. Fuck.

I staggered back, gasping for the breath that the impact had stolen from my lungs.

Brenner's eyes were dead just like Beau's were. His suit was perfect as it always was, but his expression didn't quite match. Rage twisted up his face, and the lighting only embellished the bags beneath his eyes and the scowl on his lips. 

He tried to grab me, too. 

I didn't let him. 

Unlike I had with Beau, I didn't take any time to collect my thoughts. I side-stepped Brenner the moment I recognized who those empty brown eyes belonged to, out of patience for Henry's games and petty distractions. The door was still a hundred yards away, maybe more. I ran faster than I had before-- with increased desperation and much more to lose. 

That's when Henry really got angry. The vines along the floor began moving faster, forming arches that nearly tripped me. But I persevered, taking little time to recover between each one. My eyes alternated between the ground and the door just ahead, so close and yet so, so far. I pumped my legs faster, feeling my lungs strain for the air which I continued to deny them.

Hands started reaching for me on all sides. It wasn't just Beau and Brenner anymore, it was Six, Gloria, and nearly a dozen of the children from the lab. 

Things began to fall apart the closer I got to that door; my last saving grace. Rocks and debris of all sorts came crashing down just behind me. I narrowly avoided getting my ankle crushed beneath a flank of wood. The ground below my feet trembled mightily. Terror and adrenaline pushed me harder than I thought possible-- I ran faster. Faltering was not an option. More hands grabbed at my skin, all cold to the touch. Low grunts of effort escaped my lips as I shook them off.

There was a staircase directly in my path, leading up to nowhere. If I ran around it, I'd certainly lose momentum, and Henry's puppets would latch onto me or I'd get crushed beneath a rock. I swallowed my nerves and looked towards the door once more. If I jumped right from the end of the staircase, I could probably make it to the platform five or six feet away. Then, the door was just a short run's distance, and I was home free.

I cursed myself, knowing there was virtually no way that would work, but the alternative option would mean definite failure. For Max, and Eddie, and everyone else, I knew I had to try. I couldn't just roll over and die.

The shouts of Henry's puppets down below seemed to cease the moment my foot met the first step. I didn't bother to turn and see what had happened, far too focused on pushing my body harder. I climbed the steps two at a time, scraping deep inside me for what little strength remained. 

When I reached the top of the staircase, my heart was thundering at a pace I knew it couldn't maintain for much longer. I readied myself to jump-- felt breath expand my aching lungs, and my heels leave the ground. Safety was so close, sitting in the palm of my hands and all I had to do was close my fingers.

And then, a hand grasped the collar of my shirt, stopping me dead in my tracks.

 I would've fallen off the steps were it not for my body being pulled the other way. 

My back was forced against the railing. It trembled beneath my weight, and a hand wrapped around my throat so suddenly I couldn't even think of fighting it off. Less than an inch to my right, the handrail ended, leading directly to a free fall. My feet kicked at a spare piece of wood, which dropped to the ground below with an awful, resounding thud. 

Even in a world of red, Henry's eyes were so, horribly blue. His grip on my throat was just shy of bruising. 

"Henry," I whispered, the word both horrified and pleading at the same time.

His response didn't come. He pushed me further against the railing, grip tight enough to halt my speech, but not my airflow. I spared a panicked glance at the ground below, my upper body almost entirely over the railing. The drop had to be thirty feet, maybe more.

My eyes returned to Henry's. I was more terrified than I wanted to admit. 

"I told you," He seethed, pressing his body nearer to mine, "not to make this harder on yourself." My hands grabbed at him-- not to loosen his grip on my throat, but to keep it there, my one connection to solid ground. 

"Henry," I repeated fearfully, holding his arm so tight I expected it to turn blue. Backed against the railing, with no leverage, my tip toes barely reaching the ground, I knew there was no fighting my way out of this. 

His grip tightened. I looked in his eyes and I saw nothing but rage made flesh and blood.

I forgot that I fell in love with a raging fire. Each day, I played with matches and each day, I didn't learn my lesson-- so distracted by the warmth he brought, I didn't even notice the burn set in. Now here he was, scorching hand wrapped tightly around blistering skin. This was it. Burning. 

"It didn't have to be like this," His eyes searched my face for something I was certain he wouldn't find. His words were all smoke and ember, "What did you hope to accomplish, Sixteen? Hm?"

My lips parted, but nothing came out. I wished his grip was tight enough to justify my speechlessness. 

"Answer me." His voice was calm; terrifyingly calm.

My lip trembled. Every answer that came to mind would only make him angrier. At my hesitance, his grip around my throat loosened just slightly. My body dropped a little further over the railing. The threat was clear-- he was going to let me fall.

Terror exploded through me as I held his arm even tighter, nails digging into flesh. "I don't... I just--." I couldn't think straight. 

"You just what?" His eyebrows raised and his head tilted. He was mocking me. 

Another pause. His patience was wearing thin. "You tried to block me out," He seethed. Not a question, a fact. "You chose them over me... And the gate, Sixteen. What were you planning on doing?" Judging from the manic look in his eyes, I gathered he already knew.

I couldn't stop the words leaving my lips, even if they were a lie, "Please, Henry, it's not what you think--."

"Isn't it?!" His grip loosened a bit more. A cry escaped my lips as I risked another glance at the drop below. Tears threatened to fill my eyes, but I held them back. "Look at me," he muttered. My gaze met his. "Why are you still trying to fight this? What did you think would happen if you were successful? You close one gate and suddenly all of your friends get to live?"

I didn't reply. His chest was heaving up and down with a ferocity that made his hand tremble around my throat. Henry paused for a moment, icy blue gaze catching on the tremor of my lip. With a shuddered breath, his eyes seemed to soften. The slightest bit of sanity returned to him. 

"Oh, Sixteen." He whispered, all breath. He leaned closer, using his grip on my throat to keep me still. "Their fates were decided before you even knew them." A click of his tongue, "Poor thing... there's nothing you can do. There never was."

"Please, Henry. Please, there's still time--."

His grip tightened once more. I fell silent. 

"I don't like getting violent with you," His voice contained a dizzying mixture of softness and menace. I would've laughed in his face if his words didn't seem so genuine. Pink lips twisted into a smile, and he assured me, "And I don't plan on killing you. But, for now, I do have to... keep you contained. You understand, Sweetheart, don't you?"

My eyes widened, and my struggle returned to me. Panicked huffs of air left my throat, but his grip made it nearly impossible to catch my breath. 

"Quiet," He demanded coldly. Once more, he gripped my throat tighter. My airflow disappeared for no more than three seconds, but it was enough to terrify me to the point of paralyzation. 

His free hand left his side. I flinched when his nails raked through my hair. "What am I going to do with you?" He asked, voice far too soft, as though we were still hiding from the world beneath bed sheets. 

His fingers brushed my cheek. He offered me the smallest smile.

And then, he let go.

My body was falling over the railing before I even had time to process it. A scream erupted from my throat as I clawed at the staircase above, but it was already far out of reach. The fall was short, and final, and Henry didn't even bother to bend over the railing and watch. Once in the air, there was nothing I could do but feel the wind beneath me, and the ground moving ever closer. 

When I hit it, I hit it hard. 

My vision blacked out. A loud, high-pitched ringing drowned out any other outside noise. I expected to feel pain, but instead, I felt nothing.

When my vision returned to me, I was back on the pavement. Back in my physical body. 

My senses were dull. I tried to move, or cry, or anything, but I couldn't feel. Everything was a haze of fear and the intense desire to run away without the ability to do so. Ahead of me, the gate trembled. 

A soft, red glow spilled out onto the pavement as the bits of concrete holding it together broke apart. The gate yawned open ever so slightly. 

One of Henry's vines escaped it. I should've been more scared, but my senses were dimming with every passing moment. Black spots danced across my vision, expanding and contracting sporadically. 

The vine wrapped around my wrist. I wanted to fight it, but I was far too weak. There was this overwhelming feeling that I'd done something wrong-- something I couldn't fix.

My body jerked forward ever so slightly. 

And then, the world flickered into blackness. 

~

Chapter Text

Henry's Point of View

Henry had, admittedly, lost control. 

After years spent sharpening his every move to a fine point, losing control was almost a foreign concept to him. Standing in the blackened remains of his old home in the Upside Down, staring down at Sixteen's body, he was overcome with the most peculiar feeling. If he were to put words to it, he might've gone so far as to say he felt guilty.

His eyebrows furrowed. It was a strange feeling, this guilt. Like a pressure on his chest, but... deeper, somehow.

He'd been so angry when he pushed her over the railing. She had been trying to close the gate, after all. How could he not be angry? Still, he couldn't really believe he'd done it. Of course, Sixteen was never in any real danger-- he wasn't a monster, after all-- but whether she was harmed or not, her fear had been very real. He tried not to think about that look on her face when she fell, or the way her hands reached for him out of instinct, only to discover he wasn't there.

Henry knew he could get a little neurotic when it came to Sixteen. It had been a bad habit of his for quite some time now. He couldn't help it-- he didn't like seeing other people have what was his. There was a certain amount of... jealousy he felt when he saw her with her new 'friends.' The more Henry thought about it, though, jealously wasn't quite the right word. Rather, it was a feeling of profound unrest, and a vague sadness he couldn't put words to.

Something about seeing her so happy... It made him want to re-learn who she was all over again and pick apart her mind like he used to be able to do so easily-- he wanted her to laugh with him, and he felt awfully sorry that he was the reason she couldn't.

The floorboards creaked beneath his steps. It was a sound he'd grown very familiar with. Over the last five years, he had plenty of time to learn the ins and outs of his old family home. When he was a young boy, he never really cared for it, but in The Upside Down the house had this charm that it was always lacking back then. He soon learned that, in the attic, every fifth floorboard made the same creaking noise. Depending on which part of the board you stepped on, the sound it produced shifted in pitch.

Yes, he had been a little bored during the last few months spent in the Upside Down-- that is, when he wasn't otherwise occupied with the people of Hawkins.

Speaking to Sixteen again reminded him what it was like to wonder. To dream about things besides power, to think about matters beyond strategy.

For the past hour or so, he'd been making a concerted effort not to think of her at all, though.

Instead, he looked to the sky-- which wasn't a sky, just another dark mahogany ceiling-- and took a brief moment to gather his wits. He'd been pacing around all this time, hoping that if he just thought it through enough, he would be able to justify the plans he had for Sixteen. It occurred to him then, eyes glued to a horizon of rotted wood and vine, that a justification wouldn't come.

There's no objective measure of morality in a universe that's indifferent. Sometimes, he had to do bad things. It was a cold world out there, and he knew that. Better than most, he knew that. He could spend his life trying to bring a bit of warmth to it, or he could become cold enough to survive its chill— that decision had always been so easy for him to make. Even as a boy. Sentimentality was never a weakness he could afford.

Sixteen would learn as he had, one day. Perhaps today would be a powerful lesson for her.

He peeled his eyes from the ceiling and inhaled sharply, as though bracing himself for a physical pain. However, when he turned to her, there was no pain to be found. Just that same dull pressure in his chest as he crossed the room and knelt beside her.

There was a mark on her wrist, red and a bit irritated where his vine had dragged her from the street. Other than that, she was unharmed. Her breaths were steady, if not a bit shallow.

His fingers neared her hesitantly, as though he were prepared for Sixteen to lunge forward and grab at him. The corner of his lip tilted upwards— he wouldn't be surprised if she did.

Still unconscious, though, she didn't so much as flinch when they met her cheek. Her skin was warm. Warmer than it had been when they were in each other's heads. Henry felt, vaguely, like this wasn't real. Like she wasn't really here, and this was just another fantasy of his.

The warmth of her skin said she was real though, and that knowledge made him a little nauseous.

The years had been kind to her. She was always quite lovely, but there was something different about her now. Something he noticed as soon as they first broke their five-year silence in Nevada. Freedom from the lab became her. Once, she had been a naive, young girl— too eager to trust, so easily blindsided. Perhaps it was charming then, but now... Now, she was wiser, almost reverent. He liked her better this way.

What he didn't like, however, was how unpredictable she'd gotten. Henry didn't expect her to force him out of her mind like she'd done at her friend's trailer the other day. One could imagine his shock when, moments later, he tried to return to her head only to discover he could not-- somehow, she'd severed their mental connection. Somehow, she had cut herself loose from the net he laid down for her.

His fingers played with Sixteen's hair.

He sighed contentedly at her, back in his net once more.

Not fully though, and not for much longer. Henry knew she was making moves against him. After she'd cut off their connection, he lost his ability to go into her mind to see what she was thinking-- it was then that he knew he would have to resort to drastic measures if he was to stop her and her new friends.

Measures like lowering her guard enough to get into her mind again, and figure out what they were planning.

Henry's eyes flickered shut.

To enter one's mind, he needed to find a weak spot.

When it came to the children of Hawkins, that weak spot was easy to find. For example, Fred, the second victim with his knobby knees and spherical glasses, killed some stranger in a car accident. Then there was Chrissy, of course, with her bulimic mother who spread the condition as though it were genetic. Patrick as well,-- who, of all of his victims, Henry could sympathize with the most-- and his violent parents.

Henry couldn't help feeling a spike of annoyance when he thought of the final girl, Max, who was only alive because her friends were petulant and stubborn. She'd be difficult to kill, now that Sixteen was looking out for her, but with Sixteen indisposed he had a bit of an opening. Later he told himself, glancing down at the body which rested against the wall.

Sixteen's weak spot was not so easy to find. Of course, he knew better than most what she had gone through in her life, but simply exploiting her fears wasn't an option anymore. She could see right through it, and if he was being entirely honest with himself, he loathed to use her past against her. Which he knew was laughable, coming from the person responsible for hurting her most.

For Sixteen, he knew a different method of convincing would be most effective.

Five years ago, when Henry used to visit her mind nearly every night, he saw Sixteen's dreams of what their life would have looked like if they'd managed to leave the lab together. Dreams that may have even been possible, if it weren't for him and his selfishness. He could recall them in sharp, certain detail that not even the passage of time could touch.

They would have run off somewhere blissfully underpopulated, finding safety in its emptiness and distance from the lab. The following years were always somewhat different in Sixteen's mind, but in each version, they lived pointlessly and happily without the fear of tasers and hospital gowns. Neither of them needed an extravagant life. They could live off nothing but conversation and some books to pass the time.

He thought he might've liked it, that little life of hers, if his course hadn't been set so long ago.

Now, it was nothing but a means to lower her guard. He would have to convince Sixteen that there was still a chance for her dream to come to fruition. To relax her mind and make her more open to his influence, Henry would bring her somewhere she felt safe. Namely, that home from her dreams -- after that, it was just a matter of time and the playing of his cards.

With a plan in mind and no more time to stall, Henry gently lifted Sixteen's body from the ground. She murmured something in her sleep, but he couldn't hear it. With a hand cupping the back of her head, he rested her body against the wall... Perhaps he was being overly cautious.

He closed his eyes and kept a firm grip on Sixteen's arm to ensure she could enter his mind when he decided it was time to pull her into it. 

He took a moment to visualize the specifics of the home she had dreamt up all those years ago. The vision of 'their house' had always been a bit hazy, with golden fingers of sunlight spilling in from dozens of windows situated all throughout the house. He recalled it having this feeling of warmth, of familiarity, despite neither of them actually ever seeing it. The smell of old, aged wood had filled his nose with this nonspecific nostalgia and a bit of dust. To her, their imagined home had felt lived in, thoroughly loved. It was a dream of a childhood that was never theirs, or a warm blanket, or a September morning.

When he opened his eyes, he found himself there. The familiar rush of his abilities soothed his slight nerves as he took in the home. He found himself in what had to be a building decades old. The paint job was surely once beautiful, but now it had faded with years of supposed use. The kitchen-- which was visible through a small opening into the wall of the living room-- had these lacy, off-white curtains that, like the rest of the home, seemed to have been bleached by the sun. Through the opened curtains, he could see woods. A lot of woods, golden and green in the mid-afternoon heat. A warm breeze blew through the home. The tiled floor of the kitchen seemed to have a layer of dust.

It occurred to him that Sixteen was no longer grasped in his hand. Instead, her body lay three or four feet away, resting on a couch made of the faintest little floral pattern one could imagine. He wondered if, in their imaginary world, it had always been like that, or if the supposed years they'd spent on it led to a slow, steady fading of color. The walls were wooden. Scratched as well, with chips pulled off here and there, but still charming-- still a testament to years well lived within these wooden walls.

The sound of Sixteen's body shifting interrupted his thoughts. The still, comfortable silence that had enveloped him moments ago shifted as well. Henry swallowed back his nerves, swallowed the sudden rise of fever that warmed his skin, and approached her.

She seemed to still be caught between sleep and consciousness as she stood from the couch. Expression glazed over, she looked around confusedly as the seconds passed. Suddenly, she swayed a bit and squeezed her eyes shut as though in pain. Then, her knees buckled. Henry rushed to her before she could fall.

"Careful," he murmured, his voice barely there. He set her back down on the couch. Her disoriented gaze met his, he could see the tiredness fall away. It occurred to him that she was probably terrified. "You took quite the fall."

Her movements were slow. Careful. Sixteen's eyes left his to flutter over her surroundings. Then, they immediately returned. She didn't trust him enough to look away. Her mouth opened and closed soundlessly. Oh, yes, she was definitely terrified.

"Where am I?" She asked, voice hoarse from the sleep Henry had forced upon her. She reminded him of a hummingbird in that moment, her little heart thumping too fast for her body to keep up with. 

As though remembering the events that brought her here, Sixteen's fingers ghosted over her throat. She winced, almost imperceptibly, at the memory of his hands wrapped around it. There was no bruise to act as a testament to what he'd done, but they both knew. He saw the look in her eyes when they met his. They both knew.

Her fear was obvious to Henry, but there was something else there, too. When she looked at him, she seemed to be searching his expression for something more specific, as though she were... gauging him.

As soon as he got the opportunity to wonder why, she tried to rise from the couch once more, "What did you do?"

That was when Henry knew, truly, that she was trying to hide something from him.

"I didn't do anything, sweetheart," He blocked her path of travel and, gently, placed a hand on her shoulder. "Don't get yourself worked up. You need to rest."

"Henry--."

"You can argue with me once you've sat down."

She blinked the sleep from her eyes. "I will argue with you wherever I want, thanks."

"Just sit, Sixteen. You're in for a long day."

She gave him an icy glare. It made him uncomfortable, but he was too proud to let her know that.

Sixteen begrudgingly sat down, eyes glued to his the whole time. Her head angled back, and a dip of her shoulder told him that it would probably be smarter if he let her go. He did.

There was always a certain amount of tension when they spoke with one another, but today it was different. They weren't simply playing mind games anymore. There were stakes, now. Real stakes that Sixteen must have felt like a noose around her neck. Her friends were in danger, and the threat against them was standing right in front of her. Somehow, though, her face was empty in the face of it all. So was his. It was impossible to tell what the other was thinking.

"You choked me." She was the first to speak.

Henry was a bit surprised to find his lip tilting into a frown at her words. He didn't like how matter-of-factly she'd said them, like it was something she expected.

"Yes."

She blinked at him. "That's it? Yes?"

He broke eye contact. "I don't know what to say."

"Sorry, maybe? Something multisyllabic?"

"If I apologize, will you forgive me?" He asked. Her silence was the only answer he needed, but still he called, "Sixteen?"

"No," she replied, "but you could at least try."

He tried to think of a response, but his mind was blank.

Here was one of the many reasons why he didn't like being around Sixteen-- he lost his edge. He lost his inclination to be logical about matters, to think his words through.

Not even five minutes in, and he needed to get away from her and clear his thoughts. "Would you... like something to drink?"

She didn't reply. He gathered water was the last thing she wanted. The gesture was still nice though, he told himself. Perhaps she'd view it as an olive branch and not as him running away.

With a passing glance at Sixteen, he stood, muttered, "stay there," and left the room. He needed a moment to center himself. He had, wrongfully, believed the hour he spent pacing around the attic would prepare him for this. For Sixteen.

He fumbled with the cabinets in the kitchen. Beneath his shoes, the floor was a bit slippery, perhaps on account of the dust. Just like the rest of the house, the cabinets were worn. Around their handles, the paint job had peeled, exposing the cabinet's wooden underbelly and even more scratches.

He found a glass. Dusty, just like everything else.

He repeated his plan in his head over and over, as though thinking of it enough would will it into existence. He had to soothe her mind, and then all that was left was to make her comfortable enough to trust him, just for a few minutes. So far, he had not succeeded in either. Henry suspected he'd done the opposite, actually. He wondered if her trust was even attainable anymore.

He moved to the sink and was surprised to find it actually worked. Somewhere behind the kitchen's dainty blue wallpaper, pipes groaned as he turned on the cold water. A few seconds passed, and then it gushed out a bit brown in color. He let the faucet run for a little while and spared a glance at Sixteen.

Through the window cutout between the kitchen and the living room, he could see her on the couch, staring at the nearest door. She took her thumb between her teeth, chewing on the nail. He knew she was weighing her odds of escape, and probably realizing how minuscule they were. With her abilities as unstable as they were, she couldn't do much here unless he allowed it. And even then, they were in his mind. His domain. 

Henry felt he was looking at a caged bird, fluttering around madly between unyielding bars.

The more he watched, the more he noticed the disquiet gnawing at the back of his mind.

He didn't like seeing her like that. He really didn't like it. He knew what it was like to be locked in a cage, and now he was a bit horrified to find himself responsible for trapping her in one.

But this would all be worth it soon. All of it.

With a sharp inhale, he tried to convince himself that it was true. His knuckles turned white around the sink's basin.

Henry was hungry. Born hungry, in fact, always hungry.

Since childhood, hunger had been a concept foundational to him. For control, for influence. For anything he saw as a solution to a defining 'loneliness' his family had cultivated in him so many years ago. Sometimes, he couldn't help scoffing at the idea that he, powerful as he was, still grappled with an upbringing so far behind him.

Henry could only vaguely recall the happier moments of his childhood, and if he was correct, they were few and far between. Most of it was spent on his own, avoiding his father and sister, hiding from his mother. Sometimes he saw flashes of his parent's angry faces, and the memory of a spider stretched over blood-red clouds, but that was about it. It was pathetic, really, that the one thing he never seemed able to forget was that loneliness.

Henry wasn't sure if 'loneliness' was the right term for the feeling which defined his youth. It was more complex than childhood angst or societal rejection. It was an innate, undeniable disconnect between himself and the world around him. He remembered a portion of his life when the feeling hadn't existed, but then visions of that spider had appeared in his head. Ever since, that emptiness in him had been fixed and constant. Though it waxed and waned much like the moon, there was no getting away from it. Ever.

He had only gotten nine years of peace before it began.

He hadn't been evil, then. Just a child, suffering, and his mother condemned him for it. At the first sign of irregularity, she had arranged to send him off with Brenner. He was taken to that lab before he could even grow into his hands. There, he found solace from Brenner's blinding white lights in a quiet darkness that always existed inside him. He would've lost his mind, were it not for the disconnect between him and the world, which he came to recognize as the only thing that ever truly belonged to him. He embraced his isolation, let it settle in him without a reason to fight it anymore.

Things took a turn when Soteria was implanted in his neck. Those feelings he kept in the darkness seemed to fester and rot left unchecked. Emptiness transformed into an all-consuming desire to fill the void that hallowed him out so long ago. He wanted power, and control, and all the things he had been denied for so long. He starved for it, and when the time came, he killed for it as well. The children in the lab, the nurses, the guards... He wouldn't be satisfied until Brenner was dead, too. And even then, there was no telling when he'd have his fill.

Punishing Hawkins for its crimes against him was only the beginning of a long, bloody campaign.

He had waited a decade already. He couldn't stand to wait any longer.

Now, it was just Sixteen standing in his way.

The mention of her name turned his attention back to the sink, where he found the brown-colored water had been filtered out. He filled Sixteen's glass, each movement thoughtful, predetermined and, of course, executed perfectly. He turned the tap off.

Sixteen didn't look at him when he reentered the room.

"Running's pointless," He heard himself say. He approached her once more. "There's nowhere for you to go."

Her glare was withering, but his expression was empty when he held out the glass. "Drink." He said. It wasn't a question.

Her eyes flickered between his and the glass. "I'm not thirsty."

"It wasn't a request, Sixteen."

She laughed sharply. There was no humor in it. "I don't think I like your tone, Henry. What next? Sit, roll over?"

"I haven't decided yet," He muttered. A deceptively easy smile tugged at his face. "How about we start with the drinking?"

She didn't move.

He shook the glass coaxingly. "Come on, I know you must be thirsty. I'm just trying to look out for you."

"Look out for me? ...That might be the stupidest thing to ever come out of your mouth."

His smile faltered. "Drink."

Neither of them moved. Sixteen looked at the glass as though it had personally wronged her, but she knew when to pick her battles. This one certainly wasn't worth the trouble, she seemed to decide, so she reached forward and snatched the water. Then, Sixteen paused for a moment, as if in thought.

She made a show of bringing the glass to her lips, but instead of drinking, she met his eyes. Henry watched her intently, and he kept on watching as she extended her hand and poured the glass' contents on the floor.

Henry glanced at the puddle that formed beside the couch, a bit taken aback. She dropped the cup as well, and soon shattered glass joined the water on the floor.

"Why am I here, Henry?" Her tone was sharp as the shards below her. The same one she used to reserve for Brenner in the lab.

His expression remained neutral, but internally, he was sweating. "I wanted to talk."

"To talk?" She repeated. "So you thought the best way to talk to me was to push me off a thirty-foot drop and kidnap me?"

He nodded once. It wasn't like he could deny it.

"There are much more polite ways to get my attention." She muttered disdainfully.

He opened his mouth to apologize, but then reminded himself that it would probably just anger her further. Instead, he opted for, "I'll keep that in mind, thank you."

He hoped his comment would lighten the mood. It didn't. He was never going to get her to relax, was he?

"Why am I here?" She repeated. Why was she here? To help him gain access to her mind, for one, but he couldn't tell her that. The other reason for her presence, with all its simplicity, wasn't so easy to say out loud. He just liked the idea of her being there, talking to him. He liked to breathe the same air as her. She was something good where most things were awful, and after all he'd lived through, Henry didn't take that goodness lightly.

His words were quiet, and a bit too honest when he replied, "I really did just want to talk to you."

The icy look in her eye melted just slightly. It wasn't much headway for Henry, but it was something. "Why?"

"You know why," He answered instantly, his eyes snapping to hers.

"Oh, please." Her glare had a little less heart this time. "I can't believe you're pulling this shit, Henry. Desperate times, I take it?"

"I'm not pulling anything."

"You are. And now you're lying to my face."

"I'm not, Sixteen."

"Prove it."

"You can't be seri--"

"--If you're not lying, prove it."

"How do you expect me to do that?"

She shook her head, "I don't know, Henry, use your imagination."

He hesitated. With the way things were right now, lies would only get Henry so far. Of course, no matter what he said, there would exist the underlying fact that he was indeed using Sixteen to get to her friends, but... Beneath it all, a part of him simply wanted her to be there. He'd tiptoed around that truth for as long as he could, not wanting to face the discomfort of it all, but now it was time to be honest. At least partially, if he wanted her to give him a chance.

 Still, though, it felt too ugly, this wanting. The words seemed to wrestle with his mouth, stubbornly refusing to form on his tongue. At that moment, he almost would've preferred to tell her about his plan to weasel his way back into her head.

He didn't look at her when he said, "You were at the gate, and I saw an opportunity. I'll admit, I was frustrated with you for trying to close it but... You're not one to just roll over and die. Especially with your friends on the line, I should've expected as much. I brought you here to stop you, yes, but I was also hoping we could sit for a little while. One more time, before this little rebellion is put to rest and you hate me for it."

"I already hate you."

"Yes, I know, but you don't hate me yet." He emphasized the word, assigning it a significance that only Sixteen would recognize. 

A short silence ensued. 

"What else is there to talk about?" She asked. Her fingers were drawn into fists, the nails biting her palm. In a brief moment of discomposure, she rushed out the words, "Have you changed your mind?"

'Have you changed your mind?' As in, had he decided to let her friends live?

He pretended to mull the question over, as though he didn't immediately know the answer. "No, Sixteen. I haven't changed my mind."

She inhaled softly and nodded. She certainly wasn't surprised, but to know the answer and to hear it come out of his mouth were two different things.

He knew his next question might have been a cruel one to ask. Still, he let it slip, his curiosity getting the better of him, "What if I had? ...Changed my mind?"

Her shoulders, which had relaxed ever so slightly, tensed back up. That was the only response necessary for Henry to know he should've kept his mouth shut. "'What if?'" She echoed, her voice freezing over. She brought her knees to her chest, almost protectively. What, had he scared her? "Now you're just being mean, Henry."

No, he hadn't scared her. Hurt her, rather, and now she looked like she was trying to collapse in on herself.

"I'm sorry," He said, and he really meant it. "I wasn't trying to be mean."

"Well, you were." Sixteen muttered. A few seconds passed, and she spoke again, "I just don't understand you... You ask me 'What if I had changed my mind' like you don't have full control over the answer. There is no what if, Henry. You could leave my friends alone, or you could keep this up and kill them. The choice is yours. It's only ever been yours."

"...I know that."

"Do you, Henry? Do you really? Because the way you act makes it seem like this whole thing is somehow out of your hands. Walk me through this. You're murdering these kids because-- what?-- you have a vendetta against a town that doesn't know you exist anymore? The people living here now have nothing to do with the lab, or your family, or any of it. Hurting them isn't gonna change the fact that you got hurt." She made sure to meet his eyes, "There's no shame in changing your mind. No one else has to die. You could just let it go, Henry."

After they were spoken, her words took a long while to register in his mind.

He could just let it go.

Henry was well aware that he could change his mind right then if he truly wanted to. All it would take was a decision, and then it'd be as if all those weeks of endless strategizing and preparation never occurred. Except for their place in his memory, of course, but even that would disappear someday. In time, the deaths of those children-- Fred, Patrick, Chrissy--- would be written off as another tragedy in a world already drowning in them. It could be that easy. The void inside him could simply go unfilled, and those dreams of power and control could be forgotten.  

He could just let it go.

But... no.

No, it wasn't that easy. How could he ever move on knowing the people of this town, the people who stole his life from him, got to walk free? Unscarred, unburdened, utterly unaffected, while Henry had lost everything that was ever his. All of Hawkins was complicit in turning their heads, in forgetting him. This was so much more than a simple decision to kill or not kill, it was the question of whether or not he was going to let these people win. 

His blood for theirs. This violence was justified, and necessary, and Henry was sure of that.

And it terrified him, more than anything he had ever known, to wonder if maybe, this whole time, he had simply been wrong.

But that wasn't possible. Sixteen didn't know what she was talking about. 

This wasn't something he could simply 'let go' of, and her friends would learn that the hard way.

Brenner and his town wouldn't get the satisfaction of his mercy, either. Not when Henry would be forced to live with the consequences of their actions for the rest of his life. The sight of '001' stamped on his skin reignited the fire Sixteen's words had briefly stamped out.

When he looked back at her, she was already watching him. Closely. She must've seen the conclusion on his face-- that he could not let it go, and he never would-- because she looked away from him with something like defeat.

She lowered her head and took a breath. He gave her a moment to collect herself, and then changed the topic entirely. It was a clear indication that the issue would not be pressed further, and his mind would not be changed. "How are you feeling?"

She looked back at him, and her face was so expressionless he wondered if he simply imagined the last few seconds. "I'm fine," she said.

"Oh, don't lie. You must be at least a little sore... it was quite the effort, getting you here."

"I guess I have a headache," She admitted, and after a moment of thought asked, "Where am I?"

He knew what she meant, but he still gestured around the room. "Here. With me."

"No, I mean where is my body."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Sixteen." His smile was deceptively innocent.

"I'm not braindead, Henry," A hint of anger seeped into her voice, "I know this isn't real. Where is my body actually?"

"I don't think you'll like the answer."

"Yes, well, today has been full of things I don't like so you may as well just tell me."

"You're safe," He assured her, "With me. At my family home."

She sucked in a breath. "I'm in the Upside Down, aren't I?"

He considered lying, but opted against it. "Yes. Basically."

"Basically." She repeated, more exasperated than angry. She took a moment to fully register the words, and then let slip a, "Motherfucker."

"That's fair."

"This is why I kicked you out of my head, Henry. You're a bitch."

"You have a way with words, Sixteen."

She shot him a glare, clearly unimpressed with his lack of a reaction.

"What, is that the best you can do?" He tilted his head, egging her on.

A minute passed of her throwing around just about any curse she could think of. He took every insult without much offense. He'd grown used to her colorful vocabulary, and if he was being honest, he found something endearing about it.

Once she was finished, she settled back on the couch. She seemed to have run out of the patience it required to be afraid. "Great. So we talked, like you wanted. Can I go back to my body now? I have things to do." 

'Things to do.' Henry frowned. Amidst their conversation, it had briefly slipped his mind that Sixteen and her friends were actively working against him. Though the two of them were cordial enough, she could flip on a dime. It would be a grave error to let himself forget that.

"Why? So you can run off and try to close another gate?" He asked lightly, though he wasn't at all joking, "I don't think so, Sweetheart. You'll be staying here for a little while longer."

"I thought you'd say something like that." Her voice was a bit deflated, "I really, truly don't understand what you're trying to accomplish by keeping me here."

"That might be because I'm not trying to accomplish anything."

"Funny."

"It's true," He insisted. "I want a few more hours with you, that's all. Who knows how things will work themselves out?"

A flash of worry appeared on her face, "I can't tell if that was a threat or not."

Taken aback, Henry couldn't help but frown, insulted by the notion, "It wasn't a threat." Sixteen didn't reply, so he added, "Would you prefer I threaten you?"

Dryly, she replied, "No. Thanks."

It was clear they both needed a moment to ignore the other. 

She sent him a loathing look, and he returned it before they lapsed into silence. Tension made Henry turn away from her and flex his fingers, as though it would relieve some of the pressure. The room felt charged with a mix of so many opposing emotions that it made him claustrophobic. At that moment, Henry's reality felt so far away he could almost forget why he was there in the first place. Though she didn't seem it at the moment, Sixteen was calculated, and far too smart to be underestimated. He was certain the illusion they sat in distracted her at least a little-- an unintended consequence being that it distracted him, too-- but she had much more on the line than he did. Distracted or not, she wouldn't soon lose sight of her mission to save her friends. 

When he snuck a glance at her, that opinion was only cemented.

Thinking Henry was still turned away, Sixteen had lost the almost careless demeanor she assumed moments before. There she was again, back to chewing on her thumbnail, deep in thought. This was the version of her he knew to be weary of. Brilliant, but dangerous, and so very unassuming it was nearly impossible to realize the threat she posed. Fortunately, he knew her well enough not to be fooled.

You could just let it go

Henry looked away as the sentence crossed his mind. The lingering weight of a battle with his own motivations could not easily be shaken off. 'You could just let it go' echoed without relent, from all corners of his brain. He tried to get it to shut up by focusing on the floor boards, then a bit of wood peeking out from a hole on the couch, but it seemed nothing was enough. His eyebrows creased.

He had a terrible habit of getting stuck on a thought. No matter how unpleasant, his brain would fixate on little things that were often of no consequence. If it was annoying when the fixation didn't revolve around anything important, then it was maddening when it did.

You could just let it go. You could just let it go. You could just let it go. You could just let it go. You could just let it go. You could just let it go. 

Yes, well, if it would stop repeating in his head then perhaps he could. Until then, he didn't see himself 'letting it go' anytime soon.

"How did you know about this?"

The sound of Sixteen's voice was a welcome distraction from his thoughts. He faced her perhaps too quickly.

"About what?" He asked.

"This house."

Derived almost entirely from her dreams, there wasn't really any excuse Henry could give as to why he knew it so well.

Maybe the lamenting of 'you could let it go' wasn't so bad.

How would Sixteen react to the knowledge that he used to sneak into her dreams often enough to build them from memory? 

Not only that, the appearance of this house was most frequent during the first few months after the lab murders, when her condition had been at its most delicate. He doubted that she would want him to know about that time of her life, being the cause of it and all.

Well, whether she liked it or not, he had been there. 

Henry pressed his lips into a line.

He often tried not to think about the state she'd been in directly following the massacre. How many nights had she cried herself hoarse, only to drift off into the same nightmare-ridden sleep? Nearly all of them, if he recalled, that is if she slept at all. She drank herself half to death, never not inebriated or hunched over a toilet, vomiting until her insides were shredded. All so she could collapse on a stained mattress and wake up the next day to repeat the process.

Henry was sure it would inevitably kill her, that cycle of downing any bottle she got her hands as though it would burn the lab from her mind, and not just her tastebuds.

Back then, there was a profound absence that had carved everything-- everything-- out of her. It was an absence he recognized in himself, and to see it mirrored in Sixteen was just about the worst thing he could've imagined. She died, then, in every way a person could die outside of their brain shutting down. That woman he watched for so long wasn't Sixteen. That woman wasn't a person at all, really. Just a red-eyed husk, who spent her days rotting in bed, having to force herself to swallow food only to continue haunting the same unwashed sheets.

It went on like that for months, until Henry couldn't stomach the guilt of seeing her anymore.

He could recall a time when his condition was not much better than Sixteen's. After his family had been indisposed, Brenner kept him under close guard in the lab. Days went by locked in his bedroom, with nothing but his mind and those awful white tiles to occupy him. His circumstances had been different than Sixteen's, but the grief was all the same. Ever-present and debilitating. 

"Henry?"

At the sound of his name, he was pulled from his thoughts. Sixteen's head was tilted expectantly, but he couldn't recall what she had asked. A frown captured his lips.

He wouldn't be able to lower her guard if she thought he was ignoring her.

"So that's a yes," She said, referring to something which he didn't remember.

"Sorry?"

"I asked you if you knew this house from your little adventures in my head," She clarified, settling back on the couch. "And now, I'm taking your inability to answer the question as a yes." Henry knew he made himself look worse by staying silent, but he didn't know what to say. Sixteen clicked her tongue, "You're a talented conversationalist, Henry."

He pushed the unhappy thoughts from his head. After all, it was best he focused on getting into her mind. "I like this house," he said, somewhat out of the blue, trying to steer the conversation in a lighter direction. 

She gave him a strange look. "You do?"

"Yes," He considered her carefully, "That surprises you. Why?"

She shrugged, "I guess I pictured you preferring caves to houses. You know, with all your creepy little monsters and bats and shit."

Henry wasn't amused. 

"What?" She frowned, "I'm not judging you. Caves are lovely... Besides, it must be nice to finally be with your kind."

"Oh, it is. I don't much care for caves, though." His gaze swept over the living room, "I like it perfectly fine here."

In truth, it wasn't really the house that charmed him, but rather the idea of living in it alongside her. It inspired a million little 'what ifs' that Sixteen's presence only seemed to encourage. 

"You won't push me off another flight of stairs if I look around a little, will you?" She asked.

He feigned offense, "Why, am I boring you?"

She clicked her tongue, "I don't think you want me to answer that."

With no real reason to deny her request, he nodded, "Go ahead. It's your house, anyway."

Sixteen rose from her place on the couch, a bit unsteady as she pressed on her temple. That strange look in her eye returned as she disappeared into the kitchen, and then down the hallway. He offered her a few seconds' head start before he followed.

He didn't trust her to go off on her own, but he also didn't like the idea of suffocating her with his presence. Thus, he maintained a comfortable distance as Sixteen savored every detail of 'their home.'

She seemed to possess this innate knowledge of its layout, effortlessly gliding from room to room without once losing her way. He watched her closely as her fingers traced the hallway's oakwood wainscoting, seeming to draw great comfort from the way it kissed her fingertips. Sixteen regarded everything from the peeling wallpaper to the floor she walked on with a reverence that was more fitting of a holy site than an old, fabricated house. Proceeding down the hall, she paused to look through every door, always so quiet and so thoughtful as she studied the rooms on the other side. Once satisfied, she would return the doors to their frames with a tenderness that suggested they were sentient beings, and not just blocks of wood.

She moved slowly enough to revel in the house's every detail, but she must've had a destination in mind.

They reached a set of stairs, light and wooden just like most everything else. A delicately patterned carpet ran along the center of the steps, and somewhere upstairs Henry could smell pine needles and fresh air. Sixteen looked up, as though recognizing it as well. 

That scent must've been familiar to her. A moment later she was ascending the steps without half the attention to detail. She turned to him with a dazzling smile on her face, like they were in on some secret. He couldn't help smiling back.

He followed, but not before taking a moment to admire the sight of her. Sixteen looked lighter than she had in a long while. Though, maybe that was just the fluttering of hazy sunlight that spilled through the windows and onto her skin. 

The view struck him in a way he hadn't anticipated. He'd only seen her so light once before, sprawled on her bed in a mess of tangled limbs, trading sleepy words and half-conscious kisses in a hue of blue floodlights.

He almost allowed himself to get lost in the memory, but instead, logic reemerged with its typical vengeance.

Remember why you're here.

Oh. Yes, that was right. There was still a war going on outside. 

Henry turned his gaze to the floor, dispelling blue-tinted memories as best he could. 

When he reached the top of the steps, Sixteen was already at the end of the hallway, staring into what he assumed was the master bedroom. Her lips were parted slightly, drawing in breath as though someone had knocked it out of her. 

"What's wrong?" He asked.

Upon closer inspection, though, nothing was wrong. She was just at a loss for words, moved so deeply by what Henry thought was just another unremarkable bedroom. 

"It looks just like I imagined it," Sixteen's voice was a whisper as he came to a stop behind her.

Henry looked over her head in search of the beauty that had taken her breath away. On reflection, the bedroom was actually quite lovely, but he wasn't sure if that was a credit to its appearance or to Sixteen's gift of making anything she laid eyes on seem like artwork.

Either way, her awe rubbed off on him when he studied the room more thoroughly. It was unlike the rest of the house in that it was spacious, with its wide, arched windows and beautifully sloped ceilings. Cut into both sides of the roof was a skylight, which rained afternoon sun onto a bed large enough to fit them both. The quilt seemed aged but not unclean, composed of white cotton that spilled over the sides of the mattress and fluttered just above the ground. The quilt then lended to a half-dozen pillows and a headboard of brooding mahogany. Here, the wood that filled the rest of the house was limited to the ground, and even then it was largely blanketed by an intricate, soft-looking rug that seemed to call them to it.  

"It's stunning, isn't it?" She spoke, mostly to herself. She looked at him to agree, but seemed unable to peel her eyes away for more than a second. Her gaze had reverted ahead before he could reply. 

"Yes, it is," he said, paying no mind to the bedroom.

After Sixteen's initial awe faded away, she padded a few feet inside. He noticed a slight shift on her face. "Henry?"

"Yes?" He took a step forward, but didn't venture any further.

"I don't think this affair with Max and the others is going to go well," She chose her words carefully, "for any of us." He resented the return to subjects that concerned real life, but he knew they couldn't sit and play make-believe forever.  

You could just let it go.

He gritted his teeth at the phrase's return.

"Maybe not for you, Sixteen." His response was cocky, yes, but not meant to be cruel. 

"What makes you say that?"

"I think it's obvious." A small sigh escaped his lips, "You have to know today isn't going to end how you want. You won't be able to save all of them."

"You're too self-assured, Henry. It clouds your judgment." She neared one of the arched windows on the far side of the room. "You're not invincible, so you really should stop acting like it."

"Why's that?" He watched her closely.

Sixteen's gaze was fixed on hills of rolling green just beyond the glass. There was a garden, too, filled with bees, and life, and just about any flower that she knew of five years ago. "Because it's gonna get you killed one day."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes."

"And who would kill me?" He asked, "Your friends? With their record players?"

She stayed quiet for a little while. "Maybe."

"Please, Sixteen. You're smarter than that." He found himself growing exasperated. Hopefully, she hadn't truly deluded herself into thinking her friends could kill him. "You're on the losing team. Maybe if they still had you, there would be a chance to stop me, but... You're indisposed. I wish things didn't have to happen this way, but they do. If it's not over now, then it will be very soon." That is if it even started in the first place. "You chose the wrong side."

His final comment was a bitter one, but it'd been on Henry's mind for so long now.

He was prepared for Sixteen to berate him or go on a rant defending her decision, but instead, she stayed thoughtfully silent. Eventually, she spoke up, "I know I hurt you. By choosing them, I mean." She peeled her eyes from the window long enough to meet his, and mutter, "I'd do it again, Henry, but... I really am sorry that it hurts you."

"It doesn't hurt me, Sixteen," He said, as though the thought was ridiculous. 

"It does." She asserted, "You know, you can be angry at me if it makes you feel better. I'm angry at you, too. Have been for years."

She was right, and he loathed to admit it. He sighed, more annoyed with himself than he was with her, "I find it quite difficult to be angry with you."

She turned away from the window, offering him a weak little smile. "You should try it. It's liberating."

"Oh, don't tempt me." He cautioned. She smiled again, a bit wider this time. 

Just when he thought they were bound for lighter conversation, Sixteen glanced around the room and her expression grew weary. The smile was gone soon after. 

"What is it?"

She looked at him, and that same strange look from the living room was glinting in her eye, "Nothing. I'm just thinking."

"About?"

She shook her head dismissively.

"Tell me," He said, then added, "Please."

"It doesn't matter."

"Then you should have no problem telling me, hm?"

Annoyedly, she told him, "Drop it, Henry."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Sixteen was without the patience for a back-and-forth. "This house just reminds me of something I'd rather not be reminded of." She eventually confessed. Another pause. She weighed her next words carefully. "How much of it did you see?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, when you went in my head, how much of this dream did you see?" She watched him closely.

He knew what she was really asking; did he know about the fantasy she dreamt up? Where they slept in this very room and picked blueberries in the backyard, sheltered from the world and its tendency to throw stones at pretty things. 

Henry tried to make his voice sound disinterested when he replied, "All of it." 

She flushed. Clearly, that wasn't the answer Sixteen wanted. There was a certain intensity in her eyes as she turned back to the window, desperate to save face.

No one said anything for a minute. Or maybe it was just a second, but the weight of words unspoken played with the passage of time. 

Henry thought about the world she'd built for them more than he would ever admit. Ideas of what could have been were the worst of Sixteen's torments, ever-present and burned into his head with painful clarity. He wanted to blame her for that, but it was his mind that taunted him with what circumstance had denied.

As soon as the words left his lips, Henry wished he could take them back, "I think I would've liked it here. With you."

"Really?"

He nodded, but she couldn't see it with her back turned away. "Back then, at least."

"But not anymore?"

He knew the direction they were headed in was a perilous one, but he couldn't help himself. "I didn't say that, Sixteen."

Henry watched her tense. There was this vaguely terrified look on Sixteen's face as she peeled her eyes from the window. She stopped halfway through turning to him, a strange severity anchoring her in place. As though he were something terminal, some diagnosis she couldn't accept, her eyes avoided his like the plague.  

It sounded like the words had clawed their way out of her throat when she asked, "Then why don't we go?" 

Henry felt like he'd been burned. "What?"

Sixteen looked just as scared as he did, as though some higher power was forcing her to speak, "We could leave, Henry. We don't have to hurt people anymore."

"Sixteen--." 

"--Look at everything that's happened to us," She urged. He turned his head away-- if only it were possible to tune her out. "Don't look away from me, Henry." He couldn't help it, but she continued anyway. "We both deserve peace, and we could have that if we just left this stupid fucking town."

"That's enough, Sixteen." He felt nauseous. 

"It's not. If you want to spend the rest of your life resenting every other person in the world, fine. We can resent them together." Her words were rushed. Desperate. "Somewhere far away from here. No one else has to get hurt. You could finally live, Henry."

"I'm already living." He said. But, really, Henry wasn't sure if he'd been alive since the lab. Before then, even.

"That isn't true." She shook her head feverishly, somehow reading his mind. "But if we left... if we left, it could be. Please, Henry. There's so much more than Brenner and what he did to you. I need you to see that."

Henry felt unsteady. Really, truly unsteady. 

Would he ever be able to forgive himself if he let this go? If he ran off with Sixteen and let all those years of hurt, and fear, and anger go unaccounted for? Surely, Brenner and the others had to pay for it. Someone had to suffer like he had, otherwise, what was the point? Why had he gone through all of that? There had to be some purpose to be found in this cruelty. What happened to him couldn't have just been another senseless act of violence.

To run away with her would be to accept that it was. That there was no divine point here, no greater meaning to be found within the ink stain on his wrist. It would be submission to the fact that he wasn't a god, just a person made ugly by scars that still ached.

You could just let it go.

The words screamed resignation in his mind. You could just let it go.

But would he know himself if he did?

"I'm not going anywhere with you, Sixteen." He knew, despite their simplicity, his words were the kind that hurt the soul. He hoped he'd said them gently enough.

Sixteen's eyes left his. Refocused on the ground. 

"But we could pretend I said yes," His fingers caught her chin. She tensed. He tensed, too, because it was terrifying to hold her-- to know his grip was too tight, and it always would be. "Just for an hour or two."

She shook her head and laughed. If she didn't, she might've cried. "You must think I have no self-respect if you're asking that."

"This isn't about self-respect," He whispered. Sixteen's eyes seemed to look anywhere but his. "Give me a few minutes. That's all. It won't change anything, and it won't save anyone, and you can go right back to hating me once it's over... I want to be the person you thought I was. Even if it's just for a few minutes."

She closed her eyes as though will alone would drive him away.

But it didn't, and the press of his lips against hers told her it never could. Like something pitiful, something desperate, Henry kissed her until his lungs ached for air. It occurred to him-- somewhere between meeting her lips and splaying his fingers on her cheek-- how truly starved for tenderness he was. Hopelessly, pathetically starved, like a stray dog reduced to sharp ribs and matted fur, eating whatever scraps it could from the palm of her hand.

Sixteen pulled away. Taking the scraps with her, leaving his stomach empty. Henry almost begged her to return. 

A brief moment of clarity sparked up her eyes, bright enough to remind her how wrong this was.  To kiss him was to betray herself and her friends, and yet, those years of wanting didn't simply disappear when she decided they had to.

His gaze was still trained on her lips when she whispered, "Please, Henry."

He shifted it long enough to meet her eyes. "What is it?"

They were too close for her to think straight, and he made no effort to back away. "I told myself this wouldn't happen again." She breathed, eyebrows furrowed in a pointless attempt at focusing herself. Her eyes flitted to his lips, but she restrained herself. "I have to stop letting you get in my head."

How ironic.

Sixteen put her hand on his chest as if to push him away. He waited to be sent stumbling back, but the shove never came. Henry stared through half-lidded eyes, welcoming whatever decision she made. 

"Stop it," she begged, "Don't look at me like that."

His lips tilted into a smile. "Why not?"

Dread pooled in her eyes, and he swore he could taste it when she leaned forward and kissed him. Her mind and her body warred with each other, desperate to find common ground. How could they, when morality was so tentative?

Between breaths, she told him, "I'll regret this," as though it were inevitable, and then she kissed him anyway.

He laughed and stumbled blindly toward the bed, not daring to pull away. Henry knew if he let her think long enough, guilt would send her running from him like it had so many times before. He couldn't allow that-- he wouldn't-- so as soon as her back met the plush white quilt he descended upon her. Trailing kisses down her neck, whispering pretty words, drugging up her mind until logic's sobering whispers went quiet.

"Henry," She called to him, all breath. 

"Hm?" His voice was barely there as he positioned himself on top of her. The mattress was forgiving, and soft, and it felt familiar somehow. Maybe that was just her, though.

 Either way, the thought was soon pushed from his head. The sound of his name in her mouth was religion, and louder than anything he'd ever heard. His lips left hers just long enough to fumble with the string holding her pants in place. 

She pushed him away before he could get them off, sweatpants hanging loosely around her waist as she straddled his. Sixteen's hands pressed on his shoulders, anchoring him against the mattress. He wasn't sure why, though-- how he could possibly want to go anywhere else?

Henry's hands settled on her thighs, tracing patterns into warm skin. She leaned over him, her lips trailing along his jaw. His breaths shuddered. "If we left," she whispered, her hips pressing harder against his, drawing a soft groan from his mouth, "it could be like this every day." 

He laughed, somewhat in disbelief that she reverted to this method of convincing him to run away. With a smile on his face, he flipped them over. His eyes watched every twist of her face when he found the place between her skin and her underwear. "You're not playing fair," he breathed.

Sixteen's breath caught when she felt his fingers dip inside her. It was a slight action, there and then gone, teasing just as the push of her hips had been. His other hand trailed up her abdomen, nearly reaching her bra before her eyes snapped wide open. 

As though she had been burned, Sixteen jerked up and pushed him away. It was then that Henry noticed something protruding, almost imperceptibly, from her side. When her shirt had resettled, it was hidden from view once more.

A gun, maybe?

The mood shifted suddenly enough to disorient them both. Sixteen, still slightly out of breath, her hair messied, met his eyes. Henry kept his face blank, well aware that she was gauging his reaction. 

He took a brief moment to assess the situation. Sixteen-- his wildcard-- had a weapon on her. Not a surprise by any means, but it certainly complicated matters. Then again, he couldn't be sure if it was a weapon. Maybe her bra had just shifted to the side. It was probably a weapon, though.

How romantic it was, this pattern of hers.

If he really had seen what he thought, Sixteen did a wonderful job of acting like he hadn't. She ran a hand through her hair and rushed out, "I'm sorry... I'm sorry, I shouldn't have let it go that far. I don't know what I was thinking."

The words sounded earnest enough. And if Henry's judgment was correct, she looked a little ashamed of herself. 

His hand met her thigh as if to comfort her. Henry's eyes flickered to her side once more, searching for a weapon, but her t-shirt was too loose to reveal anything. 

"What happened, Sweetheart?" He asked, worry that wasn't entirely false appearing on his face. "Did I do something wrong?

"No, you didn't do anything wrong." She shook her head, unable to meet his eyes. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I should know better than to kiss you. I told myself this wouldn't happen again--."

"--Are you planning on killing me, Sixteen?" 

His words, whispered against her ear, took a moment to register in her head. Once they had, she furrowed her eyebrows and spat out, "Of course not," as though the suggestion offended her. 

Henry truly couldn't tell if she was being honest or not. He missed his ability to read her so easily.

His hand, still resting on her thigh, squeezed it just slightly. "I hope that's true," His tone was low, and his thumb posed a dizzying contrast as it rubbed over the scar Two had given her. "Surely, you don't need a reminder of how difficult I am to kill." 

"Surely not," Sixteen muttered. With little effort, she pushed his hand away and settled against the pillows carelessly. If she was lying, she was far too good at it. "Trust me, Henry, you'd know if I was trying to kill you."

Henry gave her a pointed look. She returned it.

He truly had no idea what the next best course of action was. 

After the tense eye contact had run its course, she patted the spot beside her in invitation. Better not to worsen the situation, Henry thought, choosing peace as he rested against the pillows beside her. They could argue later. Perhaps it was better not to escalate this, especially when Henry still had to open her mind to him.

The space between him and Sixteen was not so large, and yet Henry felt miles away. Tension still twisted in the air, but it had lessened, and the short silence that overtook them gave him a moment to think. He had the strangest urge to reach out to Sixteen. To grab her hand, or gather her in his arms just for the sake of being nearer. It disturbed him, this inclination. The desire to love wasn't one he understood. He didn't know what to do with it.

 He turned his gaze from his palms to Sixteen. She was already looking at him. 

"This is strange, isn't it?" She muttered, looking away, "I forget how to talk to you when we're not arguing. Or doing... other things."

Henry smiled a little. Trying to shake off his unease, he told her, "Ask me a question, then."

She went quiet, as if in thought. The windows above poured sunlight onto her skin, glinting off her figure hazily. "Do you get bored there? In the Upside Down?"

Her voice reminded Henry not to stare. He looked back at his hands. "No. Not often, at least. I have ways of occupying my time."

She nodded, "You and the monsters must have such riveting conversation."

"Funny."

"Thanks, I know."

He looked back at her. Would it be wrong to kiss her again?

Henry shook the thoughts from his head and exhaled. "Is it my turn to ask a question?"

"Yes," She mused, "That's usually how conversations work."

He probably should've been annoyed at her sarcasm, but he wasn't. "How have you spent your time all these years?" Vaguely, Henry knew the answer, but the specifics of her day-to-day life were a mystery to him.

"I read a lot of books," She replied. She shifted a little, as though adjusting herself to get more comfortable. Intentionally or not, Sixteen moved closer to him. Hip to hip, rib to rib. She tensed slightly when his hand brushed her thigh. With her head no longer clouded by the press of lips against skin, her unease had returned.

"Is this alright?" He asked softly, his knuckles stopped in place.

She swallowed. Then nodded. 

"What sort of books did you read?"

"All kinds." Sixteen tried to cast away what nerves remained as she continued, "I don't know if you remember, but I sort of had a hard time with books in the lab. The words didn't make sense to me, and I was too embarrassed to ask anyone what they meant. Except you, I guess." She offered him a soft smile. "When I got out, I wanted to read as much as I could. To get smarter, I guess. So I read basically any genre, any author. My favorites are Dostoyevsky, Atwood,-- of course, Jane Austin-- but there was this one book I got really fixated on."

"Yeah?" His hand left her thigh and gingerly rested across her shoulders. He moved slowly, afraid to scare her away. It worked for the most part, though there was a slight redness on her face as Sixteen was pulled against him. How sweet, he thought, that she was flustered by this of all things.  "What was it called? Your book?"

It took her a moment to find her words. "Little Women... I think I reread it a dozen times."

"I've never heard of it."

"Yes, well, not everyone has good taste."

Another glare sent her way, which she received with a dazzling smile. That was all it took for his expression to soften. "What was it about?"

"Don't get me started," She cautioned, "I could talk about it for hours."

He shrugged, "I like listening to you talk."

She tried not to smile, tilting her lips downward, but the effort proved fruitless. "Not about this. Trust me. I was so obsessed with that book that I dreamt of it for like a month straight."

"Did you really?" He asked, brows raised. 

She nodded, grinning now.

"I wouldn't have taken you as someone prone to obsession."

"Oh, don't make fun," Sixteen looked up at him, wincing slightly as the sun filled her eyes. "I bet even you've loved something that much," She hummed, "Homocide, maybe."

Henry looked down at her thoughtfully. Something stirred in his chest. "Maybe one thing."

Sixteen's grin softened at his words. She stared at him, pupils blown wide as though the greedy rays of sunlight weren't still blinding her. There was a gentleness in her gaze that scared him. That suggested he was worthy of gentleness, even after a lifetime of its absence. He didn't dare move, didn't dare breathe-- maybe, if he stayed still enough, the sun would blind her to what he really was. Something unworthy, something ugly. Maybe, if he stayed still enough, she could foolishly forget that. 

"Your eyes have a little brown," She broke the silence, studying him so keenly he wondered if she could see into his head. "Near the pupil."

"Do they?"

"Yes." She laughed to herself, "Pretty."

He felt as if he'd been set alight. This must've been what it felt like to swallow fire. He was burning. Inside, outside, everywhere. That flame tore through his ribcage and sent fire up his throat-- love was too small a thing to describe this feeling he choked on.

"Thank you," he said, because he couldn't find any other words. 

She looked at him, the smile on her face faltering just slightly, "Why do you look sad?" 

"I'm not sad," He placed a kiss on her forehead. "Just thinking."

"About?"

Henry shook his head.

"You made me tell you what I was thinking about earlier," She lightly jabbed her elbow into his side, "Your turn. What's on your mind?"

His hand absently played with her hair. "You."

"Naked?"

"No, sweetheart," He laughed, "Just you."

"What about me?"

He stayed quiet for a moment. Sixteen's fingers wrapped around his, and somehow that felt more intimate than anything else. He was certain her hands were the right ones. The only ones. Here she was, all he ever wanted, and still out of reach. That's what made this so difficult. "You know I love you, right?"

"Yes," She hummed, "even though you have a really shitty way of showing it sometimes."

He smiled, but it fell quickly. "And you know this..." he gestured at the house surrounding them, "can't last much longer?"

She sat up. His arm fell from her shoulders. Sixteen's tone was light, but she looked a bit worried at the sudden shift in his demeanor.  "Are you breaking up with me?" She asked, still smiling slightly.

Henry's mouth opened in reply, but the sound of another voice interrupted him.

"What are you waiting for, asshole?"

Both of them went quiet, exchanging a confused look. 

"Hm? I'm right here."

Henry sat up. So did Sixteen. The voice sounded as though it were coming from the walls, airy and muffled. He would've known if someone had entered his mind alongside them, meaning this voice could have only been coming from outside-- the reality they had so carelessly left behind. 

"I'm right here!" The voice was shouting now, growing angry. 

They both seemed to recognize who it belonged to at the same time. Max.

Sixteen's face fell. It didn't just fall, though, it shattered. The adoration she had stared at Henry with only moments before was long gone, replaced by a dread so palpable he could feel it. "Oh, no," she whispered, her hand covering her mouth. 

"I know you can hear me."

Henry stood from the bed, recalling why he had brought Sixteen here in the first place. The reminder of who he was-- what he had to do-- was not an incredibly welcome one. When he looked at Sixteen once more, a moment of understanding passed between them. All bets were off. The unspoken knowledge that they were on opposing sides had been easy to ignore, if just for a few minutes, but now it was made painfully clear. Max was reaching out to him-- practically begging him to kill her. He couldn't ignore the opportunity when it was sitting in his lap.

Henry's eyes flickered over Sixteen one final time. She was so pretty-- nearly pretty enough to make him change his mind.

The last hour brought with it a realization. Sixteen was the solution. She probably always had been. She filled that void in him as much as any amount of power ever could, and still, he would betray her. Maybe that was his punishment for all these years of sin-- to have the solution stand three feet away from him, and to never be able to reach for her. In his pursuit for a cure, he had made her a casualty. 

It was already decided how this would end. He couldn't just abandon his goals after all the effort poured into them. Sixteen's friends were going to die. Very soon. Henry had killed three already, and he wouldn't allow that be in vain. And no amount of love in the world would justify dragging Sixteen around once this was over. 

Henry allowed the sight of her to burn into his memory and turned away. He swallowed his reservations as best he could. Just as he attempted to put distance between them, Sixteen lurched from the mattress and grabbed his sleeve. "Wait," her voice was panic-stricken, "Where are you going?"

He gave her a grim look, "It's time, Sixteen."

Before she could reply, he had closed his eyes. His abilities didn't need to be called on-- they were always there, always twisting beneath his skin. 

"Henry..." Sixteen's words trembled a little, "Henry, please. Wait, let's talk about this."

 All around them, the sunlight began flickering in and out. Their pretty illusion was beginning to break, and no matter how much she tried, Sixteen's panicked cries didn't do anything to slow it. Rays of sunlight disappeared entirely, and suddenly the room felt far colder than it ever had. Her cries grew more desperate as the seconds ticked by. The floor trembled beneath them. 

"Stop it," She begged, her nails digging into his arm, "Please. Stop, Henry."

He ignored her, and it killed him to hear her begging when his decision was already made. The sound of wind whistling in his ears picked up while she tugged on his sleeve, as though trying to break his focus-- to delay the inevitable. The oakwood floors faded beneath their feet. Outside, the garden was gone, and if the trees were still there, the lack of sunlight made them impossible to discern.

Her begging crescendoed until the smell of pine disappeared. There was a moment of silence, broken when the house let out a groan and began the process of collapsing in on itself. Splintering wood sounded more like wails as it pounded against their eardrums. With a final cry, the floor gave way, and then they were both falling. The pressure of Sixteen's fingers around his wrist grew tighter, nearly bruising, as the world blacked out.

They fell, and fell, and fell, until they met something solid. 

Henry's eyes snapped open as soon as he found himself returned to his body. The darkness of his home in the Upside Down posed a glaring contrast to the sunlit fantasy they had been in moments ago. His breaths echoed in the empty attic, and so did Sixteen's. 

They stared at each other, chests heaving. In the poor lighting, he could barely see tears in her eyes. 

"Come on, asshole. I thought you wanted to kill me."

"Sixteen..." He whispered, extending a hand towards her as Max's voice pierced the air. 

Sixteen jerked away when his hand came close, stumbling to her feet. She was shaking.

Without another word, she turned, and went sprinting for the stairwell. 

Chapter Text

I remember that last day so clearly.

It was stamped in my mind beside visions of bloody walls and broken bones. I would never forget the moment I stepped out of the Lab. How those metal doors swung open, their threshold a divider between birth and death. Waiting beyond them, the afterlife smelt like oil and magnolia trees. Even five years later, I remember how I clung to that scent all the way to the front gates. Half-alive and unsteady, swaying with the late summer breeze, my eyes had scanned the laboratory windows for signs of life. It was dusk, then, and the sky was still dark-- anticipating the sun's ascent, but it never came. The world stood still that day. All was quiet.

That quiet should have been a comfort. After all the slaughter, and bloodshed, and noise the massacre had made, I should've been thankful for it. Instead, though, I prayed for an interruption. Briefly pious and awfully desperate, I prayed there would come another cry from somewhere inside. Prayed that, even after all he'd done, Henry would stumble out of that building. Six, too, because I couldn't be the only one left. There had to be others. 

No one cried out, though, and Six never showed. My prayers went unanswered. 

That was maybe the worst moment of my life. I had thought 'the worst' would be finding Six broken up on the ground, or hearing Henry's cries for me to stay with him a little longer, but instead, it was that moment of silence.

Cruel and indifferent, it confronted me with the reality of what was and now wasn't. It reminded me of the empty spaces that used to be filled, and demanded I feel the absence that remained. In death, there was no sound. Only sleep, and that day Six, Gloria, and Henry had closed their eyes for good.

I remained awake, though. My eyes were wide open. 

I never thought I could miss that silence. 

But it was hard not to; especially when it was replaced by the roar of Henry's footsteps, slamming against the rotten floors of his rotten home. Now, thunder roared somewhere in the distance, reverberating through the Upside Down's blood-red sky. Whatever quiet once remained was long gone, replaced by a choir of shrill voices in the back of my mind. They screamed at me to run faster, to save myself from the fate so many others had been resigned to at Henry's hands.

He took us. He's going to take you.

Tendrils littered the ground below me. They writhed in the glow of lifeless moonlight, nearly impossible to avoid. In that moment, there wasn't any time to watch my step. The only thing on my mind was the desperate, primal desire to get away from Henry at any possible cost. I landed on tendril and after, pushing my legs faster all while the vines shuddered beneath me. Light hemorrhaged through gaps of broken roof overhead, shining down on scuffed floors and specks of dust floating in the air. Through bleary eyes, I could barely see the stairwell just a few feet away, shadowed and open, calling me to it.

Faster. He's right behind you.

I didn't know where I was going. My mind was being crushed beneath a thousand thoughts, overlapping and ricocheting off each other without relent. It was so dark and I was so scared. Nothing was familiar in the Upside Down. Even if I made it out of Henry's home, I didn't know where to run. In my panic, I risked a glanced over my shoulder-- he was getting closer.

I couldn't seem to run fast enough. 

Terror gripped me by the throat. It cut off the air until my lungs burned for it, and still demanded I run faster. I didn't know if it was today or five years ago. Everything was blurry and there was a fear in me the likes of which I couldn't outrun. It was incoherent and inconsolable, just as it had been that final day in the Rainbow Room.

The closer I got to the stairwell, the louder my thoughts became. Behind you. Run faster. He's right there. Like the warnings of a Greek Chorus, they cried out to me, urging me forward all while Henry's footsteps echoed in my wake.

"Sixteen!" He bellowed after me. His voice was too close. My window was closing. "Stop running. I don't want to hurt you!"

The attic's exit was only a breath away when one of Henry's vines jerked beneath me. I barely managed to reestablish my footing before pressing on at full speed. Henry hadn't intended just to trip me, though. I didn't realize that until something cold wrapped around my ankle, growing taunt as my own momentum sent my body hurdling to the ground. 

My palms broke the fall and scraped up on the hardwood. There was no time to let myself recover. Just as I hit the ground, I had turned around again. 

Like an animal caught in a trap, I kicked desperately at the vine closed around my ankle in a feeble attempt to free myself. The sound of Henry's footsteps drew nearer. I could feel his eyes all over me. Hands, lips, fingers; everything was trembling. I forgot how terrifying it was to be hunted.

"You're making this more difficult than it needs to be," He spat, coming to a stop ahead of me. I didn't dare look up, making frenzied use of what little time remained.  "Stop fighting me."

The vine tightened around my leg, crushing muscle against bone. I couldn't breathe. Oh, god, I can't breathe.

I knew how this was going to end. I knew it, and yet I still let him hold me in that stupid fucking house. The shadow of fingertips seared into my skin still smoldered-- how had he touched me only moments before? How had I let him?

"What are you doing?!" I cried. The scrapes on my palms stained the tendril crimson as I struggled to pry it free. "Get it off! Fuck, Henry, stop it!"

He loomed over me like some kind of god, his shadow casting darkness and deja vu. I could think through my panic. "Stop struggling and I will. You're not going anywhere, Sixteen."

I could still hear Max's voice echoing faintly from the walls. She was standing in the real world right now, calling out to Henry like a lamb presenting its neck for slaughter. It wasn't just her, either. Nancy, Steve, and Robbin were likely in the Upside Down by now, armed with all sorts of weapons that would be ultimately useless against Henry. No matter how I played this day out in my mind, the ending was the same. They died, just like Six had. Just like Gloria, and Beau, and anyone else who seemed to have the misfortune of crossing my path.

I wanted to tell myself there was a chance for them to make it, but reality was crushing the life out of me.

The vine tightened around my leg. Terror turned to desperation.

I had to do something. My abilities were far too unstable to pose a real threat against Henry, but they didn't need to. I just had to free my ankle and get the fuck out before it was too late. If I was fast enough, I could still stop the others from going through with their portion of the plan.

Electricity hummed deep beneath my skin.

Henry's power writhed in the space between us, an ever-present reminder of how weak I'd become. It took all my focus and all of what little strength remained to urge my own power forward.

Against my skin, the vine twitched, caught in a war between Henry's control and mine. He might've been stronger, but I had much more to lose.

My gaze snapped to his. In Henry's eyes, there was desperation just like mine, a conviction for all the wrong reasons. He had truly convinced himself that he was the wronged, here, justified in his every action. 

That scared me. I didn't know why, but it did.

Around my leg, the tendril trembled violently before it gave one last defeated shudder and uncoiled from its place. The next few seconds were a blur. Power rushed through me in a sudden burst, unpredictable and uncontainable. The vine rose from the ground and pierced through the air.

It shot for Henry like a bullet.

He barely had time to respond, redirecting it a moment before it could burrow into his chest. The vine lurched sideways, abruptly changing course and stabbing through the wall beside him. It writhed as though in pain before slinking back to the ground. In its place, it left a sharp, jagged hole in the once beautiful wooden walls. 

Neither Henry nor I moved, breaths heavy in the quiet of the attic. The lingering pulse of my abilities stabbed pins and needles into my arms as I tried to recompose myself. At its end, the tendril was slightly disfigured, sliding across the floor disorientedly. It took me a moment to register what had just happened-- if that vine managed to stab through the wall, what would it have done to Henry?

As soon as the thought crossed my mind, I felt eyes on me. Fuck.

We weren't in Henry's mind anymore-- this man, staring down at me now, this was the real Henry. Physically in front of me for the first time in five years. He looked a bit older, now, more rugged. But his eyes were the same.

Even in the poor lighting, they were strikingly blue. And angry. More than anything else, they were angry.

"That's how you want it to be?" There was a dangerous edge to his voice as Henry took a step closer, fingers flexing by his side. Sensing danger, I rose to my feet, my gaze meeting Henry's with a menace I hoped mirrored his own. "Fine, Sixteen. Have it your way."

Before I could think, his abilities filled the room like a live wire, electric and angry, sparking out of control. My face dropped. 

Henry had been holding back before. I knew it the moment he summoned his power. The fact I even managed to pry my ankle free had to be some kind of miracle, and this time, it was clear I wouldn't be afforded another.

Maybe it was cowardly, but I saw no other option but to turn heel and run. 

Just like that, I had sprinted to the stairwell and began descending into the darkness below. Taken off guard, Henry didn't have time to stop me. I devoured the steps two at a time, pushing faster still. A light shone faintly at the end of the steps, urging me forward-- I was so close. So fucking close to escape when I felt the sensation of hands all over me. They dug their nails into each straining limb and pulled with a fervor that felt sentient.

The relief I felt upon reaching the stairwell disappeared just as suddenly as Henry's powers had materialized. The first backward tug of my body was sure and violent. I struggled as best I could, writhing in his invisible hold, but there wasn't anything to fight off. My abilities did nothing to slow the process as I was dragged back to the attic. 

To Henry. 

My cries spilled through the entrance and I was forced to follow them inside.

Composure rapidly abandoned me as I clawed at the empty, dust-ridden air, carving up flesh that wasn't there in a futile attempt to gain back whatever leverage I could. 

It made no difference.

Despite my best efforts, Henry's hold never relented. I couldn't do anything to stop myself as I was slammed against one of the attic's central support beams, its abrasive surface rough against my torso. The breath ran screaming from my lungs. 

Panicked gasps filled the room as I fought to reclaim my stolen air. Against my back, I could feel the house trembling at the impact. Its concrete and cinder foundation groaned eerily, bracing against decades-old plaster. Above me, a cloud of debris rained down.

 Then, the house fell into silence. I had a moment to collect myself, but it was quickly cut short. 

Henry met my eyes from across the room. 

Everything took on a new intensity.

An ugly, panicked cry left my throat. My attempts to free myself grew more spirited, but Henry's hold on me only seemed to strengthen in response. It didn't matter what I did or how I struggled; nothing worked. 

"If you didn't try to run, I wouldn't have had to resort to this." His eyes were furious, and dark, and searing into mine with a hunger so tangible I could feel it in my own stomach. He approached from the other side of the room, drawing out each step with agonizing slowness. Dread settled like a rock in my gut. Don't panic. You can't afford to panic.

Was this the last thing Six saw?

Calm down, I told myself, but the air was so thin and it wasn't filling my lungs like it should have. I couldn't breathe. Please not now. Please just hold on. Gasps, breathless and anguished, escaped my throat. 

For a moment, the room flickered, mahogany shifting to white tile then back again.

Henry devoured the space between us until none remained. My back pressed harshly into the pillar, searching for an escape that wouldn't come. Instead, I found only splinters, stabbing through the thin fabric of my shirt like salt in a wound. Calm down. Just calm down.

But how could I when Henry was looking at me like that? So angry, so hungry; in his eyes there wasn't a trace of the boy I once loved. Maybe there never was. Whoever stood in front of me now was unrecognizable, all sharp angles and shadowed features. His body towered over mine, as though I needed the reminder of how small I'd become. Pinned against the pillar by both Henry's abilities and his body, that fact had never been so painfully clear.

"Breathe, Sixteen." He adjusted himself to block my view of the attic beyond. No matter where I looked, he was there, ever-present and unrelenting. I could only angle my head away in hopes of creating distance. 

However, that just made things worse. Henry's eyes narrowed at my efforts, "Stop fighting me. You're making this more difficult than it needs to be."

I couldn't bring myself to respond. There was this anger in me the likes of which I'd never felt before, all-consuming and far beyond the tedium of voice. With nowhere else to go, it ignited a spark of energy in my veins that was just strong enough to loosen Henry's hold on me. 

I acted before he could reassert it, shoving him away as hard as I could. With the pressure of his abilities still lingering, though, I was significantly weakened. Henry barely stumbled back three steps.

The vines along the floor writhed away, desperate to avoid being crushed beneath his shoe. His eyes were dark as he righted himself, darker still with the words, "I won't warn you again, Sixteen. Stop fighting me... I'm not going to hurt you."

I eyed him wearily, struggling to find my words. "That's all you ever do, Henry."

At that, he retracted into himself with practiced ease. In an effort to stay composed, Henry went on to draw back his shoulders and straighten his spine just as he used to in the lab. I felt the weight of his abilities fall away soon after. "You know that's not true. This isn't personal, Sixteen."

Now able, I took the slightest step forward, withdrawing myself from the support beam while maintaining as much distance as I could. 

My gaze flickered to the stairwell, only to discover Henry had taken it upon himself to block my path. An unsteady breath left my lips. 

I was trapped. Again. It seemed no matter what I did, I always found myself back in someone's cage. The claustrophobia of it all was enough to suffocate, and it made me lash out just as any animal would. "This isn't personal?" 

"No. Of course not."

"And do you really think that makes a difference?" The anger I'd been biting back reared its head, setting bestial eyes on him. "I know you might've lost a few brain cells over the years, Henry, but I never took you to be fucking stupid."

His face was empty. The only indication that he felt anything at all was the whispered warning, "Careful, Sixteen."

"Why?" I took a step forward and my abilities, intentionally or otherwise, shoved him back another. "What are you gonna do? Hm? What else could you possibly do?"

"You're upset... This isn't about those kids, is it?" He recovered easily, a short, controlled 'tsk' proceeding his words, "Well, let me remind you, sweetheart, that you are much weaker than you used to be. Provoking me would be a mistake."  

Henry made no effort to return my aggression. A display of strength was far from necessary when we both knew what he was capable of. 

I hated him for that. Even more for his hubris.

"I guess it would be stupid to upset you, huh? With all this power you have now, everyone's weak by comparison. Too bad so many people had to die for it." 

"Too bad," He echoed. 

"Remind me, what do you call yourself now? A god?" I tilted my head, disdain bitter in my mouth. "Maybe I should kneel since you're so fucking great."

His expression hardened. 

"Would you like to see me on my knees, Henry? Would that make you feel good about yourself?"

"Enough, Sixteen."

"I'm sorry. I'm being rude, aren't I? It's just so hard not to worship all that superiority you've got. I mean, look how tough you are now!"

Henry's jaw ticked. Seeing his composure falter evoked a resentful sort of satisfaction. "I said enough."

"Oh, come on. Give yourself some credit. It must be nice not being Brenner's little bitch anymore."

The moment the words passed my lips, his abilities rammed into me at full force. I nearly collapsed before I could process what had happened, staggering backward as my vision blurred into obscurity. A noise split through my skull, high-pitched and biting, so intense I found myself disabled. 

By the time it ebbed away, I was heaving in air by the mouthful. Doubled over, I barely had the strength to gasp out, "What's wrong, Henry? Was that too personal?"

"Don't be so vulgar." Rage withered in Henry's eyes as he struggled to keep himself under control. Around him, the dust in the air began to stir. That was all I wanted. That indignation, that fire, scorching him just as it had scorched me for so many years. I wanted him to be as angry as I was. Maybe then he'd finally understand what it was to be on the receiving end of his cruelty. 

As I gathered my bearings, energy hummed within me. Though repressed, my abilities were just as responsive to my environment as they'd always been. They persisted despite the black spots in the corner of my vision, widening and contracting endlessly.

Henry's words pierced the room, "Lashing out at me won't change the position you're in-- if you want to be angry, then be angry at yourself."

My cutting gaze met his. "Why? Because I hurt your feelings?"

"Because it was your own poor judgment that brought you here today." He spat, "You created these circumstances all on your own, and for that, you are the only one to blame."

"Is that supposed to be a joke?"

"Admit it, Sixteen."

"Admit what? Are you asking me to take the blame for you?!" 

"Is it not already yours?" 

Indignation blinded me. It brought on the sudden, overwhelming need to hurt him in whatever way I could. I'd been bloodthirsty before, but not like this. Never like this.

"You were the one that brought me here, fucked with my head, and decided to go after my friends. How is any of this supposed to be my fault?" 

"Don't be coy," He spat with a warning step in my direction. 

"I'm not being coy! I'm just telling you that you are out of your goddamn mind if you think anyone else is responsible for the shit you're pulling in this town."

"This isn't about the town, Sixteen. This is about you-- blaming me for something that could have been avoided if you had just listened." 

By then, I'd given up trying to stay composed. "What the actual fuck are you talking about?"

"You're angry because of Maxine, aren't you?" Henry's gaze was sharp and unforgiving, an accusation waiting to be made, "But I think you're forgetting that I told you exactly what would happen to your 'friends' days ago. You could have left town. You could have saved yourself all this trouble like I told you to-- but instead, you chose to stay," Henry continued to approach me, unsettled floor boards whining with his every step. Buried beneath my anger, fear tried to dig itself free.

"What are you doing?"

He moved closer still, disregarding my question with a wave of his hand. "You put yourself in a position to be hurt. I tried to keep you from all of this, but you didn't listen. There's no sense in resenting me for doing exactly what I said I would."

My heart plummeted. His pace picked up. 

"Stop it, Henry."

But he didn't. So I hurriedly stepped back, maintaining as much distance between us as possible. The attic suddenly felt much smaller than it was-- its walls much closer. I didn't know what Henry was trying to do, but the sadistic glint in his eye told me it would be a grave error to let myself find out.

I mirrored his steps backward until there wasn't anywhere left to retreat. Nearly cornered, I jerked sideways before Henry could get any closer. The tendrils beneath my feet twitched as I reemerged in the center of the room.

There was something terribly familiar about the look that filled Henry's eyes as he began to walk in circles around me. He forced us into a stand-off, where I had no choice but to mimic his oscillation around the room or else get myself caught. 

 It felt primal, almost. Predatory.

And it reminded me so viscerally of that day in the lab, I could almost hear those alarms wailing again-- could almost smell freshly spilled blood in the air.

The scar on the back of my head ached at the memory, phantom pain from a past I still couldn't seem to outrun. Years of leftover fear suddenly resurged. 

In a last-ditch attempt to save myself, I scanned the attic for another way out.

I could try running again. Chasing each other in circles like this, Henry couldn't guard the exit at all times. Though... If I did run, what would stop him from grabbing me up again? And what would that accomplish if I wanted to get to Max and the others as soon as possible? 

I didn't know how much wiggle room I had before Henry decided to hurt me. 

My fruitless search for an exit yielded only one discovery-- clutter; dusty and cob-webbed, lining the outskirts of the attic, likely just as ancient as the home which enclosed it. I had overlooked all of it before, though not by any fault of my own. Hidden beneath masses of vines and dark-colored growth, the distinctly human-natured items were nearly impossible to discern.

A feeling of intense unease grew in my stomach as I cataloged each one. Clothes, furniture, and boxes of ornaments lay abandoned by their owners-- Henry's family. It only then occurred to me why that was. After that, the clutter's discarded state seemed much more ominous, eluding to a fate far darker than the surrounding shadows. 

Henry continued to circle me. Unease swiftened my pace. 

One of the many holes in the roof lent sight to one item in particular-- a baby crib. It was mostly untouched, save for a vine curled around one of its crescent-shaped legs. The crib's wooden base clung to a dull, faded coat of blue paint, scarcely illuminated by the moonlight overhead. There was something else, too. Delicately etched into its Portland-styled headboard were two letters, obscured by years of built-up dust and grime. I had to strain my eyes to read them.

Initials-- H.C.

My stomach dropped. 

"Maxine is going to die."

I flinched at the sound of Henry's voice, all too loud in the quiet of the attic. Cold sweat raced down my spine. 

"If her friends try to stop me, they're going to die too."

I nearly stumbled over my own feet trying to collect myself. Henry had stopped his circling by then, forcing our stand-off into an impasse. 

A strange mixture of dread, anger, and despair throbbed dully in my chest. "If you touch them, Henry--."

"--The girl is the only one I'm interested in. The rest will be spared, so long as they don't interfere." His dark eyes bit into me like a man starved. I recalled how bright they had been just minutes before, meeting mine in a house he'd brought to life just for us. His presence was so gentle, then, like the glow of sun over white bedsheets.

 I knew he had ulterior motives when he brought us there. He'd been too good to me, and I wasn't naive enough to think it was real. Oh, but how badly I wanted it to be-- badly enough to fall for what was so clearly a lie, and to beg him to run away with me. It wasn't a ploy, either. I really would have done it. Not because I was stupid, but because I was so pathetically, hopelessly fucking desperate.

It was all a dream, though. A stupid, fleeting dream of a house that never existed with a man who never really did either. The gentleness was far gone now. What remained was Henry's need to be satiated and the resulting threat of being devoured. 

I couldn't pretend I wasn't terrified-- it was written all over my face.

"Don't look at me like that," Henry's voice was condemnation as it filled the attic. "You chose to get involved knowing Maxine was as good as dead. This isn't a surprise. There's no reason to be upset with me on account of your bad decision-making."

"You know that isn't--."

Before I could get the words out, Henry nodded towards me with the slightest dip of his head. I had no time to react. That single gesture was all it took for static energy to burst through the room.

It shot straight for me, throwing my entire body balance. An alarmed gasp rang out as I hurriedly reestablished my footing.

Wide-eyed, I looked back at him. He was smiling. 

What was left of my composure abandoned me in an instant, and with it, the words, "What the fuck did you expect me to do, Henry? Walk away? Be good for you? Keep my fucking mouth shut while you slaughter her?"

Our abilities twisted between us, restless and angry. The dust that once floated over our heads had thinned away, as though trying to save itself from what was to come. 

"What I expect, Sixteen, is for you to have just a modicum of self-preservation instead of devoting yourself to yet another lost cause," As he spoke, Henry's hand jerked from his side once more. I flinched at the gesture, anticipating another blow.

It never came. That was all it was-- a gesture.

 Henry was toying with me.

The realization hit me harder than his abilities ever could. I grew so incensed it felt like losing my mind, "Lost cause? Max is a fucking lost cause?" 

His lips curled into a blood-thirsty grin, "Her friends, too."

"They're kids!" Rage blurred every logical thought into nothing. I didn't even notice my hand leave my side until it was outstretched, pointed straight at Henry. "Kids! Just like we were!"

Something far stronger than I was woke my power from its slumber. A bright, hot spark of electricity filled the room all at once, and then Henry was the one stumbling. "They have their entire lives ahead of them. Do you get that, Henry? Their entire lives. Just because you're selfish and bored doesn't mean you have the right to take that away!"

Henry's smile was gone by the time he'd righted himself. In its place, a scowl, brimming with the kind of rage that evolved over a lifetime, built up inside him like a parasite, like a cancer, "I have every right!"

"What, because you're powerful now? Because you can move shit around with your mind? Give me a fucking break, Henry!"

With two fingers, he motioned in my direction. His abilities shoved me backward with almost as much ferocity as his voice when he seethed, "Because I've earned it! I have earned the right to do whatever I choose. To kill whoever I choose!"

"Oh, really?" 

"Yes, really. This town, and the people in it, deserve everything that's coming to them."

"For what crime? Living in Hawkins?" My hand waved viciously through the air, drawing on anger and power blurred into one. Henry's body slammed into the posterior wall. "These people didn't do anything, Henry!"

"'They didn't do anything?'" He echoed, livid with rage, "They stood by, Sixteen! They let Brenner build that Lab and they let us rot in there for years!"

"They had no idea what he--."

"--They knew! The mayor, and the police, and the town officials, they all knew! And they did nothing!" He pushed himself from the wall, storming towards me with a vengeance. 

My focus faltered, and with it, my abilities. They knew. 

"That-- Henry..."

"So, yes. I have every right to kill the whole of Hawkins if I choose to. It makes no difference to me." With a new-found conviction, his abilities tugged at my clothes. Those same invisible hands from the stairwell pulled me directly to him. 

They only disappeared once Henry and I stood face to face. Staring him in the eyes, I spat, "Then what? Hm? What will you do to the people who had absolutely nothing to do with Brenner, or the lab, or any of it?"

"Like Maxine, you mean? Like her friends?"

"Yes, like them. They don't deserve to die over a vendetta from twenty fucking years ago!"

"Do you think I care who dies, Sixteen?"

"You should care!" I shouted, just shy of bursting into tears. I shoved him backward with my own hands, this time, desperate to establish some distance. "You should care, Henry."

Henry's eyes burned into mine. The worst part of his following words was how he almost looked sorry when he said them, "It's too bad that I don't, then. Maxine is collateral damage, as were the three others before her."

I shook my head wordlessly, too grief-stricken, too mortified to form a coherent thought.

"In truth, she's been dead from the beginning."

" That's bullshit. You know that's bullshit. Just for one second, be reasonable--."

"--Was Brenner reasonable?"

"Jesus fucking Christ, Max is not Brenner!"

Henry's eyes narrowed dangerously. When his abilities reemerged, they were not at all gentle, this time forcing me to my knees. "Do you truly not see, Sixteen? Who she is means nothing to me-- it's what she represents. These people are all the same. I'm only doing to them what they did to me a thousand times over!" 

I tried to stand, but something held me firmly in place. A dull throb in the back of my head made it clear I couldn't keep this up much longer. 

"You're not listening," I cried, desperate and pathetic, looking up at him from the ground. "I mean, fuck, Henry! If you were to leave here right now and kill every single person who so much as associated with Brenner in the last ten years, I wouldn't stop you. I understand how badly he hurt you, and how badly you need to hurt him back. I really, really do. But you can't kill innocent--"

"--Is that right, Sixteen? You understand?" Henry took a step closer. Somewhere in the mess of old furniture, a lamp flickered to life. It cast a dreary, yellow glow through the attic, projecting silhouettes of cobwebs all around. "Do you really understand?"

"I was there, Henry. Brenner made my life miserable. Of course, I understand."

"It was six months."

I inhaled sharply, "What?"

"The lab. You were only in the lab for six months."

"I know that--."

"--Then you should also know that half a year is not nearly enough time to comprehend the depths of Brenner's cruelty. Do you truly think you understand 'how badly he hurt me' after just a few, short weeks? Try twenty years."

"I don't need twenty years! I was there, Henry. Right beside you. I understand what that man does to people because he did it to me. Do you think you're the only one who suffered at his hands?"

"No, I don't. And I'm not denying that he hurt you, or that he treated you unfairly. Brenner was never kind, but that doesn't mean you knew his cruelty."

"He stole my entire life from me, Henry. He made you reach into my head and take away everything I ever knew! If that wasn't cruelty, then what the hell was it?"

"It was nothing, Sixteen. Nothing!"

A long, stunned silence passed. I knew Henry could be cruel, at times, but this-- this was something new. In just a few words, he managed to write off all those years spent trying to move on as though they meant nothing at all. As though the damage brought on by Brenner's abuse was inconsequential.

His apathy made me bitter, and untouchable, and mean. I wanted him to hurt. I needed him to hurt, just so he would understand the significance of his detraction. My mind sought out the ugliest words it could, and I looked him dead in the eyes when I said them, "For someone who claims to hate Brenner so much, you really are just like him. What's that saying, Henry..? Like father like son?"

A deadly silence followed. The air grew static and charged.

"Sixteen. If you ever say that again--."

"--You'll what, Henry? Bitch about how hard your life is? Call your fucking Papa? There is nothing  you could possibly do to me that you haven't done already."

His eyes were hateful. Really, truly hateful. "I wouldn't be so sure."

The promise of violence soon to come poisoned the air. He stared down at me, impenetrable and unflinching. What had I expected? For Henry to spare the people I cared about if I just asked politely enough? It didn't matter if I was kind or if I struck him down word by word. He responded with violence regardless. I learned this lesson five years ago, sitting beside Six as the last of her breaths faded away. I knew very well who Henry was, and if I thought he could be anything more, I was fooling myself.

"I changed my mind." Henry announced, stepping back a few feet. His eyes ran over my kneeling form, all sadism and rage. "I'm going to kill Maxine, just like I promised. But... I think I'll kill her friends, too."

"No--."

"--Yes," Henry interrupted sharply, "And once they're dead, once I've slaughtered each and every one of them, I want you to remember it was you who provoked me. You."

Tears rushed to my eyes before I could stop them. The press of Henry's abilities disappeared, but I made no effort to move. Seconds tore at my flesh like barbs. I thought it would end, but the time just continued to pass, second after terrible second. 

I wanted to give up. A possibility I'd considered only in my darkest moments, staring at stucco ceilings, breath tinged with alcohol, wishing for death just so I might finally feel better. 

No matter how alluring it seemed, I couldn't give in now. 

Not when Max was still alive, and there was still time to make this right. 

My eyes left the floor and met Henry's. I recalled the knife secured firmly to my side, its weight only noticeable now that I remembered it was there. To use such an insignificant weapon was a desperate move, and I wouldn't have considered it unless there weren't any other options. 

From what I could tell, there weren't.

So I shakily rose to my feet, eyes glued to Henry's without blinking. He watched me. And I felt him watching me still as I swayed sideways, stumbling over my feet. I widened my eyes as though something was wrong and abrupty doubled over. The slightest, most insignificant hint of worry appeared on Henry's face. 

"Sixteen?"

I didn't respond. 

Instead, I turned partially away from him, my hand running up my side as I feigned some sort of attack. I could tell from the way Henry's abilities immediately dissipated that he thought he was responsible for it. That maybe, in his anger, he'd lost control.

I let him believe that. "What are you doing?!" I gasped out, heaving breathlessly as though he were pushing on my throat. With one hand, I clawed at my neck, putting on the best show I could as I fell to my knees once more. 

"What is it?" Henry's voice was no longer devoid of emotion. "Sixteen, what's happening?"

I didn't answer, choking on the air in my lungs with increased severity. Hunched over, I shielded my movements as well as I could while I freed the knife from my side. It fell into the palm of my hand, leaden. 

Henry abandoned his careless demeanor. In a moment, he was crossing the room, his steps panicked and rushed. 

That was the least comforting thing he could've done. It reminded me that, somewhere deep, deep, deep inside him, there was still a man who cared for me. A man who I once loved, and whose devotion turned violent. 

The tragedy was that it was too late for him. There was just too much blood. 

And even after all of it-- all that death, and evil, and savagery-- I knew Henry did not mean to be cruel. He wasn't born that way. Brenner's sins had seeped into him as the years passed, an endless drip that, once started, could not be stopped. It washed him away wave by rotten wave, until the abused became the abuser. In that, there was cruelty. Maybe not his cruelty, but it was cruelty all the same-- inherited and passed from one pair of hands to another. The sins of the 'father' in the palms of his son, a lineage of dirt and blood. Henry never stood a chance. There was no god, or prayer, or blessed water that could return him to purity.

Despite what he said, I did understand-- and it was horrible.

Henry's hands pressed on my back. A shudder wracked through me, this time not of my own volition. His knees met the ground and he gathered my face in unsteady hands. "What is it?" He asked urgently, as though he'd forgotten all his promises of violence, "Tell me where it hurts."

I squeezed my eyes shut. I knew the moment I raised the knife that I would regret it for the rest of my life, and that I had to do it anyway. I could not live as an ouroboros. My capacity for self-betrayal was killing me. How long could a snake swallow its own tail before there was nothing left of it? Before it was staring itself in the eyes, saying 'you did this, and you will do it all again?'

The cycle had to be broken. I was running out of tail. 

With that thought in my mind, I met Henry's eyes. I watched him for a long moment. Blue eyes. Soft hands. How much blood did it take to get them so soft? The question lingered as I reeled back the knife with all the strength I could find, and brought it down on him in a single, decisive movement. 

Everything happened in a moment. Henry's eyes shot wide open, left mine, and as though he had been anticipating this all along, his fingers caught my wrist. They stopped me dead in my tracks and tightened without mercy. The knife glinted dangerously just inches from his throat. 

His eyes returned to mine, and what was left of my hope shattered. 

Of all the things that could cross my mind in that moment, Brenner's voice was the first.

Always the fool.

Chapter Text

THIS IS NOT THE FINALE. NEXT CHAPTER IS THE FINALE BUT THIS TIME I ACTUALLY MEAN IT.

~

All around us, dust stirred.

A million grains bit into my flesh, ceaseless and hurried as the rest of the room stood paralyzed. Even the vines seemed to have stopped their writhing, laying frozen on the ground like it would save them from their master's wrath.

Henry never said a word.

Even as his abilities tenfolded and his grip on my wrist tightened, he remained absolutely silent.

Nothing else existed in that moment but the blade of my knife, hovering so very close to his neck I could've screamed. If I had just managed to bring it down a little further, I could've killed him. If I had just acted quicker, or waited for his guard to drop completely, I could have killed him. The 'what ifs' taunted me just as Henry's fingers did, tightening ceaselessly around my wrist.

There was no fighting it. Even as I tried to hold out as long as I possibly could, my muscles contracted beneath Henry's grip, and the knife I had so assuredly held seconds before fell to the ground with a deafening clatter.

Still, he offered me no relief. If anything, Henry's grip only tightened.

A choked sound left my throat as I finally met his eyes.

They stared into mine, impossibly wide, the whites bloodshot and unending. There was something far more abysmal than rage, or hatred, or despair burning in his gaze. It was almost blinding, a solar eclipse contained in flesh. Sun, moon, earth-- the enormity of a whole universe spanning across the black hole of his pupil. He looked... hurt, but that word didn't even begin to encompass the sheer scale of it.

Vein by vein, he lit up, until it all finally broke free of his skin in a blinding, incandescent scroll.

There came an explosion of power more consuming than anything I'd ever known, rushing straight for me as I knelt helpless to escape it. Before I could think, my body soared through the air and slammed against the same wooden pillar that had restrained me earlier.

My chest heaved mightily as I tried to gather my bearings. Henry's abilities were everywhere. In my teeth, in my skin, in the air I breathed. They didn't just exist in the room anymore, they became it.

No matter how I tried, I couldn't look away from the still-glistening knife so far out of my reach, traveling further still as Henry kicked it aside. I didn't think I could possibly fall any further until I saw something else-- vines, dozens of them, beginning to make their way toward me.

"No," I whispered, cold sweat racing down my spine. My panicked eyes ran over the floor before returning to his. "Henry, no. No, you can't--"

A strike of lightning painted the room in a blood-red hue, burning his face crimson until darkness settled once more.

Even as I pleaded, and struggled, and kicked, Henry never so much as uttered a word. The vines moved closer. He wouldn't even look at me.

I wasn't stupid enough to think struggling would save me, but in that moment I would've tried anything. Only, my resistance was met with immediate correction when Henry's abilities pressed harder, quelling what little movement I was allowed. With that, the last of my dignity died away.

"Let me go!" I shouted breathlessly, "Henry, let go! Don't do this!"

The only answer he offered was the first vine as it wrapped around my ankles. Where it met my skin, the tendril was cold, and rough, and unrelenting. I fought it off as best I could, but it didn't make a difference. Dozens of the vine's counterparts crawled along the floor like snakes, approaching me in a mass of fluid black movement that not even the moonlight could touch. Around my ankles, the first vine tightened, anchoring me firmly in place.

There was nothing I could do to stop them. The rest followed in quick succession.

When it was over, and I had no hope of escape, Henry's power begrudgingly lessened. The final vine secured my arms above my head while the others pinned my torso, knees, and chest to the pillar.

Seconds ticked by while the room stood paralyzed. Tension writhed between us, not at all lessened by Henry's refusal to meet my eyes. I waited in terrified silence for his other foot to drop, but it never did.

Instead, the floorboards creaked beneath his steps as he receded to the other side of the attic.

I couldn't catch my breath even then. Henry's abilities made the room feel inescapably, suffocatingly full. My bleary eyes tracked his gradual retreat one step at a time, until he came to a stop in the corner of the attic. For a long while, he just stood there, studying one of the jars laid out on his little alter. Enclosed in a dusty glass, there lay a black widow suspended on its web, long dead. Though he looked in its direction, Henry's gaze was miles away.

His chest heaved, hands grasped into fists that trembled by his sides. Under his breath, Henry muttered incessantly, whispers sharp and hurried. I couldn't understand what he was saying.

He seemed to have come entirely undone.

With his height no longer exacerbated by closeness, Henry appeared much smaller than before. Shaken. Like a child pulled cruelly from its mother and brought into a world of glaring hospital lights, left to tremble in harsh, unkind air. His eyes were manic, his movements disorganized. My attempt on his life had drawn out an entirely unfamiliar side of him, one he kept buried all these years.

Before me stood a person made of scar tissue, barely a person at all.

"Did you really think that was going to work?" Henry's voice, raw and unsteady, filled the room like a lone note from a broken piano. "That little knife?"

It was strange to see him so vulnerable. I knew him to be cruel, and calculating, and-- on his very best days-- gentle, but only in the way a rabid animal was gentle moments before it started snapping its jaws.

Now, he was something different. Unknown and all the more frightening for his anonymity.

"I don't know," I whispered. A lie, because I could not bring myself to confess that; yes, I thought I'd be able to kill him.

The muscles in his back tensed as he turned away from the altar. It took Henry a long while to bring himself to face me, and once he did, all that rage in his eyes was gone. In its place; exhaustion. "And yet you tried anyway?"

I shook my head. "I had to."

"I'm sure you did. For Eleven, her friends..." He took the smallest step closer, movements so very cautious as if he were afraid of me. "Do you really care about them that much, Sixteen? These kids?"

"...I do."

The timid look on Henry's face shifted. I expected him to get angry, or hurt, but I didn't expect him to get jealous. But there it was; jealously, shining in his eyes as his lips curled into an ugly sneer. "That is your greatest flaw, Sixteen. You love too easily... and look where it gets you."

My eyes narrowed, "That isn't--."

"--Tell me, did this all work out how you wanted?" His voice interrupted mine with all the sharpness of the knife he'd just wrestled from my hands. "Do you feel like you have a purpose now that you've devoted yourself to a bunch of children who don't care about you? Are you saved, Sixteen?"

I opened my mouth to respond, but the look on his face kept me silent.

"I didn't think so," He took my lack of response as a confession. Those blue eyes ran over me, hard as stone until they saw something on my face that made them soften. "You never learn. Even after all the harm it's caused you, you somehow never learn."

"You have no idea what you're talking about."

"Don't I?"

"No, Henry, you don't." Now, as he stood beneath the moonlight, I could see him far more clearly than before. Dark, violet bags-- more like bruises than the former-- collected under his eyes. His skin clung to his face as if he hadn't eaten in days, and he likely hadn't. Even in the lab, I'd never seen him so beaten down. "You're just upset because, unlike you, I have a purpose beyond revenge. I have something worth fighting for. If you think that makes me stupid, then fine, I'd rather be here and stupid than standing in your place."

Henry looked at me in the way one would look in a mirror. "Ten years ago, I would've said the same thing. You'll see, Sixteen. Maybe not today, or a year from now, but you'll see."

His words only reinforced what I already knew. He could not see a reason for being, a fervor, beyond revenge. He spent his days destroying and betraying himself because he had been destroyed and betrayed. That was the terrible irony of it all, because he had all this hurt, and no matter who he killed or how many years he spent trying to throw it away, it always found its way back. It always would.

It was a shame, really. He was born in a fire and now he didn't know how to do anything but burn.

If Henry was going to respond, then someone's voice cut him off before he could. Muffled shouting sounded vaguely in the distance, and I couldn't quite tell who it belonged to until I heard the word 'asshole' muttered in a way only one person could-- Max.

She was still there. On the other side. Baiting him. After having gone silent for so long, I let myself hope that maybe she decided not to go through with our plan, but of course not. Of course not. 

"I'm waiting, asshole."

Henry looked at me right as I looked at him. There came a single, grim nod of his head, confirming the worst of my fears.

This was really about to happen.

There was nothing I could do to hold onto my resolve.

A dozen faces flashed before my eyes, one after the other. Six, Gloria, Beau, half a dozen guards, and so many more. Reality had returned to dig its teeth in. Max was going to die, wasn't she? She was going to die and could I honestly say that I'd done everything in my power to stop it?

My breath picked up.

I should have locked her in Eddie's trailer and refused to let her leave. I should have fought tooth and nail to keep the others from going through with what I always knew was a suicide mission.  In my passivity, I'd made myself complicit. My cowardice was as much a killer as Henry.

Why did I waste my time arguing over a plan that was doomed from the beginning? I was stronger than Max, Lucas, Steve, Robin, and Nancy combined. I could have forced them to leave town and I didn't. I let them run head-first into slaughter. Now their blood was going to be on my hands, caked on top of the blood of so many others.

Was this my fault?

"It's time," Henry's words took the breath from my lungs.

"No... Henry, no--."

"--Don't start now. Save your strength." His cautiousness was merely a memory as he devoured the space between us. Heedless of his request, my efforts to free myself tenfolded. I arched away from the beam, pulling at each individual limb in hopes of finding a weak point among the vines.

Henry watched on in silence, electing to speak only when I realized there was no escaping them, "You're not getting out of this, Sixteen. I need you to know that there is nothing you can do to stop me. Don't hurt yourself trying."

I shook my head as though denial alone would deter him. The noose was closing. The vines were tightening, and yet I pulled at them just the same. Henry merely watched, standing so close I feared he would claim all the oxygen between us for himself.

"You can't do this. Please, please just listen to me. Please don't do this."

"There's no point in begging." His eyes left mine and focused anywhere else, "Just give up."

"And make it easy for you? Like I did in the lab?" I writhed in bonds that would never let up, recalling every broken bone and every blood-stained hallway. This couldn't be happening. I did not survive one massacre just to find myself caught in another. "Easier to trick a lovesick teenager into compliance than it will be to trick me. I won't roll over and die, Henry. Not after what you did to those kids-- to Six."

The threat of tears swelled up in my throat. I could barely breathe.

"Is that what this is about?" Henry's fingers caught my jaw, forcing my gaze into his. "Six? What, do you think helping Maxine and her friends will change what happened to her? Maybe balance the scales?"

A whimper escaped my lips as Henry's grip tightened. "To what end?" He tilted his head inquisitively. "Even if you did manage to save Maxine, nothing will bring your friend back. Six is gone--."

''--Because you took her away from me!" A cry born from mourning-- nights and days of endless mourning-- tore itself from my throat. "And you don't even fucking care that you took her! I couldn't..." I fought to keep myself together, eyelids fluttering erratically. "...I couldn't save Six. I was too late. But I'm not too late for Max and her friends. I can still make this right. Please-- Henry, please-- just let me make this right."

He tore his gaze from mine. Something flashed in his eyes, as tangible as the vines holding me still-- regret. Genuine, honest regret, and a guilt that nearly mirrored mine.

It made his voice small. Unsure, despite the certainty with which he said, "It's over, Sixteen. It's been over for five years. Six, and the other subjects, and your nurse-- they're gone. A few insignificant kids won't change that."

I was well aware that Gloria and Six were never coming back. Still, I could not let go. I would not ever let go. If saving Max was what it took to make up for failing them, then what choice did I have?

"I won't sit back and watch you kill Max and her friends," I whispered, "Not if I can still help them."

"Oh, Sixteen," Henry whispered, thumb running over my cheek, "There is no 'helping' them. Those kids are as good as dead. It's too late."

That was the least comforting thing he could have said.

I couldn't contain myself any longer. My grief turned contagious, desperate to find another host, to spread anywhere else, as long as it wasn't me. It compelled me to look Henry dead in the eyes and, with a voice that trembled, whisper, "I should've aimed for your head that day... Put you out of your fucking misery."

Henry reacted as though I'd struck him. With a sharp inhale, his eyes went wide and abandoned mine, scrambling to hide that I'd hurt him. He hid in the same way he would hide from Brenner as a little boy-- in hopes of escaping, of disappearing into himself.

But there was no point. Even if his mouth said nothing, his shaking hands said all they needed to.

"You don't mean that," He muttered unevenly.

"...I do, Henry. Every word."

The hurt on his face turned to malice just as soon as the words left my lips.

"When you say it like that, I almost believe you," He whispered, eyes feverous and uncompromising. Alarms rang out in my mind as I tried to establish what little distance I could.  "I'm sure you wish you could believe it too, don't you?"

I winced at the ghost of his breath on my cheek.

Tension appeared seemingly out of nowhere, and in just a few seconds it was impossible to withstand. It grew, and grew, until suddenly,-- mercifully-- Henry stepped back. I would've been relieved had it not been for the look on his face, lips captured in the most satisfied grin I'd ever seen as if he drew pleasure from my intimidation.

My blood boiled.

Just as I prepared myself to wipe that smile from his face, something moved in the dark of the attic.

I recognized what it was almost immediately-- another vine, rising precariously from the ground behind Henry's back. It looked much like the others, textured and blackish, wriggling as a snake would. The only difference was a spine of sorts, erected where the other tendrils had rounded ends. The point was short, about two inches in length, though easily sharp enough to break skin.

I didn't know what to make of it until I saw Henry's face. He wasn't smiling anymore.

The room's atmosphere completely turned on its head. Henry paled in the moments leading up to it, looking far sicker now than he ever did before. Anger gave way to worry.

I peered at the tendril. "What is tha--."

"--I brought you here to get into your head," Henry interrupted. Behind him, the vine continued to lift off the ground. "I wanted to figure out what you and your friends had planned, but..." I flinched as his fingers stretched towards me. "I don't really need to know what you're up to, do I? Not when I have you."

I jerked as far from him as my restraints would allow, "I'm not telling you anything."

He smiled again, but this time it was different. Forced. Henry tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. "That's alright, Sweetheart. I don't need you to tell me anything... I just need your power."

Without another word, he stepped aside. Confusion and forboding fused together in the back of my mind. The vine, now halted in mid-air, lowered itself until the sharp part was pointed right at me.

My entire body tensed. I tried to turn to Henry, but he had moved out of eyeline somewhere behind me. My limited range of motion made it impossible to see him.

I could, however, see what lay directly ahead-- the tendril, now beginning to approach.

Fear clawed at my insides as though searching for a way out. "Henry..? Henry, what are you doing?"

"Don't panic," I winced at the sound of his voice suddenly so close to my ear, blonde hair in my peripheral vision. "Just close your eyes. This will only hurt for a second."

A choked sound left my lips as I realized what was about to happen. "What are you doing? Henry, what is that?"

Silence.

I felt his hands gingerly sneak around the beam as I stood helpless to fight them off. Calloused palms closed around my shoulders, anchoring them in place.

The vine moved closer; no more than two feet away now.

My vision wobbled, tears filling my eyes as panic began to set in. Was he going to kill me? "Henry... You're scaring me."

"There's no need to be afraid," He whispered, breath warm against my ear.

Oh, god.

I shook my head, terror robbing me of speech. The vine moved closer, and as it did, I could see the sharp end of it more clearly. It curled upwards as a scythe would, little grooves all along its spine. Where the rest of the tendril was soft, sort of like flesh, the sharp part was sturdy as bone.

Henry said he 'needed my power.' Was this how he planned to get it? By murdering me just as he murdered the others like us?

Struggling yielded nothing but raw wrists, another sensation soon lost in the swarm of so many others. My heartbeat pounded in my ears, incessant as the buzz of a hornet's wing. He was going to kill me. Oh, god, he was going to kill me.

"Please don't do this," I heard my voice cut through the air, trembling and frightened. "You said you wouldn't hurt me! I'm not ready to go, Henry, please!"

As the vine's pace swiftened, I called on my abilities with frenzied desperation. I waited, but no answer ever came.

Then I was really crying, pushing air past my lips in incoherent pleads.

"Shh, you're okay." Henry's whisper in my ear made everything worse, "Just try to stay still. This will only hurt for a second, Sweetheart, I promise."

For my own sake, I tried to tell myself that he was honest. That the sharp of the tendril, forever growing nearer, wasn't a death sentence. Logic, in its eternal indifference, returned; 'are you sure?' 'are you sure?' 'are you sure?'

The answer glistened just inches from my chest. No.

"Don't do this. Oh, god-- stop it. Please stop, Henry," My sobbing crescendoed as the vine abruptly reeled itself back. Always the fool, always the fool, always the fool. "I'm so scared, please, I'm so scared--."

My begging was cut short. In the blink of an eye, the vine lurched forward. I didn't even have time to scream before the point had stabbed through my solar plexus, disappearing deep inside my body.

Much like a taser, I felt the impact before the pain. Harsh and without mercy, just those two inches of vine sent an electric shock through my entire system. Everything happened in a second. Where it had broken skin, there came a heat so intense I wondered if I was burning from the inside out. The pain was unlike anything I'd ever felt before. 

Two had stabbed me once, but I was so out of it at the time I barely even registered the pain. 

Now, it was different. I felt everything.

The agony was exquisite. I thought, surely, I'd die any moment, but that moment never came. The seconds just passed. And passed. And passed. And passed. Until, finally, the heat at the sight of my wound cooled away. Then, everything was freezing. And I was bleeding. And my mind was fuzzy. After that, I couldn't feel anything at all.

Dimly, I heard Max's voice in the distance.

"I know, I know," Now, another voice. Henry's. I blinked, summoning my focus but there was only fog. Everything was syrupy and slow, like the world had turned into a vat of honey. 

A sudden pressure on the tendril embedded in my chest gave me enough strength to hiss in pain. Weakly, I raised my head. Henry stood in front of me now. I couldn't recall how he got there. His fingers brushed gingerly against the base of the vine, testing to see how firmly it was stuck in place.

Once satisfied, his hand fell away. I didn't notice it leave his side again until there were fingertips meeting my cheek, and my head lulled away. A delicate 'tsk' sounded as Henry gathered my face in both palms.

"Try not to move too much." He whispered, grimacing almost imperceptibly at the state I was in. I should've been angry at that, but I didn't feel much at all. Just sad. A bit sore, too. "The worst is over. You did so well, Sixteen. So well."

It took a long, long while to process what he said. The world was slowly beginning to return to focus, dull edges growing sharp again, but I was still far from coherent. There were no specific thoughts in my mind-- just a dark cloud of negative feeling I couldn't put words to.

My tongue was slow to move. It took an embarrassing amount of strength just to slur, "Why?"

That one word had Henry avoiding my gaze like the plague.

"I can't have you interfering, Sixteen." He cupped the back of my head and rested it carefully against the beam, almost like he couldn't stand to touch me anymore. "This will ensure you won't be able to."

Again, silence. I tried to think but I couldn't.

In the absence that followed, Henry glanced down at the wound on my chest. The other end of the vine, the one not lodged inside me, lay in a heap across the room. It wasn't connected to anything, though it had the same sharpened end that would allow it if need be.

"I know you're scared," He murmured. His voice was clearer now, but still muffled. It didn't help that he spoke so quietly. "Your wound looks worse than it is. You'll heal over in a week or two. This place is... accommodating to people like us."

I blinked. One, twice, trying to rid the fuzziness from my vision. I couldn't understand what was happening. I just knew I was scared out of my mind.

My tongue felt so heavy I could barely get words out. "You said you wouldn't... hurt me."

Henry's eye met mine and abruptly flickered away. "I know what I said."

"Then... why--?"

"--Circumstances have changed, Sixteen. I never intended for you to be involved in any of this, but here you are. I'd be a fool if I didn't take advantage of the opportunity before me."

"Opportunity?" I struggled out.

"That's right," He muttered, fingers ghosting over the vine once more. I felt it shift infinitesimally and braced against the searing pain that followed.

"I know this must be confusing." Henry's hand returned to his side. "Think of that tendril as a... link between you and I. Once I've secured myself to the other end, I'll be able to access your abilities just as you do. More than that, I'll be able to control them."

The blood drained from my face. Every time I thought it couldn't possibly get worse, he proved me wrong, "Why--... Why are you doing this?"

"Because I know you and your friends have something planned." His gaze snapped to mine as though he'd caught me in a lie. As though, after all this, I was the traitor. "Preventative measures need to be taken, and you're going to help me take them. With both of our abilities, it won't matter how your friends oppose me. They'll lose regardless."

I tried to shake my head, but even the smallest movements were excruciating-- just as he wanted them to be. If I couldn't move, I couldn't fight him, and I certainly couldn't stop him from using my abilities. Like the spiders that lay dead in those filthy jars, Henry had constructed a web so meticulous, I hadn't even realized I was caught in it until there was no way out. The vine burrowed into my chest was a spider's maw dripping venom, paralyzing me to the point of futility. Now, like all writhing bugs trapped in inescapable webs, I could only wait to be slaughtered in the name of what demanded it.

"But--," I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to focus myself, "but that's not fair."

"You should know better than to expect fairness," He muttered softly. Guility. "We all have our parts to play. Maxine has to die, and I have to kill her. And you... You have to lend me the strength to do it. This is how it has to be."

"You can still... stop this."

"No, sweetheart, I can't." His voice was thick with something I couldn't place, "You aren't the only one with scales to balance."

I couldn't bring myself to look at him. "I don't understand."

"I think I've explained myself well enough, Sixteen."

The floorboards were a kinder alternative to his gaze, and I stared at them as anger gave me enough strength to bite out, "No. You explained that you wanted to get back at Brenner and this town. And I... I mean, what is the point? What is carving up Hawkins goes to accomplish?"

Henry's back, forever straightened as though composed of steel, now bent just slightly, an indication of ever-waning composure. "He stole everything from me, Sixteen. Everything. This is the only way I'll be satiated."

My eyes left the floor and met his. "You will never be satiated, Henry."

"No? Why do you say that?"

"Isn't it obvious?" My voice faltered. "You slaughtered everyone in the lab and it wasn't enough. Then, when you finally got out, you just kept going. First with the gates, then the kids, now Max." Pathetic as it was, I felt worse for him in that moment than I did for myself. "When will you realize none of this will ever be enough for you? No amount of death will change what happened."

"Don't you think I know that?" In Henry's eyes, I saw a life spent pinned under Brenner's thumb, his days packed full and yet still so, terribly empty. "I have to do something, Sixteen. I can't let Brenner win. I won't."

I shook my head, furious and pitying. Brenner really had destroyed him after all those years, hadn't he? Appointing himself 'papa' as though name alone would make him worthy of fatherhood-- as though he were capable of the gentleness fatherhood demanded.

Poor Henry, raised less man and more beast, never stood a chance. "It's too late, Henry. He already did."

The room stilled.

Until Henry, desperate to save face, spat out, "No... No, if he won, I'd still be in that hell, and Brenner would still be controlling my every move." His eyes brimmed with all the wrath of a storming ocean. "I made it out, Sixteen."

"And what do you have to show for it?" I cried, "Brenner wanted to make you into a monster. He wanted to take all the human parts out of you until there was nothing left... and that's exactly what he did."

Henry stepped back, stung. 

"You're everything he wanted you to be... and you don't even realize it."

He shook his head, twelve years old again and not any less doomed. Forever a child exposed to Brenner's knife, soft underbelly gutted and spilling out onto the same white tiles that his blood would one day anoint. "You're upset. You don't mean that."

But we both knew I did.

In the following silence, I stared at the man staring back at me and I hated him. I hated his eyes, and his hands, and the way his lips pressed into a line to stop their trembling.

I hated Brenner most of all. Henry had come to him, an innocent boy swallowed whole by a hopsital gown, and Brenner suffocated him. Snuffed out his innocence day by day, until there was no God in the world who could return him to purity.

As I stood there, pinned firmly in place, worn down and helpless, I looked at the man who put me there and I felt sorry. 

My voice, self-betraying and masochistic, filled the room in a whisper, "I'm sorry that Brenner made you into this... and I'm sorry that I couldn't save you."

Henry's body stilled. His eyes snapped to mine. "What are you doing?"

"...I just wanted you to know that I'm sorry."

His weary gaze ran over me, searching for an ulterior motive where none existed. "After everything I've done?"

"Yes."

 "You shouldn't be, Sixteen."

"...I know."

And then I felt it; the meager, desolate remains of tenderness we once shared. It flickered in the air between us, thin and dying. Time had stripped away its layers one by one, unearthing a core not nearly as sweet as I once imagined. What remained of our love was rotten and worm-eaten, long-suffering, but it was still there. Despite everything, it was still there.

The knowledge was cruel-- that it would never go away completely.

I hoped, maybe, impossibly, that there was something I could say to remind him a better alternative existed. That the hole in him, yearning to be filled, didn't crave the thinness of blood in all its tedium.

"I really did love you, Henry."

His face fell. All was quiet.

There in lay the tragedy; it didn't matter. Love meant nothing when fate had made up its mind, answering our pleas of 'this isn't how it's supposed to be' with the simple, unavoidable truth that 'this is how it is.'

My voice was a whisper, "I wish it was enough."

Henry looked at me with a gentleness I didn't think him capable of anymore. "So do I."

Those eyes lingered on mine, bright and blue and, even in their state of disarray, lovely. Somehow, that made everything worse. There was an unfairness in their familiarity, how they remained unchanged even after all he'd done.

I looked to the floor. "...Henry?"

"Yes?"

The words were forced out of my mouth before I could think better of them, "Was there something I could've done? I know that you have to get back at Brenner but... before all this. In the lab. Could I have said something to stop what happened? Would anything be enough?"

He took a breath and glanced at his hands. The lines in his palms and the callouses on his fingers, as though he'd find the answer written in flesh. "I don't think so, Sixteen."

I nodded, eyes falling shut. "Why not?"

"I've always been this way," He confessed, "I have this... need in me. It started when my abilities first manifested as a boy and it... grew in the lab. When I was on my own. By the time I met you, it was too already late for me."

"So there was never any hope?"

His gaze flickered to me, then back to his hands. He nodded.

"Don't you want things to be different?"

"Maybe." He whispered, but beneath that 'maybe' there was a screaming, twisting, dying 'yes.' A 'yes' that had been denied for so long, it began to doubt its own existence. "I did try to be good, Sixteen. Even when I was first taken to the lab, I tried to be good no matter how hard it was. But Brenner didn't-- he didn't let me. I couldn't stay gentle surrounded by so much violence. If I fought, he would hurt me. No amount of 'goodness' made a difference. But I tried so hard, Sixteen. I need you to know that I tried. After so long, I just... I couldn't do it anymore."

I shook my head, ignoring the raw pain in my chest long enough to glance at the crib across the room. The letters 'H.C' stared back at me, silent and still. I wondered if his parents knew, when they placed their baby in its awaiting wooden arms, what would become of it. That the blue paint would chip away not unlike their son did, and they'd send it off to the attic to rot-- just as they sent off the child who once wailed beneath initials they'd carved in his name.

"Oh, Henry," I mourned for what he could've been and never had a chance to become.

"That's why I was so surprised when you were brought to the lab."

My eyes left the crib and met his. "What?"

"I thought I was comfortable the way I was. For years, I stopped..." He paused, searching for the right words, "...feeling life the way it was meant to be felt. And then there you were."

The word 'stop' sat on the edge of my tongue.

"In the beginning, I was only interested in your power, but then... Sixteen, you made me feel something good again. And I hated you for it."

"Why are you telling me thi--."

"No one has ever found me worth knowing," He took a step closer, and I, helpless to stop him, could only watch his shadow overtake me. "But you asked me questions, and you listened to my answers, and I wanted to know you more than I'd ever wanted to know anyone. You were so easy to need, Sixteen, I didn't know what to do with myself."

"Why are you telling me this?" I finally got out. His confession felt mean. Taunting-- a reminder of what could have been if he hadn't done what he did.

"Because I need you to know that you were kinder to me in six months than anyone else was in twenty years," His hands, so far from mine, seemed not to know what to do with themselves. "And I know I don't deserve it, but thank you for loving me like you did. It gave me a reason to be good again. Even if it was only for a little while-- you were everything, Sixteen."

"Stop," I pleaded, dropping my head as though it would somehow give me the power to tune him out.

"I'm sorry that you loved me," Henry whispered anyway, "And I'm sorry I loved you back."

I'd long since given up the fight against choiceless tears. It was an exquisite type of pain to know he loved me with such passion, and that even then, it wasn't enough enough. There were days where I used to feel like it could've exploded out of my skin, what I had for him-- what still dragged behind me like a dead body. That was a devotion the likes of which I would never recover from. Now here he was, telling me he wouldn't either.

No chaser, no sugared rim, salt the earth behind you.

"But it didn't make a difference," My voice was so small. "If you felt that way, why didn't you leave with me like you said you would? There are things we could've done, Henry, people that didn't have to die. I could've helped you. I could've loved you like you needed someone to love you. Why--."

The press of his lips against mine stole all awaiting words from my tongue. There was this moment of intense relief, of a window opening in a pitch-black room. Henry, now a stranger, suddenly felt known again. And it was a knowing without equal, as innate and understood as flesh was to bone. 

Then, that moment passed, I was more humiliated than I had ever been.

Henry pulled back. He pressed his palm to my cheek, staring at me with so much tenderness it was almost nauseating. "I wanted to leave with you, Sixteen. You will never know how much I wanted to."

I couldn't speak through tears. 

"I don't know what happened," He rasped, and that was the most sadistic thing he'd ever said. "I have asked myself that same question, 'why,' a million times over, and I still don't know. Something overcame me. I never planned to hurt all those people, it just... happened."

I shook my head, grief turning to anger just like that. "Don't... Henry, don't you dare give me excuses."

"Nothing I can say will make you understand why I did it. Not when I don't even understand myself," He shook his head, eyes falling to the ground then back to mine. I swear, for a moment, he almost looked scared. "I know how it sounds, Sixteen, but sometimes I feel like there is... something in me. Controlling me. Always just out of sight. Soteria made it easier to manage, but once it was taken out I... I couldn't stop myself."

I was prepared to accuse him of lying, to curse his name and tear into him, but a sudden hot flash ran down my spine and interrupted me. Where his fingertips met my cheek, there came a spark of energy that shocked the surrounding skin. Then, in front of my eyes, a vision flashed of something I'd only ever seen once before-- a spider-like creature stretched wide over blood-red clouds, its arms shadowing the miles of land below. In my mind, a low, rumbling groan sounded, shaking the very earth on its foundation.

What followed was a dark, parasitic rush of power.

Then, Henry's palm left my face and it immediately disappeared.

Everything went dark again. I blinked hurriedly, trying to readjust to my surroundings. When I did, my eyes were wide, and I felt blood pooling on my lip. "Henry, what--."

"--It's nothing," He interrupted, though it certainly didn't sound that way.

"What was that?" I demanded fearfully.

"Nothing, Sixteen." Henry stepped back, soothing his clothes with a panicked urgency as he tried to compose himself.

I couldn't begin comprehend what just happened. Through trembling lips, I whispered, "what is this place doing to you?"

He shook his head once more, refusing to meet my eyes. With a straightened back and reversion to coldness, he announced, "I don't want to make this any more painful than it has to be. I didn't mean what I said earlier-- about your friends. I'll make sure Maxine doesn't suffer. The rest will be left alone."

His hurried attempt to change the subject only worried me further. "Why aren't you answering my question?"

He turned away, hastily crossing the room where the other side of the vine lay still.

"Henry, talk to me!" I cried, impulsively pulling at my restraints in a futile attempt to reach for him. In doing so, I tugged on the tendril buried deep within my abdomen. The pain that followed was more excruciating than any that came before.

My mouth gaped open. The burning in my chest was so intense, I couldn't even cry out. With every inhale, the vine shifted, until it was nearly impossible to pull myself together. Exhausted and weak, my head collapsed against the beam. Sweat trickled down my face.

It took all of my remaining strength to lull my head sideways and face Henry.

Through half-lidded eyes, I watched him brace himself in the middle of the room. Under my breath, I whispered his name with all the conviction of a priest praying to God. That was what he wanted, wasn't it? To be a god? Maybe if my prayers were desperate enough, he'd listen.

Underneath the pale moonlight, Henry's face settled into a determined readiness. My pleas grew more frenzied, faster now, but he couldn't hear them. The dust surrounding his body began swirling faster, creating a tornado that blurred my view of his face. Then, power filled the room.

I only noticed the opposite side of the vine beginning to rise off the ground when I felt a shift in my chest.

I was so overwhelmed I couldn't think. That vision of the spider flickered over and over again in front of my eyes.

I wanted to do something other than stand there, but pain kept me paralyzed. It made me small, and meager, and hopeless as I watched the other end of the vine reel itself back. Henry's eyebrows furrowed. By the time I realized what was about to happen, it was too late to look away. With a bracing shudder, the pointed part of the tendril jerked forward and stabbed into Henry's chest.

A startled cry left my lips. He didn't even make a sound.

Henry stumbled backward, clutching the body of the vine, his eyes shut tight. I think I cried his name, but it was hard to tell as my hearing suddenly phased out. Just as soon as the vine had dug itself into Henry's body, a surge of energy traveled from his end of the tendril all the way to mine.

My entire body heated.

Suddenly, I could feel him.

Feel his desperation, his grief, his anger. All these emotions that weren't my own suddenly raced through my mind, potent to the point that I couldn't differentiate which were mine and which were his. 

He was so, so angry. More angry than I ever thought possible.

And then, there came a pulling sensation. Originating in my chest, it felt as though my insides were being ripped out of me. All of my power suddenly rose to the surface, and there it flooded towards the point of the vine like nails to a magnet.

Henry threw his head back. I could feel my abilities coming undone, loosening and giving way as they traveled the length of the vine. A moment of confusion, and then panic. Too late, I began fighting to hold onto what was left of my power, but it just kept hemorrhaging out of me.

Henry took all of it.

His body shuddered with every new wave of strength that flooded through him. I felt like my skin was being peeled away as his low grunts filled the room. The world turned hazy. Everything reached an unbearable crescendo of fear, and power, and racing thoughts and a million different sensations, until it all abruptly stopped.

A satisfied breath left Henry's lips. In the moonlight, his jaw was as sharp as a blade, the shadows all around casting his face in stark angles and glaring contrast. It was terrifying.

And then, slowly, he lowered his head. Henry's eyes opened into mine.

Fuck.

Max and the others-- they were all going to die.

"I know you don't want to hear this," Came his voice. I'm sure it was just my mind playing tricks on me, but he sounded stronger. The way the vowels formed on his tongue was clearer, bolder. "But thank you--."

"--Enough." I spat, finding my voice all too late. "I would've never done this to you, Henry. I--... I would have never done this."

Henry didn't have to say anything. I felt the surge of guilt rip through him, traveling down the length of the vine until it grew in my chest. I didn't want him to be guilty, though. I wanted him to know there was no hope for him anymore, and to hate himself for it.

"I know," He eventually muttered, unsteady on his feet as the tendril swayed with his movements. The stabbing didn't debilitate him in the same way it debilitated me-- how often had he done this to himself? "You should hate me for using you. It's better that you hate me."

My lips trembled around the words, "Tomorrow, when you're finished slaughtering a bunch of innocent kids, and you're just as miserable as you've always been, I hope you know all of this was for nothing... And I hope you never forgive yourself."

"I won't forgive myself regardless," He muttered, taking my every word with a blank face and even blanker eyes. "Loving you was selfish of me. I know that. Sixteen... I really am sorry that I love you still."

"That's what this is?" I asked coldly, glancing down at the vine embedded in my chest, "Love?"

He smiled the gentlest smile, but it wasn't fooling either of us. "Something like that."

The silence that passed was terrible. Filled with so many words left unspoken, fighting against the refusal of our tongues and dying there, too. The taste left behind was bitter. Rotten, just like the things that once lived between us. I wished my hands were free so I could stick my fingers down my throat and throw it all up. I needed it out. 

"When this is over, you're going to leave." Henry staggered back, hands gesturing towards the collection of vines waiting by his feet. Half a dozen rose into the air, black and twitching, approaching him as he spoke in a quiet murmur, "You're going to find somewhere far away from here, without me, or Brenner, or anyone else who would think of being selfish with you."

I wanted him to just stop. "Henry--"

"--You really are so beautiful," He whispered, mostly to himself. Henry's eyes lingered on me for a long, long moment, drinking in every detail of my face with stunning carefulness. As though he wanted to burn it into him, turning me into a stoker and his skin into a melted, branded mess of flesh.

The vines dug their teeth in. All at once, the four of them jerked forward, digging into his back without mercy. Henry barely even flinched, somehow immune to their influence and not any more deterred because of it. His hands widened by his sides, embracing the cool air as the vines pulled his body every so gently off the ground.

He inhaled sharply as he reached his full strength.

And then, one final time, he looked at me. In the blankness of his pupils, I saw training sessions, words whispered against flesh, stolen kisses, and all the other things that made me love him so many years ago. The things that couldn't save him, and the things I would not soon forget, no matter how I tried.

"I'm sorry to be what I am," Henry whispered. "And for your sake, I hope I never see you again. That's all, Sixteen... That's all."

Then, his eyes closed. 

And just like that, the floor gave way beneath me. I knew what was happening before it could even begin. The familiar sensation of falling created a steep dropoff in my stomach as the air surrounding my body shifted. It closed in on all sides. Through the vine, I could feel his heart thundering in his chest. 

Silence fell like the sky on top of me. Then, the world went entirely black. 

I felt Henry slip away.

Chapter Text

When my feet met solid ground, I was struck by a thousand different sensations.

They blurred into one another as the world spun in an incomprehensible tempest of reds, greens, and blues. I could feel tears on my cheeks, but my hands wouldn't stop shaking long enough for me to wipe them away. Everything was bright, and hot, and feverish, caught somewhere between the bounds of mind and matter.

To say I was overwhelmed would be far too gentle a word for it.

My mind overloaded itself with a million thoughts, pulled from one to the other without a moment's reprieve. I wanted to call for help but my lips wouldn't move. And what difference would it make, anyway?-- Henry was the only one who'd be able to hear me.

This was what he wanted all along, wasn't it? To get in my head?

God, and I had let him.

Let him fool me with all that talk of how much he cared for me, how much he hated himself for what he'd done-- but those were just lies, weren't they? More lies on top of the thousands of others he'd fed me to swallow with all the eagerness of a mindless fucking animal. Maybe this was exactly what he wanted; to leave me so overcome I couldn't even begin to think, let alone stop him before he got to Max.

I couldn't breathe. There was so much to regret, and I couldn't breathe.

My lips gaped, drawing in the sharpest inhale I could manage. I had to calm down. This was no time to lose my head. There was too much on the line.

I pressed a hand to my chest, eyes flickering shut. In an attempt to still my racing mind, I urged my surroundings to ebb away and instead focused on the swell of air in my lungs. I'm fine. Everything will be fine.

I just had to get through this.

Another minute passed before my heartbeat slowed. Without its incessant pounding in my ears, my hearing began to tune back in to the world around me. Then, I could make out background noise somewhere far off. It was sharp in tone, extending for brief intervals before it stopped. There was a beat of silence, then it picked up again.

Bird song.

Soon after the realization, I was struck by the sharp, distinctive smell of pine needles. They filled the air around me in a way only the abundance of Maine forestry could, attaching themselves to every surface and lingering almost parasitically.

I knew that smell.

When my eyes snapped open, I immediately recognized the sight that greeted me; my cabin in Maine. Despite all the time that had passed, it looked exactly as I left it. With the same wobbly chairs, the same grimy windowsills, and the same unflattering curtains each with the same busy patterning. Even my work uniform lay abandoned on the couch, discarded just as it always was after a long shift at the diner.

The illusion I stood in was almost convincing enough to make me believe it was real.

But it wasn't, and the sight of the old wall clock hanging above the kitchen sink reminded me so.  It's hands, black and once steady, now pointed at nothing. Where a dozen numbers should've been, there were merely blotches of black on the clock's otherwise white face. Its hands moved faster than they should've, over and over in endless oscillation.

I stumbled back, dizzied.

Why had Henry brought me here? Where was he? I tried to feel for him, but his presence was either out of reach or missing entirely. But how was that possible? How could he sustain this illusion and get to Max at the same time? And--

--Max.

Holy shit, how much time had I wasted?

I hastily swiped at the leftover tears clinging to my lashes. I had to get out of here. There would be time to ask questions later. Right now, all that mattered was getting to the others before it was too late.

I faced the front door and heaved an unsteady breath.

Without wasting another second, I crossed through the living room, dodging motheaten furniture as gracefully as I could. My steps were light, careful not to make any more noise than was necessary. 

Still, the linoleum floors squeaked beneath my feet.

As soon as the front door was within arms reach, my hands closed around its faux-golden handle. When I turned it, paint flaked off the underside of the knob and fluttered daintily to the ground. Only, the door didn't open.

I felt a drop in my stomach and twisted the handle again.

Still, it didn't give.

Had it been locked from the outside?

The next three tries, each with increasing desperation, produced the same result.

Fuck, this can't be happening.

Panic set in faster than I would've imagined. The progression from turning the knob to shouldering the door was a sudden one that grew more feverous with each failed attempt. "Henry!" I shouted, though I didn't even know if he could hear me, "Let me out!"

There came no answer. My heart thundered with frightened urgency.

I was trapped. Again. The door didn't so much as budge even after I'd devolved into throwing my entire body against it, frustrated grunts escaping my lips. Over the sound of my struggle, I could hear the clock in the kitchen ticking on ceaselessly, marking every second wasted with senseless indifference.

My harsh breaths filled the empty cabin. With one final cry, I slammed my palm against the door, a frustrated 'fuck!' falling from my lips.

I staggered back, panicked hands running through my hair. I had to get out of here. There had to be some other exit, right? If this wasn't real, then surely there was another exit. Henry wouldn't have just banished me here while he killed Max and the others.

Would he?

I had no idea. Shit, I really had no idea.

Without any better alternatives, I made a break for the kitchen. I feverishly shuffled through every drawer I could get my hands on, desperate to find a weapon, or a screwdriver, or anything I could use to pry open the door. Instead, I found dust, and the realization that every single drawer had been emptied out save for one-- occupied by a bare silverware tray and two poorly folded wash clothes.

Shit. There had to be something useful in here.

I turned to take inventory of the rest of the kitchen, hoping I'd somehow missed another drawer, but I didn't even have time to give it a once-over before the smell of pine was overtaken by that of something long dead.

Slowly, my gaze shifted to the kitchen table. 

There, resting upon a checkered placemat at the table's head, sat a single plate of food. It looked unassuming at first glance, barely noticeable alongside decades-old scratch marks etched into the surrounding teakwood. But the smell... The smell was impossible to ignore, and it seemed to be coming from a mass of black and green mold growing upon the plate. It inhabited what looked to be a slice of meat, blackened with rot and wriggling maggots. Occupying the plate alongside it were a few dozen flies, feasting on the decayed remains of what might've been corn.

Something was wrong. Beyond the obvious fact that I was trapped in Henry's mind, something was very wrong.

I only realized how still the cabin had become once I tore my gaze from the table. Outside, I could no longer hear the chirping of birds or the ambient hum of wind through leaves. Instead, it was utterly silent like the holding of breath, a slow-building tension that demanded release.

I caught a flicker of movement in my peripheral vision.

My heart nearly stopped before I realized it was just a fly. Its diminutive black body broke from its counterparts, leaving them to feast on their meal rot and all. It flew deftly over my head and hovered there, wings buzzing.

Then, it went still. The fly lingered for a second, suspended in air, before abruptly plummetting back to the table from which it rose-- dead.

Not even a second had passed before there was a knock at the front door.

Much like the fly, my body went still. For a short while, all was silent, save for the endless ticking of the clock.

Tick... tick... tick.

Another knock echoed through the cabin, louder this time. My fear turned paralyzing as I heard the sharp exchanging of whispers filter in from the other side of the door.

Someone was out there.

Or rather, multiple someones, all speaking over eachother in a series of fervent murmurs. I scrambled to keep track of every new voice but they were nearly indiscernable, all harsh and hurried. My knuckles grew white around the kitchen table until, all at once, the whispering went quiet.

My eyes bulged.

How many people were out there? Three? Maybe four?

Fuck, I had no idea. None of them sounded like Henry.

Uncertainty only worsened my panic as I reached for the best defense I knew, calling on my abilities with desperation.

Any patience I once had became a distant memory as I awaited that familiar spike of warmth my powers typically preceded. The clock went on ticking while my abilities remained unresponsive. Instead of their signifying heat, I felt a cold flash run down my spine and burrow deep in my chest. What followed was a hollow sensation like a stomach aching for food, absent and wanting. It grew from the very same place Henry's tendril had stabbed me. 

To make matters worse, no power came rushing to my fingertips. It almost felt like there wasn't any to begin with.

But that couldn't be right. Henry couldn't have taken all of it.

I tried again, squeezing my eyes shut to block out any visual distractions. Almost immediately, the effort proved futile as that same cold feeling appeared in my chest, now escalated into a dull ache.

I broke with a grunt. There was simply nothing there.

Holy shit, there was nothing there.

Before I could comprehend what that meant, the knocking returned as though on some horrible cue. It thundered through the house, ricochetting off every surface and shooting straight for me.

I felt the most vulnerable, exquisite type of fear.

I always knew my abilities were unpredictable, but this... this, I would have never anticipated. They were simply gone.

My vision sharpened as I tore my gaze from the door.

Suddenly, every nerve in my body went on overdrive. My eyes flitted around the room, searching for somewhere to run but the cabin may as well have been a prison. If the front door had been locked, then surely the windows were, too.

Searching for an alternative, my mind came up blank. There was simply nowhere else to run.

What was I supposed to do?

My fingernails bit into my palm.

What the fuck was I supposed to do?

I wasn't stupid enough to think I could take on multiple full-grown men without my abilities. Without a knife, either? Or some semblance of self-defense training?

Fuck, this was bad.

If I couldn't fight my way out, then my options were extremely limited. I could either stand there and let whoever was on the other side of the door barge in and find me, or I could find somewhere to hide.

My gaze snapped to the hallway. I suppose anything was better than nothing.

Without wasting another moment, I crossed through the kitchen and disappeared into the connecting archway. My pace was slow when I first reached the hall, but it grew faster with every passing second. Heel to toe, heel to toe, I tried to be as quiet as possible so as to not alert the people waiting outside. I'd made it about five feet down the hall when I misstepped, and the linoleum cried out beneath my shoe.

The sound it produced would normally go unnoticed, but in the stillness of the cabin, it may as well have been a scream.

The knocking at the door turned into pounding. Someone shouted, but I couldn't hear what they said.

My heart thundered in my chest. The front door began to tremble in its frame, metal hinges straining against the force of those on the other side. How strong were these people? How long would the door hold?

I faced the hallway, intending to run but the sight that greeted me wasn't any less troubling.

In the mere second I had spent looking at the front door and back, the hall had grown longer. Significantly longer, with door upon door upon door now extending into the distance where there should've only been three. Along the walls, the muted green wallpaper persisted without end, each strip of patterned damask blurring into the next until I couldn't discern where one began and the other ended.

My heart pounded in my chest, almost in tandem with the pounding at the front door.

I didn't understand the rules of Henry's game. His ability to conjure illusions was still completely unfamiliar to me, meaning I didn't know how to get out of them nor how to navigate the chaos they entailed.

Frustrated tears welled in my eyes. Henry had trapped me in a labyrinth of neverending hallway, helpless, while he hunted Max like some wild animal.

I truly did not know what to do.

Out of sheer desperation, I turned to the first door on my left and tried to pry it open. It's colonial handle rattled somewhat, but it was locked.

As soon as I stepped back, the pounding at the front door went quiet.

I stiffened, silently praying those people hadn't made it into the house as I glanced down the hall. From what I could tell, they hadn't. The space between the kitchen and the living room remained empty save for a lamp sconce, casting a soft yellow glow against the wall it was nailed to.

When I turned back to the hallway again, something else had changed. The overhead lights, once warm-toned and dim, now glared down on me in a hue of blinding fluorescence. Ripped right out of Hawkins Lab, they were just as harsh as I remembered them being, stark and white and a nuisance to the eye.

"Holy shit," I whispered.

At the end of the hall, I soon noticed another set of door, only these ones were metal and far taller than all the others. Hanging from the roof above them was a sign, its red, neon lights illuminating the word 'exit.'

I didn't dare approach them. It had to be some sort of trick.

Just as I turned away, the wooden doors on either side of me suddenly flew open. I didn't even have time to think before I was being flanked by two men dressed in the same dark green uniforms as the guards from the lab.

Their gloved hands wrapped around my forearms like a vice, instantly reducing me to the little girl I thought I'd left at the gates of Hawkins Lab. A startled cry fell from my lips, but it was already too late. Their hold was too tight. 

Without uttering so much as a word, the guards began pulling on my arms, forcing me towards the double doors at the end of the hall. The process was violent, and in that violence was a familiarity that made me feel eighteen years old again, defenseless in the face of a danger I couldn't fully understand.

Distress overcame me. I felt my sound mind beginning to slip away, caving beneath the pressure that had been building since I first left Maine.

This isn't real. None of this is real. You have to keep it together.

I clung to sensibility, rapidly losing grip.

What if I can't?

Just as the question crossed my mind, the guard on my right tugged my arm with particular harshness, forcing a gasp from my lips. The pain was brief, but sharp. And though it only existed in Henry's illusion, the fear it cultivated in me was very real. More than real, it was overpowering, made worse by the white-knuckled grip of the guards holding me in place.

Both of them were upwards of six feet tall, broad shouldered, and far stronger than I was. Every time they pushed me to move faster, memories of the lab would flash through my mind-- McLaughlin, the sting of his palm against my cheek, the whirr of a tattoo gun, blood on the Rainbow Room floor, orderlies with tasers strapped to their belts.

I clenched my eyes shut.

Stop it.

The memories only came faster, each one more visceral than the last.

With that, the lines between past and present began to blur. I couldn't tell who's hands were holding me anymore. Were they Brenner's? The guards'? Henry's? Whatever the answer, their grip was suffocating and I was in desperate need of air.

I struggled against the men holding me still, bucking my hips and scratching at every inch of flesh unshielded by their dark green uniforms. Even then, it wasn't enough. If the guards' even noticed my attempts to flee, they didn't acknowledge them. Instead, their gazes remained fixed ahead, their footfalls determined and thunderous as they trudged on in spite of me.

It was like I wasn't even there.

The neon 'EXIT' sign grew ever closer. My struggles intensified despite the growing knowledge that I couldn't escape the guards. Henry had brought me here to be contained, and so that's what I was. Contained, with as much choice in the matter as a prisoner dragging his feet on the way to the gallows.

Perhaps it was a mercy, then, that we reached the doors before I could contemplate what noose lay on the other side.

The guard on my left moved swiftly, dropping my arm in favor of the grey pull handles. He opened the doors without ceremony, allowing light to spill into the hall as his friend beckoned me inside. I dug my heels into the ground, but it only took a shove from the guard on my right to send me stumbling through them regardless. 

I was immediately blinded by an onslaught of harsh, white light.

Squinting, I hurriedly steadied myself and turned back to the doors, but it was already too late. They closed in my face with a dull thud, sealing off any chance of escape.

Out of sheer desperation, I tried to reach for the door handles, but my hands fell through empty air. They were... gone-- replaced by a lone keyhole newly embedded in one of the metal plates.

My heart thundered in my chest.

Shit.

I knew the doors would be locked before I even attempted to push them open, yet my stomach still dropped when they didn't give. I stared at the keyhole for a long moment, thoughts racing. Without a pin or a paperclip there was no way I could pick it. And even then, what would be waiting for me on the other side? For all I knew the guards would be right there, tasers clicking, ready to shove me back in again.

Just when I thought my situation couldn't possibly get worse, I opened my eyes and discovered white tiles beneath my feet.

Oh, no.

My vision sharpened. I peered to my left. There, painted crudely on the wall, was a rainbow. The rainbow-- just as dull as it was in memory, composed of lifeless reds, oranges and blues that spanned the length of the room. I was back in the lab.

"Sixteen! Lovely of you to join us."

No.

"Why don't you take a seat?"

Brenner's voice was impossible to mistake. As soon as I heard it, I found myself calling on my abilities like a child reaching for a blanket, desperate for security that wouldn't come.

When it didn't, I was left with a cold feeling in my chest and no choice but to face Brenner, powerless.

Beneath the paling white lights, he appeared younger than he had in Project Nina. Scarier. His skin no longer sagged, his suit no longer wrinkled. He looked exactly like the man I would've called 'Papa' five years ago.

When I couldn't stomach it any longer, my gaze shifted away.

Behind him, the Rainbow Room remained completely unchanged save for a half-circle of metal folding chairs, clumsily situated near a mirror in the back of the room. In its reflection, I caught my first glimpse of them-- four faces shrouded in white, some of which had faded in my memory but now returned to full sharpness.

Gloria, Beau, Six, and Two.

Their eyes met mine all at once.

I stumbled back.

Too real.

Whatever courage I had remaining, it quickly ran out as I turned and began pounding my fists against the doors. Adrenaline flooded through my mind until all that remained was the singular, all-encompassing goal to get away at any possible cost. Henry had left me here. With them.

I could tolerate the rotten food, and the guards, and the mind games, but this... this was cruel.

Brenner's voice only served to add insult to injury. "I know how frightening this must be for--."

"--Oh, save the fatherly bullshit!" I spat, pounding harder at the doors like an animal caught in a trap. "Henry! Let me the fuck out!"

Brenner's calm demeanor posed a violent contrast to my own, "Those doors are steel plated, Sixteen... You're wasting your energy."

I already knew that, yet it made little difference.

A voice in the back of my mind urged me to get my shit together, but at that moment I was so beyond logic it barely registered. There were too many eyes on me and I was too overwhelmed. Holy shit, I need to get out of here.

"I can help you."

My hands abruptly stilled. I peered back at Brenner. "What?"

He considered me for a moment, gaze steely and discerning like he could see inside my head. With a sharp inhale, he reached into his suit pocket, it's freshly-ironed creases flattening as he moved before going rigid again.

He produced a small object firmly pinched between his thumb and forefinger. With the distance between us, I could barely discern what it was as he held it to the air-- a lone, silver key.

My gaze flickered to what must've been it's corresponding keyhole in the door. Shit.

"I can help you," Brenner repeated coaxingly. "All I ask is that you take a seat, first."

I didn't move. Yes, his request seemed tame, and no, I didn't have any other options, but taking Brenner at his word was a mistake I'd made before. Surely, there was a catch here. 

Knowing that, I hesitated.

My gaze cut to the back of the room, where an empty chair had materialized between Beau and Two. They both watched me, feigning disinterest, but in their gazes I could see something more than that. Something like hunger, barely restrained behind unblinking pupils.

I took an anxious step back. Suddenly, Brenner's offer felt more like a trap than a kindness.

Before I could begin contemplating what to do next, the lights shuddered, then abruptly flickered off. There was a brief period of darkness followed by a commotion of flashing lights, painting the room white, then black, then white again in ever-quickening succession.

My eyes went wide and shot to the others, searching for someone to blame. Brenner was quick to reveal himself.

Through fleeting bursts of light, I saw his face turn towards mine. As soon we made eye contact, his lips sharpened into a smile thin as a razor's edge.

That smile was the last thing I saw before the lights cut out completely.

For a moment, everything stilled. There was silence.

Then, all at once, the lights returned with a vengeance far brighter than before. I blinked harshly, pupils shrinking away from the ambush of white as a low grumble filled the room. Air conditioning came billowing from all directions.

When I managed to pry my eyes open, I wasn't standing in the same place I'd been before. I wasn't standing at all, actually. Instead, I found myself sandwiched between Beau and Two, propped upon the same chair I'd refused only a minute ago.

"What the hell?"

Two hands closed around my shoulders before I could even attempt to stand back up, pinning me firmly in place.

"It's alarming, isn't it?" Brenner's breath was far too hot and far too close, "How pliable reality becomes in the mind?"

My eyes locked straight ahead, fixed on nothing as he lowered himself to speak directly in my ear. "You'll find you can't get out of here, Sixteen. Not unless I allow it."

"Allow it?" I repeated, trying to sound indignant but I just sounded frightened.

"That's right," Brenner murmured, "And if you want that to happen, you'd do well to cooperate.  Am I understood?"

"Oh, enough with your patronizing, Martin," Gloria's voice shot a chill down my spine. I met her warm, brown eyes just long enough to wish I hadn't. "Look at the poor thing, she's terrified."

"Maybe she should be," came Brenner's vague response as he straightened himself back up. His hands fell from my shoulders with one final squeeze. 

The relief that followed was short-lived. All eyes in the room turned to me. 

My gaze dropped to my lap. Fingernails digging into palms, hoping pain would deliver me from panic. This isn't real. This isn't real. This isn't real. The phrase repeated over and over in my mind, but it provided no real comfort. Not when I was surrounded by the physical embodiments of every mistake I'd made, every person I couldn't save, every warning sign I'd missed. I realized too late that the distance between us had been a kindness. Or, at the very least, kinder than this. Kinder than sitting so very close to everything I'd ever wanted and never feeling farther away.

Now, I understood why Henry had brought me here.

Credit where credit's due, it was pretty ingenious thinking on his part. Only someone who understood me as well as he did could be so effective in their cruelty. Because even though I knew none of this was real, and I knew he was only trying to get in my head, it was working. All of it was working.

I don't think, in my entire life, I'd ever felt quite so alone.

"Oh, look at you." Six's voice broke the silence with an air of mockery, drawing my gaze to the seat opposite mine. "So tortured."

When we met eyes, her lips pulled into a familiar gap-toothed smile. There was something different about it-- wistful, even-- as she watched me fumble around for the words to respond.

"What is this supposed to be?" I eventually forced out, eyeing the others, "A training session?"

"Why are you asking us?" Six shrugged, settling back in her chair, "It's your subconscious."

My teeth gnashed against the inside of my cheek. "But I thought--."

"--You thought it was Henry's," Brenner finished for me, perceptive as ever. He situated himself behind Beau, looming over the rest of us in a manner that was no doubt intentional. Our father, always the biggest in the room, always looking down. "And you'd be partially right. That... thing connecting the two of you, the tentacle, it acts as a link. Physically and mentally. This place isn't just a product of Henry's subconscious, Sixteen. It's also a product of yours."

I shook my head wearily, thoughts racing. Every new piece of information just added to my confusion. If this was really a product of my subconscious, why did I have so little control of it? And why would Henry bring me here of all places? To have everything explained by Brenner?

"To distract you, I imagine."

My head snapped up. I hadn't said that out loud. "What?"

"You heard me."

"How did you--."

"Like I said. This is as much Henry's subconscious as it is yours," Brenner's smile wasn't sharp like before, more smug. "You still have so much to learn about your abilities, Sixteen... So much I could teach you. All you have to do is ask."

Part of me was tempted by his words. More than tempted, really, because I had a million questions dying to be answered and I knew I wouldn't get another opportunity to ask them. But for whatever reason, something kept me quiet. My eyes flitted between Gloria, Beau, Six and Two. Then, the other part of me-- the logical part-- began to stir.

I realized what had kept my curiosity at bay. There was a growing sense of ridiculousness about this whole thing, about engaging with people who were either dead or not really here. Brenner said it himself, Henry was trying to distract me. That statement in and of itself was a distraction. Everything here had been fabricated for the sole purpose of being one, big, elaborate distraction. 

"I don't have time for this," I muttered decisively, rising to my feet. This time, no one tried to stop me. "Just give me the key, Brenner."

His only response was a raised eyebrow like I'd said something stupid.

"This key?" A voice asked on my right. I turned to find Beau rising from his seat as well, dressed in that same police uniform from the day I'd been taken to Project Nina. Light reflected off an object grasped in his right hand-- somehow, he had gotten ahold of the key.

I glanced between him and Brenner. When did they hand it off?

"Yes... Yes, that key."

"Well, come on then," He hummed, holding it out to me. "Take it."

It glinted alluringly in the space between us. I was close enough, now, to see three metal rings arranged in a clover shape, forming the key's head. It had no other features beyond that. It was just a plain, silver key. 

Beau shook his outstretched hand like he was goading a dog into taking a treat, "You want it, don't you? Go on. Take it."

My lips pressed into a line. Judging from the taunting little smile he was failing to hide, Beau had no intention of giving it up. Still, I at least had to try.

A moment passed. I hoped it was enough to lower his guard before I abruptly reached for his hand.

Beau responded just as I thought he would. Right before my fingers could meet the key, he jerked his arm away, leaving my fist to close around empty air. 

A bright spark of anger unfurled in my chest.

Yet, Beau wasn't satisfied. No, apparently, he needed the rest of the room to join in on the world's funniest joke. His lips broke into an all out grin as he called over my shoulder, "Catch!"

The key was air bound a moment later. I threw my dignity aside and grabbed at it, but of course, he anticipated as much and ensured it was high out of reach. The key landed safely on the other side of me, in Two's sweaty little palm.

I saw no use in masking my outrage, eyes set ablaze as I faced him.

"What's the matter, Sixteen? You look angry," Two tilted his head condescendingly, asking Beau, "Doesn't she look angry?"

"Two," Gloria scolded from her seat, "Enough."

Now, if this were really the lab, Two would've lowered his head like the little bitch he was and handed over the key. But it wasn't, so instead he smiled and said, "Oh, come on, don't be so uptight. We're just having fun! Right, Sixteen? Aren't you having fun?"

I met his eyes and blinked. Once, twice, three times, trying to string together a coherent sentence beyond the slue of insults sitting on my tongue.

"No, Two, I'm not having fun," I informed him almost politely, using up the last of my impulse control in the process. "And maybe if you pulled your head out of your ass for once, you'd realize that. Can't you see that there are lives at stake? Is that really so hard to fucking comprehend?"

"There were always lives at stake," Any hint of humor ran screaming from Two's face. "Or have you forgotten, Sixteen?"

My own anger faltered somewhat. I didn't have to glance at the other people in the room to know what he was referring to. "...Of course, I haven't."

Either Two didn't hear the words, or he didn't believe them. Regardless, his silence was just as eerie as he stared me down like something he hoped to kill. The tension just built, and built, and built, until finally, I couldn't take it anymore. 

So much time wasted.

"What do you want me to say, Two?" My voice was steady, but internally, I was sweating. "Hm? People are dying and we're standing here glaring at each other."

"You mean people like us?" He didn't miss a beat, eyes full of accusation. "What, Sixteen? Are your friends' lives worth more than ours because they can still be saved?"

"No," I said too quickly. "No, that's not what I'm saying."

Two sensed my discomfort and pressed harder. "Isn't it? Because, to me, it seems like you're putting more effort into stopping Henry now than you ever did in the lab. Why's that, Sixteen? Were our lives just not worth the effort?"

"No!" I cried defensively, eyes wide.

Apparently, that reaction was exactly what Two had wanted, because as soon as he got it, he was smiling again. Just like that. As if he weren't seething a moment ago, as if he was never angry to begin with. 

Oh, my god.

He was never angry to begin with. Of course, he was never really angry, because he was a figment of either mine or Henry's imagination, and figments can't get angry.

My fingers curled into fists. The chaos of the day was taking its toll on me. I kept getting swept up in all of this exactly as Henry intended. 

Fuck, and I knew so much better.

I had no idea how much time had passed since I first reached the gate. Probably a few hours, but Henry's illusions had a strange way of messing with time. My perception of reality had become fragmented at best, nonexistent at worst. I was losing touch with everything that actually mattered.

"You know what..." I readied myself, setting my gaze on Two. "I don't have time for this."

The smile on his face slipped, "Wait--."

I lunged at him before he could finish the thought. Together, we met the white-tiled floor, taking his chair down with us in a resounding metal crash. There was a brief struggle of flailing limbs, tugging hair, and breathless grunts until, eventually, I had him pinned to the ground.

I straddled Two's waist, one hand holding him still while the other wrestled with his fist. He tried to hold it out of reach but there was so little distance between us, and he had nowhere to go. The moment I caught a glimpse of the key, I kneed his side to catch him off guard. Using that window, I forced his wrist against the tile, grip tightening like a vice. 

He strained beneath me, so I kneed him again for good measure. Two's breaths came out fast and heavy, growing heavier still as the nails biting into his palm began to draw blood. 

With that, his fingers gave one last defeated twitch, then finally unfurled.

A victorious smile lit my face, but it fell just as fast. 

His palm was empty.

"You're fucking kidding," I seethed, glaring down at him through strands of hair that had fallen into my face.

Two laughed. Oh, my god, he laughed, and it took all of my strength to stand back up instead of strangling him right there on the Rainbow Room floor.

"You didn't really think that would work, did you?" My gaze shot to Brenner who reclined against the back wall almost lazily, his beady eyes staring holes through mine. "I told you, Sixteen, you're not getting out of here unless I allow it. Acting like an animal won't unlock those doors."

"Give me the fucking key!" I was beyond the point of reason, all adrenaline and anger. "Now!"

"You think you can give me orders?" Brenner's face took up every narrow inch of my tunnel vision as he pushed himself from the wall. "I think you're forgetting your place, Daughter."

Daughter. 

My eyes narrowed into slits.

"My place? Where, beneath you? We're not in the lab anymore, Brenner. I'm not your daughter and you certainly don't have the capacity to be anyone's father... The effort would kill you."

Brenner looked down on me just as he always had, like I was a misbehaving child in need of correction. Something to be domesticated, subdued, until I was small enough to fit in the palm of his hand yet reliant enough not to slip through the cracks in his fingers.

I wasn't that thing anymore, though, and from the look on his face it was killing him.

So he did the only thing he could do, grasping onto control that was never his to take as he crossed the distance between us in a series of slow, measured steps.

The rest of the room watched on in silence.

When Brenner came to a stop, he was so close I could see the pores on his face. Our nearness triggered two conflicting instincts in my mind-- the first, to step back and cave beneath the fear he'd conditioned in me so long ago, and the second, to persist in spite of it. To stare into the abyss that called himself my 'Papa,' and, for once, do it without blinking.

In the end, rage was what gave me the strength to return his glare with equal intensity, never blinking, never glancing away, never giving him any semblance of an upper hand.

The air conditioning roared over our heads. 

"Such anger," Brenner breathed, studying the sharp set of my features as he reached into his suit pocket once more. "But it'll take far more than anger to save your friends. That is, if they aren't dead already--."

"--Shut up. Just shut up."

"Why should I?" He asked, producing the very key that had been missing from Two's palm. My fingers twitched as he held it to the air, escape quite literally dangling in front of me.

We were separated only by a rainbow painted across the room's otherwise colorless floor. It arched away from my feet in a dull purple color, before meeting Brenner's perfectly shined shoes in an opposing shade of red. 

He took another step closer, encroaching on the curve of color between us. For a moment, something about his eyes looked less like his and more like Henry's. "Deny it all you want, Sixteen, but you know this is an impossible situation. You've known it from the start. Henry is too strong and too calculated and if he wants that girl dead, then she will die."

"Is that right?"

"Yes, it is. You can't deny what's so plainly in front of you. There is no other outcome; Henry will win." Hidden somewhere beneath all those layers of condescension, I could hear amusement in Brenner's voice. "But you're still going to try and stop him, aren't you? You're going to push, and push, and push until he finally reaches a breaking point."

My teeth gnashed together. "That's enough."

"Maybe he'll kill you," He continued anyways, "Maybe, deep down, you hope he does."

I shoved Brenner away from me just as soon as the words left his lips, nostrils flaring.

"I wouldn't put it past him," He steadied himself with a grin, grasping the edge of a nearby table, "That boy will never love anything as much as he loves power. Not even you."

My lips curled into an ugly sneer. I wanted to tell Brenner that he was so, very wrong, but when I tried to find the words to say it, I couldn't convince myself they were true. Henry's history left me no room for self-deception. Given the choice between myself and power, his decision had always been the same. 

All he wanted was power. I knew that, and yet--

--Holy shit, all he wanted was power.

My thoughts started to race.

The lab massacre had shown me that Henry didn't just kill people, he consumed them. He transformed flesh, blood, and bone into power, and each time, it left him hungrier than before. If he managed to kill Max, he'd harvest the energy from her death to open another gate. And maybe that would sustain him for a little while longer, but what then? A teenage girl, especially one without abilities, could only satisfy him for so long. 

Henry needed something... more. Someone stronger.

 And just like that, there it was; the answer I'd been searching for all along. 

Without my abilities, I knew I couldn't fight him. And my efforts to talk him down, both in mind and in matter, had been entirely unsuccessful. I'd tried everything else I could think of, all to no avail... but maybe, just maybe, there was still a way to fix this. 

I could take Max's place on Henry's altar. 

"Is it true, Sixteen?" The sound of Six's voice brought me back to 'reality,' but it felt different this time. Like I wasn't in my own body. 

"What?" 

"Do you really want Henry to... kill you?"

My eyes snapped to hers. For a moment, I thought she'd read my mind just as Brenner had, but then I remembered his preceding words-- 'Maybe you want him to kill you. Maybe, deep down, you hope he does.'

"Answer me, Sixteen," Six's voice came out desperate. I wasn't sure why Brenner's words disturbed her as much as they did, but suddenly her expression had shifted into something I'd only ever seen once before. It brought me back to the lab floor, sitting beside her in a gutted hallway, her breaths growing thinner by the second. "Do you really want him to kill you?"

"No." The lie was gentle, just for her, "No, I don't want that. Brenner has no idea what he's talking about."

I felt everyone's eyes on me as Brenner tilted his head, blocking Six from view. "Don't I?"

"No, you don't."

"Martin, quit torturing the girl," Gloria chided.

The words were barely out of her mouth when he whirled to face her. "You're all forgetting what this is." He pointed an accusative finger in my direction, "Nothing I'm saying hasn't crossed her mind before."

When no one replied, he turned back to me. There was this determination on his face that made my stomach drop, "You were never supposed to make it out of that lab, Sixteen. Much less on your own. You know that."

"Stop it. Right no--."

"--In truth, leaving you alive that day was the cruelest thing Henry's ever done."

My fingers curled into fists, "You have no idea what you're talking about."

Brenner leaned closer. From a breath away, I could see something distinctly evil in his eyes, glinting like the point of a knife steeled to tear through flesh. "Tell me I'm wrong, then," He whispered. "Tell me you don't stay up every night wishing Henry had the courage to do to you what he did to Six."

He stepped closer. I stepped back.

"Tell me you don't envy every victim, every broken bone, every person who was fortunate enough to be left in the past instead of haunted by it... Go on, tell me."

I went utterly silent. His words were too familiar and too specific to be just another attempt at upsetting me. I knew my own thoughts when I heard them. Brenner was speaking the darkest, most selfish, most ugly things that had ever crossed my mind into existence. The sort of things that only occurred to me late at night when I was too tired to sleep, half-drunk and alone, staring up at the ceiling. 

I had no idea how to respond.

"That's what I thought," In my silence, Brenner's voice rang out, lowering to a place only I could hear. "All this time passed and still nothing ever changed. You are the same terrified little girl you were five years ago, Sixteen... and your weakness," he inhaled deeply, "your weakness is going to cost your friends their lives. Again."

He straightened himself back up, "Look at that. You're developing a pattern."

I slapped him. Hard. But when his head snapped to the side and a sharp clap split the air, I felt no relief. There was just... nothing, except a dull stinging sensation in my hand, and the vague awareness that someone had gasped behind me. 

"Blaming me will not absolve you," I seethed, turning my back to him like I should've done ages ago. 

My eyes flitted over the chairs in the back of the room, where the others sat trading shocked glances. Beau looked disgusted. Six's face just held pity. I felt like an animal locked in a glass cage, laid bare for everyone to see. 

"I'm not going to let you all judge me after you died," I spat, the words harsh and despairing. "The only reason I wanted to leave the lab in first place was to be with Henry. Six, you were supposed to come, too, and then we were supposed to live the rest of our lives a million miles away from this shit hole! That was all that mattered to me!" 

They all seemed to be at a loss for words as my head fell into my hands. My chest rose, and fell, and rose, and fell. I tried to gather my bearings, but every new breath just pushed them further away. I felt like I would never get out of here. 

So much time had passed since the massacre. I thought, by now, I would feel better, but instead I spent every day punishing myself for sins that could never be atoned for. There was too much to move on from, and I had no idea where to start. How does anyone move on when they're born into violence? Who was I, if not for these tiled floors?

"That was all that mattered. And then you all died!" 

"Oh, baby..." Gloria's pity just made everything so much worse.

"God, and what a waste! Maybe if I had grown from it, or become a better person, I could've--." I paused, frantic hands running through my hair. "--I could've been worth it! But I don't know how to be better, and I don't know how to let go, and I'm so, so sorry I was the one who made it out. If I could go back and make it all different, I would. I swear, I would. I want so badly to be worth it, but I just... I can't. I'm not a saint."

There was a long, drawn out silence. Over the endless billowing of the air conditioning, Brenner's voice was the first to ring out. "But you could be a martyr." A beat. "And that's the best you can hope for, isn't it?"

I inhaled sharply. At least, then, there would be a point to all this. 

Before I could bring myself to respond, something shifted in the air. The eyes on me suddenly vanished as a death-like silence settled over the room. When I looked up, the folding chairs that'd been situated near the mirror were gone. So were the people sitting in them. 

My shoulders dropped. There was this moment of weightlessness as the pressure on my chest  lifted. I was alone. Finally alone. 

That moment quickly passed when I heard a clatter from somewhere behind me. 

I turned, but what I found waiting there was nothing like I expected. Someone new had appeared in the space behind me, and it wasn't Brenner, or Henry, or anyone else who could be used mess with my head. The person sitting there was... me. A younger version of me with her hair buzzed to the scalp, wearing a hospital gown that nearly swallowed her whole. 

She seemed not to notice me. Her fingers clacked endlessly against the metal table at which she sat, accompanied by nothing but a blue 'Connect-4' board whose pieces were strewn about the table. She paid no mind to the red and yellow chips, staring into space with a distance look in her eye.

I approached her slowly, holding my breath. "Do you have it?" 

Her fingers stopped their drumming.

"The key?" I questioned. She laughed gently, craning her head so she could meet my eyes. I tensed when I saw her, hollow-cheeked and sickly, wearing a face that was now so different from mine. With a dip of her head, she invited me to take the seat opposite her. 

I hesitantly obliged, my footsteps featherlight. The chair's metal legs grinded abrasively against the tile as I pulled it out and sat. We never broke eye contact.

When I was situated, she grabbed a yellow chip from the table and twisted it absently between her fingers. "You really don't get it, do you?"

I tilted my head confusedly. 

"There is no key."

A brief pause, then, "...What?"

"There is no key," She repeated, a soft smile playing on her lips. Unlike Brenner, she spoke without condescension, having no desire to shame me for the things I didn't know. "There never was. Your mind just... made it up. To protect you from whatever's about to happen."

I glanced at the door, and the keyhole still embedded in its metal plating. I couldn't understand why my mind would block me from leaving when all I wanted was to find Max and the others. 

After I took a moment to think about it, though, I suppose it did make sense. After the massacre, my subconscious must've been desperate to protect itself from the same ravages. 

"Am I gonna die?"

My gaze shot back to her as an unspoken understanding passed between us. We were both well aware of my plan to take Max's place, and the grave consequences that would follow. 

"I don't know," I eventually muttered. In truth, I'd never really imagined myself as a martyr. It didn't feel real.

She rested her elbows on the table, leaning closer. "Do you think he'll have it in himself to kill you?"

I knew she was referring to Henry. No matter how I tried to work it out in my mind, though, the conclusion I reached was still the same, "I don't know.... I really don't know."

She looked at me for a long moment. There was a sadness in her eyes that made my heart sink, but even then, I knew she understood-- understood the carnage of the massacre, and the years spent trying to move on from it, and my desperation to die knowing I had done one thing right with my life. Even it was right at the end.

I figured someone's blood was going to be on my hands no matter what I did, better mine than Max's. 

"Well, then I guess you'll have to find out yourself." The chip in her hand fell back to the table with a clatter. She gave me a look that said more than either of us could put into words, before she pushed herself back and rose from her chair. 

I sat up straighter as she approached the door. "Wait, where are you going?"

Her ankles peeked out from her hospital gown when she walked, knobby and meager as the polycotton cloth she was adorned with pooled around her body. She looked small, almost like a child, but the look on her face was far from infantile as she rested her hand on one of the metal doors. The keyhole peeked out beneath her palm. 

"I've tried to open them already," I called to her, turning in my chair, "The door's locked--."

"--No one's coming to save you, Sixteen," Her interruption was sharp and purposeful, conveying a meaning I couldn't quite understand. She stared intensely into my eyes as she pushed on the door, but instead of being refused by it just as I had, she opened it with ease. "Stop waiting."

Before I could comprehend what any of that meant, she disappeared through the door without another word.

My jaw was agape as it began to swing shut again. I threw my confusion to the side and hurriedly rose from my chair, which fell to the ground behind me as I sprinted to catch the door. "Wait, wait--!"

Just as I reached the exit, it closed in my face with an airy thud. My eyes went wide, hurriedly flitting from the keyhole and back as I tried to open the door just as she had. But once again, it was locked. 

My hand fell to my sides. Frustration and bewilderment fused into one, until suddenly, I felt a drop in my pocket. 

There's no way.

I reached into my sweatpants with shaking hands, fingers wrapping around something small and cold. When I pulled my hand free, there it was-- the key.  

Holy shit.

I stared down at my palm disbelievingly. I couldn't even blink, afraid that somehow it would be gone by the time I opened my eyes. A million thoughts raced through my head. How, after all this time, could the key just show up in my pocket? What had I been doing wrong before? When Brenner and Beau were throwing it around, why didn't--.

--None of that mattered. I shook my head soberingly. None of that mattered because now there was a way out of here, and I could finally do what I'd set out to do. There was no more time to waste. Max could still be saved.

I closed my fingers around the key and straightened my spine. My racing thoughts quieted into a low murmur. 

With one final glance at the Rainbow Room, I pushed the key into the lock and twisted. There was a soft click, then silence. That was it. No ceremony, no resistance, no trick. And when I pushed on the door, it opened easily. 

Waiting on the other side was... nothing. Literally nothing, save for an endless, black void without any clear beginning or end. I grasped the doorframe for stability, leaning forward to get a better look at it. Light spilled in from the room behind me, but it did little to illuminate the void ahead. Squinting didn't help much either. 

My fingers slowly fell from the doorframe. No going back now. 

With that thought in mind, I settled back on my heels and inhaled sharply. Cool air came rushing into my lungs. There was a brief period of stillness, and then I untouched the white tiled floors, throwing myself head-first into the darkness ahead. 

My feet instinctively sought solid ground. I kicked at the open air, flailing for a moment before I realized there was none. 

Flying turned to falling in an instant. 

As soon as I lost forwards momentum, gravity took hold and my body began plummeting through the void in a free fall. My hands grasped frantically at the foothold above, but the metal doors were already far out of reach, traveling further still as I descended into darkness. 

There was nothing I could do to stop it. 

Unable to slow my fall, I squeezed my eyes shut and braced myself for an inevitable landing. Soon, the air around me grew taunt as I was struck with the familiar sensation of being stuffed into an airtight bag. There was no room to kick, or flail, or breathe. I could only wait for it to be over.

And almost immediately, it was. 

I met the ground hard, casting the air from my lungs in one violent exhale. Everything went numb. My mind went blank. 

There was a moment of complete and utter silence, devoid of thought, or sense, or anything at all, until pain suddenly exploded across my entire body. As my senses kicked in all at once, I began to feel everything. My head throbbed like never before. Every nerve ached unbearably. No pain was worse than the pain in my chest, though, where Henry's tendril still resided like a parasite.

Through all of it, my mind could only muster one coherent thought-- get up. 

I needed to get up. 

Between greedy mouth fulls of air, I struggled to pry my eyes open. The throbbing in my head made it nearly impossible. Still, I persisted until my sight was returned, only to discover the world had gone viscous and blurry, completely unidentifiable. I raced to blink it into focus. 

Get up.

The ground beneath me was wet. It soaked through the thin fabric of my sweatpants, freezing cold and jarring enough to startle me into action. It took all of my willpower to prop myself on my elbows, and then some to turn on my side. 

With bleary eyes, I assessed my surroundings. 

I'd been here before. 

I knew it the moment I saw pyre erected just a few feet away from me-- this was Henry's mind.

Chapter Text

Hi!! I’m so so sorry it’s been so long, hope all of u are doing good! I just wanna start by saying I’ve seen everyone’s comments and I really appreciate them, anyone who has read up to this point thank you so much for taking the time to read my writing!!

I know I’ve been gone for a while and I’m not gonna go into too much detail but I’ve been having a lot of issues in my personal life these last few months and haven’t had the time/energy to write. I’ve had a hard time writing in general unfortunately but I’m trying to get back into it!

Hopefully I will finish the chapter eventually, but as of now this book is on hold. Unfortunately I just have a hard time seeing a narrative purpose to this story but also I’ve become very critical of my writing these last few months so IDK!!!

Anyways I do have the final chapter partially written but it’s a rough draft and maybe underwhelming/has a weird tone. I kept re-editing it and reworking it these last few months but it just feels kind of off idk!! Sorry guys! But if you’re interested I will post it in an actually timely fashion like within the next few days.

I can also attach a spoiler for how I planned on concluding the book, although the ending didn’t get written but I did have a plan for it! Also again, I may finish the last chapter eventual and delete this chapter.

I FEEL BAD IM SORRY GUYS!! I tried to finish it but i just couldn’t get into it as a writer idk I’m such a hater

THANK YOY ALL FOR READING THIS FAR IM SORRY!!!! LOVE YOU!!! APPRECIATE YOU!!!!