62It'd been a routine almost every night for the past month.
He was out like a light by 10pm. Long days at the station, dealing with trivial matters because nothing happened in Hawkins anymore. Not since the public scandal of Barbara Holland's death, not since that gateway to the ninth circle of frozen hell was shut. It was now squabbles between neighbors, rowdy teenagers loitering, an old woman walking her poodle that happened to look into someone's window and see more than what she bargained for (and claimed it to be 'indecent exposure'). As time passed he slept with more ease, although he knew to exercise caution – he had adopted a teenager, after all. A female one.
Not only that, but female teenager with a very severe telekinetic prowess smitten with a boy since the precipice of adolescence. Jim Hopper wasn't an idiot. He knew kids this age – as he was one of them a long, long time ago (Michael Wheeler would sometimes argue in a galaxy far, far away). They were diabolical masterminds driven by hormones with a honed skill in sneaking out and they'd done it many times, some of them they never even realized he knew.
But this wasn't a night for a romantic rendezvous in the back of a car, where the windows fogged from body heat and the vehicle bounced with the rhythm of their motion.
For the past month she waited until her father (adopted, but never the less, her father) was dead asleep. For the past month she would pluck a lone cigarette from his pack, and she would discretely leave their woodly cabin for a walk. Most would be afraid to wander around in the darkness alone, but she didn't consider this darkness – not like the darkness she'd come to know. Stars like fireflies were scattered through the midnight sky, the waning moon bright. The air was crisp and clean with spring climate. Pollen too, although she'd been a lucky one to avoid the condition of allergies unlike other members of the party.
There was an uphill hike she endured every night she left the cabin. Up, up, where the elevation made her ears pop a little uncomfortably. Eleven knew the sight that would let her know she arrived. It was high, overseeing the trees that just newly became green again. In the very center was a building several stories tall with fences fortified by coils and coils of barbed wire.
This was her spot for the past month, to view something that was a literal nightmare constructed by everything real and material. Once, she thought it was home.
Eleven didn't realize how much bullshit that was until later. She never knew what home really was, not until she was pulled from a storm and into the basement of a completely strange boy – and she came to the conclusion that home wasn't a place. It was the people. In her case, that completely strange boy.
And this building that she once falsely thought of as home was supposed to be void of all light. Shut down, abandoned, empty. But one night she felt it calling to her, like a siren's song in the form of night terrors, and when she finally listened and saw it again with her own two very brown eyes, her gut churned. It made Eleven queasy.
Of all the floors that existed, of all the shielded windows she could see, there was one light in one window that remained on.
Just one.
It stayed that way for the past month. And for most days in the past month she'd escape the cabin, carefully step over the strategically placed tripwire (Hopper was ever the paranoid), and made her way up so high to watch. She would stand at the edge of the hill, take the spare lighter she'd once found lost in the cushions, and fire up the lone cigarette she'd stolen.
And she would watch, to see if anything ever came of the one room lit. As far she knew?
Nothing ever did, but something told her it was only a matter of time.
There was nothing extraordinarily different about the next morning. The Chief suspected not a thing, and if he did she had no way of telling. That's what had her often nervous. Hops was always so good with keeping up a facade if necessary (after all he did hide her for three hundred and fifty three days without telling a soul), but if he disapproved any of her behavior at all? He'd have very little issue vocalizing it without filter.
Mike always picked her up at the same time at the same spot off the beaten path, rusted car parked and waiting. Age did away with everything that had once been charmingly boyish about him; freckles that powdered his nose multiplied, his hair remained forever shaggy, and that body grew and grew like a beanstalk. They kissed one another sweetly like they always did in the morning, and he rattled on and on about how the end of the year was approaching. Their final year, with their last finals and college referrals, how he bounced between deciding what major he wanted to study and where. He sounded so confident about the future, and she smiled her dimpled smile and nibbled on a plain waffle while he conversed enthusiastically.
Sometimes he could get so wrapped up in what was going on that she thought it as a blessing in disguise. According to Dustin's eloquence, graduating high school was kind of a big deal and was the start of their adulthood - whatever that really meant, anyway.
"And then I was thinking about how a dorm would be just dumb, and a waste of money, and I don't even know if I want to share a space with a total stranger," Mike continued rambling, parking the vehicle in the senior lot. "I've got enough scholarships coming in to have some money left over and, well - there's probably a cheap apartment I can get at Indianapolis."
He took a minute to clear his throat because he was just now realizing he was segueing into the part of cohabitation. Like, moving in together. Much like graduation, it was kind of a big deal but she was Eleven, and he was Mike, and they'd gone through more than adults had when they were twelve. "You know, for the both of us. If - that's cool?"
Real smooth.
His question stirred her from her gaze out the window and she blinked those brown eyes wide. "Um, what?"
Are you even listening - "An apartment," he repeated with a frown. "For the both of us. Are you okay? Is something wrong? Shit, I was probably talking way too much, I'm sor-"
"No, no!" El interjected. "No, sorry, I listened. Promise." It wasn't a lie; she heard every word and was trying to process (albeit distractedly). "Sorry, I didn't sleep all that...well." Also not a lie. Sneaking out to stare down her literal torture chamber, plus the nightmares that clung to her even when she did get a wink of sleep didn't exactly equal luxurious resting. "You - you want to take me with you?"
Mike's brows furrowed for two reasons. One, he felt like she hadn't been sleeping well for a while. He knew about the nightmares. He also knew there wasn't a damn thing he could do about them - he wasn't there to comfort her. Hopper wasn't keen on co-ed sleepovers. Neither were his parents, although they'd all probably suspected that line they all feared would be crossed too early had already been crossed.
His hand found hers to squeeze, thumb grazing her knuckles. "I know it's - well, it's a lot to ask, and you'll have to probably talk to the chief about it, but we're both going to be eighteen. Legal adults. If we can go to war, we can make the decision to live together. Right?" Mike swallowed nervously. "I mean, unless you don't want to and I -"
"I want to," she interrupted quietly. And as dumb as it sounded, his heart fluttered. "I want to." El brought their hands to her mouth and she kissed his, mouth forming the smile he adored so much. It helped settle a concern she had when all the talk about college started popping up, and phrases like out of state were being tossed around. They urged her to apply to places too, but all the exams involved and the decisions required were too overwhelming - she didn't think she could decide what she wanted to do with the rest of her life when she had just started living it.
But Mike assured her it wasn't for everyone. That they'd figure something out. And apparently he had. She liked this plan of his so far. A lot. "All we'd need is a one bedroom," he mused, luring her closer with their tangled fingers. "We'd sleep in the same bed. Then I'd get to be there when those bad dreams come to you. That's why you haven't been sleeping well, isn't it?"
El bit the inside of her cheek. "Sort of."
"Sort of?"
Friends don't lie, spoken in the voice of a pre-teen Mike Wheeler, echoed in her mind.
It's not a lie, she argued with the voice. But it's not the whole truth either, and it's not fair.
"Complicated," she answered finally, wincing.
Mike didn't like that answer. "El."
Before he was even able to pull an explanation from here there was an interruption - in the form of someone banging on the windows with beaming excitement. Dustin. A brawny curly-haired teddy bear that tried too damn hard but was still always loveable. "Hey! Lovebirds! Keep making eyes at each other and you're going to be late."
Dustin's greet from Mike was a glare that could burn holes in into his skin.
"Oops," he blinked. "Did I interrupt a moment?"
"We'll talk," she promised with a dreaded sigh, and kissed the corner of his mouth. "Later." Mike had that look to him, infamously stubborn - like he wasn't about to let this conversation go - but the feeling that she wasn't ready to discuss it yet wasn't lost to him. He didn't resist much when she writhed her hand from him go out of the car. Mike wasn't far behind her, and begrudgingly let her meet up with Maxine up ahead.
Meanwhile, Dustin stayed behind and let out an awkward whistle. "Seriously, dude. My bad?"
Mike shook his head. "It's nothing."
"Trouble in paradise?"
"Actually," Mike blinked. "Not at all." Later had been a promise he'd hold her to. They never broke one another's word, and he (often) had to remind himself that it was okay if she needed space. Didn't mean El needed him any less, and he discovered she liked to sit on things until she found the best way to explain it. Articulation had been a huge challenge for her at first, but her vocabulary had expanded and her sentences weren't as choppy. More use of words meant less bouts of telekinetic frustration. That had been her 'go-to' method of self-expression.
Not that it wasn't cool. It just didn't fit the bill of 'suburban teenage girl' they were all trying to help her sell.
"She agreed to move in with me," he confessed to Dustin as they walked inside. Not once did he lose sight of her, either - her soft brown curls, a glimpse leather she insisted in wearing. Punk wasn't the exact style she adopted, but it was definitely punk-ish. They'd made it to the lockers to prepare for the brunt of the day, switching out textbooks and notes. "In Indianapolis. I didn't plan to ask her today but it kind of just…"
"Word vomit," Dustin finished for him with a chuckle. "Congrats, man, but did you really doubt she'd say yeah?"
"No." It was mostly convincing. Insecurity was always nestled within him somewhere even if he knew it was logically stupid, but he couldn't help it. "I mean, it's rude to assume. We'd have to hash details out with the Chief." For obvious reasons. He wasn't just protective, he was paranoid. Also for obvious reasons. "But she can't stay here forever. Not if we want something more normal for her."
Part of him would miss Hawkins, yet he was excited to kind of do his own thing - with her. Something new. Something them.
"At least you two figured shit out." Dustin adjusted that cap of his in the locker mirror before shutting it. "Max and Lucas are still going down each other's throats about things out without breaking up and it's getting pretty angsty and tense there, if you know what I mean."
Oh, he knew. It was why he and El weren't velcroed to one another like usual (let's just say that Mike had a form of separation anxiety thanks to this fucking place and the fucking government and the, you know, the fucking monsters that lived in an echo world). Maxine pulled at the only other female member of the party and Lucas, well, he pulled at the guys for rants and advice.
It was an uncomfortable divide among them. Eleven wasn't a bucket of infinite worldly wisdom, but she listened well and was the only other girl the redhead knew in what could be considered a serious relationship. Her way of looking at things were simplistic and innocently no bullshit. Exactly what someone like Max needed.
Mike peeked around his friend. That flaming mane of curls was easily spotted and next to her was his girlfriend, and all he knew was that Max's mouth was moving at speed faster than light while El try not to look to overwhelmed with the morning's rant.
"I gave him my piece of advice," he sighed, shutting his locker. As another member of the party also in what was considered a serious relationship, Lucas thought he was also well equipped to offer some kind of insight. "It's up to them to decide what they want."
"What would you do in his place?"
"What do you mean?"
"You know," Dustin shrugged. "Would you want to deal with the distance or just say 'fuck it' because you're both so paranoid the other's going to find someone better?"
"I've run hypothetical scenarios like that in my head before, but never once figured out what the outcome of any of them were," Mike admitted with a wince. "So hell if I know, Dustin."
"Consider yourself lucky, my friend." He patted Mike's shoulder. "Then again anyone around here would be too stupid to compare their relationship with yours." Not that most knew the oh so famous story of Mike Wheeler and Jane Hopper (Jane rolled off their tongue so weirdly, and she preferred them to call her El anyway), riddled with sacrificial badassery in defeating demogorgons or their whole 'woe is me, radioed you for like, a year' part when finally reunited. "Hell, I'm surprised you didn't just go ahead and pop the other question."
"What other -" Dustin's hand was swatted away offensively when the realization hit. "Jesus christ, shut up. No." Pink colored Mike's cheeks a little. "Someday, sure. When I'm not figuring out possible rent or tuition and stop fucking grinning like that, Dustin. Jeez. Mind your business."
"Haven't seen your face that red since we walked in on -"
"Shut the fuck up."
Study Hall, she discovered, was kind of a bullshit class meant to fill in the gaps between remaining core classes senior year. But it had become one of El's favorite classes because it was, for the most part, quiet - partly due to how everyone was suddenly fixated on their grades like it was a life or death situation. Notes were passed among classmates, whispers about a one last hoorah at Jennifer Hayes' house. It was meant to be a big, sordid affair but all of that information wasn't really meant for someone like her.
Popularity wasn't in her cards. Neither were impeccable grades, although hers were passably average. None of those things bothered her much. Social hierarchies in schools were strange, and while there'd been something of a scandalous hype with the sudden appearance of the Chief of Police's teenage daughter (that no one ever heard of before so there must have obviously been a scandal), she blended in with the crowd most ignored: the nerds.
Her nerds.
Will was in the class too. He kept her company in the seat next to her, and she'd spend his time filling the pages of his sketchbook with images from his mind. Sometimes they were adorable comic strips with characters based off his friends. Other times they were hauntingly dark, illustrations of the horrors his mind recalled. Those came from a bad place. Coming from a bad place, being a victim of monsters too - El understood.
You can't forget bad places.
"Are you okay?"
He was using dark colors again. Crimson, indigo, black. Erratic lines and heavy shadows. Will didn't look upset, but his thoughts seemed to be running deep today. "Yeah," he finally said after a minute. "I am. Just thinking."
There was a paperback book on psychology (and a small dictionary next to her, to look up all complicated words she didn't quite understand) she closed. "Bad things?"
He shared a smile, and it wasn't terribly morose. Will had retained a much more boyish look to him than the rest of the guys. Always the smallest, always the one most prone to getting picked on. "About bad things, but not in a bad way. If that makes sense."
El raised a curious brow. "Not really."
"It's about this idea I have," he went on to quietly clarify. "About everything that happened. Everything we're not supposed to talk about. Everything not everyone's supposed to know, but it doesn't change that it happened. The school I'm going to requires we work on one long-term project and I think mine will be like… a graphic novel, of what we all went through. Some details changed so it won't be the exact thing, but that way the truth will be out there. Somehow."
"Is that – are you allowed to do that?"
"Why wouldn't I be?"
There was a pause as she tried to think her feelings into words. "Do you think the bad people will get upset?"
Bad people was her way of referring to the government. Maybe it was better that way; they didn't need to be tossing that word around in school halls like it held no weight.
Will blinked up from his paper, contemplating. "Not if I change things around. I don't think I can get away with doing some kind of autobiographical comic about this place, but we can retell the story with the same truths. And who says it'll ever get published, anyway?" It was art therapy for Will. He couldn't tell a shrink about his experiences without being locked up or heavily medicated. "I suck at the writing part of it. I'm thinking of asking Mike for some help with all his Dungeon Master experience."
"I think he'd like that. He's going to miss telling his stories."
"And then, of course, I'd consult you – because super powers have to be involved somehow," grinned the boy, still hushed. No one ever really paid attention to them here anyway.
El still didn't know what to think about her powers being romanticized into heroism. She never objected, though. In the end being perceived as a super hero was infinitely better than being perceived as a monster, or freak of nature.
"Will?"
"Yeah?"
"Do you still get nightmares?"
Strange question. Will worried a little. Even though they were the last of the group to officially meet, the two of them fell into a very seamless, easy friendship. It wasn't until he laid eyes on her that he even remembered who she was, the voice in Castle Byers that told him to hold on. In a way it was like they'd known each other the entire time. His mother and Hopper seemed to be pleased with it, especially since the two adults had started to get a little serious in the relationship department.
"Sometimes," he answered. "I'm so used to them now though, they don't even effect me like they used to." No more screaming or cold sweats, but that anvil of dread seemed to stay there forever. "Why? Do you?"
El's response wasn't any different, except it lacked explanation. "Sometimes."
"Did you have some recently?"
"A lot, recently," she sighed. "Maybe it's just my head. Maybe something's wrong with it."