El's screaming and sobbing echoes through the mall, and after wiping my mouth I turn back towards her. Everyone looks at each other and back at the writhing skin, clearly unsure of what to do. I'm almost certain even a trained surgeon wouldn't know what to do.
"What is that?" Erica asks.
"There's something in there," Mike mutters what we're all thinking, and Eleven cries out again.
"Jesus Christ."
"Keep her talking." Jonathan stands up, "Keep her awake, okay?"
Everyone goes silent, watching Eleven scream, and so I reach forward and grab her hand.
"Listen, El—"
She screams over my voice, and I squeeze her fingers so she looks at me.
"Listen! You're gonna be okay, okay?" I state firmly, convincing myself as well as her, "Just push through, all right? Push through and you'll be okay."
She manages a nod, grunting and clenching her eyes shut as tears rush down her face.
"Stay awake, okay?" Mike chimes in, "Let's get her on this side, on this side."
"Easy, easy, easy."
"It's uh—" Robin begins, her voice high and panicky, "You know, it's not actually that bad. There was a . . . The goalie on my soccer team, Beth Wildfire, this other girl slid into her leg, and the whole bone came out of her knee—six inches or something, it was insane."
"Robin?" Steve interrupts, and everyone is looking at the blabbering girl now, who turns to her coworker with wide eyes.
"Yeah?"
"You're not helping."
"I'm sorry," she breathes, looking back down at El as Jonathan comes running back. He pushes me aside, holding a knife.
"Okay. All right, El?" He kneels next to her leg, and she looks at him, "This is gonna hurt like hell, okay?"
"Okay," she sobs.
"I need you to stay real still." Jonathan puts on a pair of plastic gloves and hands her a wooden spoon, "Here, you're gonna want to bite down on this, okay?"
"Jesus Christ," Dustin says for the third time, and I swallow nervously, shuffling forward and pressing down on her ankle to keep her from writhing. Jonathan leans over her, wielding the knife and edging it closer to her shin.
"Holy shit. Holy shit."
We all look at one another, all breathing shallowly and looking terrified. Mike holds onto El's head and nods.
"Do it."
"Okay," Jonathan nods as if encouraging himself, and he shakily pushes the knife into Eleven's skin, slicing through her wound. She lets out a blood curdling scream, and I wince, forcing myself to stay by her side as Erica gapes down at the makeshift surgery.
"Oh, shit," Dustin gags, turning away. Nancy covers her mouth, and I take a shuddering breath in as Jonathan puts down the knife. I think to myself that the worst part is over, but realize I'm sorely mistaken when Jonathan closes his eyes and digs his gloved fingers into her open wound. We all make noises of reaction, and Eleven's sobs are muffled by the wooden spoon in her mouth.
"Jonathan!" Nancy shouts as Eleven begins screaming over and over, squirming in my grasp.
"Stop talking!" He shouts back at her, rifling around inside El's leg and clearly unable to find what's moving, "Goddamn it!"
"No!" El suddenly spits out the spoon, "Stop it! Stop!"
"Stop!" Mike shouts, and I pull Jonathan away, letting go of Eleven's ankle as she sits up and grunts.
"I can do it," she says through whimpering sobs, "I can do it."
We all look at each other before back at her, her panting the only thing heard as she hovers her shaky hands over her leg. She grunts again as the thing begins to move.
"God!" She cries out, and there's an awful squishing noise that intensifies as she wails. Her wail turns quickly into a scream, and I step back towards the wall, watching with terror.
In a split second, the glass of the store behind me shatters, and I'm showered with shards that embed into my skin. I yelp, but my sounds of pain are lost by El's war cry as the small, slug looking animal flies from her leg and she flings it across the floor. I yank a chunk of glass from my arm as we all look to the writhing, bloody slime worm with heavy breaths.
Suddenly it's crushed by a boot. A steel-toed boot I recognize all too well. I drop my hand from where it was going to rip out more glass shards as my eyes trail up to Hopper's face. By his side are Joyce and a bearded man I don't recognize, and they all stare at us as if they've been chasing us around all day. I don't doubt they have been.
Hopper looks from El to me before beginning to walk forwards. I stand up, looking not unlike a mangled porcupine with all the glass sticking out of me. Mike and Will help Eleven up, and we meet him partway, Joyce running to her two sons and hugging them tightly. As the chief of police reaches us, I break through the crowd.
"Took you guys long enough," I say jokingly, but it's a weak attempt, "what, did you run into traffic?"
Hopper ignores me, not stopping at my feet and instead pulling me into a hug that I'm half sure is meant to shut me up. I freeze for a moment before wincing.
"Uh—while I appreciate the sentiment, you're kind of pushing shards of glass deeper into my skin," I tell him, and he pulls away with a small, almost relieved smile, as if thankful that I'm still making jokes in this situation. He places a hand on my head affectionately before turning to El. I watch him help her over to the edge of the plant display, talking to her softly as she hugs his side. For a moment, I'm struck with an intoxicating feeling of jealousy, something I feel rarely. For one moment, I remember that my dad is in jail, and I have nowhere to go, and Hopper has El now so he won't want me. For a moment I think about the fact that I'm so unbelievably screwed, and all of a sudden I want to kick something. I try to remember the moment Eleven swooped in and took Hopper from me.
But then they sit down together, and she curls up against him, and the feeling goes away. I watch as he cradles her head and talks lowly to her, and I know I never can have that. I'm damaged goods; she's shiny and new. He deserves something shiny and new, and if I can't give him the daughter he never could have, then I'm glad he found her somewhere else.
"Ow!" I say loudly, tearing my eyes from the sappy scene as Max yanks out a shard of glass from my back. She snickers before throwing it on the ground, and I give her a narrow-eyed look as we head back to where the group has gathered.
"The Mind Flayer, it built this monster in Hawkins," Mike is explaining, "to stop El. To kill her and pave a way into our world."
"And it almost did," Nancy adds, glancing at me and Max as we join on either side of Steve, "that was just one tiny piece of it."
"How big is this thing?" Hopper asks, still cradling El, who elevates her leg on Joyce's lap.
"It's big." Jonathan sighs, "Thirty feet, at least."
"Yeah," Lucas says, scratching the back of his head and nervously looking to Hopper, "It sort of destroyed your cabin."
Hopper stares at him, unblinking. I wonder briefly whether he's picturing strangling Lucas or is just deep in thought.
"Sorry."
"Okay, so, just to be clear . . ." Steve starts from beside me, breaking the tension. His eye is still bloody, but in comparison to last time, I'd say he's better off, "this big, fleshy, spider thing that hurt El, it's some kind of gigantic . . . weapon?"
"Yes."
"But instead of, like, screws and metal, the Mind Flayer made its weapon . . . with melted people."
"Yes. Exactly."
"Yeah, okay." Steve shrugs, "I—yeah, I'm just making sure."
"Are we sure this thing is still out there, still alive?" Joyce asks.
"El beat the shit out of it," Max states, "but yeah, it's still alive."
"But if we close the gate again—"
"We cut the brain off from the body," Max finishes Will's sentence.
"And kill it." Lucas clears his throat, "Theoretically."
I scoff, "Easier said than done."
There's the sound of papers rustling, and heavy footsteps. Then, the bearded man's voice rings through the court.
"Yoo-hoo!" He shouts, and we all turn to see him marching towards us, clad in a wife-beater and ragged jean shorts. He waves a handful of papers at us, and I share a confused look with Max before we begin his way.
"So, who's this guy?" I ask Hopper, who helps El off the concrete bench and follows the crowd, "You know you can't just pick homeless men off the street."
"I am not homeless, you ignorant girl," the bearded man says, spreading his papers across a table as we gather around.
"Could've fooled me," I shoot back, and he ignores me.
"Murray, Liz," Hopper introduces, "Liz, Murray."
"Pleasure," he says through a fake smile, and I shake his hand, nodding at the table.
"Setting down some papers to pee on?" I ask sweetly, "In buildings like these, we have things called bathrooms."
"They're blueprints, and you should respect the man that's going to save your life." He turns away from me as I smirk, and Hopper swats me upside the head.
"Ok, this is what Alexei called 'the hub'," Murray begins, pointing to a spot on the sheet, "Now, the hub takes us to the vault room."
"Okay, where's the gate?" Hopper interrupts, and Murray jabs a grubby index finger down.
"Right here." He looks up at us all, "I don't know the scale on this, but I think it's fairly close to the vault room. Maybe fifty feet or so."
I cackle cruelly, and Erica scoffs.
"More like 500," she chimes, and Murray looks to us in confusion. Erica walks forwards, crossing her arms, "What, you're just gonna waltz in there like it's commie Disneyland or something?"
Murray frowns.
"I'm sorry, who are you?"
"Erica Sinclair." Erica stops, "Who are you?"
"Murray . . . Bauman," Murray answers uncertainly, and Erica makes a face.
"Listen, Mr. Bunman," she sasses, "I'm not trying to tell you how to do things, but I've been down in that shithole for 24 hours." She turns to the others, "And with all due respect, you do what this man tells you, you're all gonna die."
"I'm sorry," Murray stands straighter, taken aback by the wrath of Erica. We've all been there, "why is this four-year-old speaking to me?
"Um, I'm ten you bald bastard!" She snarks, and Lucas cuts in.
"Erica!"
"Just the facts!"
"She's right." Dustin nods, "You're all gonna die. But you don't have to. Excuse me—" he steps forwards and looks at Murray, "—sorry, may I?"
"Please."
Dustin drags the papers towards him and takes a seat.
"Okay, see this room here?" He points, "This is a storage facility. There's a hatch in here that feeds into their underground ventilation system. That will lead you to the base of the weapon." He draws a line across the sheet, "It's a bit of a maze down there, but between me and Erica, we can show you the way."
"You can show us the way?" Hopper repeats in slow disbelief.
"Don't worry, you can do all the fighting and the dangerous hero shit," Dustin says in what he likely assumes is a comforting way, "and we'll just be your . . . Navigators."
"No." Hopper shrugs, "Nope."
"How about me?" I ask.
"An even bigger no," he responds, and the group breaks as he turns away. I watch him go, the same old grump that I've loved and missed, and suddenly I'm hit with another wave of realization. I was trapped underground by a boat load of Russians; I might've never seen him again. I'm about to approach him, when there's a hand on my shoulder.
"Liz."
"Present," I say, turning to see Dustin shooting me a concerned look. He peers around before lowering his voice.
"Are you all right?" He asks, and I'm about to shrug him off when I realize what he's talking about. My mom. My dad. Everything.
I hesitate, then frown, suddenly feeling very confused. My mom, as much as I didn't want to hear it, was right. I have nowhere to go. My dad is in jail, and I'd sooner get myself arrested than go anywhere with my mom.
I try to have empathy for her. My dad is cruel, I'm the first to know that. But before me, it was her. For years, she faced what I do now. I don't blame her for getting tired of it. I don't blame her for needing to get out.
I blame her for leaving me. I blame her for not taking me and Steve with her. I blame her for leaving us terrified, for turning Steve against me, for everything. My dad, as terrible a human as he is, is at least predictable in his despicable actions. My mom, the one that sang me to sleep when I was young, the one that took me for ice cream after my basketball practices, wasn't a terrible human. She was beautiful. I remember her smile like she's right here with me. I remember her laugh like an old melody in the air. I remember her touch, her hugs, the way she'd kiss my hair. She was a beautiful woman, and that made it so much worse. What she did came completely out of left field, and shattered everything. My dad hurt me physically, sure, but my mom hurt me on a whole other level. And the worst part is that now she's acting as if she never did anything wrong.
It seems that I've been silent for too long, because Dustin answers his question for me.
"You will be," he reassures, squeezing my shoulder. I manage a weak smile, but that's all, and he walks away, leaving me to stare after him.
I will be. I always am.
I turn, approaching Hopper as he grabs a gun off of a fallen Russian. He cocks it, and I raise an eyebrow.
"Is it loaded? Here, point it at me and test it out."
He gives me a look, and I grin. It fades quickly.
"My dad got arrested."
He freezes, his mouth falling ever so slightly open. I know that my expression is pathetic. I know that it's showing confusion and sadness and anger, rather than the emotions I should feel, like triumph and joy. He looks like he himself wants to celebrate, but he sees my face, and instead he opens his arms.
The tears come quickly, and I rush forward, all but slamming into his chest as I fling my arms around him. He squeezes me tightly, and I sob into his shirt, leaving dark stains behind.
"It's okay, kid," he comforts, "it's ok. It'll be ok."
"I have nowhere to go," I cry, my voice muffled by the fabric of his shirt, "I have no one, Hopper."
"You have all of us," he says in fierce denial, "you'll come live with me, kid. You'll be just fine."
I look up, my eyes full of hope and surprise.
"Really?"
He scoffs, "There's no question. I need someone there to reel El in, anyway."
I have no words. So I just hug him tighter, because what else is there? What more can I possible do? Eventually I pull away, and Hopper wipes my cheek of tears.
"But first," he says as I rub my nose on my sleeve, "we've got some ass to kick."
I laugh a tearful laugh, "Damn right."
He sighs, "I look forward to the breakfast that comes after all of this is over."
I want to tell him I'm not sure it'll ever be truly over, but I can't bring myself to ruin the mood.
"I think we'll have to move it up a week or so," I say, and he chuckles.
"Hear hear."
I turn, looking a ways away and seeing Dustin talking to Mike, Lucas, and Will. Hopper puts a hand down on my shoulder and nods.
"Go be with them."
I smile, and, feeling a lot lighter, make my way over to the group.
"We missed you, dude," Lucas is saying to Dustin.
"Yeah, big time."
"Trust me guys," I say, shaking my head and slinging an arm around Dustin's shoulders, "you miss him until you're trapped underground with him for a day."
"I missed you guys too." Dustin pushes me towards Erica and hugs the others, "Big-time."
"Please don't cry, nerds." Erica rolls her eyes as they all share a sappy moment.
"Erica," Lucas chastises.
"Keep saying my name, see what happens."
"Hey heads up." Hopper's voice echoes out, and he tosses Dustin a walkie-talkie, "You can navigate, just from someplace safe."
"It's not that simple," Dustin responds.
"The signal won't reach," Erica adds, giving me a look as I stand too close to her. I take a step away.
"Not with this," Dustin explains, holding up the walkie, "You need something with a high enough frequency band to relay with the Russians' radio tower. But for that to work, you need someone who has both seen their comms room and has access to a super-powered handcrafted radio tower. One preferably already situated at the highest point in Hawkins."
He frowns, "Oh wait, that's me. If you want us to navigate, you got us. But we need a head start. And a car."
"I can drive," I announce, reaching for Hopper's keys from his belt loop. He swats my hand away.
"Like hell you can," he says, "where's that brother of yours?"
I shrug, "Probably somewhere trying to figure out how to tie his shoes."
"I am right here," Steve approaches the group from behind me, and I gesture to him.
"You're saying you think he's a better fit for driving your car?" I ask Hopper, "He doesn't know his times tables, Hop."
"Hey," Steve scoffs, his hands finding his hips, "I know my times tables."
"Ok. What's nine times eight?" I ask, and he hesitates.
"Uh — it's . . ."
I give Hopper a look as Erica and Will snicker. Steve swats me upside the head, but it's worth it.
"You know, neither option is preferable," Hopper admits, "but it's not my car, so I don't care."
He tosses my brother the keys, and Robin appears at my other shoulder.
"It's out front," Hopper states, nodding to the mall doors, "but it only seats four."
"Erica can lie in the trunk," I decide happily, already heading for the exit. Steve grabs my hood and pulls me back.
"I want you to go with the others," he says firmly, and I gape.
"What? Why?"
He lowers his voice, "El needs you. And—and you . . . you'll be safer with everyone. Far away from the fight for once."
I open my mouth to argue, because as if I'll shy away from a fight, but then catch glimpse of his expression, which perfectly mirrors how mine looked when talking to Hopper. Helpless, lost, confused. I'm reminded that he too just found out his dad's in jail, and his family is gone. Except me. I'm here, and I'm all he has.
"Okay," I agree, and he looks shocked and relived, pulling me into a quick hug and messing up my hair.
"Okay," he looks to the others, "let's do this."
AUTHOR'S NOTE
Two updates in one week? Who is she.
Let me know if you catch any errors.
Word count: 3320