"WOW," Chris exclaimed, elongating the vowels unnecessarily, theatrically, and that's when Ana knew she'd lost him. However, she allowed him his rant of disbelief without interruption, even though her eyes rolled at his antics without her brain's express permission.
"You expect me to believe that shit?" He asked with a chuckle, though there was no real humor behind it. "What, my boring ass sister just happened to get herself wrapped up in some government conspiracy? Oh, oh! And let's not forget the faceless flesh-eating monsters or whatever dumbass, sci-fi level crap you're trying to sell me on." He was pacing in front of her, arms flailing wildly about with every word, and if he kept at it, the already worn carpet would likely have an indent remaining from his incessant tread. "No. No way!" He continued to shout, voice rising an octave with every cynical sentence that simmered forth from his lips. "Fat chance! I'm calling supreme bullshit." At the completion of his little tirade, the look he leveled her with was a mixture of perturbed, bemused, and affronted.
What she had assumed would be the worst, the least desirable scenario, had suddenly manifested itself into reality. He didn't believe her, but, really, why would he? The whole story sounded absurdly fantastical, even to her own ears, and Ana had actually lived through it. "Why don't you watch the language? We have kids in the house," she chose to admonish instead of addressing his more significant, more reasonable concerns.
"Oh, fuck off," he snapped instantly, finally halting his endless back and forth across the floor. "You have more of a pirate hooker mouth than anyone."
True, undeniably true, even Ana had to admit it, but the intention still remained. "Whatever," she scoffed, relaxing further into the tattered yellow couch cushions, her composed demeanor the utter contrast to his fuming and flabbergasted posture. "Look, I can't prove it to you, so if my word isn't enough," she stopped with a sigh, one that was accepting but exhausted. "Then—then I really don't have anything else for you, Chris. I know how it sounds. Honestly, I do, but it's the truth whether you accept it or not."
Maybe she'd been relying too heavily on sibling solidarity to win him over, but perhaps she'd expended most of that teasing him mercilessly during their youth. The time she'd locked him in a chest at the foot of her bed for nearly an hour probably didn't spur any goodwill or blind faith in her direction, just based on the memory alone. Yet, if Eleven still had her powers, then he might've been convinced—but she didn't, so he wasn't. Either way, Ana didn't look up from her lap when he slowly made his way over to the sofa, settling beside her with what was surely meant to be a comforting hand atop her knee.
"Is this why you asked me to come stay with you? Because you're..." His speech petered off, and her eyebrows rose in question over how that particular sentiment was planning to end. "Because you're not well," he finished, making her lips purse in agitation. Great, he thought she was absolutely off her rocker, gone demented, or experiencing schizophrenic tendencies way too late into life.
The irritation must have read across her face as easily as a page in a children's book because he immediately began back peddling. "Hey, I'm not judging," he tried to reassure, hands thrown up in surrender, but the notion was far from validating. "I know postpartum can be hard on new moms, but we can still get you the help you need."
It would've been a sweet offer, kind, even, if it were remotely based in actuality, which it, unfortunately, wasn't. So, instead of refuting his well-intentioned suggestion, Ana punched him in the shoulder—hard. "I'm gonna beat your ass, I swear to god," she seethed behind clenched teeth as she lunged at him, waylaying her younger brother with a barrage of sloppy, unaimed hits. "I'm not unwell, you insufferable asshole!"
The hands he'd thrown up earlier in a yielding gesture weren't quick enough to save him from the unexpected abuse, however, so Chris threw himself backward off the couch in a vain attempt to find distance from her. Too bad for him, Ana was more than willing to drop herself to the floor and continue her assault even as he struggled to flee.
"You should be in a psych ward, you lunatic!" He barked, army crawling away from her on bent elbows and knees. And he probably would have made some progress, had her firm grip not clasped around his retreating ankle, yanking him back towards her. "Cut it out, dude," he whined, kicking at her restraining hand, but for all his floundering and wiggling, he couldn't relinquish her strong hold.
With the arm not containing him, Ana drew her fist up and brought it down on his left buttcheek, the blow powerful and the sound sharp as it connected with the meaty flesh. "Oh, I'll show you lunatic," she promised menacingly, throwing her entire weight over him in the brief pause following her punch, one which had noticeably stunned him.
"Bitch, get—" Another round of violent flailing preceding the end of his stuttering statement. "Get off me. Your fat ass is going to smother me to death!" Chris howled as if his insults would somehow sway her into submission.
Ana knew she'd gained some weight carrying Robby, as to be expected, but it'd mostly melted off in the months incurred since his birth. Even if it hadn't, though, Chris couldn't make her self-conscious on her worst day—brother's opinions hold such little weight, after all. "Good! Then you're going to die regretting not trusting your big sister," she bit back, smacking him none too gently upside the head.
With her legs successfully pinning his arms to his side, they both found themselves releasing harsh breaths, faces reddened from the exertion. Their wrestling matches had been much easier when they were younger, but now Ana's back ached from the sudden movement. Plus, Chris' substantial height and advanced weight had made incapacitating him much harder than it used to be.
Both were silent, save for their mutual heaving, considering their next moves, when another, smaller voice entered the living room. "Mom?" El squeaked in obvious concern, drawing their attention.
It must have been a confounding sight for her daughter to stumble upon, with Ana seated across Chris' chest while the latter continued his pointless efforts to break free. No doubt she'd heard the raised voices and began to wonder. They'd certainly been anything but quiet in their disagreement.
"Hey, sweetie," Ana said gently, still not releasing the grasp on her prisoner but turning her head to address Eleven. "We're just working something out, I promise. Go back to your room, and we'll be done in a minute, okay?"
The young girl wavered for a moment, brown eyes shifting between her mother and uncle in uncertainty, but mumbled a brief 'okay' before retreating into the bedroom.
Once she was gone, the door closing soundlessly behind her, Ana's angry eyes pivoted back to catch his, and she proceeded to smack him in the temple again. "Great job, jackass," she ground out in a barely contained whisper, "you scared my goddam kid."
A look resembling guilt or shame warped Chris' features before he sighed and slacked against her. "Fuck! Fine," he groaned, palm slapping twice against the carpet as he tapped out. "Get off me before I suffocate."
Even with the call of uncle, she watched him skeptically for a second through slanted eyes, wondering how likely he'd be to run out of the house and alert the police to her seemingly unstable behavior should she let him up. Ultimately, she figured it was worth the risk and slid off him to allow herself to rest against the now askew coffee table. "I'm not crazy, Chris," she huffed as her exhales attempted to even.
Finally freed, he gradually moved to match her position, joints popping as they strained after the forced submission, except with his tired frame leaning against the couch. "Yeah," he nodded carefully in agreement. "Weirdly enough, I figured that out somewhere between the fifth or sixth slap. But it still sounds absolutely insane."
For the second time that night, laughter rang through the living room, but this time it was shared and not at Ana's expense. "It is insane," she acknowledged. "Absolutely batshit, but it's real, all of it is. There are things out there that can't be explained. Things that defy logic and any sort of reason, but I've seen them, so I know they're there—that they exist, hidden in the shadows."
Whatever response she'd expected following that confession, it certainly wasn't an apology. "I'm sorry," Chris whispered, causing her eyes to widen while rising to meet his. "I'm sorry you felt like you couldn't tell me. That you had to deal with all this shit alone."
Ana wanted to argue that she hadn't been alone in dealing with it and still wasn't, even without Hopper, but the distinction didn't feel necessary. She knew what he meant without the need for clarification. "I'm telling you now because if something were to happen while we're away," she didn't want to think about it, but the warning needed to be said even if nothing came of it. "You need to take care of Robby and whoever else comes around in my absence. These things seem to happen at the most inopportune times, and I need you to be ready."
Too much pressure and expectation for someone who had only just learned that something else existed beyond their world? Probably, but it couldn't diminish the necessity behind her words, even if the sudden weight of them was stifling. "I'm serious, Chris," she pressed, pinning him down with an unwavering stare. "You need to be prepared for anything. You still remember how to shoot, right?"
"I remember, yeah," he nodded deftly in confirmation, shoulders slacking as his mind and body sank under the newfound strain. "Dad took us to the range enough times that I think I can manage."
"Good," Ana quipped, pulling herself up from the floor to reach into the familiar end table, withdrawing the revolver she always kept at the ready. Placing it down on the coffee table, her eyes shifted to his pointedly. "Then you better be willing to use this when the time comes."