Karen Wheeler's day started off like any other. She pulled herself out of bed just as the sun was beginning to rise, and proceeded downstairs to fix breakfast for the family. Today was Saturday so everyone would be up a little later than usual, but her husband, son and daughters would still expect breakfast to be on the table when they arrived downstairs. That was her role. Karen Wheeler, wife and mother. No more, no less. There had been days in her youth when she'd dreamed of traveling the world or having a high-flying career, but those days were long over. Ted made enough money to support them all comfortably, so her job was to take care of her family, raise her children right, so they could go out into the world and do the things she'd never gotten the chance to do.

She cracked eggs, cooked bacon, and flipped pancakes for about half an hour before the clock struck seven and the first sign of movement occurred. The door to the basement was quietly pushed open, and a pair of anxious eyes peeped through.

They belonged to the newest occupant of the house, Mike's little friend Eleven (or El as he called her) who'd walked into their lives just a few days ago. Karen didn't know the full circumstances of how they had met, or where she had been (Mike had said only that she'd been lost, and offered no further clarification when she'd pushed.) She only knew that the girl's arrival had seemed to snap her son from the deep depression he'd been sinking into for almost a year, since that odd incident with Will Byers. He'd begged and pleaded for them to allow her to stay, and after discussions with Chief Hopper, Karen and Ted had agreed to take her in, for now. Curiously, Nancy had also thrown her support behind Mike while he'd been trying to win them over, a move so unexpected that it had tipped the scales in their favour. Karen had never known her two eldest children to be united on any front before this, so deduced that this must be incredibly important. She just wished they'd tell her why.

The carpet muffled the girl's soft footsteps as she crept into the kitchen, scanning the room frantically. Karen tried to keep her attention on the stove to avoid scaring her; she was incredibly skittish around anyone except Mike, and as such, rarely dared to venture into areas where the rest of the family might be without him. When she failed to find him, a look akin to distress passed over Eleven's face, and she made to retreat back to the basement, where she spent the chief of her time.

She was an odd girl. It was clear that she had been through some kind of terrible trauma; she was malnourished, unkempt, and spoke very little. Her attachment to Mike was also a little troubling, but he seemed to see nothing odd about it at all. Mike stuck to her side like glue whenever he was at home, and catered to her every need. He also played messenger between Eleven and the rest of the family, as she spoke so infrequently that communication was a problem. Somehow, Mike managed to translate the monosyllables and one or two word phrases in order to ascertain precisely what the girl was trying to convey. It was fascinating to watch, and were she not so concerned about her boy giving his heart away too easily, (you only had to see how he looked at the girl to know where things were heading) she would have been keen to see how it all played out.

She'd asked him how he did it one night after Eleven had gone off to take a shower, and he'd looked almost insulted by the question.

"It's easy to understand El," he'd said, indignantly. "She always tells people exactly what she means, you guys just don't listen properly."

Ordinarily, that kind of attitude would have earned him a one-way trip to his bedroom for the rest of the night, and no friends for a week, but Karen was so taken aback by the instant and fervid defence of Eleven that she'd simply dropped the subject, and never asked him about it again.

"Mike?"

Karen's surprise at being directly addressed by Eleven was such that she nearly dropped the spatula she was holding. She turned to face the girl to find her peering around the doorframe toward the stairs, obviously waiting for her son to come down.

What should she do? She'd never spoken to Eleven without Mike as a buffer, but this question was clear enough.

"He's probably still sleeping," she answered eventually. "You and the boys had a late one last night."

Because it had been a Friday, Mike's friends Will, Dustin and Lucas had come around to play another round of Dungeons and Dragons down in the basement with Mike. It was nearing eleven by the time she finally shooed them off to their own homes (to much groaning and pleas for just five more minutes.) It was a sign of how times had changed since last year that Dustin and Will were both collected by car instead of riding their bikes home like they'd used to do. She herself had watched Lucas walk his bike next door and be met by his father, who'd waved a goodnight to her before ushering his son inside.

She'd returned to the basement dreading what she would find there, but had been relieved to see Eleven curled under the blankets in the fort Mike had made for her (they'd offered a bed but she refused to sleep anywhere else for the moment,) and Mike crouched outside it bidding her goodnight. They were smiling softly at each other, and she felt a little bad for ruining their sweet moment. Who would have known her science-mad boy, who despised his sister and had made it his personal mission to irritate her, could be so gentle and kind-hearted? He certainly hadn't gotten that from his father.

"He'll probably be down in a little while," she told Eleven. "It's early, sweetie, you don't have to be up right now, why don't you go back to bed? I'll come and get you when he wakes."

The girl had dark shadows under her eyes and the kind of pallor to her skin that only came from long-term sleep deprivation (what on Earth had she been doing before she came to them?) so Karen thought she'd jump at the chance to go get a little more sleep, but instead, the girl fixed her with gaze so intense she felt she was looking through her not at her, and shook her head forcefully.

"Demogorgan."

Karen could make neither head nor tail of this statement, and Eleven's stare was frankly, unnerving, so she turned to get a frying pan she didn't actually need out of a cupboard in order for an excuse to break the eye contact. Perhaps she should try to make light of the situation, and get past the tense moment.

"Mike could sleep with a train running through his bedroom," she said, with a small chuckle. "He's a little lazy today but that's all right. It is the weekend."

"Week-end?" Eleven repeated, slowly, and Karen could tell from the look of confusion on her face that the word was as foreign to her as using the shower had been on her first night. She herself had had to field that one, as there was no way she'd have let her son explain the intricacies of that process. He'd flushed a brilliant scarlet at the very thought.

Still, this girl had to be around Mike's age, though nobody (including Eleven) seemed to know exactly. What child didn't know the difference between a weekday and the weekend? Had she even been taught the days of the week, wherever she had grown up? And that was without even mentioning all the other basic things she didn't seem to know, telling time, using cutlery, or how to write beyond a few words. Whoever had been in charge of her education had done a terrible job, which begged the question, what had they been teaching her?

Nothing good, if her son's expression when he'd asked him that very question had been an indication.

"They were bastards," he said emphatically. "They hurt her, Mom. And her dad," he almost spat the word out in his anger, "he was the worst of all."

If Eleven had been abused by her parents (and it certainly sounded that way,) it explained her mistrust of adults and her timidness, and her heart broke for the girl, but it made her wonder if their family was equipped to deal with a child so delicate. She might need more help than they were capable of giving at this point.

"Yes, weekend," she said to Eleven, as she started loading the scrambled eggs onto plates. "You know, Saturday and Sunday? When there's no school?" She cursed herself mentally at her own stupidity. The girl had clearly not set foot in a school in her life, why would that example make any sense to her at all?

To her astonishment however, Eleven nodded her head.

"Mike goes to school," she said simply.

"He does," Karen agreed, a little thrown. "But not today, because it's Saturday. And not tomorrow, because it will be Sunday. Do you understand, Eleven?"

Suddenly, the girl's eyes darkened once again, she shook her head once more, and Karen immediately got the feeling she'd said something wrong. But what?

Eleven stepped forward, the first time she had ever approached Karen without Mike by her side, and a curious force seemed to fill the air, almost like the buzzing of electricity, that made the hair on Karen's neck stand on end. Then Eleven shook her head yet again, gestured to herself, and said, "El."

One word. One syllable. But her meaning couldn't have been plainer if she'd printed it on a placard and waved it in Karen's face.

Don't call me Eleven. My name is El.

Now she came to think of, the girl's eyes had always darkened a little, and she'd shaken her head just like this when Karen had referred to her by the number. All the other times however, Mike had been present, and had jumped in to correct her first, so she'd never consciously noticed the girl's distress until this very moment.

But she'd been telling her all the time; in the same way she was telling her now. Mike had been right; Karen just hadn't been listening. Finally, she felt like she was beginning to understand her newest houseguest, just a little.

"El," she repeated, warmly, and smiled at the girl. "I'm sorry."

Immediately, the weird tension in the air lifted, and for the first time El smiled back at her. In fact, it was the first time Karen had witnessed her smiling at anyone other than Mike and his friends. She felt strangely honoured.

"That's okay," she said. "Thank you."

Karen turned back to the stove and picked up one of the now-completed plates.

"I'm sure Mike will be down soon," she said. "How about some breakfast while you wait?"

El nodded eagerly at this suggestion, and took the plate in both hands, before returning to the table and scarfing the food down like it was about to run away from her at any moment. Karen didn't have the heart to remind her to use her knife and fork, so she just sat and watched in a kind of awe as the girl cleared her plate in minutes.

"Thank you," El said again, and Karen felt good that she had been able to provide at least some small comfort to a young girl who clearly been through more than most adults ever would.

"You're welcome, honey. Would you like some juice?"

Halfway through pouring El's second glass of orange juice, the girl looked around suddenly, and then her eyes lit up. This could only mean one thing, and sure enough, Mike entered the kitchen, hair tousled, and rubbing sleep from his eyes.

"Hi Mom," he mumbled. "Wha's for breakfast?"

It took him a moment to register El sitting at the table as well, as he usually went down to the basement to collect her each morning, but when he did, he was fully awake and alert in an instant.

"Hi El! You're up early today."

The girl cast her eyes downwards slightly. "Demogorgan," she said, again.

"Oh." Predictably, Mike seemed to understand the bizarre word, and quickly slid into the seat next to his friend. "Are you okay?"

Eleven fixed with a gaze that was part fear, part shame. "Scared," she whispered, and Mike's face fell a little. Even though she felt like she was intruding on a private moment, Karen couldn't look away. There seemed to be an entire conversation going on between El and her son, a kind of wordless communication that she'd never seen in anyone else.

"I know," said Mike sympathetically, and squeezed the girl's hand. "But you're safe here, you know that right?"

"Yes. Safe. With you."

The two of them shared a smile then, and Karen felt something inside of her unwind itself at the scene. It seemed that Mike wasn't the only one at that table who was sweet on his friend; the affection clearly went both ways. That was a relief.

Loath as she was to break the moment, she set down El's juice in front of her, and the small thud made them both jump, giving her the impression they'd forgotten she was there.

"El was up with the sparrows this morning, Mike," she said airily, giving them a chance to remember their surroundings. "She could teach you a thing or two about not sleeping the day away."

"It's only eight o'clock!" he protested, loudly. "It's still plenty early, right El?"

The girl glanced first at him, then at Karen, then back at Mike, before proclaiming, "Lazy."

Karen stifled a chuckle as Mike's eyes widened at the unexpected betrayal from his usual greatest ally in the house, and El took the chance to glance back at her again and smirk. There was clearly a fun, teasing side of her that Karen hadn't experienced yet, but she was looking forward to bringing it out.

As Mike began pleading his case to El, and forgot her presence once again, Karen noticed he had yet to let go of the girl's hand.

She decided not to mention it.

So I wanted to write one more thing before season two drops and this is what I came up with. I really hope you enjoyed it. I had a great time writing it. Thanks for reading!