Clouds of dust swirled behind the old, beat-up chevy pickup as it charged down the dirt road, chipped red paint dull in the pale morning light sifting through the nearly naked winter pines. The engine grumbled in a way that inspired little confidence as the mostly bald tires spun against the packed ground, losing their grip every now and then, forcing Mike to keep on his toes.

"He got it used," Mike had offered as an explanation, no doubt seeing the apprehension on El's face. "Doesn't really drive it except to get to the lake, but it runs well enough to get us a ways."

El sat on the leather bench seat that may have once been a single distinguishable color. Stained foam poked through rips in the ancient material, brushing abrasively against the washed denim of her borrowed jeans that fit almost unsettlingly well. They were Audrey's again, from the same overnight bag she'd left and never returned for after she and Mike split up. The sweater and the supple, brown leather jacket El had on were also Audrey's.

El couldn't say that she liked playing dress-up as Mike's ex, but it beat freezing to death. She was thankful to be fully covered as she watched her breath puff out in front of her, a piping steam compared to the surely Alaskan temperatures in the truck. Why was Indiana so damn cold? The lab had never been warm, but it had also never been frigid.

El recalled Max's stories of bonfires on the beach during the Christmas season in California. Late nights in torn jeans and oversized t-shirts, cruising up and down the hilly San Diego streets, the ocean sprawled out below and beyond like an infinite blue tapestry wavering in the wind.

Yes, California sounded nice. Maybe she'd visit with Max someday. Maybe she'd never come back. If only she could get everyone to come with her.

The biting stench of cigarette smoke clung to every surface on the interior of the truck, and El found herself itching for one of the unfiltered Camels that she'd sneak from Hop when she could.

"Hey, I'm really sorry we haven't been able to check up on Max yet," Mike said, speaking over the growl of the positively rust-riddled v6. "I know you've probably been worrying about her since we didn't see her after the party. We're gonna get to a phone as soon as we can, okay? We'll have to be careful. But we'll make some calls."

El shook her head. "I saw her," she said. "She's freaking out, but she's okay."

Mike squinted. "You saw her?" he said. "What do you mean? When?"

El sighed. She wasn't so thrilled to be talking about the void after what she had seen there just this morning.

"I can find people if I focus on them," she said. "I go to a dark, quiet place in my head. If I think about someone hard enough, I can usually see them and hear them like they're really next to me."

El couldn't decide if Mike looked pained, confused, or impressed. She decided it probably wasn't impossible to be all at once.

Mike made a breathy noise that sounded vaguely like a "woah."

"Mike?" she said. "You okay?"

He spared her a quick glance before the tires slipped again, rubber racing vainly against the grainy dirt. He tugged the wheel, correcting to the left instinctually.

"Um," he said, running a hand through his untamed hair once they had stabilized once again. "Sorry, yeah, I just . . . you're serious, aren't you?"

El looked at him. She wondered what it would be like to be in his position. To be normal. To be hearing about these kinds of things for the first time.

"Yeah," she said, almost apologetic. "I am."

"Yeah," he said, breathing out heavy. "Yeah, that's, that's definitely . . ."

She raised an eyebrow at him.

There was a moment in which the only noise was engine guzzling gasoline, the road slipping away behind them. It was a moment during which El was sure she couldn't see Mike breathing.

And then, the exhale.

"Holy shit, this is crazy," he said. "I mean, kind of totally awesome, yeah, but also completely, entirely insane. Like, I don't think I would've believed it if I hadn't already seen what you can do, and obviously like, it's totally cool and everything — what you can do I mean — like, I don't think it's weird or anything, it's just kind of like I'm in a movie but it's also crazier than that because—"

"Mike," she said. "Breathe."

She could see the sweat beading on his forehead, droplets preparing to fall if they didn't freeze solid right there against his skin. He was paler than usual, if that was possible. She reached over slowly, trying not to startle him. She pulled his right hand from where it rested on the shift and wrapped hers around it.

She had expected this to happen sooner or later. It was all catching up with him. The murders at the house party, being on the run, watching her use her powers. She had to remind herself that nightmare already infused much of her life: otherworldly monsters, heartless men in lab coats, years of nothing but cold tile and glass, endless prodding and poking, solitary confinement, the weight of taking a human's life — the works.

He, on the other hand, was unaccustomed. Her world was introducing itself to his, and rapidly.

"I get it," she said, softly. "It's a lot."

Mike looked at her, then — probably longer than he should have considering he was driving.

She felt his hand finally respond to hers, adjusting his grip to grasp her more firmly. She gave him a light squeeze, ignoring the moisture covering his palm. He tried for a small smile, but she could still see the thoughts whirring behind his eyes, frame by rapid frame like a movie reel. He looked back to the road.

"You don't have to stay with me," she said reluctantly. Mike leaving her alone was the absolute last thing she wanted, but him staying out of some misplaced feeling of chivalric obligation was nearly as bad. "Mike, you've done enough for me. None of this is your fault. You don't have to—"

"What? El, hell no."

El's breath hitched. She couldn't help but stare at him, dark curls finding their stubborn way to his forehead. She could barely catch the side of his eyes from her position but, even from her angle, she could see the hardness in them — El knew the look. She knew she wore it sometimes. It was a look that said, unabashedly, this is not a discussion.

"There is no way I'm leaving you, okay? You're not getting rid of me. So don't even think about it."

El felt the tears brimming in her eyes, and she had to try not to scoff at herself. Gosh, was there an hour of any day when she didn't cry?

She couldn't find it in herself to care too much in the moment, though.

It struck her that no one had ever accepted her so readily. Even Dustin and Lucas, who had found her in the midst of a deluge and decided to take her in, had acted exceedingly cautious and skeptical to begin with — especially Lucas, who had taken quite a while to actually warm up to the idea of befriending her. She remembered how scared they'd been of her when she'd shut the door on them and refused to let them tell their parents.

And yet, here was Mike.

Ever since she'd started going to school, El had struggled with the idea that she was a thoroughly unimpressive person without her powers. She didn't know even a quarter of the stuff that her friends knew, and she could hardly speak like a normal teenager. Honestly, that stuff wouldn't have bothered her so much. She liked to fly under the radar.

She did remember her friends telling her that she was an instant "popular girl" when she'd first showed up to school. Girls like Stacy and Jennifer had waylaid her as soon as they'd found the opportunity, itching to take her under their wings. She'd never felt comfortable with those girls, though.

Her brief stint in the popular limelight had burned out quick as she continued to show the entire school that she was committed to the party — and while she wasn't some kind of shunned social pariah around school because of this choice, she was definitely no Stacy or Jennifer. And that was a relief.

El could admit to herself that she sort of understood why everyone in school thought she belonged with the popular crowd. She looked like a popular girl. She knew that. And the image only further solidified as Nancy continued to help her form her own style.

But El knew in her heart that if those kids got to know her, they'd only think of her as a freak, or a "weirdo," as Lucas had called her when he first met her. She knew that's what she was, and she knew there was no use denying it.

And if they really got to know her — if they ever saw what she was really capable of . . . well, she had no doubt that most of them would be terrified.

And yet, Mike Wheeler.

Mike Wheeler who had known her for about a week which, admittedly, was long enough for him to find out that she wasn't a brilliant conversationalist with a winning personality. It was long enough for him to discover that she wasn't exactly thriving in school like he was, wasn't exactly the brightest. It was certainly long enough for him to become acquainted with just how unwittingly awkward she could be, the effect of her socially deprived childhood rearing its ugly head.

It was long enough (apparently, the universe had decided) for him to witness the unnatural things she could do, long enough for him to know he should bolt given the first opportunity.

But it was also long enough for him to figure out that, most days, she really was just a number.

011.

What had she done to deserve El?

Nothing.

She was best only as a number. She knew this. Nondescript, unoffensive, innocuous.

It was better to fade into the gray than to be a burden, and when she wasn't careful to stay out of the way, to remain on the fringes, she knew she became a burden. She messed things up. It had been proven, time and time again.

It was her fault her friends' lives had become so irreversibly screwed, anyway. If she hadn't freaked out like some kind of spaz in the bath on that one, horrifying yet hopeful day, her friends would never have known the Upside Down even existed. And she wouldn't have, either.

Barb wouldn't have died. Bob wouldn't have died. Benny wouldn't have died. Will wouldn't have had to go through hell — twice. The psychological trauma and the nightmares wouldn't plague every single person she loved.

And yet, she would never have gotten the chance to love them in the first place if she hadn't accidentally forged a gateway to another dimension. The bad men would never have taken their focus off of her. She never would have broken out of her cell, never would've crawled through that drainage pipe.

Was it selfish to prefer what had happened to a life in her cold, experimental prison?

Her mind warred with itself every time she thought about it; she could feel the familiar pinched pain in her head like her brain was twisting itself up, self-destructing.

She wished that her freedom didn't have to come at the cost of her friends' happiness and safety. She wanted the best for them. They deserved it.

And that really was the worst of it — but of course, it wasn't all of it.

Whether it was a question she asked at just the wrong time, prompting an exasperated glance from Lucas; a night at home after Hopper got off a double shift, but she desperately needed help with her homework, drawing one of the long, haggard sighs she so hated to hear; the look on her friends' faces as they passed Mike in the hallway, spitting on the memory of what had once been an inseparable brotherhood.

El knew she caused problems. So, she did her best to help when she could, and tried to stay out of the way. She wondered if her life would ever be worth the sacrifice everyone had made to give it to her. She hoped so. She hoped some day that she would be able to do for them what they had done for her.

El felt Mike squeeze her hand for a change, yanking her out of the rabbit hole she'd dug herself down into.

"You okay over there?" he asked. "You look like you're in pain."

She considered him for a moment, the sunlight illuminating his freckles, the line of his jaw cutting sharply down to his chin. Her heart ached with the longing of all the ways she wanted him. Just wanted. Anything he would give her.

She almost would have rather jumped out of the truck than have to say it again, but she cared too much for him already. She had to, for him.

"Mike, really," she said. "You can still get out of this. You don't have to stay. You could get hurt. You could die. Your whole life might change."

Mike didn't cut her off this time, and he didn't respond immediately. Instead, he pulled his hand out of her hers.

She began to panic. Maybe he'd really take the out she'd given him. And while she'd gain a little relief because he'd be out of harm's way, she had to keep from shaking with worry at the thought of going back to being that little girl alone in the forest, hiding from a society that didn't understand her.

Mike wiped his hand on his jeans, throwing her a sheepish, apologetic smile. "Sorry my hand's so sweaty," he said. Then, he reached for her hand again, holding it firmly, reassuring.

She had no idea why, but she knew her fate was sealed in that small, impossibly ordinary moment. Her heart could have powered a nuclear submarine, it was pumping so much heat through her body.

Mike didn't respond to her offer for another minute. Eventually, a sad sounding sigh brushed through his lips.

"I don't know why you think I don't want to be here with you," he said. "I told you, El. You make everything . . . better. And I don't care that we're together right now because you're wanted for murder and we're hiding from the cops, and asshole wannabe vigilantes. I mean, I do care. But you get what I mean. Honestly, this, with you — in a weird way, it's better than the past few years of my life have been."

El couldn't respond. She wasn't good with words like him. Everything she could think to say seemed vastly underwhelming, and didn't capture what she felt.

"At least I'm . . . feeling something, you know?" he added when she was silent. "A lot, actually."

And suddenly, El's body was alight. She was sure she glowed like a house on Christmas Eve.

Her mind filled with a different kind of memories; memories that didn't involve tired, sunken faces haunted by sleepless terror-laden nights; memories of joy, burning so easily through the disappointment.

She recalled the first Halloween when she'd been allowed to go trick-or-treating, and even though the boys and Max had claimed they were too old, they'd been so excited to go with her, watching her face light up at every door, anticipating what kind of treat she'd get next, watching how people reacted to her costume.

She'd dressed up as Mary Poppins, since Hop had showed her the movie only a few weeks prior.

Another memory rolled in front of her mind's eye, gentle and warm, like calm waves lapping at the shore on a summer day: Lucas, Max and Will rolling on the floor of her living room, laughing after she'd revealed the results of the makeover she'd given Dustin. El had done a pretty good job, really. But it wasn't subtle. Dustin made an interesting looking girl, untamable curls slicked back and held partially down by gel, faint blush on his cheeks, shadow around his eyes, gloss shining on his lips.

What had really done it, though, was the dress. A frilly purple sundress that El hadn't quite grown into yet. Dustin had ripped some of the seams, but it was beyond worth it.

El remembered late nights cuddled up next to Hopper, watching movies; days spent shopping at the mall with Joyce; D&D campaigns lasting entire days, so draining but fulfilling, she may as well have been on a real fantastical journey.

She remembered her first Christmas, Hopper giddy like a tween girl, trying and failing to hide wide smiles under his mustache as he watched tear open present after present. She remembered the look of surprise on his face, the single tear that had fallen as he opened the framed picture of the two of them Joyce had helped her with.

At least I'm feeling something, Mike had said.

Feelings.

It was all she could do not to burst into tears of joy every time she thought about the letter Hop had written.

El had come home from school one day, looking far more dejected than usual. It had been one of the days she'd gathered enough courage to try to talk to Mike. Of course, he hadn't even heard her. She'd also failed a test and spilled her lunch that day, and though that was beside the point, it hadn't helped.

She had trudged up to her room, her gloomy aura radiating outward, written plainly across the features of her face, carried in the way she held herself.

Hopper'd been home that day, filling out paperwork at the kitchen table. He watched her drag herself inside and mumble a perfunctory "hey" before heading up the stairs.

She had only groaned an acknowledgment into her bed at the sound of the knock on her door. He'd come inside to see her laying face down with her head in a pillow. She'd felt the edge of the bed dip dramatically as it took on his considerable weight.

"Hey, kid," he'd said, gentle fatherly voice in full effect. "Everything okay?"

Considering how much they had gone through together, and what she had already experienced in her own life, El had always thought it kind of stupid that the little things could still affect her like this — that she could still have normal, teenage girl problems.

She didn't respond. She didn't need to bother him with something so trivial, so childish.

"Eleven," he'd said. "Hey . . . you know you can tell me anything, right?" She felt the familiar, comforting weight of his hand on her shoulder, squeezing lightly.

She rolled over, sitting up against the headboard to face him. "I'm okay, Hop," she said. "It's . . . girl stuff. Feelings."

Girl stuff. Rarely did El ever talk about her feelings, but when she had grown comfortable enough with the boys, she had tried once to vent to them about how much having a crush sucked. Lucas had quickly shut down the possibility of any "girl talk," saying that he really didn't want to hear about that side of her life, and that she should talk to Max.

Max, of course, had been more than happy to talk to El about the woes and pains of having an unreciprocated crush. So, El had figured Lucas was right. It was girl stuff.

She saw no reason to pester Hopper, who stayed busy enough, with girl stuff.

"Oh," he'd said. "Well, I know I'm no Joyce or Nancy, but . . . you know you can talk to me about your feelings too, right?"

El had smiled. "It's okay, Hop."

And they'd left it at that, Hopper ruffling her hair before returning, reluctantly, to his paperwork awaiting him downstairs.

Or at least, El had thought he'd left it at that. She'd thought so until she'd come home early from a party sleepover at Will's one night, Joyce dropping her off after she'd gotten sick and didn't feel up to staying the night.

The house was empty, which made sense. She remembered Hopper grumbling about working late.

She'd wandered into the kitchen while floating a glass telekinetically out of the cabinet and into her hand, filling it with water from the tap. As she gulped her water, she turned and walked to the edge of the counter, where something out of place caught her eye.

There was a sheet of paper, creased and worn like it had been folded and shoved into a pocket a few too many times. Hopper's pen still lay across the sheet, pinning it to the counter.

She hadn't meant to read it, but a word had caught her eye.

Eggos.

And then came the sentence that the word was attached to. And the sentences following that one.

And then I left some Eggos out in the woods, and you came into my life. For the first time in a long time, I started to feel things again. I started to feel happy.

And then it was only a small step from there to read the whole thing. And that's when Hopper had walked in looking exhausted, already untucking his shirt and heading to the fridge, no doubt to grab a beer.

He stopped abruptly when he finally looked up and saw El standing in front of him, fingers still clutching the letter, hand trembling and tears welling in her eyes.

"Hop," she croaked, choked beyond belief.

"Oh," was his response. They stood and looked at each other for a moment.

"Yeah," he continued. "I didn't really mean to leave that out, it was supposed to be like a heart-to-heart kind of a—"

But she was already in his arms, crying into his uniform, the smell of tobacco clinging to the cotton filling her nose, comforting.

"I just wanted you to feel like you could talk to me about anything," he said, struggling to keep his own voice even. He cleared his throat, rubbing soothing circles on her back. "Even your gross, girly feelings," he added jokingly. "And then it just . . . I don't know. It turned into something else."

She laughed. "I love you," she said.

"Yeah," he breathed. "I love you too, kid."

El felt Mike readjust his grip on her hand and her eyes refocused on the dirty windshield of the truck, Mike pulling her back from her little time travel excursion. She noticed the rabbit's foot hanging from the rearview mirror, swinging hypnotically.

"Hey, seriously, are you okay?" Mike asked. "Sorry if that's too much, I just — it felt right to say it."

His words came back to her, full-force. You make everything better. I'd rather be here with you, running from the law and psycho clones, than go back to my normal life. At least, that was the gist of it, she guessed. She hadn't the slightest clue as to why, but she wasn't going to argue with it.

She felt like she might levitate out of her seat if she weren't strapped down by the seatbelt.

"No, it's not," she said, trying her best to be reassuring. "It's not too much. Thank you, Mike."

He risked a glance at her. She caught his eyes, warm but still unsure. "Really. Thank you. I'm glad you're here with me, too."

He smiled and looked back to the winding dirt road.

"Hey, I should be the one thanking you," he said. "I never thought I'd get to run from the law with a real Jedi. This is already way better than any movie plot I could've come up with."

She smirked, glad they could get back to joking around despite the danger that still loomed over them.

"I'm not a real Jedi," she said. "Real Jedi don't bleed from their noses when they use the force. And they don't get tired when they use it, either."

"Still," Mike said. "You've gotta be the closest thing to the genuine article alive."

"Maybe," said El. "You never know. Luke could still be out there somewhere."

"You are aware that Star Wars is, like, not real, right? It's not a documentary, El," he said, holding back laughter.

"How do you know?" she asked. "Would you have believed I have powers if you hadn't seen?"

"Fair point," he said.

"If I was a Jedi," El began, a grin growing on her face, "maybe I'd train you. Like Yoda and Luke."

Mike laughed, breath rushing out of him like he'd been holding it the entire time they'd been in the truck. El watched his shoulders loosen, his arms become a little less rigid, more of his natural color return to his face.

"Oh yeah?" he said. "Would you make me carry you around on my back, too?"

"That's the whole point," El retorted. "I shouldn't walk when I don't have to. I'm the master. I'm not green and old. But I'm the master."

"Wait," Mike said, faux-confusion written on his face, "you're not green and old?" He glanced at El, squinting as if attempting to correct his vision. "Could've fooled me."

She gasped dramatically, something she'd seen on her soaps so many times she could do it like she was born with the ability. "Take it back," she said, squeezing his hand, which she'd noticed was still holding hers. She had no qualms with it.

"Fine," he said, "I take it back. You're much cuter than Yoda. I'd be lucky to carry you around all day."

Mike blushed, like he hadn't called her "a thousand times more beautiful" than his previous girlfriend just last night. Of course, the cover of nightfall always made such admissions exponentially easier, and now the sun beamed through the dusty, dirt-caked windshield of the ancient Chevy, stark upon the faces of the two runaways grasping each others' hands from across the tattered bench seat.

The light of day bathed everything in truth, a grounding and sobering reality, so present — almost unbearably so. Intimate revelations were always so simple at night, but even El could feel the tension the word "cute" caused in broad daylight, the two of them wide awake and completely unaided by the influence of gin.

Mike cleared his throat, eyes darting around as if he could find the words that would make him feel less awkward hidden somewhere within the dusty truck.

El also found herself at a loss. She was surprised. She figured maybe they'd had more to drink last night than they'd thought, since they'd been so open with each other without issue.

"So," Mike said, apparently grasping those words he'd been looking for, "you said this place is over off Denfield, right?"

"Yeah," said El. "Take Denfield until you see a dirt road by a big oak tree on the right."

"Got it," Mike said. "We should be coming up on Denfield soon. It's on the outskirts, kind of like Donald's cabin is. This road we're on just circles the woods around the edge of the city."

El nodded, wondering if she should acknowledge that Mike had just called her cute. Should she do something? Did that mean he liked her? Like, like likedher? She'd never dated before. How did you go about starting all of that stuff, anyway? What were you supposed to do? Were you supposed to sign something?

"Hey, El," Mike said, a quality to his voice she couldn't place. "You said you checked on Max. Did . . . did you check on the guys, too?"

"Yes," El gave another nod. "They're with Max. Or, they were when I looked. I should call them soon, Mike. And Hop. They're all worried."

"They seem to care about you a lot," Mike said, his throat clamping down around his words, tight and constricted.

El looked at him. "They do," El said. "They're good. Good people. They saved me."

"So," he said, "I guess they know? I mean, about your powers and stuff."

"Yes," she said. "They do."

It was quiet between them for a moment as the truck barreled down the road over a patch of dead leaves, brittle and dry, cascading behind the wheels like waves.

"Wait," Mike piped up, "is Eleven — is that your real name?"

He looked at her, trusting his hand to keep them steady on the straight road ahead of them.

She held her arm up and pulled the sleeves of both the sweater and the jacket down below her wrist so that the "011" that had been emblazoned there for as long as she could remember was visible.

Mike's eyes went wide. He turned back to the road.

If it was too hot to wear long sleeves, El usually used a combination of hair ties and subtle concealer to keep the number from showing. She'd had some close calls when she'd been worried someone had seen it before, but no one had ever said anything to her about it.

"What . . ." Mike began, "I mean, where — how—"

"I'll tell you everything, Mike. Just not now."

He nodded. "Okay," he said. "Okay."

He looked calmer than he had when she'd told him she could find people with her mind, but a heaviness weighed on his shoulders. It was as if his leather jacket was made of lead.

"You said the guys saved you?" he asked.

"Yeah," El replied. "Dustin and Lucas. Took me in after I escaped the — after I escaped a bad place."

Mike nodded. "They're good people. Like you said. Honestly, I wish we were still friends. It's just . . . it seemed like they didn't really want to be my friends anymore. One day everything is great, then I leave for Chicago for just a little while, come back, and everything is all wrong. They never told me what it was."

His words were a dagger in El's heart.

She knew exactly what they couldn't tell him. She knew exactly why everything had gone wrong.

And what was worse was that she couldn't bring herself to tell him. She knew she would have to when she told him her story. But right now, she couldn't. So she stared ahead, uncomfortably aware of their hands still clasped together, wishing there was a graceful way to retract hers because of the sheer guilt consuming her.

For a moment, she was thankful as Mike pulled his hand away from hers to reach into his jacket for something. Peripherally, she saw the glint of metal as he raised something to his lips. She glanced over at him as he tucked a flask back into his jacket. Her eyebrows crept south.

It wasn't even noon. And he was driving.

She let it slide. He didn't reach back over for her hand.

The cabin finally came into view, and Mike and El made their way toward what she had told him was her first real home.

They'd parked the truck a ways back out of necessity, unable to take it all the way to the little structure through the densely wooded forest. El took the lead, her shoes plowing through the carpet of leaves upon the forest floor.

Eventually, she came to an abrupt stop, holding her arm out to block Mike from moving forward.

"It's still here," she mumbled.

"What is?" he asked. "The cabin?"

"No," she said. "The tripwire. I almost didn't see it." She crouched down, motioning for Mike to do the same. With one delicate finger, she drew his attention to the thin wire running horizontally between two trees. From the right angle, you could just catch the sunlight hitting it.

"Step over," she said, demonstrating by rising and stepping gingerly over the wire herself.

"Holy shit, if I trip this thing, is a shotgun gonna blow my face off or something? Giant axe in the tree? Why did you just step over that thing like it was no big deal? Can you, like, float me over there or something? Maybe I'll just go around."

"What?" El said. "No, Mike, just step over." She trying not to laugh, he could tell. "You can't get hurt. It's just a loud noise. So we know if someone is coming."

"Yeah, loud noise like a damn grenade or something. Hopper's a cop. Who knows what he's got rigged up here," he said. "Do you know?"

El laughed for real now. He loved he sound of it: light and breathy, the low, feminine tone of her voice softening the edges in the most soothing way. He didn't even care if it was at his expense.

"He told me it was a bullet — well, a round," she shrugged. "A blank, though. Means there isn't really a bullet. Just powder. A loud bang."

He supposed that was reassuring, but knowing how clumsy his giraffe limbs could be, he'd break the wire and scare the both of them half to death.

Another laugh spilled from El's lips, light as spring rain. "Here," she said, holding out a hand to steady him as he stepped over. He grabbed it and, one leg at a time, stepped carefully over the wire.

"You're um," El began, "you're really pair-uh-noid. Paranoid. Is that the word?" She dropped his hand and turned to walk up to the cabin. He joined her.

Mike chuckled. "Yeah, that's the word," he confirmed, falling into step with her, bumping her shoulder. "Smartypants," he tagged on, and she gave him an adorable smirk. "You've gotta remember. You're the superhero. I'm new to all of this stuff. And after everything that's happened in the last twenty-four hours, I don't think you can blame me for being a little on edge."

El shook her head seriously. "I don't blame you," she said.

Mike followed her up the wooden steps, almost running into her as she halted at the front door.

She stared into the chipped, decaying green paint behind the dilapidated screen door. She took a deep breath in and out through her nose, a dramatic rise and fall of her chest.

"You okay?" Mike asked.

"Yes," she said automatically, as if trapped in a dream. Her eyes stayed fixed on the door.

He laid a hand on her shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze. "El," he said.

She looked over her shoulder at him, haze clearing from her eyes like storm clouds rolling away. "Yeah," she said. "Sorry, I just — haven't been her in a while. A lot happened here."

"I bet," Mike said. "You ready to go in?"

She nodded, pulling the screen door open and taking a step forward. Mike heard a series of metallic clicking and sliding noises before the green wooden door swung open and El strode in, shoes planting themselves firmly upon a floor filmed entirely in dust.

Mike followed her in and shut the door behind them, locking it back just in case.

He'd barely turned back around before El jolted, practically jumping into his arms, shoving his back into the door.

She let out something like a girlish yelp, and his head swung around to survey the space, looking for what had frightened her. His gaze landed on the hulking form of a man sitting at a table far too small to accommodate him. He leaned back, smoking a cigarette, a bottle of bourbon in front of him.

El nearly collapsed against Mike with relief. A little shakily, she extricated herself from Mike's arms, which had somehow wound their way around her.

"Hop," she said, righteous annoyance dripping from the single syllable. "Don't ever do that again."

Hopper snorted, standing from his little chair and crushing his cigarette in the smoking ashtray next to the open whiskey bottle.

"Sorry," he said. "Didn't mean to scare you. But this is still my place, you know."

El huffed, but practically lunged for him, throwing her arms around his midsection. Hopper didn't respond immediately. For a moment, he stood, no emotion that Mike could place in his eyes. Was he angry at her? Mike would have figured he'd be happy to see her. Unless . . .

Holy shit, what if he thinks she really killed those people?

He brought one arm loosely around El's back, though. "You scared me to death, kid," he said. "I guess it was only fair I scare you a bit in return, huh?"

Some of Mike's fears were assuaged, and he found himself relaxing. That was before Hopper's eyes locked onto him, and he went rigid again. He considered how weird it might look that he's gallivanting around with the man's daughter.

"Wheeler," Hopper said, nodding in acknowledgement. He stepped away from El's embrace and motioned Mike forward. Okay, so he already knows who I am. Wonder if that's good or bad.

"Hi, sir," he replied, too stiff. He joined the two of them in the space between the tiny table and the cramped kitchen, reaching forward to shake the chief's hand. He felt small as Hopper's brawny, calloused hand engulfed his comparatively bony one. "How did you know to look for us here?" he asked, surprising himself with the question.

Somehow, seeing Hopper next to El's diminutive, lithe form made him even more gargantuan, though Mike pretty much looked him right in the eye.

"Just call me Chief or Hopper, kid. None of that 'sir' crap. And, to answer your question, I knew El would end up here eventually if she was on the run. Not too many other secluded places to go in a town so small."

"I'm so glad you found us," El said, looking to the man that had become her father. "I don't know what to do. Everyone thinks . . . everyone thinks I killed those two girls, Hop." Mike could see the watery lens of tears that quavered in El's eyes. Until now, he hadn't really seen all of this — as insane as it was — get to her. Now, reuniting with Hopper, the reality of the last day seemed to be setting in.

"Ah, kid," the chief said, pulling her back into his arms. "The world just doesn't want to give you a break, does it?"

El sniffled against his chest. Mike stood, devoting an embarrassing amount of mental energy to determining what he should do with his hands and where he should look. He felt like an intruder. His eyes wandered around the meager space, observing the tarp-covered furniture coated in layers of dust. Every surface in the room featured a gray, fuzzy adornment of the stuff, reminding Mike of thinly swathed storm clouds.

After a minute and a few murmured words, El and the Chief split, both turning their attention back to Mike.

"So, you two," the Chief began. "I hate to jump right into this, but time isn't really our friend right now. Obviously I know El didn't stab those girls. But, nonetheless, I saw the bodies. I'm gonna need you to tell me everything you saw and everything you know. Don't skip a single detail, alright? No matter how unimportant it may seem."

The teens nodded in tandem, Mike gripping one arm over his chest, still unsure of where he stood with the chief.

"Before we get into that, though — this place is a damn igloo. I'm about to freeze my ass off. Mike, would you mind helping me grab some wood from around back? The fireplace is empty, and I'm gonna ice over if I don't get some warmth in me soon. You kids don't look much better."

Mike licked the chapped, flaky skin on his lips and noticed El's red, windburned cheeks. The chill in his joints combined with the ever-present growing pains wasn't too pleasant, either. Yeah, a fire would be nice.

"Sure," Mike said. "Lead the way."

"Alright," Hopper replied gruffly, snagging his hat off the table, placing it on his head. "El, why don't you wait here for a minute? Sit down. Take a break. God knows you've been through enough already."

Mike noticed that even Hopper was using the nickname he'd accidentally given her at the concert. He blushed when he realized she must have told the chief that she preferred the abbreviation.

El definitely looked taken off guard, though. She cocked her head to the side, confusion etched across her brows. When Mike was about to follow Hopper out the door, she made a noise of protest.

"Hop, wait," she said, coming forward to slip by Mike. She tugged on the chief's sleeve. "That makes no sense. I can get all the wood we need with my powers," she added. "Easy. I'll only be a minute."

Hopper's face pinched, as if he were contemplating something grave and serious, not the gathering of wood from the back of the cabin.

"Alright," he said slowly. "That works too. Just don't overexert yourself."

El rolled her eyes, such an ordinarily teen expression on such an extraordinarily different girl. "I'll be fine," she said, sliding past her adoptive dad and out the door. "Back in a minute." The door shut behind her, seemingly of its own free will.

Mike wasn't thrilled to be alone with Hopper, and it didn't help when the chief turned on his heel and set those steely eyes on him.

Mike cleared his throat, racking his brain for any way to escape this situation until El returned. "Um, Chief, you mind if I use the bathroom?"

Hopper looked him up and down for another uncomfortable moment. Did everything have to be so intense with this guy? Any more tension charging the air and Mike would implode from the pressure.

"Sure, kid," he said in that same, strangely slow drawl. "Right over there." He gestured to the back of the cabin.

"Thanks," Mike said, restraining himself from sprinting. He crossed the length of the cabin and stepped into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He went to lock it out of habit but noticed there wasn't one.

Mike turned and greeted his reflection in the mirror. He leaned on the countertop around the bowl of the bone dry sink, a heavy sigh leaving him, his breath still puffing around him like cigarette smoke in the cold house. He looked into his own eyes. There were faint purple bags there, beginning to bruise even though he and El had slept alright the night before. His complexion might've been paler than normal, too, closer to milky than natural.

He pulled the flask he'd refilled at Donald's from his jacket, taking a swig. Hopefully it'd calm him enough to talk to Hopper without completely humiliating himself. He stuffed the thin, metal canister back into his pocket and closed his eyes, taking a moment to compose himself.

He had to do this sometimes, especially before a show. No matter how confident or comfortable he felt playing the songs, anxiousness always found him in front of a crowd. He'd learned that removing himself from the moment for only a minute before each show helped him with the nerves. More often than not, he'd just daydream; go to a happy, warm place he had never known.

Now, though, the familiar landscape of the world he had built for himself in his mind began to morph. He found another scene, another feeling invading his carefully constructed dreamscape.

There lay a beautiful, goddess-like girl only inches away from him. Liquid sunlight washed her hair in a honey hue. Her skin, smooth and unblemished like the finest porcelain, was alluringly tan. Her full, pouting lips parted just enough for the softest of breaths to breeze through and fan the surface of his face; the soft, sloping point of her button nose begging to be kissed. He knew that if those eyelids opened, he'd find himself staring into cast amber unparalleled by any precious gem or stone.

He had to wonder who'd had the nerve to make her. It simply wasn't fair, and he wouldn't be convinced otherwise.

What struck Mike more, still lost in the depths of this vision, was that this wasn't something he'd made up; this was something he had lived — just this morning.

He could feel the luxurious silk sheets slip through his fingers, the plump down pillow under head. His legs were warm where they tangled with El's.

It was the pure intoxication of this reverie that caused Mike not to notice when the bathroom door behind him opened, silently, at a snail's pace.

But there is within every human a sixth sense which alerts the mind to an ominous presence. And in this moment, the frame of Mike's gold-laced daydream turned to sickly black sludge: the color of the fluid in a heavy smoker's lungs.

Mike's eyes snapped open, pupils dilating. What he saw was himself, which was to be expected.

Something unexpected joined him.

The outline surpassed his, that much was certain. A large, round, open maw full of rotating razor teeth; a thick, sinewy body covered by ashy armor plating like the skin of a rhino; long, spindly arms with implausibly large, clawed hands. The rank heat coming from from the gaping mouth made the air shiver, mirage-like. Shreds of remains on the teeth. A corpse-filled aroma. Scarlet-stained claws. Fast, heavy, rancid breathing heaving the body. Up, then down. Anticipation.

Mike was full of lightning. Zeus' master bolt to the chest. Fifty tasers on each limb. Locked up. Heart still, in the throat.

In the mirror, he watched a monstrous hand drape over his shoulder. But it wasn't what he felt. He felt the hand of a man, firm and strong. If you'd felt the weight and the grip of the hand, you'd know that it was calloused. A hand that had been used.

The hand tugged at him, spinning him around to face the entryway where Mike knew hell awaited him.

Instead, Hopper smirked at him, mirthless. His eyes held no soul. "Sorry, kid," he said. "But a man's gotta eat."

The hand not on Mike's shoulder latched onto his throat with serpent-like speed. Hopper slammed Mike's head backward into the mirror. A shattering noise accompanied a dull fuzziness in his head, the world filling with TV static. Shards tinkled against the counter, a horrid wind chime.

Mike gulped and sputtered for air, his hands flailing uselessly against Hopper's arm, unable to budge the iron vice hold.

Mike was tempted to accept his fate until his hand came down hard on the counter, enclosing around something long and jagged.

He brought the shard down, with force, into Hopper's arm. He embedded the glass about halfway into the flesh of the forearm and ripped it outward, hanging onto the weapon.

An inhuman shriek pierced the walls of the cabin and Mike was allowed to breath in ragged, burning breaths.

As the chief gripped his wound, Mike shoved off from the counter and shouldered past the larger man, sprinting for the front door. He grabbed the knob, turned, and bust out into the daylight.

"EL!" he yelled, as loud as his raspy, ruined voice would let him. "EL!"

He scrambled down the steps, slipping when his feet hit the leafy ground. He ran to the side of the cabin faster than he'd ever moved before, rounding the corner and colliding with El, who, with more speed and a lower frame, bowled right over Mike and ended up on top of him.

She lifted her head quickly, brusquely brushing the curls away from Mike's eyes.

"What's going on?" she asked, tone the opposite of its usual softness.

Then, her eyes caught the bloody shard of glass in Mike's hand. He gripped it so tight it cut into his palm.

"Hopper," Mike coughed, still unable to get enough air through his crushed windpipe. "Monster," he wheezed.

"What?"

El rose and grabbed Mike by both wrists, hauling him to his feet with help from her mind.

Hopper stalked around the corner of the cabin, flannel shirtsleeve soaked deep red. El took a step back, surveying the situation before her. Clearly, understanding evaded her.

Hopper's eyes landed on her. "Just stay back, El. I'll deal with this. He's not the friend you think he is. Look at what he did he me." He held up his mangled arm, showing where the glass had torn through, leaving a nasty, open gash.

El looked frozen, torn.

"El, no," Mike croaked. "Please. He's — he's—"

A violent, hacking cough erupted from Mike as he tried desperately to clear his airway.

"Monster," Mike finished, pathetically.

Hopper walked toward Mike, gait steady, expression betraying not an ounce of pain even with blood pouring from his arm.

Mike raised his improvised knife, hopeless but ready to go down fighting.

And then, he was stuck. He couldn't even struggle to move. It was as if he had never had the ability to use his muscles at all. He was a statue.

His eyes were still trained forward on Hopper, who appeared to be in a similarly incapacitated state.

El stepped into the space between them, nose already bleeding. She looked back and forth between them.

Her hold was so complete that Mike couldn't even speak.

El looked to Hopper and seemed to release her hold on his vocal chords. "Explain," she said, her voice tear-filled but hard.

"He attacked me, El. I promise I wouldn't try to kill one of your friends for no reason. Kid went into the bathroom. A couple minutes later, I hear the mirror shatter, so I go to see what's up. Asshole was aiming for my neck. I'm lucky I'm still breathing."

El said nothing. Mike watched her, shaking.

This was so screwed up. Hadn't she been through enough?

He promised himself in that moment that he would do everything in his power to make sure El could live a better life than this in the future. A life without death, suffering, monsters.

He wished more than anything that he could hold her in that moment. To tell her that it'd be okay. Even if he didn't know that it would be.

"Why," El began, haltingly, so broken, "did you call me El?"

Hopper's face contorted. "What?" he said.

"I never told you to call me El," she said, venom in her words now. "You call me 'kid.' Sometimes 'Eleven.' Never El."

Mike could see the search in Hopper's eyes, rifling through the database, scrounging for an excuse.

"I heard it from Max," he said. "Geez, El, what's with the interrogation?"

It was quiet. Peaceful, even, as the wind rustled the dry leaves.

"Are you really gonna hurt me?" Hopper asked, soft. "Your dad?"

Oh, he was pulling out the big guns. And worse, it was working. Mike saw El's shoulders crumple. The fight was leaving her.

She spun around to face him. The chill in her eyes stung worse than his throat.

"And you?" she said. "Can you explain?"

Mike felt her grip on his facial muscles loosen. He sighed in relief. Thankfully, he quite literally held the answer to this mystery in the palm of his hand.

"The mirror in my hand," Mike said. "Take it, and look at his reflection."

That one seemed to stump El. It wasn't what she'd been expecting.

"What?" she said.

"Please, El," he begged. "Please. Just take it."

She hesitated, but must've seen no reason not to try. She approached him slowly, plucking the glass from his hand. She stood in front of him, eyes on the ground. With effort, she brought her eyes up to meet his. He hated every bit of pain he saw there.

"El, I promise," he said, doing his best not to choke up. "I'd never — I'd never do anything to hurt you. That's not Hopper. That's not your dad. Use the mirror."

She took a deep breath, preparing herself. Turning, she went to Hopper, shoulders held back, head high, steps sure.

Either she wasn't allowing him to speak, or he had nothing to say.

Once in front of the chief, El turned to face Mike. She raised the shard and held it out in front of her.

Mike watched as the horror took hold.

The glass fell and El's hands flew to cover her mouth, stifling a sob. Immediately, she released her hold on Mike, walking to him at a frantic pace.

He ran toward her, reaching her just as she hit her knees. He slid down to the ground, engulfing her in a hug, rocking her back and forth as she cried into him.

He let her cry until he saw her hold on the Hopper look-alike begin to slip, the creature squirming in his invisible bonds.

"El," he said, apologetic. "You know what you have to do."

She nodded, a heavy, defeated movement.

He helped her to her feet, and they walked, hand in hand, to face the monster together. El found the glass lying on the ground and picked it up. She turned and held it up again, eyes closed.

"I need to see it again," she said. "I need to make sure."

She wrenched her eyelids open, and this time, she didn't run from the grisly image that greeted her. She took a shaky breath. Keeping her eyes on the demon, she flicked her head to the right.

A sharp snap echoed through the woods, bouncing off the trees. Mike watched Hopper's body fall to the ground, a thud felt in the chest like the thump of a kick drum.

El leaned into Mike's chest, the color leaving her face, the life leaving her eyes.

Blood now streaked from both of her nostrils.

I do apologize this took so long. Work has been crazy, and I'm in the middle of transferring to another school for a higher paying job. There's just a lot going on.

Also, this chapter is the longest one yet, and so hard to write. I just didn't know exactly how I wanted to handle it.

Hope you enjoyed it. Let me know what you think.

Thanks for reading!