AN: Hello, lovely people of the Stranger Things fandom! My contribution isn't much, but it's the best I've got. If you like what you read, please favorite, follow, share with fellow Stranger Things addicts and COMMENT your criticisms, constructive or otherwise just as long as it MAKES SENSE. This is an OC driven plot, but there is interaction from the Hawkins gang.

Also, DISCLAIMER! I DON'T OWN THE STRANGER THINGS UNIVERSE. I only made up my own town of Poppiesville, and a whole mess of OCs. The monster is also of my own creation.

Enjoy!


November 2nd, 1984

Ink was smudged across Ten's long, bony hands. His fountain pen danced lightly as he put the finishing touches on his drawing, marking intricate lines on the page. Satisfied, he took two piece of tape and placed them at the top corners of the paper. He got up from the desk and moved to the picture wall on his left. Finding an empty spot, he stuck his latest work to the cold white tile. Ten took a step back, admiring the lifelike image of his cat Mickey, looking ready to walk off the page and brush affectionately against his leg. He glanced over to his bed, where his feline muse was lying down, blue eyes drifting open and shut, tail twitching occasionally. The boy hummed along to the tune playing from the cassette player.

"Good times, bad times

You know I had my share

When my woman left home

With a brown eyed man

Well, I still don't seem to care"

Ten didn't know the name of the song, but he knew the tune and lyrics by heart. He didn't even know songs had names. He just thought of them by what they sounded like, and the words. Not that he understood most of the words. Only about a third made sense to him. Sometimes, he would take the cassette out from the player and shake it, poke it, try to get it to make sound on it's own, try to figure out how it worked. There were words printed on the front side of the tape that read: "Led Zeppelin." Maybe that's what the sound that it made was called. Or perhaps the object itself was 'Led Zeppelin.' Ten didn't know.

The door to Ten's cell opened, and in walked Papa and two men in white. Papa looked in a pleasant mood today, and Ten dared to hope a little. Maybe today would be easier.

"Come along, Ten," Papa said, offering a hand to the blue eyed boy. Ten warily took it, slipping his smaller one into Papa's rough and gnarled one. "We have much work to do today." They walked together down the plain white halls, corridor after corridor. Anyone without a perfect memory could have easily gotten lost. However, Ten didn't even know what forgetting was. He still remembered his mother's face only a few moments after he was born. He remembered Papa taking him away, mother and child both screaming. An involuntary shudder crawled up his spine.

They reached a smaller room with a table and two chairs on opposing sides. Ten knew the drill. He took a seat in the farther one, Papa the closer. A net of electrodes was placed on Ten's head, and the brain activity monitor clicked to life. The men in white stood behind a glass wall watching Ten, and pressing buttons on a large dais. One of them carried in a wire cage with a small animal inside, with sleek grey fur and a long, pink tail. It's whiskered nose quivered and sniffed the air, beady eyes absorbing everything. Placing it's little pink paws on the cage, it stared up at Ten. The man holding the cage placed it on the table, along with box made of pungent, fresh cut wood. Ten quickly read the man's name tag: "Graham."

"Today we are going to try something different," said Papa. "I want you to guide the rat through the maze. Be the rat." He nodded. The man in white, Graham, lifted the 'rat' out of the cage and opened the top of the box, placing it inside. Graham left the room. "Now, take a quick look at it," Papa ordered. Ten barely had to glance at the maze to have it perfectly mapped out in his head. The white haired man turned the box so that only he could see into it, and folded his gnarled hands on the steel table. "Alright, Ten. You can begin."

The boy took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He sensed minds around him; five beside his own. Papa's, the three men in white's, and the rat's. The glow of the four human minds were far brighter than the little creature's, like multiple moons compared to a single star. Ten gently pushed his consciousness into the rat's. He saw Papa through it's eyes, watching with rapt attention. It turned and sniffed the air cautiously, testing the human scent mingled with antiseptic and fresh wood. Ten took control. He guided the rat through the intricate maze confidently. About halfway through, he felt it's mind struggle against his own, weak in comparison, but fighting. He coaxed it onward with the thought of food at the end, and it complied for a while. It's heart started to race as Ten urged it forward. It fought him fiercely. Ten knew if he pushed it too hard, the rat's light would darken. But he had to try. He increased pressure. Their hearts pounded in tandem, growing faster and faster. The small creature's body started to convulse violently. It screamed in pain. Ten saw his own body writhing. He felt it too. The mouse's and boy's pulses were speeding at an impossible rate. Deafening shrieks filled the air, and were cut off abruptly. Snap. Ten heard only one heartbeat: his own. Eyes flew open. His hospital gown was drenched in sweat, and his hair stood on end. A proud gleam came into Papa's eyes, somehow cold in contrast to his warm smile.

"Incredible," the man said quietly. "You'll be given an extra paper allowance, and a new pen."

Ten blinked, hardly processing the praise. Something warm and wet trickled down onto his upper lip, and he reached up to wipe it. His hand came away crimson.

"I did good?" he whispered, almost unbelieving. Papa smiled, that warm smile that made Ten fear, love, and hate him all at the same time. He reached across the table and tenderly mopped up the rest of blood under his nose with a white cloth, staining it red.

"Yes, very good."

Against half of his own conscience, a warm glow filled him, and he returned a shy smile of his own, his bright blue eyes shining. All in one moment Papa was back to business, and stood, calling in Graham and another man to escort Ten back to his room. The boy glanced at the box and froze. The rat's body lay still in the maze, blood oozing from its eyes and ears.

"Ten," Papa said firmly, breaking his daze. He nodded numbly and followed the men to his chamber.

He had broken it, blown out it's light. The rat. He snapped the feeble mind in half like a twig.

He had Papa's approval for it.

Part of Ten was elated. The other was revolted. He rushed to the toilet as soon as the door clicked shut behind him, his dinner rising up into his mouth. His stomach heaved long after it was emptied. Finally, he flushed it down and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. Shakily shoving himself to his feet, he stumbled into the sink and let the frigid water run into his mouth, washing away the foul taste of bile. He felt flushed and feverish and frozen all at once. Pulling off his hospital gown, he dropped to the carpeted floor and laid there. The old rug was coarse and rough against his bare skin, chafing.

He had ended it. Darkened it.

So that's what death was.

Ten killed the rat.

Papa was happy. Papa had touched him, ever so briefly. Ten craved that moment, the affection.

Disgust, anger, at himself, and his desperate need for a touch. A sob formed in his throat, stuck there like a hard knot. The picture wall became a mottled river of color. He choked, tears flowing freely down his face and into his ears. Warm feline fluff brushed against his naked body, settling into the crook of his side with a soft prraow. Ten hugged Mickey close.

I'm just as bad as the Bad Men, he thought. I'm just as bad as Papa.

"I'm just like Papa," he whimpered aloud, eyes screwed shut. "I'm just like the bad men. They hurt, they darken. I hurt, I darken."


November 3rd, 1984

Anger burned hot in Ten's fiery blue eyes, set hard in rebellion.

"No," he said, through gritted teeth. Papa's eyebrows drew together like angry stormclouds, ready to crash together.

"What did you say?" he warned. Ten looked over at the caged cat on the table. It had a grungy orange coat, short and matted, unlike Micke's well-groomed white. Pacing the cramped cage anxiously, it pinned its ears and the boy and hissed, green eyes glaring.

"No."

"Do you know what that means, Ten? I don't think you understand. I am not asking you; I am telling you," said Papa, thunderclouds ready to clap and unleash the storm. The cat's hackles raised. Ten sensed its terror, and tried to calm it with his mind. It repelled his conscious and tried to block him out. The startling blue eyes met the man's, full of fearful determination.

"No."

A hard look covered Papa's face. "Switch the inhibitor on," he ordered, and reaching into his suit jacket, he brought out an object that made Ten's heart sink into his stomach and dread wash over him. The boy's head snapped back, teeth grinding together as the hot, crackling sensation at the base of his skull spread over him. His fingers dug into the metal armrest, as every muscle in his body spasmed, and the pain rolled over him in waves. It stopped. His pulse started to slow, and he released the death hold on his chair. The touched the warm metal device on the back of his neck, wanting to rip it from his flesh like a tick buried in his skin. He'd tried before; it was like pulling out his own eyeball. Papa had explained that even if he did manage to free himself of it, it would kill him. The damned thing was embedded in his spinal cord.

"I'll give you one last chance," Papa said, his voice reasonable. His thumb hovered over the remote. Ten stared back at him, rubbing around the monitor. Papa sighed. Ten tensed again as the spasm shot through him. Convulsions shook his small frame with increasing violence. Blinding lights and colors flashed before his eyes, crackling with electricity.

Every inch of him was on fire, every nerve sending one signal: pain. A strangled groan came from his throat. He gasped, choked, then spat onto the steel surface before him, crimson. Ten's tongue had a heartbeat all of its own pumping out blood into his mouth. Gingerly, he stuck it out, and saw the red welling out from a tooth shaped cut. He barely had time to pull his tongue back before the blinding, deafening, white-hot agony seized him. It might've last thirty seconds, or thirty minutes, Ten didn't know. His body collapsed onto the table, breath sharp and ragged. Papa was yelling at him; Ten couldn't tell what. The only thing he could hear was the deafening ringing in his ears. His throat was raw. He must have been screaming. Papa pointed at the cat, eyes filled with rage. A scornful smile crept onto Ten's face, revealing the blood stained teeth. He said something he'd never actually heard anyone say out loud; it was a phrase he overheard in the minds of Papa's men, and he'd heard it enough times to get the gist of what it meant.

"Fuck you." The boy wasn't sure if he'd managed to vocalize the words or just mouth them, but judging by the look of unbridled fury on Papa's face, his sentiment had been expressed. Papa grabbed him by the front of his hospital gown and dragged him across the stainless steel table, inches from him face. Spittle flew at him, the man's mouth forming words Ten couldn't understand. He was swung around and slammed into the hard tile, head rebounding off. A fist connected with his jaw, another beneath his eye. He desperately tried to block the heavy punches, shielding his face with his hands. Finally, blow after blow, Ten slumped limply to the floor, knees buckling like broken twigs. The ringing in his ears was reduced to a high pitched whine. The shifting, blurry figure of Papa stood above him, chest heaving, and hand stained with Ten's blood. The boy drew a ragged breath, blinking away the tears streaming unchecked down his face and mingling with the blood in his mouth.

"Escort Ten back to his chamber," he said, unfocused eyes staring into space, "and bring me his cat." Large, rough hands lifted Ten up by the arms onto his feet.

"No," he whispered, "No, please, Papa, no! Don't hurt him! Don't take Mickey!" Ten was thrashing wildly, screaming over his shoulder. Papa stood there transfixed. The two men dragged the hysterical child down the hall. "No, Papa, no, please don't hurt him, no!" He shrieked, one last time, before they launched him into the chamber. Smack. His body hit the ground. Ten scrambled over to Mickey, cradling him protectively in his thin arms. The massive, cruel hands tried to pry them open. With a desperate wail, the cat was wrenched away from his body. Mickey hissed and clawed at his captors. Ten flung himself at the closing door, hoping to stop it. He crashed into it as it slammed shut, jarring his whole skeleton. Bellowing rage exploded out of his chest, and he pounded the door with both fists, vision red with rage. Ten lifted up his wooden desk chair and smashed it against the door. It shattered, splinters flying everywhere. A shard buried itself in his leg; he hardly noticed. Launching herself onto the bed, ripping the sheets off the bed, tearing at the mattress. Fatigue washed over him, and he slumped down into the barren bed, defeated. "No," he sobbed, broken, "please, no. Mickey. Papa."


Ten's eyes popped open disjointedly, one after another. They felt sticky and dry, as though he'd been sleeping with them half open. The world was sideways, rocking back and forth gently. His mind was dazed and groggy. Once he blinked the blurriness from his eyes, he found himself in a wire cage carried by a giant, with hands larger than his entire head. Another giant, white haired and dressed in black lead the way down the huge corridor. Ten looked down at his limbs and started; he didn't have two arms and two legs, he had four legs, all covered in fluffy white fur with delicate, feline paws at the ends. A wave of realization washed over him.

He wasn't in his body.

He was with Mickey.

He saw through Mickey's eyes, heard what he heard, felt what he felt. Knew his thoughts.

The cat was still sleepy, probably from a sedative. The man in front of them was Papa. I know where we are going, he thought, with a bodiless shudder. Mickey started to panic, as he sensed Ten's fear growing. What was happening, he didn't know. But it was bad. Something very bad was going to happen to Mickey. He hissed at the man carrying him, eyes glaring fearfully. They turned aside into a familiar room, furnished with a steel table and two chairs. The cage Mickey was in was placed unceremoniously on the table, dominating its surface area. Papa left, retreating behind the walls of the observation room, peering out through the glass. A boy, no, a girl, about Ten's age was escorted in, looking around the room with wide, doe like eyes. Her hair was buzzed close to her head, and she was dressed in only a hospital gown. She sat in the chair, across from Mickey, and a large net of electrodes was placed around her skull, whirring and beeping to life. The cat paced the cage with agitation, seething at the girl. She turned to Papa expectantly.

"Now Eleven," he said, adopting a firm but kind voice, one he never used with Ten, "I want you to . . .Exterminate the cat." 'Eleven' glanced at Mickey, piercing eyes wrought with confusion. "You know the consequences if you disobey," Papa added. Ten saw the two sides of her conflicting: the desire to please Papa, and the desire to spare this strange creature she'd never encountered before. The brain activity monitor picked up speed, as did her breathing, growing shallow. Eleven kept her face turned down, away from Papa, but lifting up to see him every now and then. Her features contorted, and tears threatened to overflow in her eyes as a strangled whimper formed in her throat. Mickey hissed fiercely, sensing the hot tension in the air. The girl looked up at Papa, then looked back at the cat repeatedly, back and forth, and back and forth. Beeping from the monitor grew faster. Her chest heaved. She shook her head slightly, then brushed the net of wires off. The beeping stopped. With a deep breath Papa set his face, placing his hands on his hips. Eleven shook her head vehemently, stifling a sharp breath. The angry jawline turned to stone, and he looked down with a motion of acceptance. Papa muttered to the other men in the observation room and turned away, rubbing his face with his hands. Two of Papa's employees entered the room and lifted Eleven up by the arms, hauling her away down the cold halls. Ten felt the hard, calloused hands on him, and knew he was now with the girl.

"No!" she cried, kicking and thrashing, much like Ten himself had done not long ago. "Papa, Papa!" Her voice was raw with screaming after him, animalistic terror pumping adrenalin into every vein in her body. The men in white reached the end of the hall and tossed her into a copper room with the door ajar. She flailed in the air, hitting the ground with a sickening thud. Her face contorted in rage and she scrambled to her feet as the heavy door started to swing closed, almost shut, when it flew back violently, throwing one of men into the tiled wall. Broken porcelain and plaster crumbled off the place where he hit, body dropped lifelessly to the ground. The other man, shocked and angry, drew a baton and switched it on, starting after her. With blood trickling from her nose, she fixed her fiery gaze on him. A quick twitch of the neck, a gut wrenching crack, and he crumpled like paper. Eleven panted, leaning against the copper wall, hot liquid now dripping from her ears too, and panted. Papa appeared in the open doorway; looked at the body shaped dent in the wall, looked at he corpses on the ground, looked at Eleven, wonder in his cold eyes. He slowly started toward her. She leaned back, trembling, slumping to her knees. Papa's hands stroked her shaved head gently, cupping her bloodied ears. The girl cried softly, craving and hating that touch with all her heart.

"Incredible," he whispered, leaning down to pick her up. Eleven gave into his arms, too exhausted to fight or object. She sniffled. Unhurriedly, he carried her back down the hall, enraptured by her face. The sorrowful brown eyes held contact with his, until oblivion took over, and the world faded.