November 5, 1984

Everything that had happened and everything that hadn't happened and everything she'd wanted to tell him when he'd called her every night poured out of her. She spoke more than she'd spoken in her entire life, but he listened intently to every word, eyes full of wonder.

He asked all kinds of questions. Hard questions, about how she liked living with Hopper and whether she wanted to visit her mom again and whether she really thought Dr. Brenner was out there and why she didn't just look. They were questions she wouldn't have answered for anyone else, but she wanted to tell him everything. Even though she didn't always have the right words, he seemed to understand her anyways.

He asked little questions, too. He wanted to know her favorite flower and her favorite book and her favorite TV show and her favorite food, which he was amused to hear was still Eggos. He promised to bring her some next time.

Next time. The words came with a smile, and made her insides all warm. After all this time, after all she'd told him, she was still entirely, unconditionally wanted.

A knock on the door made them both jump- Hopper was home. Disappointment dropped heavy in her stomach, but only stayed a moment. They had time, she reminded herself, unlocking the door. They had all the time in the world.

November 6, 1984

The cabin where the Chief had been hiding Eleven was awfully far from school, but hey, they'd willingly walked into a monster-infested alternate dimension tunnel maze for her. They'd bike to Timbuktu for her, too.

Besides, all Max had to do was ride along on the back of Lucas's bike. He smelled like cinnamon. Not so bad.

They biked as far out as they could, then stashed their bikes in the bushes to trek through the woods, climbing carefully over the booby traps Mike pointed out. They knocked a secret code on the cabin's front door, listened to the answering chorus of unlocking deadbolts- and there she was.

Max did a double take. She'd expected slicked back hair and smudgy punk eyeliner; this curly haired, cherubic girl in a pink sweater was almost unrecognizable.

The others were less surprised. "El!" Dustin and Lucas piled on. "We're glad you're feeling better!"

Eleven smiled, holding still until they stepped back. Then Mike pushed past them to hug her, and she held on like she never wanted to let go. It was every bit as golden as the moment they'd first reunited. Such hard people, Max mused, but together, they looked so soft. She stepped quietly around them, setting her things by Dustin and Lucas's.

"So this is your secret hideout," Dustin hummed, already poking around their bookshelf. "Does one of these open a hidden door?"

"Dude," Lucas smacked him, "seriously?"

"Woah!" Abandoning the books, Dustin swept across the room, starry-eyed. "What kind of radio is that?"

November 9, 1984

Friday, Hopper came home late, tired and anxious, and said, "Sit down, kid. This is important."

Nancy and Jonathan had sent out tapes that had rocketed the lab into the international spotlight. The FBI was coming- they might be even bigger bad guys. If she made it through their investigation, that was it. She'd be really, truly safe. But until then, they had to keep hiding, just like before. He was so, so sorry.

But Eleven didn't care. Not as long as she had Mike. He called her in the mornings when he woke up, just to tell her good morning and ask how she'd slept, and then right after school he came to the cabin. He brought her Eggos and held her hand and looked at her like she were his whole sky and told her he'd missed her since the moment he'd left the night before.

Dustin and Lucas and Max came, too. They chased away the shadows and filled the house with laughter. They brought cards or games or movies on tape, or simply spread out on the floor to do their homework, trying their best to explain it to her as they went.

("It's called the nervous system," Dustin finished.

"And these- your lungs- are how you breathe- that's the respiratory system," Lucas pointed to the picture in his book.

"And the vascular system, too," Mike told her. "When you breathe, in your lungs, the oxygen in the air goes into your blood, and your blood gets pumped through your whole body when your heart beats."

She put her hand over her heart. "Bah-bahmp."

"Yeah," he mirrored her, cheeks pink. "Bah-bahmp.")

She smiled at Hopper. "Alright," she told him.

"Alright?" he repeated, unsure.

"Yes. Alright."

A week ago she'd almost lost everything she'd ever wanted, but now she had more than she'd ever dared to hope for. It was the best kind of overwhelming. She'd never been this happy in her entire life.

November 10, 1984

Joyce and Jonathan had kept Will home from school all week, insisting he rest. Hopper had dropped by a few times, and they'd finally let the boys come over for a while on Friday, but they'd only now agreed to let him out of the house.

That morning was all clear skies and warm sunshine, perfect for a bike ride or a walk down the railroad tracks or holing himself in the arcade. Instead, he stood between his mom and Jonathan and watched as they lowered Bob Newby into the ground.

His was the last of fourteen funerals in Hawkins that week. Hopper had somehow ensured that the dead- both human and alien- would all be buried before the FBI could get their hands on them. He stood just behind Joyce, quiet but strong and steady. Mike and Lucas and Dustin and Max and Nancy and even Steve were there, too. They all knew the truth. That helped, if only a little.

Bob's parents had flown in from Maine. Standing on the other side of his grave, they cried and cried even harder than Joyce. They thought their son had been a helpless victim of a chemical leak at Hawkins Laboratory. They'd never know the truth.

The truth was that their son was the reason that his mom and Mike and Hopper did not have their own funerals today. Their son had volunteered to die so that they could live and fight. If he hadn't, they wouldn't have been able to get Eleven to the gate, and the mind flayer would have them all. He was a hero.

What a terrible kind of hero to be.

November 11, 1984

Sunday night, the Byers drove out to Hopper and Eleven's cabin for dinner. Joyce and Jonathan hovered over Will as they walked through the woods, as though he might fall over at any second and they were ready to catch him when he did. It was okay. He understood. But he had to show them he was doing better now if he wanted to go back to school tomorrow.

He was doing better- much better. He politely declined their help and climbed over a fallen tree by himself; the strain of his muscles and the way the air rushed from his lungs as he landed solidly on the other side felt too good to put into words.

Hopper opened the door for them with a smile, ruffling Will's hair as he stepped inside. It was warm, Bruce Springsteen's voice drifted up from the record player in the back, and whatever was cooking smelled delicious.

"Will!" Mike sat on the couch... and behind him could only be Eleven.

Will's heart skipped a beat. "Hi."

"How are you feeling?" Mike asked.

"I'm good."

Mike glanced back at Eleven and smiled. "I guess you still haven't met, huh? Will, this is Eleven."

Will couldn't pull his eyes from her. She was... not at all the way he'd imagined her.

She'd saved him, saved them all. He'd heard all about it, watched as his friends struggled with her disappearance- especially Mike. Still, she'd seemed far away, almost unreal, like a fallen hero in a comic book or even a martyred saint. But she'd come back and done it again, and now she was sitting on the end of the couch in too-big blue jeans and fuzzy socks.

"I- I don't know how to thank you."

She only shook her head. "I'm just happy you're okay."

He remembered that voice, so soft in the dark of the Upside Down. He'd thought she was an angel.

"Dinner's almost ready," Hopper announced. "Everyone grab a chair."

All through dinner, and even after, when they were all on the living room floor playing Chinese checkers, Will couldn't pull his eyes from her.

She was no comic book hero, no saint sent from above, no angel in the night. She was small. She was quiet. She jumped at loud noises or sudden movements. She was the same kind of damaged he was.

And then Hopper would touch her shoulder, or Mike would take her hand, and her feet would find solid ground. She'd smile, only a little smile, but it was like the sun shining out of a person. In that instant, he could see the strength in the middle of her.

She could turn Jean Grey to dust.

For the first time since last November, he knew he was safe with her. For the first time since last November, he could breathe.