Breathe.
Sunflower.
Rainbow.
Three to the right.
Four to the left.
Hopper had always wondered, at least when he took care of her, if Eleven missed her sick mother, Terry Ives. He had to admit he wasn't a very amazing parenting figure, and Terry could have been a perfect mother, maybe before. But Eleven had hardly known her biological mom, so the thought passed quickly from his mind. He now wondered if she missed him, or if anyone missed him, especially Joyce. Remembering his last moments with her brought a wincing, sharp pain to his heart. Well, he knew one thing for sure. He missed Joyce.
They had shaved off all his hair and burned his clothes the minute he entered the Russian camp. He was then given rough, leathery garments that smelt like a hundred different people had worn them before. That was probably true though anyway. He was then shown to his new home, politely of course. Living in a filthy, dark, barred cell wasn't all it lived up to be. A small, thin bed was attached to the wall with a smudged pillow that wasn't exactly made from down feathers and silk. A toilet and sink were located in the corner and Hopper guessed he wouldn't be showering anytime soon.
Each prisoner was given a measly breakfast of stale bread, water and dry cheese. Then they laboured all day hammering down nails on the railway track in the bitter cold of the Siberian tundra. Oh that cold, it bit at your flesh and froze your muscles and even when you were in your bed you could still feel it in your bones, your teeth chattering, the hairs on your arms standing erect. After a day full of fruitless exhaustion, you recieved a cold stew that no one really knew the ingredients of. It tasted vile though, and Hopper had to fight the urge to retch into his bowl. Despite this, he swallowed it quickly and without complain. The stew was the only proper meal the inhabitants of the camp recieved, and many died of either starvation (if they couldn't handle the stew) or pneumonia (for obvious reasons).
But however horrible the breakfast was, or the endless toil in the freezing cold, or the disgusting dinner that could hardly be called edible, Hopper dreaded the end of the day most.
That was when they picked the prisoner to fight with the Demogorgon.
New captives were brought to the camp everyday, mostly from Russia but from all over the world as well. They only had accomodation for so many prisoners. So the Russians chose the most obvious, cruel way to keep population numbers down.
To kill them.
It was barbaric and inhuman what those people did, Hopper thought every night. It wasn't even a quick shot to the head, even though that couldn't be excused, it was a fight to the death with a merciless creature that could rip your body to shreds in under 30 seconds. You were locked in a wide cell with no walls, just bars all the way around and you waited in tense fear, cold sweat dripping from your temple, your hair turning white for the monster to appear maliciously from behind a dirty flap. And the whole time, Russian soldiers were watching you from between the bars, sometimes laughing, sometimes chanting Fight! Fight! like unruly, spiteful children watching a wrestling match on the televison.
Different people reacted to this message of death. Some were happy to go along, their life was so miserable anyway. Some young men thought they could fight the creature alone; they were determined, brave and stupid. And the majority of prisoners in that miserable camp took so long to realise their wretched fate they didn't even put up a fight with the Demogorgon.
If you had been picked, you were lucky if you died. The rare humans that had fought against this monstrous creature and won were scarred for life, both physically and mentally. They normally came out of that cell with one leg missing, or no eyes, or both. And when you came out, if you had miraculously survived for ten whole minutes in the cage, the soldiers and guards had no admiration or even respect for you. Instead, they ridiculed and mocked, destroying the last bit of self-esteem you had left in your soul. Many of Hopper's, um, colleagues who had come out of that cell alive were not the same again. They didn't speak and if they did, they did so in garbled, short, distressing sounds.
It was a painful and agonizing way to leave this world, there was no debate about it.
So how do you think Hopper felt when he was told to go down to the cell at 22:19, the 6th of May?
Eleven was unpacking slowly with Will, while Joyce unloaded furniture from the van. They spoke no words: their silence was loud enough. The road trip had been a dull and monotonous one, with the occasional crackle of the radio or spill of coffee to break the quiet. Eleven had fallen asleep somewhere in that dry journey; she could not remember when and for how long. She had been rereading the letter Hopper had sent her the rest of the drive and she almost remembered it off by heart now.
There's something I've been wanting to talk to you both about - and I know this is a difficult conversation...
I've been stuck in one place - in a cave, you might say...
But I know you're getting older, growing, changing...
To turn back the clock. To make things go back to how they were...
But please, if you don't mind, for the sake of your poor old dad, keep the door open three inches.
The door.
Ha.
Deep inside, she knew Hopper wasn't a very good parent. But he loved her, he had loved her, and she still loved him, dead or not. And I guess, Eleven thought, that's really all that matters.
Right?
No, Jane Hopper, it's not. He's dead and it's all your fault. Where were you when your own loving father exploded in a Russian laboratory?
Saving all of Hawkins, Indiana from the Mind Flayer!
Eleven silently groaned. Whatever was going on in her head needed to stop.
She unpacked more and more clothes until her arms ached. Will carried on with her as well until everything was in neat piles in drawers or hung gayly in wardrobes. Will had set out some of the old toys that he hadn't given to Erica on his bedside table, for remembrance. Eleven visioned Will and Dustin and Lucas playing D&D together. And of course, Michael Wheeler.
Oh, Mike.
She pushed the feeling deep down and began to make her bed quietly. This new house in Maine was quite a bit smaller than Will's old house or Mike's house.
There's that feeling again.
And she would have to sleep in the same room as Will. In separate beds of course. Eleven shook her head at the thought, chuckling to herself.
"What's so funny?" Eleven was startled by the sound of a human.
"Oh, um, nothing," Well, what was she supposed to say? "So...do you like the house?"
"It's nice," Will looked around disapprovingly. "Quite small, though. I mean, I'd like my own bedroo-"
"Will?"
"Yes?"
"Do you miss Mike?"
"Yeah. Yeah, of course. Why?" He questioned.
"I don't know, it's just, um, I miss him too." And then she was sobbing into her hands and the feeling she had been pushing down for so long poured out and it was everywhere, seeping from her eyes and her mouth and pulsating through her body.
Eleven had reached a stage of grief.
Her body shook as she cried and Will, kind, kind Will let her rest on his shoulder until the sobbing was reduced to short, hiccuping gasps.
She missed Max, her ginger best friend who had taught her the ways of boys and teenage life.
She missed Hopper, a man who had fathered her like one of his own.
And most of all, she missed Mike, Mike who she had confided her deepest secrets, Mike who she had kissed in Hopper's cabin, Mike who had saved her life that day by finding her in the woods.
"Will?" Eleven breathed heavily between gasps. "Do you think Mike misses me?"
"Well, of course! You're his girlfriend! And we'll meet him at Christmas and you can call him over the phone and use the walkie-talkies. You see, Eleven, me and Mike always stay in touch, no matter what."
He grinned stupidly, like a child on Christmas morning who'd recieved the very exact train set he'd begged his parents to get. Sometimes Eleven believed that there was still some immatureness, some child-like features left in Will, and she couldn't seem to figure out why.
Of course, there was always the fact that Will had lived in the Upside Down for almost two years; he hadn't recieved the oppurtunity to reach adolescense in a normal environment. He had been almost dead when they found him in that horrid place. But Will had helped her, and she had helped him, and that made them friends.