Hey guys, it's back! I tried to get this chapter out quickly, because I don't know what school holds until Christmas break finally roles around. But I can guess that end-of-semester projects will take up a lot of time. So here you guys go; brace yourself, this is a tough one. The next few chapters are going to have this taste, for the most part. I hope you enjoy :)
Guest 1: Well, I can see why you may think that, but I assure you that I have a different plan. I'm not exactly sure about the details, but I can tell you that it will not be a one sided apology. Thanks for being so civil, though :)
Luna0603: Thank you so much! It was important to me to get the fight just right. I'm glad that it did justice. I'm loving your work with TTWAS, btw. Can't wait for the next chapter :)
Guest 2: Thank you! Brace yourself for more pain though, haha
Vader115: I hope you're at least somewhat happy with these chapters, haha! Enjoy this one :)
Bb7979: Thanks! I hope you like this chapter.
39CluesStrangerThings-Star: I'm glad I was able to get that type of emotion out! I wanted that fight to be as horrible as possible (I'm evil, I know). In regards to what will happen to her, guess we will have to see...
Guest 3: Thank you so much! It's good that some people are more nonsensical, haha. you'll be glad to know that, yes, I do plan on diverting from the cliche that we saw in saw in season 3. I hope you like this chapter!
El crashed into her room as quickly as she could and collapsed onto the bed, exhausted and emotionally empty. She had ran all the way from Steve's to her house, and she had been crying the whole time. Her hair was blown in all directions and her elbows and knees were scraped because she had fallen a couple times; navigating through the dark forest had not been easy. Her eyes felt dry, like the tear ducts had been drained so much they were like a desert.
She was cold too; the temperature had drastically dropped, and she had not dressed to be outside at nearly three o'clock in the morning. She glanced at the digital clock on her nightstand and read the time. Three-three-two, she saw. She sighed and rubbed her eyes. She had been quiet coming in, so she wouldn't be having to deal with Joyce later in the night. It was just her and her thoughts.
It seemed like the running had sort of distracted her from what was actually going on, because as soon as she had flopped onto her mattress everything seemed to be rushing back at her. It made her feel sick, like she was going to throw up. All the things he had said. All the things that she had said… she didn't know which one made her more upset.
Mike had said all those things about Hopper. His face flashed through her mind, replaying the moment over and over and over again until it felt like she wanted to tear her hair out. He'll never come back. He lied to you about everything, he had said to her. To some degree, what he had said was true. Hopper had lied about her to a lot of things, but they had moved past that. And since then, she had come to realize that Hopper was probably right for keeping her away for that long. He only did it because he wanted to protect her. The Bad Men were looking for her, and Hopper needed to protect her. He fed her, gave her a home, taught her things… he was just being a good Dad.
A Dad that was gone.
Or not. The recent development had recently thrown a monkey wrench into the mix. Mike had said that they kept it from her to help her, but she didn't see how that helped her at all. She felt lied to and deceived. She had been lied to her entire life. To lie to her about something like this… it was infuriating.
What if Hopper was somewhere trapped, looking for her, waiting to be rescued? Waiting to be found? What if he was in the Upside-Down, or Russia? She didn't even know where Russia was, but she knew that it was a different country across the ocean. Far away. Her mind continued to flood with thoughts in ideas, each one coming and going so fast she could barely pick them out individually. Would she be able to find Hopper if she went into the void?
She crawled out of her lying position on her bed and went to her dresser. She pulled out the door where she kept her socks and underwear and gazed on the long black cloth. It had been sitting there, untouched, for over a month. What was the reason for her not using it? She didn't even know herself. Perhaps it was fear for what would happen. Fear for if it would even work. She knew that her powers were gone, but part of her was still in denial. It was better to just not try to use them and imagine that they were still there then to try to use them and find out that they were truly gone.
It was still unknown if they would ever even come back; it was not like she could go see a doctor about this sort of thing. She would never get any advice on this matter, and it made her frustrated. As much as she didn't want to admit it, her powers were a huge part of who she was. They made her feel safe and protected, and they allowed her to make sure that her friends were safe and protected, which was even more important. And for the last month, she had felt so exposed and insecure and vulnerable to whatever threats that could be out there.
Now was not the time to second guess herself. She had to know if Hopper was out there. And even if it didn't work, what would be that worst that could happen?
Grabbing the dark piece of fabric, she padded back toward her bed and sat down with a loud and nervous sigh. As she tied it around her eyes, she found hands and fingers to be shaking. Her heart was pounding. Why was she so nervous?
After her vision had completely disappeared, she forced her hands to stay still and folded them in her lap. She sat up farther on her head and crossed her legs, trying to clear her mind. It was difficult; the argument with Mike was still flashing through her mind. But for the sake of her Dad, she forced all of that out for now and focused on absolutely nothing.
She didn't know how long she sat like that; it could have been minutes, it could have been hours. Maybe Joyce was going to knock on her door any minute and drag her out for breakfast before she even made any progress.
But progress was not being made. She sat there, staring into nothing, but not ever feeling
the familiar sensation of a thin sheet of water in her toes, or temperature-less pit of nothing. No echoes of familiar voices around her, no figures or objects. Her expression became strained as she pictured Hopper in her mind as clearly as she could. The cloth started to dampen with her tears as she tried to recall experiences that would jumpstart her powers; she found that in times of need they would always protect her, no matter what.
Finding her in the woods. Cleaning the cabin. Dancing to Jim Croce. Playing cards and board games late at night. Watching old Westerns. Seeing Miami Vice for the first time. Making Eggo extravaganzas in the morning for breakfast. All the hugs and kisses on the forehead. All the times he smiled at her and said, "it's gonna be okay, kid."
But nothing came.
She tore off the blindfold and bit on her lips as hard as she could to withhold the gut wrenching scream of frustration that she wanted to let out so badly. But she didn't want to wake Joyce. She didn't want to be a nuisance.
Instead, she threw the piece of fabric across the room and crawled into her bed and buried herself deep into the sheets.
And cried.
Never in her life and she felt like this before. It felt like she was on the verge of throwing up, but not from being sick. At least not the kind of sick that you usually think of. The kind of sick you get after watching a loved one die right in front of you. Because right now, that's what it felt like. Recalling all of those experiences with Hopper and hoping to see him, only to be spat on in return and be greeted by her empty, lonesome room was like reliving his death all over again. Except this time, it felt she had watched him die.
She had no shoulder to cry on except her own. Burying her face into the sheets, she tried to force herself to stop, but she couldn't. The tears and anger and hurt and frustration and fear and sadness continued to pour out of her like a damn with a gaping hole in it. She felt paralyzed. Like there was nothing more that could happen that could possibly make her feel worse than she already did.
All she felt was cold.
Mike fished the spare key out from the bushes in the back garden and slid it into the keyhole of the back basement door. Turning the key, the lock clicked and he pushed the door open and stepped inside. The cool basement felt amazing in contract with the hot August evening that he been trudging through for nearly an hour. It had been a strange experience walking down Mirkwood by himself for so long. It gave him a lot of time to think about what happened.
Yet he had not made any decision about what he was going to do. It seemed like, rather than trying to figure out how to mend things with El, he had spent the better part of his walk simply replaying the fight in his mind. Over and over and over until he felt dizzy. He dropped his backpack as his feet and collapsed onto the soft sofa and closed his eyes. Under normal circumstances, his exhaustion would have caused him to pass out within seconds. But his brain was too alive for him to even think about sleep.
So he lay there on the couch, his feet hanging off the edge. He reached up to rub his eyes, that were sore and dried out from all the tears that he had shed since he left the house. What was he going to do?
His mind had had some time to cool down a little bit since he left the house. His initial anger had subsided slightly, and now he was also thinking about Dustin, and how he had punched him in the face. With a grimace, he looked down at his knuckles that had blood caked on them. Probably from Dustin's nose. He had landed a pretty good hit there during their brawl. He heaved himself off the couch and dragged his feet to the bathroom and closed the doors when he got in. He gazed at himself in the mirror.
He looked like shit, to say the least. His eyes were bloodshot and red and wet, and he had a cut just above his temple that had split open and blood had leaked from the wound down his face and onto his cheek. Some had gotten on his clothes, which he was going to have to explain to his Mom. He supposed there wasn't any need to mince words with her; he could just tell her flat out what happened. With the exception of El, of course. He would just tell her that him and Dustin got into a fight, and that he didn't want to talk about it. That would work, right?
He turned the tap on and rubbed the cold water over his hands. It stung slightly, but it felt like nothing in comparison to everything else that was going on. After cupping his hands together and letting some water accumulate in his palms, he leaned down and dunked his face in the miniature pool. He kept his face in there for a moment before rising out and blowing some water droplets out of his mouth. There was still some dried up blood that was stuck near his gash, so he raised his right hand and rubbed around the spot tendery, wincing at every small movement.
Once he had finished cleaning up all the blood, he looked in the mirror again, but he still looked terrible. Just less bloody. The bags under his eyes were very pronounced; it was high time that he went to bed, but he still had some thinking to do. He had to put together a course of action about how he was going to pull everything back together.
Mending his relationship with Dustin would be easy, he guessed. Just so long as he apologized. Even he could see that they were both wrong to do what he did. Punching him was definitely out of line. But him getting so drunk that he couldn't control what he was saying was also out of line. He was sure that Dustin would see the sense in that.
After all, men operated on logic, and women operated on feelings.
But did Dustin really deserve to be forgiven so easily for what he had done? He could very well have completely ruined their relationship, and because of what? A bottle of whiskey and his own irresponsibility. He shook his head and decided to think about it tomorrow.
He started getting a sense of deja vu from when him and Lucas got in that fight way back in seventh grade when El had used her powers to mess up their compasses. He smiled. It was a stupid fight, and of course it had happened because they were looking for their missing best friend, but it represented something more. When they were younger, it seemed so much smaller. It was just the Demogorgon. Now, everything was so much bigger.
And he remembered how El had thrown Lucas off him to protect him, because she cared about him. Even after only a few days of knowing one another, their bond had become undeniable. But right now, it seemed to be slipping through his fingers like grains of sand, and he was helpless to stop it. Everything that they had built together for so long was fading away.
Mike was too empty to start crying again, so he just sat there on the couch. He sat there for a while longer doing nothing in particular before drifting into an uneasy sleep.
It was six o'clock in the morning when Will opened the front door and stepped in his house. He had been walking for a long time and had not gotten a minute of sleep the entire night, and it felt like he could collapse on the ground any minute. His knees and eyelids felt heavy, but still he held on, just long enough for him to get to his own bedroom (where Jonathan was absent from) before he flopped on the mattress. He threw off his clothes and got under the sheets in just his boxers because he was too lazy to do anything else.
He groaned when he realized that he had not made sure if El had gotten back safely. With a stifled sigh, he dragged himself out from underneath the covers and tiptoed down t he hall toward El's bedroom. Opening the door carefully, he peered inside and saw the crack of early morning light shining on her sleeping figure. He exhaled in relief knowing that she had gotten home alright.
After settling back into his own bed, he pondered the events that had occurred. His best friend was at war with his step-sister and other best friend (even though he considered Mike to be his number one best friend). That raised a lot of problems. For one, his two really good friends hated each other right now, and being friends with two people who are against one another never ended well for anyone. In fact, the same went for him and El. He considered himself to be a lot closer to El now, since they had that conversation a week or so ago. And of course, he was stuck in the middle of all of it.
He supposed there was really no single person to pin all the blame on; from what he had gathered last night, mistakes were made on both sides. But that also meant apologies would have to be made on both sides would have to be made too. He doubted that the Dustin-Mike fight would be a long standing issue; the Party (the original Party, before El and Max) had been best friends for years. It was likely that they would shake on it within a week.
El and Mike, however… that seemed like it could be a problem.
Will couldn't even remember the last time he had seen Mike emotional over anything. He had heard from his Mom that the moment him and El were reunited at his house when he was possessed had been very intense. From the way she talked about it, maybe these two events were comparable. But he still doubted that it could have surpassed this. He had been hysterical when he came back. Not to mention his hand was all bloody, even before he had hit Dustin. Did that mean he hit El? No, there was no way he could have done that.
Mike had said El had even slapped him in the face. He shuddered at the thought. If she had had her powers, he would have been a lot worse off, for sure. But instead she had just hit him. Was that better or worse?
He was willing to bet that it was worse. In all honesty, he just felt bad for both of them. He felt bad for Mike because he had only been trying to do what was best for El; he did have to admit, her not knowing about the truth about Hopper probably would have given her a lot more closure and happiness. And it looked like that goal was being achieved. From what he had seen, El had been doing very well (considering everything). And now everything had just been flipped around and turned upside down for her. In many respects, it was a good idea for Mike and the rest of them to have kept that truth from her.
But on the other hand, had it even been fair to lie to El for all that time. There had to be some line to draw at a certain point. It couldn't possibly be ethical to just lie and lie to someone just to preserve happiness. Then it would just be an illusion, false happiness. And that kind of happiness could be broken in an instant, as they all knew from what had happened. If she had known in the beginning, maybe it would have been better that way.
There was no way to know now. What was done was done. And all Will knew was that he was feeling very confused about the entire situation. His thoughts became hazy as his mind lulled off into a dreamless slumber.
Dustin woke up to a throbbing headache. It felt like a drum was being pounded in his brain, hammering against his skull a thousand times a minute. He groaned and looked around. After finding himself on the couch in Steve's living room, he flopped his head back down onto the pillow and rubbed his face. So this is what it feels like to be hung over.
Nice. This is exactly what he needed right now. He suddenly heard footsteps approaching him from the other side of the room. His head felt too heavy to even turn around, so he waited until the noise had stopped before opening his eyes. "Hey, Dusty-bun," Steve greeted mockingly. "How you feeling?"
"Like shit," Dustin grumbled, still keeping his eyes closed. "It feels like a native tribe is performing a ritual inside my fucking head."
"Ah," Steve sympathized. "The tribes. I know what you mean," he nodded slowly, looking at him.
"I can't go home like this," Dustin cried out in distress. "This is a fucking nightmare."
Steve snorted. "A hangover is the least of your problems right now, Henderson."
"What do you mean?"
Steve rolled his eyes. He was getting flashbacks to Tina's party and Nancy getting drunk. "What do you remember from last night?"
He scrunched his eyes together and tried to recall the events that had transpired. It was hazy. "I remember having some shots," he began, sounding unsure of himself. "I remember talking with everyone, watching some fireworks… I got into some fight with Mike over something… I can't remember what. And that's it."
Steve raised his eyebrows and clicked his tongue. "Fuck," he murmured under his teeth. "This isn't good."
Dustin's heartbeat started to accelerate. What had happened? It had to have been something that involved Mike. "Is it about Mike? It's about Mike, isn't it?"
"It's about a lot of things, Henderson."
"Just cut the crap and tell me what happened last night, Steve!" Dustin's tone of voice sharpened, he was growing impatient. He needed to know what had happened. And if he had done.
"You blabbed about Hopper possibly being alive to El," Steve disclosed. "El found out that Mike lied about it. They got into a huge fight, Mike hates you for blabbing, and everything has just gone to shit."
There we go! As always, send me a review, it's very gratifying to see how many people are enjoying this fic. And if you've been hanging around for a little while, it's always nice to see my number of followers increase! I'll try to get the next chapter out soon, but no promises. Take it easy and take care guys :)
