"Shit."
"Wait, what? What's shit?" Eddie asks, throwing the van in park so quickly that my entire upper body flings forward, and causing me to emit a startled yelp as a result, "Uh—sorry."
"I'm fine."
"Yeah, but you never—oh."
I hear the comprehension in Eddie's tone and almost immediately wince, my gaze darting to him in time to note that he is now staring at the exact same spot in Nancy Wheeler's garage that I had been mere moments before. He presses his mouth together, clearly trying to keep his amusement at bay. But as soon as his eyes meet mine, Eddie can no longer do so, a snort escaping even as he tries to appear contrite.
"Sorry. I just—look at his face."
"Shut up," I hiss, smacking my hand against Eddie's arm in retaliation, though the act only seems to amuse him even more, "God, I never should've told you—"
"And yet I am insanely glad that you did."
"I can see that."
"I was impressed before. Now, I just—wow," Eddie muses, leaning back in the driver's seat, his gaze flicking to my face for a moment before moving back to Steve instead, "Your dad teach you to punch like that?"
"Maybe."
"And if I keep talking, I'm next in line?"
"Probably."
"Good to know."
I don't want to admit it, but trying to hold back my own laugh in response to Eddie's commentary is more difficult than I would have thought, one hand lifting to cover my mouth even though I know, judging by the smirk he wears, he is catching on to my charade whether I want him to or not.
It feels almost wrong to laugh, with everything that is going on. Will's death. Barb still missing. The tension that still thrusts itself between Nancy and I, despite our best efforts to ignore it. But regardless of that, I am grateful for it, at least for the time-being, my attention slipping back over to where Steve is still talking to Nancy while a small sigh escapes my lips.
"So uh—did I bring you here so you could punch him again?"
"No."
"You sure about that?"
"Positive," I confirm, squaring my shoulders, and leaning down to reach for the bag I brought along with me, only to find Eddie regarding me with no short supply of skepticism as soon as I straighten once again, "What?"
"Nothing."
"Bullshit. What?"
"You're really going up there."
"Yep."
"You're going up there, when King Steve is standing right next to your friend."
"Pretty much."
"You do realize that means you'll probably have to talk to him, right?" Eddie asks, his tone clearly indicative of the fact that he is questioning my sanity, "You're—you're ready for that?"
"You care if I'm not?"
The words come out far harsher than I really want them to, and although I can tell Eddie is making a conscious effort to appear unfazed, I do not miss the small frown he gives before it disappears altogether…
"Sorry. I just—"
"You're good, Hopper."
"But—"
"C'mon, don't go making it weird," Eddie teases, reaching over to nudge my shoulder, my surprised huff provoking a laugh from him in response, "Better get out of my van before your boy sees us."
"He is definitely not my boy."
"Uh huh. Right."
"Seriously," I insist, my hand lingering on the door handle for a moment, as I turn back to favor Eddie with what I hope will be a grateful smile, "Thanks for the ride."
"Rides."
"What?"
"Rides. Plural," Eddie corrects, a mischievous glint to his eyes as he pokes at me with the tip of his pointer finger, "If we're being technical, that is."
"Rides. Got it."
"Gonna need a lift home?"
"No, I—I'm supposed to stay with Nancy tonight," I inform, hopping out of the passenger seat, and clutching my bag close to my chest, as though I am afraid someone will tear it from me by force, "See you at—school?"
"Planning on landing yourself in detention again any time soon?"
"God I hope not. There are other ways for us to talk, you know."
"Are we making the Munson Taxi Service a regular thing, then?" Eddie asks, aware of my almost immediate roll of the eyes, his ready laughter provoking some of my own in response, "I'll take that as a yes."
"Whatever floats your boat, Munson," I quip, a part of me almost dreading shutting the van's door, because it will mean heading up the driveway—facing Steve—will no longer be something I can avoid, "Thanks again."
"Any time, Hopper. Any time."
I finally do manage to close the door, then, and turn to face Nancy's driveway while Eddie peels off with the sound of squealing tires on asphalt. And as the sound effectively rivets Nancy's and Steve's attention on me, I force myself to resist the urge to wince, my lips barely moving as I mutter a curse after Eddie's retreating van.
"You are such an asshole, Eddie Munson."
"Cami—hey," Nancy calls, casting a furtive glance up at Steve, before moving forward to greet me, instead, placing what appears to be a bat against one of her father's work benches before pulling me into an unexpected hug. I do my best to return the embrace, even with the flare of panic that moves through me, as though I truly believe she will be able to feel the gun hidden in my bag where it remains squished between us.
In spite of my fears, Nancy does not, in fact, notice, and I catch myself preparing to breathe out a sigh of relief, until something moves in my peripheral vision, and I realize Steve is standing not all that far from my side.
"Cam."
"Harrington," I nod, not bothering to favor him with even a partial look, despite the fact that I can feel his eyes practically boring into the side of my face.
"What are you doing here?"
"What, I need your permission to talk to Nancy, now?"
"No, that—I—that's not what I'm saying at all," Steve stammers, stepping back a bit in response to the obvious hostility in my tone, "I just—"
"You just what?"
"She came to help me. With Mike and the others," Nancy steps in, clearly aware of my startled look, her head shaking slightly before she turns her attention back to Steve, and leaves me to muddle about in the wake of her obvious lie, "They're just—they're distraught."
"Yeah. Yeah, no, I—I get that," Steve says, one hand lifting to drag through his hair, tousling it even more, and making my stomach twinge even with my conscious effort to avoid it beneath the sudden weight of his gaze, "It's just—since when do you hang out with Munson?"
"Seriously, Steve? Will Byers is dead. We just buried him, and who I'm hanging around with is what you're worried about?"
"It's just a question."
"Yeah. A stupid one," I grit out, all of the anger and frustration I feel over our last encounter bubbling up again, making me wonder when I can expect Steve to launch into another diatribe about someone else I choose to associate with, "It's not important."
"Do you even know him?"
"Why the hell do you think you have the right to care? What are you doing here, huh?"
"Checking on Nance. Trying to—apologize."
"Apologize."
"Yeah. Apologize," Steve repeats, ignoring how Nancy steps just a fraction of an inch closer to my side, her eyes pleading with him to just let this go, in favor of going on, "I can understand if you're unfamiliar with the term."
"Steve!"
"Why the hell would I need to apologize, Steve?"
"Uh, gee, I don't know. Maybe for punching me in the face?"
"Last I checked, you had that coming."
"Okay, guys, seriously. Enough!" Nancy exclaims, exasperation apparent in her tone as she looks from Steve, to me, and then back to Steve again, "This is—it's completely ridiculous! Will is dead! And Barb is—just—Steve, just—just go, okay?"
"But—"
"Go. I—I'll be fine. I'll—I'll call you later. Promise."
Steve seems to waver a bit, his gaze holding Nancy's in such a way that I am forced to turn away, my anger settling into a rock inside my gut, coming to rest beside something I do not want to name. It amazes me that I can even feel such a thing at all. That jealousy would have any place in my repertoire, given everything that has happened between Steve and I in the recent past.
But regardless of that, my mind drifts back to the summer. To easy conversations, and nights spent trying to outrun things we did not want to face.
I can't help but question if Steve is the one who changed, or if it was me, but I barely get the chance, the sound of a faint humming causing me to look back to Nancy, and then to watch as Steve walks back down the driveway to his car, singing absently to himself as though the entire conversation between us had not even happened at all.
"Hey—you—you okay?"
"I—yeah. Yeah, I'm fine," I nod, carefully avoiding a direct look at Nancy, even when I feel her hand reaching for and seizing upon my own. I am thinking back to the chaos I found when I had gone home. My dad's conspicuous absence. The boys, and Eleven, and our plan to find a gate to another world.
It's too much. All of it. But I already know that I am in too far to stop now.
The only way left is to move forward.
"And you're sure you don't want to—to come with Jonathan and I?" Nancy persists, concern apparent in her expression as I gently extricate my hand from hers, and take a step back before I reply.
"Positive. I—I really think someone should stick with the boys."
"Oh. Okay. Just—do you think we could—talk? After Jonathan and I get back?"
"Talk?"
"Yeah. It doesn't—it doesn't have to be about anything in particular. I just—I just want to be with my friend, you know?"
"I do," I agree, surprising myself with the almost immediate nature of the reply, particularly given everything that still remains unsaid between us. I'm still not sure how I feel about her and Steve. Not sure what to think about everything that happened with Barb. But what I do know is that with everything else that is going on, a fight with one of my closest friends added on top of that is not going to help anything.
Nancy seems encouraged by my reply, and is already heading out of the garage to the driveway to go and meet Jonathan by the time I shake myself back to the present, alarm flaring in my chest as I take a few steps to follow after her, and call out her name.
"Nancy—Nance, wait!"
"What is it?" She questions, her brow furrowing as though she expects something far more profound than what it is I actually manage to say, next.
"Just—just be careful, okay? I can't—we can't lose anyone else."
I hate Nancy's understanding smile, because for some reason it causes tears to burn at the corners of my eyes. But I continue to meet her gaze, regardless, shouldering my messenger bag, and biting down on the inside of my cheek to keep from crying outright.
"I'm going to be fine, Cami. Jonathan will be, too. I promise."
We stand there, looking at each other for another moment in silence, as though we are both trying to commit one another's features to memory. As though there is actually a chance we may never see each other again.
A chill of dread races up my spine, but I force myself to ignore it, managing one final wave before Nancy departs, and I turn to head into her home, and down to the basement where I know Mike, Lucas, Dustin and Eleven will be waiting.
I have absolutely no idea what the hell it is they might be planning, but there is absolutely no way I'm about to let them walk into it alone.
…
"Did you bring it?"
"What do you think?"
"Awesome," Dustin grins, ignoring my pointed look that comes about in response to his enthusiasm, and slowing in his trek along the path we are following behind Mike, Lucas and El, a hand reaching out to lift at the hem of the back of my shirt.
"Hey, what the hell!"
"Well, where is it?"
"Not back there!" I hiss, swatting at Dustin's hand, and giving him a slight shove for good measure, "If you must know, it's in my bag."
"Oh, because that's a good place for it."
"Why the hell wouldn't it be?"
"Uh, I don't know, Cami, maybe because whatever took Will will probably get all of us before you manage to rummage for it at the bottom of your bag!"
I narrow my eyes at him because as much as I hate to admit it, he is right, the exasperated huff I give him only provoking a laugh while I begin to rummage through my bag until my fingers curl around the weapon in question.
"Well I'm not going to just carry it around!"
"So put it in the back of your jeans."
"This isn't some action movie, Dustin."
"May as well be."
I frown again, and tuck the gun between the waistband of my jeans, and my back, mulling over why I never thought of this, myself, despite suspecting I already know the answer. Having the gun out—feeling the cold metal against my skin—just makes it real. It makes what we are doing real.
And I don't want it to be real. I don't want to look back up and find Mike, Lucas and Eleven meandering along the path the railroad tracks leave through the woods. I don't want to think of how we are possibly heading right for the very thing that is responsible for taking Will. Barb. The thing that allowed the monster I saw in the woods to enter our world, rather than staying in its own.
I am so lost in trying to maintain my ridiculous bubble of denial that I don't realize Dustin has trailed up to join Mike and the others, leaving Lucas to fall back to walk beside me, instead, the sudden change in voice jolting me back to the present while my heart hammers erratically against my ribs.
"Geez, jumpy much?"
"Maybe I wouldn't be if you didn't sneak up on people, Sinclair."
"Um, I've been walking here for like—five minutes," Lucas quips, favoring me with a skeptical look that says all too clearly he is doubting the reason for my being here, yet again, "How is it you plan to defend the party if you're daydreaming, huh?"
"I'm not daydreaming."
"Sure you're not."
"Jesus, you're just as bad as Dustin," I complain, taking in Lucas' self-congratulatory smirk, and shaking my head in exasperation as a result, "It's called thinking, Sinclair. Maybe you're familiar with the term."
"Oh ha-ha. Very funny."
"I thought so."
We revert back to silence for a few moments, and the train tracks empty out to a clearing, the ground leveling off against the horizon and giving me every reason to believe I know precisely where we are. I've been here before, with Jonathan and Will, my friend's determination to take photographs of the junky hunks of abandoned cars and other various items not making any sense to me, even in memory.
My steps are slowing almost without any conscious thought at all, and I can tell Lucas is about to question it, but before he can, Dustin is slowing to a stop, himself, one hand cramming his baseball cap down over his curls while the other clutches a compass.
"Oh no."
"Oh no? What's 'oh no'?"
"We're headed back home."
"What? Are you sure?"
"Yeah, I'm sure," Dustin says, turning in a half-circle, and pointing toward where the sun still hangs in the sky, in the middle of a few puffy clouds, "Setting sun, right there. We looped right back around."
"You're just realizing this now?"
"Why is this all on me?"
"Because you're the compass genius!" Lucas exclaims, sending a look over to me, as though hoping I will back him up, his exasperation only seeming to grow as soon as he realizes I am, at least for the moment, remaining silent, and consequently giving Dustin the room he needs to interject once again.
"What do yours say?"
"North," Mike declares, Lucas echoing the statement, both of them watching as Dustin shakes his head, consternation evident in his expression as he stares down at his own compass, clearly hoping the answer will leap out at him in seconds, flat.
"Makes no damn sense."
"Maybe the gate moved," Mike suggests, frowning almost immediately as Dustin shakes his head again, his denial obviously shooting the theory down whether he truly wants to or not.
"It's a massive tear in time and space, Mike. Does that sound portable to you?"
"Could it be something here?" I inquire, the feeling that I am very obviously out of my depth only growing as I register Mike's exasperated sigh, and Dustin's almost patronizing tone as he replies.
"No. It'd have to be a super magnet."
"It's not a magnet," Lucas begins, his attention shifting to look at Eleven, who I only just realize is shifting to hover close against my side, as though suddenly feeling as though she might need my protection, "She's been acting weirder than normal. And if she can slam doors with her mind, then she can definitely screw up a compass."
"Why would she do that?"
"Because she's trying to sabotage our mission! Because she's a traitor!"
"Okay, hang on," I interject, aware of how Eleven is shifting to stand just a bit behind me, her tiny hands fisting in my jacket, and resting dangerously close to the gun still hidden in the waistband of my jeans, "Don't we think that's a little—"
"A little what, Cami?"
"Extreme?"
"Cami's right," Mike agrees, surprising me, to say the least, though I hardly have time to consider the implications of that, since he is rounding on Lucas, trying to stop him from craning around me to get another look at Eleven not long after, "Lucas, c'mon, what are you doing?"
"You did it, didn't you? You don't want us to reach the gate! You don't want us to find Will!"
"Lucas, c'mon, seriously! Just leave her alone!"
"Admit it! ADMIT IT!"
"Lucas, back off!" I demand, though the firmness in my tone does nothing to stop him from lurching past me, nudging me to the side with a surprising amount of strength, and reaching for Eleven's wrist to tug her forward, instead.
"Fresh blood. I knew it! I saw her wiping her nose on the tracks. She was using her powers!"
"Bull! That's old blood," Mike explains, moving to stand on Eleven's other side, and looking her in the eye with so much trust that my heart gives a small twist in response, "Right, El?"
To my surprise, Eleven's gaze darts away from Mike. Away from Lucas and his angered huffs. Even away from Dustin. And although I am nowhere near being able to explain why, I find that her attention is now resting securely on me, never once wavering, even when Mike repeats his question once again with more desperation than he had, before.
"Right, El?"
"It's not—it's not—safe," Eleven whispers, her eyes still riveted on my face, though she does manage to flinch when Lucas sets in on her once again.
"See? What did I tell you? She's been playing us from the beginning!"
"That's not true! She helped us find Will!" Mike protests, but even I can see that the words are not going to come anywhere close to slowing Lucas down.
"Find Will? Find Will? Where is he, huh? Because I don't see him! Just think about it, Mike. She could've told us where the Upside Down was right away. But she didn't. She just made us run around out here like headless chickens."
"Alright, calm down," Dustin cuts in, somehow possessing the wherewithal to try to be the voice of reason, when I, apparently, am failing in spades, "Take a step back and just—"
"No! She used us. All of us! She helped just enough so she could get what she wants. Food, and a bed. Like a stray dog."
"Screw you, Lucas!"
"No, screw you, Mike!" Lucas retorts, turning to face Mike completely, now, and apparently giving Eleven all the motivation she needs to duck behind me and fist her hands in my jacket once again, "You're blind. Blind, because you like that a girl's not grossed out by you! But wake up, man! Wake. The hell. Up!"
"Okay, that's enough!" I shout, aware of Eleven's flinch behind me, though her hands do not remove themselves from my jacket, either way, "This? This arguing, and the bullshit about who is to blame? It isn't going to do anything to help us find Will!"
"Why can't you see it, Cami? You stand there, protecting her just like Mike, but she knows. She knows where Will is, and now she's just letting him die in the Upside Down!"
"Shut up!"
Mike is darting forward before I can even blink, his hands fisting in handfuls of Lucas' coat as he tries to drag the other boy to the ground. Lucas, of course, fights back, holding his own until both he and Mike go tumbling to the ground. And I stand there, rooted in place, just watching. Wondering how everything could have dissolved so quickly, before anyone stood a chance to stop it…
It isn't until Dustin darts forward, trying to wrench the other two boys apart, that I lurch into action, myself, rushing forward to help him while Lucas somehow manages to get a stranglehold around Mike's neck.
One second, my hands are seizing Lucas' shoulders, trying to pull him away as gently as I can, and the next he is flying through the air, my mouth gaping open as I watch until his body slams into a nearby car.
"Oh my God—"
The words leave my lips in a breathless exclamation, and then I am running over to Lucas, Mike and Dustin hot on my heels. And he isn't moving. My hand drifts in front of his nose, and I do feel a faint breath, but panic grips my heart, regardless. Dimly, as though they are talking underwater, I can hear Mike and Dustin pleading with Lucas to wake up. I can see them shaking his shoulders, even in spite of how I extend a trembling hand to keep them at bay, knowing moving him may just do more harm than good.
I am preparing to suggest one of them run to the nearest house to call the police—an ambulance—someone that can help, but before I get the chance, Lucas is blinking himself awake, the breath I hadn't even realized I was holding searing my lungs while Dustin moves to fill the silence with a hurried question, jamming his hand directly in front of Lucas' face.
"Lucas—how many fingers am I holding up? How many?"
"Back off, Dustin. Let me get a look at his head," I request, leaning forward and reaching a hand out to turn Lucas' head gently in hopes of determining if he has any open wounds, only to find myself recoiling in an instant as he swats my hand away, and hauls himself shakily to his feet.
"Get off of me!"
"Lucas—"
"Leave me alone!"
He storms off, and it takes me a moment to realize that both Mike and I are already scrambling to race after him, the only thing that stops us being Dustin's hands grabbing ours, and stopping us in his tracks.
"Let him go."
"Seriously, Dustin?" I scoff, sparing an incredulous look for the curly-haired kid, before turning back to watch after Lucas' retreating frame, "He could get hurt. Pass out in the middle of the woods. Or what got Will could—"
"It's broad daylight, Cami," Dustin assures, squeezing my hand, that almost patronizing look back on his face, though I resist the urge to huff, instead choosing to chew on the inside of my cheek as he goes on, "The thing that got Will only seems to come out at night, right?"
"Right."
"And if he's strong enough to push you away, he can probably make it home before he collapses, right?"
"Okay, you're either calling me strong, or—really fat," I murmur, ignoring Mike's frustrated groan, and keeping my eyes fixed upon Dustin as he gives me a small smile, before releasing my hand, and dropping his own back to his side.
"He's gonna be fine. Let's just take Eleven home, okay?"
Once again, I am forced to wonder how a kid is handling things far better than I am, but I waste no time in turning back to where I left Eleven, regardless. And for a moment, reality doesn't sink in. Exhaustion, and stress, and worry over Lucas keep me rooted to the spot, despite the truth that is right in front of my eyes.
As soon as I realize the glaring absence of a diminutive girl clad in a pink dress, though, dread starts to coil its way through my veins, my eyes drifting over the nearby wreckage like I think she will just pop up elsewhere, when I somehow already know that such a thing is not going to happen at all.
Eleven is gone. Two kids, gone rogue on my watch.
And whatever hope I had at the start of the day—hope that I could keep them all safe is now dead and gone.
…
Hello there, dear ones! And welcome to another chapter in Cami's tale! I am so, so very excited to keep this story going, because the obsession with Stranger Things doesn't seem to be dying down (still, lol!) I hope you are all enjoying this journey every bit as much as I am! As always, I cannot wait to hear what you think!
Special thanks go out to everyone who has taken the time to read, follow, favorite and review this story so far! And thank you, Crystal-Wolf-Guardain-967, for the review on the last chapter, as well! I would be nowhere without everyone's support, and feedback, and I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as the last!
Until next time, darlings…
MOMM
