Christine barely recognized her. It was unbelievable how much older she looked. She'd grown nearly half a foot, but even without the extra inches, it looked like she was standing taller. Christine could still remember the first day they'd met, the way she'd been curled up on the couch, trying to take up as little room as possible. Even once she'd been comfortable, she stood with her shoulders hunched, her head ducked down, her muscles tensed to run at a moment's notice.
Now, the little girl in the pink dress was long gone.
She was dressed in black: black shirt, black overcoat, black scarves tied around her wrists. It matched the rings of black liner smeared around her eyes and the dark hair that had been slicked back with gel. Her jeans were worn, with uneven cuffs, and her beat-up Converse looked like they'd once been white; Christine had a near-identical pair at home.
But the one thing that stood out more than anything else was the nosebleed—one small trail of scarlet dripping from her nostril. That would always be quintessential Eleven.
Mike was the first to recover. He pushed his way forward through the group and the moment El saw him, her face broke into a smile. They each breathed each other's names and ran forward, colliding in a fierce hug that had both of them swaying on their feet. It sounded like they were crying, but it was hard to tell when everything was so blurry.
Christine felt the shotgun slip from her hands. She blinked in surprise, wiping away the tears to see Nancy standing next to her, now holding both guns. She smiled and tilted her head toward the door. Christine didn't need to be told twice.
She leapt forward and pounced on Eleven in a hug, crushing Mike in the process. He squeaked in protest and Christine tried to apologize, but they were both crying too hard for any of it to make much sense. He wriggled his way out of her arms, stepping back so she could have her own hug too, and just that meant so much to her that she started crying harder. She clutched Eleven to her chest and buried her face in her hair, savoring the way Eleven's arms squeezed around her.
"Y-you're okay," Christine gasped through tears. "Oh my God! Thank God, you're okay!"
El nodded into Christine's shirt. "I'm okay."
The words were enough to ground her, and Christine finally pulled back to let Eleven breathe. Even then she couldn't bring herself to move any further away. Her hands ran over the lapels of Eleven's coat, over her cheeks, over her hair.
"God," Christine choked with a watery laugh, "look at your hair!"
El smiled and nodded enthusiastically, sniffing back her own tears and holding tight to Christine's wrist. Christine beamed at her, and suddenly, no words were enough. She couldn't describe the way she felt ready to collapse in relief, and burst with happiness, and cry and scream and laugh all at the same time. But Eleven had never needed words. She smiled at Christine, and her big brown eyes had that same piercing look, the one that knew her inside and out. Eleven already knew.
Mike was nudging his way back in again, and Christine laughed as she wrapped an arm around his shoulders. It was a mark of just how happy he was that he let her.
"We never gave up on you," he told Eleven in a shaky voice. "I—I never gave up. I called you every night. Every night for—"
"Three hundred and fifty-three days," El finished breathlessly. "I heard."
"W-why didn't you tell me you were there?" Mike asked. "That you were okay?"
"Because I wouldn't let her."
Mike turned around in surprise and Christine's smile quickly faded away. She heard the heavy footsteps as they walked up behind her. Mike slipped from her grip, and Eleven squeezed her hand before she let go too, moving onto Hopper.
"The hell is this?" he asked gruffly. "Where you been?"
"Where have you been?" she challenged.
Hopper's jaw clenched and he let out a long breath through his nose. It was the same look he gave Christine whenever she snapped at him, when he was preparing for an argument or a lecture or shouting match like they'd had before; but Hopper didn't start shouting. Instead, he grabbed Eleven by the shoulder and pulled her into a hug. He pressed his face into her hair and Eleven pressed hers into his chest and she closed her eyes and they hugged.
Christine was rooted to the spot. El was alive and Hopper was hugging her. El was alive and Hopper was not surprised, even though he'd spent the last year hounding Christine for information every single week. He'd done meticulous surveillance, coming to the matinees on Saturdays, invading her home on Mondays, and talking to her dad any and every day in between. For a full year, Hopper had been asking Christine if she'd gotten any unexpected visitors, grilling her for details about Eleven, making snide comments when she couldn't fight back. He had never let her know a minute of peace, and now Eleven was alive and Hopper wasn't surprised and he was hugging her the same way Christine had just a minute before.
"You've been hiding her." Mike's shock drained out of him as he glared at Hopper. "You've been hiding her this whole time!"
Mike shoved him as hard as he could and, in a flash, Hopper had grabbed a fistful of his shirt and yanked him forward.
"Hey!" he barked. "Let's talk."
Mike ripped himself out of Hopper's grip and stormed out of the room, and Hopper practically growled as he marched after him. Christine moved to follow, but she only made it two steps before she had to stop short, Hopper's hand in her face.
"Alone."
"What?" Christine's jaw dropped. "No! No, that's bullshit! No fucking way!"
"Christine—"
"You think you can say something like that and just walk away?! No! I want to hear this! Anything you can say to Mike, you can say to the rest of us! We all deserve an explanation!"
"It is not important right—"
"It's important to me!"
Hopper huffed, his eyes squeezed shut tight. Christine was sick of that expression. She was sick of his grumpiness and his frustration and his anger. He had known Eleven was okay. He'd known where she was for a whole fucking year and said nothing. He didn't get to be angry. He didn't get to give the orders anymore. It was her turn.
"I know it is," Hopper said at last. He laid a heavy hand on her shoulder, holding her firmly in place. "Okay? I know that, but that thing still knows where we are. That wasn't all the dogs and more of them could be here any minute, so I need you to keep an eye out. I need you to stay here with her."
Christine was ready to scream. She hated him; she hated how easy it was to manipulate her. Between her instinct to protect Eleven and her hatred of Hopper, they both knew which one would win out.
"Don't worry, Slim," he said with the ghost of a smile, "you'll still have a chance to kick my ass later. Trust me."
Christine snarled. "I don't."
Hopper nodded; he didn't expect anything else. He pushed her back another few steps before he let her go, then turned to follow Mike down the hallway. Christine watched him go, her hands clenched into fists, her jaw beginning to ache from the effort of keeping her mouth closed.
"Hey." Joyce appeared at her side and gently cradled one of Christine's hands between her own. "She's okay. That's the important thing, right? She's here."
"Did you know?" Christine demanded.
"No. No—no, none of us knew, b-but I think that was the point. Those scientists were still looking for her, and if any of us knew—"
"She'd be in danger," Christine finished bitterly. "Well, good thing she's not in danger now."
Joyce gave her a meager smile, her gaze making Christine feel like she was somehow being comforted and scolded at the same time. She crossed her arms over her chest and allowed Joyce to turn her around and push her toward the children once more.
Dustin and Lucas had stepped up to replace Mike and Christine, glomping onto Eleven in their own group hug. All of them were smiling as they pulled away, but Eleven did a double take. She stared at Dustin, then reached out and stuck her fingers in his mouth. He spluttered and leaned back, but Eleven stared at him, unfazed.
"Teeth."
"What?"
"You have teeth."
"Oh!" Dustin's chest puffed with pride. "You like these pearls? Rrrr—"
He purred, making Eleven step back in alarm and Lucas shake his head in disgust. The whole interaction coaxed a smile out of Christine and, for the moment, her anger ebbed away. Joyce had a point: Eleven was here. The party was back together. For now, that was enough.
"Eleven?" Max walked forward with a hesitant smile. "Hey—um, I'm Max. I've heard a lot about you."
She held out her hand for El to shake, but Eleven only stared at it. It was different from her usual stare. It used to be that Eleven would stare when she was confused, when she wasn't sure what you were saying, but didn't know how to ask. That was how she'd looked when Christine stuck her tongue out or before she explained the word "favorite." But now, Eleven didn't seem confused so much as she seemed angry.
Eleven narrowed her eyes and brushed by Max without a word. She headed toward Joyce, but Christine stepped in her way with her arms folded over her chest. She raised her eyebrows and gave Eleven a stern look until she pouted and turned around.
"Hi," Eleven said stiffly. She didn't hold out her hand, but reluctantly she added, "Sorry."
"It's fine."
Max shifted awkwardly. It was clear she was wounded, but she wasn't about to start a fight with the girl who'd just come back from the dead—especially when she had superpowers.
Eleven glanced over her shoulder, looking for Christine's permission to move. The moment Christine stepped out of her way, Eleven ran into Joyce's arms and hugged her tight.
"Hey," Joyce whispered joyfully. "Hey, sweetheart!"
She cradled Eleven's face in her hands, adoring her with a teary smile. Eleven gulped and feebly grabbed Joyce's arm.
"Can I see him?"
Joyce's face fell with a sigh, and she pressed her lips together to stop them from trembling. Eventually, she gathered the strength to nod. She took Eleven by the hand and guided her along, leading her out of the room and down the hallway.
Christine tensed. She knew Eleven was safe with Joyce, but just the sight of her walking away sent a bolt of panic through her chest. The last time she'd left Eleven behind, she'd disappeared before Christine even got a chance to say goodbye. Suddenly, even just being a few rooms apart seemed like too much distance.
"Go on." Jonathan caught her eye and nodded toward the hallway. "You should go too."
"Oh, n-no," Christine stammered. "It's fine. I know Will's—"
"Unconscious. He won't mind, and neither will Mom."
Christine bit her lip. "Are you sure?"
"Definitely," he assured her. "You wanna keep an eye on her. I know the feeling."
Christine was baffled, to say the least, but even more surprised to see Jonathan smiling. He nodded again to the hall and, with his blessing, Christine darted after Joyce and Eleven.
She expected to find them in Will's room at the end of the hall, but the door before that was propped open, which appeared to be Jonathan's; she couldn't imagine that the multiple cassette racks, stereos, and rolls of film belonged to Joyce.
Christine hovered in the doorway and looked around the room. Almost everything was grey and tan—it seemed to be all that Jonathan owned—and outside of the crayon drawings papering the walls, there wasn't a lot of decoration. There was just a carpet tapestry hanging over the bed and, over by the stereo, a poster for The Evil Dead. She frowned appreciatively; apparently Jonathan had adequate taste in music and movies.
Will was laid out on the bed in his hospital gown, looking pale as death. Eleven was kneeling by his head while Joyce perched on the edge of the mattress.
"What else did you see?" Joyce asked softly.
Eleven didn't answer for a moment, still staring at Will's face.
"I saw the picture he drew. Of the monster. And what happened in the tunnels. I know you lost your friend…I'm sorry."
"My—Bob, he—that—that wasn't your fault, sweetie."
"I know. Still sorry."
Even from the doorway, Christine could see Joyce's shoulder beginning to shake. She took that as her invitation to cross the threshold and walk to Joyce's side, where she placed a hand on her shoulder. Joyce reached up to squeeze it in silent thanks, and Eleven turned her eyes to Christine.
"I saw you, too. You talked…about Barb…"
"Yeah," Christine sighed, "I miss her. I feel like I've talked about her a lot this week."
"You said, 'People want a friend.'"
"I…what?"
Eleven furrowed her brow, trying to remember her words. "You said, 'That's how you make girls fall.'"
Christine clapped a hand to her mouth, trying not to laugh too loud—it felt rude when Joyce was on the brink of tears—but Joyce looked up at her with a tiny, bewildered smile.
"Like…pushing them?"
"No, no," Christine assured her. "I was talking to Dustin. About, like…girls."
Joyce's mouth fell into a small "Oh," and she began to giggle too.
"Girls like…Max?" Eleven asked.
"Yes. Girls like Max," said Christine. "Dustin and Lucas think she's really cool. They want to invite her into the party, but for some reason, Mike won't let them. He just doesn't like Max at all."
She shot a knowing look at Eleven, who sheepishly ducked her head. Christine smirked.
"Yeah. So maybe we can try being a little nicer?"
"Ooh, I see." Joyce wiped her eyes and nodded sagely. "The green-eyed monster, huh?"
"No…?" Eleven frowned, looking puzzled. "Demogorgon has no eyes."
"Oh, no, I didn't—it's just an expression, sweetie. It means you're jealous."
Joyce said the last word in a stage whisper and blocked her mouth with her hand, as if she was trying to hide the word from Will. Eleven's frown deepened.
"Jealous?"
"It's um—it's when you want something that someone else has."
"Like Mike," Christine explained. "You're his favorite, and when you thought someone else was his favorite, you got mad. But you don't need to be mad, because you're still his favorite, okay?"
Eleven nodded, ducking her head again to hide a small smile.
A door closed down the hall, forcing all of them to focus again. Joyce reached out for Eleven, her eyes serious as she asked, "You said you saw the monster? The one Will drew?"
"Yes."
"And do—do you know anything about it?"
"Mind Flayer," Eleven said darkly, and Christine nodded.
"We think we know how to stop it. Or—we know what we need to do, but we don't know how."
"I can help?"
"That's what we're hopin', kid."
Hopper was standing in the doorway, Mike by his side. It looked like Mike had been crying—which wasn't a surprise. Christine was sure her eyes would be pink for the rest of the week with the amount of crying she'd done. She'd definitely broken some blood vessels.
Eleven got to her feet and preceded them out of the room. They all followed her into the kitchen, where she came to a halt in front of the table. She picked up the piece of cardboard with Nancy's handwriting, silently tracing the words in crayon: CLOSE GATE.
"Wait"—Joyce stepped up to Eleven's side—"you opened this gate before, right?"
"Yes," she whispered hoarsely.
"Okay. Do you think if—do you think if we got you back there, that—that you could close it?"
Eleven stared down at the words in determination.
"Yes," she said, at the same time Hopper said, "No."
Eleven scowled, turning around to face him. "I can."
"El, let's talk about—"
"I can do it."
"Yeah, I heard you. I also haven't seen you in three days, so can we maybe talk about this before we jump into anything? Can we talk, huh? Thank you."
He shook his head and walked away, grumbling about girls and teens and everything in between. Eleven pouted in displeasure and, when she was sure Hopper's back was turned, stuck her tongue out at him. Christine grinned and tugged Eleven against her side.
"God, I'm so happy you're back."
El smiled up at her. "Me too."
"I—I'm glad you're back too!" piped Mike. He was edging back into the conversation again, obviously feeling neglected. "We all missed you a lot. I missed you a lot."
"I missed you, too," Eleven said shyly.
Mike's smile was bigger than Christine had ever seen it before.
"Come on," he said, grabbing her hand. "I'll find you something to wipe your face."
He dragged her back down the hallway the way they'd come, headed for the bathroom. Christine's heart clenched again, but this time, she let them go. Mike deserved a moment alone with Eleven after everything he'd been through. Besides, it had been a pretty ballsy move for him, especially with Hopper on the other side of the kitchen glaring after them.
Everyone else was beginning to crowd into the kitchen, Lucas and Dustin explaining the gate to Max and Steve while Jonathan rushed to his mother's side and Nancy meandered over to Christine.
"So…?" she asked tentatively. "You okay?"
"Yeah," Christine said, after a long breath. "Better than I've been in a while."
"Good."
Nancy smiled and wrapped an arm around Christine's waist, and Christine pulled her into a side hug so she could rest her head on top of Nancy's. Even though there were nearly a dozen people crammed into the tiny kitchen, all talking over one another about the impending fight and the monsters outside their door, it was the calmest Christine had felt all weekend. She wanted to savor it for as long as she could.
Once Mike and Eleven returned, and Hopper had given them the stink eye for a minute or two, they turned back to the problem at hand.
"So," said Mike, "who goes first?"
"Not you," Hopper groaned, the moment Christine raised her hand; grudgingly, she lowered it.
"Wait, so, the gate," Steve began, "is that what Chrissy jumped through last year?"
"God, no, Steve!" Dustin pressed his face into his hands in exasperation. "Do you see a hole in the ceiling? Chrissy went through a portal. We're talking about the gate."
"Okay," Steve said defensively. "So there's more than one way in?"
"Not anymore," Lucas explained. "The Demogorgon made the portals, and El killed the Demogorgon."
"The gate's where she made first contact," Mike went on. "It's this big hole in the wall at Hawkins Lab."
"Only it's not just a big hole in the wall," said Jonathan. "It's giant. It takes up like a whole room, and those vines are everywhere."
There was a pause as everyone turned to squint at him.
"How do you know that?" asked Joyce.
"Oh. Uh—well—"
"C-can we get back to that later?" Nancy suggested nervously. "The point is that it's bigger."
"I can do it," Eleven repeated.
"El," Christine said gently, "you nearly died last year taking on the Demogorgon. This thing—the Mind Flayer, it's controlling dozens of them. And a bunch of tunnels under town, and—"
"And Will," finished Joyce, sinking into one of the chairs at the table.
"It's more like a chasm at this point," Hopper sighed. "Owens took me down there yesterday. The thing's about a mile wide. All the tunnels, all the vines—that's where they lead. Right under the building and right up into that room."
"So that's where we need to take El?" Lucas asked.
"No, it's—how many times do I have to say this?" Hopper scowled and slowed down his speech, as if that would help them understand. "No one is going because it is too dangerous. It's not like it was before; it's grown—a lot. I mean, that's considering we can get in there. The place is crawling with those dogs."
"Demodogs."
Hopper narrowed his eyes at Dustin. "I'm sorry, what?"
"I said, uh—Demodogs," he repeated, miming the compound with his hands. "Like 'Demogorgon' and 'dogs.' Like, you put them together, it sounds pretty badass—"
"How is this important right now?"
"It's not. I'm sorry."
"I can do it," Eleven said again, staring Hopper down.
He sighed wearily. "You're not hearing me."
"I'm hearing you. I can do it."
"Even if El can, there's still another problem," Mike pointed out. "If the brain dies, the body dies."
"I thought that was the whole point," said Max.
"It is, but—if we're really right about this—I mean, if El closes the gate and kills the Mind Flayer's army—"
"Will's a part of that army," Lucas finished solemnly, and Mike nodded.
"Closing the gate will kill him."
There was a moment of silence as everyone tried to stop themselves from looking at Joyce, who had gone very still. She stared blankly at the message on the table, as if her brain was too busy processing the thought to be bothered sending the chemical signals for her emotions. She stared, and they waited.
"Mom…" Jonathan said hesitantly.
"No."
"I—I know, Mom, but we need to talk—"
"No, no, no—wait!"
Joyce jumped to her feet and darted down the hallway. Jonathan and Hopper exchanged dubious looks before they went after her, followed by Nancy, Mike, and Eleven.
"Is it me," Steve sighed, "or are we all just…walking back and forth instead of coming up with a plan?"
Christine might've snapped at him if Max hadn't beaten her to the punch. She gave Steve a pointed look and shoved him back a few steps. Steve gawked at her and rubbed his chest, affronted.
"Jeez, I'm just saying…"
Christine rolled her eyes and, with Max in tow, headed for Jonathan's room. It seemed even smaller now, with everyone crammed inside. Christine edged her way through the door and into the corner just as Joyce found the words to explain herself.
"It's what Will kept saying to me: 'It likes it cold.'" She crossed the room in a huff, slamming the window closed with finality. "We keep giving it what it wants!"
"If this is a virus," said Nancy, catching on, "and Will's the host, then…"
"Then we need to make the host uninhabitable," Jonathan concluded from his place next to Will's head.
"So if he likes it cold…"
"We need to burn it out of him," Joyce said fiercely.
Christine didn't at all like the sound of that. She could see the logic—a fever was the body's natural response to dangerous bacterium or infections—but there was no telling how much heat it would take. Purging a virus was one thing; purging a sentient parasite living in Will's brain was something else entirely…but what other choice did they have?
"We have to do it somewhere he doesn't know this time," said Mike.
Dustin nodded at once. "Yeah, somewhere far away."
Everyone in the room exchanged uneasy looks. Hawkins was a small town; there wouldn't be much Will couldn't recognize, short of breaking into a stranger's house. That was when Eleven cleared her throat.
"Home."
She looked to Hopper, whose eyes lit up at the same moment.
"Home," he confirmed gravely.
"Home?" Joyce looked frantically between them. "H-home where?"
"My grandad's place. It's a cabin off Denfield, not too far. No one's gonna find you out there."
"Denfield?" Mike was already on the verge of shouting again. "You've been that close this whole time?"
"Hey—focus!" Hopper barked, giving Mike a warning look before he turned back to Joyce. "I'll give you directions, you and Jonathan can take him there."
"What about you?" Jonathan asked.
"I'll get positioned at the lab. We're not gonna have a lot of time, so the moment you know he's okay, we have to hit this thing hard. I've got the radio in the truck, so you can call us, and I'll get El in there."
"I'm coming too," said Mike at once.
"So am I," Christine added, stepping up to Eleven's other side.
"No, no one is coming," Hopper ground out. "It's too dangerous and it's not up—"
"If it's dangerous that's why you need us!"
"I'm not letting her out of my sight!"
"It is not up for discussion!"
Hopper's shout was enough to make Mike back down. Christine, on the other hand, pushed past Eleven to stand in front of him and look him in the eye.
"Christine, I swear to God—"
"I could help."
"Yeah, you could also die!"
"Look, I get it," she said, as placatingly as she could. "I get that it's dangerous and I get that you want to protect us. Thanks. But you told me to stay with her, and you told me to watch out for the dogs. If the lab is as dangerous as you say it is, then you need backup. I'm coming."
For the third time that night—the fourth? She was already losing count—the room fell into silence as Christine and Hopper stared at each other. Christine tried to keep her face as neutral as possible. She didn't want it to seem like she was fighting him; she was, but if he felt it then he'd push back on instinct. This was just presenting a logical argument, drawing conclusions from the appropriate data. Eleven would be focused on the gate, and Hopper would be left to deal with the rest of the Demodogs on his own. The odds were pretty clean cut.
Hopper sighed, and Christine's heart skipped a beat.
"No."
"W-what?" She blinked at him. "Hopper, you can't—"
"I told your dad I'd keep you out of trouble. Eleven goes because she has to. You are going to stay here and protect the rest of the kids. That's it."
He gave her a lingering look—not a glare this time, but just a look. He pursed his lips, nodded to her, and then walked away.
Christine stood rooted to the spot, staring a hole in the wall where he'd been. For a moment, she'd really thought she'd won.
She closed her eyes, listening to the others shuffle around the room. Jonathan was scooping Will up off the bed, Joyce leading the kids outside to harvest heaters from the discarded pile of junk from the shed. The crowd trickled out, eventually leave Christine alone with Eleven.
"I'll be okay," Eleven said softly.
Christine sighed, composing herself before she turned around to face her.
"You're right. You will be. But I'm still coming."
"Chrissy—"
"Look, I know how to get to the lab. Once you and Hopper leave, I can take Steve's car or—or Will's bike and I'll follow you. Like it or not, you need backup, because if anything happens to you, the rest of us—"
"Chrissy." Eleven grabbed her hand and looked up at her, the same sad, resolute look that Hopper had given her. "You stay. With Mike."
"Seriously? El, I know you're worried about Mike, but he'll be fine here."
"So will you."
Christine closed her eyes for a moment, trying her best to hold it together. She held both of Eleven's hands and held her gaze.
"Eleven, you going back to the lab…I don't like that. I—I already lost you once. All of this, it's—it's too much for you and Hopper to handle alone."
"I'm stronger now," Eleven assured her. "I trained."
"Trained?" Christine cracked a grin. "What, like moving rocks with your mind? Is that what Hopper's had you doing for the last year?"
"Not Hopper. My sister."
"Your…what?"
Eleven dropped Christine's hands. Her eyes dropped to the floor, almost guiltily, and she shuffled to sit down on the bed. Christine was almost too shocked to move, but after a few seconds, she followed and sat at Eleven's side. It was a minute or two before she said anything.
"I found Mama."
"Okay," said Christine, watching Eleven out of the corner of her eye. "How did you find her?"
"Newspaper. A box in the floor. Hop lied, so…I went to see Mama."
"Where…? I mean, is she close? Did you talk to her?"
Eleven shrugged. "She's with Aunt Becky, but…sick. In a dream."
Christine's heart plummeted. She remembered seeing a newspaper article, the one Hopper handed her in his office last year: 'Terry Ives Suing.' She remembered the picture of the woman with pretty, dark hair, the torture she'd described at the hands of Hawkins Lab, but that had been a decade ago. Christine could only imagine the lasting damage those tests had done.
Eleven sniffled, and Christine laid a hand on her knee. "Hey—I'm sorry. My…my mama was sick too."
"Gone?" Eleven whispered.
"Yeah, gone," Christine said weakly. "Gone for a long time, now. But I still miss her, every day. And I remember—I remember how hard it was, seeing her like that. I'm sorry you had to see it too."
She mustered a feeble excuse for a smile. Eleven wiped her eyes with her left hand and, with her right, laced her fingers with Christine's.
"Mama showed me," she continued, tapping her temple, "in her dream circle. A little girl, like me. In the rainbow room."
"Like you." Christine looked at Eleven apprehensively. "You mean, like…with powers?"
"Yes. Not the same. She…shows people things. Things that aren't real. Like butterflies, or spiders, or P—"
Eleven stopped speaking abruptly. Christine wanted to ask, but with the way Eleven was suddenly clinging to her hand, she knew it couldn't be good. Christine rubbed her thumb along Eleven's skin, trying to give her an anchor without pushing her to talk. It took another minute, but eventually Eleven's hand relaxed once more.
"Kali helped with my powers," she continued. "I moved a train. A big one."
She smiled at Christine, whose heart sunk lower in her chest; it shouldn't have. She felt awful for even thinking it, but instead of pride or joy or relief, the first feeling that hit her was jealousy. She'd been missing Eleven for a whole year, and all this time, there had been a real sister out there who could've helped her so much more.
Christine buried the feeling and forced a smile.
"Well, I wish I could've seen that. I'm…glad you found her. It sounds like she really understands you."
She squeezed Eleven's hand before pulling away. That was worse, because her hands didn't have anything to do. She ran them through her hair, scratched her neck, neatly rolled up each sleeve of her flannel. She was about ready to start checking her pockets when Eleven timidly nudged her foot.
"Chrissy…Kali is my sister." She held out her left arm, tapping the small tattoo on her wrist. "You are my sister."
Eleven tapped herself on the chest and smiled again. That was all it took to push Christine over the edge.
She turned on the mattress and scooped Eleven into her arms, holding her tight as she began to cry again. It wasn't the same as before, the gasping and the sobbing as she choked out each breath. Christine just held her—her tears rolling down her face and into Eleven's slick, gelled hair, while Eleven's tears slowly soaked through Christine's flannel shirt. Christine couldn't have cared less; she was just glad to have her sister back.
A few minutes later, a knock on the doorframe made her look up.
"Uh, sorry to…interrupt," Steve said with a grimace. He checked up and down the hallway before stepping into the room. "I just wanted to check if you um…needed me."
Christine blinked away her tears, she and Eleven pulling out of the hug to peer at him.
"Needed you for what?" asked Christine.
"You know, uh…" He didn't finish the sentence, but pulled his car keys out of his pocket and gave them a quick jingle. "Hopper says 'no,' you say 'yes,' I…figured you might need a ride."
"Right." Christine grinned and wiped her cheeks. "Well, much as I would like to, Eleven said no too, so…looks like I'm staying."
"Oh, thank God," Steve sighed in relief. "Good, because that would've been real stupid and I really didn't wanna do that. At least one of you is smart."
He winked at Eleven, but his charming smile deteriorated fast. Eleven was staring at him, her head cocked to the side, her eyes wide and probing as she took him in from head to toe. Christine remembered being on the receiving end of that look for the first time. It was no surprise that Steve was shifting uncomfortably.
"Uh—right, sorry, I didn't get a chance to say hi, um…you're Eleven, right? Chrissy talks about you all the time."
Eleven continued to stare at him blankly.
"I'm—I'm Steve Harrington. Uh—Steve." He started to wave, then forced his hand back down. "I'm friends with Chrissy. And Nancy, and uh…I was around last year—just at the end, with the Demogorgon, but—"
"You."
Steve cut himself off. He frowned, looking at Eleven uncertainly. "Um…yeah. Me. Me…Steve?"
Eleven tilted her head in the other direction. "Hot."
Christine nearly choked, and Steve's eyebrows skyrocketed. Eleven didn't smile or laugh, just kept staring at him in thought while Steve gaped like a fish.
"T-thank…you…?"
"Hot boy," Eleven clarified. "From Chrissy's book."
Christine's jaw dropped as she turned to stare at Eleven in horror. She had to stare at Eleven, otherwise she'd have to deal with the wide-eyed look she was sure the Steve was giving her, and if Christine saw that expression, she was sure she'd evaporate on the spot.
Eleven grinned at her, then at Steve.
"Hi, Steve."
She got up off the bed and walked out of the room, heartlessly abandoning Christine to deal with the chaos she'd created. Christine stared at the doorway, ready to start crying again for a whole new slew of reasons.
"Um…" Steve cleared his throat. "From you—"
"Hot," Christine blurted, then furiously shook her heat. "Um—hot—heaters! Blankets and—and coats and things. We should—"
She jumped to her feet and side-stepped him, breaking into a run as soon as she hit the hallway.
"El, get back here now!"
A/N: The chapter everyone's been waiting for! I know you're all mad I made you wait, but I hope this lived up to expectations. Also mad props to avaflowers who is apparently clairvoyant, haha.