Please Wake Up

Hawkins, IN

June 12, 1986

Hopper's blood froze in his veins as Mike's panicked scream rang in his ears. He dropped the bacon and took off in a sprint down the hall. Instinctively, his right hand snapped the top strap off his holster as he ran; whatever had set Mike off could only be bad. Even still, nothing could prepare him for what he saw when he reached her doorway. She lay sprawled back on the bed, her blindfold hanging loose around her neck. Dried trails of blood ran from her nose down to where they had puddled on the bed below her neck. Mike held one of her hands in his own, as he gently shook her shoulder with the other.

Tears had already begun to fall as he pleaded with her to wake. "El!? Can you hear me? El? Please, you've gotta wake up!"

Rushing to her side, Hopper began shaking her in earnest and found that he too could not get her to wake. He leaned close and was relieved to find that she was still breathing. He had always been afraid this day would come. Even though she was no longer a secret and had been out of hiding for close to a year, he was still terrified at the prospect of taking her to the hospital. He told himself it was a fear of their secrets unraveling and her past being discovered. Deep down, he was afraid of losing her, just as he lost Sara when he brought her to another hospital years before. Still there was nothing to be done.

Turning to Mike, he gave a few quick instructions, "Get my keys off the kitchen counter, they're by the phone. Go unlock the Blazer and get the back door open. Get in the backseat and leave the keys on the driver's seat."

Hopper's commanding voice stirred Mike into immediate action and he took off to do as he was told. Hopper gently pulled the blindfold off over her head and tossed it aside, knowing there would be enough questions at the hospital without that complication. He scooped her into his arms and carried her out to the truck, pulling the front door shut behind him as he went out. Mike was in the back seat waiting as he ran up and passed her limp form in.

"Get a belt around her. And you too," he said as he slammed the door shut and ran around to the driver's side.

Mike secured one of the lap belts as best he could around her middle before strapping himself in. Her head in his lap, he put a protective arm around her as Hopper whipped the Blazer around in a spray of gravel and took off toward the county hospital. It was a drive that should normally take at least 20 minutes, but Hopper managed the trip in just over 10 thanks to the Blazer's lights and siren as well as a heavy foot on the gas. The whole drive, Mike kept a firm grip around Eleven, holding her in place as they swung hard around corners. With his free hand, he gently stroked her hair and whispered reassurances to her, fighting to keep the paralyzing fear out of his voice; he had to be strong for her.

"Just hold on. We're almost there. The doctors will know what to do," he whispered close to her ear, a single tear splashing off her cheek.

Hopper threw the Blazer into park outside the entrance to the emergency room and dashed around to the back seat. As Hopper circled the truck, Mike unstrapped the belt from around her. Scoping her in his arms, Hopper burst through the door, yelling for help as he went. Mike followed close behind, not wanting to let her out of his sight. Immediately, someone wheeled a gurney out and Hopper laid her out on the bed. They were quickly whisked through a pair of swinging doors and back toward a triage room, a nurse and doctor assessing her condition and hurling a thousand questions at Hopper as they went. How long has she been unconscious? Did she hit her head? Has she been drinking or taken any drugs? Does she have any allergies?

Mike made a move to follow, but felt a strong pair of hands on his shoulders, holding him back.

"You'll have to wait out here," said another nurse, keeping her grip firm until she was sure Mike wouldn't make a run for the doors.

With an agonizing hole tearing through his heart, Mike watched her being wheeled down the hall and around the corner as the doors finished swinging shut. His only consolation was the knowledge the Hopper was still with her, and she was in the capable hands of the doctors now. Looking around in a daze, he caught the gaze of a few others in the waiting room, already turning their attention back to magazines and admission forms, the excitement dying down once more. The flashing lights of the Blazer caught his eye, and he realized the truck was blocking most of the entrance where Hopper had left it. Not knowing what else to do, Mike walked out and slammed the back door shut. Walking around to the drivers door, he slide in behind the wheel. Nancy had let him try driving in a parking lot a couple times, so he knew enough of what he needed to do. After looking around and figuring out the right switch to turn off the flashing lights, he started up the engine and drove through the lot until he found a proper parking space.

Locking the Blazer and pocketing the keys, he walked back into the waiting room and quickly looked around for any sign that Hopper had come back out. Not finding him, Mike settled into a chair to wait. He picked a seat directly in line with the doors that separated waiting family from the treatment rooms, so he could watch in hopeful anticipation whenever someone went through the doors. As the clock dragged ceaselessly on, Mike found himself lost in silent prayer.

"Please God, if you're out there, please bring her back to me. I can't lose her again."

Eventually, an exhausted Hopper pushed his way through the doors and out into the waiting room. Mike was immediately on his feet and moving toward the man, who looked drained and on the verge of collapse.

"Is she okay?" Mike asked hopefully, terrified of the answer that might come. Hopper stumbled forward and collapsed into a chair. Mike sat down next to him, never taking his eyes off Hopper's face, waiting for a response and trying to gauge his expression.

"They don't know yet," he finally responded, doing his level best to hold it together. "She's still out. They're running a bunch of tests to try and figure out what happened. She stopped breathing at one point, but was able to start again on her own. They're putting her on a ventilator just to be safe, so they had to kick me out of the room."

At that, Hopper dropped his face into his hands and began to sob. Sara's funeral had been the last time he had allowed people to see him shed tears like this, but the prospect of losing his little girl again was too much and all the fear he had held bottled up came pouring out. Not knowing what else do to, Mike put an arm around Hopper's shoulders as his own tears returned. Mike knew Hopper would never, under normal circumstances, let his guard down like this; not around him. Eventually, tears spent, Mike pulled his arm back and they lapsed into a contemplative silence. At one point, Hopper patted at his pockets and looked toward the entrance in a panic.

Sensing his apprehension, Mike reached into his pocket and fished out the keys, handing them over. "I parked it in a regular spot out in the lot."

Hopper looked at the keys in surprise, before shoving them in his own pocket. "Thanks."

They lapsed again into silence, lost in their own thoughts, worried for the girl they loved. Eventually, around midnight, the doctor came to retrieve them. They both stood in eager anticipation as he walked over to update them on her condition. As he led them across the lobby and over to an elevator, he gave them a rundown on everything they had learned so far.

"She's stable right now and breathing on her own, though she did stop again for a short time about an hour ago. We're leaving the ventilator in as a precaution in case she stops again. She has strong brain activity, enough in fact that it's more like she is deep in a dream rather than fully comatose. What this means is, I don't think we are looking at any kind of brain damage."

"So what happened then? If everything looks normal, why can't she wake up," Hopper asked, desperate for an explanation.

"Well, that's the thing. There's no sign of injury, no sign of drugs or alcohol in her system, all the scans we've run have come back spotless. We have a specialist who will be here tomorrow morning and we have slated her for a more advanced scan, so hopefully we will have some better answers then. For now, she's resting, she's not displaying any signs of pain, she is just simply," he hesitated, searching for the right word, "switched off."

Mike stood in silence, trying to absorb everything the doctor was saying. He had a strong suspicion that whatever had happened to Eleven, it was something beyond the hospital's ability to fix. He hoped with every ounce of strength he had left that she could find a way to bring herself out of it.

As the trio stepped off the elevator, the doctor ushered them toward the waiting area near her room. Turning to address Hopper, he went on. "We have her settled in a room. You can go in and see her. Because it's the middle of the night, immediate family only," he said, eyeing Mike.

"He's family," Hopper said without missing a beat, daring the doctor to question him.

"Alright, you can both head in then," he said quickly, as he turned to head back down the hall to the elevators and return to the safety of the emergency room.

The pair walked slowly into the room, preparing themselves for the sight waiting for them. As she came into view beyond the half-drawn curtain, Hopper pulled up short, almost stumbling backward into Mike. He had known what he would see; he had been preparing himself for hours. She was there, laid out neatly on the bed, blankets tucked delicately around her. Her head lay gently on a pillow, hair softly framing her face. She looked like she could be lost in a peaceful afternoon nap. His eyes saw none of that, drawn instead to the plastic tube of the ventilator running carefully out of the corner of her mouth.

Instantly he was drawn backward through time to a nearly identical scene. Another hospital, another room, another little girl, another machine doing her breathing as she barely clung to life. He had sat there helpless, unable to save her. He had spent months praying, night after night, for God to take him instead; to spare her small, innocent life. Day after day he had sat by her side, trying to put on a brave face for his little girl, willing every ounce of strength he had into her. Day after day, he watched the cancer slowly tear the life away from her until the day she had no fight left. He built a wall around his heart that day, fleeing from any attachment that could destroy his soul like that again.

Yet, here he stood, staring at his little girl. A new hospital, a new room, a new girl, a new malady threatening to tear him apart once more. He hadn't meant to love her, to let anyone that deep into his heart again. He had only meant to find her peace and safety. Instead, somewhere in those months, secluded away in the cabin, in a torrent of arguments and Eggos, he had torn down the wall and let her in. She was his whole world, in every possible, wonderful way, and he was paralyzed at the prospect that he could lose her.

Mike stepped to the side to take in the sight that had frozen Hopper in front of him. Her face had been gently cleaned of the blood and her hair was neatly framing her face. She looked so peaceful, so beautiful lying there, almost angelic. He knew, under that peaceful facade, the girl he loved more than anything in the world, the girl he had vowed to do anything to protect, was in terrible danger. It had only taken a single glance at the blindfold and the trail of blood to know she had gone searching in the In-Between and something had gone horribly wrong. Now she was stuck somewhere and Mike cursed the fact that once again he was powerless to help her.

Turning to look at Hopper, Mike realized the man was still frozen, staring in panic at the breathing tube snaking out of the corner of her mouth. Eleven had told him about Hopper's daughter, Sara, though not a lot; she had developed a better understanding about certain things being private and how keeping quiet doesn't make them a lie.

Hesitantly, unsure how he would react, but needing to do something to reassure him, Mike laid a hand on his shoulder, "She's going to be okay, Hopper. This isn't like with Sara." As soon as the words slipped out, Mike was certain he had crossed a line.

Furious, Hopper spun around to face him. "Who the hell is this punk to bring her up?" he thought. "What the hell does he know about anything?"

Looking at the genuine concern on Mike's face, he softened again and took a deep breath before speaking, "I know kid." Needing a minute to come to grips with everything, Hopper continued, softer still, "Look, I'm running on empty here. Could you go check in the waiting room and see if there is still any coffee left? I could really use a cup."

"Sure," Mike said, relieved he hadn't just taken a fist to the chin, or worse, been banned from the room. "I'll go see what I can find." At that, he turned and left the room, realizing Hopper needed some time to convince himself that his daughter wasn't dying before his eyes.

Grabbing the back of one of the visitor chairs, Hopper drug the seat over next to her bed and fell into it. Taking one of her hands in his own, he whispered a plea, fighting back the tears that begged to free themselves once more.

"Wherever you are, lost in that head of yours, you need to come back. Please come back. I can't lose you again." He raised her hand to his lips, giving her fingers a gentle kiss. "I love you, Jane. Please don't leave me."

It took Mike ten minutes to finally locate a coffee pot that wasn't empty or so boiled down that the remains were nothing but a thick black paste. Eventually, on another floor, he found a fresh pot in another waiting room where a nervous family sat in silence, waiting while their loved one was in emergency surgery. Filling two cups as high as he dared, he turned and made his way back up to Eleven's room. He wasn't a huge fan of coffee, but he also wasn't about to let exhaustion drag him away from her side tonight. Arriving back at the room, he found Hopper sitting in silence, gently holding her hand. He passed one cup over to him, before pulling another chair up along the other side of her bed. He reached out and took hold of her other hand.

Taking a sip, Hopper raised the cup toward Mike, saying "Thanks kid. I needed that."

Mike took both meanings behind his words and nodded. Neither spoke another word that night, each lost in their own personal hell of doubt and worry. Together they sat in the dim light, protectively flanking the girl who meant more to them than life itself. Holding gently to her hands they remained there, refusing to leave her side for even a moment until the first pink rays of dawn poured in through her window and dazzled golden off her hair.