"I grew accustomed to seeing you smile. I craved to see it. I could not take that away from you. I only wish… I could have provided you with such happiness."
The Legend of Wonder Woman, Issue 5
By the time they return to the campground it is already late. Outside, small clouds of flying insects gather under the flickering fluorescent lights as if to shelter from the darkness that threatens to envelop them. In the Byers' trailer, Lucas and Dustin stand at the stove in the kitchenette, waiting for the water in the coffeemaker to boil. They watch Will and Mike as they set up for their next campaign and chat away as if they are in their own little world. Erica sits cross-legged on the sofa, flipping through a binder filled with notes written in her illegible scrawl. From time to time she turns her head to poke her tongue out at Lucas and he scowls back.
"I'm kind of worried about – just, you know, showing up," Dustin says. "Mike said their family was kind of – crazy."
"It'll be fine," Lucas says, doing his best to sound reassuring. He is almost certain he has failed. "What's the worst that could happen?"
"Oh, I don't know, Lucas. Like, her dad could lock her in her room forever and not let her out of the house because she's dating some godless heathen? He's already taken her computer, you know."
Definitely failed, Lucas thinks. He has heard Dustin play out this scenario a thousand times over, each time managing to come up with a new convoluted plan to rescue her from her bedroom-turned-prison, only to inevitably discover some snag that crushes his spirits and sends him right back to the drawing board. "You're overthinking it," he says.
"All I'm saying is, if we have to break in to her house to rescue her, it's gonna have to be a team effort. Someone's going to have to be ready to knock out her dad if he wakes up, and I need to be sure you're all on board before –"
"Slow down. We're knocking out anyone. You're just going to walk up to the front door and knock," Lucas says, nodding at Dustin in the hope that he will nod back or do anything to show that he is on the same page. "And then when someone answers the door, you're going to smile and say good morning and ask if Suzie is around." He is not surprised when Dustin only stares back at him and yet he feels his heart sink all the same.
"Okay, but I still think we should have a Plan B, you know, just in case," Dustin says.
"Normal people don't make plans that involve knocking their girlfriend's parents out before they've even met them."
"Dude, we're driving across the country because our home has been turned into a crater by some telekinetic demon guy," Dustin says. "Nothing about this is normal."
Lucas feels his jaw hanging open and what he can only guess is a stupefied expression form on his face. He looks away, his eyes darting around the room and looking for some temporary distraction to settle on – the blinds rattling in the draft coming through the crack left open in the window, the soft hum of the refrigerator, anything. It is as if the air has been sucked out from his lungs and he cannot find words to even whisper, let alone say. Not because Dustin is wrong – none of this is normal – but because the very admission seems to pull the rug out from the reality he has constructed for himself.
"I'm sorry," Dustin says.
"For what?" Lucas says.
"I just – I know it's hard, with Max and all. And me talking your ear about Suzie probably doesn't help."
"It's all good. I'm happy you get to see her again."
"Thanks."
Lucas hears the sputtering of the coffeemaker begin to peter out and when he hears the sound die down almost completely he takes it off the heat and sets it aside.
"I never asked you how your chat with Max went," Dustin says.
"What?"
"You know. You were going to try to talk to her?"
"Oh, yeah. That." It had only happened a few days ago and yet it feels to Lucas as if a lifetime has passed since their conversation. The memories dribble slowly back into his consciousness. He remembers seeing her, sitting at the picnic table, her head buried in a book. Watching her, the same way he had when they had figured out that she was the mystery owner of the new Dig Dug record at the arcade. Waiting for some barely perceptible shift in her mood, indicated perhaps by a slight relaxation in the arching of her eyebrows or a quivering of her lips, anything that might suggest that she would not tell him to leave her alone the moment she laid eyes on him. "She told me to get lost, basically."
"Still that bad, huh?"
"Yeah. You think she'll ever forgive me?"
He sees Dustin frown in response and it is almost as if he can hear the gears turning in his head.
"Just give her time," Dustin says eventually. "She's got a lot going on, you know."
"I guess."
"Are you gonna try and get back together with her?"
"What?" Lucas says. In truth, he had heard Dustin perfectly clearly but the question had taken him surprise, so much so that he did not believe his own ears. Now he is forced to try to come up with a sensible answer when he is not convinced there is one.
"Max. Are you going to try to get back with her?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know?"
"I don't know. I just – I want her to be happy, you know?" Lucas says. Because all he wants is to take everything back, to have been able to will himself to sit by her bedside in the hospital all those months while she lay there, eyes shut as if already dead, the beeping of the heart monitor the only sign that she was still there. It would have been easy had he known then what he knows now, that one day those eyelids would open again to reveal the piercing eyes behind them, that she would be okay. But he hadn't been able to bear the thought that she might not make it, that he might not be able to tell her how he really felt, and so in the end it had been easier to pretend that none of it was truly real. To pretend that you were the sort of asshole capable of leaving someone to die alone in a hospital bed, he thinks.
"You don't think she'd be happy with you?"
"I don't know. I just think – sometimes it feels like there's – I don't know. What if there's someone else out there better for her? Someone else that – I don't know. It's stupid. Forget about it."
He looks over at Dustin, his heart thudding in his chest. For a moment he thinks he has said too much. Divulged a secret that was not his to share. A secret that he does not even know is true and yet he is sure of all the same. Because had seen in her face the reflection of himself on that night at the Snow Ball when he had looked into Max's eyes and seen the shimmering lights of the gymnasium reflected in them like the fireflies that would illuminate the fields outside Hawkins in the summer or when they had sat in the back seat of Steve's car not knowing if the world was going to end but happy just to be next to each other for a fleeting moment.
"Where is she, anyway?"
"Dunno," Lucas says. He feels a squeezing in his chest as if he will run out of breath at any moment. "Probably hanging out with El."
They hear Will announce that they are ready to begin and so they shuffle over to the table, mugs of coffee in their hands, to take their seats. But you know exactly where they are, Lucas thinks. He had watched them, walking arm in arm, heading back to Hopper's trailer for the night. From time to time Max would lose her balance or trip on a tuft of long grass hidden in the shadows and Eleven would have to catch her with her shoulder. They had disappeared inside and he had been consigned to watching their silhouettes cast the window blinds like shadow puppets before one of them eventually turned off the light and the trailer became still. And all the time, there had been those words that he had left unsaid echoing in his head, ringing in his ears like the reverberations of a church bell. El, he had wanted to say. She looks at you – the way I used to.
Hopper opens his eyes. He sees Eleven and Max. They are sitting at the table in the kitchenette. He can tell by the smell that the bread in the toaster has begun to burn. He thinks about calling out to them but then he hears someone scramble to their feet and the twang of the rack as it pops up and so he does not bother. It is already light outside and the sunlight streaming through the window shines in his eyes and so he closes them again.
He feels Joyce stir in her sleep next to him. It is a strange feeling. Waking up next to someone. Something he had once thought he might never feel again. There had been times back in Hawkins, of course. But they had been out of necessity. Because they had been freezing almost to death halfway across the world. Because they needed to make sure the kids were safe. Or because they had simply collapsed in a heap where they stood out of exhaustion. Even now. Joyce had only joined him because Will and the other kids had been up all night. Playing that board game. What do they call it again? Dungeons and Monsters? Whatever happened to Monopoly? But still, there is something voluntary about it, some choice that had to be made. She could have put up with the noise, after all. There is something in being able to lie there together without the fate of the world hanging over them. To be able to think about the future that lies ahead of them without having to wonder if there will be a future at all.
It is a lazy morning. Another oddity, another beat out of time in the otherwise unceasing rhythm of the carefully planned days that strung together had added up to the last five years of his life. They only have half a day's worth of driving to do. And so he lets the hours and minutes pass by, like drops of water trickling from a leaky faucet. For once they have enough time. Time enough to listen to the buzzing of the light and the girls using butter knives to scrape the burnt pieces off their toast.
They are speaking in hushed tones. He tries unsuccessfully to make out what they are saying. Eleven stifles a laugh before she takes another bite out of her breakfast. Whether it is out of fear of waking him or otherwise he does not know. He never seems to know these days. Maybe he never did. But now he has the time to think about it, during the long days filled with driving with only the sound of the radio to keep him company. A man should not have time, he thinks. It leaves his mind prone to wandering.
He feels Joyce stir again and hears her stretch her arms and let out a small sigh and he opens his eyes to turn and look at her. He can see her eyelids flitter and so he knows she is awake. Her hair tumbling down the sides of her head in flowing umber locks. The angles of her cheeks lit by the morning sun.
"Hey," Joyce says.
"Hey, sleepyhead."
"What time is it?"
"Little past eight."
"Jesus. That late?"
"Yeah."
"How are the girls?"
"Nearly set the trailer on fire. But apart from that they seem okay."
"Seem okay?"
"You know. It's hard to tell."
"Yeah." She pauses. "What are they up to?"
Hopper sits up. He feels his back ache. He has slept on it the wrong way again. Then again he is not sure he is young enough for there to be a right way anymore. He looks over and sees Eleven and Max, still huddled together at the table in their pajamas.
"Just sitting there. Eating toast."
Joyce had said that maybe he should try to talk to her. Eleven, she meant. To try and give her some advice on how to deal with it all. But what do you say to someone who has had to save the world? Where do you even begin? And so he is content to just keep an eye on her. To be nearby in case she needs anything. To play the part of the buffoon in the car and to try and keep her spirits high even if it means resorting to singing so bad it makes his own ears hurt.
"Can we help you?" he hears Max say.
He is still staring at them, he realizes. Thinking has led him astray again. He sees Max peering back at him. Again he feels the same strange sense of intimidation that pervades his hazy memories of shambling home from Enzo's and falling asleep on the recliner.
"All good," he stutters. "Just – wanted to see what you were up to."
"Well, do you mind not staring?" Max says. "It's kind of creepy."
"Yeah," Eleven says. "Jeez."
He had always thought Max might be a bad influence. He might honestly have preferred if Mike were behind that closed door, he thinks. But still there is something reassuring about hearing Eleven sigh and roll her eyes at him and turn back to Max with a grin on her face when she thinks he isn't looking. Back in the day, he had tried to stamp all that out only to be compared to – him. She had said those words out of anger but there was some truth to it all the same and so now when she shuts the trailer door behind him with her powers he carries on smoking his cigarette like nothing has happened. Over time he has come to appreciate Max being around. To give Eleven the confidence to rebel in her own quiet and controlled way.
"Sorry," he says. "Just wanted to make sure you didn't set anything on fire."
"So dramatic," Max says.
He hears Eleven laugh. It is strange, he thinks. They always seemed so different. To him, at least. He could never figure out how they had become so close in the first place. But life has a funny way of drawing people together, he supposes. He never did understand it. Better to ask a man what makes a stone a stone than to ask him what makes a friend a friend, he thinks. Maybe better not to ask at all. To leave some things unexplained or unexplainable. His life had been simpler back when he had been able to chalk things up to mystery, after all. When none of the strange things that happened in Hawkins had an explanation and he had been able to shrug his shoulders and suppose that it was all just an odd series of coincidences. And yet, he thinks. He sees Eleven look over at him and for a moment their gazes meet and she gives him a small smile before she returns to prodding at the half-eaten piece of toast on her place with her knife and talking to Max. And yet he would not go back to those simple days for all the money or fame or glory in the world.
Nancy sits in the doorway of the Byers' caravan. The door is open and she can hear the sound of Mike snoring in the background. She watches the parents gathered around in a small circle outside Hopper's trailer. Like soldiers getting their marching orders, she thinks. Only they seem to mill casually about, chatting to each other and taking hesitant sips from steaming mugs of coffee, and she cannot hear Hopper's booming voice like she usually can. Not much to organize anyway, she supposes.
Inside the trailer, the remnants of last night's campaign are spread all over the kitchen table and the floor. Nancy and Jonathan had been supposed to watch over them but they had given up when the clock ticked past one in the morning and so they had just gone to bed and told themselves that the kids were old enough to look after themselves. And yet Nancy still felt some faint sense of relief when she had awoken in the morning to find all of them still there, having fallen asleep more or less where they had been sitting.
She feels someone sit down next to her and instinctively she flinches and draws her body away, turning away from whoever or whatever it is that has imposed its presence on her without warning, turning to look at the figure up and down. It is only when she sees that it is wearing an old band t-shirt that has begun to fade and that it has shaggy brown hair that hangs down over its forehead that she begins to settle back into the spot where she had been sitting.
"Hey," Jonathan says.
"Hey," Nancy says. "You're up."
"Yeah. Didn't think it'd be worth trying to go back to sleep. Mike sure can snore."
"Tell me about it."
Nancy watches the others sitting around a picnic table. Lucas and Erica are reliving last night's campaign and accusing each other of making boneheaded decisions and for a moment it seems as if they might come to blows before Will and Dustin have to intervene. Max and Eleven are perched together at the table's edge, barely paying attention to the argument being played out in front of them and exchanging a wide-eyed glance with each other once they realize what is happening.
"So I was thinking," Jonathan says after a long pause. "Maybe we could – I don't know. Re-apply for college. For real this time."
"I don't know. Emerson's a long way from California," Nancy says with a quickness that betrays the amount of time and energy that she has put into thinking about that very notion.
"I mean, it doesn't have to be Emerson, does it? There's a journalism school at the University of Oregon, and that's like, what, half a day's drive over the state border –"
"Jonathan –"
"– a day, tops –"
"I don't know, Jonathan."
"What do you mean?"
Nancy feels Jonathan rest a hand on her shoulder and for a moment she is not sure whether she wants to lean into it or fend it away. Eventually she decides to just let it be, feeling the warmth of his palm through her shirt.
"Sorry," he says. "I didn't mean to upset you – I just – I thought you'd always dreamt of being a journalist, and –"
"Yeah. I guess I had, once," Nancy says.
"Once?"
"I don't know. I don't even know what I want. It just all feels so stupid, you know? After everything we've been through."
She looks away and over at Eleven absentmindedly dangling her legs over the edge of her seat and Max examining the scar left on one of her elbows with a frown on her face. From a distance they seem almost like any other pair of teenage girls, travelling across the country on a family road trip.
"Nance," Jonathan says. "I know it's hard, but – we can't spend the rest of our lives letting all of that define –"
"You should've seen her," Nancy says. She does not hear what Jonathan has just said and her mind feels like it has begun to drift away, out of her control. "That day. At the supermarket. Looking at the shelf full of Eggos."
"What?"
"Eleven. When we went to that supermarket. She was just like – it was like, when you're a kid and you see a shooting star and there is something inside you that – I don't know. That you just can't describe. She just seemed so happy, staring at the freezer full of Eggos as if it were the best thing in the world. She didn't know there were so many flavors. I don't know, Jonathan. It's just – all she's ever wanted to be is normal. It makes me feel so stupid – all of these big dreams I've had, of being a journalist, changing the country – I don't know if I've ever wanted anything that could make me feel like El does about frozen waffles, for God's sake."
"Nance."
"Yeah?"
She looks up at Jonathan. The features of his face are blurred by tears but she can still make out the thin eyebrows that seem fixed in a permanent look of concern and the shadow of a beard on his chin.
"I think I get it," she hears Jonathan say.
"Get what?"
"I mean – all these years. We've just been living without really thinking. Just doing what we need to do to survive. Not letting ourselves think about the future because – it wasn't going to help us defeat Vecna."
Nancy does not say a word. It has been so long since she has let herself cry. Not since that day when she had been taken by Vecna and she had thought she was about to die. But now it is as if a levee has broken and she can only stand there and watch as the river of her own emotion crests above the wall and crashes down over her. She buries her face in his shoulder as if to hide from the rest of the world and feels him wrap an arm around her. The tears stream down her cheeks in tiny rivulets and she feels the fabric of Jonathan's shirt absorb them as she clings to him, sobbing into his arm.
"You just – we all just have to let ourselves dream for once, Nance. All of us," Jonathan says.
She stays in his arms and time seems to stop as she pulls herself back together, sensing her sobs and gasps for air become more intermittent and the channels of tears on her face begin to dry up. When she is finally ready she lifts her head and feels the world around her whir back into motion. She wordlessly pulls herself to her feet and they shuffle back to the Byers' trailer. They keep their heads low to keep the others from seeing the redness that has developed around their eyes and as they enter they step over a discarded Coke can on the floor.
Maybe he's right, she thinks. Maybe after all this time – maybe you've forgotten yourself. But in the end there is no time for her to mull the thought over. There is only enough time for her to disappear into the bathroom and wash her face and emerge just before Mike awakens from his slumber so that she can pretend that nothing is the matter and to tell him he needs to clean up after himself. Just enough time for her to prepare to go through the motions of another day.