She can't think. She can't stand, her thighs protesting while she drags her body to the rear of the bus. A dark splotch on her wrist peeks over her sleeve when her arms extend and pull herself further. The number glares up at her. She ignores it, staring ahead at her goal.
Food.
It waits for her patiently, situated in boxes under the rearmost seats. They were shoved out of the way in preparation for the recent battle. A plethora of varied foodstuffs was gifted to her, each donation a seemingly random selection of non-perishables. Cans of beans, fruits, and even meat. Filly drags it out and blindly grabs for sustenance.
A can of peaches is the first thing she opens, knowing it only by the taste on her tongue. She forgoes checking labels and using silverware, slurping down the saccharine syrup along with the chunks. Unscrewing the top of a jar of sausages, she dumps them into her mouth altogether, giving them minimal chewing and forcing it down.
It's not enough. She shoves more and more into her mouth, contrasting juices flowing freely down her chin and dribbling their way along her neck. In her first year out of captivity, she didn't have the quantity of food to facilitate this kind of feast. From the meager amounts she could scavenge, she ate what would spoil and kept what wouldn't, rationing it stringently. It was a habit she doesn't want to break, one that keeps her from decimating her food stores. Normally, she would eat just enough to quell the hunger pains. But right now, she can't keep from gorging herself. She doesn't stop until she drops a sixth empty can at her side.
Her thoughts are back to being coherent and rational. She no longer grimaces from the raw pain in her tummy. Her stomach feels weighted, heavy with consumption. When she shifts to lean against the seat, her elbow brushes against the lump in her bag and she remembers the vegetable she'd swiped earlier in the day. A simple yet delicious end to the meal.
"Is that blood?"
Filly's head zips up, her eyes flicking over Steve's form. His extremities look healthy and intact. He doesn't limp to the seat across from her. He's unharmed, she thinks, releasing a tension she didn't know she was holding in her shoulders. His knees encase her where she resides on the floor and she gives a relieved sigh at his comforting presence, but she realizes he spoke to her and she hadn't heard a lick of it. "Pardon?" she responds, doing nothing when his hand grips her chin and tilts her head. Steve, squinting at her from above, takes her appearance in grimly. She follows the gentle movement of his fingers, taking what almost feels like pleasure in his doting.
She doesn't understand it. Orderlies and scientists had looked her over thousands of times and all she had ever felt was disgust. She'd felt like a lab rat being inspected for the results of an experiment, a show dog being examined to ensure they fit the breed standard. She felt like an object. What Steve is doing to her is a mirror image of what they had done to her almost daily.
"How are you feeling today, Seven?"
"Not hiding anything, I hope."
"Hands on the wall. Got anything I should know about?"
Years of careful inspection had made her weary. Distrustful, even, though no one would know it by the way she lets him handle her.
It feels nothing like it did at the lab. It feels nice. Steve's hands are warm if a bit clammy. The calloused pads of his fingers grip her softly. A rough thumb strokes over the point of her chin and down her throat, sending tingles through her. She can't help but shudder as something unknown dances in her belly and tickles her chest. This new sensation couldn't be more different from the lab, when bile rose in her throat and fear gripped her. But she should've known because Steve is nothing like them. "You look like shit. What the hell happened after I left the bus?" he says, disrupting her introspection, the feeling of his hands on her making her stomach flip. It turns her content sour, something in her head telling her to break the spell and look away.
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Embarrassment: noun, singular /ɪmˈber.əs.mənt/
the feeling of being ashamed or shy.
She thinks this is what embarrassment is like. Something inside that's telling her she shouldn't be proud of what she is, that it's not enough to fool someone like Steve. She'd thought she was starting to seem like a normal person. She thought she was starting to be a normal person, but now she feels ashamed of those notions. "Am I so obvious?"
"No, just, I know you, know your signals." His hand falls back down. He keeps his dark gaze on her, smirking playfully. "That, and you don't usually have blood coming out of your ears. Didn't have a chance to ask before, well, you know."
"Right." Filly nods, preparing herself to stand now that her stomach is brimming with sustenance. Recalling how the army of monsters had cleared out so quickly sets her lips straight, knowing the job is not yet done. "I held you up, didn't I? We should go after those things."
"Yeah, but..." He pauses, lurching forward to support her frail body as it struggles to rise. Filly's strength is returning to her, though, and her jellied limbs feel firm again, her legs hardy enough to hold up her body. "You don't have to come, you know. We could handle it and you could sleep off... whatever happened."
"We've discussed this. If you all are going, then so am I." There's no way she would allow the four of them to leave her behind, not when they all risk their own lives.
He follows her out the door without a word, so she marks it down as a win.
Filly doesn't go out in the forest this late. She'd seen it before. She had slept in the wilderness for so long that it felt like an old friend had come to visit her. But darkness doesn't provide cover to her alone. Evil things lurk in the shadows, something she learned far too early in life.
Lucas walks at Dustin's side, Max trailing behind the two while Steve and Filly bring up the rear. The old train tracks are covered in pine needles and fallen leaves, creating a soft cushion under their feet. The teens let the distance grow, far enough that their conversation doesn't draw attention, muttering quietly to one another.
"You're aware of my powers," Filly begins. She wants to give it the proper caution, broaching this particular topic. She doesn't entirely understand her new power and doesn't want to make declarations on its limits or strengths too soon.
"You told me, yeah. You see through some stuff, but not other stuff," he says, his hands wiggling about his head as he strains his eyes. A titter leaves her lips. Amused, she can't help but laugh at his imitation of her. Shoulder to shoulder, their eyes meet for a time. The pause grows pregnant while he waits for her to expound.
"In simple terms, yes. Something about them changed. I don't know how to describe it." Filly shakes her head, attempting to clear it of the fog. Steve's tender look of concern had warmed her and brought back that tumbling feeling in her stomach, but what could it mean? Regardless, she'll have time to meditate on it at a more opportune time. "Usually, it just takes a little bit of concentration. This time was different. Just a little effort and I was swallowed in it. This odd silence was all around me... It was so quiet and yet it was still so loud. I couldn't hear anything, couldn't feel anything. I didn't even know I was bleeding until you told me."
"That doesn't sound good, Fil." That look is back on his face, his brows dipped and his mouth downturned. Concern, she realizes. She hadn't seen it in so long, she'd forgotten how to attach the look to the name. Her mother made the same expression. It's just an inkling in her mind, but she knows her mom had looked at her like that when Filly scraped her knee or burnt her tongue. It put a dryness in her mouth and a warmness in her chest. "It could be stress. I mean, we've been pushing you pretty hard."
"I don't think so. I think..." She swallows, wetting her tongue and swiping it over her cracked lips. "I think I can see more than before, not just metal and bone, but other things that I once couldn't. But it was so... so tiresome. I felt empty after."
Like a void. A supernova. The absence of matter had been created inside of her when she'd come back from the sight.
"I-I mean that's good, right?" He offers tentatively. The hope in his voice doesn't escape her notice, reminding her to keep hold of her own. "That you're stronger. After exercising or something, you should be sore. Maybe this is just your body being strained from working hard?"
"It's possible." Filly feels unburdened by the simple act of sharing it with him. She's as light as a feather now, the stress from before melting away. She sometimes believes that she has too much time on her hands. Steve has a way of simplifying things that she may overthink. "Thank you, Steve," she finishes, smiling while she looks down at her feet.
"Yeah." He gulps, widening the distance between their shoulders an inch. "Yeah. You can always talk to me."
The only sound that comes after is their footsteps crunching the leaves. For a few minutes, everyone is mum. The group shuffles around, allowing Steve and Filly back into the formation once they catch up. While Filly walks beside the younger girl with Lucas, Steve takes point next to Dustin.
"You're positive that was Dart?" Lucas breaks the quiet, looking over at his curly-haired friend.
Dustin keeps his eyes forward, watching the ground he steps on. "Yes. He had the same exact yellow pattern on his butt."
His surety doesn't stop Max from arguing. "He was tiny two days ago," she retorts. The girl is skeptical and Filly can't say she blames her. She hadn't had the life Filly had, the life that taught her to expect the unexpected. Max hadn't yet learned those lessons.
"Well, he's molted three times already," he responds assuredly.
"Malted?" Steve asks.
Filly smiles, affection for the teen spiking. She doesn't mind that some things may go over his head, as that isn't a determining factor of a person's worth. What matters more is goodness and honesty, honor and righteousness. She still thinks of him as a precious and informed friend. Even with all that she knows, there are things he'd shown her, invaluable lessons he'd taught her. How to laugh at herself. How to be less serious. How to use a resealable bag. He'd told her what school was like, shown her pictures from his "yearbook", and given her tips about being "funny on purpose" and not just by accident.
"Molted, Steve." At the questioning look on his face, she falls back on an old definition. It's familiar. Safe. "To molt is to shed old feathers, hair, or skin, or an old shell, to make way for new growth."
Max, her face perpetually twisted in disbelief, asks, "Well, when's he gonna molt again?"
"It's gotta be soon." Dustin chances a look over his shoulder, quickly turning away when his eyes and Max's meet. He's been so unlike himself today ever since she and Lucas arrived. He'd been aloof and rude since the moment he set eyes on her. Filly can't conceive of any reason why he would dislike the young redhead. She's lively, bright, and intelligent. "When he does, he'll be fully grown or close to it. And so will his friends."
"Yeah, and he's gonna eat a lot more than just cats," Steve adds.
The casual statement draws a disproportionately loud exclamation from Lucas. He halts his pace, grabbing Dustin's shoulder to make him turn. "Wait, a cat? Dart ate a cat?"
"No, what? No." Dustin's lie gives Filly pause. She hadn't ever known him to be deceitful. One of the first rules he told her about their party is that friends don't lie. It's part of why she was so accepting of his tall tales about Dart. She'd not doubted that he told her and Steve the truth in the car.
"Why do you say that?" She questions, eyes narrowing at the curly-haired boy. "Dustin. He ate Mews."
"Mews?" Clear is the puzzlement in Max's low voice. "Who's Mews?"
Steve meets Filly's gaze, reflecting her confusion like a mirror. They can't comprehend Dustin's distaste for honesty in this instance. "It's Dustin's cat," he proclaims nonchalantly.
"Steve!" Dustin scolds, immediately dropping his silence when he's exposed.
Lucas's ire is unexpected and savage, ricocheting off the trees when he barks, "I knew it! You kept him!"
"No! No. No, I... No, I..." Each denial grows more feeble until finally, Dustin relents. "He missed me. He wanted to come home."
"Bullshit!"
"I didn't know he was a Demogorgon, okay?"
"Oh, so now you admit it?"
They quarrel in rapid-fire, barely letting the last reply end before the next begins. There are more pressing matters, matters they must attend to sooner rather than later. The alternative option isn't one that would benefit anyone.
Filly steels herself, concentrating on making her voice steady and strong. "You mustn't bicker now. Dart's pack is still on the move."
"Yeah, who cares?" Max concurs quickly, shaking her head pleadingly. "We have to go."
But Lucas continues railing against his part-member. "I care! You put the party in jeopardy! You broke the rule of law!"
"So did you!" The statement yanks a mutter of disagreement and befuddlement from the other boy. Dustin shines his flashlight on Max, startling her with the bright flash. "You told a stranger the truth!"
The redhead scoffs before asking incredulously, "A stranger?"
"You wanted to tell her, too!"
At this point, Filly had stopped listening. The cold winds lifted the corners of her poncho, wiping a chill across her fingers and arms. Steve follows her gaze to the boundaries of the tree line, tuning out the continued disagreement behind them.
Ominous rumbling wafts in the breeze, a faraway screeching carried on its currents. Filly follows after the older teen, nearing the dense edge of the forest. Steve voices it, calling for everyone's attention to turn. "Guys?"
They don't hear his call, ignorant of the disturbance in the forest. Back and forth, Dustin and Lucas prick at each other with accusatory stabs and barbed words.
"Guys!" This time, he commands it. His voice is low and soaked with authority. He shoulders his brutally-modified slugger, roaming into the wood with purpose. Filly stumbles over her feet but swiftly falls into step at his heels, confident that their small party follows behind.
It's too familiar, the straggling trees encroaching on a small clearing at the edge of a steep drop. Wisps of grass spurt from the unkempt soil. She's been here.
"I don't see him."
Filly knows that Dustin won't see him from here. Dart and his kin must be miles ahead of them with the headstart they'd been given. The wild foliage of the knoll is fenced by a rocky cliff, barring any plants from leaving the plateau.
Lucas rises his binoculars, fitting the viewfinders against his deep sockets. "It's the lab. "They were going back home."
Filly had already been cold, frozen by the knowledge of where they were, but the confirmation of her worst fears sucks away the rest of her heat. Not far off, her own personal hellscape lies concealed within the shadowy treetops. This was where she had stood, sneering, and faced the place of her torment for what she had hoped was the last time.
And now she's going back. It's not up for debate, she tells herself. She's going and so she has to be strong. Immovable. Reliable. Constant. Though her knees knock against each other and goosebumps break out all across her arms and neck, she'd made up her mind before she'd ever realized where they were. Though she was belittled for being insufficient and unimpressive by her captors, she knew the companions she'd met were better off with her assistance. She'd convinced herself that her presence had to increase their chances of survival.
But the irrational fear won't listen to her. It doesn't respect her values, nor does it care for her wishes. It's not the sight that usually envelops her senses, but something else. She stills as a memory overtakes her, the dreadful place reappearing in her unseeing eyes.
White tiles coated every side of the corridor. There was no indication, but Filly knew every staggered door was electronically locked. There were no windows, no skylights, only blinding fluorescent light emanating from the ceiling.
It was the first time she'd been unsecured there. On her own, unchecked. She'd zoned out, missing the turn that the man took as he led her back to her cell for the night. The consistent pattern of blank squares had lulled her off, exhausted from the earlier testing sessions with Brenner.
She was lost, knowing nothing about the place she was in. It was shortly after her initial capture that she'd stepped out of line, drawing her first taste of punishment on that very day. She'd been naïve, blissfully ignorant of the cruelty of her keepers.
"We got a runner," the orderly says into his shoulder. "We're in the East Wing, residential hall two." He takes some kind of callous joy in her expression twisting in trepidation. She hadn't known had badly she'd misstepped at the time, but she'd found out very soon after. The fat black club was already poised to strike, a devilish smirk turning the corners of his mouth. His radio clicks again, clearing the channels for him to wickedly intone, "She's fighting back."
"Permission to pacify has been granted. Reinforcements are on the way," the radio buzzes back, widening the man's unruly smile. Filly hadn't known any better, foolishly turning and running from him. Her bare feet slapped the cold tile as she desperately tried to flee. She'd nearly made the corner before her body froze, jolted with a strike of lightning in her veins.
Her fists clenched, sharp nails pinching the palm of her hand. Her teeth clamped down and narrowly missed her tongue, the organ slipping back inside just in time. Teeth gnashed against teeth, gritted by the coursing pain that filled her from the barbs in her back. The two biting nodes had barely registered, the overwhelming pain of the current from the taser flushing out everything but the sensation in her body.
First, it was blazing hot, fire streaming through her in the form of voltage. It stifled her, stealing her breath away and turning the inferno into a glacial bath. She had felt as though dipped in the Artic waters as the cold ate her flesh down and seeped into her bones. The only warmth she felt was the hot urine flooding down her legs and the warm trickle of blood down her curled fingers, soiling her underwear and probably her paper gown as well. Drool dripped from the edge of her lips, but she didn't feel its slow roll down her cheek and along her jaw.
She could only feel the intense scream of her nerves, each of them firing off every pain receptor she had. Electricity vibrated every fiber of her being, pulling her tendons tight enough to feel like bursting. She'd blacked out as soon as the current was cut, not knowing how long it went on. It had felt like days.
When the world returns to her, she's staring into a dark, scared gaze. Big, warm hands are clasped around her shoulders. "Filly. Thank God." Steve's eyebrows release the deep wrinkle from between them, softening his gaze considerably. "Shit, are you okay?"
"Just a memory..." Filly grimaces, a twinge striking her behind the eyes when the image flickers there. She grips her hands together, bringing them to her chest like a shield and rubbing her knuckles to stave off the cold as well as soothe her nerves. It's a memory she hadn't known existed within her. After the man tased her, she woke up in solitary confinement. She hadn't recalled a thing about the electricity or the blinding shocks.
"From the lab?" At her shaky nod, Steve sighs, his heated palms slipping away from her. He opens his mouth, but pauses and reorganizes the words before speaking. "You said you're going with us and I can't change that. Just tell me if you need to turn back. Please?"
She smiles despite herself, valuing the way he defers to her on this. "Yes. I want to go..."
"But?" He asks, sensing there's more she wants to say.
"But I'm afraid. That place haunts me still. It ruins my sleep. Disturbs my calm." She lowers her gaze, her hazy eyes moving to the darker brown of the dirt between the sparse blades of grass. "It almost consumed my hope," she whispers, her tone quivering as though swayed by the wind.
Steve forces a deep exhale through his nostrils, clearly unhappy at dragging her closer to her prison but holding his tongue. "Okay. Don't hesitate to talk to me."
She takes him up on it sooner rather than later. They trudge down the slope steadily, trekking off toward the Hawkins National Laboratory as one. The younger members of their group hike down after Filly and Steve. The teens had taken up the role of guardians, feeling responsible for the wellbeing of the children that accompany them. They hadn't known it, but it was the beginning of a pattern, a fate of leading the way for a handful of innocent children that only want the world around them to return to normal.
"Steve?" He hums, his eyes flicking over at Filly's quiet question. "If I need to use my sight, you should know something." She has his full concentration now, his brows dropping and hardening the look in his sleepy, brown eyes.
"Is everything alright? What's wrong?"
"No, nothing," she placates, shaking her head faintly. When his body relaxes and his expression smooths over, she clarifies. "I was just thinking. Today, when my vision changed, the world around me was hushed. Everything else went away. But if I could stay tethered to reality, if I could stay grounded then I think I could keep above it. I could stop from losing myself to the silence."
He lifts a brow, wondering aloud, "Is there a way for me to help you with that?" Steve's out of his depth, just the way he was the night they met almost a year ago. His stare is open and honest, baring his concern in his deep umber orbs.
"I'm not certain. I have to keep my focus on my other senses. Try talking to me or touching me, maybe put something under my nose to engage my sense of smell. Although I'm guessing you don't keep smelling salts handy."
"Got that right. Still, I'll be at your side the whole time." It sounds like a blessing when it comes from him, a promise of his kind contact and honeyed words. "But how do I know if it's working?"
"I'll be able to talk to you," Filly answers promptly. It had stuck out to her in her experience today, the fact that she was unaware of Dustin's calls until she came out of the trance. She needed to stay in the waking world instead of trying to climb her way from the muted depths. And if, while in her deafened state, she was as defenseless as it seemed, there was no one she'd trust to take care of her better than Steve. "When you speak to me, I'll respond."
"Yeah," Steve confirms. He belatedly copies the small smile that grows on Filly's lips. "I can do that. Easy."
The discussion dies off naturally, the air not permitting any further banter. The atmosphere grows more agitated as they near the walls around the wretched building. They've nearly reached level ground now, the base of the hill peeking into sight. Their torches light the way, a stretch of wood in their way. Filly loses count of their steps, concentrating on her foot placement so as not to faceplant on the way down. However, their destination still weighs on her mind. She has to be very careful. Who knows what price may be paid for her recklessness?
"Steve," she mutters. It pulls an affirmative hum from his closed lips. "I'm going to look ahead. It's best to be cautious here and I think I need a hand," she hints, hoping to amuse him with the simple wordplay. A little quirk of his mouth lets her know the effort, at least, was appreciated.
"Remember," Steve starts, thick digits snaking around Filly's wrist and wandering down her palm before curling between her own. She feels small in comparison. A lithe, spindly mass of fragile parts, encompassed by a sturdy fortress, large and cozy. Like one of his hand-me-down sweaters, it swallows her up in its comforting embrace. "I'm beside you."
She keeps a tight grip on his hand, letting her vision paint the lab blue and white. Rough pads stroke the back of her hand. They draw shapes on her freckled skin, following the dots as though connecting the stars of the constellations.
The innards of the building are farther than she can see, but she gazes upon the driveway, the parking lot, and the first few rooms of the structure. It's just close enough to see the entryway of it, what she assumes is some kind of lobby. There's a metal fence on a mechanism that bars entry to the parking lot. The heat in her palm radiates through her entire arm, keeping her side toasty with its unfailing grip.
Something unexpected is there, a vehicle she's been well acquainted with. Jonathan's crusty, aged Galaxie idles in front of the gate with its headlights shining into the night.
"Are you still with me?" Slow, enunciated words cut through the cotton that begins to stuff her ears. The fuzz reels back, shrinking in the presence of Steve's direct tone. She hadn't noticed the silence creeping up on her. "Say something, Fil."
"I'm still here." Filly's gaze scans the area by the car, spotting two skeletal figures crammed into a metal shed. She can't be positive, but all the signs point to those figures being the two other teens she knows. She cuts her sight, not wanting to fall into its abyss once more. "I'm pretty sure Nancy and Jonathan are out there."
"You're kidding." But Steve knows she's not. It's written on her face, in the way she prepares for a serious conversation like she's readying for battle.
"Hello? Who's there?" She sends him a smug look as they both clearly recognize Jonathan's gravely countertenor. "Who's there?"
They pass the last tree, coming face to face with the two that had beaten them to the gate.
"Steve?" They shout in unison, floored. Eerily, they do it a second time, crying, "Filly?" They're so in sync that it would be funny if the safety of the entire town wasn't riding on their next move. Jonathan stands closer to Nancy than he used to. Their hands are close enough to touch, their shoulders brushing with each movement.
Had something changed? She wonders if they had always been so affectionate. Though she wouldn't call either of them physically affectionate, the nearness to one another speaks volumes of the closeness of their relationship.
"It's really you. How'd you know?" Steve questions, peering at Filly with his torch pointed at their feet.
"It was a guess," she admits sheepishly. "They didn't have any breaks and it was clearly a teen male and a teen female. The car was familiar to me... Process of elimination, I suppose." Jonathan and Nancy, clomping up the short hill, greet them tensely.
"What are you doing here?" Nancy acts as an interrogator, demanding answers from them. Steve counters by asking the same of her.
"What are you doing here?"
"We're looking for Mike and Will."
Filly's stomach clenches. Her two young friend's whereabouts should be accounted for at a time such as this. Fear gurgles up in her throat, making her gulp down a mass of saliva.
Steve asks the question that's spiraling through her mind. "They're not in there, are they?" The dark windows offer them nothing. No glimpses into the rooms. No answers to their queries.
She can't bear the thought. Will, the precious, sweet boy that he is, doesn't belong in that place. He doesn't deserve the kind of treatment she was put through and neither does Mike. They're good kids, but those kinds of experiences would change them as they had done to her. It had warped her into someone she didn't recognize. Those people are inhuman, taking glee from torturing her and others like her. She'd rather not give them the chance to do that to the boys.
She's almost relieved when Nancy responds, "We're not sure. Why?" Her body twitches when a screech rings out, the same as the one they had followed here.
"That's why. We've been at it all day." Steve grimaces, thinking back on the day they'd had. Filly shares his sentiment. "Some kind of mini Demogorgons have been having a go at us."
Filly nods. "He's correct. There is something gruesome in these woods. They assaulted us near my home, but we fear they may now be inside of that..." She nearly calls it a lab. But how can it be just a lab, with all that it has done to her? How can it be something so innocent as a building? A research center? It's nothing so simple, so bland. She decides finally, finishing, "Prison."
Steve glances at her solemnly, but there isn't time for him to utter a word.
"Can you look for them?" Nancy blurts, then quickly continues, as if only now realizing she'd said it aloud. "I mean, if you're right and these monsters are in there, can you at least find out if they're safe?"
She chews her bottom lip, thinking it over slowly. "Maybe. I can only see so far and they weren't in the front where I could find them." In truth, Filly doesn't want to look in there too deeply. She's afraid of what she might see. What if they have more test subjects now? There is no small possibility that she would see more like herself, being tortured in the depths of the facility. "I don't know if it would work."
"They're your brothers," Steve reminds the two. He spares her a few worried glances. Could he tell that she was uncomfortable? Was he trying to take the attention off of her? Because it worked, and if he was, then she was grateful. "When was the last time you saw them?"
Ashamedly, Nancy mutters, "Two days ago."
"Where were you?" Nancy flinches at the other girl's question. It feels accusatory, though she knows better than to think that of the blunt teen. There wasn't any untowardness in her voice, only confusion.
"It doesn't matter. We weren't here." Jonathan finally says something rather than sitting behind the small teen he accompanies. "Have any of you seen him recently?"
"We haven't seen Will-"
Before Dustin can finish, Nancy squeezes between the group. She parts them, shifting easily through their ranks to face the looming structure.
"The power's back," she announces.
Steve tugs Filly along, following the two teens down the sloping hill. They lead them toward a long gate whose top is rimmed with barbed wire. When they arrive at the spot where she'd seen Jonathan's car, he shoots into a small shed between two gates.
Clicking sounds pierce through the apprehensive mood. He pushes the button over and over, hoping for a different result. But the gate stays stubbornly locked in place. It seems that besides the power being turned back on, some other unknown obstacle keeps them from their goal.
Maybe it's fate stopping me from having to go back in there.
Then again, they would not force her to go. If anything, Steve was the most prominent advocate of her staying put on her bus. But how would that serve her?
It wouldn't.
Just by embarking on this journey with the party, she had learned so much about herself. She learned she could still use her powers without that dreadful feeling. That ringing quiet. That nothingness of sense. She much prefers the feeling of Steve's hands and the resonance of his voice. It keeps the blankness at bay. It beats back the curtain of the silence. It gives her something to focus on and keeps her head above the drowning surface.
While Dustin surges toward the shed and orders leave his mouth, Filly nears the gate. They all stand at the ready and wait for the gate to open. Nothing differs when Dustin slams his hand on the mechanism repeatedly. She pulls faintly on Steve's sleeve, gaining his attention with no fuss.
"Doing okay, Fil?" he wonders, a brow rising in inquiry. His mildness cools her nerves, reminding her once more that she has nothing to fear from him.
"I'm... managing," she replies, her bright eyes appearing dim as she casts them low. "I can't go in there. Not yet. I'm too... weak." She spits it out, bitterly forming her mouth around the word. If she was being transparent, she wasn't sure if she'd ever be able to return to those tiled corridors and fluorescent lights.
It's what they had all said about her. They had called her weak so many times that she'd lost count. Scientists, orderlies, the other subjects; none had any care for her sense of self. The lab's residents had taken more than just her freedom. They stole her fire away, pilfered her strength, and thieved her of her confidence. At the center of it all was that word. She hates to use it, but everything else just sounds worse.
Feeble. Lame. Powerless. Ineffectual.
"Hey, hey, that's fine. You don't have to. But you're not weak. Not even close." His hand is warm against the chill of the air as he smooths it down her spine. His touch soothes her anger. It brings her back down to Earth where they have a mission to complete and no time to dawdle. "You go where you please, right? This place just... doesn't please you."
She smiles. Though her muscles had become used to the action over time, it still feels foreign on her face. She wonders if it lights up the room as he does when a grin flits onto his lips. Does she look bright and warm like he does when his cheeks lift and his lower lids rise just a touch? Does he feel stronger when she smiles at him? Does her smile grant him positivity?
She hopes so. It's just the same as what he does for her. She can't quantify it. She can't define it. But she feels it coursing through her senses when his face mirrors her own. She can taste the sweetness of his faith. She can scent the woodiness of his conviction.
"Correct. But it pleases me to find our friends." She looks for them immediately. There's no time for her to be comforted. The sight she uses is obvious. It must be because Steve's hands are on her again. Scratchy skin envelops her hand and she can sense the heat exuding from his body as he steps close behind her.
They have to move out of the way when the gate opens finally, making room for Jonathan and Nancy to drive through the lot. The children that accompany Steve and Filly stay with them and trade worried glances as they wait. There's nothing that can be done besides wait. But she has to know the truth. She has to know if they're in that horrid place, has to know if they're safe.
"Still with me, Fil?" Hot breath ghosts across her neck, carrying Steve's voice into the canals of her ear softly. "What are you seeing?"
"They're here. Joyce, Hopper, Mike, and Will." With her eyes trained on her targets, Filly doesn't see but rather senses that she's being looked at. They pretend not to, but she feels their gazes on her. Max, Dustin, and Lucas are all watching, she's sure of it.
Hopper carries Will over his shoulder. Mike paces at his side, the three of them occupying the open-air walkway outside the lobby. The chief carries a long gun in one hand. They wait outside the main doors while Joyce stands just inside. Comforted by Steve's caress of her knuckles, she watches, hoping to understand the context.
"Anything to report?" his normally playful baritone is now tight, his anticipation filtering into her ears and strumming at some weighty presence in her belly. Thick fingers circle her shoulder blades, rubbing warmth into her skin despite the layers of fabric in between.
"Yes." Her sight still engaged, she clips her glance at Steve short. The silhouette of his weapon makes it appear as though nails were wedging their way through his skull, an image that disconcerts her. She writes it off as her weary mind finding ways to trick her, praying that it isn't an omen of what's to come. "They're alive and well."
She should have known better.
When her gaze returns to the point of interest, she spots a new figure. She recalls the heavy gait of Bob's skeleton and the fine cracks along his hands and face as he bursts through the heavy doors into the foyer. He stops to rest, hunching over with his hands on his knees. Joyce takes a step in his direction.
Filly had never seen the life drain from someone in such grisly detail.
A monstrous body collides with him and forces him to the floor, two ribs cracking on impact. His lungs desperately strain in search of fresh air, but the pressure on top of them keeps them empty. The quadruped's paws find purchase on Bob's chest, talons slicing through his dermis and taking hold in his flesh. Rearing back one inhuman limb, it swings down and divests the bones of its sinew. Bob cries, his jaw clacking back together once the bladed claws skewer his stomach. Filly watches as another rib snaps, collapsing onto a lung. Bob's hands slip off of the creature, the viscous ooze making a strong grip unattainable.
Bullets fly, hollow point rounds embedding themselves in the creature's form, but it's not enough. Though its next growl points toward the interruption, it doesn't give up the feast before it. Identical beasts flood from the entrance Bob had squeaked through, knocking the last heavy door from its hinges.
It roars, petals densely packed with teeth fluttering with the force of it. Without any further preamble, the head lowers. Barbs pierce through fat and muscle, puncturing the layered makeup of the human body with ease. It releases and, like slicing through butter, descends again to taste of the blood that streams freely from his wounds. Pockmarks decorate his flesh quickly, the rounded pikes of the monster's teeth leaving gaping holes where they land. Although she can't see the color, she knows red is the fluid trailing from and pooling underneath Bob's motionless figure.
Saliva pours from the creature's mouth as it fills its stomach and mixes with the blood of its prey. Bob writhes and twitches, the instinctual fear of death leading him to fight an unwinnable war. Slick with blood and drool, his limbs drip from the beasts that gather around him, losing strength with each feral snap of enamel wrenching through his tissue.
He isn't moving, not intentionally, but his body lurches. Lifelessly, it sways with the weight of each new beast sinking its teeth into it. Hungry and savage mouths tear at a raw, bloody corpse. It's just meat to them.
She must've looked the same. Gnawing raw meat with all her might, starving for anything that would line her stomach. But this was different.
That meat was Bob.
A/N: Sorry about the long wait! I spent a lot of time making sure this chapter was just right. In a lot of ways, I'm still unhappy with it but that's just the nature of things, I think. We are our own worst critics, after all. Thank you to NaiaLune, aBuck9, Ayumika1998, Novaca17 and goldenemu for the follows and favorites! Love you guys!