CXXXVI

Henry had always known about Eleven's potential. It was possible he had recognized it even before Brenner.

However, the way Eleven had transported an entire building into the other dimension—and dismantled it in the process…?

Suddenly, Henry's survival instinct warns him that there is something way too dangerous in his vicinity.

And no, it's not the other Henry, but…

Henry swallowed hard. His body had recognized on an instinctive level what his mind had refused to see: the fact that Eleven as a whole surpassed even his wildest fantasies. The fact that Eleven, though lacking the finesse he possessed, was superior in terms of raw strength and power.

The thought was terrifying, yes, but also… exhilarating. The kind of exhilarating that tightened his throat.

That created discomfort in the lower part of his body.

Yet there was no time to dwell on this, because from his spot, one arm resting on Joyce's shoulders, Henry saw everything unfold as if in slow motion.

The way Brenner collapsed dead behind Eleven, and how she turned to face him as the creatures smashed against an invisible wall.

Then she looked up, and their eyes met. Her gaze no longer shone as it once had, but within it, he saw an understanding that hadn't been there before.

And while this should have pleased him—knowing Eleven had finally grasped at least a fraction of the reality they lived in—the truth was the entire situation felt like a parasite hollowing out his chest.

Suddenly, the idea of a powerful and terrifying Eleven snapping necks and gouging out eyes by his side in a world that had always hated them doesn't seem like the attractive image he'd thought of before.

Quite the opposite, right now…

But there is no time to ponder feelings or perceptions: the horde of creatures keeps advancing, and Eleven turns her back to him again so she can focus on holding them off.

The situation is dire: Henry knew her powers have limits when it comes to the energy they demand. Repelling the creatures and opening a portal to escape—or, alternatively, removing his collar and Soteria to help her—are impossible feats right now.

Hopper seems to notice, as he quickly runs toward Brenner's corpse and pulls the switch that controls the collar from his pocket.

"Shit, shit, shit—!"

"It's the last button," Henry tells him.

The officer doesn't need to be told twice: the device unfastens immediately.

But that's not enough.

"Joyce," he murmurs, "I need you to get this out of my neck." He grabs the nearest hand and forces her fingers against the bump under his skin.

"What…? What is this?"

"What the hell are you talking about?!" Hopper demands urgently. "What the hell is going on?!"

"Something I need you to get out of me right now if we're going to survive," Henry replies, keeping his calm.

"But how—?!" Joyce's question is answered when Henry's gaze falls on the discarded axe on the ground. "Oh, no. No, no, no, please tell me you don't expect me to—"

"Fuck," Hopper grunts, running a hand through his disheveled hair.

"It's the only way," Henry responds, freeing himself from her grip and carefully sitting down on the floor, holding the weapon. "I'm certain you can do it, Joyce." As the woman hesitates, Henry raises his voice: "If you don't, we're going to die here!"

With tears in her eyes, Joyce kneels beside him. Henry tilts his head slightly to the opposite side, exposing his neck.

"I-I'm sorry if I hurt you, but—"

"It's okay, Joyce. I trust you."

"Jim! Help me hold him still!" Joyce shouts.

"Got it!"

It's not easy: Henry lifts the hem of his T-shirt and bites down on it. He tries to focus on his own breathing, the way his chest and abdomen—now exposed—rise and fall, while Hopper leans on his legs, doing his best to prevent any sudden movements.

With a wet snap and a metallic echo, the blade of the axe cuts through the flesh with surprising ease, leaving a clean cut behind.

But, once again, it's not enough.

"I can't go any further than this," Joyce confirms.

Henry had known this would happen. He briefly frees his mouth to say: "It's not enough. Remove it with your fingers."

"WHAT?! THAT'S INSANE!"

"There's no time!" He barely manages to utter the last word before Hopper shoves the fabric of his shirt back into his mouth.

"Joyce, you heard the man!" the sheriff yells at her. "GET YOUR FINGERS INSIDE HIM!"

"Ugh, goddamn it—!"

The woman protests, yet she still does it.

Henry's muscles tense instantly: it hurts like hell, and he has to summon all his determination not to move, even with Hopper's help. Still, he endures, keeping his gaze fixed on Eleven, his teeth clenched around the makeshift bite guard made from his shirt.

"You're crazy," Joyce mutters, stretching her arm in front of his face to show him the small red capsule between the bloody tips of her fingers. "And I may be as well."

Hopper releases him immediately, a deep sigh escaping his lips. Henry, for his part, pulls his shirt back down and takes just a couple of seconds to compose himself: after all, Eleven needs him.

He stands up with some effort.

And cracks a smile.

"Indeed," he replies to Joyce, though his gaze remains fixed on the girl whose legs seem ready to give out just a few feet away from them. "We definitely are."