CLVI
For the past two and a half years, this had undoubtedly been the moment he had longed for the most…
… and at the same time, the one he feared the most.
Sure, he would have liked to believe in Eleven blindly, but in a way, wouldn't such faith demand her forgiveness of the unforgivable? After all, Max had once made him see the gravity of his actions when he had physically hurt Eleven, and that had been merely a controlled training session.
So, what can he expect from her now, when the last time he saw her, under the pretense of giving her a hug, he had stabbed her in the back?
...
It's the first answer he gets.
At the same point he stabbed her two years ago, she gently presses the palm of her hand and promises not to abandon him.
It's so Eleven.
And with that promise, Henry feels—and possibly is—invincible.
"Be prepared!" Hopper commands.
The safeties of the weapons click almost simultaneously. Everyone draws their revolvers as they try to put some distance between the monsters and themselves, especially when they notice the barrier created by Eleven is fading.
"FIRE!" Hopper roars, pulling the trigger.
A rain of fire falls on the monsters, which screech in terror at the attack: the bullets modified by Robin with black powder and thermite don't penetrate the creatures, but explode upon contact with their bodies, igniting them instantly. As if that weren't enough, Robin uses the rapid defensive advantage provided by the shots to offer back up with homemade bombs that, though slower, are undoubtedly more powerful.
"Nancy!" Robin calls to her.
Nancy doesn't need to be told twice: she quickly moves to her side, the strap of her pistol hanging from her shoulder.
"Remember—"
"I do," Nancy cuts her off just before taking advantage of the sudden distraction provided by Max's fireworks blizzard to sneak behind the formation.
"Wow, it actually worked!" Joyce doesn't even try to hide the surprise in her voice when the revolver doesn't detonate in her face.
"Thanks for the trust… I suppose!" Robin mutters through gritted teeth as she launches projectile after projectile…
After all, she was certain the revolvers would work.
Now, the pistol?
That's another story, she tells herself as she tries not to think about Nancy and the way she begged her to only shoot when absolutely necessary.
Her left leg is unable to support her weight after being dragged so violently minutes earlier.
Still, she's more than capable of standing firm against their enemy's onslaught, protecting herself and Henry, who seems to be waiting for the perfect moment to strike. She understands his plan: after all, neither of them has the infinite energy that the Henry who has merged with this dimension seems to possess.
Suddenly, a massive cloud of black particles materializes in front of them, slowly taking shape.
Henry glances over his shoulder at that moment, a slight smile on his face. "Don't be afraid."
His words draw a soft laugh from her. It might seem incongruous with the situation, but this is the happiest she's been in years.
"With you here?" she replies softly, leaning both hands against his back, the promise of her unconditional support. "Never."
They don't have time to exchange any more words: a gigantic Mind Flayer looms in front of them. It's colossal, and its shadow seems to engulf them even before its attacks.
Trust me.
The thought strikes her like lightning when Henry takes off running toward the front, cleanly crossing the barrier she had erected. Her first reaction is one of panic—is she going to lose him minutes after finding him?—but soon she forces herself to react.
"NOW!" Henry shouts as he leaps with arms extended toward the Mind Flayer's torso. At this, the creature lets out a chilling screech.
Many things happen at once.
The other Henry murmurs:
"You, fool!" And with his repulsive claws approaching Henry, he seems intent on breaking his bones with his mind.
Eleven reacts in time: an offensive maneuver won't protect Henry, even if it takes the life of his doppelgänger. Therefore, she chooses the most logical course: with both palms facing forward and letting out a scream from the effort, she forces herself to project a protective field that covers Henry entirely.
A bubble that surrounds him and protects him from both the other Henry's attacks and the Mind Flayer's jaws, which are already lunging toward him.
Though successful, the resulting telekinetic shock exceeds the physical limits of her current state: her good leg falters and she collapses to her knees, the sharp stones of this dimension cutting her skin.
But Henry is safe.
The invisible pressure in her arms feels as though it will tear them apart… and yet, she refuses to give in.
"YOU…!" the other Henry roars again, now locking his gaze on her.
It's the perfect distraction: consumed by rage, he stops paying attention to his terrible minion.
And Henry, tightening his shoulders and sinking his hands into the creature's chest with all his might, disintegrates it.
The scream that follows is chilling, bloodcurdling.
It takes Eleven a moment to realize that this terrifying sound doesn't come from the Mind Flayer—which vanishes with a threatening hiss, undoubtedly determined to reemerge soon—nor from the frustration and anger of the other Henry.
No: the source is none other than herself. It comes from Eleven, who has fully lowered her defenses, fully aware of what would happen.
"ELEVEN!"
She's no longer on her knees: she's lying face down on the ground, the rocks now piercing her entire body. Her legs are bent in abnormal positions, as is her left arm. Red tears slide down her face under a crushing pressure that threatens to break her skull.
And her eyes can barely make out…
BANG!
Unexpectedly, the pressure ceases. And this time, the screams aren't hers. Gently, with all the love in the world, two hands rest on her cheeks.
"Eleven…"
She's never heard him like this—as if he's drowning. She can't move even an inch, and her eyes are clouded with tears and blood.
"Sweetheart, why…?"
Because it was the only way. Because she's already tried living without Henry, and the result was devastating.
In front of her, Henry seems even afraid to touch her. She assumes it's for the best: she suspects she'll shatter into pieces if she moves even slightly.
Of course, his face is the first thing she is able to make out after blinking a few times. His face, soaked in tears, his trembling lips, one cheek slightly swollen—is that a bruise?— and the other stained with the red that foretells crying.
She should feel proud, she supposes: she's awakened in Henry an emotional depth that—she knows—he once rejected. Still, she can't feel the slightest happiness seeing him broken.
She regrets causing him so much pain.
And as if that weren't enough, a sudden smell of burnt flesh and gunpowder scorches her lungs.
Without moving her head, she shifts her gaze and catches, out of the corner of her eye, the other Henry, his entire body consumed by flames. Behind him, she sees Nancy; her broken pistol, still smoking, dangles limply from her hand. Her eyes move from the other Henry to her, from her to the other Henry, from the other Henry to…
And Eleven thinks that, even though it's another Henry, she can't help but feel affection for him.
After all, he is what her Henry could have been.
If she hadn't tried so hard to help him right his life.
With this thought—with her heart swollen with affection and sorrow—she blinks slowly, once, twice. The fingers of her only usable hand move ever so slightly.
"What are you…? Eleven, no, no, you mus not—"
But she's already done it. After all, she's always been like this: a girl lacking with no sense of self-preservation, ready to defy Henry's expectations even unknowingly.
...
The Mind Flayer will return, perhaps in another form, for it's clear that this world cannot allow its extinction: they are inextricably bound.
This, however, is not the case regarding the poor monster that has harmed her: here, in this other dimension, the other Henry disintegrates like a bad dream because that's what she's wished for.
(After all, it's the kindest end she can give him.)
Eleven, for her part, looks back at Henry, who is still gently holding her face.
He's so beautiful, even when he cries. But he's even more so when he smiles.
"I'll fix this," he promises her in a whisper, kissing her sweat-soaked forehead. "I promise."
She doesn't doubt him: he's always fixed every single one of her messes.
She manages a weak smile.
Closes her eyes.
And lets herself be enveloped by the darkness.