Chapter Text
Lucas stands on the curb outside his house, waiting. Overhead, the sky is a dirty shade of white. Wind hits his face, cooling his skin and thoughts. The wait is not long, two figures appearing in the short distance, getting close. “Dustin?” Lucas asks once they're in front of him.
Will shakes his head. “He said he's not feeling well.”
“He's never feeling well. We should go and drag him out of his room the next time,” says Mike.
Through the town, the three of them get going. Sky matches the life in Hawkins. The plants lost their colors back in the month they should be the brightest. That place underneath is sucking the life out of them, out of every living being here. On every step there are soldiers or police or whoever it is that has guns.
“Nancy and Jonathan are picking us up at three,” says Mike. “I know it's earlier than we said, but we can wait for the rest there.”
“It's okay Mike, I know you want to see her,” says Lucas, as they pass the shop with the “MISSING TEEN” flyer on its storefront. The familiar face is looking at them from it, her hair on it way longer than she wears it now. “You guys can go, I'll come later with Steve and Robin. She'll stop by the hospital to see Vicky.”
“Again?” asks Will.
“Yeah. We're lucky she knows her. Otherwise, how would we hang out with Max everyday?”
Another “WANTED TEEN” poster greets them as they move across the street. Next to it, is another sign with pictures of multiple security cameras, with the text underneath saying “THEY'RE HERE FOR YOUR PROTECTION.”
Soon, they get to their destination. The image they see everyday appears; men in uniforms holding firearms, scattered by a giant fence that circles all around the building. It reads “Hawkins Memorial Hospital” on the main entrance, with people rushing in and out of it.
Inside is possibly the only place worse than the streets. Red on the tiles, people brushing each other while passing, faces filled with fear and pain. Parents holding children, their coughs strong enough to break ribs. People spilling warm blood, skins covered in weird stuff. Whatever it is that was released in their town through the cracks, Lucas can't think about it now. Behind people sitting hunched on the waiting room bench, the same “THEY'RE HERE FOR YOUR PROTECTION” words are displayed, with a picture of soldiers pointing their weapons. Next to it, another with a giant flower, saying “SAW THEM? STAY SILENT.”
“I mean they got the image all wrong, am I right? This flower doesn't have teeth ready to take a delicious bite of human flesh,” says Lucas.
“That’s censorship for you, mister Sinclair,” says Mike. “It's a metaphor, they're not going to show you the real ugly thing. They know you've had enough of looking at it on the streets, or in your bedroom, or your workplace. They're trying to help you out a bit.” Lucas has to chuckle at the idea of censorship being there for “your protection.”
A nurse hurries beside them, clutching blankets. Another passes hugging stained clothes. Neither are the one they need. Until Will says “Is that her?” pointing to the end of the hall, where a girl with short, reddish hair just entered a room.
Their steps click in an irregular pattern on the tiles, but something else catches Lucas's attention. The screams are getting louder as they approach, as if they're being torn right from the person's soul, desperate and animalistic.
They come to stand by the door and it's immediately obvious they should not be here. Not just by the social “kids should not be in this hospital room” cue, but they should really not be looking at a maroon river pooling from the man's stomach. His guts should not be seeing the daylight. There's a gash over his chests and thighs, the claw marks big and deep. Lucas thinks of the words on the wall they just saw. This man is everything but silent.
Vicky appears in the frame, snapping them out. “You guys should move on,” she says, her hands pushing them gently but there's a desperate urgency.
“Yeah, listen, just letting you know we're here. Robin said you'd be cool,” says Lucas.
“It's fine, it's hell here anyway, no one will notice. Just go and maybe don't stay long. Skip a day sometimes. You don't want to catch something, we still don't know what people have here.”
“But she's here all the time,” Lucas trails off to no one, Vicky's back turned to him, Will and Mike already climbing the staircase. So he does too, skipping every other step, until he's in another long hall, slightly calmer than the one below.
The guys wait for him in front of the door with number 10 written on them. Lucas opens them and with him all the noise finds its way in, for a split second, until they're shut. Suddenly, everything sounds like he just sunk his head in water.
“Hey, Max.” Her sleepy figure is neatly laid on the bed, beautiful and serene, and Lucas sits on the chair next to it. A small radio is by her bed, words coming out of it.
“... a reminder from Hawkins to the citizens of the rest of our wide country, that the town is still closed off, and the newly formed so-called ‘borders’ are still up. They're here to protect anyone from coming in, for the fear of the earthquake having some remaining strikes is still high. The US Geological Survey and the Federal Emergency Management Agency are still working together and trying to figure out why that specific spot was the target of one of the biggest earthquakes in history, isolating the small town-”
Lucas switches it off. It's the same thing that some blonde lady in black and white suit said this morning on his television. The same bullshit they talk about every day. “They tell them why they can't come in, but keep the reason why we can't get out to themselves, right?” he says.
“But, hey, at least no school, right?” says Mike. “Max you better hurry, before they open it back on. They're still afraid we'll get eaten by the Demos in class.”
“That's so dumb, like they can't eat us at home,” says Will.
Mike rolls his eyes. “I know, right? As if the fucking curfew will protect us. They really think so highly of themselves. Who are they fooling? Honestly, Max, we could use another mouth to tell them to fuck off.”
Lucas smiles and looks at the sleepy girl. Her hair possibly the brightest thing in the town, the only sun that shines in this corner of the world. “Sorry, this is not why we're here, to bring all that stuff to you. Here, we should listen to something else.”
He fishes the tiny cassette out of his backpack, sets it in and presses play. The quiet tune buzzes like electricity between them, its familiarity bringing Lucas back to his worst day. Still he lets it wave around, because it also brings hope with it, and maybe it will eventually bring her.
Sometimes the fear will poke Lucas's chests, for two polar opposite reasons. Her being somewhere with him at the moment when he gets defeated. No time to run, the race itself faster than her. Desperately wanting to buy them time, although buying time means more deaths, more suffering. Either way he loses.
“Listen, what they said, it's true. No school. We could just hide in my house, rest together. Or go and flip the intruders off, either way it can be fun,” he says, as the mellow voice of Kate Bush sings, taking him in all the different places, all in which she is with him.
***
The light shade of pink greets Nancy everywhere she looks around her room. Four walls, the curtains. Her bedsheets. An irritating itch starts at her skin and her thoughts scream wrong. The contrast from outside is too stark, too wide. She can't afford to spend her time in a fairy land.
“Nance,” a voice from her bed says, “what's going on in your mind?”
Nancy turns to look at Jonathan and suddenly likes her room a little more. The sight of him lying there in his dark, oversized shirt makes everything real, grounding.
“A lot,” she replies, turns to look at him through her mirror on the wall. Her own reflection greets her, and she finds another dark thing.
“Yeah, no shit. Even if you weren't pacing like you're going through withdrawals, you always have that look on your face. That angry, determined look that says you have a thousand thoughts going inside your head.”
A collage of pictures sits glued to the mirror. Nancy stares at a different reflection. Younger her, happier, next to Barb. Barb with sunglasses next to her. Barb smiling. Little girl Barb next to little girl Nancy.
“It’s killing me Jonathan,” she says and turns to look at him. “It's killing me. People are dying left and right, maybe now as we speak. And maybe we could help, but we can't, because we can't leave and we can't risk them getting too close, and I'm not talking about the Demos.” It's not coherent, this trail of words. But Jonathan gets it anyway. Nancy paces to the bed and drops herself on her back, next to him. The ceiling is pink. “We need to tell someone, we need to spread the word.”
Jonathan joins her in lying flat. “How could we do that? The phone lines are cut and even if they're not it's too risky with them watching and listening. And even if we somehow get the word out, then what? You think someone could do something?”
“I don't know,” says Nancy, fingers playing with a brown thread from her sweater. “but there has to be someone who cares. Right?”
“There has to be. The truth should be out. The only question is how?”
She thinks about it. What's stopping the truth? “Let's see what they're using. Flyers, posters, writing whatever they want… If we could somehow get the message in the same way only outside…”
“Murray?” asks Jonathan and replies to himself. “That's too risky though, we have no way of contacting him and I don't know if he would be okay with risking himself like that. He can't fight them all alone and from the outside.”
“He can't do that. We can't get the message out.” Hawkins is a world within a world. And that world has something in it. Nancy sits up straight. Jonathan's eyes glisten as they look at her. “They're here. With us. They can be beaten up from inside. We don't need to tell the world. We just need to tell people here. They have to do it themselves.”
Jonathan furrows his eyebrows and stands up. It's his time to pace around. It doesn't last long before he looks at Nancy and says “I've got an idea.”
***
The can rattles with the tiny ball in it as Nancy shakes it. It's the last one, and she puts it in the box in the trunk. Safely tucked in and saved for later.
She doesn't look through the window as they drive though the town, already knowing what's there. Knowing the chances of finding anything green are low, the leaves on the trees and ground stopped having a color a while ago. El's face greets them then and there, swooshes by them as the car keeps moving. Painted flowers made to look like the creatures from the world underneath. Cameras at every corner.
“Hope they're waiting for us already,” she says. The woods are not much but are still better than all this.
The car slows, it's always a little more crowded the closer to the hospital they are. In the midst of vehicles and people, the two tall familiar figures stand. Once they spot them, they're right there, and the doors in the back open. Their voices fill the space.
“Where are the rest?” asks Jonathan.
“Dustin never showed up and Lucas said he'll come later with Steve and Robin,” answers Will. The engine starts. They're back on sliding through the mess.
“What do you mean he didn't show up?” Jonathan speaks again.
“I don't know,” says Mike, “but I'm sure he's fine. I mean fine as in not eaten by a giant monster, not fine as in fine. He's not exactly fine since, you know... We're kinda used to him ignoring us.”
“You know what happened the last time you guys were used to one of your friends ignoring you for going through something,” says Nancy. The silence follows. She hears her brother starting the sentence over and over again. “Yeah, but- yeah, wow. It's not-”
“Stop it Mike. I'm sorry. I shouldn't've said it. Or said it like that. I'm just saying maybe you should try harder. Maybe we should all.”
“If he doesn't show up tonight, we'll go to his house,” says Will.
“If there's time. If not, the first thing tomorrow.”
There are some advantages to the woodland. Some of nature's paint is still there. No one is warning, threatening. If Nancy tries hard, she can pretend like everything is as it used to be. Whether that's a good thing, or there was never a time in the past she can envy, it doesn't matter. At least here the leaves are alive.
Careful through the traps, sets of feet walk over the thread on the ground. The trail once complicated, now getting more and more familiar with each time they get here, and soon, they're in front of a small, wooden house.
Mike's knuckles do their thing on the door, the rhythmic knocking firm and fast. The sound of locks clicking is muffled through the other side and then the soft face peeks through for a split second before Mike's frame hides it in the hug.
“Hi, guys,” says El, hugging everyone. It's something she always does. Nancy thinks about how bad it must be, to be isolated and stuck here, and just when she gained not one, but two brothers. Her hair is already starting to curl on the sides, giving her a distinguished look. “We're ready.”
There's someone behind El, someone big and bulky, walking next to the short and slender woman. Hopper and Joyce. “You're early,” says Hopper. “As usual. Let's get the things and go.”
It's always like a trance, seeing that kid who always talks and carries herself so softly, now moving like a supernatural serial killer. She runs as the wind, knocking things with her mind. Hopper times her, corrects her, cheers her on. He's playing for a second. Mike has that stupid look on his face that Nancy finds adorable.
A desperate wish appears, like on time, while Nancy watches El. That she could use her powers soon, that they could use theirs too, weaker and maybe laughable in comparison to El's, in something that matters. A fight that would be the last one they have to endure.
When El is done, panting and slurping on water, Nancy pats her on the back. “Great job.” El smiles and Nancy reads the same wish on her face.
***
Digits one and zero, stare back at Robin as she stands on the first floor of Hawkins memorial. She knocks softly, and grabs the knob. Inside, Max is on her bed, Lucas next to her, turning to face Robin. Faint music drifts between them, mixing with the noise from where she is. “Hey Sinclair, how's it going?”
Lucas' eyebrows furrow. “Shit, is Steve here already?”
“No, don't worry. Have you seen Vicky?”
“Yeah, but that was hours ago. She could be anywhere now. Looked pretty busy.”
“Okay, I'm gonna find her. Meet you later by Steve's car.”
Robin shuts the door. A hand wraps around her wrist, and before she even registers it, starts pulling. Her feet follow, because they always would, her body will always lean towards Vicky, heart in charge of it instead of brain.
Vicky shoves them in a room the size of a pocket, filled with brooms and shelves with boxes on them. “A closet? Really?” says Robin.
“It's not a closet,” says Vicky. “The only other places here with privacy are the rooms with patients too knocked out to notice you and me going at each other.”
Robin really shouldn't find this funny. But Vicky continues. “And also there's that constant feeling like we're being watched, you know, like there are some things surveilling us, people desperate to know what everyone is doing. I wonder why's that?” Vicky jokingly makes the face of thinking hard, her index finger tapping on her lips. Robin wishes to kiss that spot, to press her lips against that finger.
Her hands grab Vicky's face and she makes her wish real. Once they part, she holds a bag in front of her. “I brought you lunch. Or whatever it is the meal you can have here.”
“Thanks babe. I swear if you're not showing up here, I don't know what I would do. Everything is driving me crazy.”
“You know it's bad when I'm the distraction from crazy.” This earns her a chuckle.
“Your kids were here,” says Vicky.
“Shit I guess they are my kids now. I owe Steve an apology. We're meeting him later, Lucas and I.”
“He is still here? And Steve is coming again? No offense, I like him, but sometimes I could go a day without him, you know,” she says, smiling.
“Oh, c'mon, he's the only one who knows. It's refreshing to talk about us to someone. I want to shout it from the rooftops. But he'll still do. It's liberating.”
“You know it's bad when Steve is liberating,” Vicky laughs.
Sweet moments caught then and there are short, and so is this one. Two or three more stolen kisses, and then it's over. “Sinclair,” says Robin, back at Max’s room. “It's time.” Lucas and she find their way out.
It's getting colder, the air and the year. Inhale, exhale. Feels good, but no one knows what's going in their lungs. Robin's neverending hope thinks it's nothing, or at least nothing that will harm anyone who stepped their foot in the Upsidedown. The visits got to come with some level of immunity. It's her mom she's worried about, Vicky, and everyone else. On the pole by her side a poster reads “TELLING A FRIEND MAY MEAN TELLING THE ENEMY.” There are rows of cars, but none belongs to Steve. “Where are they?” asks Lucas.
“Don't know. We're on time, right?”
“Yeah.”
The wait gets drawn to minutes. Robin fills it with questions about Max. “Do you think she could be close?”
Lucas shrugs. “I don't know. Maybe she's not even here.”
“Hey, no way. You can't let yourself go there,” says Robin. “She is here somewhere and I bet you're the reason for it. You coming everyday, you talking to her, you playing her favorite songs. It's you. She'll come back and it will be thanks to you.”
“I just hope she hurries. When I look at all these deaths and blood and everything… This needs to be over but she needs to come home first.”
A car stops close to them. Through the windshield Steve can be seen speaking frantically at Dustin sitting on the passenger seat. Robin says quietly “She will” to Lucas, and gets inside with him. “Too busy talking too much again to check the clock, are you Steve?” she asks.
The car moves and Steve says, “I'm sorry guys, maybe Dustin here has some explanation for why we're late. It’s not like my lateness is not directly caused by his lateness.”
“I told you you could do it without me,” says Dustin. “It's a regular check out, you don't need me for it.”
“Like we could go to Max this morning without you?” says Lucas. “Bullshit. We need everyone for everything. It's what the situation requires.”
“I'm here now so can we drop this?”
“That tone,” says Steve under his breath. Robin's eyes meet Lucas's and read the same awkward exhaustion.
Silence sets, and lasts for a while. Just gliding through the streets, avoiding cracks and bumps on the road. It gets broken eventually, Dustin's fingers pressing a couple of buttons, until the music fills their ears. They're loud enough to be obnoxious, drums and guitar, but Robin says nothing. The sound gets reduced quickly anyway, Steve side-eying Dustin. For a moment, then it's loud again. Back and forth, over again. Steve says, “Man, what is with you? We shouldn’t be blasting anything, remember. The quieter the better. Besides, could you let me focus on my drive?”
“Why would this mess with your driving?” asks Dustin. “No really, are you that bad at multitasking? Maybe some of us should be driving. I mean, sure none of us has a license, but I'm pretty sure we'll be fine. At least Steve is not on the wheel.”
“Jesus, what’s your problem?”
“No, Steve, because is it really that much to ask for, just some music-”
“It's not too much, it's just too loud. Is it too much of me to ask to turn it down a bit? It's annoying these guys too,” says Steve, his attention on Dustin, Robin's attention on them.
“How would you know?”
“Anyone with ears would find this too much, we don't need to ask- Holy shit!” The car stops abruptly. Everyone's attention shifts, by what interrupted Steve.
A pair of hands land on the glass of the windshield, leaving a small red trail. Robin's heart gets in her throat. The argument, the atmosphere from mere moments ago, immediately forgotten.
“What the hell?” says Steve and they watch as the woman who cut them out staggers over. She's saying something, no one can tell what, everyone knowing it means trouble.
On Lucas’s side a man reaches for the handle, Robin turning intensely to watch as he opens the door. His face is there for just a second, but she knows the terror and the blood across it will be on her mind a lot longer. He is sent flying on the side, pushed so hard and landed on the concrete, by a giant weight crushing him. The monster growls and breathes harshly and somewhere under it, the painful screams reach them.
Lucas closes the door. They can't see the woman anymore. “Steve, go.”
“Okay, okay, yeah.” Steve's voice is as frantic as his finger, trying to turn the key. Hesitation costs them an escape. The roof starts to bang, slightly curving over their heads. “Guys,” says Robin.
“I know,” answers Steve.
Robin starts to measure time in its steps. One bang-one hour. Two, three, four. It gets messed up, because new cracking sounds appear, consistent and more determined, making her cover her ears. She thinks surely one stray bullet will find its way to one of them, when the Demogorgon jumps down, every shot reserved for it.
“Now.” Steve speaks again, mostly to himself. The car moves, but its road is short, stopped by another twin fight further between the beast and the boots. Dustin's voice yells, “Fucking hell.”
“I think we should get out,” calls Robin the first thing that comes to her mind in a high octave voice.
“No way, I'm locking these doors,” says Steve in the same manner.
“If we leave the car, maybe we can escape by foot. We're stuck here anyway.” Robin's hands and feet are faster than her brain, and she's out, the air hitting, sobering her. Hands are on her and she turns sharp, bumping into Steve. “We are not faster,” he says. Faintly she wonders, faster than what, than who?
Lucas and Dustin are out too, on the other side, staying close. Neither move. The Demogorgons are quiet. Either away or dead.
Still, the heavy steps don't stop, their guns clutched in their hands. Robin turns her head to the sight they just left. The whimpers are high and loud from the ground. The woman has appeared again. Two silhouettes, one lying, the other sitting up, looking at the man in front of them. Two clangs, after a thousand they heard tonight. These ones are going to stick with Robin. The sound echoes in the street. The whimpers stop. Someone says “Get in. Now.” Guess she needs things to be told her twice.
Steve's driving matches the way Robin heart is beating; fast, clumsily, screaming. They get past the two soldiers, curving around them and what they're standing before; a blinking, gooing, gaping hole in the ground, casting subtle, fluorescent lights on the street.
***
Locks click again, and Hop lets people in. El counts four. Everyone is here now. But something is wrong, the newcomers' eyes filled with fear and sadness. “What is it?” asks Hop.
“We got into an attack,” answers Robin. “The Demos, I don't know where they are, but their victims…” She shakes her head, eyes like glass. “They're not just Demo's victims.”
Words settle in like a cold blizzard. Something rises in El. Shared panic, but another thing as well. That ugly, annoying feeling that's been with her for a while now. She learned the word for it long ago and it named the feeling she had since she was as young as her name.
She breaks the blizzard. “There's gotta be something I could do. We are wasting me here.”
“El, we talked about this,” says Hop. “You agreed that every bad thing you think about things is not very justified. You agreed that there is no other choice.”
“I know. But now the Demos are not the only ones killing them. Why would they do that?”
Robin answers again. “My friend Vicky said that the hospital is full. They are running out of capacity, out of supplies. Maybe they want as little people there as possible.”
“That’s awful.” Nancy drags the words through her teeth and El notices the shared look with Jonathan. The similar kind of looks El will sometimes share with Mike. She turns to look at him now.
“What are you suggesting?” he asks. “They're not going to stop no matter what happens with you. Why would they?”
“Which is why we need to find him and end this,” Dustin pipes up.
“What if he's already dead, I mean we got him really good?” asks Steve.
“No,” says Nancy, her voice quiet, but every eye is on her, every ear listening carefully. “There was no body when we got there. He ran. He was alive.”
“Okay, what if he died somewhere along the way?”
“We couldn't find the body in the Upsidedown,” says Jonathan.
Steve is determined. “El can't find him in his mind or whatever it is the sick version of it he has in his head.”
“That doesn't mean he's dead,” says Lucas.
“Well, it's not like we could get any far with the search with the base down there,” says Joyce. “They are searching us up and down.”
“We need more time, we need more everything.”
“Then this,” El gestures around the room, “is in vain. We need to come up with a plan, not just the usual and the checkups. We need to come up with a plan to go further into the Upsidedown.”
“Tomorrow,” says Joyce. “We have twenty four hours to come up with something, to get the weapons and whatever we need and we'll go.”
“I will go,” says Hop.
“I can go too,” says Jonathan.
“The least the better. We don't want to attract any attention.”
“Hop,” calls El. “You won't go far without me. And you know it. Include me in the plan.”
“You are the last person that should be going there.”
“Then just come up with a good plan to not get caught. I'm going too, and we better not argue. It will just waste our time.” El looks somewhere ahead, not wanting to meet Hop’s eyes. Scared to find something there that will kill her resolution.
Later, in her room, it's just her and Mike. “I’m not going to ask if you're sure about this, ‘cause I know you are. I'm just going to tell you the guilt you feel… it's lying to you. Things are way more complicated than that. The real villains are they, it's entirely their fault. They know what they're doing.”
“Thank you,” says El. “I'm trying, you know. But alone here hiding, wondering if it'll ever get better. Normal. It gets me.”
“Of course it will get better. El, this will end. Everything always ends. The good thing about it is that it means the bad things too. This will all be a memory. And we'll be happy and together.”
“How do you know?”
“I would say because I wouldn't let it be any other way, but it's you who can do that. I have absolutely zero doubt in my body that you will fail. And you have me for anything you need.” Mike's fingers are warm as they brush her hand. “We can do anything.”
He smiles and so does El. He always means well, his sweetness melting away all the bad things and thoughts.
From outside a voice yells, “Mike, you're going on foot if you don't hurry.”
“Coming!” he yells back at Nancy. The kiss goodbye is as delightful and short as his stay, and El watches as he leaves the room. “Like you'd seriously let me walk around with all those monsters out,” he says and turns once again. Smiling and waving. El waves back and then they're all gone through the door, saved for Hop and herself.
He looks at her. “Don't start,” she says.
“I wasn't going to. I can't stop you doing that no more than I could stop you closing the door all the way a while ago. In fact, this reminds me a lot of that.”
She thinks of it. About the summer and Mike and promises. Before that went to hell too. But despite it all, those days were a warm little bubble, something that she can clutch to, can seek the wish to move forward in. Maybe those moments really do await. But they are not here now. “It's nothing like that. I wish it was.”
“Yeah, me too. That little Wheeler kid? Could take him out. Threat level one. Those other things? Hell.” A small smile forms on his face, rough and tired. It hits his eyes, full of kindness, and that's when El knows it’s real.
Alone in her room, the mantra goes in her head. “More time, more everything.” More everything. More. There's just one of her.
Only it's not. And she doesn't mean the sad, rotten body of Henry. Another face crossed her mind. Bitter, but not like Henry. Sacrificing, but not like her.
A wave of hope hits her. Finally a path has appeared. Even if it ends nowhere, if it's short and disappointing, she can still step on it.
***
“Wait a minute, Johnathan, what do you mean?” asks Joyce from the backseat. They're parked in front of the Wheelers house. Nancy thinks of the stuff packed in the trunk.
“Mom, don't worry, we'll be right back. We'll be back for dinner, I promise,” says Jonathan.
“Mike, tell mom we'll be there,” says Nancy and soon they watch as Mike, Joyce and Will go inside. “Ready?” she asks and catches sparkles in Jonathan's eyes. Despite everything, being on the team together and doing stuff like this make her giddy, warm. Jonathan nods.
After they're done, the two of them squeeze together on the same sink, trying to get the paint out of their fingers. The fight over the stream of water makes Nancy chuckle. “Don’t push me,” she says, smiling.
“If I don't take this off, I'll be eating your mom's food with the addition of orange color.”
“It would be worth it,” she says.
Downstairs, the table is filled with food made and served with her mom's skilful hands. Around it, chairs are arranged, each taken by the members of the two families. Nancy takes in all the colors and finds she likes this warm, orange glow better than the rosy of her room. Voices are loud, interrupting and bouncing off each other. Nancy's ears hear but don't catch any of the words for longer than a moment.
“Thank you for Midol, Karen. It did wonders.”
“It's just a medicine, don't say thank you.”
“Holly, pass me the potatoes,” says her father, sitting on the head of the table. The tiny hands do as told. Holly's head is peeking over the table across from Nancy and then she turns to Mike seated alongside. “Mike, you're kicking me.”
“Mike, stop kicking your sister.”
“It was an accident,” yells Mike. Then lowers his head and voice. “Holly, it was an accident, can you be cool about it?”
They murmur about nothing in particular, the utensils clatter and click on the plates and platters. Hands pass things around, extending in front of Nancy's face.
It starts as a flicker so fleeting that no one else notices. The big chandelier glowing like a sun overhead starts to malfunction, blinking repeatedly.
Everyone stops mid action. All the noise of life comes to a halt. Gets switched with the buzz of the bulbs, of the wires. They're bathed in the pitch black for a second, then engulfed by the light for another.
Nancy's eyes find Mike's. Jonathan's hand grasps hers. The look is the same on every face. Horror.
Eight heads tilt to watch the scene above. A tiny crack on the ceiling starts to spread and travel like a river. Chunks of wall fall on the table, one after another.
Nancy is on her feet before she knows it. “Run, everyone, now” she hears Jonathan's voice, laced in panic.
The crack is turned into an opening, subtle at first, but getting wider. Her sister's shriek pierces Nancy's ears.
She turns and her determined feet run to her bedroom. The sound of something heavy crashing, falling, mixes with screams and carries all the way to her. If she stops now, she'll throw up. Trying to keep her head cold even though the heart pumps liters of warm liquid.
Underneath the bed Nancy finds the suitcase, sweaty fingers fiddling with the lock combination. Once the shotgun is in her hands, ready to be used, she steps out. Bumps into the crowd. “Get behind,” she says and steps forward.
Tall Demogorgon and Nancy stand face to face. Each time she sees it, she remembers another detail. The texture of its skin, the dark and wet red of his deathly petals. Her finger presses, sending a bullet to the flesh. Again and again. Someone grabs her elbow and drags.
Feet trip over each other, lungs trying to catch her breath. Finally the door closes and Nancy finds herself in the bathroom, with no one but Mike. “Where are the others?” Chill runs through her veins, ice forming around her chest, making it hard to inhale. Just let this be over, let it be done.
“I don't know, we got split,” answers Mike, panting heavily.
Another clang of a gun firing. Jonathan. Nancy is ready to go, but it's suddenly quiet. It scares her more for some reason. Nothing makes sense. Why is the hunt slow, almost calculated? The door creaks and she takes a look. Her hesitant toes step on the carpet outside. Careful, like she's dipping them in water. Hand is on her back, supporting her.
Their parents' big bedroom is open, and that's where they find the rest. Pressed against each other, Holly clutched between Joyce and mom. Her eyes are shut, tears wetting her face. Jonathan is in the front, holding a gun. Nancy joins him. The time in the room is paralyzed, nothing but agonizing, ragged breathing. Nancy's heartbeat is loud in her ears, before they capture a much more sinister sound. All turn to watch the source, the peeling of the wall behind her parents' twin bed. A giant claw-like hand bursts through.
Everyone is quickly outside and Nancy shoots again, then abandons the plan, running for her life.
They need to leave the house, that's obvious to all. The crowd go for the stairs, only to find there the exact thing they're running from. Hurrying back at the same time as the Demogorgon leaps as high as the ceiling. Nancy's eyes stay just in time to catch the claw scratching and ripping the clothes and presumably skin on her mom's back. Holly's woeful, pleading voice is blaring. Mike yells for their mother.
But Nancy watches as the other one reaches them behind, from the bedroom. Jonathan says “Look out,” putting his body in front of hers. It takes him, fast and secure. “No!” howls Joyce. Nancy is afraid to shoot, afraid of hitting the wrong target. Her name gets ripped from Jonathan's throat, and then, along with the monster, he disappears through the pulsating red of another world.
It doesn't stop there, it doesn't spare them. Nancy runs to stand on the highest step of the staircase, as the slimy, enormous hand wrapped around her brother's ankle swipes him across the floor downstairs, right through the wall. Will stays lying, his hands reaching, devoid of his friend.
Nancy's heart wants out. Through her mouth, her ears, her head. “Mom!” she calls and gets to her, kneeling. Holly is down next to mom and dad, her clothes soaked in blood, tears sliding down her cheeks.
“Nancy.” Karen’s voice is a weak whisper. Face pale. Body shaking. “Mike?”
“We’ll get him,” says Nancy. Thinks about Robin's words of the hospital. Of the bullets sent flying. Wonders how deep the wounds are.
The third take comes the quickest. Joyce's voice is speaking fast on the phone by the front door, intersected by a growl. It makes the hair on Nancy's skin stand. By the time they get there, the entry to the house serves as a window to wherever they are taken.
Car. Hospital. Eleven. It goes on a loop in Nancy's mind. Will is next to her, and they watch as the window narrows in on itself, until it completely vanishes. Through the teared entrance door branches on the tree swing in the street, their gray leaves floating and landing on the ground, like sick snowflakes.
***
A clock chimes. It stirs Joyce's consciousness. Another one. Joyce blinks. Counts them in her sleep. By the time it reaches number four, she is fully awake.
Lying on the bed, in her house, she hears a dog barking. Time to feed it, to wake Will for school and go to work. Going on with the list of things she needs to do in her head, Joyce reluctantly leaves the warmness of the bed. As she goes for the bathroom, her eyes pass the calendar hanging on the nail in the wall. The word reads November and below, in the biggest font, the digits show; one nine eight three.