Archive of Our Own

Eleven heard the calling again after slamming the door shut with her mind. She was frustrated with everything. The root of her frustration, though, all led back to Henry.

She and Henry fought again. It was probably the fourth time this week, or the fifth, Eleven didn't really keep count, because it was getting tiring, really, and it was beginning to look like most of their conversations these days weren't civil talkings but heated arguments, dancing dangerously close to being full blown battles where both she and Henry would use their powers on each other, to put the other in their place.

Eleven had thought... she didn't know what she expected, but she thought life after the lab would be easier, as in, she thought she would have more freedom after finally escaping Hawkins Lab with Henry, finally being free of Papa dictating their lives.

Eleven, it turned out, felt as though she escaped Papa's control only to fall right into Henry's, the man who helped her escape and the man whom she escaped with.

"Where were you?" Henry had asked, prior to their most recent fight, when Eleven returned home after having a movie night at Max's. And Eleven had stopped in her tracks with an audibly sigh she didn't try to suppress, or to hide from Henry.

Henry's tone was polite, always so polite (Eleven had never heard him yell, and she'd never seen him show any indication of outright aggression either, not even when he killed. Henry always remained collected, and that... that was the most dangerous and scary part, the way he could always conceal his emotions, making it impossible to predict his next move, what was going on inside his complicated, sometimes-twisted, always-difficult-to-read mind), but underneath the politeness of his voice there was a threat of warning, of anger and possessiveness. It was deadly, the rage that, for all Eleven knew, could be burning brightly within Henry right now, even if all he allowed to let her see was a calm-looking man sitting at the dinning table, with his hands folded nicely together on the wooden tabletop.

"Out," Eleven said, "I was out."

"It is past your curfew, Eleven."

"I was just with a friend,"

"No, you didn't tell me you were going to be home so late. I was worried —"

"Because you wouldn't let me, if I did tell you," Eleven hadn't meant to raise her voice. She looked more taken aback than Henry did. They argued a lot lately, though Eleven doubted she could ever get used to raising her voice at Henry.

There was, however, something flashing across Henry's eyes, a hint of anger he hardly ever showed, and when Henry next spoke his voice, too, raised just a degree, only enough to make Eleven regret raising her voice at him, "So you decided to block my psyche when I tried to reach for you, and this, Eleven, is the third night in a row that you failed to make it home before your curfew —"

"My curfew?" Eleven cut him off, which made it the second time in the last minute, "Do you even hear yourself, Henry? You're treating me like I'm your prisoner."

"I'm treating you in the way that would guarantee your safety. I am protecting you."

"I don't need your protection. I am safe."

"No, you're not. We're not safe, Eleven, and the fact you think that we are — that you are — is what gonna get you caught. Papa is out there, actively searching for us as we speak. We are not safe. You are not safe."

Eleven rolled her eyes. That was... a bad idea, she knew that, she couldn't help it anyway, because this was ridiculous. It'd been years since she and Henry managed to escape. Papa never found them. And Henry... Henry still wanted them both to constantly hide, to live in endless paranoia. It made Eleven feel as though she were drowning.

As though she were still a prisoner, with the only difference being she went from being Papa's prisoner to Henry's.

"Eleven," Henry went on, "I do not appreciate this kind of behavior. I've been looking out for you, keeping you safe. The least you could do is not act like a spoiled brat." His voice had turned lower, darker. Something twisted in his clear blue eyes, making it murderous, the way he was looking at her.
This was usually the part where Eleven toned it down, when they fought, because no matter how angry she got, she still knew better than to test Henry's patient. This time, though, this time it felt slightly different, like she was approaching her last straw fast.

"Maybe I'm not the one acting like a spoiled brat here," she dared, even tilting her head upward a little, a hint of defiance clear on her face.

That... was definitely a bad idea.

"What did you just say?" Henry rose from his chair. His posture reminded Eleven precisely of a predator stalking closer towards its prey, slowly, intimidatingly.

And it took Eleven all her inner strength not to back away. She wasn't his prey. She wasn't scared of him.

Eleven stood her ground and refused to look down. Henry stood tall in front of her, his shadow casting over her smaller frame. "What did you... just say?" his voice had gone even lower, darker. His finger found her chin, and he lightly held it like that, the same way he did back at Hawkins Lab — after he'd slaughtered all the children in cold blood, except Eleven, and had used his finger to touch her face, her chin, before managing to convince (manipulate) her into saying yes and escaping with him — except this time Eleven wasn't crying.

Except this time Eleven wasn't a child anymore.

"Repeat it," Henry said, after the silence on Eleven's end had been going on for a breath too long. "I said repeat it."

Eleven wasn't crying, no, she wasn't that child in the lab, not anymore. She wouldn't cry the way she did upon walking in on Henry murdering those kids in the Rainbow Room, but her eyes were getting... glossy. She was frustrated and she hated this. Hated that Henry wasn't the man he once was, the Friendly Orderly, before they escaped. He'd turned controlling, aggressively possessive over everything about Eleven's life, like she was his fucking property, his docile little puppet.

Eleven shook her head and held back a tear. "I said I am not the spoiled brat here."

She could see it now, no matter how good Henry was at hiding his feelings, his emotions, she could see rage burning behind those eyes. Though there was an evidence of surprise. She'd caught him off guard.

"I cannot live like this, Henry."

"So you'd rather be locked away, held a prisoner in that place?"

"No, but I am a prisoner here."

And before Henry could say anything, Eleven broke free from his touch. She stomped upstairs to her room and ignored Henry's calling after her.

She heard the calling again after slamming the door shut with her mind. Not Henry's. This one, the calling, it came from... a different place, somewhere far away, though it was directed only at Eleven. Which meant Henry couldn't hear it (and Eleven, for some reason, opted against telling him about it).

Eleven started hearing them a week ago. The calling. It was of a woman, and she called her name, not Eleven but her other name: Jane.

"You don't have to live like this," the voice said, that woman, Eleven could hear her inside of her head. Somehow her voice got clearer, louder.

"Who are you?" Eleven asked aloud, not loud enough for Henry to hear, of course, but she did physical speak the words, instead of responding back via her psyche.

"You know me, Jane," the woman said. She didn't sound much older. Probably Eleven's age, maybe a bit older, but only a bit.

"What?" Eleven didn't physically speak it this time. She thought it, but the woman clearly heard her nonetheless.

"If you come find me, I will tell you everything."

"Where do I find you?" She asked via her psyche.

"That place in your dream," the woman said, and Eleven knew exactly what place she was talking about. Eleven dreamt about it, more than once, a rundown factory of sorts outside of Hawkins. In her dream, she walked in it, and it looked real, so real it felt as though she were really there. "Follow our string, our bond, our connection, and let it guide you to me."

But Henry... Eleven thought. She was thinking to herself, not to whoever the mysterious woman was, but she heard her anyway. (And there was a part of Eleven that felt her privacy was being invaded. She hated it when Henry pried into her mind, and she hated it more when a stranger did it, even if the stranger claimed they knew each other.)

"You don't need him, Jane."

"He is my friend," Eleven said, out loud this time. But did she... mean it? Eleven cared about Henry, sure, but there were also a lot of things, which he did, that she disagreed with: the list started with his committing a massacre at Hawkins Lab, and that list went on to the way Eleven was being treated here, like a... like a prisoner inside a place that was built to look more like a home than it did a laboratory in which she and Henry escaped from. But the problem, was how Henry treated her the same way Papa did, the way Henry himself used to say how much he resented it, when his freedom was being taken away.

"No, he is not your friend. He's your jailer, Jane. You know that."

Eleven wanted to argue. She... couldn't. Because how could she lie to someone who was already inside her mind, reading it like an open book?

"Come live with me," the woman went on. "You don't need One. You never did. You're stronger than you realize.

"You are better off without that man holding you down."

______________________________

Henry didn't always resort to alcohol — he wasn't a fan of the effect alcohol had on his mind, how they made him numb, which was understandable for someone who relied on his mind for power and strength — but when he did, it always had something to do with Eleven.

Or, only Eleven-related problems could get Henry stressed enough that he needed to pour himself a glass of something strong.

He never cared. Before Eleven, Henry had never cared for anybody, had never had a reason to care. But then she came into his life. Eleven was just... one of Papa's test subjects when Henry first saw her in the Rainbow Room, one of those noisy low lives spoiling this fucked up world. Henry had fantasized about killing her, not just her specifically but every single one of the kid at the lab (he acted on that fantasy of his in the end, except he didn't kill Eleven, obviously). They were all the same to him. Their existences meant nothing to him.

But then Eleven proved him wrong. No one had ever proved him wrong, but she did. Henry soon learned he was wrong to assume Eleven was like the rest of the kids. Because Eleven was different. Like Henry, she too was different.

Before Henry knew it, he found himself deliberately getting into trouble with Papa for her, all these whispers of advices to help her do better during her practice sessions which often landed him at the end of the taser. At first it irritated Henry greatly, because Henry didn't understand them, these feelings, the affection he held for Eleven. It irritated him enough that it terrified him, because it made him confuse, and confusion only led to weakness. Henry was scared of being weak, of being defenseless (more defenseless than he already was when his powers were, at that time, stolen from him by the Soteria implanted in his neck). But Eleven... somehow — Henry didn't know how she did it — Eleven proved herself worth all the risk and the trouble, as well as the confusion and the fear Henry felt, upon caring for her.

And before Henry knew it he was willing to let Eleven leave him behind, if it meant she got to escape this prison — the lab — and live the life Henry could only dream of.

The fact Henry escaped too, in the end, was something he still had a hard time believing, for it felt like a dream, almost too good to be true. It might just explain his overly protectiveness. Because he knew how rare this miracle he was living — they were living, together — was, and how easily it could all be taken away from him, from them, for all it took would be one slip, one mistake, and they both could be back behind the walls of Hawkins National Laboratory. And if that happened, a slip, Henry knew Papa would make sure they never escaped for the second time.

He wasn't... too harsh on Eleven, was he?

No, he wasn't. Henry was... he was just protecting her. He knew what it felt like, to have one's freedom taken away, to be someone's prisoner. Henry had been there. So he hated having to be so strict, but if being a dictator in Eleven's eyes, and in the end being hated by her, meant she was safe from Papa, from what would happen to her, if Papa were to find her, then Henry supposed it was worth the pain. His pain.

He downed the rest of his drink and slammed the empty bottle — a whole bottle, not a glass anymore. After finishing his first glass, he'd moved to the bottle instead — down on the table, probably a little too rough he nearly broke it. Leaning back against his chair, Henry closed his eyes and let his head loll backward. Apparently, an entire bottle of liquor still wasn't enough to numb Henry, not this time. His mind still refused to stop replaying the conversation — the fight — he had with Eleven earlier. Her words, no matter how hard Henry tried to be nonchalant, hurt.

Do you even hear yourself, Henry? You're treating me like I'm your prisoner.

Eleven was his friend. His first and only friend, the only person he cared about, so of course, he would do anything — whatever it would take — to make sure she was safe and okay. But Henry couldn't tell Eleven that.

I am a prisoner here.

Is that how you really feel? Henry wanted to ask that. Something stopped him. And now he was left alone with his thoughts; they weren't kind, that was for sure.

In the end, after another twenty minutes or so (after he was thoroughly assaulted by the voices in his head), Henry made his way to the bathroom so he could splash cold water on his face, clearing his mind.

When he straightened his back up he came face to face with the mirror in front of him. What stared back almost made Henry grimaced: his eyes were red rimmed and sunken, his cheekbones a bit too sharp and his skin a shade too pale. Henry could lie to himself, sure, that he didn't care that much about Eleven, but the way he looked right now might just prove otherwise.

Henry hadn't gotten much sleep. He couldn't sleep, not when Eleven wasn't home and he didn't know where she was, if she was safe or if the people from the lab found her. And Eleven was very good at staying outside past her curfew these days.

She was, at least, home now. Sulking in her room, but at least Henry knew she was safe with him.

Maybe he should... go and talk to her. It was late, yes, but Henry didn't like going to sleep angry at Eleven, and a part of him hoped Eleven didn't like going to sleep angry at him either.

And if it wounded his pride to be the first to yield...

Eleven had, once again, proved herself worth it, even if Henry had no idea how she did that.

______________________________

"Eleven," Henry knocked at her door.

She wouldn't answer him, and Henry had to fight the urge to grit his teeth or roll his eyes, or to tear the damn door off its hinge with his mind.

"Eleven," still no response.

This was... unlike her. Even if Eleven was mad at him (which she clearly was) she would normally still answer.

"Eleven, I'm coming in," Henry said. He didn't wait this time.

The door wasn't locked (though Henry knew Eleven's opting against locking it might have something to do with her knowing it was useless anyway, when Henry could always unlock it with his telekinesis anytime), he stopped in his tracks the second he twisted the knob and pushed the door open and was immediately met with emptiness.

The room was empty.

Henry, trying and failing to keep the beginning of panic from creeping down his spine, looked around probably a little too frantically. It couldn't be that Eleven was in any other room inside their house, because Henry didn't hear her open the door again after she stomped into her room about an hour ago. But she wasn't in her room right now.

His eyes ultimately landed on the window. It was, to Henry's utter horror, open. Curtains blew in the cold wind that was freezing him in shock and (something Henry would rather die than succumb to again) fear.

Because this, Henry knew, was different than Eleven just being out, hanging with those friends of hers. No, this wasn't... that. This meant she was gone. Really gone.

No. Please no.

Don't do this. You can't do this to me.

But who would Henry cry his desperate pleading to when he was alone? Eleven was gone. She was just... gone.

What went wrong, Henry should've known. He... did know: he was the thing that was wrong.

So it shouldn't come as a shockingly surprise — disregard how it felt exactly like someone had driven a knife right into his heart and twisted the blade to make sure his bleeding was severe enough that there was no chance of him surviving the wound — that Eleven would leave him in the end. It was only a matter of time.

Because Henry was a monster (a cold blooded murderer, he saw it in Eleven's eyes, the way she looked at him that day, after he killed those kids — that had been bullying her — for her. Henry never mentioned it, but he knew his friend saw him as a monster) and he wasn't to be loved.

His mouth slightly open ajar in a breathless gasp. His vision started going blurry from the tears welling up in his eyes, and he felt like he was choking on that lump formed in his throat.

He could call her name, cry her name until his throat bled (and Henry had an urge to do just that), and it wouldn't bring Eleven back. She could be anywhere right now.

Henry... shouldn't have cared, shouldn't have felt so lost. Shouldn't have put his heart on display in the first place. That was his mistake. The fact he, even now, couldn't stop caring so deeply and so unconditionally for Eleven. The fact Eleven could be the one driving that knife into his heart and twisting the blade and he would still care for her. Henry cared for her because she was out there, alone without Henry there to protect her. She wasn't safe. If Papa's people found her...

Henry slumped back against the wall behind, since his knees felt suddenly very wobbly. He slid down until he was sitting gracelessly on the floor. When he closed his eyes he decided to stop fighting back the tears and let them fall.

Eleven wasn't here to see him cry, anyway.

______________________________

Eleven found herself standing awkwardly in front of a hideout of sorts, an abandoned factory, after a forty-minute ride on a bus from Hawkins. It wasn't just any abandoned factory but the factory she saw in her dreams. The one where the mysterious woman in her head told her to come.

She was, as crazy as it sounded, here now. Eleven still had a hard time processing the fact she did leave Henry, the fact she did make this decision on a whim, when she was angry at him and when she clearly didn't think straight. Clearly she didn't think it through, because if she did, she probably wouldn't have followed a mysterious voice in her head to this creepy place far away from home.

She'd never been so far away from Henry, and there was a part inside her — a very big part, actually — that wanted to run back where she came from, back to Henry's arms, back home, because this felt wrong. So very wrong.

Eleven shouldn't have just... left him like this, after everything they'd been through. And no matter how angry she was at him, after their fright, she was petrified to even wonder if Henry could ever heal from the betrayal. It was what it was, wasn't it? A betrayal.

But Henry also made her feel trapped. Eleven hated that he made her feel like this was the only choice: running away and starting a new life, a life without him, and if the thoughts of it alone — the thought of a life without Henry — felt like a bullet to the heart...

"Hey," Eleven's trance was broken. A man's shouting from the building, from the other side of the rundown, barely-keeping-anything-out fence, startled her. Of course, he couldn't be the one that'd been communicating with her these past seven days. He looked... intimidating: with the combination of black eyeliner smeared around his eyes, various tattoos on his body (there was one on his forehead, too), a black wool coat draping over his frame, as well as the heavy leather boots, and that weird hairstyle, in which his scalp was shaved, save for the strip of hair running vertically up the center of his forehead to the back of his neck, and it was pink, too, the hair. He was around the same height as Henry, probably the same age too, though while Henry resembled an elegant Greek God, he — the stranger approaching her — resembled one of those bad people Henry always told Eleven to stay away from.

Eleven had to fight back an urge to step backwards. To back away would be to show weakness. Henry said she wasn't weak. She couldn't... let him down.

Maybe it's a bit too late for the not-letting-Henry-down thing, Eleven. It's already been too late ever since the moment you climbed out that window.

Fuck. Her mind was all over the place. Before she knew it the man was standing in front of her, separated by the fence. "Who are you?" He asked, voice hoarse and unfriendly. "What are you doing out here so late at night, hmm? Don't you know there're bad people —"

"That's enough, Axel," a voice — a familiar voice — cut the man, Axel, off. "I told you not to scare her off," she added. Eleven recognized that voice. She was the woman who'd been talking to her, in her head.

Eleven looked to the direction. The woman was younger than Henry, though a bit older than Eleven herself. She was walking towards her and Axel now.

"Jane," she said. She'd been calling Eleven that, and while Eleven knew Jane was her other name, no one actually called her Jane. No one except for Mama, whom Eleven barely shared any memories with at all.
(The only memory Eleven had of Mama, was during her birth, though it was unclear, like walking through a field of mist.)

"Hi," Eleven said, before the silence got too awkward.

It was, in some way, already awkward, because the woman was looking at her, like she expected Eleven to... know her.

The woman knew Eleven, surely, she even knew her other name and called her by it (and she even knew Henry too, knew he was One, for she called him One). The problem, was that Eleven didn't know who she was.

"You don't remember me," she said, almost like she was reading Eleven's mind (she probably was.)

"I'm sorry," Eleven said, because she didn't know what else she was supposed to say.

"That's okay. I already suspected Papa made sure you had no remember of me."

"You know Papa?"

So she knew Eleven's real name was Jane, knew Henry was One, and knew about Papa. Eleven was, at this point, no longer sure if this wasn't a trap in which she'd walked right into. If the woman worked for Papa...

But before Eleven could turn around and run, the woman lifted up her sleeve, showing Eleven her inner wrist. And Eleven found herself unable to look away.

008 was permanently inked there, on her skin. She wasn't working for Papa. She escaped Papa.

"Hi," the woman — Eight — said. "I'm Kali. We're sisters."

______________________________

Life with Kali, Eleven learned, after day 3 of living with her and her squad, was everything life with Henry wasn't.

Because unlike Henry, Kali pushed her. While Henry shielded Eleven away from the world (we need to lay low, he had said, like he'd forgotten about his speech regarding taking over the world that day, not that Eleven agreed with him, the reshaping-the-world thing, but it was... funny — not necessarily in a bad way — how Henry had a change of heart and did the opposite of what his speech promised, just to keep her safe, according to him), Kali pushed her towards it: the outside world.

Kali told Eleven they used to spend time together in the Rainbow Room, when they were children. She told Eleven she wished she could take her with her, when she escaped.

(Eleven didn't hold a grudge. She probably should, if they were childhood best friends — sisters — like how Kali claimed. If Henry was originally willing to let Eleven leave him behind — if it meant she got to be free, before they both found a way out — Kali left her behind. Eleven didn't hold a grudge, and it surprised her that she didn't. Because if Kali were to take Eleven with her that day, she and Henry would never have had what they did. Before Eleven ran away, but that... that was another story.)

So, instead of holding a grudge, Eleven smiled and told Kali it was fine. "I understand," she said, and Kali smiled back.

______________________________

Kali taught her things, how best to sharpen and control her powers. Henry did, too. And so did Papa. Though they were all different.

Papa's tactic was reward and punishment. Eleven would earn herself a reward, if she did good, an extra hour to play in the Rainbow Room. But if she failed, that would send her straight to the solitary confinement (Eleven hated it. The memories of it still gave Eleven nightmares that'd shake her awake at night).

Henry's way of teaching Eleven, though, was encouraging words. Even back in the lab, he would always tell Eleven he believed in her, and most of the times, it worked better than Papa's cruel means: all the electroshock lessons (even if Eleven had never personally experienced it, she saw her bothers and sisters, including Henry, go through the treatment, and it added to the list of the things that gave her nightmares) and the fear he inflicted upon his children, or, his animals, that was the word Henry used.

Kali had her own way of bringing out, quote, "the best in Eleven" even if Eleven wasn't sure what that exactly meant. Kali said, "This will make you stronger," and Eleven believed her.

Kali was Eight, her sister, she wouldn't lie to her.

So Eleven often found herself in situations Henry would often keep her out of: gang fights, bank robberies, and some other stuff which Eleven was certain was illegal. (She was old enough to know it was bad, and that Henry probably had his reason to not want her associate with any of these kind of things.)

But it was the thrill it gave that made Eleven high enough she forgot what Henry said. The thrill, in this case, involved Kali giving full rein to Eleven to be the one in charge (alongside Kali herself), because Eleven and Kali were the only two people in their squad with these special abilities. And Eleven's own abilities, Kali said, was even more special than Kali's own, or One's, or any of their late brothers and sisters.

So yes, Eleven was given the rein to be in charge, alongside Kali, but she was still in charge.

Henry would never let her do something like this. So this was, in some way, the first time Eleven got to experience real world.

______________________________

In the span of one week, Eleven had successfully robbed three banks, won against another groups of people who clearly hated Kali and her squad (Kali said they were bad people), and escaped authorities after robbing said banks (they were, according to Kali, bad too, the cops) all with Kali and her people. Their people.

Though Eleven missed Henry. She expressed her feelings to Kali one night, after a robbery gone right.

"I remember One," Kali said, after Eleven sat next to her on the rooftop, under the moonlight. Kali, unlike Eleven, had always known Henry was One. "I know he can be... charming, sweet, but you have to remember that it's all an act, a facade."

"What... does that mean?"

"He's a manipulator, Jane. Do you know what a manipulator is?"

Eleven shook her head wordlessly. She'd learned extensive vocabulary ever since she was free from the lab, Henry taught her most of them, but there were still so much Eleven had yet to learn. Although for some reason Kali didn't seem at all surprised that Henry didn't teach Eleven what manipulation meant.

"When someone's being manipulative, it means they're corrupting your mind and messing with your head, with their words, in order to get what they want. Most of the shit they say is a lie. A manipulator, Jane, is someone who lies, but in a clever way. Which makes them... more dangerous than a normal liar."

"But..." Eleven furrowed her brows, "but Henry is not a manipulator. Henry is my friend."

"And that's the lie One wanted you to believe."

No, Eleven wanted to say, that is not true. Henry would never lie. But she couldn't say that, because... because she wasn't even certain if that was the truth, that Henry — her Henry — wouldn't lie to her to get what he wanted. Eleven had seen him do horrible things, commit crimes far more gruesome than a bank robbery.

That he did it for her, according to Henry's own words, did not mean they were not horrible things, what he did. What he was capable of.

Kali would say Eleven was naive (somehow Eleven knew what naive meant, even if she didn't remember where she learned the word from), if she were to say Henry, who murdered in cold blood, drew the line at an act of manipulation.

Eleven blinked herself back to reality when Kali placed a hand on top of hers. "One had been messing with your head since the beginning," she said, "but you're free now. He can't manipulate you anymore."

______________________________

Kali had been telling Eleven about this 'special mission' for days. Though she refused to get into details when Eleven asked what it was, said she wouldn't want to ruin the surprise.

Eleven liked surprises. Henry didn't often surprise her, but when he did, it never failed to make her smile for the rest of the day. His surprises were either lovely gifts or nice dinner, and the things about Henry's surprising her, was that he normally didn't do it on special occasions such as birthdays or Christmases. Because that, Henry had said, wouldn't be a surprise. A good surprise, Eleven still remembered his words, should be something that came unexpectedly.

But Kali... Eleven couldn't explain how, but she'd got this unexplainable dreadful feeling in her stomach, her guts telling her that she wouldn't like Kali's surprise like she did Henry's.

Though Eleven tried ignoring that feeling. She knew Henry, so she knew he knew what she liked, therefore his surprises were always to her liking. Eleven had only known Kali for a short period of time — even though Kali claimed they were childhood best friends, long lost sisters, Eleven had no memories of their time together in the lab — so it was understandable for her to be nervous, more so when there was a blindfold wrapped around her head. "It's part of the surprise," Kali said.

(Eleven was no stranger to being blindfolded, the problem, she supposed, was the fact it reminded her of her time as Papa's test subject, but Kali was a friend. Kali wouldn't hurt her.)

Eleven, it turned out, had never been so nervous — not even when she walked in on the bloodbath, which was what was left of the Rainbow Room, that day — when Kali led her to the hall within the factory, their hideout, and took of the blindfold. In result, Eleven was immediately met with a man — a stranger, he wasn't a part of Kali's gang — tied up to a chair in front of her.

There was a duct tape covering his mouth, his hands tied behind his back, and his eyes — Eleven hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath — were a perfect combination of rage and fear.

Eleven didn't understand a single thing, what was going on, but she already knew she didn't like Kali's surprise.

"What is this?" She asked. Kali stood next to her, looking proud of herself while Eleven looked... pale.

"This," Kali said, "is the surprise I talked about."

"I don't understand."

"This man," Kali pointed at him, ignoring how he struggled to break free, "has taken so much from me, from us. You weren't there, but he used to be one of us, before he turned on our brothers and sisters and ratted us out, sold our secrets to the cops."

"Cops?"

"Bad people, Jane. He," Kali nodded at the man in question, "is a traitor. Do you know what we do to a traitor?"

"Wh — what?"

"We kill them," Axel said. Eleven didn't even notice he'd been standing there, in the shadow.

Kali rolled his eyes, like it annoyed her that Axel had, in some way, ruined the surprise. Though she gave Eleven a knowing smirk the second later. "I wanted to be the one who got the honor, we all did, but you," the smirk on her face widened a little, and it made something in Eleven's stomach churn, "I thought you deserved this gift, a little surprise. Go on then. He's all yours."

"You want me to... kill?" Eleven's gaze shifted away from the man and towards Kali.

No, this isn't right. Henry has... Henry has never asked you to kill. Not once.

"You can use your power to break his neck, or a knife to make it slower, more painful, if you want. Whichever way you want to get it done, this will be your first work, Jane. There is no wrong method." Kali said, her tone was encouraging, but... but so wrong.

Eleven looked at the man again. He was still struggling, but behind the anger in his eyes she thought she saw a hint of fear.

"Look the other way," Henry had said, a month ago, after he found out Eleven had been bullied by kids in her class. What he did to them, Eleven's bullies... long story short, their bodies were never found. (Though Eleven knew what happened to them, had seen it happen when Henry made sure they could never touch Eleven again. Henry's hands, as well as his clothes, were covered in blood.) And even though they hurt Eleven and they, according to Henry, got what they deserved, there was regret on Henry's face, the same regret Eleven saw that day when she walked in on him standing in the midst of the bodies of those children, Papa's test subjects.

Henry didn't regret killing these people, these kids. He regretted that Eleven saw it, knowing the affect such a sight would have on her, and he didn't want that. He was... protecting her.

The kids in the lab, they were Eleven's bullies, too. Not all of them were her bullies. But the ones that never wronged her, they would ultimately grow up and hunt them down — hunt Eleven down — under Papa's order, and Henry couldn't take that risk.

Look the other way, Henry had said, because he didn't want Eleven to witness something so cruel.

Henry never said it, but Eleven was the only innocent part of his life. Her pureness, the only thing that wasn't spoiled by blood and death and the cruelty of this world. He was protecting that, or he'd die trying.

Kali was urging her to kill. And while Eleven had killed before, it was... not like this, because she had a choice here, she didn't have any when she was cornered by Hawkins National Laboratory's guards.

"Jane," Kali said, when it looked like Eleven was too lost in her mind to do anything besides standing there, "do it. Finish him."

No, Eleven wanted to say. But she was scared, not of having to kill but of the thoughts of disappointing Kali. It was the same fear Eleven felt when she was failing Papa, disappointing him.

So she slowly raised her hand towards the man, open palm shaky and unsteady.

Killing wasn't hard, that wasn't the problem, wasn't what made her tremble like a leaf. What was...

Eleven's mind was suddenly yanked back to that day, locked inside a room with a cat in the cage, Papa and his men watching — observing — from the gallery. She could kill that cat under three seconds, and she was expected to do just that. It wasn't the act of killing itself that Eleven struggled with, it was... so much more complicated than that. Because this was a life she was asked to take away from a living thing, and it was irreversible.

In the end Eleven stood her ground and refused to take the cat's life. She ended up in a solitary confinement. No, she almost ended up there, until she snapped and murdered three guards and, in result, put a proud smile on Papa's face.

The memories of that day still haunted Eleven's nightmares to this day.

Jane, do it. Finish him.

"No," Eleven said, eventually. She lowered her hand, after what felt like forever.

"What?"

"No," she said again. Her eyes landed on Kali again. "I won't... kill."

"What are you talking about?"

"This is wrong, Kali."

"He wronged me— he... wronged us, alright?"

"No, he wronged you, and now you want me to kill him for you," it wasn't an accusation, because it was a simply fact. A simply messed up fact, but Eleven wasn't naive enough that she couldn't see it for what it was.

"What?" Kali snorted, "that's bullshit. So you want me to believe you spent years with One and there's never a single drop of blood on your hands?"

"No," Eleven said again. Each time she said that word, it became stronger, louder. "Henry did bad things to protect me. You try to make me do bad things for your own gain."

"That is not true," Kali's voice danced close to being a full blown shouting. "I am doing this for you. So you can grow. So you can be stronger."

"I do know what a manipulator is. I do now," Eleven said, her voice cracked but she wouldn't allow a sob to weaken her. "It is not Henry."

"How fucking dare you!"

A bullet piercing through the space between Eleven and Kali, colliding with the man's skull, creating a huge mess of blood, as well as pieces of brain (Eleven got some of them on her clothes, too), interrupted whatever Kali or Eleven had to say next.

For a moment they both froze, stunned, since everything happened in an instant, so out of the blue, and they were having a hard time processing what was going on. Because that wasn't Eleven, or Kali. But the man's head had already been blown up.

There was another three-second-long moment of quietness, before another gunshot rang, and another, and another, and came with those gunshots a wave of shouting and yelling from outside of the door. They were getting closer, the gunshots, the commotion. The ambush

"What's going on?"

"We're under attack," Axel said, already loading the machine gun in his hand.

"It's Jay's" Dottie, one of Kali's gang members, rushed through the door. She had blood on her, and Eleven wasn't sure whether or not it was hers.

Kali swore. Jay was the drug lord (a bad person, as Kali said to Eleven) whose hideout Eleven helped blow up the other day, Kali's order.

And now... well, Eleven may not know the exact history between Kali's gang and this Jay person's, but things were becoming clear enough now that this was a revenge.

Kali grabbed Eleven's arm then. "We need to —" she didn't get to finish that when a bomb went off. Its heat and impact sent Eleven, Kali, Axel and Dottie flying backward in different directions.

The back of Eleven's head hit the floor when she fell. It knocked the breath out of her, and for the time being she lied there. Her head hurt and the intensity ringing in her ears was making it more difficult for her to form any coherent thoughts, to be fully alert of her surroundings.

There was smoke and fire. The gunshots and the shouting continued in the background, though they sounded so very muffled in her head, when she couldn't really hear beyond those ringing noises.

Eleven saw a man. He was walking towards her, through smoke and flames, and she recognized him, that was Jay. And in Jay's hand was a gun.

She couldn't... access her powers. Not right now. Because the ache in her head was too much. Eleven gritted her teeth and, despite the pain, forced herself up on her feet. Jay gripped the gun tight in his hand, aiming the barrel at her, and Eleven wasn't aware of herself backing away until her back hit the wall.

"You," he said, "will pay for what you did."

And she tried. Eleven tried summoning her powers. Her skull felt like it was going to crack into two, her abilities out of reach. Jay was getting closer, and her back was against the wall.

Something — someone like Eleven — threw him across the hall with their power like a rag doll, just before he could pull the trigger. And Eleven knew she didn't do that, she couldn't access her powers just yet.

Kali, Eleven thought, at first. Except it wasn't Kali who saved her life.

Henry looked... murderous. Eleven had seen him look angry before, of course, a lot of times, even though Henry didn't display outright anger like most people (always concealing his emotions), she knew what he was angry, but this... this was different. This time Henry didn't just look angry. He looked... deranged. Eleven could hardly recognize the look in his eyes, and she unconsciously found herself more grateful for the fact Henry was directing that look at Jay and not her, than she was for the fact Henry just swoop in and saved her life.

(Somehow Henry found her, after days of sleepless searching and never giving up. Somehow, with their connecting, that string that bonded them together, he found her just in time.)

Jay had blood dripping down his chin by the time he staggered back up on his feet. His gaze locked with Henry's. But before Jay could say anything, Henry craned his neck, fast, and in result, Jay's own neck twisted and suddenly his body dropped like a rock with a single thud. Unmoving. Dead.

And after Jay was dead. Only after the prick, who dared hurt Eleven, was gone, did Henry's gaze shift towards Eleven. It was... still murderous, but as insane as it sounded, Eleven thought Henry's eyes softened a littlest when he saw she was okay. He still looked murderous, of course, but there was the slightest hint of relief there, upon finally finding her.

He was... seemingly distracted from what was going on around him, the ambush (like Eleven's being here seemed so surreal, like he couldn't believe he'd really found her), and so was Eleven.
They both were distracted. It'd only been more than a week since she ran away, but it felt, to Eleven, like forever. (And she couldn't begin to imagine how it must feel to Henry.)

Their trance, though, was broken when Eleven shouted his name, "Henry!" and Henry spun around to one of Jay's henchmen sneaking up on him with a knife, jumping at him and nearly tackling him down to the ground.

But Henry threw him away with his power, his telekinesis. The man's body collided with the wall. He didn't move when his body fell to the ground.

Eleven's mouth was open, gasping wordlessly. It was... a close call. It was never this close, and the thoughts of the possibility of anything happening to Henry. If Henry wasn't fast enough. If that man drove his knife...

"We need to go," Henry, sounding out of breath, said as he turned to look at Eleven, breaking Eleven's train of thought (the ringing in Eleven's ears begun to subside). He held out a hand then.

Eleven reached out, but before she could touch it, Henry's open palm waiting for her, before she could place her hand on top of his, she looked to the side, eyes shifted away from Henry, Kali was already looking at her from quite a distance.

There were... feelings in Kali's eyes, dozens of emotions there.

Henry's eyes followed Eleven then. He remembered Eight. Of course, he did. Henry looked at Eight for a breath or two before his eyes returned to Eleven, who still hadn't looked away from her lost sister.

No one said anything, but it was... more than obvious. Eleven needed to choose now, Henry or Kali.

"What are you doing?" Kali said, when Eleven didn't move, "get away from that man, Jane."

"Eleven," Henry said. His hand was still waiting for her to take, "we need to leave now."

"He'll cage you again. He'll cage you like a dog. Is that the life you want?" Kali shouted.

No, that wasn't the life Eleven wanted. Kali had never... caged her, never made a big deal when Eleven did things Henry would've made a big deal about, things he would've claimed were too risky, too dangerous for her. Most of these things Kali was even the one encouraging Eleven to take part in.

Kali had... given Eleven the life Henry promised to give, when he convinced ('manipulated' would be the word Kali chose) her to say yes that day, after the massacre at the lab.

"Jane," Kali said, "I can protect you from him."

"Eleven," there was, much to Eleven's confusion, fear in Henry's voice, even though if sounded like he did try to hide it, "come home," he said.

"You are home, Jane." Kali said, her people were getting control over the situation, the ambush, but things never felt more messier here, between Eleven and Henry and Kali. "You're already home."

Was she though? Because even if Kali gave her freedom, Henry protected her. And even though she hated it sometimes, she knew Henry would never let any harm come her way. But it wasn't about that. This wasn't about who could protect her. It was, in fact, about who made her feel like home. Sure, Eleven had a good time being here with Kali, but she never felt... home.

Maybe because this was Kali's home, as well as her squad's.

But Eleven's home, where was it?

She never felt home ever since she ran away from Henry that night.

You're already home, Kali had said

"No," Eleven replied, eventually. "You are."

She looked back at Henry now. His hand was still waiting for her.

Eleven took it.

______________________________

They somehow managed to make it home tonight, midnight ride on the bus, which Eleven and Henry were the only two passengers. Though they traveled in silence. As a matter of fact, they did not speak another more word to each other ever since Eleven took Henry's hand.

(They didn't speak to each other, even though Henry never let go of Eleven's hand and even though Eleven never pulled away, either.)

Henry and Eleven continued their silence when they opened the front door. Their house. Hawkins. Home at last.

It was, ultimately, Eleven who yielded under the pressure, the... wrongness of it all, because, yes, she was home again, but Henry still wouldn't talk to her. Eleven thought she'd rather Henry yell at her than... this: the silent treatment.

"Henry," Eleven said, she strolled behind him.

Henry stopped, though he didn't turn around to look at her.

Are you mad at me?

Isn't it obvious enough?

"I'm... sorry," she added, after a small pause.

Henry nodded slightly, wordlessly. He just... nodded, which was wrong. This was wrong. Eleven had always known Henry was sensitive, but he'd never acted like this.

"Say something," she added again, almost desperately.

Henry turned his head slightly — only slight, not all the way, with his back still facing Eleven — to look at her. "You're okay," he said then, "that is a relief. You should take some rest. I assumed it was a long day to you."

No, Eleven wanted to scream. This felt wrong. This was wrong. Because even if Henry had never shown his emotions so openly, there was still wrongness in his voice. There wasn't a hint of anger there, only coldness, with an indication of sadness that also made him sound so very young, they were worse than anger.

You did this, El. You broke him.

"Henry..."

"There're leftovers in the refrigerator. Help yourself if you're hungry, please," he cut her off, then he was walking away.

Eleven knew she wasn't allowed to swear, and that Henry could be reading her mind right now, but... screw it. She swore in her head, and if Henry heard it, he didn't scold her for it (part of Eleven almost hoped he would scold her for it, if it meant he talked to her).

Henry just disappeared into the bathroom and, instead of swearing again, Eleven wiped away a single drop of tear.

(She didn't know why she was so upset. Henry wasn't outright angry — nor was he fighting with her — for what she did, and they were finally home. So, really, the problem should've been solved. But Henry... Henry was acting off, and Eleven was so upset that she had to harshly, frustratingly rub her eyes with the back of her hands, to prevent any more tears from rolling down her cheeks.)

______________________________

Eleven spent fifteen minutes on the couch in the living room, replaying the whole things in her head, from the beginning, started from when she decided to climb out the window that night, to where she was right now, back home with Henry again.

She was frustrated. She used to be frustrated with Henry. She realized now, the root of her frustration all led back to herself.

Eleven sighed. Maybe she could treat herself a glass of strawberry milk, her favorite. It wouldn't magically make everything okay, but even if it didn't help, it certainly wouldn't make things worse.

On her way to the kitchen, Eleven stopped dead in her tracks when she noticed it: on the floor, and on the wall, there was blood. Droplets of blood on the floor, as well as a hand-shaped trail of blood on the wall. It was, to Eleven's concern, recent, for it hadn't even dried yet.

But what? How?

Or more importantly, whose blood this was.

Eleven tried to think, recalling in her head the event that'd happened ever since she and Henry reunited.

Henry! Eleven had shouted, back at Kali's hideout. They were both distracted. That man managed to sneak up on Henry, jumping at him with a knife, and...

Oh God, Eleven felt fear so strong — creeping down her heart — it made her freeze.

Oh God.

"Henry!" she didn't think twice when she rushed to the bathroom where he'd gone into. The door was closed.

"Henry!" Eleven banged on it, trying (and mostly falling) to stay calm, to not panic.

He was hurt. Henry was hurt. How could you not notice it sooner?

Eleven didn't know the severity of his injuries. What if he bled out on the floor when you were sitting on that couch doing nothing?

She should've known. Henry had always had the tendencies to hide away his pain, his weakness. Eleven suspected it had something to do with how everybody in his life always looked for a way to take advantage of him when he couldn't defend himself, and sometimes it hurt, to think that Henry felt the need to hide his weakness from Eleven. She knew Henry trusted her, knew she was the only friend he had, so it wasn't really... personal, his shielding away any type of hurt, but more of an old habit that refused to die.

You don't have to pretend to be invincible, more than one occasion, Eleven had an urge to say that aloud, not when it's just us.

"Henry," Eleven said again. She was so close to tearing the door from its hinge with her telekinesis, when finally, finally Henry answered. A hoarse 'what?' with a grunt from the other side of the door that sounded too weak for Eleven's liking.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Friends don't lie."

There was... silence, then. Henry usually didn't admit it when he was wrong, so silence — Eleven had learned throughout the years they spent together — was the closest he would get to offering an apology.

"Henry," Eleven sighed, her head rested against the door, "I'm coming in."

There was a faint whimper from the other side. Eleven suspected it was involuntary. She sighed again and twisted the knob, pushing the door open.

Henry had blood on his hands — literally — his own blood. His shirt thrown thoughtlessly on the tile, and on the side of his torso, Eleven had to hold back any noise when her eyes landed on it, blood oozing out from a slash he got from saving her life earlier. Henry stood in front of the mirror, although the way he had to lean against the sink for support, to keep his body from doubling over, didn't go unnoticed by Eleven this time. His legs, too, were trembling a bit. He was struggling to stay up right.

"Henry!"

"I'm fine —" Henry cut himself off when he realized. Friends don't lie, right. He sighed then, "I'm... I will be fine, Eleven," he corrected. Henry would heal, eventually. The wound was, thankfully, not deep enough to be considered a life-threatening injury. Still didn't mean it didn't hurt like hell, though.

"Henry, you could have —" died, if the blade drove in deep enough, if it hit any important organ, Eleven wasn't even able to bring herself into saying the words aloud, and she was somewhat grateful Henry didn't push her into finishing the sentence.

She stood there for a couple more seconds, watching Henry struggle trying to apply the pressure on the cut (the bleeding seemed to be slowing down now, though it didn't entirely stop just yet), before she decided she'd had enough of this.

Eleven crossed the spaces between them. Her hand touched his, where he held a white towel that'd long turned red, stopping his motion.

Henry looked at her, though he didn't pull her hand away, nor did he protest when Eleven began guiding him a few steps away from the sink and sitting him down on the bathroom tile, with his back rested against the bathtub.

He sat there (and a part of Eleven was relieved he did stay put, especially when Eleven knew how... ridiculously childish and stubborn Henry could get, when he was sick or hurt, like right now, not that Eleven ever voiced that aloud, though) as Eleven fumbled through the cabinet for first aid kit.

She took a spot on the floor next to Henry once she collected all the required equipments: rubbing alcohol, cotton, gauze roll, bandage, and antiseptic wipes. Somehow Eleven always knew these would come in handy one day.

Henry let her examine the cut then. He was lucky it wouldn't need stitches (that would've made things about ten times more difficult for Eleven. Henry was... never a good patient).

"This is going to hurt," she said almost apologetically.

Henry still wouldn't say anything, so she took that as a green light to start doing what needed to be done, tending to his cut. Henry hissed when the alcohol made contact with the open wound (it was clear he didn't mean to show that, a sign that indicated weakness, he couldn't help it anyway), and he reflexively tried to move away, though Eleven was fast enough to hold him in place.

"You could have... told me," she said, as she continued tending to his wound, just to spare both of them from the awkwardness started making itself known in the silence surrounding them.

"Didn't want to... worry you," Henry said, and Eleven actually, genuinely chuckled, for the first time in so long.

"I would've thought I worried you, not... the other way around."

Henry smiled then, genuinely smiled. It looked... sad, yes, but it was still a genuine smile, as he looked at her. "You did," he said, though there was no anger in his voice, "a lot, actually. When I walked into your room and you weren't there."

I was scared, Eleven. I'd never been so scared, not of you leaving me but of the thoughts of something happening to you and I wasn't there to protect you, Henry... didn't say any of these aloud, and he made sure Eleven couldn't read his mind, either.

"I know. I am sorry, Henry."

"Did you really mean it?"

"Of course I mean it,"

"No... not that. What you said... that night."

"What?"

"When you said you were a prisoner here, did you really mean it?"

Eleven's hand came to a halt for a moment. She remembered what she said during their fight, that night, before she... hurt him by running away, or, she'd already hurt him the second those words left her mouth. I cannot live like this, Henry. Eleven was angry back then, but that wasn't an excuse. It was in no way an excuse to hurt a friend who had given her so much. Henry's voice, though, was lack of anger.
Sure, Henry had always been good at hiding his emotions, but this, Eleven could tell, wasn't one of those times Henry hid away his anger and his violence. Henry wasn't angry this time. He was... heartbroken.

Eleven used to think there was nothing she hated more than seeing Henry angry, since Henry was dangerous, unpredictable, whenever rage got the best of him (even though Eleven knew he'd never hurt her), she realized there was, in fact, nothing she hated more than seeing him hurt.

She remembered, Henry willing to let her leave him behind that day, when he planned her escape, as long as she got to be free of the lab, of Papa. Eleven didn't leave him behind that day. She did leave him behind about a week and a half ago, when she wasn't thinking straight, when she allowed her frustration at that time to get the best of her. And in result, she hurt the only person she swore she'd never hurt.

"Henry," Eleven's hand came to rest on his hand. Both were, at this point, soaked in blood, his blood. "I am home," she said, looking him in the eyes. "I am home now."

Henry looked back at her, and despite his pain, he smiled. And Eleven didn't remember the last time she saw him look this relieved. Henry looked so... peaceful, the way he hadn't looked in years, like these were the words he'd been waiting for her to say. I am home now.

Eleven went back to tending to his cut then. They didn't speak anything more, but the silence, this time, was comforting.

I'm not leaving, not anymore, Eleven made a promise to herself, being gentle and mindful as she wrapped the gauze roll around Henry's torso.

______________________________

Eleven took the couch in Henry's room tonight. Henry didn't ask her to, didn't take away her freedom to still have her own room, even after what happened. But Eleven chose to sleep in Henry's room for the night, there was a couch here, and she'd sleep there.

"You don't have to do this," he'd said. "I'm fine now."

"I know," she'd said back, "but I want to."

And there was a part of Eleven, a part that wanted to ask, 'Aren't you worried I might run away again?' because even if Eleven wouldn't run away again and even if Henry didn't voice it, his worries, it was there, in his eyes, the fear that wouldn't simply go away only because Eleven was home now.

It was the kind of trauma that had nothing to do with Henry's injuries, the kind that made Eleven doubt Henry could sleep tonight, if she weren't here (she doubted he'd ever gotten any sleep at all after she ran away), or the night after tonight, or the night after the night after tonight and so on, and that, Eleven knew, even if Henry didn't say it (he'd never say it), was her fault. No one else's.

The least Eleven could do, not to fix what she'd broken but to... make it somewhat okay again, was be here.

She helped adjust Henry's blanket for him, making him comfortable, knowing how his wound could limit his range of motion and make things difficult for the time being.

"Thank you," Henry said.

"No, thank you," Eleven smiled at him, "for saving me, and for not giving up on me."

And Henry... only smiled back. He seemed exhausted (understandably), but his smile, even weak-looking and faint, was real.

With you, Eleven thought, she even leaned in and kissed his forehead, we're home at last.