˚ ₊ ♡ ❰ CRUEL SUMMER ❱
*✧ ─── ❝ ❪ ECHOES OF OUR NAMES ❫ ❞

⋆ 🚲. CHAPTER EIGHT ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
˚ ₊ ♡ 1985, june 30th ─── episode four

*✧ ─── MILO HATED CRYING. CRYING BROUGHT BACK MEMORIES FROM THE LAB. MEMORIES OF BRENNER AND HIS UNRELENTING TESTS. CRYING MEANT FAILURE. AND FAILURE? FAILURE MEANT PUNISHMENT. Milo didn't want to associate his father with Brenner. Never. Jim had been kinder to him than most people had ever been inside the sterile walls of that Rainbow Room.

Jim didn't meant any harm to him. He wouldn't hurt him or punish him for his outburst, let alone the tears that streamed down his face. Jim was his father, his real, actual father. Milo knew Jim was just scared. Scared to lose him again. Scared that if he was let out his sight for too long, he would disappear again.

Because the last time had taken only 5 minutes. 5 minutes that changed their lives forever.

So of course, emotionally stunted Jim Hopper lashed out.

But Milo couldn't help it. Fear was rooted so deep inside his DNA, he wondered if would ever not flinch at loud noises or raised voices.

Now, biking through the quiet, late-evening streets of Hawkins, Milo wiped at his face with the back of his hand, angry at himself every time another tear slipped free. His breath still shook unevenly. He didn't know where to go.

He couldn't go to the Byers's. Joyce, despite how she wanted him to explore, would understand why Jim had panicked, why Milo had panicked, but that almost made it worse. She'd sent him back to Hopper again, and right now, Milo wasn't ready to face him. Jonathan, Steve and Nancy were out of the question too, but for different reasons. He liked them, trusted them—but not in the way that made showing up on their porch with puffy eyes and trembling hands feel acceptable. Those friendships felt... lighter. Surface-level.

And that's precisely how he found himself skidding to a stop in front of the apartment building next to Melvald's, the one with the crooked porch light and the freshly potted flowers out front. Juno's new home. Juno who he had known for just a day, Juno who had smiled at him. Juno, who for some reason, felt safe.

He stood straddling his bike, hands wringing together nervously. All the adrenaline that had carried him across half of Hawkins bled out of him in one dizzying wave, leaving behind only a hollow ache in his chest and a raw sting behind his eyes. He felt drained and suddenly very, very small.

Nervously stepping up to the front door, Milo raised his hand the ring the doorbell.

A few quiet seconds passed before the door swung open and Juno's mother Ellis stood framed in the doorway, her hair pulled back loosely, reading glasses perched in her hand like she'd just set aside a book. He must have looked like a disaster: hair windblown, cheeks flushed from biking, eyes still red from the shouting match.

"Milo?" she asked gently. "What are you doing out so late?"

He swallowed hard. "I... erh... had a fight with my dad."

The shift in her expression was immediate. The mild curiosity melted away, replaced by open compassion, maternal, tender, instinctive. Before she could speak again, footsteps padded lightly behind her.

"Milo?"

Juno peeked around her mother's shoulder. Her hair was damp, curling slightly at the ends, and she wore soft grey sweats and an oversized long-sleeved shirt that hung off one shoulder. The confusion in her eyes mirrored her mother's.

She slipped past Ellis, stepping onto the porch with him. "What are you doing here?" she asked, voice soft, almost hesitant.

"I wanted to say sorry," he blurted. "For my dad."

He hesitated when Ellis shot him a curious look. "He shouldn't have made you leave like that. Not without telling you why."

Juno bit her lip, eyes searching his. "Why did he? Make me go, I mean?"

Milo opened his mouth. The truth hovered on the tip of his tongue—dangerous, heavy.
That she wasn't supposed to know him. Juno was not part of his world. Of the Upside Down, strange powers and deadly monsters. "I—I can't say. I'm sorry."

Juno's brows creased with worry, but before either of them could speak, Ellis stepped aside and rested a gentle hand on Milo's arm.

"Come in, sweetheart. It's too late to be standing outside by yourself." She hesitated just a second before adding warmly, "You're welcome to stay the night, if you'd like."

Milo blinked, startled. "I... can?"

"Of course." Ellis offered a small smile. Even Juno brightened a little, relief flickering in her expression.

"Thank you," Milo breathed, the tension in his chest easing fractionally.

"I'll put the kettle on for tea," Ellis said as she stepped aside to let him in. "Juno, sweetheart, go grab the air mattress from the attic."

"Will do, Mom." Juno grinned, immediately grabbing Milo's arm as she ushered him inside. "C'mon," she whispered conspiratorially, "before she starts asking a million questions."

Milo stumbled after her, tripping slightly as she tugged him up the stairs.

Halfway up, she slowed and glanced back at him, her expression softening. "Are you okay? It... looked like a big fight."

"I don't know," Milo admitted. The words came out small, barely a whisper. "It feels like everything just..." he trailed off unsure.

"It'll sort out," Juno assured him with a quiet smile. "Fights always look huge when you're in the middle of them."

Milo didn't tell her the last fight he'd been in with Hopper resulted in twelve lost years and a gravestone with his name on it.

Ah-ha!" Juno crowed triumphantly as she dug past boxes, pulling out a folded air mattress. "Let's get this bad boy to my room!"

She bolted down the stairs with him trailing behind like a loyal, exhausted puppy.

"Please forgive the mess," she said breathlessly as she swung open her bedroom door. "I'm still decorating."

Her bedroom was decorated with fairy lights dangling in warm loops across the iron bedframe, posters covering the wall in mismatched clusters, a tower of cardboard boxes leaning precariously in the corner. Her pale blue desk was cluttered with doodads and knick–knacks, and a tiny, wilted houseplant stood on the nightstand.

"Oh—this is Erik." Juno gestured proudly at the plant.

Milo blinked. "You named the plant?"

"Of course I named the plant." She said it so matter-of-factly he couldn't help but snort.

He stood awkwardly by her desk, picking up a fuzzy pink monster keychain with a lopsided smile.

"Horrendous thing, right?" Juno laughed as she emerged from her closet with clothes in her arms. "My mom got it for me when I face-planted off a playground swing and knocked out two baby teeth. I sobbed until she gave it to me."

Milo grinned and set it down as she held up a green shirt and loose sweatpants.

"Best I've got," she said. "We don't exactly stock giant-boy sizes."

He chuckled softly and took the clothes.

But before she could tell him to use the bathroom, he unbuttoned his flannel right where he stood.

Her breath caught, half embarrassment, half something else and she reflexively turned her head away... until she glimpsed his wrist.

"W-where did you get that?" Juno's eyes were wide in fear as her gaze become fixated Milo's wrist, or more importantly, the tattooed number zero etched on his skin in black ink.

"I-I." His heart started to race, and his hands became clammy under Juno's hard stare.

When he did not say anything, Juno's tense posture slouched, almost in defeat. "He actually did it." She whispered, more so to herself than to the boy across from her. "Dad did it."

"Dad?" Milo's face scrunched up, and he almost fearfully scooted away from the girl.

"Brenner." Juno elaborated nervously, slowly, as if not to scare him, she pushed the sleeve of her long sleeved shirt up to reveal something Milo would never have expected.

Milo stared, stunned, searching the corners of his mind for any memory of her, any scrap from the lab. But there was nothing.

"I was two," Juno explained. "I don't remember any of it. But my mom—she does." Her voice trembled. "When she found out what dad was doing, she took me and ran. Changed our names. Never looked back."

Juno swallowed hard. "She hated leaving Hawkins. She loved it here. And when... when she heard he was gone..." Her voice fractured. "She was determined to come back."

Before Milo could respond, footsteps approached.

"What are you kids up to—" Ellis stopped short in the doorway, holding two steaming mugs of tea. Her eyes went from Milo's half-dressed form... to Juno's exposed wrist... and then to the matching tattoo on Milo's.

The mugs slipped from her hands, shattering on the floor.

"Oh my god," she breathed. "Y-you're one of them."

Juno sprang to her feet. "He actually did it," she said breathlessly. "And by the looks of it, Milo was his first success."

Before Milo could react, she gently lifted his wrist, revealing the stark black zero in the soft lamp light.

Ellis covered her mouth, eyes filling with tears. With trembling fingers, she reached out and touched his wrist gently, reverently—heartbroken.

"It all makes sense now," she whispered. "The homeschooling. The protective father. The quietness. The... everything." Tears spilled freely. "He took you. Oh god—when did he take you?"

Milo swallowed hard. "I don't remember anything before Brenner," he said softly. "But... I know he took me when I was four. My powers didn't show right away."

Juno clasped his other hand tightly. "When did you get out?"

"Last year," Milo whispered. "I helped Will. He was trapped in... the Upside Down." He searched for the right words. "I can go there. With my mind. While staying here."

Ellis began to sob quietly.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered. "I'm so, so sorry."

"It's okay," Milo said gently. "I... I met my sister there."

"El?" Juno breathed. "El—Eleven?"

Milo nodded.

Ellis sank to her knees, tears falling. "So many children," she whispered. "So many lives ruined..." She wiped her face with the sleeve of her sweater, drew a steadying breath, and rose. "Come," she said softly. "Let's sit down."

They followed her quietly to the living room.

Milo dropped into the sofa cushions, shoulders sagging with exhaustion he hadn't noticed building. His hands trembled faintly where they rested against his knees in small, involuntary twitches, as if his body remembered fear even when his mind tried to hold steady.

Ellis moved around the kitchen with the clumsy carefulness of someone trying not to shatter. She refilled the kettle, her fingers shaking every time metal clinked. The first batch of tea sat forgotten beside her knitting basket, all of it cold and untouched. She returned with fresh mugs and set Milo's in front of him with slow precision, as though he might break if handled too quickly.

Only once everyone was seated did Milo begin.

And then he told them everything.

He described Brenner's facility—the sterile corridors, the Rainbow Room, the experiments and tasks. How when he failed, punishment would follow. He remembered the day they tattooed his wrist and some of the other children there.

He spoke of his powers. How they were forced awake, pulled out of him before his body even knew what it was capable of. How the Upside Down, or as he knew it at the time; Dimension X, became a place he slipped into almost instinctively

He described Will's small, shaking body curled in the corner of a dimension that wanted to consume him as monsters chased him. How Milo had found him, guided him, protected him. How he had fought to keep the boy alive long enough to return home.

He talked about Eleven, the little girl he promised himself to protect no matter what. How they turned from strangers to friends, to siblings not by blood, but by survival.

Then he tried—awkwardly and without conviction—to skim past the Mind Flayer, tossing out a vague sentence like it was nothing.

But Ellis was no fool.

"Stop," she said sharply, leaning forward with sudden urgency. "Don't skip that. Whatever you're afraid to say, everything Brenner allowed into this world, I need to hear it."

So Milo told them about that too.

The headaches. The visions. The way the Mind Flayer wrapped itself around his consciousness like a hand squeezing the air out of his lungs.

The moment he thought, genuinely thought he wouldn't survive.

Juno went pale.

Ellis closed her eyes as if picturing it physically hurt her.

And when Milo finally stopped talking, when his last sentence died into the quiet the room felt different. Lighter. As though every word he had spoken had peeled away a layer of suffocating weight he hadn't realized was crushing him.

"I'm... I'm not supposed to tell people," he admitted at last, rubbing the back of his neck. "Dad says it's dangerous. Says no one can know. That's why he made Juno leave. Milo Hopper is dead to this town."

˚ ₊ ♡ 1985, july 1st ─── episode four

*✧ ─── MILO WAS DREAMING. THE FLUORESCENT LIGHTS HUMMED FAINTLY ABOVE HIM, THEIR FLICKERING BUZZ DRILLING into the back of his skull. The hallway stretched far in both directions; white walls, white floors, white doors. Too clean. Too empty.

Except for the boy sitting cross-legged on the floor. He looked about twenty—maybe twenty-one—with sandy blond hair and sharp blue eyes that tracked every movement, every breath. There was something patient and frightening about the stillness of him. He didn't fidget the way Milo did. He didn't blink much either.

Milo, small, thin, five years old with a mop of tangled hair—stood a few feet away, barefoot in a hospital gown with tears streaming down his face. His fingers curled nervously at the hem.

"Come here," the older boy said softly.

His voice didn't match the others in the lab. Not clipped like Brenner's. Not sterile like the orderlies'. His voice had warmth. Gentle edges. It was almost... kind.

Milo stepped closer.

The older boy's smile widened just a fraction. "You're awake early, little Zero."

"I'm not little," Milo whispered, chin lifting stubbornly.

A low, amused hum escaped the older boy. "Mm. Of course not." He patted the floor beside him. "Sit."

Milo sniffled but obeyed. He always obeyed him. He didn't know why. Only that something inside him relaxed when he was near this boy. Like he was safe, somehow, even in this awful place.

"What are you doing out here?" Milo asked, leaning his small head against the wall.

The older boy shrugged one shoulder. "Thinking."

"About what?"

"About freedom."

Milo frowned. "What's that?"

The older boy glanced at him in a way Milo didn't understand yet.

"It's... when you get to choose," he said carefully. "Where to go. Who to be with. What to do. Without anyone telling you otherwise."

Milo's small brow furrowed. The concept was too big for him. Too strange. "They won't let us have that."

"No," the older boy murmured. "They won't."

Silence settled between them. Heavy. Too adult for Milo's small frame.

Suddenly, Milo reached out and tugged lightly at the older boy's sleeve. "Will you be my friend?"

The question slipped out before he thought about it. It had been sitting in him for months, pressed tight behind his ribs.

The older boy blinked down at him, expression unreadable.

"You want to be my friend?"

Milo nodded vigorously. "You said freedom is choosing things. I wanna choose a friend."

A soft, almost sad sound left the older boy's throat. "And you're choosing me?"

Milo's head bobbed again. "You talk to me. You don't hurt me. And you're... nice."

The older boy didn't respond at first. He stared ahead, jaw tight, as though the word "nice" had cut him somewhere he couldn't show.

Finally, he reached out and placed a warm, steady hand on Milo's small shoulder.

"Then yes," he said quietly. "I can be your friend."

Milo beamed.

The older boy stared at that smile—with an expression Milo didn't understand then, something that looked like longing and hate and deep, terrible affection all tangled up.

"You have a good heart," the older boy murmured. "Soft. They'll try to break that."

"Will you protect me?" Milo whispered.

The older boy's fingers tightened just slightly, almost uncomfortably.

"Yes," he said. "I won't let them break you." He promised and pulled Zero with him to stand again.

Zero smiled, childish and carefree at their interlocked hands.

And when he finally looked at the older boy's wrist, the number was there, burned into his skin like a brand just like his.

001.

Milo jolted awake. He was disorientated for a moment, the phantom warmth of the boy's hand his in his own still lingering. He blinked, glancing around the messy bedroom and posters strewn around the wall.

Juno. He was at Juno's place. He remembered last night.

"Do you copy? This is a code red. I repeat this is a code red."

Static crackling startled him fully awake. Sluggishly he sat up on the air mattress hair sticking up in every direction.

Across the room, Juno groggily pushed herself upright too, rubbing her eyes beneath a curtain of messy brown curls. "What was that?" she mumbled, blinking blearily

"Oh," Milo breathed, already scrambling out from under the duvet. "Crap—hang on."

He padded across the carpet, shivering at the cold air hitting his bare arms as he dug frantically through his bag. A distant voice sputtered in and out through more static.

"Milo do you copy?"

Rushed, Milo pushed his duvet away from his body, shivering from the sudden temperature change as he ran towards his bag.

"Dustin?" Milo pressed the button.

"Thank god," Dustin blurted, loud enough that Milo winced and Juno jumped. "See, Steve? I told you he'd pick up—"

Another voice erupted in the background, unimpressed and annoyed. "You didn't tell me anything, Henderson—"

"Shut it, Steve!" Dustin snapped.

Milo shot Juno a helpless look while the arguing continued, overlapping into a mess of bickering voices and half-heard insults. The brunette raised her brows as if to say Is this normal? Because it sounds insane.

"Dustin," Milo tried again, pressing the button. "Code red?"

The room went quiet on the other end

"Oh right! Look I didn't want to bring you into this, but Steve demanded we bring one of you superkids with us." Dusting rattled out, "He's probably scared to go after the Russians alone."

Milo frowned as more arguing ensued.

A new voice came through—Steve's, clearer this time, slightly breathless and very much panicked.

"Milo, hey!" he said. "Listen, remember that secret Russian transmission? The one we've been decoding? We cracked it. They're hiding under Starcourt Mall. And—and dude, they've got big guns. Like big big guns. And we don't. So we could really use some help right now."

Milo's stomach dropped. "Steve... you know I don't have offensive powers, right?"

"Yeah, well, you can do something weird, and at this point we'll take any kind of weird we can get." Another grunt, followed by muffled yelling. "Hey! Stop pushing me—anyway—just meet us on the roof of Starcourt. ASAP. Over and out."

"Steve? Steve, wait—Steve!" Milo pressed the button rapidly. "Are you still—?"

Static.

Only static.

Milo lowered the walkie, pulse hammering. Behind him, Juno was staring like the universe had tilted sideways.

"Did he say Russians?" Juno whispered with wide eyes.

Milo could only nod, as he rushed around the room to gather his clothes. He started tugging yesterday's shirt over his head and grabbing his jeans from the floor. Juno yelped and spun around so fast she nearly fell off the bed.

"Milo!" she screeched. "Warn a girl before you start stripping again!"

"Sorry," he muttered, hopping on one foot as he shoved his leg through a pant leg. "I—uh—I've kind of got bigger things to worry about."

"Like big guns?" Juno snapped, whipping back around with both hands in the air. "Milo, what part of 'armed Russians' are you not understanding?! Are you actually going there?!"

"They're my friends." Milo shoved his arms through his jacket, jaw firming. "I have to help them."

He was already at the bedroom door when Juno's voice rang out again.

"Well in that case," she declared, "I'm coming with you."

"Are you sure?" Milo asked softly, "It could be dangerous."

Juno paused only long enough to glance around the room. Her eyes landed on the metal baseball bat propped against the corner. She marched over, grabbed it with both hands, and gave it a testing swing that made Milo take a step back. "I can be dangerous too."

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surprise?! anyone see that coming? there are little hints sprinkled in previous chapters 😜

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