gabe's last stand

. ✧ ・゜. +・o ✧

    If the Mind Flayer had been simply pissed before, it was absolutely infuriated now. It was a furious animal, gnashing its teeth and flinging out its appendages, because nothing had gone according to plan. The fleas in the car should've been dead by now, and the girl should've been home by now, her abilities feeding through its body. But instead, she was driving away, which meant that the Mind Flayer had to go to all of this trouble to chase her. She wouldn't escape—of course she wouldn't—but it was just a plain old nuisance. Like the fact that the vessel called Billy had been in a petty car accident. And that accident had involved heat.

Billy stumbled out of the car now, a cough rattling loose from his lips, the heat flickering at his insides. His hair was matted, his face glistened with sweat, and it took him a couple seconds of pathetic crawling before he managed to stagger to his feet, black streaks crawling across his arms. Dodging the flames, Billy let out a groan, attempting to limp forward, and that was when he heard the buzzer sounding across the mall, which immediately caught his attention. And—would you look at that?—walking through the gate was three of those fleas, supporting the other girl. The one who had closed the gate. The one who was conveniently injured.

Gabe had spent the past five minutes sprinting through the mall, going through backrooms he didn't even know existed, his heart hammering the entire time. He'd go even faster, except that they had El to support, and it wasn't like he was going to leave her behind. His knees were knocking together, but he couldn't help but let out that cool sigh of relief when his group finally made it through the gate. Safety. At last.

Except... not really. Outside was a field of flames, the smoke immediately making him wheeze, and standing in between such flames was Billy Hargrove, looking three steps away from death but still standing. Which meant that he could hurt them easily. Even flayed on death's door managed to pack quite the punch.

"Shit!" Max swore.

"Go, go, go, go, go, go, go!" Mike screamed, and then they were turning and running back the way they came. Gabe didn't know where the actual Mind Flayer had gone, which made him even more terrified than he already was—what if they were going to run right into its arms? But he kept running anyway, Max going back at the last second to close the gate and hopefully seal Billy out.

"Come on, come on!" Gabe screamed as she made her way back to them, and then they were slamming back into the mall, their hearts pounding, their chests heaving, right into the belly of the beast.

They sprinted into the flickering corridor, El's wheezes and gasps getting more frequent with each moment, but they didn't have time to stop, because any minute now, either the Mind Flayer or Billy could catch up with them. And for some reason, in his muddled, panicked brain, he thought about Will; more specifically, the day at the pool. Maybe it was because he was going to die. Gabe hoped not.

The back hallways of Starcourt Mall were like an overly complicated maze. They turned a corner, and then another, but no matter where they went, everything looked the same. They could reach a dead-end at any moment and be totally screwed, because Billy was sure to be following them, sure to have gotten through the gate. Gabe didn't delude himself into thinking they were safe anymore.

"In here. In here," Mike said eventually, and the four of them headed into another room with an elevator. Mike immediately began to press the button. "Okay. Come on, come on, come on..."

"Mike..." Gabe's stomach felt like it was doing gymnastics, and his eyes kept darting to the door. "We don't have much time!"

"I know!" Mike screamed, hitting the button again. "Come on, you piece of shit!"

And, apparently, "not much time" meant no time at all, because that was when Gabe noticed Max had drifted away from them. She was instead standing at the end of the hallway, her chest heaving as the sound of footsteps got closer to her.

"Billy," she said, her voice trembling. "Billy, you don't have to do this. Billy. Your name's Billy, Billy Hargrove. You live on 4819 Cherry Lane. Billy, please, I'm Max, I'm your—"

Gabe hadn't expected it to work, not at all, because this was Billy Hargrove they were talking about, and he hadn't liked Max in the first place. He was still taken aback, though, when Billy struck her across the face, sending her flying. Probably instantly knocking her out, like he had done to Gabe. Either way, Max didn't stir.

He and Mike ran forward. "Max!"

Mike was the first to reach the wicked flayed man, and lunged at him, attempting to knock him out. His efforts were, obviously, fruitless, because Billy had been strong even when he didn't have superhuman abilities. It took only seconds before he'd slammed Mike's head against the wall with a sickening thud, sending him to the ground.

Billy didn't even seem to see Gabe, as he moved to the elevator room where El was still standing. As he got closer, El let out a yell, thrusting out her arm, but Billy grabbed her wrist, twisting it, and then slammed the heel of his palm against her face and sent her into the door with another horrible thud. And then, with a sort of twisted elegance to it, he seized her and threw her across the room, where she collided with the wall, falling to the ground. Her eyes closed. Billy began to walk up to her.

And then Gabe remembered what Alina had said to him that night he'd confessed that he was gay. That she didn't want to die without fighting back. That she would rather sacrifice herself for a chance to live again. And, although he was absolutely terrified, trembling, huddling in the corner, feeling more like a baby deer on wobbly legs than a newly fourteen-year-old boy, he knew that she was right. He knew that he had to do something. Because it was clear what was happening. That Billy would take El, bring her to the Mind Flayer, and it all really would be over.

He knew what he had to do. And he was probably an idiot, because it was what he'd literally done before, but there was no time to think of a better solution. No time to gather his bearings, because Billy was right there, and if he waited even half a second, he'd be too late.

So, with a knife in each hand, Gabe lunged forward. "Get away from my friend, you flayed bastard!" he bellowed, and then he was slamming his weapons into Billy's shoulder blades, because, even after everything, he still didn't ever want to kill anyone.

The force made him fly forward, but the knives had hit home—he could see blood running in rivets from where he'd stabbed said flayed bastard—and Billy let out a cry, whirling around, and he raised his fist to throw a punch like he had back at the sauna.

This time, though, Gabe was ready. If he was a better fighter, maybe he would've just ducked, but he wasn't, so instead he just dropped to the ground, his back slamming against the cold floor and sending pain lancing up it. He'd maybe bruised it, but he didn't have time to assess the injury because Billy, his entire body pockmarked with those horrible streaks, was pulling the knives out of his back. And then he'd really hurt him.

So Gabe scrambled to his feet, flipping open his handy Swiss Army Knife, just as Billy drew the knives out of his wound and made to slam his fist into Gabe's flesh. Gabe staggered back, lucky yet again, but he now knew that defence was the best bet here. He just needed to keep Billy distracted for as long as he could, and then, maybe, El, Max, and Mike would have time to wake up and make their escape.

Even though he thought he might throw up again, or piss his pants, Gabe forced himself to stay steady as he rolled out of the way of Billy's flailing fists, stabbing the blade of the Swiss Army Knife into his wrist. It didn't do shit, but it gave him time to dart farther into the hallway. More running room was good, because that meant he could perhaps lure Billy away from here—and would have more room to dodge.

Alas, he was breathing heavily, and Billy—although obviously in pain—didn't look fazed at all. And there was the fact that Gabriel Burton was an untrained fourteen-year-old boy, and Billy was Steve's age and packed on malice and Mind Flayer strength. Still, Gabe kept fighting. He kept panting. He kept dodging and dropping and sweating as he attempted to continue his distraction as long as possible, desperate to allow his friends an attempt to escape.

He was Gabriel Burton, he'd saved the world, and he wasn't a coward anymore.

He slammed his fist into Billy's injured shoulder blades, blood slipping over his hands and making his gut clench with disgust. Billy let out a roar, and Gabe dug his fingers into the wounds, pinching against the lacerated flesh, nausea building up in his throat. He'd been consumed with a kind of adrenaline, one that ran like a current through his veins and urged him on. So, although normally this sort of thing would be a cause to either throw up or pass out, Gabe did neither. He was so full of rage, so tired of running, that he wanted to cause as much pain as possible.

Billy bucked and rocked like a wounded animal, more screams tearing loose from his throat, and Gabe held on, his teeth gritted, letting out his own kind of battle cry. He stayed like this for a moment, feeling around in Billy's skin, when finally, the flayed man seemed to have enough.

This time, Gabe wasn't fast enough to dodge.

Billy's hands locked around his collar, and Gabe knew it was over. He still fought, though, kicking his feet, and screaming as he was lifted off his feet, brought closer and closer to the face of the wicked teen. Billy's pupils were dilated, but Gabe could still discern the pure, undiluted fury that resided in there.

He figured that if this was it—because, God, this might be it, he might die right here and right now and never live the life he'd wanted to live, never confess his feelings for Will or go to college or work at Hawkins Post, which he desperately wanted to do—he might as well add one lasting blow. It probably wouldn't affect the Mind Flayer all that much—he was an ant to it—but it might make him feel at least a little better.

So, an inch away from death, Gabe found himself blurting, "Hey, shitbag, I hope you rot in hell for a trillion years—"

Billy's fist meant flesh and then, yet again, Gabe was flying. And it was weightless, even as an explosion of pain rocketed across the bridge of his nose, even as blood ran down his now split lip, even as stars burst in his vision. It happened in slow motion and too fast all at once. This time, though, he knew what was coming next. He knew his vision would go black, and this would be it.

So, when Gabe's head thudded into one of the pipes lining the wall, he wasn't at all surprised. As he collapsed to the ground, his vision beginning to blur, he managed to squint, finding Billy lifting up a still unconscious El, and tossing the girl over his shoulder. She hadn't woken up. She hadn't managed to escape. And neither did Max or Mike.

He'd failed. He wasn't a hero. He hadn't stopped Billy in his tracks, hadn't gained some magic superstrength that allowed him to really fight back. He was just... Gabe, and now he was dying.

Why, then, did he feel so proud of himself? Why, then, as his vision faded to darkness, did he find a smile forming on his face?

Maybe it was because he'd stood his ground. Because he'd done exactly what he'd wanted to do, and he'd stood up for El, for Max, for Mike. Maybe it was because he was stronger than he thought.

Everything went black, and Gabe thought he heard someone calling his name, over and over again. Gabe, Gabe, Gabe, Gabe. There were invisible hands stroking through his hair. Someone cradled him, washed his face, healed him, whispering his name softly, as if afraid he might wake up. And Gabe felt comfortable in these arms. He didn't want to leave, really. His name was buttercups and delicate butterflies on the person's lips, and he got the sense that he knew that voice. He concentrated a little harder.

Gabe, Gabe, Gabe, Gabe.

The voice was Will's. And at that realization, Gabriel Burton slipped away.

. ✧ ・゜. +・o ✧

a/n: :)

'till next time!