sleepless nights

. ✧ ・゜. +・o ✧

A splitting headache that pounded to the beat of his heart. A stinging face, a swollen eye, a little deliriousness. Gabriel Burton was experiencing all that and more as he finally opened his eyes (well, eye) on the floor of the locker room, six faces swimming above him in various degrees of blurriness. He'd been unconscious for all of a minute, but it'd felt like an eternity, just like his flight to the lockers had. An eternity of unsettling images that he couldn't quite name, of fireworks and faces, all of which he'd promptly forgotten when he finally woke. There had been voices—his friends voices—all of which laced with concern, and there had been a squeeze of his hand, a rub of his shoulder. And now he was officially awake. Now he was blinking up at them, and he knew that because they were all here it meant that Billy was gone, maybe not dead, but at least gone.

"Gabe." Will was the first to speak, which wasn't much of a surprise. He'd always been there for him. "Are you okay? Wait, no, that was a stupid question. You got knocked out. Billy threw you against a locker."

"You look like shit," Alina pointed out, chewing on her lip. Gabe thought this was a little unfair, given that her hair was a mess, and the bottom half of her face was coated with dried blood. This wasn't even mentioning the way she clutched her ribs and winced periodically, or the fact that she was leaning against Lucas. He tried to say so, but his voice came out as a croak, and he shut his mouth before he could embarrass himself.

"Can you stand?" Lucas asked. He looked around the changeroom, and Gabe did, too, and noticed a giant hole gouged out of the wall. Outside air streamed through. "I mean, I don't want to rush you or anything, but I don't think that we've been very inconspicuous about this whole thing."

Gabe's eyes flickered to El, who was clutching at her throat. He could see fingermarks there from where Billy had grabbed it. Guilt flooded through him. He hadn't seemed to help much. In fact, he'd barely done anything. Except get knocked out. And waste everyone's time. Like he usually did.

He tried to speak again, and was glad that this time, his words came out somewhat-normally. As normal as they could be, anyway. "Yeah. I think so." He tried to stand up, and although his head throbbed with every move, he managed to pull himself into a sitting position, and then, with Will and Max's help, stagger to his feet. It was only then he asked, "Is he dead?"

Everyone knew he was talking about Billy. Mike decided to be the one to answer. "He's not dead. El just scared him off. But he's hurt. And we know now. That he's the host."

"How long's it been?" Gabe hoped he hadn't kept them waiting for long. He knew Lucas was right, and they needed to get out of here as soon as possible, not only because of possible witnesses, but to patch up their wounds.

"Not long," said Will. "It's only been a few minutes since Billy left."

"Thank God," said Gabe. He turned to Alina. "Do I really look that bad?"

"Like you got run over by a truck," she confirmed with a nod. "Can you walk?"

"Probably." Gabe took a tentative step forward, and found that he could, even though everything got dizzy for a moment. He blinked twice, trying to gather his bearings. He felt... he couldn't remember a time where he'd felt this shitty. His hands trembled as he raised them to examine his head wound that was sending the pain through him, and, fearing the worse, he probed the sore spot. He expected a lump the size of a chicken's egg, oozing blood, he expected a cracked skull with brain matter coming out (which he'd know, if he was more stable, was not possible, since he was up and walking and everything), but he found only a small bump. Less of a chicken's egg and more like a marble. It was bleeding, but not the waterfall he'd expected. It hurt like hell, though.

He took another step, feeling queasy, and realized he was still clutching his Swiss Army Knife. He slipped it into his pocket and examined his next injury, and the one that probably needed more attention. His face, which stung like a thousand bees. His left eye was swollen shut, and he traced the sensitive skin around it, trying to take some deep breaths. This was not the sort of thing he was good at coping with. In fact, it was the exact opposite. He'd always been scared of injuries, especially head injuries, which made this whole getting-knocked-out thing sort of a bust.

"Whoa, steady there." It was Will who had grabbed his arms, trying to keep him from slipping. Gabe blinked at him again, his eyes, as always, being drawn down to his lips, and took another few breaths. I'm okay. I'm fine. I'm alive. We're all alive.

It was with Will's help that he made it out of the changeroom. He could hear the others trying to decide where to go next, but he was too focused on swallowing down his nausea to really pay attention to that. He did end up deducing that they were going to head to Mike's house, where they could bandage their wounds and come up with their next plan. Which, at least right now, didn't exist.

The party made their way through the night silently, and Gabe knew they were all thinking about what had just happened. Well, at least, he was. He kept replaying the attack over and over again, and how Billy had swatted him away as if he was a mere fly. His mind was a bit foggy, so, between these constant replays he reassured himself of who he was. My name is Gabriel Burton. I'm thirteen years old. I live with my grandparents in Hawkins, Indiana. I moved here last year. My birthday is in... two days.

Was that really all? Yes, just two. Somehow, Gabe doubted that his birthday this year would be very festive. Given the whole possible end-of-the-world scenario that they were facing. Well, it was likely that, as usual, the population of Hawkins would be oblivious, so at least he'd be treated to some fireworks. If he wasn't dead by then.

That thought made his heart stutter. That he'd almost died. That he could still die. That he might not even make it to his fourteenth birthday. That he'd just been attacked by Billy Hargrove, who, although he wasn't himself, had tried to kill him and his friends.

Will's arm was still around him, and Gabe snuck a peek at the boy's face. He still didn't feel like himself, even with all the very in-character panicking he was doing. Unlike before, when all of his thoughts about Will mostly got shoved to the back of his head, this time, they were right in front. About how he liked Will the way he was supposed to like girls, which was something that was supposed to be wrong but never felt that way.

He couldn't stop wondering what Will's lips would taste like on his.

He didn't let any of those words come to his lips, though, and instead just made his foggy way to Mike's house. He was aware that it was probably two in the morning when it finally came to a halt there, even though the sauna test had been around nine. He wondered if his grandparents were wondering where he was. He hoped not. He didn't know how he'd explain himself this time. They'd surely freak when they saw whatever had happened to him, coddle him for days, refuse to let him stay out of bed. And by that time he might be dead. They might all be.

At Mike's, Gabe changed out of his dirty and bloody button-down into one of Mike's clean shirts, and then, holding an ice pack up to his eye, made his way into the bathroom to tend to his wounds. Will, who seemed like he wanted to help, followed, and so it was he that watched as Gabe stopped abruptly in front of the mirror, his eye wide.

There was a red mark on his face in the shape of a handprint, and already a fair amount of bruising on his jaw and left cheek, which had received the worst of the blow. His face, so mottled and bloodied and broken, looked nothing like his own. Alina had been right. He did look like he'd been run over by a truck.

Will wet a cloth and washed the blood off of Gabe's head, out of his hair. He sat on the edge of the bathtub, while Gabe sat on the closed lid of the toilet, the only noise being the even strokes and their slow breathing. The dizziness had subsided a little, and although his face stung, he could tell the ice had helped his eye reduce its swelling. He still couldn't open it, though.

"That was really brave," said Will suddenly, wrapping a bandage around Gabe's head. It was probably unneeded, but both of them preferred to air on the side of caution. It made Gabe feel better not to have the wound out in the open, too. Will continued, "Going at him with just that knife. Even though you knew you might get hurt."

"It didn't feel very brave," Gabe admitted. His head was still pounding, but less so. "It was stupid of me. I should've known I couldn't do any real damage."

"Are you kidding?" Will asked incredulously. "We all heard him screaming in pain when you stabbed him. I'd call that damage."

He finished wrapping the bandage and sat back, scrutinizing Gabe's face. "You underestimate yourself, you know. Like, you think you're not valuable. But you are. You always have been."

"Oh," said Gabe. Will was close to him. Too close. And he wasn't in the right headspace and he was terrified he was going to do something he would regret. So he just closed his eyes, blacking him out, and watching the shapes that formed as he did so. "You think so?"

"I do. And I'm not the only one."

"Oh," said Gabe again. It seemed to be all he could say at this point. His head was spinning, but not because of his injury. Because of the notion that he wasn't completely useless after all. Which was a notion that was completely and utterly new.

There was silence for a couple minutes as both boys took in each other, their hearts beating in a rapid unison. Neither of them knew it, but they were both thinking the same things. And then shutting them away. Repressing the urges that swept through them, as they had so many times now. It was almost a routine, for both of them.

Finally, Will broke the silence.

"I think you're good now. We should go rejoin the others. We should try to sleep, at least for a couple of hours. Then we can look for Hopper."

"Hopper?" Gabe repeated.

"He's Chief of Police. He might know what to do."

That was true. Gabe also felt more comfortable with the presence of an adult man with a gun against Billy than without. After all, without had been such a disaster.

"You're right," Gabe said. "You're right."

The ice was numbing his eye, so he lowered it for a moment. And then he stood up, because to sit there for too long was to succumb to his urges. "Let's go," he said aloud, and then Will was following him out of the bathroom and downstairs where the others were waiting. Both of them with words unsaid hanging on their lips. Both of them shouldering the trauma that had just been inflicted onto them.

Nobody in the basement slept well that night. And even when they finally succumbed to sleep, they dreamed of black streaked loved ones reaching out to seize their throats.

. ✧ ・゜. +・o ✧