THE OPEN NIGHT WAS DARK AND COLD, AN ICY CHILL WRAPPING ITSELF AROUND SAR'S SKIN. She shivered, blonde hair shifting against her yellow, bloodstained sweater. Her arms were crossed tight over her chest, hands tucked beneath her arms. "You're sure this is going to work?" Sara had followed her father out the back, to the Byers' shed. The forest behind the house was eerie and quiet, and dark shadows cast looming monsters across the grass floor.

     Hopper pulled the chord to the light down and it flicked on, bathing the insides of the shed in dim light. Their eyes scanned across the room full of trash and garden equipment. After a moment Hopper nodded. "Yeah, this'll do." He turned back to the small group behind them—Joyce, Mike, Katie and Jonathan—and nodded with the decisive motion of his head. "Clear it," Hopper agreed.

     Sara jogged back into the Byers' to grab wads of duct tape and staples. She was clearing out their cupboards, leaving sewing kits and an iron on the carpet behind her. Steve bent down to help her.

     She still had a few patches of blood in her hair which smeared across her pale cheeks when she moved quickly. The moonlight was cold and blue and it made their shadows cornflower-blue silhouettes.

     Sara's fingers shook as she lay sheets of linen out in front of them. Steve could sense her anxiety from a mile away. "This is gonna work," he assured her. "Will's gonna be okay."

     She pursed her lips at him and paused for a moment, hands holding the roll of duct-tape coming to a stop on the ground. For a second she blinked. "I hope so," she said, finding the loose end of the tape. "I don't think I can lose people again."

     "But you're so ready to sacrifice yourself at every turn," he said to her, voice low though they were the only ones in the corridor.

     Sar swallowed. He doesn't understand everything that happened in there. After a moment she shrugged, wrapping a single arm around herself nonchalantly. "I guess." She thought of Seven's mismatched spattering of freckles, her curved nose and black eyes and hand pulling around Sar's fingers; Lune's smile which showed her pretty teeth, lips soft and split wide.

     Steve reached out to touch her arm. "Sar—"

     Sara shook her head and waved a quick hand in front of her. "It's okay, Steve," she said. "Really." She thought of Two's pale silver eyes and One's low laughs. She thought of Ten, slim and coughing in her arms. Nine's curved, young face. Of blood on the tiled floors. "I just... just need some air." Sar's fingers shook as stepped away from him, missing his forlorn expression at her actions. The girl practically launched off the ground, taking off in a stumble down the corridor towards the front door. The air felt hot and stuffy inside, getting trapped inside her lungs.

     When she threw the door open—uncaring of any demo-dogs that might be lurking for her—the icy air filled her throat. She stumbled forward across the Byers' front porch. Her body fell against one of the veranda poles and Sar wrapped her fingers unsteadily around it. She rested her body against the wood, clinging to the pillar like it was her last lifeline. She stood there for a moment, in the cold night and wind hitting her face, sending her hair flying astray. There was still blood on her cheek.

     Her head leaned against the wood pillar and she squeezed her eyes shut tight.

     Sara's most frequent nightmares involved her being back at the lab, back with Brenner and back to being poked and prodded like a lab animal—and that this life was all just a dream she'd thought up in her sleep. That her mind had twisted around and created an elaborate story with people who loved her; but she was really back in the lab, and her father nor Steve nor Nancy nor any of the kids really existed at all. But the other kids dying...that had been real. And so she was left alone in an empty lab to die with no one who truly loved her.

     And all she could do when she woke from the nightmare was leave her room and check: check Katie and James and her father were really there— were real. That this was all real.

     And really—what was stopping this from being a dream? Some kind of illusion? How did she know any of this was real? It was all too good.

     Pain bloomed through Sar's lower lip and she became aware her teeth were sinking into it. Her hair was a light mess around her face, and the '006' tattoo on her wrist shone in the pale moonlight and she wanted to tear it from her skin—wanted to erase everything that had ever been Six.

     She closed her eyes. A splinter cut into the palm of her hand. "This is real," she said. "This is real, this is real, this is real. I'm alive. I'm alive." She rocked her head against the wood post as her eyes stayed squeezed shut. "I'm alive. This is real. I'm alive." She could taste the metallic hint of blood on her raw lip and her fingernails chipped against her tight grip on the wooden post. The silent tears that left her eyes were lost in the icy night.

•°•☆•°•


     "GOT EVERYTHING FROM THE CORRIDOR CUPBOARDS," SARA TOLD HER FATHER, LIFTING UP THE BASKET TO PROVE IT. "Duct-tape, regular tape, a stapler, linen—found a garbage bag behind the laundry basket." She sorted through the items as she counted them.

     She passed the plastic basket to her father, who rifled through it. "Great, Sara." Her hair had been pushed back beside her ears and all signs of her earlier breakdown had been erased.

     Inside the shed was stuffy, but the wind whistled through the open door, cold and unforgiving. James was lifting Katie up to stick pieces of cardboard on the roof and Jonathan was doing the same on a ladder. Nancy was busy winding wrapping paper around the posts in the middle of the room.

     Meanwhile, Sara was standing on a kitchen stool and hoping she wouldn't fall. It would really suck if she broke a wrist. She was busy putting staples in sheets on the walls, securing them with tape.

     "Hey, don't fall," Steve said from behind her, and held the stool steady.

     Sara raised her eyebrows and looked down at him. "You think I'm gonna fall off the stool and die?" she asked him, sliding the roll of duct-tape across the sheet. She secured the corner with a staple, just to be safe.

     Sar imagined Steve shrugged. "Hey, I have to look out for you, don't I?" She just shook her head at that with a coy smile. The group worked together for the next thirty minutes on securing every inch of the shed so it was unrecognisable—garbage bags, painting sheets and linen and cardboard spread out across the expanse of walls and roof.

     At one point, Sar had gotten cold and Steve had slung his denim jacket around her shoulders. She'd just smiled meekly and thanked him.

     Steve smirked at her as she failed to reach the corner of the wall even on her tiptoes, and moved to staple it for her. The boy seemed to still be growing, even though Sar had stopped, and now she only reached his chin. It was irritating. His eyes were dark and beautiful, matching the expression on his lips. Sara wasn't quite sure what he was doing, but she blushed anyway.

     But now, her skull was aching and the insides of her nose was burning—as if reminding her she'd been bleeding from it earlier. The shed walls had become a blurred mess of colour. Maybe she did need to stop.

     The girl had excused herself from the stuffiness of the shed and walked out around the side of the Byers' house. She leant against the brick wall for a break, head hammering again. She was going to need to sit down. Sar slowly slid down so she was on the ground. The grass was damp and cold against her jeans.

     Sar heard Nancy and Steve faintly around the corner, searching for more things they could smother the shed in, presumably. Sara's head throbbed.

     She caught snippets of "I'm sorry" and "You know it didn't work".

     "But Sar?" Nancy said, fondly, and Sar's eyebrows furrowed from her position. The bricks were cold against the side of her hot face. "Well, you know Sar," Nance said, and it sounded as if the two might have been exchanging a wordless understanding.

     Even after the two of them had gone, Sara stayed slumped against the wall. Her headache had grown from a dull ache to a ringing pain, and she felt ill.

     "What're you doing?" Jonathan asked, startling her from where she was positioned in the grass.

     She looked up at him, wiping stray beads of sweat from her forehead. "Feeling sick," she answered truthfully, with a pale-lipped smile. He winced at her and reached out a hand to pull her to her feet.

     "Careful," he said as she stumbled across the ground. "You really are sick, huh?" She only offered him a weak tilt of the lips. Jonathan dragged her back inside, to the bitter warmth of the house. Her face felt flushed and hot, and she itched to pull Steve's heavy jacket off her. Jonathan looked concerned at her. "Maybe we should sit you down."

     She paused him, a gentle thumb on the pulse-point of his wrist. "Does Will remember me?" she asked, the memory of him forgetting things returning to her. There was something hollow and haunting in her ocean gaze.

     Jonathan pushed her so she sat on the couch, still perched lightly, alert, like a bird ready to fly and escape.

     "He doesn't remember anyone," Jonathan said, and a strike of pain went through her heart as she realised Will wouldn't have even known who Bob was when he died. It was joined by another stab—similar to that of grief—when she knew Will had forgotten her. Her fingers turned white where they gripped forcefully onto her knees. Jonathan looked concerned. "Do you want me to get Steve?" he asked her.

     After a moment, Sar squeezed her lips tight and shook her head, bringing on a headache. There was more sweat on her forehead, though it was cool inside. "I'm okay," she said, though her voice betrayed her. She brought her eyebrows in together. "I think I want to sleep." She pulled Steve's jacket off and set it beside her, curling her legs up.

     "You can't come into the shed, you know that," Jonathan reminded her. "Will could see outside. We can't have that." She nodded. Seeing a shiver run across her arms, Jonathan pressed the back of his hand against her sweating, hot forehead. It felt icy against her skin and Sar shivered again. "Are you sure you're okay?" he asked, similar to the 'big brother tone' he used towards Will.

     She nodded again, almost losing balance. "I'm fine," she assured him, though she felt ill. "Go help Will. He needs you." Jonathan thankfully didn't argue with that, and went back out to the shed. The rest of the group began to pour back inside now—Nancy and Steve, James and then Katie, Dustin, Max and Lucas.

     They took their various places around the room: Lucas and Max sitting against the corridor wall, Nancy leaning against a wall melancholically.

     Steve and Katie came straight over to her, Sara tired and shivering and sweating all at the same time. Her eyes were closed. Steve knelt beside the couch where she was propped up, body curled uncomfortably.

     "Is there something wrong with her?" Steve asked.

     Katie touched Sar's cheek softly, littered with small cuts from the demo-dog escapade. "She gets like this, sometimes," Katie said, blonde hair swaying softly across her face and the nick of her scar. "Like when the scientists came after us in Indianapolis and she held them away. She's just sick."

     "Why are you talking about me like I'm not here?" Sar asked. Her blonde eyelashes fluttered across her high cheekbones. Her hair had become matted with sweat, but she looked at Katie with undying fondness.

     "You're sick," Katie said matter-of-factly. "But you're going to get better." Katie touched Sar's forehead again and Sara kissed her fingers, before the girl left the room.

     Steve turned over so he was sitting beside the couch. Sar looked at him weakly. "Hey, Steve," she whispered.

     "Hey, Sar," he returned softly. She inhaled slowly and shivered again. The dim light above stung her eyes and made her turn her head away. Her forehead burned with the hint of a fever and her cheeks were flushed pink.

     "I don't think I can sleep."

     "That's okay," he told her. When she lolled her head over to watch him, eyes filled with sick tears, he was sitting beside the couch with his knees pulled up and watching the doorway like some kind of protector of her. His hair had been preened back to its usual state, though it flopped over his eyes slightly.

     Sara tore her eyes away from him. She heaved in an aching breath, threatening to sob. "Steve... is this real?" Her eyes were squeezed firmly closed, waiting for the disappointment of the truth. Tears threatened to run between her lashes. She wasn't sure if it was the weakness which made her this way—or perhaps it was just everything lately which made her feel like the world was caving in. The freckles on her cheek stood out against the clear tears hanging from her eyes.

     Steve touched her flushed cheek with his hand. "Of course this is real, Sar. This is real."

•°•☆•°•

Sorry, I know Sar's kind of unravelling at the moment. I just feel like she'd have pretty bad days sometimes and this is just one of them. She's been through so much, my heart feels for her.  Ah I'm sorry these chapters end up sad, I was listening to Eulogy from Stranger Things and Even For You from Infinity War and it just turned out this way ahhh.

Also this will be my last update for approximately the next 4 weeks (unless I manage to get one up, but don't count on it) just because I am going into exam period and need a few weeks to study beforehand, as well as finishing all my assignments. End of semester is always busy. Thanks so much for your understanding!! 

word count: 2474

28/05/2018