𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄 - meet the party

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 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐎𝐑 𝐇𝐀𝐃 squeaked in protest when Eleven had pushed it open; the mahogany wood was rotting, the door handle was rusted, and the latch that kept it closed was threatening to topple off.

 Eleven was the first to step inside, and even from her place behind the girl, One could see the rash rise and fall of Eleven's chest. One step, then another and finally, a chorus of mutterings and mingled gasps hit One's ears. 

 She peeked inside, a hand latched upon Eleven's shoulder if only to remind the girl that she was there, lingering if she was needed.

 Hopper was front and centre of the mass that greeted them; he stood so imposingly tall, overshadowing everyone by his side. He was still wrapped in those pale-blue scrubs, though there were now splatters of dried blood crawling up the cuffs and a jacket had been slung over his top half; he stared at One, eyes utterly unmoving.

 She'd seen him first, eyes drawn to his frame as he stood with a gun slung over his shoulder, barrel aimed at the door. He'd swept his gaze over Eleven, eyes softening for a split moment before One had peered over the girl's shoulder. Then they'd hardened again; a protective father, no doubt.

 One met his eyes unflinchingly; he might have been an absolute giant and built like a tank, but she wasn't at all frightened. He was just a father making sure his daughter was alright. She was a stranger to them all, and really, she was a threat.

 Finally, One broke their staring contest. Her hands were still lightly resting atop Eleven's shoulders as she moved to scan the rest of the group before them; an older woman with eyes so wide and so very soothing... She had to be Joyce. Then there was the boy by her side, his shaggy hair an absolute mess, no doubt this was Jonathan, and by his side was a girl. She was impressive, to say the very least. Her hair tied back, her eyes and lips thinned as she kept an iron grip on her own gun. Though she had lowered it substantially upon seeing Eleven before her eyes.

 There was a teenage boy on Hopper's left, and he was the one wielding the baseball bat... It hung limp in his hand with nails sticking out of the splintered and stained wood. He stared with bewilderment at the duo who had crept through the creaking front door. He was tall and had a very impressive mop of chestnut hair flailing atop his head. One almost cracked a smile; he was quite cute.

 Then there was the cluster of children, all staring at Eleven with stars in their eyes. Dustin, the one with bouncing curls and an old hat sat on his round head. Lucus, standing tall with a slingshot in his hand, though it'd been lowered the second Eleven stepped through the threshold... There was a girl too, her eyes wide while strands of fiery red hair trailed beyond her middle.

 The last kid... He had to be Mike.

 He was as motionless as a statue, eyes so wide and full of tears that the house might have flooded had he blinked. He looked at Eleven in such a way that One had never seen before.

 And Eleven, she was as unmoving and as silent as Mike. Her throat bobbed, a single crystalline tear tumbling down her cheek. Yet she still didn't shift an inch. It was like she had been thrown back into the void, watching as her loved ones surrounded her... she was petrified that they'd all disappeared before her eyes, vanishing like a cloud of smoke crawling into the sky.

 She was nudged forwards, and Eleven's eyes whipped to One.

 "Go on." One whispered, her head dipping closer to Elevens. She certainly hadn't travelled all the way back to Hawkins to watch her sister stare her family down without making a peep. She squeezed Eleven's hand, backing away until her spine lightly hit the door frame, "I'll wait outside, give you a moment to..."

 One gestured to the group, and she certainly hadn't missed the way Hopper narrowed his eyes. Perhaps it was the police officer in him that made him want to keep her close by, to keep an eye on her. Still, One only smiled at him, eyes falling back to Eleven who blinked, "I promise I'll stay right on those steps, alright?"

 Finally, Eleven nodded, "Okay." Her voice was tiny, cracking right at the end as she hastily rushed to her sister, winding her arms around her waist, "Don't leave."

 "I don't plan on it." And though One meant what she said, she couldn't exactly part with Eleven, or the group before her without some final words. She looked at Mike and the way his eyes glistened, the way his mouth fell agape at the mere sight of Eleven. Her voice rang out in a coy manner, "Hello, Mike."

 Eleven had gulped as she finally tore away from her sister, with cheeks a bright pink. It had definitely been enough to finally shift Eleven's motivation, for the young girl spun as fast as she could and fell into Mike's hold.

 The air was chilly, but that was to be expected for the time of year; snow would soon fall in light bunches from the sky, coating the ground in a frozen blanket. Perhaps this time One would be able to enjoy it, rather than fear if she and those she cared for would make it through the winter with enough heat to spare.

 Each rustle of leaves or snap of a twig set her on edge and her fingers rigidly tapped away at her knees as she stretched them out. They were ready to sprout with crimson, ready to make sure that Eleven was no longer the only one they could all count on. She could finally rest, she could finally be a child.

 It was too late for One to take those years back, she was too far gone to make up for what had been stolen by Papa... But helping Eleven, making sure that she could do the trivial things, the things that seemed so silly and pointless in the moment; that would be enough for her.

 She'd heard Eleven and the others as they reunited; the sniffles from Joyce as she likely pulled the girl into her motherly arms, the cheers from Dustin and Lucus as they squeezed her so tight she might have popped in a burst of confetti. She'd heard the girl with the red hair attempt an introduction, only for Eleven to move along without a sound; One had already heard about what Eleven had seen, the way he and the girl had laughed and joked together inside the school...

 One had tried her utmost to reassure Eleven, but she was just a child with a growing crush. Of course she'd be jealous.

 When everything fell silent after the young Dustin had growled, or purred, through his new set of teeth, One finally heaved herself from the wooden steps, wiped her damp hands on her jeans and slowly made her way to the door that was still cracked open.

 Light poured out from the inside, acting as a spotlight as she finally stepped into it; it did the trick, for once more, all eyes drew to her.

 Eleven, however, barreled forth with the biggest smile One had ever seen alight her face. It stretched so wide that her teeth gleamed and her eyes were narrowed in delight. Eleven grabbed her sister's hand, tugging her forth, "These are my friends."

 One couldn't help the huff of laughter that slipped from her lips as Eleven brandished her arms, fingers wiggling as she pointed to Dustin and Lucas. The boys blinked, shared a look, and blinked again. Lucas seemed cautious, his body language closed off the moment One took a step in tow, Max — who stood behind the boys — said nothing, and made no move to show her own thoughts; after all, she and One were both very new.

 Dustin, however, seemed curious. That ever-lasting infatuation to find out the truth that all kids had at one time or another. He was the first to speak, "Who's this, El?"

 "My sister." A short and simple answer from Eleven, as ever. Though this one certainly needed some further explanation; an explanation that Eleven decidedly didn't follow through with.

 Thus, One took a step closer to the boys; she waved a lazy hand in front of her face, highlighting the features that were infinitely different from Elevens, "Not blood related, obviously." One hummed as she pushed back her hair, tucking the chopped locked behind her ears.

 Max muttered something, her eyes lighting up at the sight of the hoop that clung to the top of One's ear, and the studs lining her lobe.

 "So..." Lucas dragged out, swiftly pocketing his sling-shot, "... How are you sisters?"

 Hopper and Mike re-entered the room just then; the young boy's face was flustered and an angry red; they'd had a screaming match, every ounce of emotion had poured out in the form of yells and cries, until finally, Mike had toppled into Hopper's arms while the burly Chief comforted him and apologised for keeping Eleven hidden away, even if it had been for her safety.

 Hopper had paused, his heavy footsteps halting in the midst of the room as he brought his gaze towards their newcomer. He watched intently as she took a step away from the children, tugging up the leather sleeve that shielded her skin.

 One looked at the boys and she knew that they were well aware of what they'd see when her wrist was finally freed from her jacket. Their eyes were already blown wide like the saucers stuffed within Joyce's old cabinets. Dustin seemed to teeter closer, his breath almost fanning One's hand.

 There it was. 001.

 "No way! No way, no way, no way!" Dustin chanted as his voice grew louder and louder, higher with each syllable, his stubby fingers clasped One's wrist as he brought it closer to his eye-line.

 One was almost certain his cheek would soon find residence upon it.

 Lucas nudged his friend, plying her hand free from Dustin's grip as he too, twisted her wrist for a final look. His eyes were fixated, and then he slowly unfurled his digits, "You're —" He breathed, blinking between One and Eleven, eyes darting to Eleven's wrist. He repeated Dustin's words, "No way..."

 Everyone remained silent, stewing in the revelation; they all knew what those numbers meant, even Steve and Max who had never previously met Eleven nor seen what she could really do. Lucas had taken it upon himself to explain everything to Max, while Nancy had done the very same for Steve.

 All eyes were upon One, and so she shrugged, tugging the sleeve back down. Her lips smacked together, "Yep, lab rat number one," Her eyes glinted as she looked at the two boys still with their mouths agape, "Pleasure to meet you."

 "You —" Dustin cleared his croaky throat, "— You too."

 With the boys firmly stuck in a bout of seemed to be both shock and awe, One ultimately made the decision to bring her eyes to Hopper, "El told me a lot about you."

 His thick brow rose, and though his face remained stoic, there was a slight slump to his wide-set shoulders, "I bet she has." 

 A beat passed. Awkward tension. The boys had batted their heads between the two like an old tennis ball being hit between two rackets. Hopper sighed and nodded, his gaze tilted towards her arm, "You got a name?"

 It was Eleven who spoke. She recalled the words her sister had shared on the topic of a name; they had to be given by someone who loved them, somebody who cared enough to put thought and time into what their child, their loved one would forever be called... She felt... sad.

 Eleven, even if Terry Ives hadn't been able to speak to her, nor reach out and hug her daughter... She'd at least had the time to give her a name. Jane. Eleven didn't know why she picked it, she had no idea if there was any meaning... But her mother had picked it. It would always be special to her.

 "One," Eleven said firmly, her fingers threading through her sister's.

 Hopper almost made to argue, to clarify; yet as he stared at the hardened look resting on Eleven's features, he decided to leave it be. He didn't need another reason for his daughter to toss a book at him, or throw a table into his knees; he still had a throbbing bruise.

 His following question... was decidedly worse, in One's opinion. "You were the first of them?"

 Now that opened a whole new can of worms for One. That's what she had been told. The very first child to have been stolen as a wailing baby, only to be injected and tormented as her days played out... but was it true? She had gone years believing that she had been the only one, and yet there had been at least ten other children. So was it farfetched to believe that maybe... just maybe, there had been others before her?

 Failures? Incompatible children? The possibilities were miserably endless.

 So One rose a single shoulder, "That's what I was told."

 "And you don't believe that?"

 "I don't know." Her voice had hardened, just as it always did when her mind was cast back to those days. Her skin felt on fire. That scar just above her belly button flared and the old wound on her shoulder throbbed as though a new bullet had soared through, "I never knew there were others. I was told I was the only one. The only doped-up freak show they had."

 Hop at least had the decency to keep any intrigue about her time within the lab to himself after that. His calloused and dirtied fingers scratched away at the growing stubble lining his chin and cheeks, and then he assessed the pair of girls.

 He'd very obviously clocked Eleven's new, and —in his opinion — worse, look. He didn't hate it, but seeing the wide-eyed little girl now dressed from top to bottom in dark colours, smeared makeup and slicked-back hair... It made him miss the curls bobbling atop her head like an old winter hat, or the way she was swamped in his old shirts he'd toss her way... it had reminded him of Sarah.

 "You've looked after her?" he asked, sceptically.

 One cast a glance towards Eleven; the hole in her jeans, the mess of her makeup and the blood on her nose, she understood his tone. But she was alive, she was safe and home, and now, she was stronger than she'd ever been. So One slung an arm around her sister, delighting in the fact that Eleven snuggled into her side, "Of course I have, how could I turn her away?"

 That was enough for him. For once he expressed his gratitude in that gruff voice of his, "Thanks, kid."

 One looked around, finally parting her eyes from those of the Chiefs; his stare was relentless. The Byers' home was a wreck; the poor old window — even if it had been spattered with dirt and the remnants of old rain-fall — was now on the floor in a million tiny shards, each glinting meticulously. The walls were smothered with drawings, each connected with tape and flapping in the breeze. Two dead monsters were sprawled out on an old rug; one was just limp, as though taking a small doze... But the creature that One had mutilated lay with a bone puncturing its slimy skin, blood trailing into the rug and staining it deep obsidian.

 She'd caught the one with the baseball bat nudging it, grimacing at the sight.

 The ratty old sofas had been pushed back, clearing the living area; making way for the unlikely group around her. Then her eyes landed on Joyce. The mother, the fighter and the protector; all words used by Eleven and yet even One could see that the description matched her perfectly.

 The woman's eyes would dart to the children, a sigh of relief letting her chest deflate each time they were all accounted for. The teenagers, even those that didn't belong to her, would catch a glimpse from her, making sure each of them was all alright.

 Hell, One had even felt the woman's stare, her eyes lingering on the leftover blood that stained the skin above her lips.

 But now that every child was in plain sight, now that every teenager appeared completely fine... She looked both determined, yet somehow, defeated. Then it came to One. Will.

 The little boy who'd been taken to another world, forced to survive alone for days on end all while a monster stalked him like prey. Where was he?

 "Eleven told me everything." She spoke, her finger lightly tapping at Eleven's shoulder while her other hand had been stuffed into her jacket pocket, "Everything that happened last year with the, uh —" She glanced to the monsters and the blood seeping into the rug. She withered, "Those things... But I saw her visions, something's wrong and I'd like to help you."

 Eleven followed her trail of thought, her eyes darting to Joyce, "Will. Can I see him?"

 Joyce silently nodded and she reached a hand out, willing Eleven to take hold. When she did, Joyce led her to the room Will had been set down in.

 All One had seen on the mother's face was utter worry. She directed her words to Hopper, "What happened to him?"

 Hopper seemed to have a knack for pausing, debating and silently making decisions within a split second, for he regarded One, eyes flying to her wrist, the blood below her nose, and then back to her face. He came to the conclusion that if she was anything like Eleven, then her help would not only be needed but very much appreciated.

 He cocked his head towards the kitchen table, leading her along.

 Hopper slumped into an old dining chair, hands trailing down his lined face while One took her place opposite him, watching as the others — both children and teenagers — filed into the room, all awaiting the proceeding conversation.

 Hopper delved in. He'd pause here and there, lighting a cigarette, taking a puff, and then continuing on. The smoke created a haze through the room, and while the smell would always make One's stomach bubble in distaste, she was at least thankful for the foggy curtain that spared her from each lingering stare.

 Dustin had thrown himself into a spare chair, rocking it back on two legs as he too, piped up to correct the Chief. Only to blink, bite his tongue and slam all four chair legs to the ground when Hopper glowered at him.

 The explanation had One's mind reeling. From Demogorgans and missing children to an invisible beast ravaging young Will's mind. A parasite stealing away Will's body and using him as nothing more than a puppet on a string, a spy, and a means to an end.

 One sagged, her back growing painfully sore as the ridges from the chairback dug through her jacket and into her spine. Still, she hadn't the energy to move. Her fingers drummed mindlessly at the table, trying her best to conjure any sort of plan that would help them.

 Not a moment later did Joyce return with Eleven in tow. The girl skidded to a stop behind one, leaning her elbow atop her sister's shoulder. It was obvious from Eleven's downcast eyes that Will Byers was not in good shape. Just how much poor luck could one little boy receive?

 One took a moment to glance at her sister, prodding her cheek with a delicate finger. Eleven at least smiled, and that was enough for One's face to fall back to stoicism once more, her attention back on the matter at hand. The Gate was their main target, "You're saying it's grown?"

 Hopper nodded bleakly, "A lot, and we don't even know if we'll be able to get in. The place is crawling with those..." He stared through the kitchen, into the living room, and at one of the monster's clawed feet that poked out from in front of the couch, "... Dogs."

 "Demo-dogs." Dustin corrected; though the moment all eyes were drawn to him — especially the Chiefs narrowed ones —he shrunk into his seat. One thought he might've slipped through the cracks as nothing more than a puddle with a frock of hair, "Sorry, yeah — that's not helping."

 One couldn't help but provide the boy with a short smile; sure whatever nonsense he was spouting really wasn't helping them, but at least it alleviated some of the tension.

 Beside her, Eleven stood taller, "I can do it."

 One hadn't a sliver of doubt that she could; Eleven had been strong when she'd arrived those few days prior. Strong, heartbroken, and so very angry. So when she'd finally used those emotions to ground her, to be the spark to the fire, she'd grown so much. Her powers had inflated.

 "You're not hearing me," Hopper's voice was rough, but One could hear the desperation within that grit. He didn't want to chance it, and he didn't want to lose her. Not again.

 But it wasn't up to him. He might be the Chief of the town that attracted so much unwanted — and supernatural — attention, but he was still just a man. A man who could do very little in the face of this imposing threat. If he turned Eleven away or forced her to watch silently as everything unfolded... Well, surely they all knew that Eleven would go anyway.

 One tilted forwards, dark eyes flashing beneath the light rocking above the kitchen table, "She's hearing you. She can do it." One lounged back once more, her temple falling to rest against Eleven's arm as she watched her little sister smile down at her. A curl had escaped the hair gel, and was just barely grazing Eleven's lashes, "She's stronger now."

 The group was silent. Then Hopper tapped his finger against the table, "How?"

 Now that was certainly a question, wasn't it? From the looks of the varying emotion flitting across the others faces, they'd all had the very same question lodged within their throats.

 "Training." Came Eleven's simple reply.

 "Training?"

 "Yes."

 "What kind of training?"

 "Does it matter?" One bit out. All the back and forth was beginning to make her head spin. She was growing antsy just waiting for them all to finally quieten down so they could at last figure out a damn way to stop this monster, demon — whatever the hell it was — from taking Will and destroying the dusty town of Hawkins. "All that matters is that she can do it." She blinked, "We can do it."

 She hadn't yet eluded to her powers. Neither a peep of information nor a flash of crimson had streamed from her... So of course they all eyed her intensely. The smoke in the air had already subsided, and each eye on her body sparked a flame of discomfort; as though she were an animal in a zoo... or lab rat in a cell.

 Mike was the one to bring the attention away, "But even if you can... There's still another problem," upon seeing One's brows advance higher, Mike resumed, "If the brain dies, the body dies."

 "I thought that was the whole point." Said Max.

 "It is, but if we're really right about this... I mean, if they can close the gate and it kills the Mind Flayer's army..." He trailed off, not daring to utter the words that squeezed his heart. But he didn't have to finish, for everyone came to the conclusion on their own.

 "It'll kill Will." One mumbled softly, eyes straying away from Joyce. How one woman could suffer through so much and still be standing was beyond her, "He's a part of that army."

 "Exactly."

 Joyce's hand gripped at the edge of the table, her knuckles growing a ghostly white. When she looked up and a weighty breath fell from her lips, it was as plain as day that she was ready to erupt into tears for her little boy.

 She'd watched him fight so hard to survive when he'd been taken. He defied all odds and made it back alive... now he was suffering once more, having his mind and body stolen from him. She wondered if he could feel it, if he could somehow hear the words that came from him when his body became a puppet. God, she hoped not.

 Her train of thought was broken as One dragged a nail along the table, following the jagged mark a knife had left behind when Jonathan had cut a little too hard through Will's buttered toast one morning, "Maybe..." She considered aloud, "What if we could separate him from the Mind Flayer? Just for a moment, to talk? He might know something more, something we don't."

 Mike shook his head, "But how could we? We can't even talk to him now."

 But then Eleven blinked, Her hand darting to grab her sisters, stilling it upon the table. She stared at One's cracked nail polish, the rings on her fingers, the scars dusting her skin, "Your powers."

 One twisted her hand, her palm sliding against Eleven's while her eyes met Joyces. It might have been a real shot in the dark, for even though One could weasel her way into the mind of another, she'd only ever done it a handful of times before. It had worked, but it had drained her energy immensely... and she had nothing that would be fighting back. She hardly believed that the Mind Flayer would stand idle as she infiltrated the mind it had taken over.

 One hummed, "I might be able to give you a few seconds to talk to him."

 Joyce staggered, "How?"

 "I can get into people's heads... I can see memories, fears and thoughts. If the Mind Flayer has gotten in Will's head, then Will is still in there somewhere. I'll have to find him, I'll have to create a wall between him and the Mind Flayer; separate them, if even for a moment..." She trailed off, finally taking her gaze from Joyce's hope-filled face. If this didn't work, they'd be crushed. She looked at Hopper, lips thinned into a tight line as she drummed her fingers against the table, her leg bouncing, "I've done this a few times before, but nothing was in my way... This time, I'll have something fighting back. You'll have to be quick."

 The room was abuzz. The children burst into chatter; Lucas and Dustin grinning toothily at one another while Mike tried his best to catch Eleven's grin, only to falter as he watched her stare down at her sister with worry. Her brows curled as a divot appeared between them

 Jonathan, Joyce's son, whipped his head around to Nancy; there was nothing but joy in those mopey eyes of his. Nancy hadn't the heart to point out the pensive look on One's face to him.

 Joyce, however, had noticed One's following silence immediately. The way her rattling fingers never stilled, and the way Eleven couldn't tear her eyes away, "What is it?" her warm voice was enough to draw the room into a still silence.

 Eleven frowned, "It hurts."

 "Oh, sweetheart —" Joyce almost scurried around the table, hastily taking a light hold of One's fidgeting fingers, "— You don't have to —"

 Joyce paused at the soft pressure One offered her hand. One couldn't say no, not really. Not when Joyce's eyes had so readily crumbled at Eleven's words, nor when even in the midst of her premature grief, Joyce sought to comfort her.

 She was too good. Too kind, and her son was too young to have to suffer so much. A little pain would be worth it.

 One straightened, resolve assembled, "All she means is that it takes a lot of my own energy to be able to get inside somebody's head. There are mental barriers that we all subconsciously construct to protect ourselves... Your boy... is he quiet?"

 She nodded.

 "An introvert?"

 Another nod, this time accompanied by a resounding hum from Jonathan.

 "People who are more..." One searched for the right word, "Closed off, they can be harder to crack. They're more protected. And even if I can get through there's still the Mind Flayer; I'll have to create some sort of block between it and Will... If it retaliates, I'll have to fight back."

 Everybody digested her explanation; Dustin almost gleamed, even if her words hadn't sparked much confidence in them all. His mind hurried to picture the stories and comics he'd read. She sounded so very familiar...

 Eleven, of course, had no doubt that her sister could do it. She knew about the training that she and Kali would do; how Kali would conjure illusions, and One would try to shatter them with her abilities. Sometimes it'd worked and the illusions splintered like a brick to a mirror. Other times they merely wobbled and One was left to dab at the blood atop her lip.

 Joyce might have wanted nothing more than to speak to her son, to find any possible way to free him before worse came to worse, but she was not a selfish woman. She wouldn't force the girl staring up at her with those beautifully dark eyes to do anything she didn't want to do.

 The mother insisted, "We can find another way."

 "No, we can't." Said One, already rising to her feet, muddied converse stomping on the old wooden floor, "I'm going to do this, I just need you all to understand that it might not work. That if I seem to be in pain, you have to leave me be. Don't stop me, don't try to break me out."

 Silence ensued, and so One looked to the only person she could trust to give her a straight answer. Hopper, "Promise me."

 The Chief ran his tongue over his teeth, forcing his eyes to remain away from Eleven and the look of fear dusting her darkened features, "Any other advice?"

 "If our eyes glow red, try not to get frightened." She almost grinned when Hopper scoffed and the kids let out small bouts of laughter. Even Eleven's shoulders shook, "Would you bring him out here? Place him on the ground for me?"

 When Hopper had disappeared into Will's bedroom, One made her way into the living room and settled herself on the ground, legs crossed. She peeled her jacket from her body and was startled when she felt somebody tug at her hair. Eleven stood behind her, little fingers wrangling One's pin-straight hair into some semblance of a ponytail.

 Eleven struggled, her tongue poking out as strand upon strand slipped through her fingers like coarse sand. Eventually, she huffed and let it all fall back down, only to swipe the top half of her hair and squeeze it into a shapeless and messy bun atop her sister's head. She poked it, willing for it to remain where it was, and when it didn't fall apart, Eleven smiled and took a seat beside her sister.

 The young girl patted her sister's knee, fingers curling into her denim jeans. She repeated the words One had said to her those days prior, "You can do this."

 "Told you, didn't I?" One murmured. She twisted her kneck, relief flooding her body as it clicked, "Anything to help you and your friends."

 Eleven's forehead rested against her temple, and for a moment one allowed her body to finally unwind. She'd been on edge from the moment they'd clambered from the bus and scuttled through the woods. She was safe here, or at least as safe as she could be. Hopper — even if the man was built like a bear and as gruff as one — wouldn't let any harm come to her... and One was absolutely certain that Joyce Byers herself would give anyone a good run for their money.

 She could feel Eleven tremble, or maybe it was just her, she truly couldn't tell. To squeeze into somebodies head felt... well it felt awful. Her body would go rigid and numb, with no sense of heat or cold, no longer able to feel a single touch upon her flesh. Then she'd be greeted by darkness, much like the void Eleven travelled to.

 There were doors, all lined in meticulous rows; some would be bolted, others already cracked open. It always depended on the mind she would invade. Each would house memories, thoughts and fears. The battered doors that creaked and cracked would house fears. Each one ready to seep out no matter how hard the person persisted. The pristine white ones would be memories, each and every memory of a person laid out before her.

 But the last was a person's thoughts. No doors to pick from, just an expanse of black while words echoed around her, filling her mind to the very brim and overflowing like an old teacup.

 But One knew Will's mind would be locked up tight. A small kid who'd been bullied. One who'd been stolen from his own and forced to suffer alone. He'd keep everything under careful lock and key, sure to never spill anything inside... Not to mention whatever fortifications the Mind Flayer might have constructed.

 Hopper's steps alerted her, and though she was reluctant to do so, One parted from Eleven, nodding for the girl to shift away and give them some room. Hop trudged onwards, a small boy hanging limp in his arms; he couldn't have been taller than Eleven.

 He didn't move at all, not a twitch of the fingers, no flickering behind his eyes. The only way they could even tell that he was still with them was the steady and slow rise and fall of his chest.

 Hopper placed him down with as much care as he could muster, shifting the boy ever so slightly when One tapped a hand against her lap. Will's head found the spot and immediately sweat seeped through her jeans.

 He was boiling, even despite how cold the house was. Each window was open, curtains jostling with the nighttime breeze. The heating was off completely, abnormal for November in any household. There were goosebumps on One's bare arms, all slowly disappearing, escaping the heat that seeped from Will.

 One didn't mind, of course she didn't. She looked down at him, watching the way his chest stuttered with each wheezing breath, the way sweat tumbled down the side of his face like warm tears. His skin was pale, almost ghostly. She placed a hand atop his forehead, wincing at the heat radiating from him.

 How could such a tiny little boy find himself in so much chaos?

 Joyce joined One's side, watching intently as One smoothed back Will's hair with all the care of a doting mother. She was so gentle with him, as though he'd break beneath her touch, "Any time you want to stop, you stop." Joyce persisted, her voice harder than One had heard it, "Okay?"

 "Alright." One confirmed, slicking the last part of Will's messy fringe back, "When I do this, if and when Will speaks... I want only one of you to talk to him. Too many voices will confuse him, it'll force his mind to work harder to put voices to faces and faces to names. Joyce," One looked at her, "You're his mother, it'll take minimal effort for him to know it's you. You'll comfort him, and hopefully, weaken those barriers."

 Joyce only nodded, willing to do whatever she could to bring her boy back.

 "Now, I really can't say how long you'll have... So act fast. Think of what you need him to tell you. I know it's hard," She directed at the boy's mother, slowly moving her gaze to Jonathan, "But you'll have to skip asking how he is or if he's alright. If we don't get these answers..."

 One didn't finish. She didn't have to.

 There was no peep after that; no more questions spouted into the air, no interruptions and no distractions. Eleven sat still and silent, away from One while Joyce remained by her son's side. She knew what had to be asked, they needed to know how to weaken the Mind Flayer, how to tear the two of them apart.

 One closed her eyes. How did all of this come to be? Why had their lives been so complicated? She'd been born in a laboratory that tested on children, giving them gifts that no human being should ever have possessed. She'd been beaten, she had ran and ran and ran... Only to come full circle and end up back in the depths of Hawkins.

 Though it was still painful to even think about being in Hawkins again, as One opened her eyes to catch a glimpse of the faces around her, she knew she wouldn't have changed a thing. These people, these strangers were relying on her. Her sister was relying on her... and the little boy in her lap, he needed her.

 One's hands hovered mid-air, and she could hear the heavy intake of breath in the room. Twitching fingers found their place by Will's temples, each digit slowly moving. Wisp by wisp her powers made themselves known. Crimson began to glow, shining from her fingertips as red smoke billowed from her nailbeds.

 The children, hell, even the teenagers had to bite their tongues.

 Red twisted and coiled, wrapping around her like ravenous snakes... Then her fingers jolted, and a burst of scarlet flew from the tips and towards Will's head. His eyes flew open, and the sight alone was enough for Joyce to swallow the gathering lump in her throat. Gone were his soft brown iris', only to stare blankly at the ceiling whilst red stirred within them.

 The last thing One had heard was Dustin's gasp, only to be followed by a groan as Steve Harrington elbowed him in the ribs.

 Then, all fell silent.

━━━━━━━

14-12-2019

edited version: 14-06-2022

i need you new ghost readers to actually interact lmao, I'm not gonna keep updating if y'all don't shift it <3