[ huh. okay. so. she's. got another name too, it shares a last name with that cop in the show... probably still coincidence? maybe he should have watched season 2 at some point? not that netflix was really available in fillory, but.
the lack of more technological understanding is kind of convincing, though. assuming it's not some kind of elaborate prank. but even q doesn't know that eliot's seen stranger things, so this would just be an extra level of weird. ]
because that's the name I picked to use mine's a reference to a movie [ which is maybe why he asked if "eleven" was one too. ]
[It's strange to meet another El, even though it's an Eliot, not an Eleven. Even though he thinks her name is not a real name, and that stings. But it's alright.]
[ he pictures a gauge in his head that's slowly tipping more toward "probably really that character" and further away from "elaborate prank". he did meet javert too, after all. and javert turned out to be so very real, and so very different at the same time. it's a bit weird to think about, even knowing that worlds can span in such a way already, but. well, even if the rest of the show didn't really jive with his tastes, he did like eleven. she had guts, and eliot can always appreciate that. ]
it was a movie theater movie, not a tv movie it's called Mean Girls
[ it's strange how she's not actually the first to say that, and even if he does feel there's probably at least some truth to the statement, it feels as real as the smile he wears half the time. if margo were here, she'd probably chastise him for thinking otherwise, burying away whatever good there really is with the usual pomp and circumstance. she isn't though, and eliot feels worse for it, knowing that even though he knows what she would say, the reassurance loses all meaning unless he hears it from her himself.
no, he could never be that, could he? he'd even managed to fuck up the one thing the great cock said he'd been born to do, condemned his friends to the monster's games for nearly a year. that's not wise at all. ]
I don't know that I am. I've just been through a lot.
[And she doesn't ask him what he went through - she knows, better than most, that prying doesn't feel good, that pain sits differently in everyone's ribcage.]
[ it's clear from that alone that she must be young-hearted, at the least if not simply young. if she really is eleven from the show he'd seen, then it tracks, and he can't help but feel protective, at least for her sake. the world isn't always such a caring or forgiving place. that's how he'd learned at all, and it had been the greatest struggle to push through everything the universe had brought against him, in every single world he had faced.
help is always good. kind words too.
if only it had been so simple. ]
we'll need to if we want to survive
you should take care though not everyone here is who they seem to be myself included
[She's had to deal with both. Her instinct is to be wary - of strangers especially. At the same time, moving past that suspicion has gained her... friends, here. Unexpectedly.
Nothing will ever replace everyone she's lost - or everyone who's lost her, as it were. But there's been comfort in the people she's met.]
Hello Eleven, Are you quite alright? I am very sorry about the ferry, I assure you that hadn't gone as anticipated and I understand if you are upset, I just need to know if you are hurt.
I am so sorry you won't get to go home just yet. Yours, Aziraphale.
Dear Eleven, It's just a greeting. I can use sincerely if you prefer!
I am happy to hear you are doing alright but please let me know if your ankle gets worse.
We will just have to come up with better plans. Thank you kindly. Please do contact me if you are in need of anything, this place is very strange and it can take time to adjust.
Listen, some people have seen and heard things over the last couple of days that aren't there, so if Nancy and Steve aren't there and you need a hand, just send me a message, okay?
Regards are normally something you send to be polite, as a means of wishing someone well. It’s a phrase usually added to the bottom of more formal or professional letters or emails, or when you’re emailing someone you don’t know very well or have a close relationship with.
[ if he was talking to someone a little less impressionable, he'd probably add something about using them to be passive aggressive, BUT. ]
But honestly? Having regards sent to me makes me feel like I’m at work, getting a message from my boss.
Or like you’re about to break out the Mr. Parker...
[ she'd mentioned the upside down before, when they were sat at the bonfire. at the time, peter had assumed she'd meant some kind of inverse or alternate reality and, uh.
this isn't doing a whole lot to change his mind.
flayed is descriptive enough (or so he thinks), demogorgon less so (wasn't that, like, a dungeons and dragons thing?)
there are a few responses on the tip of his tongue, a few bad jokes he'd ordinarily come out with to break the tension, but she says she doesn't like this and she's scared, he thinks. she doesn't know him well enough to have a good read on his sense of humour; he doesn't know her well enough to be able to know what'd distract her beyond just talking at her.
(but also: nancy's head opens like the demogorgon??) ]
[ he'd been all set to tell her a story about like, spider-man. or that time when fred had dragged him out to the bar with no name and he'd won the spider-man trivia quiz.
(man, that'd have been embarrassing if he'd lost it, right?)
or that time when he'd had the spider-mobile and drove it up the side of the bugle offices just to mess with jonah.
but then she asks him for a story about him and it throws him off. ]
Alright, if you're after a story about me, you're going to have to help me out here and pick a genre. Romcom? Sitcom? I'm vetoing horror since we've got enough of that.
[ truth be told, peter has a lot of fond memories, a lot of things that make him happy — once, he'd asked may why she hadn't moved out of the forest hills home when ben had died; when her friends had said the home would have too many bad memories. she'd said that the good memories outweighed the bad, that every room she entered she did see him, but it was always a memory she wanted to remember.
thinking of home here isn't always a happy experience, but it does make him think of happier times, times he wouldn't trade for all the world. ]
Uh—, you know, I'm pretty lucky in that there's a lot that hit that mark. Maybe not a lot that independently make sense.
[ pause. ]
—I have a friend. His name's Harry, and he's — not always had it easy. A few years ago, he had to stay in hospital for a little while and when he got out, we wanted to welcome him home. My aunt made a cake, all of our friends were there — he's helped me out a lot over the years, so it was nice to be able to help with something to help him, you know? And more than that... It was nice being able to get everyone together. You should've seen his face.
It's not much of a story, I was definitely thinking more of a parable, but it's a happy memory.
Vanilla sponge, with strawberry frosting. [ beat. ] I kept eating it while the cake was in the oven. [ a soft huff of breath that sounds like it could be the precursor to a laugh, and it’s evident from his tone just how fond he is of his aunt. ] She threatened to put pepper in it the next time, to stop me eating it all before she’d had chance to ice the cake.
—He did, but I haven’t met anyone who dislikes my aunt’s cooking.
I see your Eggos and I raise you homemade wheatcakes.
[ WHAT he wouldn't give for some of may's wheatcakes—.
(even if apparently no-one else knows what they are??) ]
But even if Eggos aren't quite on the same level as wheatcakes, I hope you didn't waste any. Cream, sprinkles and fried batter are the holy grail of breakfasts and I hear there's a special circle of— uh. How many boxes of Eggos did you use?
[ The stack was impressive. Held up only by her power, not by any law of pysics known to mankind, certainly. ]
Well... didn't use all of them. Ruined Hop's shirt.
[ They had celebrated. Hopper had come home with the boxes, slipped the hair tie onto her thin wrist, and they'd built a tower, just because. After, still sticky from the tower falling on him, Hopper had shown her the new birth certificate.
Jane Hopper.
She'd hugged him and gotten crumbs and whipped cream and sprinkles all over herself, too. ]
[ there's a noise — a contemplative hum, and— ] —Nah, you've got me. That story would definitely have been ending with way more than a wrecked shirt if I attempted to eat anything near eleven Eggos and whipped cream all in one go.
The best I've ever managed is a pint of ice cream with a mug of hot cocoa the size of my face.
It's even better when it's raining outside and you don't need to go anywhere.
[ but those are always the days and nights when something happens, when he ends up having to dash out and leave mj earlier than he'd said; or when he ends up being out longer than he'd thought and their date gets cancelled or postponed.
(but he's pointedly not thinking about mj now.
or trying to.) ]
You thought about what flavour you're getting next time?
Silly? [ mostly, he's just going to repeat and sound slightly incredulous. he's been called worse things, he's been called more insulting things but honestly?
he can't really argue with silly. ] What'd I do to earn that moniker? [ beat. ] The strawberry and pistachio's pretty good if you're taking recommendations.
Hey, that might be true, but I'm going to have to hear some examples before I start accepting such slander against my good name, missy.
[ mockingly stern: it's very obvious he's not actually offended. ]
It's scientific theory: you start with an observation, in this case — Peter Parker is silly, then you ask a question (how is Peter Parker silly?), then you form a hypothesis which — I could give an example, but I feel like I'd be supporting my own character assassination, but for an unrelated example, maybe your hypothesis is Peter Parker holds very strong opinions about what counts as a schmear of cream cheese on a bagel.
Then you come up with a prediction - a testable theory, which in this case might be: if I give Peter a bagel which has more or less than a schmear, he's going to be mildly offended; if I give him a bagel which has an exact schmear, he's going to be happy and say nothing. Testing this would be providing Peter Parker with a variety of bagels with different amounts of cream cheese, some of which definitely do count as schmears, and some of which are definitely not and subsequently offensive to the name of bagels everywhere.
If Peter says nothing about any of the bagels, your hypothesis is unsupported and incorrect. If Peter does complain about the non-schmeared bagels, your hypothesis is supported and therefore likely correct.
Then you iterate, which is when you reflect on your results and use them to inform your next steps. It tends to lead to more theories and scientific investigations.
But I'm going to admit that right now, I feel a bit weird about talking about myself in third-person so much and also admit that schmear has stopped sounding like a word.
[ he loses her almost immediately under a barrage of things Eleven does not know or understand - hypothesis, schmear, prediction, subsequently, iterate...
she gets stuck on two things she does understand. ]
Are you... hungry?
[ She steels herself a little for the next question. ]
Are you... a scientist? Do you... do you experiment?
[ Three guesses as to what put that edge of tension in her voice, Peter. Three guesses as to why Eleven sounds like she doesn't actually want an answer. Thre guesses as to her trauma. ]
I— [ it clicks. the lingering questions he'd had after their first meeting have been answered by her second question, and he winces (way to go, parker). whilst the expression itself isn't visible, it's there in the pause, in the silence before he answers. ]
Friends don't lie, right? [ he repeats, any levity all but gone; an audible inhale, then: ] Yeah. It was my passion at school, and I studied biochemistry at college. The plan was to go into STEM, but things didn't quite work out like that — for a long time, the closest I got was teaching at my old high school. I had a company for a while, but we were more tech focused — on making things to help people.
[ a beat. ] I can't say we — I — don't do experiments, but they're not what you think. I know you've only got my word, but I would never do anything that would hurt anyone. [ he can't say there isn't a human element, because of anything, human trials are always one of the last steps where relevant; he's not even sure if saying 'but consent is always required' would even make it better. ] Anyone that does is a bad scientist, okay?
[ There were many men and women at the lab. They did their jobs. Some, she knows, didn't like what was done at the lab. She insisted on showing mercy to one. She remembers his face, remembers the red rage, remember flinging the gun away with a twitch of her head.
Not all bad men want to be bad men.
But some still are.
They follow orders.
Papa was a bad man.
Papa gave the orders.
Peter wasn't there.
Peter is not a bad man.
Papa was was a bad man.
Papa was bad.
Peter is not.
Papa was.
Papa.
She feels the hands in her hair, short cropped so they can place things on her head. She feels the hands on her arms, so tight they bruise, dragging her through sterile, white dark corridors. She feels the hands on her back, pressing on the knobs of her spine, and the sound of pens scribbling, and Papa deeming Experiment 011 healthy enough.
It feels hands on its shoulder and pricks of needles and hands on its cheeks.
Experiment 011 huddles in the corner of its cell, knees up and face hidden and knows better than to struggle against their hold and their pull and their push.
[ peter waits for a bit before realising that a response isn't coming. he doesn't want to make any assumptions about her response or how she's feeling, other than whoops, maybe that was the wrong response? it's a little while later then that he sends a message, switching back to text: ]
Hey, El. If you want to talk at some point, I'll be around. If not, I get it.
[Tallest regards. To some this might be a reminder of her age. Bruce thinks of it as a signal of inexperience instead, something to be mastered. Something she is capable of mastering.]
[ She doesn't check her messages again after that. Eleven's heart is hammering in her chest, thinking of the messages she worried about for a while, about Riku - inevitably about the void, too.
She hurries, less in a sense of danger or true concern - it's Bruce. Bruce can be trusted. Still her steps are quick. She takes some of Nancy's things - she will apologize later, but not asking means Nancy can't say no - and some of her left over candy, put on her minature plague doctor beak and makes her way to their meeting point. ]
[The village is adequate neutral ground, and it affords him the presumption from someone else- that it could be guessed that this is where he lives. It's also further from bonfire square and by extension, further from the bonfire itself. Bruce's lantern is a perpetually dim shape, cradled in the crook of one bent elbow, and it's the clearest defining point for him- for where he stands against the dark trees, in the dark wood.
It was hardly an urgent request. He could make do if necessary. He could find other ways. But making his way into town will be an inevitability and that makes this step one of preparation.
The stitches near his back are crooked and too tight, they pull uncomfortably on the skin around it, but it isn't enough to really slow him. Bruce is as methodical as ever. He leaves early so that he has enough time to be there, waiting for her, and he keeps the glow of his lantern away from his face, obscuring the split over the bridge of his nose, the stitches through one eyebrow. The mottled bruising. The rest he can cover with his clothes, it is the face, unfortunately, that he can do nothing else for.]
[ Eleven isn't far behind him in her timing. She has the make in the Halloween candy bucket that Aziraphale gave her not that long ago. A few pieces of candy are also inside. Aziraphale said to share, so she's been saving some for people she likes.
Speaking of...
Appraching, Eleven's eyebrows draw together. She can't make up much of him except the light, but she recognizes the lantern, of course. Her own is tied around her waist the way Bruce showed her on their first meeting. ]
Hi.
[ She says it only once she's gotten fairly close, expression serious if unassuming. She can't see the bruises on his face like this. This is just base concern for someone she hasn't heard from in a while. ]
Are you okay?
it's okay! life happens, and i'm happy to wait for you u3u
[The initial address is easier to manage, the trouble comes in her question. Bruce has not been on the receiving end of this inquiry for a very long time- when it came from Alfred or Jim or Selina the words were always are you safe or are you hurt. Those were easy, they had columns with boxes that could be ticked off, a measurement that allowed him to say yes or no. Okay is open to interpretation, and while Bruce usually thrives in those grey areas the danger here is that he might tip his hand. Bruce believes that he is 'okay,' as the word goes. He's able to function just fine albeit a bit slower, more carefully than normal. His obstacles are minimal, pain and discomfort are sensations he's long since learned to push through. But people who see him this way wouldn't believe that to be the case. They would expect him to make a quip or to complain about the constant ache.
Something he might do if he were facing someone else. Eleven, he thinks, like Riku, is prone to worry for the sake of others. He suspects that this is because each of them are sensitive to pain- that it's easier for them to find empathy for others. It's a difficult sensitivity to navigate. But it's also the reason that he likes them.
This still leaves him with the question. Eleven is watching his face, what little she can make out in the dark. Her lantern is tied around her waist to keep her hands free. Bruce looks back at her and feels a fondness he isn't sure he has a right to.]
I'm a little tired.
Were you hurt?
<3 I'm BACK!!! and still having feelings over this tag.
[ The question makes Eleven reach up to her throat. It bears scars from where the Baubledook scratched her. Mostly healed, no longer an angry, bloodied red. Still, she'll have that reminde.
And then... there was that thing, in the Void.
There's no safety here. ]
Not... recently.
[ It's not a no, but as much of a yes as she'll allow.
She digs into her bucket for now, and holds out three pieces of candy and a crumpled wrapper that looks like it had shape at some point. Eleven holds it out almost in defiance of how it looks. ]
Candy. And... a bird. For you.
[ Eleven likes Candy, and would be in a good mood if someone gave it to her - unless that someone was a stranger, like Aziraphale with the cake. Anyway, it's a very blunt attempt to bribe him into good spirits. The make up, after all, he'll get after satisfying her questions. Eleven is not smart, she knows this. She lacks education and life experience, and while she'd take offense at being called dumb, she also can't pretend to be much more than that. Still... there are some things that even she can't help but notice. ]
[The small movement of her hand towards her throat draws his gaze, and Bruce follows it as he would follow any other tell. Whether she means to reveal it is irrelevant now. She says not recently and this admission, paired with the location of the hurt leaves him to wonder if she had died.
It doesn't surprise him that she refuses to linger or dwell. He has not known Eleven for a very long time and they haven't gone through the motions of explaining who they are to one another. But he suspects that she is very used to it. To not just the pain, the necessity of moving on from it, because other things must be done. It's hard to see, not just because of her age, but because Bruce remembers what it was like. To be a child and to be afraid and to be angry. To want to be more.]
Thank you.
[There's a kind of sincerity in his reply even when he recognizes the offering for what it is. Bruce takes two of the three pieces because he'll give them to Riku and Vanitas. But the bird? That he takes for himself.]
I suspect that you won't give me the makeup until I've answered your questions. I'll do what I can.
[ Eleven's eyebrows shoot up for a moment, and it's enturely possible that her cheeks flush. Though perhaps she shouldn't be surprised. Bruce, like Peter, seems to be smart in ways she barely understands. Clever. No wonder he realizes her intentions.
She scuffs her boots along the ground beneath them. She got those at the store with Riku, shortly after her arrival on bare feet. ]
What is...happening. I worry.
[ About him, about Riku. About secrets. It was a bad idea maybe - she doesn't quite know how to articulate all of this. ]
Is he hurting?
[ Not 'is he hurt'. And most certainly not 'did you hurt him' - no. ]
[Eleven's expression says the things that she doesn't. She wears her surprise and perhaps also her embarrassment, but Bruce doesn't react in kind because there's no reason to. Her decision was clever and well-reasoned. Bribery and even blackmail are tools- he's asked her for something and in doing so has provided her leverage. It's reasonable for Eleven to push her advantage. It's what he would do.
But Bruce has a great deal of experience with grey areas and he had known, the moment he chose to get involved, that there would be no unringing of the bell. Whatever happened, he would be tied to the outcome.
Her feet scuff against the ground and Bruce watches her, the worry that settles over her shoulders. The question that she chooses is illuminating in and of itself, and Bruce wonders if anyone has ever asked it of her. If that's the reason she chooses to think of the present (is he hurting) instead of the past (was he hurt?)
For a long moment Bruce considers it, considers her. And then he says-]
Have you ever felt so sad that you thought you could cry forever? Like there was a hole inside of you?
[ No hesitation, no delay. Eleven doesn't even stop to think about the answer. It's immediate, and painfully honest. She feels it, every day, and in the moments that her dreams turn dark.
It's in the way she remembers her childhood, her upbringing, the way she often feels like she's drowning even now, put into the submersion tank and made to enter the Void, alone in the dark nothing.
Things crawl out of that hole in her chest that put her back in hospital scrubs, hair shorn short, shoved into a pitch black closet and left alone there.
Things crawl out of that hole in her chest in the shape of those loved and lost, the confused empty of her mother's mind, and the knowledge that she won't ever be without that darkness inside of herself.
She's the monster, no matter what anyone else says. She is incomplete and clawing at a shred of normalcy she can't ever fully have, despite everyone's best efforts. There's no future, and the past is a shackle she can't quite shake. She's powerfull, but powerless against anything that really matters.
Things crawl out of that hole in her chest that wear her face and voice.
She doesn't lower her gaze now, keeps her eyes on Bruce. Steady. Too old, too young. ]
I think that he's spent a long time worrying about other people, because it's easier than seeing the hole.
[To call Bruce a private person is an understatement. He plays a shell game with his secrets, moving them from one place to another as necessary. He discloses very little to very few and has had felt this way for as long as he can remember. But the things they talk about now are not his secrets. They belong to someone else.
Eleven told him once that friends don't lie. This has not been his experience. Bruce has been lied to by everyone he cares about because those people are human- because the reason someone tells a lie or tells the truth becomes more nuanced with age. Some people lie to protect themselves, some lie to protect another. Experienced has softened him in many ways but it has hardened him in others. Bruce wants answers. He craves honesty, the craves the search- and in the same hand he can recognize the inverse that they make.
She believes that a person shouldn't lie to their friend. He believes that lying for a friend is the very least he would do.
These are Riku's secrets and for that reason he's willing to pay the price for his silence. The nuance comes in telling the people who fear for him just enough, to let them know that he's safe, while also protecting his privacy. Riku, after all, gives himself very little of it.]
But it doesn't stop growing.
Sooner or later, you have to look. Otherwise it will swallow you too.
[ So Riku is sad. That much her smaller mind can grasp and understand, though perhaps the nuances are lost to her, or only shapes most vaguely. Eleven starts raising the bag of make up, then slowly lowers it.
There's a deep line between her brows, some gears slowly turning.
Riku is... okay in the sense of alive. But Riku is sad, and being swallowed by the hole he's not looking at, because he worries about others and not himself.
Eleven realizes, then, that she can never tell him how she tried to find him. He'd worry, he'd blame himself. She doesn't want to add to the things that could make him disappear again.
At least he's not alone. At least Bruce watches over him. And she doesn't know much about Bruce, but she trusts him this far.
And if he's watching over Riku so Riku can deal with his sadness and now get swallowed... ]
[Eleven's aim has always been good. He doubts that it's intentional, she is, he thinks, one of the kindest people he has ever met. But her instincts always lead her to the right place to press and this is no different. Bruce watches her process the words, use them to contextualize what she's seen and heard, what she knows thus far- and when she asks this of him in kind Bruce knows he's been given the opportunity to lie. To slip the metaphorical noose.
Instead, Bruce takes a step forward, then another, and moves into the light. The stitches around his hip were done at an angle, with his left hand, so the skin is tighter than it should be and this limits his ability to kneel. To come down to her level. In bares his face to her instead, the true extent of the damage. Riku is an accomplished combatant and under the hallucinations, compelled by fear and desperation and pain he'd held nothing back. There is a mark through one of his brows and across the bridge of Bruce's nose that promise to scar. The bruising along his face is still dark in many places though it's begun to yellow in others. Traces can be seen across his knuckles but they're ugly along his forearms, the brunt of his defense.]
I try to.
[He doesn't look like he regrets his decision, and he doesn't. But this too is part of the truth.]
It isn't always enough.
[In the quiet of the woods Bruce pivots, turning to face the thicket of trees, and beginning to walk. It's a silent invitation for her to follow.]
I don't think it's so different from falling and scraping your knee. Maybe you need help to stand up again, or help to clean it. You shouldn't try to ride your bike again while it's still hurting, if you can help it. But once it's begun to heal, you can help other people when they fall.
[He could choose not to reply- after all, he barely intended to tell her in the first place, around the selfishness of his own grief. But it leaves Bruce where he is now, with I didn't know you knew him reflected back at him. And what does he say? It comes in starts and stops.
STUPID, and after all the times Hopper instilled in her not to be just that. And she failed.
He saved her, and she trusted him, and he was important, but more importantly, Bruce knew him, and it's not the jagged edges of her own heartbreak she needs to think of. ]
[Bruce has always been intemperate in his grief, and the frequency with which he has been acquainted with it changes nothing. He has collected each shattered piece of Jim Gordon's lantern, wrapped them carefully inside his own jacket and the pain doesn't lessen.
There is no body left to bury.
Bruce does not, and will not reply. He does not and will not reply for many days.]
[ She does not ask to see him again. But she does not remain silent.
Throughout the following days, he will receive the occasional message. She takes a picture of an origami bird, no more skillful and no less made with care than the one he received, and she sends him that picture. Sometimes she tells him something benign about her day. 'Peter sneezed so hard his face smashed into his ice cream.' or 'I have a blanket fort now' or 'Fell decorated the town'.
They are things that don't matter. Things that are not important and things that don't help.
It's all she has. She wants to drop into the Void and check on him, and would risk the attention of the dog with the empty face again, but he's private and she doesnt like lying. And mostly, her powers have yet to return.
That, she does not mention to anyone yet, that cold, hard squeeze around her ribcage when she lies awake in he dark and thinks too much about the fact that she's powerless and useless and begins fearing that something broke during the defense that isn't fixing itself properly, that she's been hollowed out.
She grieves Jim Gordon. He saved her from drowning, and she won't ever forget that.
Mostly, she grieves for Bruce.
But she does not know how to be a source of comfort, how to be for others what they can so easily be for her - comfort. She barely knows how to hold her body and mind this side of the question 'person or monster', and even then sometimes she's not so sure. At any rate, all she can do is gently, carefully, remind him that she exists.
That for what little it's worth, she's still here in this place with him, and that she's not giving up on him, and that she'll give him the space.
Perhaps it's best that some of her friends here do not open themselves to her. She can reach neither Spider-Man nor Bruce through any means of the cold, smooth tablet-device, can't just walk to a house and knock on the door or throw it open with her mind and demand to be allowed to be a part of their lives. It's better perhaps - she dimly understands that other people are more complex than she is, in their emotions and their thoughts and their needs, and those people might not wish to have her force an entry where it's not wanted. She's learning to understand that, even though a petulant, volatile part of her feels the sting and finds it stupid. Part of growing up is learning about boundaries, and a girl trained to use her mind to spy, who can more or less at will find anyone she knows and wants to find under normal circumstances, well she might not have the best understanding of when a line is crossed.
She doesn't understand that sometimes it's good she doesn't get a chance to force her way in.
So she sends him a message or two, every day. Never asks to meet again, never makes demands of his time or his grief. Just tries, in her own small, lacking way, to make sure he understands that even in his voluntary solitude, he doesn't have to carry everyone alone.
Next time Eleven visits the post office, the Postmaster General will give her a package!
"A small wrapped package containing homemade sweets, including homemade marshmallows, graham crackers, chocolate, and homemade peppermint sticks. These are all wrapped in cellophane and put into a clean shoe."
[ On the morning of the 25th, Eleven might find at her doorstep a parcel which is wrapped in that naked Santa paper, except someone has gone through the trouble of individually painting each Santa in various clothes.
Inside, she'll find a stuffed alpaca which someone has adorned with a flower crown made of fabric.
There is a card attached reading "To Eleven, From Mr. Fell." ]
[ Later, he will get a text from Eleven. It's a picture taken inside her room. There's a blanket fort there, and visible inside of it are a stuffed alpaca and lion, cozily leaning against one another. Tucked behind them, almost not visible, is what appears to be a walkie talkie. The plushies are protecting it. ]
Dear Eleven, You don't have to if you don't want to! But all your friends have names, don't they? It makes them sort of like your friends too. Yours, Aziraphale.
[ as of the morning of the 25th, eleven will find a card with an envelope addressed to 'el'. inside, there will be a message that reads 'to el, merry christmas, let's see if you've hit santa's nice list! - p.'
it'll be resting atop a gift wrapped in paper that eleven will recognise from secret santa. it'll have a hangtag that reads, simply: ELEVEN. inside is a book: mathmetics, poetry and beauty. (sorry, el, peter's a nerd.) ]
[ There's a knock on Peter's door at the Invincible. Tentative, almost too quiet to be heard. Beneath the door the shadow of two feet, shuffling a little, on the verge of retreating. ]
[ peter almost doesn't hear the knock. at first, he thinks it's coming from somewhere else — next door, maybe, or the room across the hall, but then he catches sight of the flickering light beneath the door.
christmas isn't quite the same without family and he's been trying to ignore the fact that he'd have missed it back home by a couple of months anyway. he's been trying not to think about the fact that may might have celebrated with mj, or at feast, or—.
(nope.)
he'd given out a few presents — nothing much, but there was only so much they could do here. the closest to a sense of normality and familiarity and community; and when he opens the door whilst he's not surprised to see eleven, not really, he is a little bemused— ]
Shouldn't you be with Steve and Nancy? [ are the first words out of his mouth, punctuated by an almost immediate wine because he didn't mean it how he's sure that sounded. a breath and a quick addition: ] Merry Christmas, El.
[ She shrugs a little, almost dismissive, eyes down. Toe of her shoe scuffing against the floor. She's spending a lot of time with Steve and Nancy. And whenever she can, with her walkie talkie. ]
I guess.
[ She's still looking down. As if the tip of her shoe holds the answer to the mysteries of the universe. She's frowning, impatient with her own uncharacteristic uncertainty. ]
I don't. Know much about Christmas.
[ Slow, deep breath. Her voice goes very quiet. ]
You're supposed to be with family.
[ She holds out a gift then. It's poorly wrapped, large, vaguely rectangular, and gives when touched. Something soft, but not in a box. ]
[ for a moment, peter feels very, very dumb. for a moment, he's not sure if she's saying he's family or if she misses hers and—
he decides it doesn't really matter, not with the way her shoe toes the floor, or the way she studies her foot and the floor. not for the first time either, he thinks about how cruel it is for children to be here, whatever the truth of here may be. he wonders if it would have been better to ignore the holidays entirely — they weren't on earth, they weren't even all human, let alone—.
(but then, eleven had wanted secret santa, hadn't she?)
he glances back towards his room, then back at eleven, and he props the door open with a foot as he squats and takes the present. he squeezes it once, tentatively, eyebrows pulling together into a puzzled, questioning frown. ]
Friends and family. [ he half-admits, half-answers; can't help himself and thinks of the christmases spent with reed and sue and johnny and the kids. family, if not family. ] Not sure if the rest of it's important, [ he adds with a quirk of a smile and he gives the present a slight jiggle. ] It alright if I open this now?
[ She looks up then, eyes wide, hopeful but also with a touch of trepidation. She's not good at gift giving.
She's only done it once before. ]
I opened mine.
[ She doesn't understand many of the words.
Not yet. Learning to not just read the book but understand it...
Eleven knows, intrinsically, that she doesn't have a future. Didn't have one before Beacon, has even less of one, somehow, here.
But it's okay. The book is something to look forward to in this place that is beginning to stretch like the hallways to the small, dark room in which she was alone.
Inside the parcel is what looks, at first, like a thin blanket, just it's a little irregular, a little frayed at the edge. Like someone took a piece of fabric and cut it with scissors, not knowing it'd fray.
A cord has been tied around two of the edges - not fastened with thread or other sophisticated means, just tied around the fabric. ]
It's a cape.
[ An ugly cape that she made herself not knowing how easily it might come apart. ]
I thought... a mask. But I didn't know what animal.
[ Bird and spider are taken. ]
So... I thought. Cape. We can make you a mask. But... you have to be careful. You can be a hero. When you have no powers. But leave hero fighting to me. I can fight.
[ He doesn't need to know they haven't returned, those powers. The important thing is that he understands not to think he should take his cape and run at monsters and die. He can be her hero without trying to be heroic. ]
I read it a couple of years ago. You know, a lot of people just think of maths as numbers, but it can be a lot more than that, and it can help you view the world with more than words. [ peter comments with a slight smile. science, first and foremost, is his thing, but getting her anything to do with science would've been a gross misstep. food would've been easy, simple, but he'd wanted to get her something that meant something to the both of them.
(maybe.)
he thinks betty had told him once that he's pretty good at getting the spirit of a gift, but not necessarily the gift itself, only in a decidedly more betty way. he'd opted to take it as a compliment, at least up until his first christmas with mj, when they were still figuring out who and what they were to each other — after gwen, but before everything else — mj had said they should make each other mixtapes. peter hadn't know where to begin: music wasn't really his thing, and she'd said it should be something important, so he'd recorded the audio from half a talk on magnetic fields.
he straightens back up and nudges the door open a little more with an elbow — he thinks it'll be a little weird to open the present and leave her in the hallway. the room looks lived in, in the way that a space that's been occupied for six months would be, but there's not a whole lot there that's personal — a couple of chairs, a few books that identify themselves as belonging to peter by virtue of topic; some paper in a loose, vague pile on the top of a desk, a couple of pens, a baseball bat newly gifted to him by way of secret santa.
he starts to unwrap it as he moves back inside; it's a cape, she says, and he's not entirely sure, at first, if he'd have been able to put two and two together without eleven elaborating. as he pulls it out, it's a little more obvious. surprise gives way to a laugh; there's a slight twinge of guilt at the fact that he she knows both him and spider-man, but not that they're one and the same. ]
Thank you, El. [ a breath of a pause, and he wraps the cape round himself— ] Like this? [ beat. ] And am I supposed to have a hero name, or is it just for looks?
[ She waltzes up to him, shaking her head slightly, and helps adjust the cape. The adjustment makes absolutely no difference in how it sits on him, but it's important to her, so it gets done. ]
Like this. It fits.
[ How she could possibly determine that is anyone's guess. ]
Yes. You need a secret idea.
[ Identity. Close. ]
So, a hero name. It's not allowed to have Doctor in it. Or be about science.
[Some time early-ish in the day, the Soldier comes to knock on Eleven's house door, and once she opens it (or Nancy gets her for them), presents her with a homemade stuffed lion: tawny-colored, a little floppy, with shredded black flannel for a mane, and with large blue buttons for eyes. They offer it a little nervously-- she's probably too old for stuffed toys-- but dammit, it's a lion so it's thematic, and they worked hard on making it despite second-guessing themselves every step of the way. Everyone could use something soft to hug on a bad day.
It's cute, at least, in a very 30s-era-toy kind of way, and very soft.]
((you don't have to reply if you don't want to, I know you're busy :D ))
Sorry this is so late, but for them cute feels to make up for feel-feels
[ She accepts the toy with quiet delight, and trades him an army of bird origami for it. There's no visible progress in her work on them, but they'e grown bigger, as she's moved from candy wrappers to other materials, and has decorated them with her array of colourful pens.
A day or two later, they will receive a photo in their inbox, of a blanket fort. Inside of it, the lion and a stuffed alpaca are leaning against each other, almost but not quite hiding a walkie talkie behind them, as if they're guarding it.]
[ Happy holidays! There's a little box of homemade cookies for Eleven even though Midge doesn't celebrate Christmas. She figures the cheer will be needed. There's a note attached: ]
Eleven, The secret gift exchanged you organized was absolutely perfect. Not many girls your age would do something so thoughtful for the entire town. Enjoy the cookies, let me know if you ever need anything. -Miriam
I'm too pretty to be St. Nicholas, and Jews don't have saints. But you're right in the gift giving thing. You can just call me an aunt or something, they give you gifts, too.
I would LOVE to share, but I've made a little extra for myself. You should offer them to someone you don't know yet. Make some friends!
Well, I'm hardly a fat man wearing red, but I like to think I'm pretty. I take very good care of myself. The trick to being pretty is to be kind to everyone, but a little lipstick helps. Have you tried makeup? Or face masks?
If I eat too much candy I'm going to gain weight, and I cannot have that, but I appreciate it, sweetie.
If you're a good person, then you're always pretty, no matter what. If you do bad things, then there isn't a single shade of lip gloss that can help you look better. Some girls, they don't realize that, so they try to look their best and think that's all they need to do.
[Attached is a picture taken just outside the church. It's a small army of tiny snowmen (no taller than 5-10 inches) or perhaps more accurately snow sigillaria. If you look, each snowman has an initial on its belly to correspond to the people Jason considers himself close to. Written in the snow are the words: Happy Saturnalia & Merry Christmas.
He couldn't find enough gifts for everyone he wanted to, so he sculpted these an sent out a sort of Christmas card instead. Of course, the snowmen are still there in person for the foreseeable future.]
[ Eleven isn't that good with gifts, the entire concept is still very new to her. She knows more about it now. This is a good gift, she thinks, and wishes she had something similar for him. ]
at her house/dated to when he gets back from explore
My dearest Eleven, I hope this letter finds you well! I have returned from downtown and I was wondering if you wouldn't mind resuming our lessons or perhaps some company. Your Friend, Aziraphale. ]
I will absolutely take that as a compliment. The fact that you're not using the word 'old' to describe me is basically the biggest ego boost I've had in about 8 months.
But what if I got you ice cream without your permission? You know, if I was just sat there in the park with two cups in my hand, one (very, very) slowly melting because Beacon's freezing and it's definitely taken a cue or two from NYC as far as what "winter" should constitute of?
[ And true to her word, it doesn't take long for Eleven to arrive - she comes running, and only slowly down once she spots Peter and realizes he can see her.
Doing her best not to show how much she was hurrying, she shuffles on her feet for a moment or two, catch her breath and then moving over at a walk that's just a little too fast to be entirely casual.
[ he hadn't planned on eating her share — in fact, he's barely touched his, having made a point not to bother actually getting ice cream before eleven confirmed she was going to show.
he sits cross-legged, an ice cream in a hand apiece waiting for her to approach. he catches sight of her hurrying towards him, then slowing; and he pretends not to have seen the former — although the way the corners of his lips quirk up into an amused smile do a poor job at reinforcing the fact.
he mms at the question, attention shifting from eleven to one of the ice creams in his hand— ]
—I was going to give you two more minutes. Then all bets were off.
[ She gives him a pointed look that absolutely belies her enthusiasm, if the way she looks from him to the ice cream and back again is any indication. ]
You're so much more than just your powers. Sure, they're... really useful when things get crazy, but there's more to you than that.
You're so smart. You might feel like have a lot to catch up on, but you're really clever, even if it feels like you're a few steps behind with certain things. Because honestly? If you're worried about the kinds of things you would have learned in school? Don't be. I mean, the fact that you even want to learn those things at all shows how bright you are.
You have incredible instincts, and you're so funny, and so brave.
You're still all of those things, even without your powers.
[ There's not response to the text. However, Eleven is going to return from wandering Beacon post haste, doesn't pass go and instead makes a beeline straight for her currently still shared room with Nancy.
She doesn't bother knocking. Instead she'll go straight for Nancy, eyes a little red-rimmed, and wrap her arms around the older girl tightly.
Sometimes, she doesn't have enough words for the things she would like to say. ]
[ nancy doesn't worry too much when she doesn't get a response - she herself took a long time to type all of that out, because no matter how long she's been here, the touch screen is still a lot to get used to. she probably looks a little startled when eleven is suddenly there, moving in to hug her tight.
it's just instinct to hug her back right away, no thought needed, maybe just as grateful for the hug as eleven is wanting to give her one. ]
You're alright?
[ she doesn't step back from the hug just yet, but- anything could have happened in the short moment between her last text and el getting here. she doesn't know, doesn't assume ]
[ The response is muffled in the fabric of Nancy's shirt. Eleven holds on tight. Sometimes she gets caught up in bigger things - in friends who hurt and the monsters past and present who hurt them. It's a good reminder that there's safety and warmth here. She'd rather Nancy be home, with Mike and the others, but she's also selfishly glad that Nancy is here. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
savingthrows) wrote2019-07-31 01:14 am
@regina
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to my name
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seriously?
what is it like
code??
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[Duh.]
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not unless you're that kid from stranger things
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my friends call me el
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my friends call me el too, but I'm pretty sure you're not also me cause I'm Eliot and not eleven
is that your whole name? just "eleven"?
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jane hopper
i prefer el
why does this call you
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the lack of more technological understanding is kind of convincing, though. assuming it's not some kind of elaborate prank. but even q doesn't know that eliot's seen stranger things, so this would just be an extra level of weird. ]
because that's the name I picked to use
mine's a reference to a movie [ which is maybe why he asked if "eleven" was one too. ]
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what movie
i like tv
[It's strange to meet another El, even though it's an Eliot, not an Eleven. Even though he thinks her name is not a real name, and that stings. But it's alright.]
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it was a movie theater movie, not a tv movie
it's called Mean Girls
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my friends go for free all the time
but im not allowed
why you like mean people
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and I don't. I don't want to give spoilers in case you ever get the chance to watch it, but it's more about how being mean isn't worth it.
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too many people at the mall
but ive been there once now
i make my own rules
mean people are mouthbreathers
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no one will understand you better than yourself
and I agree
my best friend is a mouth breather though
not really his fault he's just
really goofy
he drools on the couch whenever he sleeps there and I have to clean it up
but again not his fault
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it takes a moment to answer. she had to wait for her vision to stop blurring.]
i understand
my dad drools sometimes
when he sleeps on his chair or the couch
i love him anyway
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but no one's perfect
so that's okay too
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[Even in text, she parrots back the lessons she learns.]
youre very wise el
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no, he could never be that, could he? he'd even managed to fuck up the one thing the great cock said he'd been born to do, condemned his friends to the monster's games for nearly a year. that's not wise at all. ]
I don't know that I am.
I've just been through a lot.
thank you though el
you're very sweet
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we need to help each other here
nice words help
[And she doesn't ask him what he went through - she knows, better than most, that prying doesn't feel good, that pain sits differently in everyone's ribcage.]
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help is always good. kind words too.
if only it had been so simple. ]
we'll need to if we want to survive
you should take care though
not everyone here is who they seem to be
myself included
protect yourself first, won't you?
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do you mean bad people
or do you mean monsters
[She's had to deal with both. Her instinct is to be wary - of strangers especially. At the same time, moving past that suspicion has gained her... friends, here. Unexpectedly.
Nothing will ever replace everyone she's lost - or everyone who's lost her, as it were. But there's been comfort in the people she's met.]
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Are you quite alright? I am very sorry about the ferry, I assure you that hadn't gone as anticipated and I understand if you are upset, I just need to know if you are hurt.
I am so sorry you won't get to go home just yet.
Yours,
Aziraphale.
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not your fault just an accident
gordon saved me so i didnt drown
i hurt my ankle but only a little bit
maybe we can try again next time
i can help
why are you saying youre mine
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It's just a greeting. I can use sincerely if you prefer!
I am happy to hear you are doing alright but please let me know if your ankle gets worse.
We will just have to come up with better plans. Thank you kindly. Please do contact me if you are in need of anything, this place is very strange and it can take time to adjust.
Hope you are well.
Sincerely,
Aziraphale.
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what is sincerely
im still learning i dont have many words yet
thank you for your help
and thank you for being a good friend
please be well
yours
eleven
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Sincere means honest. So when you say sincerely, you mean "with honesty."
I have many words, and will share as many of them with you as I can!
Thank you also, Eleven, you are most kind.
With high regards (that means I think you are wonderful),
Aziraphale.
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hello mr fell
i like sincere
friends dont lie
honesty is very noble
[There - another word he taught her!]
thank you for all of your words
please when we meet also teach me how to say them right
thank you so much
sincere and tall regards
eleven
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I would be more than happy to do so.
You are doing very well with them on your own!
I also wish you the tallest of regards,
Aziraphale.
— text / @parker. ( oct 12th. )
Hey, El. It's Peter. [ because he doesn't remember if he gave her his last name, if she'd know 'parker' was him. ] You mind if I ask for a favor?
1/2
ill help if i can
what do you need
2/2
here they are
tallest regards
el
1/3
stares at it for a moment. ]
Tallest regards, huh?
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do you want me to get them
when do you send regards and when not?
mr fell always sends them
1/2
Listen, some people have seen and heard things over the last couple of days that aren't there, so if Nancy and Steve aren't there and you need a hand, just send me a message, okay?
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Regards are normally something you send to be polite, as a means of wishing someone well. It’s a phrase usually added to the bottom of more formal or professional letters or emails, or when you’re emailing someone you don’t know very well or have a close relationship with.
[ if he was talking to someone a little less impressionable, he'd probably add something about using them to be passive aggressive, BUT. ]
But honestly? Having regards sent to me makes me feel like I’m at work, getting a message from my boss.
Or like you’re about to break out the Mr. Parker...
1/3
2/3
3/3
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Like this.
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steve looks flayed
nancys head opens like the demogorgon
i woke up and thought i was in the upside down
i dont like this peter
1/....2
this isn't doing a whole lot to change his mind.
flayed is descriptive enough (or so he thinks), demogorgon less so (wasn't that, like, a dungeons and dragons thing?)
there are a few responses on the tip of his tongue, a few bad jokes he'd ordinarily come out with to break the tension, but she says she doesn't like this and she's scared, he thinks. she doesn't know him well enough to have a good read on his sense of humour; he doesn't know her well enough to be able to know what'd distract her beyond just talking at her.
(but also: nancy's head opens like the demogorgon??) ]
Hey, me either. It's pretty scary.
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So, do you want to hear a story?
1/2
a story about you
2/2
please
1/3
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(man, that'd have been embarrassing if he'd lost it, right?)
or that time when he'd had the spider-mobile and drove it up the side of the bugle offices just to mess with jonah.
but then she asks him for a story about him and it throws him off. ]
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maybe a happy story
a story that makes you happy to remember and tell
that would make me happy too
—audio.
thinking of home here isn't always a happy experience, but it does make him think of happier times, times he wouldn't trade for all the world. ]
Uh—, you know, I'm pretty lucky in that there's a lot that hit that mark. Maybe not a lot that independently make sense.
[ pause. ]
—I have a friend. His name's Harry, and he's — not always had it easy. A few years ago, he had to stay in hospital for a little while and when he got out, we wanted to welcome him home. My aunt made a cake, all of our friends were there — he's helped me out a lot over the years, so it was nice to be able to help with something to help him, you know? And more than that... It was nice being able to get everyone together. You should've seen his face.
It's not much of a story, I was definitely thinking more of a parable, but it's a happy memory.
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It's nice to hear Peter's voice, hear something normal that isn't tainted by what she can see.
The story is nice, too. ]
Did he like... the cake? Harry. What kind was it?
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—He did, but I haven’t met anyone who dislikes my aunt’s cooking.
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Still. There's a fond smile evident in her voice. ]
Hop makes good breakfast, but... can not cook other things well. He brings Eggos with whipped cream. And sprinkles.
[ Small pause. A soft sound, like a quiet giggle. ]
We made a tower once. With Eggos. I held it in place with... my powers. When I let go... splattered all over Hop.
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[ WHAT he wouldn't give for some of may's wheatcakes—.
(even if apparently no-one else knows what they are??) ]
But even if Eggos aren't quite on the same level as wheatcakes, I hope you didn't waste any. Cream, sprinkles and fried batter are the holy grail of breakfasts and I hear there's a special circle of— uh. How many boxes of Eggos did you use?
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[ The stack was impressive. Held up only by her power, not by any law of pysics known to mankind, certainly. ]
Well... didn't use all of them. Ruined Hop's shirt.
[ They had celebrated. Hopper had come home with the boxes, slipped the hair tie onto her thin wrist, and they'd built a tower, just because. After, still sticky from the tower falling on him, Hopper had shown her the new birth certificate.
Jane Hopper.
She'd hugged him and gotten crumbs and whipped cream and sprinkles all over herself, too. ]
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[ There's a tease in her voice. Oh, he's just the type to have done worse, isn't there. ]
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[Part denial, part question. Surely he couldn't have.]
Better than... Eleven Eggo Tower? No.
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The best I've ever managed is a pint of ice cream with a mug of hot cocoa the size of my face.
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I like ice cream.
[ Definitely a fond reference to their after-study visits to the ice cream parlor, despite its strange flavours. ]
I'm glad we get it... here. Even weird. I only got... it in a cone, once. At the mall.
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[ but those are always the days and nights when something happens, when he ends up having to dash out and leave mj earlier than he'd said; or when he ends up being out longer than he'd thought and their date gets cancelled or postponed.
(but he's pointedly not thinking about mj now.
or trying to.) ]
You thought about what flavour you're getting next time?
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[ Yes, she just called you silly, Petter.
What are you going to do about that? ]
Maybe.... the just Vanilla one. Not so strange, like the others.
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he can't really argue with silly. ] What'd I do to earn that moniker? [ beat. ] The strawberry and pistachio's pretty good if you're taking recommendations.
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[ Duh. Probably easy to hear the amusement in her voice, though.
Peter has a tendency to bring that out. Eleven's a bit brighter around him. ]
Pis-tash...-ee-oh. I will try.
1/2 i'm sorry
[ mockingly stern: it's very obvious he's not actually offended. ]
It's scientific theory: you start with an observation, in this case — Peter Parker is silly, then you ask a question (how is Peter Parker silly?), then you form a hypothesis which — I could give an example, but I feel like I'd be supporting my own character assassination, but for an unrelated example, maybe your hypothesis is Peter Parker holds very strong opinions about what counts as a schmear of cream cheese on a bagel.
Then you come up with a prediction - a testable theory, which in this case might be: if I give Peter a bagel which has more or less than a schmear, he's going to be mildly offended; if I give him a bagel which has an exact schmear, he's going to be happy and say nothing. Testing this would be providing Peter Parker with a variety of bagels with different amounts of cream cheese, some of which definitely do count as schmears, and some of which are definitely not and subsequently offensive to the name of bagels everywhere.
If Peter says nothing about any of the bagels, your hypothesis is unsupported and incorrect. If Peter does complain about the non-schmeared bagels, your hypothesis is supported and therefore likely correct.
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But I'm going to admit that right now, I feel a bit weird about talking about myself in third-person so much and also admit that schmear has stopped sounding like a word.
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she gets stuck on two things she does understand. ]
Are you... hungry?
[ She steels herself a little for the next question. ]
Are you... a scientist? Do you... do you experiment?
[ Three guesses as to what put that edge of tension in her voice, Peter. Three guesses as to why Eleven sounds like she doesn't actually want an answer. Thre guesses as to her trauma. ]
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Friends don't lie, right? [ he repeats, any levity all but gone; an audible inhale, then: ] Yeah. It was my passion at school, and I studied biochemistry at college. The plan was to go into STEM, but things didn't quite work out like that — for a long time, the closest I got was teaching at my old high school. I had a company for a while, but we were more tech focused — on making things to help people.
[ a beat. ] I can't say we — I — don't do experiments, but they're not what you think. I know you've only got my word, but I would never do anything that would hurt anyone. [ he can't say there isn't a human element, because of anything, human trials are always one of the last steps where relevant; he's not even sure if saying 'but consent is always required' would even make it better. ] Anyone that does is a bad scientist, okay?
I'm sorry, El.
CW for PTSD, human experiments, flashback
Not all bad men want to be bad men.
But some still are.
They follow orders.
Papa was a bad man.
Papa gave the orders.
Peter wasn't there.
Peter is not a bad man.
Papa was was a bad man.
Papa was bad.
Peter is not.
Papa was.
Papa.
She feels the hands in her hair, short cropped so they can place things on her head. She feels the hands on her arms, so tight they bruise, dragging her through sterile, white dark corridors. She feels the hands on her back, pressing on the knobs of her spine, and the sound of pens scribbling, and Papa deeming Experiment 011 healthy enough.
It feels hands on its shoulder and pricks of needles and hands on its cheeks.
Experiment 011 huddles in the corner of its cell, knees up and face hidden and knows better than to struggle against their hold and their pull and their push.
To Peter's message, there is no response. ]
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Hey, El. If you want to talk at some point, I'll be around. If not, I get it.
Just take care of yourself, okay?
- Peter
@wayne | private
I'm sorry to impose, but I'd like to ask you for a favor.
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its nice to hear from you
what can i do for you
tallest regards
eleven
[ Guess who hasn't quite figured out how to capitalise or add punctuation on the tablets.
Or how to text, generally speaking. ]
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Does it bother you to keep secrets?
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Bruce has taught her to bear pain to grow stronger. ]
no
i can keep secrets but
i dont lie to friends
[ Not mentioning something though... that's not lying. Lying is saying you can't visit because your grandma is sick when she isn't sick.
She misses Mike. ]
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Do you know anyone that uses makeup? The kind that blends in with the skin?
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Without her knowing who it is for.
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ill bring you some and i wont tell
but i want you to know
its okay that you want to be pretty too
where do we meet
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The village please, on the other side of the bridge.
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i have leftover treats from trick and treat
for you
[ She doesn't check her messages again after that. Eleven's heart is hammering in her chest, thinking of the messages she worried about for a while, about Riku - inevitably about the void, too.
She hurries, less in a sense of danger or true concern - it's Bruce. Bruce can be trusted. Still her steps are quick. She takes some of Nancy's things - she will apologize later, but not asking means Nancy can't say no - and some of her left over candy, put on her minature plague doctor beak and makes her way to their meeting point. ]
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It was hardly an urgent request. He could make do if necessary. He could find other ways. But making his way into town will be an inevitability and that makes this step one of preparation.
The stitches near his back are crooked and too tight, they pull uncomfortably on the skin around it, but it isn't enough to really slow him. Bruce is as methodical as ever. He leaves early so that he has enough time to be there, waiting for her, and he keeps the glow of his lantern away from his face, obscuring the split over the bridge of his nose, the stitches through one eyebrow. The mottled bruising. The rest he can cover with his clothes, it is the face, unfortunately, that he can do nothing else for.]
the latest response ever, I'm so sorry
Speaking of...
Appraching, Eleven's eyebrows draw together. She can't make up much of him except the light, but she recognizes the lantern, of course. Her own is tied around her waist the way Bruce showed her on their first meeting. ]
Hi.
[ She says it only once she's gotten fairly close, expression serious if unassuming. She can't see the bruises on his face like this. This is just base concern for someone she hasn't heard from in a while. ]
Are you okay?
it's okay! life happens, and i'm happy to wait for you u3u
[The initial address is easier to manage, the trouble comes in her question. Bruce has not been on the receiving end of this inquiry for a very long time- when it came from Alfred or Jim or Selina the words were always are you safe or are you hurt. Those were easy, they had columns with boxes that could be ticked off, a measurement that allowed him to say yes or no. Okay is open to interpretation, and while Bruce usually thrives in those grey areas the danger here is that he might tip his hand. Bruce believes that he is 'okay,' as the word goes. He's able to function just fine albeit a bit slower, more carefully than normal. His obstacles are minimal, pain and discomfort are sensations he's long since learned to push through. But people who see him this way wouldn't believe that to be the case. They would expect him to make a quip or to complain about the constant ache.
Something he might do if he were facing someone else. Eleven, he thinks, like Riku, is prone to worry for the sake of others. He suspects that this is because each of them are sensitive to pain- that it's easier for them to find empathy for others. It's a difficult sensitivity to navigate. But it's also the reason that he likes them.
This still leaves him with the question.
Eleven is watching his face, what little she can make out in the dark. Her lantern is tied around her waist to keep her hands free. Bruce looks back at her and feels a fondness he isn't sure he has a right to.]
I'm a little tired.
Were you hurt?
<3 I'm BACK!!! and still having feelings over this tag.
And then... there was that thing, in the Void.
There's no safety here. ]
Not... recently.
[ It's not a no, but as much of a yes as she'll allow.
She digs into her bucket for now, and holds out three pieces of candy and a crumpled wrapper that looks like it had shape at some point. Eleven holds it out almost in defiance of how it looks. ]
Candy. And... a bird. For you.
[ Eleven likes Candy, and would be in a good mood if someone gave it to her - unless that someone was a stranger, like Aziraphale with the cake. Anyway, it's a very blunt attempt to bribe him into good spirits. The make up, after all, he'll get after satisfying her questions. Eleven is not smart, she knows this. She lacks education and life experience, and while she'd take offense at being called dumb, she also can't pretend to be much more than that. Still... there are some things that even she can't help but notice. ]
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It doesn't surprise him that she refuses to linger or dwell. He has not known Eleven for a very long time and they haven't gone through the motions of explaining who they are to one another. But he suspects that she is very used to it. To not just the pain, the necessity of moving on from it, because other things must be done. It's hard to see, not just because of her age, but because Bruce remembers what it was like. To be a child and to be afraid and to be angry. To want to be more.]
Thank you.
[There's a kind of sincerity in his reply even when he recognizes the offering for what it is. Bruce takes two of the three pieces because he'll give them to Riku and Vanitas. But the bird? That he takes for himself.]
I suspect that you won't give me the makeup until I've answered your questions.
I'll do what I can.
But I am keeping secrets.
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She scuffs her boots along the ground beneath them. She got those at the store with Riku, shortly after her arrival on bare feet. ]
What is...happening. I worry.
[ About him, about Riku. About secrets. It was a bad idea maybe - she doesn't quite know how to articulate all of this. ]
Is he hurting?
[ Not 'is he hurt'. And most certainly not 'did you hurt him' - no. ]
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But Bruce has a great deal of experience with grey areas and he had known, the moment he chose to get involved, that there would be no unringing of the bell. Whatever happened, he would be tied to the outcome.
Her feet scuff against the ground and Bruce watches her, the worry that settles over her shoulders. The question that she chooses is illuminating in and of itself, and Bruce wonders if anyone has ever asked it of her. If that's the reason she chooses to think of the present (is he hurting) instead of the past (was he hurt?)
For a long moment Bruce considers it, considers her. And then he says-]
Have you ever felt so sad that you thought you could cry forever?
Like there was a hole inside of you?
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[ No hesitation, no delay. Eleven doesn't even stop to think about the answer. It's immediate, and painfully honest. She feels it, every day, and in the moments that her dreams turn dark.
It's in the way she remembers her childhood, her upbringing, the way she often feels like she's drowning even now, put into the submersion tank and made to enter the Void, alone in the dark nothing.
Things crawl out of that hole in her chest that put her back in hospital scrubs, hair shorn short, shoved into a pitch black closet and left alone there.
Things crawl out of that hole in her chest in the shape of those loved and lost, the confused empty of her mother's mind, and the knowledge that she won't ever be without that darkness inside of herself.
She's the monster, no matter what anyone else says. She is incomplete and clawing at a shred of normalcy she can't ever fully have, despite everyone's best efforts. There's no future, and the past is a shackle she can't quite shake. She's powerfull, but powerless against anything that really matters.
Things crawl out of that hole in her chest that wear her face and voice.
She doesn't lower her gaze now, keeps her eyes on Bruce. Steady. Too old, too young. ]
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[To call Bruce a private person is an understatement. He plays a shell game with his secrets, moving them from one place to another as necessary. He discloses very little to very few and has had felt this way for as long as he can remember. But the things they talk about now are not his secrets. They belong to someone else.
Eleven told him once that friends don't lie.
This has not been his experience. Bruce has been lied to by everyone he cares about because those people are human- because the reason someone tells a lie or tells the truth becomes more nuanced with age. Some people lie to protect themselves, some lie to protect another. Experienced has softened him in many ways but it has hardened him in others. Bruce wants answers. He craves honesty, the craves the search- and in the same hand he can recognize the inverse that they make.
She believes that a person shouldn't lie to their friend.
He believes that lying for a friend is the very least he would do.
These are Riku's secrets and for that reason he's willing to pay the price for his silence. The nuance comes in telling the people who fear for him just enough, to let them know that he's safe, while also protecting his privacy. Riku, after all, gives himself very little of it.]
But it doesn't stop growing.
Sooner or later, you have to look. Otherwise it will swallow you too.
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There's a deep line between her brows, some gears slowly turning.
Riku is... okay in the sense of alive. But Riku is sad, and being swallowed by the hole he's not looking at, because he worries about others and not himself.
Eleven realizes, then, that she can never tell him how she tried to find him. He'd worry, he'd blame himself. She doesn't want to add to the things that could make him disappear again.
At least he's not alone. At least Bruce watches over him. And she doesn't know much about Bruce, but she trusts him this far.
And if he's watching over Riku so Riku can deal with his sadness and now get swallowed... ]
Do you... look at yours?
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Instead, Bruce takes a step forward, then another, and moves into the light. The stitches around his hip were done at an angle, with his left hand, so the skin is tighter than it should be and this limits his ability to kneel. To come down to her level. In bares his face to her instead, the true extent of the damage. Riku is an accomplished combatant and under the hallucinations, compelled by fear and desperation and pain he'd held nothing back. There is a mark through one of his brows and across the bridge of Bruce's nose that promise to scar. The bruising along his face is still dark in many places though it's begun to yellow in others. Traces can be seen across his knuckles but they're ugly along his forearms, the brunt of his defense.]
I try to.
[He doesn't look like he regrets his decision, and he doesn't.
But this too is part of the truth.]
It isn't always enough.
[In the quiet of the woods Bruce pivots, turning to face the thicket of trees, and beginning to walk. It's a silent invitation for her to follow.]
I don't think it's so different from falling and scraping your knee. Maybe you need help to stand up again, or help to clean it. You shouldn't try to ride your bike again while it's still hurting, if you can help it. But once it's begun to heal, you can help other people when they fall.
We need each other.
@wayne | private
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gone like dead
doesnt he come back at the church
people said so
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He isn't coming back.
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Her mind is static, vision blurring. She wipes at her eyes quickly.
Erases 'but', still wants to argue with the truth of it, and knows she can't. ]
i didnt know you knew him
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He was-
Special.
Family.
His eyes burn. The noise in his head is so loud.]
I did.
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She hadn't seen Gordon, and she'd assumed.
She'd thought...
Of course, she'd been wrong. Stupid.
STUPID, and after all the times Hopper instilled in her not to be just that. And she failed.
He saved her, and she trusted him, and he was important, but more importantly, Bruce knew him, and it's not the jagged edges of her own heartbreak she needs to think of. ]
okay
im coming to you
where are you
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There is no body left to bury.
Bruce does not, and will not reply.
He does not and will not reply for many days.]
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Throughout the following days, he will receive the occasional message. She takes a picture of an origami bird, no more skillful and no less made with care than the one he received, and she sends him that picture. Sometimes she tells him something benign about her day. 'Peter sneezed so hard his face smashed into his ice cream.' or 'I have a blanket fort now' or 'Fell decorated the town'.
They are things that don't matter. Things that are not important and things that don't help.
It's all she has. She wants to drop into the Void and check on him, and would risk the attention of the dog with the empty face again, but he's private and she doesnt like lying. And mostly, her powers have yet to return.
That, she does not mention to anyone yet, that cold, hard squeeze around her ribcage when she lies awake in he dark and thinks too much about the fact that she's powerless and useless and begins fearing that something broke during the defense that isn't fixing itself properly, that she's been hollowed out.
She grieves Jim Gordon. He saved her from drowning, and she won't ever forget that.
Mostly, she grieves for Bruce.
But she does not know how to be a source of comfort, how to be for others what they can so easily be for her - comfort. She barely knows how to hold her body and mind this side of the question 'person or monster', and even then sometimes she's not so sure. At any rate, all she can do is gently, carefully, remind him that she exists.
That for what little it's worth, she's still here in this place with him, and that she's not giving up on him, and that she'll give him the space.
Perhaps it's best that some of her friends here do not open themselves to her. She can reach neither Spider-Man nor Bruce through any means of the cold, smooth tablet-device, can't just walk to a house and knock on the door or throw it open with her mind and demand to be allowed to be a part of their lives. It's better perhaps - she dimly understands that other people are more complex than she is, in their emotions and their thoughts and their needs, and those people might not wish to have her force an entry where it's not wanted. She's learning to understand that, even though a petulant, volatile part of her feels the sting and finds it stupid. Part of growing up is learning about boundaries, and a girl trained to use her mind to spy, who can more or less at will find anyone she knows and wants to find under normal circumstances, well she might not have the best understanding of when a line is crossed.
She doesn't understand that sometimes it's good she doesn't get a chance to force her way in.
So she sends him a message or two, every day. Never asks to meet again, never makes demands of his time or his grief. Just tries, in her own small, lacking way, to make sure he understands that even in his voluntary solitude, he doesn't have to carry everyone alone.
Because no one can. ]
—text / @parker
the latest response ever, I'm so sorry
@jtodd, audio
[ is he popping into her inbox unannounced... to tell her she did good? yeah. but she did. he's glad peter made it out unharmed. ]
Guess who never got the notif for this and Peter's tag from the same day, backtagging like whoaaaa
[ They'd all taken a beating, inevitably. But it's good to know whom else she can trust with her friends' safety. ]
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"A small wrapped package containing homemade sweets, including homemade marshmallows, graham crackers, chocolate, and homemade peppermint sticks. These are all wrapped in cellophane and put into a clean shoe."
The package is from St. Nicholas.
AT HER HOUSE
Inside, she'll find a stuffed alpaca which someone has adorned with a flower crown made of fabric.
There is a card attached reading "To Eleven, From Mr. Fell." ]
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thank you fell
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You are most welcome.
Have you given names to your new toys?
With Tallest Regards,
Aziraphale.
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ive never named anything
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You don't have to if you don't want to! But all your friends have names, don't they? It makes them sort of like your friends too.
Yours,
Aziraphale.
—25/12
it'll be resting atop a gift wrapped in paper that eleven will recognise from secret santa. it'll have a hangtag that reads, simply: ELEVEN. inside is a book: mathmetics, poetry and beauty. (sorry, el, peter's a nerd.) ]
Later on the same day
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christmas isn't quite the same without family and he's been trying to ignore the fact that he'd have missed it back home by a couple of months anyway. he's been trying not to think about the fact that may might have celebrated with mj, or at feast, or—.
(nope.)
he'd given out a few presents — nothing much, but there was only so much they could do here. the closest to a sense of normality and familiarity and community; and when he opens the door whilst he's not surprised to see eleven, not really, he is a little bemused— ]
Shouldn't you be with Steve and Nancy? [ are the first words out of his mouth, punctuated by an almost immediate wine because he didn't mean it how he's sure that sounded. a breath and a quick addition: ] Merry Christmas, El.
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I guess.
[ She's still looking down. As if the tip of her shoe holds the answer to the mysteries of the universe. She's frowning, impatient with her own uncharacteristic uncertainty. ]
I don't. Know much about Christmas.
[ Slow, deep breath. Her voice goes very quiet. ]
You're supposed to be with family.
[ She holds out a gift then. It's poorly wrapped, large, vaguely rectangular, and gives when touched. Something soft, but not in a box. ]
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he decides it doesn't really matter, not with the way her shoe toes the floor, or the way she studies her foot and the floor. not for the first time either, he thinks about how cruel it is for children to be here, whatever the truth of here may be. he wonders if it would have been better to ignore the holidays entirely — they weren't on earth, they weren't even all human, let alone—.
(but then, eleven had wanted secret santa, hadn't she?)
he glances back towards his room, then back at eleven, and he props the door open with a foot as he squats and takes the present. he squeezes it once, tentatively, eyebrows pulling together into a puzzled, questioning frown. ]
Friends and family. [ he half-admits, half-answers; can't help himself and thinks of the christmases spent with reed and sue and johnny and the kids. family, if not family. ] Not sure if the rest of it's important, [ he adds with a quirk of a smile and he gives the present a slight jiggle. ] It alright if I open this now?
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[ She looks up then, eyes wide, hopeful but also with a touch of trepidation. She's not good at gift giving.
She's only done it once before. ]
I opened mine.
[ She doesn't understand many of the words.
Not yet. Learning to not just read the book but understand it...
Eleven knows, intrinsically, that she doesn't have a future. Didn't have one before Beacon, has even less of one, somehow, here.
But it's okay. The book is something to look forward to in this place that is beginning to stretch like the hallways to the small, dark room in which she was alone.
Inside the parcel is what looks, at first, like a thin blanket, just it's a little irregular, a little frayed at the edge. Like someone took a piece of fabric and cut it with scissors, not knowing it'd fray.
A cord has been tied around two of the edges - not fastened with thread or other sophisticated means, just tied around the fabric. ]
It's a cape.
[ An ugly cape that she made herself not knowing how easily it might come apart. ]
I thought... a mask. But I didn't know what animal.
[ Bird and spider are taken. ]
So... I thought. Cape. We can make you a mask. But... you have to be careful. You can be a hero. When you have no powers. But leave hero fighting to me. I can fight.
[ He doesn't need to know they haven't returned, those powers. The important thing is that he understands not to think he should take his cape and run at monsters and die. He can be her hero without trying to be heroic. ]
no subject
(maybe.)
he thinks betty had told him once that he's pretty good at getting the spirit of a gift, but not necessarily the gift itself, only in a decidedly more betty way. he'd opted to take it as a compliment, at least up until his first christmas with mj, when they were still figuring out who and what they were to each other — after gwen, but before everything else — mj had said they should make each other mixtapes. peter hadn't know where to begin: music wasn't really his thing, and she'd said it should be something important, so he'd recorded the audio from half a talk on magnetic fields.
he straightens back up and nudges the door open a little more with an elbow — he thinks it'll be a little weird to open the present and leave her in the hallway. the room looks lived in, in the way that a space that's been occupied for six months would be, but there's not a whole lot there that's personal — a couple of chairs, a few books that identify themselves as belonging to peter by virtue of topic; some paper in a loose, vague pile on the top of a desk, a couple of pens, a baseball bat newly gifted to him by way of secret santa.
he starts to unwrap it as he moves back inside; it's a cape, she says, and he's not entirely sure, at first, if he'd have been able to put two and two together without eleven elaborating. as he pulls it out, it's a little more obvious. surprise gives way to a laugh; there's a slight twinge of guilt at the fact that he she knows both him and spider-man, but not that they're one and the same. ]
Thank you, El. [ a breath of a pause, and he wraps the cape round himself— ] Like this? [ beat. ] And am I supposed to have a hero name, or is it just for looks?
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Like this. It fits.
[ How she could possibly determine that is anyone's guess. ]
Yes. You need a secret idea.
[ Identity. Close. ]
So, a hero name. It's not allowed to have Doctor in it. Or be about science.
[ That's a personal rule she just made up. ]
Dec 25, in person
It's cute, at least, in a very 30s-era-toy kind of way, and very soft.]
((you don't have to reply if you don't want to, I know you're busy :D ))
Sorry this is so late, but for them cute feels to make up for feel-feels
A day or two later, they will receive a photo in their inbox, of a blanket fort. Inside of it, the lion and a stuffed alpaca are leaning against each other, almost but not quite hiding a walkie talkie behind them, as if they're guarding it.]
Backdated to december 25th
Eleven,
The secret gift exchanged you organized was absolutely perfect. Not many girls your age would do something so thoughtful for the entire town.
Enjoy the cookies, let me know if you ever need anything.
-Miriam
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thank you
the cookies are very nice
do you want to share
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I'm too pretty to be St. Nicholas, and Jews don't have saints. But you're right in the gift giving thing. You can just call me an aunt or something, they give you gifts, too.
I would LOVE to share, but I've made a little extra for myself. You should offer them to someone you don't know yet. Make some friends!
-Miriam
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i mean you are super super pretty but im wondering if he is ugly
whats a saint
ill share the cookies
ive done that with halloween candy too i think i still have some if you would prefer that i got a lot
highest regards
eleven
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Well, I'm hardly a fat man wearing red, but I like to think I'm pretty. I take very good care of myself. The trick to being pretty is to be kind to everyone, but a little lipstick helps. Have you tried makeup? Or face masks?
If I eat too much candy I'm going to gain weight, and I cannot have that, but I appreciate it, sweetie.
-Miriam
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i felt pretty but it was only pretend
i liked the wig because my hair was very short
max took me to the mall once and we tried on clothes and had photographs taken with fancy clothes
tall regards
eleven
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Are Mike, Lucas, and Max your friends? I'm glad you have those. I had a friend like your Max especially--her name's Imogene.
You want to know a secret?
-Miriam
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yes
but
you have to promise i dont have to lie to people if i know it
i can say nothing and protect the secret
but friends dont lie
tallest regards
eleven
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Absolutely. The secret goes like this:
If you're a good person, then you're always pretty, no matter what. If you do bad things, then there isn't a single shade of lip gloss that can help you look better. Some girls, they don't realize that, so they try to look their best and think that's all they need to do.
I think you're very, very pretty.
-Miriam
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i can be pretty like you and nancy if im a good person
but what if i dont know how to be good person
im trying to learn still but theres a lot to learn
tallest regards,
eleven
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It's true. You already are pretty. Pretty people always try their best, and try to learn new things to become better people.
The fact that you're learning and willing to might just make you the prettiest girl here.
-Miriam
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mrs miriam
thank you so much
but i think youre the prettiest
so i will try to be as good as you
can you please not tell nancy i said youre the prettiest
i dont want her to be sad shes very pretty but maybe she is not old enough to be the prettiest yet
tallest regards
eleven
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Flattery will get you EVERYWHERE.
Let me know if you ever want to play around with my makeup. I'll give you a hand. I've got a cute pink lipstick that's screaming your name.
Until then,
-Miriam
Text -- Backdated to Christmas
He couldn't find enough gifts for everyone he wanted to, so he sculpted these an sent out a sort of Christmas card instead. Of course, the snowmen are still there in person for the foreseeable future.]
no subject
we make a good fighting team
[ Eleven isn't that good with gifts, the entire concept is still very new to her. She knows more about it now. This is a good gift, she thinks, and wishes she had something similar for him. ]
at her house/dated to when he gets back from explore
My dearest Eleven,
I hope this letter finds you well! I have returned from downtown and I was wondering if you wouldn't mind resuming our lessons or perhaps some company.
Your Friend,
Aziraphale. ]
@eleven | text
dear fell
i thought maybe youre angry
because i yelled at you
longest regards
eleven
Re: @eleven | text
I am not angry with you. if anything is deserving of my ire, it would be this place and this place solely.
I hope such a thing was not worrying you.
Utmost Regards,
Aziraphale.
no subject
i was very sad
but i decided to be angry instead
can i tell you a secret and can you keep it please
you dont have to lie just maybe dont tell
wider regards
eleven
no subject
I have kept many secrets. I would be honored to keep yours.
Truly yours,
Aziraphale.
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thank you please meet me at bonfire square i dont want to write so much
your super good friend
eleven
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Will do. How is [ time ] ?
I think usually no one else is at the bonfire at that hour.
With utmost sincerity,
Aziraphale.
[ Also he'll show up at whatever time they do agree on, sat by the fire's edge roasting a marshmallow on the end of a stick. ]
—text / @parker
I think I owe you an apology or ten.
I am so sorry
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Eleven.
I'm sorry.
I've had a lot on my mind. It's not an excuse, but... I'm sorry.
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[ Childish? Yes. Maybe don't tell her that. ]
i dont need you to learn or have ice cream or understand the difficult book
[ Can you feel the petulant pout through the text? Can you see it?
She is this close to telling him Bruce is her new favourite. ]
1/2
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youre already learned
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And I can still learn new things. I'm not an old dog.
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maybe i will let you be a crab
and allow you to get me ice cream
maybe
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But what if I got you ice cream without your permission? You know, if I was just sat there in the park with two cups in my hand, one (very, very) slowly melting because Beacon's freezing and it's definitely taken a cue or two from NYC as far as what "winter" should constitute of?
You going to pass that up?
response so late /o\
[ Can a text sound like someone saying 'duh'? This one sure can. ]
it would be a waste to let it melt
and you canot have two thats just too much for you you shouldnt have two
so i guess since you cant have two and the crab would be sad if it went to waste
i could take the other one
no subject
Uh huh.
I don't know, depends on how long you take, you know? I have got a pretty big appetite.
1/2
2/2
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Best you get a move on, huh?
text -> action
[ And true to her word, it doesn't take long for Eleven to arrive - she comes running, and only slowly down once she spots Peter and realizes he can see her.
Doing her best not to show how much she was hurrying, she shuffles on her feet for a moment or two, catch her breath and then moving over at a walk that's just a little too fast to be entirely casual.
Her brown eyes are maybe slightly wary. ]
Did you... eat it?
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he sits cross-legged, an ice cream in a hand apiece waiting for her to approach. he catches sight of her hurrying towards him, then slowing; and he pretends not to have seen the former — although the way the corners of his lips quirk up into an amused smile do a poor job at reinforcing the fact.
he mms at the question, attention shifting from eleven to one of the ice creams in his hand— ]
—I was going to give you two more minutes. Then all bets were off.
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[ She gives him a pointed look that absolutely belies her enthusiasm, if the way she looks from him to the ice cream and back again is any indication. ]
What flavour?
un: nancy
How would you feel about moving into a bigger place? I think with Robin here now too, it might be smart if we all stick together.
Plus, you could finally have your own bedroom. Although we could still share, if you want to. I'd leave it up to you.
woooooow I think I didn't get or otherwise lost the notif for this - I am *SO* sorry
i can carry everything
all good!
... Can you? Does that mean what I think it does?
1/2
2/2
it means my powers are back
im not broken
ps i like steve please dont tell him the joke
no subject
Don't worry, your secret's safe with me. Although that was really funny.
Although I don't think you were ever broken, El.
Did it feel that way, when you didn't have your powers?
no subject
im not very smart and i cant fight without my powers
i was useless and i couldnt protect anyone
no subject
You're so much more than just your powers. Sure, they're... really useful when things get crazy, but there's more to you than that.
You're so smart. You might feel like have a lot to catch up on, but you're really clever, even if it feels like you're a few steps behind with certain things. Because honestly? If you're worried about the kinds of things you would have learned in school? Don't be. I mean, the fact that you even want to learn those things at all shows how bright you are.
You have incredible instincts, and you're so funny, and so brave.
You're still all of those things, even without your powers.
text -> action
She doesn't bother knocking. Instead she'll go straight for Nancy, eyes a little red-rimmed, and wrap her arms around the older girl tightly.
Sometimes, she doesn't have enough words for the things she would like to say. ]
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it's just instinct to hug her back right away, no thought needed, maybe just as grateful for the hug as eleven is wanting to give her one. ]
You're alright?
[ she doesn't step back from the hug just yet, but- anything could have happened in the short moment between her last text and el getting here. she doesn't know, doesn't assume ]
no subject
[ The response is muffled in the fabric of Nancy's shirt. Eleven holds on tight. Sometimes she gets caught up in bigger things - in friends who hurt and the monsters past and present who hurt them. It's a good reminder that there's safety and warmth here. She'd rather Nancy be home, with Mike and the others, but she's also selfishly glad that Nancy is here. ]
Just... thank you, Nancy.