Fern

☆ — Stranger Things, Original work, (will be added to.)

Ao3

Current characters (Also to be added to):

Robert Akers

Dmitri Antonov

Request are absolutely open. But consider the following:

No smut

Please be descriptive

I can write for more than the listed fandoms, but it depends on if I know it.

Meet Me In The Woods — Robert Akers x Reader

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Together In Paris — Dmitri Anotonov x Reader

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

The bunker beneath the Squawk is outfitted with a small bathroom in one of the back corners. There's a small shower in there that occasionally has hot water. But regardless of the shower's temperature, both Robert and her are eager to clean off the build up of muck from the past couple of days.

“You wanna go first?” She asks Robert, starting to look around for some of the clean towels she makes sure to keep around here. But her movements are slow and awkward as she limps. She had taken it upon herself to make sure the bunker had clean linens and clothes for everyone, even if it was mostly Squawk merch and military surplus stock. She also keeps soaps and other toiletries stocked. For the most part this stuff isn't used save for when Hop would come back from crawls, so it's mostly just precaution for times like this.

“Uh, nah you should go first,” Robert said, uncharacteristically trying to be polite. He’d been following her around the bunker like a dog—though he doesn’t realize it—and doesn’t want to be pushed away.

“So you're gonna stay out here with them?” She asks him, referring to the others who are down here who likely hate his guts at least a little bit.

Robert glanced around at them, noticing Nancy's curious but slightly off putting look, Robin's staring that was outright obvious, and Hopper who only came down here to pointedly keep his eyes on Robert. “Where else could I go?” Robert asks then, shifting uncomfortably under Hopper’s gaze.

“Uh…I dunno, you could wait in there with me I guess.” She suggests, a little hesitant knowing how strange that probably is. But she wants to relax, and she won’t be able to knowing that Robert is out there with them—with Hopper—alone. She cringes when Robert stays quiet too long, and she briefly glances at him, seeing the surprise he let slip through his stoic expression.

“You don’t mind?” He asks her, shifting awkwardly on his feet. It’s a bit embarrassing to admit, but he really doesn’t want to deal with any of that drama without her. He shouldn’t care, he’s a soldier, a lieutenant for crying out loud. But he does, and perhaps that’s because she cares about them and he can’t just disregard them the way he does with others who judge or confront him.

“No,” she answers simply, also surprised because he didn’t outright refuse the offer. She’s holding three towels now. One for her, one for her hair, and one for Robert. A bar of soap, two washcloths, a small bottle of shampoo and conditioner, and a first aid kit all sit on top of the fluffy linens. She heads off towards the small bathroom, disappearing down the thin hallway where the others can’t see her before slipping through the door. All the while Robert follows to help her walk, and he can feel the gaze of those down here burning into his back, wondering what he’s doing with her, wondering why he’s going with her.

The bathroom is small, a little dingy, but it’s still clean. It’s just that the tiles are worn down, the light is too dim, and there is no window. It's a bunker after all. Robert watches her set all the things she collected down. Towels on the counter, soaps on the shelves in the small shower, and the first aid kit next to the towels. He finds he doesn't fit in the small space well, feeling awkward standing there watching her. Normally he's used to being too tall or lanky for a space, but he’s also normally more confident. Now he finds that confidence dimmed, replaced by an odd sense of nervousness.

“Uh…could you turn around?” She asks him timidly, glancing his way briefly before looking back down at her ruined clothes.

“Yeah—sure, sorry,” he mutters quickly, turning around and knocking his hand against the counter. He doesn’t comment on it of course, but he feels awfully silly. Why on Earth is he getting so worked up? This doesn't have to be weird or a big deal.

Behind him, he hears the sounds of her peeling her jacket off. Then she sits on the toilet to take her socks off, gasping quietly at the pain from the wound on her left foot.

“You okay?” Robert asks her, suddenly less awkward and just worried. The change surprised him.

“Yeah..it's uh, I mean it's fine.” She says quietly, not really sure what he could do if she told him it's hurting badly.

“Don't sound too convincing..” he murmurs sarcastically, his gaze stuck on a cracked tile on the wall.

She says nothing in response to that, only giving him an annoyed huff. To which he responds with a small laugh, absolutely able to tell that she's just being stubborn. “Can I take a look?” He asks, smiling faintly at the cracked tile.

“...Fine,” she huffs, sitting back on the toilet. The lid creaks as she shifts to set her injured foot over the opposite knee.

Robert turns around and immediately his eyes spot the blood caked on her foot and the discarded sock on the floor. Maybe he hadn't realized it was that bad, but his heart starts beating faster and his throat feels a little tight. He's used to blood. Maybe just not on someone like her.

His long legs close the distance between them quickly, and he kneels in front of her to take a look. He doesn’t touch, knowing it would hurt, but he leans close to get a good look at where the rock split her foot open. “...I'll bandage that up before you get in..then I'll change it after you're out. Okay?” He tells her, knowing it's bad enough she shouldn't really be showering with it exposed.

She clearly wanted to object. “You don’t have—”

“No, seriously you shouldn't even be walking on it. Let me fix it, okay?” He insists, already reaching over for the first aid kit off the counter.

Once he has it he looks at her, waiting for any other objections or maybe some consent. After a moment of him staring her straight in the eyes as if to convince her, she relented. He sees it in the way her shoulders slump, in the exhaustion lining her features. She doesn't care to fight it, though to be fair, she's just fighting his help.

Robert begins to carefully tend to her wound. His large hands are shockingly gentle, each motion he makes to clean the area practiced and efficient. He doesn’t cause her more pain than she'd otherwise feel, he’s sure of that. But it still hurts, bad, and he can tell as much each time she gasps in pain or tenses her body more. She's even shaking now, and Robert finds himself needing to do something about it. It's so easy to tell himself or others to push through pain. But he can't do it now. He can't ignore her pain.

“Shh, s'okay, it's almost done…” he whispers, his voice softer than she's ever heard it. Once he feels the area is cleaned sufficiently, all the blood washed away and the wound disinfected, he gives her a break.

Her body is so tense she could snap. So Robert reaches up and rubs her calves, trying to soothe her a bit. He feels awkward doing it, but he couldn't care less once he sees her relax, when he hears her sigh in what sounds like relief. It’s all the reassurance he needs to know that he’s helping her.

She leans back against the toilet and closes her eyes, letting herself enjoy his touch. It's then that she realizes just how comfortable she is with him, something about it warms her heart. She doesn't know him that well yet, but she finds she really wants to. There's a sort of bond growing here. As they know, traumatic experiences tend to be exceptionally unifying.

Robert massages higher up her legs, focusing more around her knees and the tops of her thighs. Nothing about it feels weird or inappropriate, just tender. He just wants to help and it seems to be working. Robert looks up at her as he works, watching her face relax and listening to her pleased sighs. If she were to look at him, she'd see a very, very entranced man. But she doesn't look, practically ready to fall asleep.

When Robert notices that, he decides that he should finish tending to her wound, even if he really wants to keep doing this.

“I'm gonna put this on now, alright?” He says quietly, looking up at her and holding a large, thick piece of gauze up for her to see. While he knows the cleaning was painful, him pressing this against the wound is potentially worse.

She sucks in a sharp breath, preparing herself. Robert can see and feel how tense she becomes again, and his chest aches almost too much. Once she nods, he breathes in once and sighs, trying to make sure he keeps being as gentle as possible. The gauze fits the space well when he presses it to the sole of her foot, and he once again tries to soothe her pain.

“Shh,” he coos softly, his brows knit together as he focuses. He wraps tape and bandages around the gauze nice and tight, keeping a comforting amount of pressure on the wound to ease the throbbing pain. “Almost done..” Robert whispers, working efficiently for her sake. “There, s’all done,” he murmurs, pulling his hands away once he’s secured the wrappings.

He watches her relax in relief, the tension easing away from her body again. “Feel any better?” He asks her. Almost unconsciously his hands wander back to her legs, his fingers massaging the ache away.

“Yeah…” she whispers, watching him this time. “Thank you,” she adds earnestly. This time she doesn’t miss that look on his face. She isn’t sure what to make of it, but she finds herself speechless. So she focuses on the pressure on her wound, relieved that it’s soothing the pain.

“Good…” he murmurs, keeping up what he’s doing for a moment longer. However, he eventually worries he’s overstepping, and stands up, letting his hands fall away again. Suddenly he’s feeling awkward once more, and isn’t sure what to do with himself. So he offers to help her up. She leans against him at first, testing out her foot. “You okay to shower?” Robert asks her, keeping his hand in hers still to anchor her, his other hovering close in case she needs it.

“Sure, I just gotta get these off..” she huffs, looking down at her clothes. She can’t stand very well, but she can manage. So she moves away slowly, letting him turn around so she can finish undressing. She pulls her shirt off, then her bra, each item piling up on top of her jacket on the floor. Once she gets to her pants she has to use the counter for support as she struggles, but she does it despite Robert’s concerned questions.

The spray of the shower echoes faintly through the room after she turns it on. Once Robert hears her step in he relaxes again, and decides to sit on the closed toilet. Everything aches, he realizes, and he sags in exhaustion. For a moment he can think of absolutely nothing, his tired mind dull and weary. But then it drifts to thoughts of the steam rising in the bathroom. Thoughts of the shower itself, and the woman in it. He tries not to think too much about her, at least, just not of her in the shower. So he thinks about how relaxed she’d been under his care, how trusting she was. Now that, that brings a small smile to his lips.

Silence had fallen over the room when the two of them stepped into the space, and a certain sense of apprehension and anticipation filled the group. Dustin and Steve glance at each other, both with a look of bewilderment. Vickie only grows more overwhelmed, more unfamiliar people being added into this chaotic mix doesn’t clear anything up for her, and it only makes it more stressful for everyone. Then watching Robert being lifted into the air certainly wouldn’t help the tension building amongst the group.

He’s completely frozen, stiff and quietly gasping to breathe. He can thankfully, but without full control over his own body it’s much more challenging, so he’s really only successful in inhaling just enough that his lungs still burn. She can’t even get out of his grasp, his arms tight around her legs, unable to let go. But she can see the panic in his eyes, the fear. He unfortunately already knows what being at the mercy of Eleven’s powers feels like. He isn’t interested in feeling it again.

Hopper isn’t stopping her, no one is. Which to be fair is very understandable. But then she begins lifting him off the ground, taking his unlikely companion with him. She realizes El probably does feel betrayed, just like she feared she would. Really, she can't blame her. She tries and tries, finding it incredibly difficult to get out of his hold when Robert is quite literally off the ground now. But eventually she manages, and she lands on her feet. But the pain from the wound on the bottom of the one sends her knee buckling and she tumbled sideways all the same.

“El—just wait—stop!” She shouts, trying to get her attention. It's a futile effort though, she doesn’t even look her way. Steve does, Will does, everyone looks quite bewildered. All confused about who this man is, why he looks like he's been through hell and showed up with her on his back, why El and Hopper are reacting like this. In only a moment everything has just been turned around from calm, everyone recuperating, to this. Whatever exactly this is to them she doesn't know. But no one seems to like it, all of them already feeling a bit put off by Robert’s presence.

Hopper appears at her side, getting her up quickly just to get her away from Robert. She tries to stop him, practically trying to claw her way from his grasp to stay by Robert’s side. “Why’re you with him? Why’d you bring him here?” Hopper demands, furious and baffled as he keeps pulling her away. Thoughts are racing through his mind, each one only brings up more and more. Why is she so set on staying close to him? Why is she showing up after days of no contact with him of all people? Why, why, why? None of them understand, least of all Hopper.

But no matter, Eleven is already working, rooting through his head again. It feels different to Robert, a little less invasive—as least invasive as mind reading can be at least—than the last time. Like she’s tired. She looks it. They all do, though he’s hardly focused on that now. Not with the searing, terrifying sensation of another consciousness within his own. The feeling of someone pushing through every layer and wall like it’s absolutely nothing, and seeing into what should be unreachable to anyone but him, sometimes even to himself. He’s frozen, actively watching her sort through things he didn’t even know he had thought, things he had pushed away for the sake of his job, his sanity, anything.

The thoughts about her seem to catch Eleven’s interest the most, she lingers, she watches and waits, simply observing the interactions between them in the upside down. Listening to the thoughts he had tried to ignore. She watches it all, the beginning with animosity, the tension and fear when they’d found each other in that little culvert in the woods. Then the reluctant truce as they evaded the monsters again and again with only each other to rely on, then the search for her friends—they’re Eleven’s friends too—and how close they had been to dying in that room together. She watches all of it with confusion and an aching sense of betrayal, because she doesn’t understand why someone she’s looked up to for so long is suddenly so close to a man who’s been hunting her down, who’s seen her as nothing but some freak to be tested on.

But she can feel it, whatever that bond is between them. She can literally see the shift in Robert, where he began to have a change of heart. It doesn’t really change that ache she feels, but it makes her a little less confused, the thoughts swirling through her own mind quiet a little. For all that she doesn't understand about people and how they interact, she understands family and friendship very well, and she can see that whatever this is, it's important. Even if it's different from what she’s known. It's a little like her and Mike, but not really. A guy and a girl. But, she doesn’t think she’s ever felt what Robert is starting to feel.

She watches something for a moment longer than the rest. The two of them had been walking through a forest after they got out of the Upside-Down, and were just talking. It was strangely normal compared to the chaotic memories she had just witnessed prior, and intimate at that. The two of them were swapping stories, their smiles tired and laughter genuine. But it was all real, any hesitation gone after everything. The memory is foggy, clouded by Robert’s thoughts. He seems to find her interesting and her stories compelling, though Eleven is pretty sure her friend's lips have nothing to do with what she was telling Robert. He seems fixated on them.

Only once she's felt that she's seen enough does she come back to everyone else, releasing Robert's mind from her grasp. He sighs in relief, each breath shaky and pained. But he's still suspended in the air, dangling stiffly. “What'd you see?” Joyce asks her, suddenly by Eleven’s side with worry creasing her face. She warily eyes Robert’s suspended form.

Hopper watches El intensely from where he's still keeping plenty of space between Robert and her. She's still trying to get out of his hold, but her fight isn't really there. Not with the wound in her foot and Hopper’s arms around her.

Eleven looks around at everyone, a slightly bewildered look on her face, and she hesitates to answer, likely unsure of what to say. “She likes him,” Eleven finally says, obviously not realizing how strange that sounds. It's true of course, she has grown to like him, but saying it bluntly like that is embarrassing.

Everyone pauses at that and glances amongst themselves. Joyce turns and looks back at the lot of them, all of whom are scattered around the room, on the couch, by the table, some standing. Each one of their faces mirrors her own confusion.

Hopper opens his mouth to speak, but Eleven speaks up again before he could, as if she already knew what he was going to ask. Anyone could tell without reading his mind after all. “He's…good,” she says simply. It's too vague to give Hopper any peace of mind, but at least it helps.

“He's good?” Hopper repeats incredulously, a mocking look of disbelief on his face. “This dirtbag?”

“Yes.” Eleven confirms, confident in her assessment. That doesn't mean she likes Robert anymore than Hop does, and that's likely why she tightens her hold on Robert who clenches his jaw around what was almost a cry of pain.

“Could you let him go?” She asks Eleven, her worry increasing every moment he's stuck in the air.

El looks at her then, finally after the first look of betrayal she'd given her when they walked in. She still looks hurt, confused, and tired. But she lets Robert go, because she knows he’s not going to do anything, for now at least, and she trusts her friend's judgment. She does drop him suddenly though, and he lands with a loud thud and a grunt.

When Hopper reluctantly lets her go, she rushes over to Robert. Her movements are a little off as her foot is a bit useless, the limp prominent. She crouches down next to him as he starts moving to get up, and they both find themselves looking up at Hopper. They already know he’s pissed, but the look he’s pinning them with is still unnerving.

Everyone watches as he drags her out of the room, not literally of course, and he helps her since she’s limping. Robert—naturally—follows her. Not only is he not interested in waiting around in a room full of strangers who are majorly suspicious of him, who also likely hate him, but he certainly doesn’t want to stick around Eleven. While he couldn’t care less what they all think, he’s still perturbed and definitely doesn’t want to leave her side just yet. Something, some part of him, wants to keep making sure she’s alright.

The weather outside is actually quite nice at the time, and it hits them both all over again how delightful it all is after spending any amount of time in the Upside-down. But maybe it’s not so enjoyable with the lecture or interrogation Hop is about to give them.

“What the hell are you doing with him?” Hopper growls, his expression a mix of anger and worry. He doesn’t understand, and he’s just concerned for her. Naturally he doesn’t think Robert is safe, let alone trustworthy enough to be around someone he cares for. While he had heard Eleven’s deduction of the man, he still doesn’t buy it, not even with her literal mind reading abilities. He can’t fathom someone like Robert ever having such a drastic change of heart, if that’s what this is supposed to be. “This piece of shit’s been hunting my daughter, and you bring him here? Where the hell have you been anyway? It’s been days—”

“Jesus Hop—we were stuck down there.” She tells him, eager to get this over with. Guilt has started to swell in her chest, rising up uncomfortably in her throat. She knows what this is, she realizes who Robert has been. But she can’t bring herself to hate the guy, not after everything. She certainly can’t explain it to Hopper, or any of the others for that matter. So what can she do? Tell him Robert saved her life several times, that he risked himself for her? That he knows what’s going on here and wants to help? Well hell, she can try, and try she does.

“You expect me to believe that?” Hopper huffs, his eyes alight. But she can see it behind his frustration, the recognition that she’s alive because of Robert. He can’t ignore that, not completely.

“Well—” she stops, her own frustration building as the guilt and exhaustion grow increasingly more apparent. “Yeah, I do, because it’s the truth and I don’t expect you to like him or want him around or whatever just—” she stops, taking a breath.

She glances over at Robert who’s been standing just behind her silently, watching with a blank face. There’s only a hint of something there, and she can’t quite pinpoint what. Something oddly soft though, and she wants to know what it is.

“Let him stay, please?” She says quietly, looking back over at Hopper. “I wouldn't have brought him here if he was dangerous.” She adds quietly, earnestly. Hopper should know that she would never endanger them. Not for anything, they’re her family after all.

He does know that, and maybe that’s why his expression softens a little, not into acceptance of Robert, but of something contemplative. Then, reluctantly, he sighs and looks Robert’s way as he bites, “fine, but you stay away from Eleven, and you do not leave this building unless it’s with her or until I say otherwise.” He thinks Robert is going to run back to the military, most likely to rat them out and get Eleven captured. So he hopes—quite optimistically for him—that he can keep a close enough of an eye on the guy that he’ll never get a chance. He doesn’t plan on letting Robert near any of the radio gear, the phones, nothing, not a thing he could use for contact. Nothing at all. He knows all the tricks he could try, and he won’t be letting it happen.

Robert bristles at that, he doesn’t like being told what to do by anyone, not even his superiors, and certainly not Hopper. But he knows he’s gotta listen, for her sake and his. He wants to stay with her, and he desperately needs a break from all the bullshit. So he agrees, his voice stiff and a bit too gruff for Hops liking. But Hopper says nothing, and only gives Robert a look that’s only slightly threatening.

They both know he’ll be watching him like a hawk, but even so, they’re both relieved that he even agreed to begin with. That’s really all they could ask for. Quietly, they shuffle inside, Robert helping her move this time, as Hopper watches from behind, following suit. His gaze is sharp, practically burning through Robert’s hand placed on her lower back. He doesn’t know what happened to them in the Upside-Down, but he can obviously see the effect of it. They’re close for two people that only met a few days ago, but to be fair, he understands how that happens in a place like that. That doesn’t mean he likes seeing it though. In fact, he’s only growing more frustrated, and everyone can see it as they watch the three of them walk back inside. Naturally, all of them had been watching through the windows, trying to listen through the door. Anything to figure out what was being said out there, anything to find out who this new guy is and what he could possibly be doing with her after days of radio silence.

That was perhaps the longest wait of their lives. The seconds stretched on and on, thinning until it was so thin they couldn’t tell how long they’d kept their eyes closed. It was excruciating, waiting in silence for their inevitable, painful death. So the darkness behind their eyes seemed to swirl and bend in a nauseating display, and they had to furrow their brows against the sickening fear curling in their bodies. Her breaths came in short, fearful bursts as she tried to calm herself so at the very least she wouldn’t be sick in their last moment. Robert however, had been still as he could be, maybe as a result of his training or his numerous close calls in the past. That, of course, doesn’t mean he is ready to go, but he’s calm, and able to be some sort of anchor for her.

It was when they both gradually started to realize they no longer heard the dripping of the matter flooding the space that the blood rushing in their ears started to quiet. Slowly, they opened their eyes, only to see how still the room suddenly was. Nothing moved, not even their chest as they instinctively held their breaths. It had solidified again, stopping just as it reached the tops of the cabinets. Their shoes are stuck, and probably some of the fabric of their pants too, but they’re not. They’re okay. They made it and the sudden realization is so overwhelmingly exciting that they laugh. They laugh quietly not in amusement but in disbelief and astonishment, and then they hug each other. Though they already were, this is different. Robert practically crushes her against his chest, and he presses his face into the crook of her neck. Meanwhile her arms are wrapped tight around his shoulders, one arm under his, the other over his shoulder, and she simply curls around him in a way that isn’t celebration but relief.

In the newfound silence of the room, their quick, shaky breaths fill the space. But neither register it as they’re far too engrossed in their embrace, both finding it incredibly needed and so comforting that neither of them wish to part. They squeezed too hard, mimicking the feeling of their hearts in their chests. The relief was so overwhelming that they could hardly contain it, and they just had to hold onto something. A person is probably the most ideal thing.

So Robert kept her there till her body quit trembling and her breathing finally calmed, and only then did he unstick his grimy military jacket from the fabric of her own coat. Whenever they did pull away, their eyes met for a moment, both filled with relief, exhaustion, and maybe a smidge of something warmer, something tender. He doesn’t know what to do with that, neither does she, but she smiles, soft and genuine and bright in a way Robert doesn’t see often in his work. It makes one of his own stretch across his lips, and it’s a lot more sincere than he ever intended to be.

Her head falls against his chest again as another laugh escapes her. “Guess we’re okay..” she says against his chest, smiling brightly.

“Guess so..” he murmured back, looking down at her there with a squeeze of her shoulder. He then began to look around, trying to see what they could do now. Since the matter has finally solidified, he figures they could simply crawl across it and back to the hole in the ceiling where they could just climb out. So that’s what they do. He lets her have a moment longer against his chest before he gets them moving, not knowing if everything might start melting again or not. Neither are eager to chance it, so they get going.

Unfortunately their shoes did in fact get stuck in the matter, and they have to leave them behind if they want to get out. Some of the outer layer of fabric on his tactical pants also got stuck, so he had to tear himself out a bit too. But once they’re out Robert has her crawl ahead, and helps her up through the hole before following suit where she looks out for him. Back up in the hallway everything is a complete mess. The walls are either coated in the matter or filled with holes. The whole hallway is filled with them, so it looks like it will be a rough time getting back downstairs. But no matter, they just make sure to be careful of their footing.

She’s still very worried about the others now that she’s no longer worried about her own imminent death, and she expresses that to Robert. “They’re probably not here,” he says, trying to comfort her somehow. “I mean, we searched this place yelling and screaming and no one responded..so..”

She doesn’t believe him, and she really, really wants to try and find them. Robert—having had enough of this place and nearly dying with her—practically forces her to come along with him back down the stairs. Only some staircases are usable, so they have to keep finding new stairwells to descend. It’s on the search for a usable staircase that Robert notices movement outside a window. He pauses for a moment to look, and he sees a big group of people down on the ground below the lab. They’re not military, though he can’t make them out from this distance. “Hey, hold up a minute,” he calls to her who’s up the hallway now.

“What?” She asks as she starts to head back towards him, wondering what he’s looking at and a little worried it’s monsters or something. Once she’s by his side her gaze immediately finds the people below, and she’s able to make them out. She gasped when she realized it was her friends, and a few more of them who seem to have come to rescue them.

Relief flooded her heart for a second time today as she watched them embrace and talk. But once they all started to head through the gate she realized they’re leaving her. Obviously they don’t know she’s up in the lab, but she can’t contact them to at least tell them she’s alive. “Let’s hurry,” he murmured before rushing down the hall in search of a safe staircase. She was worried that they’d close the gate back up seeing as they must have lifted the steel plates to open it already,

“You recognize them?” Robert asked her as he easily caught up to her.

“Yeah. That’s the people I was telling you about..” she murmured, finally finding a way down. Robert doesn’t question that for now, strangely relieved that her friends are okay. Besides, he’s just happy that it seems like they’ll have a quick way home now.

By the time they finally get outside the upside-down seems to have calmed, almost tranquil compared to the chaos it was upon entering the lab. Of course the red lighting still pierces the sky, followed by obnoxious booms through the dank air, and the ground remains as moist and slimy as ever beneath their sock clad feet. But no matter, not with this chance they’ve been given to escape. In fact, the cold seeping into their poorly dressed feet doesn’t even register through the excitement and trepidation they feel for the approaching red gate. The others are long gone, safe and sound back home, leaving only her behind. Are they wondering where she is?

“Have you been through one?” She asked Robert once they were both peering through at the almost fleshy inside of the gate. She knows he’s been through Mac-Z, but that's very different, as Robert clearly understands if his narrowed eyes and tight jaw are anything to go by.

“...No.” He said simply, still staring at it intensely. His stomach churned a bit, and he wondered if he’s ingested some of that muck from earlier, or perhaps too much of this air. In reality he’s just scared. Because even he still has small, weird, irrational fears, and this gate looks way too similar to some kind of sac from some monstrous insect for his liking.

Robert swallowed thickly, pushing the uncomfortable thoughts away into the back of his mind as usual, setting them next to something or other about the woman beside him. “After you,” he muttered. He wanted her to go first regardless of the fact he wouldn’t go first anyway, he wants her back to Hawkins before himself.

She maybe wanted to tease him about being a gentleman, even if she thought that particular taunt was over used. But she refrained, and her subsequent thank you held a lot more than just a simple gesture of politeness to it. When she had said it she glanced his way with a small smile, her tired eyes holding a sparkle in them, before proceeding to try her way at getting through the gate. The fleshy stuff had already begun to repair itself since the others tore through it a while ago, which wasn’t really much of a hindrance as it wasn’t hard to get through anyway.

Robert watched her with baited breath as she climbed through, her head first since they were essentially coming from a hole in the ground. The red glow parted for her, falling away with the sounds of fibers tearing and moisture squelching. Only once she was safely through did Robert begin his way through. It took him a second or two to get himself to even touch it, and the entire time he was moving through it he was cringing so hard his jaw nearly broke and his stomach practically twisted in on itself.

“Not a fan?” She asked him softly as she attempted to help him up though the gate, though his long, strong limbs didn’t need much assistance. She could see his discomfort clear as day on his face, and maybe it’s a little cute that someone like him gets so grossed out by something like that. Or maybe she’s just too desensitized to these things.

“Funny,” he said dryly, scratching at his face as if he could get rid of the film the gate left behind. Despite the crawling of his skin, a sense of relief washed over Robert when he finally took in his surroundings. The clear blue sky, the fresh, spore-free air, and the life-filled woods around them. The difference between here and there is so stark his head spins. Still, it feels as though something is pounding at the inside of his skull, but it's lessened now than it was before. What Eleven did to his mind seems to be fading, his thoughts are a bit clearer and his wherewithal is bouncing back.

“Where do you suggest we go?” Robert asked her, shaking off more of that gross sensation in his limbs. What he asked her implies he really doesn't intend to go back to Kay, which is surprising and really isn't at the same time. It’s surprising because of the fact that he really has changed his mind about this, while it's not surprising because he has already expressed his annoyance—a kind word—with Kay.

“The Squawk I guess. That's where everyone's gonna be,” she told Robert, realizing that he actually wants to go with her. A little smile stretched her lips after, though she couldn't quite explain why.

“The radio station?” Robert asked, perplexed. He knew plenty about her little group now, but not that the Squawk is apparently home base.

“Yeah, you'll probably like it. I mean, we've got it all outfitted bunker style. Secret doors and everything,” she told Robert.

She thinks he'll like it. Robert takes note of that in the back of his mind with the other things piling up. “Like it or not we should get going, the military ‘ll be here soon.” Robert murmurs, waiting for her to lead the way. He knows that the lifted steel plate will be noticed almost immediately, and he wouldn’t at all be surprised if trucks are already on the way. He wonders briefly if any of them back at base think he’s dead or not. But the thought doesn't linger as he continues to think out how to keep the both of them hidden in the meantime.

“Right okay..it's just this way,” she tells him as she starts towards the tree line, recognizing that they need to lay low. The sticks and acorns underfoot sting under her sock clad feet, but she ignores the discomfort for the time being, simply wanting to get to the radio station. She can shower there and it’s practically all she can think about now as she’s extremely eager to wash herself of the muck and grim of the Upside-down. Plus, some relaxation might be nice after everything. Who wants their nervous system fried after all?

Robert follows without question, though he remains as alert as ever, noting every move they make so he'll remember where they go. The trees pass by one after the other, their changing tones casting a pleasant glow on the ground below. But with the glow comes all of the shadows, each one swirling around in Robert’s vision like ghosts, each one only serving to agitate him. Some he fears are soldiers catching them, others he almost believes are some of those monsters from the upside down. Normally he can keep it together much better than this, so maybe that place finally did him in, if only a little bit. The only things that seem to be keeping him sane right now are the fresh air, sunlight, and the voice of the woman walking beside him. She has been rambling on about quite a few things. Mostly, she’s told him about what to expect at the Squawk. To put it lightly, she’s worried about how the others will react to her bringing him along. She strongly doubts that any of them will be accepting, some may be open minded, but only some. She genuinely fears how Hopper will react, and she certainly doesn’t want to scare Eleven.

It is when she starts talking about Eleven that she begins to question if she should really be bringing Robert along at all. She wants too, they both know as much. But is it safe? Smart? She doesn’t know. So she starts trying to figure out how to convince them, how to at the very least make Hopper listen to her before he loses his mind over this. But she and Robert are all too aware that someone like Hopper won't listen to her talking about anything—not even their near death expirience—when he could instead go straight for Robert. It’s clear though that she appreciates Hopper’s care and protectiveness. She feels the same for all of them, and she understands it. But with everything going on they don’t have time for drama.

On another note, she doesn't want to hurt El. So how will she show up with the guy who's been tracking her down for how long now without scaring her or making her feel as though she's been betrayed? Isn't this still a betrayal in some way? She really isn't sure. But she is sure she needs to bring Robert along for one reason or another.

She tries to convey all of this to him in a mess of words and nervous laughs, but despite the disjointed information, he seems to get it. It's not exactly hard to figure out anyway. Robert was easily able to recognize the same things, just in a more tactical sense rather than anything particularly empathetic. His training never bothered with understanding. But he's worried about their reactions all the same. Despite said worry, he doesn't like her suggestions at first. He doesn’t have any of his weapons left, but he still needs to act as least threatening as possible, and he isn't exactly sure how he's meant to go about that.

“So what, I just make a nice face and they'll let me in?” He murmured sarcastically, a small scowl on his face.

“No. Just..I dunno, hold your hands up and let me do the talking. Don't do anything,” she suggested.

“That's helpful. You know Hopper’s totally going to try shooting me point blank, right?” Robert grumbled, sounding more annoyed by the minute. The stones trying to pierce through his socks and feet didn't help.

“Well if he does that then do something I guess. But don’t hurt him—and just let me try to talk to him, okay?” She says, already feeling bad that she has to ask this of him.

Robert was quiet for a moment, walking slowly next her, her pace much quicker with her shorter legs. He mulled over it, frustrated already and beginning to feel quite cornered even if he isn't even there yet. “...Fine, yeah, okay,” he relented with a heavy sigh. Why is he agreeing to this? This woman shouldn't have so much pull over him. He would never have agreed to this if he were in his right mind. So why is he?

That's a question he contemplates for the rest of the long walk through the woods. She talks to him on and off, and he listens quite diligently, even eagerly. He finds himself hanging onto every word, soaking up whatever he can about this lady. Some things are personal anecdotes, the majority however is just about what she’s expecting at the Squawk aside from their reactions to him. What's going on with the search for Henry and Holly and what not. He finds himself more interested in the anecdotes than anything.

He doesn’t say much, but whenever he does it's usually to soothe her when she starts talking too fast—something he's already noticed she does as she gets more worried or overwhelmed. It seems though that talking helps her immensely as she both tries to explain more to him and work through it all herself. Eventually she pries some of his own anecdotes from him, and he finds he doesn't mind it as much as he thought he should.

“Ow—” she yelps suddenly, quickly lifting her foot and stumbling. Robert reached out to steady her, gripping her arm gently as he looked at her with sharp, searching eyes. “What?” He asks gruffly. He doesn’t see anything wrong, but he assumes she stepped on something sharp.

“Rock..I think,” she murmured as she tried to look at her foot. Sure enough, some blood has begun to seep through her sock. Not a lot, but enough it'll hurt to walk. She's already mentally berating herself for not being more careful.

“You gonna be fine to walk?” He asked her.

“Yeah..yeah, it's fine,” she hummed. Carefully she placed her foot back down, and while she wanted to just walk it off, the searing pain it immediately shot through the sole of her foot made her knee buckle. It really hadn't seemed so bad at first. Apparently she was wrong.

Robert catches her again, something that seems to be a theme today. An uncharacteristic amount of worry crossed his face, and in a moment of what he dubbed as craziness, he lifted her up into his arms.

“Whoa—hey you don't have to—” she immediately tried to say, not wanting to be a bother or hindrance to him.

“No,” he cut her off, “seriously it's fine. Better than you getting a shit ton of dirt in it as we walk, right?”

“But—” she began, wanting to insist and argue that he's tired and hurting after everything.

Robert gives her a particularly stern look, probably one he learned as a lieutenant. It shuts her up pretty quick. But she's stubborn, and still says, “well at least carry me on your back. That'd be easier, right?”

“...Yeah, guess so,” Robert murmured. She's definitely right, and that way he'd be able to watch his own footing much better too. So he gingerly sets her back down and crouches so she can try hopping on. It doesn't go very well the first time, but at least nobody falls. Once he has her securely on his back, her arms wrapped around his shoulders, he starts off again, headed with her directions.

The remainder of the trek is slower, but not very long thankfully. Not that Robert got tired of carrying her—quote the contrary. It’s surprisingly pleasant to have her so close when they’re not about to die. He’s just eager to get somewhere safe from the military, somewhere where they can finally rest and clean themselves up. The Squawk is situated way up on a hill, its radio tower a welcoming beacon of salvation for the traveling pair.

Wind whips through their hair, hers unfortunately being incredibly matted and gross from the upside down. She complains about as much to Robert as it hits her in the face, telling him about how much of a pain it can be to brush sometimes. He laughs genuinely at that, muttering something or other about helping her if it’s such a chore.

“I wouldn’t mind that, unless you’re not gentle about it,” she hums, trying to be casual about it even if it’s anything but. Robert was about to respond, a small huff of amusement having escaped his lips, but just then they finally reached the door, and he decided that maybe he shouldn't be flirting right now. When did he decide that that was flirting?

Robert quickly tries opening the door with some struggle to keep her balanced. But once he does he carries her in. Immediately they both can hear the hustle and bustle of everyone inside. It seems everyone is going about fixing themselves up, washing off, resting, recuperating, you name it. But the liveliness inside vanishes in an instant when they notice the two of them there, all of them going silent and completely still.

Then in an instant Hopper erupts in absolute fury and confusion, entirely baffled as to whatever the hell it is that he’s seeing. He can’t even get coherent words out as he rounds on them swiftly, already getting in Robert’s face. But he stops trying just as quickly as he started as Robert grunts in pain, stumbling while trying to keep her balanced on his back.

The daze stretches and doesn’t really have much of a start or an end. It’s just that sort of thing you feel after a particularly chaotic experience, shock probably. Perhaps it’s just your brain resetting itself. That’s not what either of them think at the moment, their minds off in that haze and totally uncaring as to what the reason for it is.

So they sit there in that silence for a moment, the foot of space between them and the two cabinets feeling suddenly very close and very far. Slowly, the room fills up, drop by drop of the muck spills into the space, and it rises at a torturously slow pace. It’s like it’s mocking them, because they both know there’s nothing they can do, that they’re gonna die here. Despite that, they’re both still quietly searching the room for anything that they could possibly do to get out. But nothing presents itself, and they come up empty handed. All the while the room continues to melt, grey matter melting from the walls and ceiling in a sickening display. So as the reality sets in that they’re not going to get out, instead of just sulking in her last moments, she quietly asks her unlikely companion a question. “Why the military?”

Robert hadn’t been looking at her, and was somewhat caught off guard by the sudden inquiry. His gaze flits over to her, and he just stares for a moment with a tired expression. “...Got sent to military school.” He mumbled after a moment, sounding almost disinterested despite his curiosity in her. “Why?” She murmured back, already very curious herself and a little surprised by his answer. “For discipline.” He muttered gruffly, looking back down at the sludge creeping up from the floor. He’s not sure why he’s being honest, or even indulging in her to begin with. Awaiting death with a stranger has that effect, he figures.

She’s quiet after that, thinking about the implications. It wasn’t unheard of for parents to send their sons to those schools when they were particularly reckless or rebellious. That never makes it okay, in her opinion, but she hopes the circumstances weren’t cruel. “Why’d you stay?” She asks quietly, cautiously because she recognizes how unusual it is for him to talk like this at all. “I just…got used to it I guess,” he murmurs, trying to sound disinterested. “I…had some good friends, figured I’d keep doing what I knew.” He added quietly, still watching the room fill. “What do you do?” He asks quickly when he feels that he’s been too transparent already. “Oh, I..well I’ve been waitressing lately…” she answers, picking some of the muck out from under her nails even though she knows it’ll be back soon enough. “I know that’s not really exciting, but I just…I’ve been busy with this lately..” she added, referring to the upside-down. “Really?” He asks with a raised brow. “What exactly have you people been doing down here? Actually, why did any of you know about all of that shit you told me?” He continued, remembering her mentions of her friends and their knowledge of this wretched place.

She isn’t really sure where to begin with that, but since she knows they’re both doomed, she figured she may as well tell him. “Cause Will went missing. We all got roped in at some point or other. By that point, no one else really knew what was actually going on in town, and…well, I guess it was just up to us to deal with it. Especially considering one of us was always being targeted.” She explains quietly, a bit solemn. “How’d you get roped in?” He asks her, wondering if that’s not something he should ask. Maybe he shouldn’t have, because he sees the expression that flashes across her face briefly, the one of pain or exhaustion, probably both. “I used to babysit for the Byers sometimes, just when Joyce needed some help. So..when Will went missing I tried looking for him with the others and when Joyce started saying she could hear him in the lights..I mean, everyone thought she was crazy. Like, it was bad. But I went over one night and I saw one of those things come through the wallpaper and…” she trailed off. Her eyes seemed foggy, far away as she recounted the memory. It seemed so long ago now. Robert wasn’t sure what happened then, what she wasn’t saying, but he wouldn’t pry. He knew not to.

“After that I stuck around, and the same shit just happened again. Then again. Then it went to shit last year…that’s when you guys showed up. Since then we’ve been doing crawls. Trying to find Henry and end this..” she finishes explaining. She knew that that was pretty basic, very vague, and sorely lacking in any real information, but they don’t have all the time in the world to recount all the bullshit their little group has been through in the past few years. All the fights against monsters and government officials and horrors they couldn’t really comprehend. The losses most of them still haven’t accepted.

“Crawls?” Robert asks, his curiosity getting the better of him. “Yeah, we would..” she starts hesitating since she’s aware of what she’s about to admit to a literal lieutenant. “We’d send Hopper down here in your trucks with a tracker, and we’d follow the signal around town in the Squawk van, sort of mapping out where Henry isn’t, just looking for signs of him. Anything.” She explains to Robert, glancing up at him a few times as she waits for whatever his reaction would be. Robert finds himself surprised, and even a little impressed despite the fact he knows he should be irked by it. “You people have been sneaking in through Mac-Z?” Robert asks her. “Yeah…” she confirms with a sheepish smile. “Man..you guys are ballsy,” he huffs, a smirk on his lips in spite of himself. He knows he shouldn’t find that at all amusing, that he shouldn’t like this woman or those people—hell, he knows he hates that Hopper guy, but the others don’t sound too bad. He almost forgets that he’s been unknowingly working against them for so long. “Oh you don’t even know,” she says with a small, fond laugh as she thinks about her friends. That’s something she admires about them, they’re all so daring and strong in the face of everything. Robert can see how much she cares for them in her face, though he already knew how devoted she was based on her crazed search for them not even fifteen minutes ago.

“You really care about them, huh?” He murmurs, his head tilted as he looks over at her. At her silver streaked face and warm eyes. It’s not so much of a question as it is an observation, like he felt the need to acknowledge it outloud. “Of course I do..” she whispers back, smiling again in a more genuine way. “They’re like my family,” she tells him, “I’m lucky to have known them.” The reality seems to return to their minds after she says that. It was a reminder that that’s what they’ll be soon, memories in other people's minds. The reminder weighs heavy in the air between them as they both watch the matter rise higher and higher in the room, now about three feet off the floor. Still, they stay perched on the filing cabinets, knowing that they’re going to die no matter how high they cower from it. Maybe they just want this last moment of connection, if nothing else, because they aren’t ready to die, and they can only take comfort in each other.

“This was my squad,” Robert says quietly after producing a photo from the inside of his coat. His family goes unsaid, but she can see it in the way he looks so fondly at the picture. He shows it to her after a moment, a hint of pride in his tired eyes. The photo shows him and a handful of men standing in front of the ocean, smiles on their faces, all dressed in uniform. He looks a bit younger, though he’s not very old now, just stressed, the bags under his eyes evidence of his time in the military. Her gaze flits from the easy smile on his face in the picture to the bloody and dirt covered face he has now. “You guys look happy,” she whispers, smiling as she looks at the black and white image. She doesn’t ask what happened to any of them. Now isn’t the time for those memories. “We were..” he confirms quietly, looking at the photo again with a wistful expression. Quickly he puts the photo away again, likely on account of those painful memories starting to resurface. Instead he pulls another one out. One she soon sees as a picture of a large, happy dog, one of those big mountain dogs. “Lola,” he said quietly when he handed her the picture. “She was my dog growing up,” he tells her.

She took the photo and looked at the dog's face. She looked so happy, laying on her back in the sun with her fluffy belly waiting for scratches as someone took the picture. “She’s cute,” she whispers as the image grows blurry. She’s starting to cry, she realizes. Maybe it’s because she’s about to die, or maybe it’s because this big, scary military guy loved his childhood dog so much he keeps a photo of her by his heart, but she’s tearing up again and trying in vain to wipe the tears away. “I’m sorry,” she laughs, sniffling a bit as she looks at the photo again. “I don’t—oh I don’t know why I’m crying,” she whispered.

Robert watched her for a moment, a solemn expression and a downcast gaze on his face. There was a lump in his throat that he tried to swallow down, but it didn’t go away. He took a deep breath, trying again to get it to go away, to shake off the growing emotions. But his eyes grew glassy despite himself. “Don’t apologize for it,” he muttered gruffly, his brows pinched together as he tried to reign himself in. Clearly he understood why anyone would be crying right now. He took the photo back from her when she handed it over, and one quiet little tear fell down his cheek as he gazed at Lola’s sweet face. Robert wondered if he’d see her on the other side, if her ears would flap in the wind as she bounded through a field like she used to, if she had been waiting there for him.

The silence stretched again as they both reflected. She was scared. She certainly wasn’t ready to die, not yet, not after everything she’s fought through. It feels like a slap to the face that this is how she goes. Getting trapped in the upside-down with no one she knew, all because of something none of them knew was even possible. It feels unfair. Of course it does. Sure, she’s a grown woman, but she’s still young, even if the past few years have made her feel much older. There was so much she wanted to do that she never even started. She kept telling herself she’d start, or go, or do, only after this mess was said and done. Only after she could rest easy at night. Now she realizes, not only was that never an option, that she’d never be able to truly rest easy again, but she’s never going to choose what she does ever again. There won’t be a life to live. It’s a sickening thought as it sinks in more and more, and the tears never stop because of it.

“I wanted a dog,” she tells Robert quietly, “I wanted one after this was over. Thought maybe I’d travel with them, that we’d just take a nice long road trip.” Her voice trembled a little as she tried to breathe and soothe her tears, just enough to be coherent. Then she continued, hugging her legs against her chest as she spoke, “I could’ve finally seen the coast…”

“What else would you’ve done?” Robert asks her quietly, if only to distract himself from the same thoughts, or maybe to know this woman a little better before they go. His interest surprised her, but she had already let quite a few walls down, what’s a few more? “...I wanted to meet someone. Not—well not just to get married. I really wanted something special.” She admitted quietly, leaning back against the wall as she stared at the opposite end of the room. “Doesn’t everyone?” Robert asked, finding what she said strangely sweet, if intimate. “I guess so. But I wouldn’t have settled..” she elaborated, now looking over at him. She wanted a soulmate, for lack of a better word. “How would you know?” Robert asked. “If someone was the right one, I mean,” he elaborated. Everyone has a different response to that, and it means something different to everyone. He wants to know what it means to her.

“I guess…there would just be a feeling. Like a hunch…I wouldn’t know yet but, that’s what connections are. I think,” she whispered, looking over at him as if unsure of what exactly she was saying. It’s clear to Robert that while she isn’t necessarily inexperienced, she hasn’t had such a profound connection before. But, that’s not saying much, because you’ll never have that kind of connection except with your soulmate, in theory anyway. “Do you know what they’d be like?” He asks next, far too interested for a stranger. Are they still strangers? “No,” she admitted quietly with a sniffle, shifting her position on the cabinet to face him better. “I’m not picky. I think it’s really just about if they’d love like I do.”

Robert considered that for a moment, not quite getting what she meant at first. It’s easy to just think about what someone is like, if they like the same music or movies that you do, if they’re funny or smart, but she’s right isn’t she? That’s all good and nice, but what does it matter when compared to whether or not they’ll actually return the devotion you offer them? Maybe that’s the only way people would ever be compatible. It can’t just be statistics, it can’t just be up to looks and personality traits.

“How’d you get that?” She asked Robert suddenly, gesturing to her forehead in reference to the wound on his face. It seemed she was nervous talking about her desires, even now, and the fact he’d been quiet for a moment made her feel too exposed.

Robert was still stuck on her admission when she asked, and he took a moment to catch up. “Oh…that—” he caught himself, having been about to call Eleven ‘that freak’, but perhaps he’s had a change of heart by now. “Your friend she..had the door on my Humvee smash me in the face.” He murmured. In response she laughed at first, before stopping herself when she figured he wouldn’t find that as amusing. “Sorry—sorry,” she murmured. Just the image of Eleven doing that to her pursuers was a bit amusing to her, though now she finds the image of Robert getting hurt in any capacity upsetting. “No, no, it’s kinda funny I guess,” he muttered hoarsely. “Dunno what I thought I was doing all this time..tracking her down..” he continued, shaking his head in something like remorse.

“What do you mean?” She asks Robert, leaning over the gap between the cabinets slightly. He’s quiet for a moment, looking over at her. “I just mean..that I guess, maybe we’ve been wrong about this place.” He murmured, albeit reluctantly. While he finally had a change of heart, he’s still a bit too prideful, a bit too dedicated to the military, to easily admit its faults. Now, because of it or not, he’s stuck in some dingy, dim room with her, watching as their deaths approach them slowly.

Her tears intensify after he says that—they haven’t really stopped in a while. So she covers her face, just accepting that the muck still on her hands will get on her face in the process. Hearing him say that sends a wave of hopelessness through her, because finally, finally one of them gets it. One of them realizes what they’re fighting isn’t something they can use against the Soviets, that it’s so much more than that. That something like war—even a cold one—would pale in comparison to this place, to the plans Henry and the Mindflayer have. But he’s dying with her, it’s too late, and she doesn’t even know if her friends are okay. She has no idea if they got out, and her radio is full of that silvery substance, ruining any chance of getting through to them.

Slowly they both realize they’re out of time, that they can no longer distract themselves with some heart to heart.

So Robert adjusted how he was sitting on his cabinet, staring at his hands in his lap with a remorseful expression. He doesn’t know how to ease her crying, how to comfort her in these last few moments, he doesn’t even know if it would be appreciated. But, despite his own mind protesting it, he turned towards her where she’s perched on her filing cabinet. It was difficult for him and his long limbs to accomplish, so his movements were a bit awkward, but he succeeded, and watched for a moment as she stared at the silver liquid only inches from the tops of the cabinets.

His choice seemed to be right on time, because when she looked back up at him she couldn’t stop herself from leaning forward as the tears kept coming. Robert—almost instinctively—opened his arms for her as she closed the small space between their cabinets. “I don’t want to die,” she sobbed quietly into his filthy jacket. She wished that if she really had to die now, that it could’ve at least been quick. That they didn't have to sit and wait for it, knowing that they’re going to suffocate slowly and painfully under weight that will crush them.

Robert was wishing that same thing, his jaw clenched and throat tight again. He accepted her into his arms and set his chin on top of her head, still wanting to somehow soothe her even though he knows he can’t. All he could do was keep her warm, and make sure she wouldn’t be alone once the matter finally engulfs them.

It is complete chaos in there. Everywhere the pair searches they find nothing, no one. Robert struggles to keep up with her, finding that her movements are quick and erratic, but clearly intentional as she’s desperate to find her friends—her family—in this chaos. Despite his military precision, his ability to keep his eye on any target, she just looks like a blur in the dim light of the flipped laboratory. Nothing about her footsteps are silent or graceful now as both of their footfalls are loud in the facility's hallways. Robert calls after her, wanting to beg her to just calm down, to slow down before they get sucked up in the mess melting down on them from above. But she won't listen, and he won’t stop following. They climb higher, floor after floor, searching, yelling, calling out for them, for anyone. Disturbingly, all they ever see are faces of soldiers who’ve been stuck in this mess before, their bodies suffocated and crushed under pure, dense matter. For a moment Robert just stops, his gaze stuck on the rotted face of a man who had been stuck trying to escape, only his face exposed to admit he was ever there. Around him was nothing but that grey solidness, like concrete almost, but too smooth. It’s obvious to him that it’s what he sees dripping down the walls now, melting slowly, crawling closer and closer. Meanwhile, she’s kept up her search, frantic and terrified. None of them are responding on the radio, she hasn’t heard from them since that choppy call back at the church. All she’s envisioning is their faces meeting the same fate those soldiers did, of finally finding them when it’s too late to pull them out again.

Outside had been just as chaotic, wind slapping them in the face with such force they couldn’t run straight or hear a thing. Debris had flown around the pair, scratching them up while littering their bodies with dirt and spores. It felt like something was trying to suck them in, to where neither had a clue. But now that they’re in the laboratory, the chaos outside seems much more desirable. “Slow down for a second!” Robert shouts, his eyes wide as he struggles to process what he’s seeing as he catches up to her shaking, short of breath form. Frustration builds in him, maybe because he wants to keep her safe—as well as himself—and she’s making it pretty difficult. Or maybe he doesn’t want to be tracking down a bunch of kids who got themselves stuck in the Upside-down when he should be back at base, tracking Eleven down. His mind is still grappling with that, slowly becoming more and more unsure of what to do, more uncertain on whether he should follow orders or listen to this stranger of a woman. Some sort of fondness seems to be growing for her despite himself. He can be as practical and impatient as he wants, but nothing will ever really beat surviving something like the Upside-down with another person, and they’re both all too aware of that.

“But they’re here! I have to find them, what if—” her voice trembles, stopping when he cuts her off with a rough grip on her shoulder. “No. You don’t know that they’re here, Maybe they got out already, maybe they never even made it here. They’re not answering,” he says harshly, not exactly compassionate. His brows are pinched in irritation and against his aching mind as he scowls, completely fed up with her and this place and the chaos that’s been surrounding them for so long. “They’re not answering,” he repeats sharply, “so before you get yourself trapped in that..goo—whatever the fuck it is, calm down and watch where you’re going.” He emphasizes his point by tugging her out of the line of fire as a hole opens up in the ceiling above her, the matter melting apart at the seams and dripping down in large, mucky silver chunks. A choked, quiet little gasp leaves her lips with the sudden movement, her eyes widening as she watches the ceiling begin to collapse. The both of them carefully back away from the area, their steps so careful it’d seem they’re walking on eggshells.

Her eyes are growing glassy with a mix of her own frustration and fear, the sickening thought of the four of them dead feeling more and more real as she stares at the building literally falling apart everywhere. Robert’s words are echoing around in her mind, harsh and terrifying. He mentioned the possibilities of them not being here, of them having gotten out, but there was that unsaid part that they both knew regardless. In her mind, in her experience, she knows this mess has them written all over it. Up to this point she’d never seen something like this in the Upside-Down, and to see it now, where they said they were headed just screams to her that they did something to cause this. So she doesn’t say anything else, still determined to find them because she’s certain that they’re here somewhere. But this time as she walks around, it’s more careful, more observant, this time she’ll take his advice because she wouldn’t be much help to them trapped herself.

The deeper they head in the convoluted halls of the building the messier it gets. Each new floor takes them closer and closer to that red, angry ball of what—even she has no idea right now. But she is certain that they’re there, if they’re really here, they’re close to that thing. So she’ll get closer, she’s going to find them. At least that’s what the resolve in her mind is telling her, or perhaps the denial. Robert sees it, he knows it well. The panicked determination some feel when things are a little too real, too hopeless. It tugs on his frustrated mind, both annoying him further and just making him want to get her out of here.

The floor opens up suddenly, the tile melting away in moments under Robert. Surely he can’t get her out of here as he sinks through the floor like it’s quicksand, so his instincts and training kick in. He grasps for anything at all, first the doorknob just next to him, but it melts off its door in moments. Then the solid floor around him, but it’s no use, it all starts melting and he’s left scrambling, not even his long limbs are helpful here. His grunts of exertion and sudden shout from behind her alert her instantly, because despite her panic she’s plenty aware. “Shitshitshit!” She says frantically, rushing over as close as she dares since she doesn’t want to get swallowed up either. Seemingly blindly she goes about trying to grab whatever part of him she can, so her hands wrap around his forearm, squeezing surprisingly tight as she pulls as hard as she can. Her feet dig into the tile below them, and she can only hope that it won’t begin melting away, because she can see it creeping closer. “Fuck—you’re heavy—” she stammers, already breathless from the weight of him and apparently the floor. “It’s the goo,” he huffs, his own breath short as he tries in vain to escape, alarms going off in his mind as the weight of it presses in on his chest.

She tugs and pulls, pressing down into the floor with all the strength her legs have to offer. But it’s not enough, the muscles burn and her body trembles as she keeps trying. By now her face is flushed, as is his, and her short breaths have turned to choked sobs. So far every hole they’ve seen sinks several floors below, and they can’t see past his body, so they can only assume he’s about to fall to his death. ‘Is that what happened to them?’ She thinks, or perhaps she just really can’t watch Robert die. So far—in the short few moments here—Robert has been trying anything and everything to get out. But he sees that that is not going to happen, and while he hates that—he’s terrified—he knows when to quit. She’s gonna get herself killed too if she keeps trying and he can’t have that on top of his own end. “Stop! Stop, just let go,” he says, his words shaky in a way she didn’t even hear when Hopper had interrogated him, not even when Eleven sorted through his mind. “What—no!” She gasps immediately, watching his expression as it slowly shifts into a look of acceptance, it’s sickening, and she can see he’s scared. His eyes just have that look, like he’s seeing through her and everything else, like he’s somehow already dead. But he isn’t, and maybe he doesn’t want to die, maybe the military never beat that will to live out of him. That much is obvious despite the way his expression has started to soften, his brows relaxing, his jaw unclenching. His eyes are soft in spite of his racing heart, standing out against the blood and dirt around them. “You’re. Not. Dying!” She grinds out as she pulls even harder, her head throbbing against the immense exertion. “Just let go! You’re gonna die if you don’t,” he snaps, trying to use his other hand to pull her off. But by now that arm is getting sucked under too and he can only reach so far with it.

It feels a bit like slipping when the tile melts out from under her filthy boots. The sudden lack of solidness beneath her jarring in the same way the sensation of falling is as you start drifting off to sleep, like getting swept away in a wave. Her stomach sinks just like she does as the reality sets in. “Damnit!” He snaps, not really at her, he’s not going to do that now. She doesn’t have anything to say to that, but she does try to scramble out, the attempts futile and weak after the extreme exertion from before. Her hands grasp at anything, and Robert can only watch helplessly as tears start to fill her tired, panicked eyes, because he’s nearly all the way under now. All of that melted matter weighed down on his whole body, and made it impossible for him to even reach over in what appears to be their last moments. Perhaps they’ll fall to their deaths, or maybe they’ll just end up suffocated under tons of matter, who’s to say? It’s an end they’re not ready for either way. Once she’s waist deep in the sludge she gives up, her body exhausted. So she looks at Robert with a look of so many things he couldn’t even begin to name them all. Guilt was a big one though, he can recognize that easily. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice trembling as those tears slowly fell down her face. It was her fault after all, she insisted on finding her friends, she brought him up here when he had no interest to do so. Now he’s gonna be dead, and so will she because she couldn’t accept him dying because of her, and she was too stubborn to listen.

His expression doesn’t soften at that, really he just looks exhausted. He tries to shake his head, but it doesn’t work out very well as it’s just stiff and barely there. “Don’t be,” he mutters. That’s all he says as the muck gives way to fully pull him under. His gaze stayed on hers the whole time, till he had to close his eyes against the silver substance. A sob breaks through her lips when he’s finally under as the reality crushes down on her even more than the matter is. Blindly her hands scoop at the matter, each movement laced with a sense of denial as she attempts to dig him out. But her shoulders and arms are soon sucked under too, her head following suit as the weight finally sucks her into its full embrace.

It was just quiet for a while, that’s how it felt for them. Like that state where you’re nearly asleep, but just conscious enough to be vaguely aware that you’re in fact, not asleep. The sheer weight of the liquid—it’s not liquid is it? They really can’t tell—pressing down on their chests and limbs sends a buzzing feeling through their fingertips and toes as their circulation is slowly cut off…

All it is, is a hazy, dark mess of weight and numbness and a faint sense of floating that seems very out of place. But all in a rush Robert’s mind catches up to his body, alarms going off all over again as he suddenly jerks against the goo. The sensation is akin to being buried alive, though thankfully he doesn’t have much experience with that. His heart pounds painfully, panicked and unable to get blood to his legs. The rush of said blood is all he can hear, his ears clogged and cold with the substance filling them. Finally, much to his relief, Robert feels his hand break through the weight. With the now-broken surface tension he was able to pull himself through, because there is real, actually solid tile beneath him. The muck slides off him in heavy heaps when he sits up, and it’s an immense struggle for him to actually stand up despite his strength. The room is silent save for the dripping blobs of silver and his heavy breathing. “Shit—” he rasps out, spitting some of the stuff out of his mouth as he starts frantically searching for her in the mess all over the floor. “Can you hear me?!” He shouts, his eyes wide with precision as they flit over every inch of the floor. Finally he spots movement just a foot away from him and he moves—already grasping at whatever part of her that is before he even processes his own actions. “Come on— come on, I’ve got you,” he mutters as he pulls her out enough to breathe. In two rough movements he tears his gloves off his hands, ridding himself of the mucky fabric so he can clean her face of it. “Breathe, breathe..” he murmurs, trying to soothe her fearful gasp for air as his own heart pounds.

Once he’s sufficiently cleared her eyes, nose, and mouth of the matter he takes a look at her, assessing her for literally anything else that could’ve happened. Meanwhile she glances around frantically, watching everything that’s still melting, before staring at him. He appears blurry through the tears still in her eyes, but really it’s hard to tell if they’re from emotion or from some of the gunk likely in her eyes, it was probably the latter. “You—we’re—” she whimpers quietly, trying to process but far too overwhelmed to even begin. “Yeah,” he grunts, having to tear his gaze away to look around. They’re alive. For now. Quickly, he surveys the room, searching for an escape. When he thought he found one he hoists her up off the floor, and rushes with her over there despite her stumbles. Now is not a time for celebrating, because while they’ve gotten a second chance, they’re still in imminent danger of being suffocated under this shit. Robert immediately grabs hold of the door knob, twisting it far too hopefully when he watches it melt right off the door. “Fuck!” He shouts at it, already deciding to slam himself against the door to break it down instead. They’re on a timer here and they’re all too aware of it.

Obviously it doesn’t budge because that would just be too easy for them, and Robert’s frustration mounts as he just goes harder and harder, shouting at the door as if it’d listen and move. She watches in silence, the guilt from earlier starting to flood back in. Well, it was probably only a moment or two ago, as they couldn’t have been out under the substance for too long or they would have suffocated. There’s a pair of filing cabinets over on the opposite wall, and she starts wading through the muck to get to them, just wanting to get up, out somehow, maybe through the hole in the ceiling. Bangs and thuds fill the room, each one matching as Robert’s anger—or fear—mounts more and more. His vision has started to swim, just as the wavering thoughts of anything but this door fade from his mind. “Robert—” she calls weakly, still struggling through the pool of grey. He doesn’t listen, he probably doesn’t even hear her over the blood rushing in his ears and the banging of his aching body against the door. “Robert!” She shouts in vain, trying to get his attention and so he’ll stop making all that noise. “Stop! That’s not going to do anything! Just—” she snaps, frustrated and trying futilely to keep her overwhelming emotions under wraps so she can focus.

Her pleas seem to reach him after a moment, and he quits his fruitless attempts at escape. Robert’s chest heaves, and his eyes are alight with the lingering high of that exertion, giving him a crazed sort of look, like an animal realizing it’s trapped. His gaze finds her as she tries to climb on top of the filing cabinet, but it’s too tall, and the muck is weighing her down. So with a huff of annoyance, Robert starts wading across the room just as she had moments before. With each step he takes his breathing gradually begins to slow again, and his heart rate drops ever so slightly. With each step the fight seems to seep from his frame, and he looks uncharacteristically defeated, the aggression gone. Once he reaches her, he helps her up onto the metal file cabinet, careful not to let her slip from his grip since they’re both saturated with the slick matter. He doesn’t even know if this is worth bothering with, they can’t even reach the hole in the ceiling from here, and the cabinets surely won’t move through the weight of the sludge to get there. But he still followed suit and got up on top of the other cabinet as she whispered her thanks for his help.

Neither of them are sure how long they ran, or how long they've been holding their breaths under the register counter. They had ducked into the first store on main street that wasn't blocked by vines. So now they find themselves holding their breaths again, trying desperately to stay silent so as to not alert the beast stalking through the store. Robert is still as a statue, coiled under the counter like a spring, and seemingly calm if it weren't for that tension. She was not however, and he had clamped his hand over her mouth because she couldn’t keep quiet for the life of her. Now she is curled up right next to him, pressing even closer as she tries in vain to hide in the cramped space when the Creature's shadow nears the counter

Its heavy footsteps stalk around the aisles, huffing and snarling in its frustration of not finding them. But it’s a beast made specially for hunting, therefore, it won’t lose so easily. With each step they listen to, they feel another sharp burn in their lungs begging for oxygen. Each time its tall, distorted shadow is illuminated by the lighting she flinches in his hold. All she can see, all she can think of, is that face—all of its teeth and saliva—opening up to tear them both to pieces. She’s seen it happen, and since then, she’s always feared it’d be her at some point. It just seems like a particularly brutal way to be eaten alive. Robert is thinking something pretty similar, memories of soldiers being torn to shreds by those beasts is something he will never forget. All he can do now is hold her like that could somehow protect her from having the same fate. It doesn’t matter that he doesn’t know her well, or even like her for that matter, the thought of watching anyone else suffer that fate in front of him is something he won’t allow.

He starts trying desperately to figure something out. Because the beast slowly stalks closer, presumably catching their scent from somewhere in the decrepit store. This time they both know they can’t just hold their breaths and wait for it to leave or for them to pass out, whichever would happen first. His gaze searches the area behind the counter, expertly surveying his options as his strategic mind kicks in as usual. Luckily—well maybe it’s not luck seeing as Hawkins is a small Midwestern town in the 80’s—but there’s a shotgun mounted low under the other counter across from them. Maybe it’s too perfect, maybe it’s risky as the sound could alert other monsters, but at the moment Robert knows that this is their only real option. So he goes for it. He gently unwraps himself from around her and waits to listen to the beasts snarling. He waits a beat, then another, his lungs still burning as he allows himself silent breaths that aren’t enough but will have to do. Then he lunges, his gloved hands grasping the shotgun with expert precision. She watches all of it with wide eyes, finally just letting herself catch her breath since the demogorgon definitely knows where they are now. The underside of the register counter is still protective, so she stays down there, watching Robert aim the shotgun straight at the monster’s head.

While it doesn’t have eyes, maybe, he’s not really sure, Robert’s gaze meets its, and for only a fraction of second are they both still. Then it pounces, its long, slimy limbs reaching for him in a flash of movement that sets his heart on an even faster pace. Two shells explode from their chambers with a deafening blast, landing right in the center of the beast's open face. But that would simply be too easy, and nothing is ever easy here, so its long body still falls on Robert, its claws nearly lashing at his face and chest. He fights it valiantly as the body fights back, weakening as the damage done to its head—or lack thereof—takes its toll on it. Meanwhile, his impromptu companion has emerged from the refuge under the register to help him fight off the immense weight of the beast. Her head spins as she heaves against the heavy load, pushing it off him as quickly as she can with his help. Still, neither of them have been able to catch their breaths, their lungs burning and vision swimming. But they don’t stop yet. Once they’ve gotten the monster’s body off Robert he grabs the rest of the shotgun shells and they get out of dodge before more of those beasts come crawling in.

They run for a long time, just trying to put some distance between themselves and the center of town. Robert is less familiar with Hawkins than she is, so she's more equipped to navigate this hellish version of the town than he is. So he ends up just following her, his heart pounding in his chest from adrenaline. The streets fly by in a blur, the shadows and dim light blending ominously in the corners of their eyes. Their boots thump against the pavement, their ragged breaths as jarring as the thunder in the sky. It seems as though they’ve lost the beast again, which is perfect timing as she steers them into a building. The sign on the lawn reads, ‘Hawkins Presbyterian Church’. Robert wants to roll his eyes—he does actually—because this woman is still searching here after she nearly died. He realizes however, that he respects her for that, that she’s brave enough to worry more for her friends than worry over her own safety. That she’s not going to stop, just like he wouldn’t. The frantic tone of that kid’s voice over the radio plays in his mind again now that they’ve found some semblance of safety. Robert couldn’t quite tell if he sounded scared or not—which is very interesting as it’s obvious to Robert that these people aren’t strangers to this place. He knows she certainly isn’t now that he has some idea of who she is, that she's been protecting Eleven. He holds his tongue on that topic for now, because as pissed off as he is, he realizes it will be best to get out of this place alive before he questions her.

The church isn’t anything special in Hawkins. It’s got a tall steeple, some beautiful, long windows, and smooth wooden pews. But here in the Upside-down, it’s all rotten and in ruin. Even the cross looks like some mockery of what it represents rather than the symbol of faith it’s supposed to be. Both of them are acutely aware that nothing will protect them here, and it’s more than a little unnerving. She begins searching the church, quietly calling out for Dustin, then Steve, then Nancy and Johnathan—he notes their names down in the back of his mind. She never even takes a second to sit down like he does, seemingly too wired from the near-death experience while he is utterly exhausted. “Dustin!” She shouts, her voice growing louder now as she continues to get no response. Her footsteps echo through the hall as she runs all around the church, her movements hasty in her frenzied search.

Robert listens to her frantic searching, her heavy breathing as she still works to catch it after everything. He thinks he should help, but seeing as she’s already covered the main hall and probably all of the back rooms, he doesn’t see much of a point. He’d rather rest for a second, the aches in his body settling in again as he breathes deeply and shakily in attempts to calm down. The shotgun lays next to him on the pew, his hand resting just over it in case of any other threats ambushing them here. They were cautious of vines on their way here, but he can never be too careful. Her shouting quiets down for a moment as she seems to slow in her search, finally deciding breathing is the more urgent thing she needs to be worried about. So as a relative silence settles over the church once more, Robert lets his unusually muddled mind wander for a moment, a rare occurrence. He just stares up at the ceiling of the church, thinking of what he’s going to do. Maybe he really should just get back to base, hell, maybe he could steal her radio and call in with that. Oddly enough, he doesn’t want to. For some crazy reason in his mind, he’d rather help her get through this alive, help her find her friends. He still intended to bring her and them in for questioning after everything was all said and done, but for now, he wanted to help. For now, he thought of her curled up with him under the register counter, how she had huddled closer and closer to him in her fear.

“Dustin! Oh I swear if you don’t answer—” She snaps into her radio, breaking the almost peaceful atmosphere Robert had been enjoying, and derailing his bizarre train of thought. The large device is only silent in her voice’s wake. It’s clear to Robert that she’s scared now, more so that she was before, likely terrified of her friends’ fates. The church remains eerily quiet as no one responds to her, the nightmarish sight of the hall menacing as every gruesome thought flits through her mind. For only a second she fears they’re really dead, something she usually refuses to even acknowledge as a possibility. But today, things just feel so different. She hears Robert’s footsteps behind her, and for once she doesn't seem very intimidated by him, she doesn’t even look his way. He stops behind her, wanting to maybe assure her somehow, to tell her that they’ll find her friends. He isn’t sure why he’d ever want to do that, he’s not trained in comforting in these situations, and he certainly doesn’t care about her beyond her connection to Eleven. But as he’s mulling those thoughts over in his tired mind, they both hear the radio crackle to life.

“—hear me?—We left the—” It cuts out for a moment again, and she’s gripping the device hard in her shaking hands. “—Hawkins lab—...the wall—” It cuts again, and doesn’t come through after that. Nothing they can make out over the static anyway. Some relief fills her chest then, at least they aren’t dead, she figures. He hadn’t sounded panicked or scared. While she can’t even begin to imagine why they’re even at the lab, she doesn’t hesitate to start heading there immediately. So she jogs off to the church doors, only stopping briefly to see if Robert was following. He was, in his stoic and slightly eerie silence, following her, and seemingly lost in thought. She doesn’t worry about that, however, only focused on getting to the lab as quickly as possible without running into any demogorgons or demobats.

Robert was lost in thought, still lamenting over that strange sense of something he couldn’t place at the time. He still can’t, and it’s been strangely distracting, which is very unlike him. He’s very focused, always has been, and he’s still on duty he reminds himself. So he can’t afford to be preoccupied with anything but the task at hand: getting this woman—and her friends now—out of this hellhole before finding Eleven. They’re all making this very difficult it seems, because now the pair find themselves trekking through the woods of the Upside-down, their heads on swivels as they keep watch for danger that’s surely lurking nearby. Their boots expertly avoid the vines on the forest floor, a tip she gave him as it seems the military really doesn’t know what it’s dealing with. He hadn’t known a thing about this so-called ‘hivemind’ she just mentioned. While their researchers and scientists do have some idea of how things react to things, they clearly have yet to connect the dots.

“The ‘hivemind’?” Robert repeats, his voice skeptical and quiet. He’s finally got his mind in order again—though it still aches from Eleven’s intrusion. “Yeah…we just called it that since everything’s connected,” she replies, her footsteps barely making a sound on the slimy dirt below. She looks strangely normal here, like it somehow matches her, like she’s a ghost or something. That’s another odd thought, Robert realizes, thinking his mind really was messed up in that bus. “Connected how?” He then asks, genuinely curious as he gazes briefly at the film of filth from this place on her. It’s only natural that he’d be curious, most would be, and he’s been around this bizarre dimension enough to have a plethora of unanswered questions. “There’s this thing.. We call it the ‘Mind Flayer.’ We’re not completely sure what it is still, maybe it’s this big being made of dust? It’s hard to say. But it’s sort of this cosmic being with psionic abilities…as far as we know. It has some sort of control over the monsters here, and the vines, anything that’s alive here basically. So in a way, they’re all connected by one mind, so, a hivemind.” She tries to explain, knowing it sounds insane, but also well aware he’s seen plenty already, and would likely believe it. “When one gets hurt, they all feel it. When the Mindflayer calls, they all go running. It’s pretty freaky.” She continued.

Robert doesn't know what to say to that for a moment, the realization that this is all probably a whole lot bigger than anyone in the military really thought beginning to set in. His gaze focuses on the ground below them, momentarily quitting his endless lookout for threats. “...What else do you know?” He asks quietly after a while. He’s truly got so many questions, and so far what she’s said has only given him more, but he finds he needs to know now. Not even for intel, not for the military, but for him, just so he really knows what the hell he’s doing here and what he’s really gotten himself into. For a moment she finds him asking so earnestly weird, because it is for someone like him, but she’s well beyond being scared of him, or of being annoyed either. So she decides to answer, almost happy one of these guys actually wants to learn about what’s really going on down here instead of having tunnel vision on how they could use this against the Soviets. Honestly, it’s completely insane that all any of them can think about is how to kill other people with this horrific place. It’s barbaric and plain fucking moronic. Honestly she could lament about it and all the reasons it’s so unbelievably ridiculous that she’d never actually get to answering him.

“Well…it’s flayed people before. That’s what really happened at Starcourt,” she tells him. “The Mind Flayer took control of them.” Robert remembers the files on that incident. He remembers reading about the pile of charred flesh left behind in the aftermath. The photos. Of course, it said nothing about anyone being ‘flayed,’ and he finds himself somehow surprised to hear it. “Why?” He asked a bit incredulously, finally redirecting his gaze from the dirt to her face as the dim, red lightning illuminated it. “Oh, it wanted to build a weapon to kill El. Then take over the world I guess,” she says casually, like the memory of the incident was normal to her. Maybe it was he thought, thinking about how much she’s probably seen to know all this. “El? Eleven? Why?” He asks her again. The mention of Eleven certainly peaks his interest. He really is like a dog. “Because she’s the only thing really stopping it from winning,” she answers, glancing up at him with a grim look on her face. It pains her to think about it, that so much has been put on that girl's shoulder her whole life. That she had the fate of all of a whole world to protect from something as incomprehensible and evil as the Mindflayer. “Are…are you serious?” Robert asks, not being able to understand how that would be the case. Sure, she’s got superpowers, but to him, that’s always been the real threat. He never knew about this ‘Mindflayer’. He never knew that Eleven was fighting these monsters. He’s always thought the military could handle this nightmare. Maybe—just a little bit—Robert is beginning to realize that they may have been wrong. But it’s not that easy to change a soldier's mind.

“We’re never going to beat something like that without her. It’s just not possible.” She says with an air of finality. She understands the magnitude of what they’re fighting against, how unbelievably impossible it really is to beat. It can see into their minds, send monsters with incredible strength to kill them in an instant, and as for Vecna, can simply break you with the snap of his fingers. This was never a fair fight, and they’ve never truly won. They all know it, as grim as the thought is. “How can you be sure of that?” He asks, a bit gruff and defensive, because he doesn’t want to lose faith in what he knows, what he’s been trained and conditioned to believe for a decade. The thought that even the military can’t fight this is terrifying to him, and is considerably disheartening.

“Remember what El did to you? Vecna can do so much worse, and he isn't even the Mindflayer,” she says with a sigh, continuing on through the woods. “Vecna?” Robert asks, he's got a lot of questions still. She realizes she hadn't mentioned him yet, and she almost laughs. “Right, yeah…he’s this…well I’m not entirely sure what exactly he is. But I do know he’s Henry Creel, we were just calling him Vecna because of DnD..” she starts rambling slightly, stopping when she catches herself and remembers he doesn’t need the long story. “Anyway, Henry, Vecna—whatever—he was the first experiment Brenner did. So, he’s like El, but way stronger and totally evil. I mean, evil evil. He’s who killed all those kids in ‘86, he’s trying to end the world or something. Really I’m not fully sure still, I just know he’s done a lot of fucked up shit and he’s been killing or trying to kill everyone I know for four years, so…” she finishes, clearly quite passionate in her hatred for Henry.

There’s a moment where neither of them speak. Robert walks alongside her, processing everything she’s told him thus far. It all sounds utterly insane, not quite like anything he’s seen from this place up to this point. But then again, he’s seen some pretty wild stuff here, so it’s not completely far fetched. That unease is creeping in more and more, crawling up his spine, hovering around him like a specter, whispering doubts of his mission in his ear. “So this Vecna, Henry? He’s…able to get in people’s heads? He controls those things and—and the hivemind?” Robert repeats quietly, a little more aware of everything around them, like this new entity is watching them now. The only reason he’s believing any of this is because of her mention of Henry Creel, he recognizes the name, of course he does, and some part of him recognizes the hint of something else in her words. Something that could only be there if she really has seen something bad happen, that she’s really seen this Vecna guy. “What else has he done?”

She waits to answer, thinking of where to start. She figures telling him what is truly happening right now would be the most beneficial. “I don’t know everything that’s going on right now..I’ve been stuck down here for a while but…he took Holly Wheeler. I have no clue why, but this isn’t the first time he’s taken kids. He took Will Byers, that’s when this whole mess started…” she explains to him, sounding a bit solemn. Actually, she feels a bit sick at the thought of Holly being stuck somewhere as wretched as this all alone. Personally, she’s been in the upside-down two times now, and that’s two times too many in her opinion. She keeps on walking, eager to get out of this creepy woods and to her friends as she waits for Robert’s response. There is a small glimmer of anticipation in her chest, because she thinks that maybe there’s a chance that he’ll see this for what it really is. Maybe a military man seeing through his mission would be some sort of good thing, or maybe one aware soldier would have no effect on anything whatsoever. The latter is likely true, but still, it makes her feel hopeful. Because at least then he’d quit terrorizing El by essentially hunting her down.

Will Byers was another case Robert found himself familiar with, and he remembers being slightly bewildered at the time he had learned about it. That was well before he had learned about any of this mess. “How long have you been down here?” He asks suddenly, registering that bit of information she had given. He has numerous questions he’d love to ask about everything else, but quite frankly it’s a bit overwhelming and it’s too much to be of any real use immediately. So he chooses to learn a bit about her instead, though he’s unsure if that’s his only motivator. “Uh, just after Holly went missing. I…I went through the gate in her house,” she admits, strangely transparent for once. Perhaps there’s no point in lying now, he clearly knows she’s not a damsel in distress and has known for quite a while. Besides, she knows she isn’t a skilled liar, and doesn’t have the urge to try with someone she nearly died with tonight.

“Huh..” he murmurs a bit stupidly, now thinking back to when he had been in that house with Sullivan. The gaping red tear in the wall, in reality, something he’ll never forget. He also knows that that was a while ago, and finds himself a bit uneasy at the thought of her being here so long.

The unlikely pair continue their walk in silence for a while, only for another moment later do they discuss a little more in depth about the Mindflayer and Vecna. She’s sure to make sure he hears the truth about El, that she’s not the danger the military dubbed her to be, and that she doesn’t deserve to be tested on ever again. She never deserved it to begin with. She’s unsure if it gets through to him at all, but it really is worth a shot to her.

After that they fall back into a strangely comfortable quiet, still on the lookout for danger, and still tense for it. But Robert is thinking hard too, questioning quite a lot of things, mainly about the military. He already hated Dr. Kay, so he’s not exactly opposed to forgetting her orders. But he won’t be that irrational yet and tries to straighten his thoughts out futilely. In his attempts to forget his brief thoughts of abandoning his post, his mission, his focus turns to her. She’s walking by his side quickly, still flitting through the forest like it’s second nature to her. He finds his gaze straying to her face a few times over the course of the next stretch of the trek, and he’s only snapped out of his daze when he registers the harsh red glowing over her face. It’s not like the lightning, the lighting flashes quickly before it’s gone. This is steady, bright and angry, and it’s covering everything. His grip on the shotgun tightens and his gaze races around to find the source of it when it lands on a massive globe hovering above Hawkins Laboratory, pulsing red and furious in the air. His jaw drops slightly, and his steps falter before coming completely to a stop. She reacts quite similarly, her jaw completely dropped, her eyes stuck on the ball of swirling red matter with furrowed brows. They’re both speechless for a long moment, baffled with racing hearts and adrenaline rushing through their systems yet again. But then she breaks out into a run, racing to the lab without a second thought. That’s when Robert sees it, the roof of the building melting, the very matter it’s made of oozing from place. She saw that so now she’s running in there to find her friends. Of course she is. So he can only run after her, grumbling about how stupid this is as they quickly approach the melting facility bathed in red.

“You said they’re in the church?” Robert asks despite already knowing what she had said. But he wants to figure her out and get a read on her and what she’s so obviously hiding. He’s a trained soldier after all, and a damn good one at that, so he can tell. Her uneasiness with him isn’t simply that she’s scared of this unknown nightmare of a dimension and the big soldier behind her, no, her steps are too confident. She’s been here before and he is sure of it. So Robert will be keeping a very, very close eye on her, just waiting for any slip ups. “That’s what they said..” she answers, carrying a chunky CB radio that she claims the others called from. She never looks at him, likely on the look out for threats, or possibly it’s that she can’t lie well enough to look. With a hint of skepticism—because he doesn’t even believe there’s others yet—Robert asks her, “why haven’t they called in again?”

“They’re keeping quiet…in case anyone else picks up.” She answers hesitantly. Still she won’t look at him, nervous now that she had admitted to their hiding from the military. He picks up on that, of course he does, and his gaze sharpens, zeroing in on the side of her face when the red lightning illuminates it. He knows that means they’re there intentionally, or at the very least have some idea of what’s going on here—he couldn’t have possibly guessed that Steve Harrington sped his beamer through a gate and crashed it here of all places. A silence stretches between them as Robert thinks on how to go about this, the dank air of the Upside-down stifling and thick around them. It’s nerve-wracking for her, and she knows he probably caught on, to some extent anyway. In the silence, she ponders on what to do, how to get rid of him, how to get away if he realizes she has something to do with Eleven. Soldiers don’t just drop their missions, they’re loyal to the end, and he’s nothing short of a dog that caught a scent. It would be plain stupid to think he wouldn’t use her to get to Eleven, so she plans to tread vigilantly.

Robert’s gaze barely leaves her, only to survey the dim streets around them as they navigate the shadows along the building's sides. It appears they’re in the clear, but that does nothing to ease the tension in his body, the way his shoulders are pulling up towards his ears from stress. There’s still an ache in his head, partially from when Eleven slammed the door of the Humvee into his face—blood is still seeping from the wound on his forehead from that. But most of the ache is in his mind, it’s still in his head, but different, like a headache that’s floating around his skull rather than splitting it in two. Despite the difference, he finds that it’s way worse than any he’s experienced, which is probably because he’s also never had a girl with superpowers root through his mind like it was a closet. “How did you say you got here again?” He asks, almost casually as he breaks the tense silence.

Her steps falter just the slightest bit, and he picks up on it. She seems to have a lot of tells. “...It was like..a doorway I guess…really red.” She answers, still avoiding his gaze and still sounding just a bit off to his ears. That’s what she claimed earlier, and while he doesn’t necessarily doubt that part, he’s definitely certain that she’s here intentionally. He just doesn’t look away from her, his gaze locked in on her profile as though that could tell him everything he needed to know. He takes a deep breath, sounding almost irritated. “Alright look here,” he mutters harshly, the sound of his boots going silent as he stops walking.

“You’re not—” he started, cutting himself short quickly when her face lit up with a boom of lightning, red and damning. His mind had felt a bit messed up since he passed out in that bus, and at first all he knew he had to do was get back to base. But then some memories gradually came back, and he remembered Hopper, he remembered waking up bound to the cold metal of the worn vehicle, he remembered the ropes digging into his wrists, his arms asleep. The panic of waking up bound in such a place was unlike anything he’d ever experienced, and he truly had never felt so powerless as he did when Hopper just wouldn’t listen. When he wouldn’t make Eleven’s invasion of his mind end all because he didn’t have answers he couldn’t give. That interrogation was something he surely wouldn’t forget, not the way she had pried open his mind and stripped him of even the most base of things, his mind, his thoughts, all of it. It was terrifying and agonizing and alienating. But what hadn’t resurfaced was the face of the woman behind Hopper, in fact, he had barely noticed her there at all. But he’s been trained for situations like that, so some part of his mind cataloged even her away, it didn’t matter that she never spoke, that she stood back and only watched. Robert grabs her almost as quickly as the realization had registered, his grip painful and firm, leaving her trapped. If her face tells him anything, it’s that she knows he knows, and she’s terrified. That only serves to confirm it further in his mind, damning and sure.

She doesn’t say anything, just waits for his next move. Whether that be he interrogates her, or maybe just kills her, she figures she’ll find out. Her wide eyes stare up at his tight expression, his burning eyes unable to hold back how angry he is as they stare right back into hers. “You’re tricking me,” he accuses, his jaw tight, now truly believing she’s been lying about the church. “I’m bringing you in,” he continues with finality, already dragging her off back up the street they had come. He wants to take her to the Gable Ridge Road base, where he had been wanting to go anyway.

“What? Wait—” She starts, already pleading as he forces her to keep up with his long, quick steps. There is a new edge of fear in her words now, one that wasn’t already there, because now she’s truly scared of not knowing if her friends are okay. “Stop no, no—what about my friends—”

“I know that’s a load of bullshit.” He bites, pissed she’s still going with that story knowing that he’s so sure she’s lying. “It’s not—please wait! Just—” She pleads, pulling helplessly in his grip, her fear making her even just a bit stronger. The pavement below their boots is slick, slimy, and makes her attempts difficult. She essentially just slides along with him, his hold firm and tense, his body straight despite her pulling. He won't listen to her, not with his mind absolutely set. Once he sees his mark—or thinks so atleast—there is no changing his mind. She struggles valiantly in his grip, but of course it’s futile. He’s easily got at least fifty pounds on her, he’s stupid tall, and the most obvious thing is that he is a trained soldier. Considering his position, he’s probably been trained to handle anything and everything, to read people and threats, to withstand even the worst of tourture—as she saw earlier. She remembers quite vividly his yelling and shouting in pain, begging for Hopper to believe him just so Eleven’s mental assault would end. To her, it really seemed like he didn’t know, maybe what Eleven did was bad enough, painful enough, to get him to tell the truth. That was not a pleasant thought to her, and she had felt sick watching it. She, a woman who has seen hell on Earth, who has watched people she love die and go through hell, felt sick watching it. Maybe she just thought it was wrong, that maybe it wasn’t necessary to literally torture some guy. But she also reminds herself of what he had been doing. That he wanted El, that he was going to take her back to those horrible people who would just take and take and take more of what little normal Eleven had managed to carve out of the world. Now, it seems he isn’t offering her that same belief—the same compassion—she had had for him. He will not believe her, no matter how much she begs and pleads, no matter how desperately she tries to convince them that they’re in danger.

At some point, she gives up, and the pair grows further and further from the church, up the dank, deserted streets. Her mind begins to race through everything that could happen to her once he turns her in. They’ll certainly interrogate her, then they'll likely arrest her or punish her in some way if their torture isn’t enough for them. She wonders what this base looks like, what the military could possibly have set up somewhere like the Upside-down. Fear courses through her, and a little anger too, because in some ways the military is more terrifying than this literal hell of a dimension. The fact that this is how she ends up—not getting to help fight Vecna, not getting to end this with the others—absolutely enrages her. If nothing else, she just wants to see Vecna again, to get the opportunity to put an axe through his skull, to finally end this. But then she remembers Hopper and Eleven are going to that base, or are already there by now. Probably planning their next move. So she knows maybe they can help, but what happens if Akers sees them? Realizes they’re there? She’s lost, unsure of what she could possibly do to stop all of this, when a call comes in on the radio, broken and unintelligible, like some sort of saving grace.

Robert stills for a moment, listening intently to the voice. While it’s impossible to understand what is being said, he can make out the voice of a young male, seemingly in distress. In an instant he wonders if maybe she really had been telling the truth, and he then wonders if he should care to go and help. Maybe heading to base would be the best thing to do, they’re close enough, and he could easily send a squad out to find them. But in his strategizing, he hears her gasp, the sound quiet and fearful. Under a tall street light that isn’t lit, stands a Demogorgon that’s easily nine feet tall, its face pinched closed, quiet, like a cat freezing before it pounces. “Go, go—” he rushes out under his breath, already dragging her along swiftly. No matter how practiced he is in his line of work, nothing has ever prepared him for literal monsters, so even his movements have a hint of desperation. The kind of desperation one has when fighting or fearing for their lives on an instinctual level. But even his long strides can’t outrun such a beast, and hers couldn’t even dream of it.

So it quickly gains on them, the snarling of the beast just behind their ears like a harbinger.

The Upside-down reeks of something, though she’s not entirely sure of what naturally, because nothing there was familiar to her. Just the layout of Hawkins was, but even that was off, because it was still distorted by vines and spores of something alien. Even the ground felt slick with something too moist to be water, and it clung to her boots just as the stench and spore stuck to her skin. She had only been there once, and in the time afterwards she learned one: to burn what she had been wearing, and two: that she would not feel clean for weeks no matter how many times she scrubbed her skin raw. So with that in mind, she accepted the filth with a sense of reluctant resignation and decided to embrace it in a way. She figured she didn’t have the time to worry over whatever that substance was that had fallen on her shoulder, not when she needed to keep on the look out for demos that had been strangely absent by that point. She hadn’t seen a single one, and that to her, was more unnerving than the actual thing. Maybe she believes fighting the threat head on isn’t as scary as the wait. Maybe death isn’t frightening either, just how one goes about it is.

Hopper had sent her on her own which was surprising enough, but maybe it was fair, because it was her fault she was here to begin with. He was helping El get into the military base in the Upside-down, and because he believed it was too dangerous for her to come along with them and get arrested, he sent her to the Hawkins Presbyterian Church. Only the version of the church where Dustin, Steve, Nancy, and Johnathan, had all gotten themselves stuck in the Upside-down. How they got there, she had no idea, but she knew she’d figure that out when she found them. Which naturally, she was eager to do as she was getting more and more uneasy the longer she went down there alone. The shifting shadows of the strange dimension and the flashing red lightning threw her off at times, and she felt a bit disoriented the longer her eyes strained in the wavering light. So when she heard the heavy footsteps of the nine foot tall creature she jumped into action, doing her best to refrain from gasping as the instinctive fear she had grown used to kicked in. When she looked to hide somewhere amongst the barren woods, her pace was quick and silent, like some sort of ghost on the forest floor. That kind of stealth was something she never remembered learning how to perform, but was eternally grateful for nonetheless, as she desperately needed it then.

Just when she believed she had found a good place to lay low for a while, she would come face to face with a man. Now it’s obvious she didn’t have much time to worry at first—because he immediately pulled her down into the small culvert before either of them could register anything. He was hiding from it too, she realized, and when the man had looked at her, one gloved finger over his lips to tell her to be quiet, she recognized him as Lieutenant Akers, the soldier Hopper had been interrogating. He might have noticed the flash of recognition in her eyes, but never mentioned it as they both heard the footsteps of a demogorgon nearby, the sounds of it snarling in something akin to annoyance at not finding its prey. Honestly it is quite likely that he hadn’t remembered her there in the bus behind Hopper, because she never said anything, and he was far too distracted by the searing pain in his mind from Eleven’s rooting around in it. After a long, long stretch of silence and distant thundering in the sky, paired only with the stifled breathing of the two strangers, do they relax minutely when the threat of being torn to shreds is gone.

She made a move to get out of the culvert, scared of the Lieutenant, and rightfully so. Because if he knew who she was, he’d probably interrogate her the way Hopper did, or maybe he’d arrest her, or maybe he’d just kill her. She doesn’t know soldiers the way Hopper does, and doesn't know how to see that sort of thing the way he does. He stopped her though, quickly and firmly. He didn’t recognize her, and certainly didn’t understand why some lady was there at all. Akers thought it was one of two things, that she was a casualty, that she was there by mistake. He knows that gates had been torn open in Hawkins following the snatching of those kids, so it wouldn’t be farfetched to believe she stumbled upon one by accident. But in the back of his mind, he still remembered Hopper and Eleven, so he knows some people may be here intentionally. He chose to give her the benefit of the doubt, maybe out of his own exhaustion or otherwise. “Where do you think you’re going?” He whispered a bit aggressively. “You realize you’ll probably die out there?”

Frozen, both in fear and thanks to his firm grip, she only looked at him, and shook her head. He sighed, probably in annoyance and exasperation, and maybe that’s why he didn’t outright ask how she even ended up there to begin with. “You’re comin’ with me, okay? Stay close and don’t make a goddamn sound,” he whispers, standing up into a crouched position to make his way out of the culvert first. The only reason she had followed him was the iron grip he had on her arm on the way out. He surveyed the area, the barren, spore infested woods eerie and a little bit nauseating from the dim light. Meanwhile, she was calculating all the ways she could get out of this, trying in vain to weigh the risks of just running versus going along for a while. So she didn't act for several minutes, she just followed him quietly as he pulled her along, his head on a swivel the whole time.

Silence is unbearable in some situations, and this was certainly one, as she felt the familiar paranoia creeping in again. That relentless anticipation of being hunted, feeling like something was watching or listening, none of it made planning easier. Darting wouldn’t be smart, and she certainly couldn’t risk him recognizing her or forcing her to go with him. Now if he had let her go, he could have sent forces to find her—which was arguably worse.

That is why this was the only time she would ever consider herself lucky to be around a demogorgon, as it provided her a good reason to run from him. It was probably the same one from earlier, perhaps it had caught their scent or heard them walking, either way, it was back and eager to kill. So she bolted, fleeing from both Akers and the monster, both of whom chased after her. Akers, because he figures he can’t just let a woman die out here, and the monster, because it wants them both to die out here. Being used to running from certain death by now, the burning in her lungs doesn’t bother her much as she sprints nearly silently through the woods, and her form flits in and out of Akers line of sight between trees. But his longer, faster legs eat up the distance much more efficiently, and so he catches up to her, ready to pull her along if she ends up falling behind. The fear coursing through her very bones helps her keep up well, letting her shorter strides match his pace.

The chase is long and tiring, but the monster is relentless, and she knew more would probably come soon. So in that moment, she decides to do something, because they can potentially beat one of these things, but certainly not five. Hopper had given her a small gun when he sent her off, knowing she needed at least something to defend herself with. So—much to Akers’ surprise—she opens fire on the gaining monster, which does slow it momentarily, but also angers it. The ringing gun shots are loud, lighting up the dark woods and act as beacons to anything hunting nearby. Akers realizes as much, and because he no longer has any weapons seeing as Hopper obviously took them before the interrogation, he still found a way to fight. He hurled a few large rocks at the monster with some serious effort, grunting as some were heavy enough to do real damage when they hit a limb. The best was the one that smashed it right in the center of the five points of its face—or mouth, whatever it is. The damage inflicted by the both of them gives them enough time to get onto the road and into the first house they come across.

Suppressing their ragged breaths, they waited. They waited till their lungs burned as they couldn’t gasp for air, their heads pounding when they listened for the heavy footsteps of the beast. They came close, then closer, then away for a while but not far enough. They had tried to breathe, but the thumping of the demo came back, its own loud, panting breath as loud as the thunder in the sky. Akers tried to look for it, peering through the doors side windows of the house they’d entered. To her it was obvious he had never encountered one of these before, not alone anyway. Because even he looked shaken, the big soldier who likely underwent quite a lot in his area of the military. They both saw it, standing in the street, being lit briefly by a flash of red lighting that illuminated the beast horrifically, its already distorted features twisted and shadowed.

At last it seemed to have given up, and the two gasped for air, squeezing their eyes shut against the ache in their temples. They catch their breaths there, laying low in the dim, dank house for good measure, just to be sure they aren’t followed. The two of them sit on the potentially slimy welcome mat behind the door, the words display a corny joke that feels a bit out of place here. For a while she wouldn’t look at him, clearly uncomfortable, but then again, that wasn’t her main concern. Getting to Dustin and the others alive was. She manages to push her fear of the soldier aside, if only slightly while she had her nerve, and met his gaze that had been trained on her since the demo left.

“How’d you end up here?” He finally asks, very quiet, and very careful, listening for a slip up or lie. He doesn’t trust her, he doesn’t need to either, but it bothers him. She knows she needs to tread carefully, just as she knows how dangerous this guy is, and what he could do. “...There was this..red portal thing..I’m not really sure,” she says, sounding nervous on purpose. She thought maybe he’d take her for some damsel in distress, that she doesn’t know a thing about any of this. He saw right through it though, because he definitely remembers her shooting the monster, he remembers how quick and agile she was on the run. It seemed too natural, familiar to her. Her fear wasn’t genuine—he would know, he sees the real thing too often, he feels the real thing too often. He saw how scared she was when holding her breath, probably begging in her mind for the beast to leave them be. So this? No, he didn’t believe her. “Where are you going?” He asks, not calling her bluff yet, watching her stand up as she takes a deep breath.

“Well—I don’t know…where’s out?” She responds nervously, chewing at her lip, which would be a tell tale sign that she’s lying if he knew her. But he doesn’t know her—he knows she’s lying anyway—and she thinks she may be in the clear. Obviously she’s never been much of a skilled liar. “...Follow me then,” he mutters gruffly, already growing impatient with her bullshit. “But there’s other people—” she blurts out when he stands. She hadn’t thought that through, because that is definitely putting her friends in danger by telling him so. Which means she can only hope that he’ll let her go to them.

“Other..” he repeats in part, low under his breath and clearly annoyed. With a heavy sigh he asks, “where?” Being pleasantly surprised by him not immediately catching on to her—little does she know—she answers, albeit vaguely. “They shouldn’t be too far from here, two streets over I think.” He would have wanted to call in others to collect them, but without his radio he couldn’t, so with another heavy sigh he says, “lead the way then…”

Siberian winters are never pleasant, and no one ever said they were. I suppose I can count my blessings anyway, as I have the proper attire for the snow, the men banging long hammers against steel certainly don’t. It’s a dreary sight, the biting cold winds sending snow whirling around miners and men building the tracks, and the light looks blue this time of day. Depressing I’d say, only reflecting the impending doom they’ve all seemed to have accepted. Not a single one of them will leave this place, some guards don’t either. That thought reminds me of Juliette. Oh my Juliette. She will be the first, and hopefully not the only one to escape this place as I intend to follow. While she may escape this place, she can not by any means face the wilderness of Kamchatka beyond, and certainly not the towering mountains of Sredinny. It has been two days since I discovered her here, and two days too long without any progress on this so-called escape plan of mine. These other guards are too nosy, too watchful, and I suspect they’ll find out far too soon.

“Antonov!” Another guard barks. Sokolov. A rather annoying one of the lot, keeps too close of a watch on other guards, maybe more than he does on the prisoners. His voice should be hoarse from all the shouting and smoking he does.

“Sokolov,” I address, trying not to sound too annoyed. Though my voice always tends to sound sarcastic or insincere which in no way aids my impression on Sokolov. He makes his way over to me, his boots crunching in the snow, the wind blowing the smoke of his cigarette all around. “What are you standing around for?” He asks with a sneer, seemingly irritated that I was only watching the prisoners.

“Watching the prisoners,” I say, now itching for a cigarette of my own. He eyes me for a moment in a way that only confirms my beliefs that he is eternally suspicious of his fellow guards. After a long silence filled only by the howling winds and the smell of nicotine, he huffs a large puff of cigarette smoke with what appears to be a disgusted sneer. He’s terribly pleasant and I just have to refrain from telling him so. “You must watch yourself Antonov,” he mutters, a thinly veiled threat that I take in stride. Which means I only watch him go, a look of something unknowable in my eyes for his sake. With an annoyed scoff, I take out one of my last cigarettes from my inner coat pocket and light it up with a certain level of excitement reserved only for addiction. Something not exciting but hopeful in a very depressing sort of way. Like I put my happiness in its hands as if it will promise me the relaxation I’m searching for but never find.

It occurs to me I’ll need to leave the prison to get more, which means I must put in a request to leave for a few hours to do so. Perhaps I’ll make a pit stop on my way.

The church is out of commission, has been for a few years, likely decades if its current state tells me anything. Sad, run down and forgotten despite being a place of people’s worship; for something that appears to have never answered them. But on the bright side—in some ways more than others—it is the location I’ll be finding the key to my escape, and the key to putting Juliette’s life rightfully back in her hands. So I find the key under the rock I know it is kept under, and quickly head inside through the large wooden doors. It’s quite dank and cold in here, most definitely due to the smashed windows. The beautiful art it once presented desecrated in a very disrespectful fashion. But I’m not here to care in the slightest that a place like this has been abandoned, because there are other things far more deserving of my attention and worship, and that is my dear Juliette, and I will be finding this insufferable man entirely for her sake.

The crash of some tool or other alerts me to where exactly he is, and I’m there in a flash, peering skeptically around crates of what I know to be Jif peanut butter. The man in question, Yuri Ismaylov, is there, pathetically holding a hatchet in my direction. But when he registers that it’s me he tries to back pedal, which only makes it more pathetic.

“Dmitri!” He says as if seeing an old friend, or rather, as if ready to make himself a deal and wishes to please despite threatening me a moment ago. “I knew you’d come around sooner or later—some guards question their loyalty after places like that,” he continues, falsely assuming my intentions. “Yuri—” I tried before promptly being interrupted by the eccentric man, as he usually does. “I met you and thought ‘well, he seems rather funny, too good of character to not question everything there.’ I just wondered what it would be to send you my way again. After all, you’re a very loyal man, Dmitri. I must wonder what happens to guards seeking a smuggler's help. So what is it?” He finally finishes, seemingly holding back from his usual pointless rants.

I wait a moment, debating one last time. This man is very, very unpredictable, but undoubtedly skilled in this line. I know I have no other choice in the end, and I really can’t wait very long for her sake. “You’ll smuggle me and one prisoner out of the country.” I say, direct and final. I don’t have the patience or time for his games and the look on my face tells him as much. For a moment he looks shocked, then he laughs. Laughs as though this is the most amusing thing he has heard all week. Laughs in that grating, insane, mocking way he does that would surely aggravate anyone.

“Smuggle you out of Russia? Smuggle a prisoner from the Motherland? You must be going mad in that place, Dmitri.” He scoffs, an excited glint in his eyes. That’s what tells me he’s interested, even if he—of all people—thinks I’m insane. “Maybe I am mad, but I know you can do it, and I know you’ll do it for the right price.” I say lowly, insisting he goes along, serious in a way he’s likely never seen before. The sheer glee in his expression at the mention of money is laughable, but it is exactly what I expected of the man. What smuggler doesn’t love money? “How much are you willing to offer?” He smiles, big and plotting.

“Twenty-five thousand rubles.” I say, or growl rather. That’s nearly all the money to my name, but I know that is what it’ll take for him to agree. I also know it will be worth it—if only to see her free again, to see her safe where she belongs. Yuri’s eyes just light up even more, comical in their insanity. “Twenty-five thousand rubles! You are mad man! A mad, mad man!” He cries hypocritically. Impatiently I ask, “do we have a deal?” I know I must return to the prison soon, cigarettes in my pocket, and maybe something special for her. I can’t risk being gone longer than I requested, knowing Sokolov or some other nosy soldier will question it. That only increases my impatience, my eagerness to get away from this irritating man.

“We have a deal,” Yuris says happily, taking my hand in an unwelcome gesture. I shake it firmly, squeezing too hard before pulling away. “I’ll see you again Yuri, and I’ll tell you everything you need to know,” I mutter, already turning to leave the cold, abandoned church. “Just know what happens if you aren’t the man I believe you to be,” I add. My voice is low, the threat in them clear because I know how risky this is, how erratic the man is. I can only hope for the best, but I must prepare for the worst.

It was actually very painful seeing Dmitri again after so long. The moment I had recognized his face I was overcome by such a strong wave of nausea I thought for sure I’d throw up that disgusting so-called breakfast from earlier. I’d imagine it’d taste even worse with bile. In reality I only sat there, frozen stupidly like a statue or a frightened animal. At first I didn’t believe it was him, then I hoped it was, then I reminded myself what hope has gotten me, then he touched me. He touched me so gently I thought it was only a hallucination, I couldn’t feel it. Nothing in this wretched place is so gentle, but his hand was then, even if his skin was cold and rough. I hadn’t registered what he said before that, too shocked, too terrified, too dazed to listen. So I whispered his name like I needed to make sure it was him, that I’d hear his voice respond instead of the wind blowing in through the cracks in the doors. He didn’t disappear, he didn’t turn out to be some cruel play of my mind, instead he promised me I’d be okay. Called me milaya like he did in Paris because he didn’t remember the word Cherie despite how fluent he was. He wiped my tears and inspected me like it was the only reasonable thing to do, almost frantically trying to figure out my current condition. I suspect he's trying to keep cool for my sake—that wouldn't be at all unusual for the man I remember. The comfort he brought me was something I was not prepared for, the warmth and gentleness he gave so easily despite the fact it seems his time in the military has hardened him. He looks older, a few more lines, darker tones under his eyes. Not a thing takes away from how handsome he is though, but I didn’t really think about that till now, after the fact. He really shouldn’t have been so reckless in openly caring for a prisoner, but no one saw, and I was warm. I felt a sliver of safety for the first time in nearly two months.

I finally seem to accept that it’s really him when he appears at my cell that night, offering me a few pieces of dark chocolate with a smile that’s obviously being toned down because I’m not in the mood for his cheekiness. I think he’s happy to see me—not in a gulag of course—but to see me again after so long. He seems happy to try and help, to perhaps even comfort me. “Thank you,” I whisper when I take the small squares of chocolate, worried we’d be overheard. My cellmates are fast asleep though, they tend to snore and hog the bench. He responds by claiming he’d do it again every night that allows, then something about being careful.

“Are you sure this is safe?” I then ask, concerned for both of us, knowing caution is life or death with whatever he's attempting here. “I never said anything about being safe, milaya, just that we must be careful. Which is why I'm not just letting you out right here and now.” He murmurs in a hushed tone for me. It is apparent how ardent he is in that: in wanting me free. He doesn’t need to explain it to me, I understand, and I tell him as much. He replies quickly, seemingly worried. “Juliette, this does not mean I'm not getting you out— never doubt that. You will be free of this place.”

“I know, I know it will take time…” I whisper, something of a real smile on my blue, chapped lips. I want nothing more than to be home where it's warm and safe, but I also understand the sheer magnitude of what I'm asking of him. Actually, I never asked him to save me, but that certainly does not mean I don't want him to, just as that proves his will to do so regardless. He seems to relax when I tell him that, which both relieves me and fills me with the beginnings of guilt. “Don't risk yourself for me…” I plead quietly, realizing what is at stake, what he's truly doing for me. His response is instantaneous, fiery and passionate. “I believed nothing in this place was worth dying for, nor living for. It was like purgatory. Then you show up— God knows why or how—so don’t you tell me not to risk everything for the one precious, beautiful thing in this miserable excuse of a life.”

Oh he stuns me with that. Maybe I hadn’t expected that, I probably should have though. He's a bold, passionate, and stupid man, maybe less stupid these days. There's a look of such determination in his eyes that it practically forces me to believe him, to give him more faith than I've ever had in my experience with life. There's that safe feeling. Despite the concrete under me, despite knowing guards with terrible ideas roam just around the corner, I feel safe with him there, near me. “Thank you,” I say gratefully, as if repeating it will somehow let him understand the sheer depths of what I'm feeling now. “You don't need to thank me, milaya, but you are welcome. I will do everything I can, but for now, eat your chocolate. You'll have more meat on your bones before I get you out.” Dimitri says that in a soft murmur, a similarly gentle smile on his lips.

What else am I to do but listen? It's certainly not as though I could refuse something as wonderful as chocolate around here. So I eat it slowly, savoring it with an embarrassed smile on my lips because he's watching me eat it intently. “Good?” He asks, his cold fingers reaching through the bars to caress my pale cheek. “Yes…it's— it’s real good,” I stutter, suddenly overcome with emotions yet again. All day I've felt like this, but it seems the chocolate and his touch send me far over the edge. It turns out I do have more tears to cry, and just as he did this morning, he wipes them away with a tenderness not known to these concrete walls. “I'll find you some more for tomorrow. Maybe some real food too.” He murmurs, getting as close as he can through the frozen bars. I nod, sniffing twice before a tiny smile graces my face. Perhaps my intentions and gratitude show on my face, because he shushes me before I can thank him again. “Just promise me you'll keep your head down, and tell me everything that happens to you.” He whispers.

“Okay…I can do that,” I whisper back. Then I watch with a pang of worry when he starts glancing over his shoulders, silent and straining to listen over the howling wind blowing over the prison. My hand grips gently at his coat through the bars, asking wordlessly what's wrong.

“I must go for tonight, moya dorogaya.” He says reluctantly, his eyes reflecting as much. He called me his dearest? I can hardly mull over that now, far too worried about being caught. “Yeah, go, go.” I whisper, wanting him to be safe. He pauses, looking at me intently. “Good night. Beregi sebya.” He says softly, clearly hesitant to leave. But no matter how much we both wish he could stay, he can't. So I watch him leave, his footsteps soft against the cold concrete below.

What a truly, truly miserable place. Even for us, the guards, the soldiers. The biting cold and depressing sights agitate us, leaving us longing for our homes further west, away from this bleak desert. No matter though, seeing as we’re treated with all the alcohol and cigarettes we could need. Which is precisely what I indulge in now, a cigarette, lighting it aflame with my freshly filled lighter, watching the tiny embers of warmth fly off the end. It’s almost a beautiful sight here, the embers. But they inevitably get crushed by the snow pelting down on the prison, just as everything else does. Everything warm and worth worrying about.

The men of the prisoners shuffle along through the weather, wisely keeping whatever complaints they likely have to themselves in the presence of the guards. They’re headed out for the day, off to toil away in the mines for their transgressions. Maybe I feel sorry for them, some of them at least, the ones here for petty theft or accidents. Never did I think I’d be a part of something like this when I joined, and maybe I regret it, but the thought is quickly forgotten with the bitter drag of the cigarette, breathed out in a warm cloud of smoke that settles like fog across the railing. A laugh, somewhat manic, escapes me as I watch them, my feet carrying me away from the sight quickly. I have something more enjoyable awaiting me today, well, more so than questioning my loyalty to my country. Generally, we all have our posts, rarely changing them save for swapping shifts at the mines which are utterly cold and dreadful. So it’s a rarity I get to have the easy jobs, such as watching the cooks or doing paper work. But today, I will take advantage of my post in the laundry room and read. I’ve procured myself a small French novel I’ve managed to keep from inspection, and I suppose it’s time I checked if I even understand the language any longer. My tongue may be rusty.

Smoke trails after me as I walk, finding my way downstairs to the first floor where the laundry rooms are, and the handful of prisoners should be. There’s only ever four of them, maybe five, at a time, as the rest are in the kitchens and such. It’s a bleak sight as usual, the women looking utterly miserable as anyone could imagine, as they mend prisoner’s clothes and wash them. By my count it’s been about two months since I’ve had this duty, which isn’t so surprising. But the flash of red hair certainly is. Bright, fiery red, red as my cigarette’s embers, sitting in the corner as she’s sewing a coat. That’s the most color this wretched place has to offer, and I wonder how I could’ve possibly never seen the woman. But then she looks up.

I’ve certainly seen her before.

Every bit of me is certain of that truth, because I could never in my right mind forget those eyes, or the lips, or that hair. That red that has literally danced through my mind for five years. That fire that danced under stage lights in Paris, fluttering from place to place just as an ember in the wind does. The red on her cheeks as she laughed so hard she couldn’t breathe, and the smile that came with it, will forever be ingrained in my memories. My cigarette falls to the cold concrete floor, forgotten, unimportant.

They had only spent three weeks together then. Dmitri was there on something like vacation, the woman, Juliette, was there to perform as a ballerina. Her company was putting on a performance of Don Quixote, showings were usually three times a week, spanning the later half of June and into July. So she was in Paris all summer, rehearsing and performing. It was on Dmitri’s second night of visiting that he had the pleasure of meeting her. Dmitri—the poor man—could hardly handle it when she took his breath away, finding that she was utterly radiant, glowing with a sense of joy and passion he’s seldom seen rivaled elsewhere. Juliette on the other hand, managed to stay composed. Perhaps her stage training really does have a practical use. But don’t let that fool you, she was smitten the moment he introduced himself with that voice of his, a little gruff, charming, with a familiar accent. Russian. Yet he speaks French so well it excited her.

They intended for this to be a casual thing—though they didn’t know at the time that they were fooling themselves. But they spent every day together, whenever she wasn’t rehearsing, she was with Dmitri, showing him the best parts of the city. When her friends asked her where she had been she told them an old friend was in town but no more, just enough to keep them from asking her to go out after rehearsals. Dmitri found himself leaving the friends he had traveled with for her as well, though they didn’t mind so much, often teasing him about this secret woman who's got their friend completely charmed.

It was like some fairy tale, with them dancing through the warm streets of Paris, lounging in his hotel with the sound of a piano from across the street wafting in through the open windows, indulging in pastries and other more physical pleasures. The fondness and infatuation they both shared for one another only grew, so much so they didn’t know what to do with it. Because it took them by surprise, this sort of love they’ve realized they’ve never had. The kind perhaps you’ll only experience once, if you’re lucky. Maybe that’s why it felt so tragic, it was tragic, them parting ways. He took an extra week of vacation for her, trying to hold onto the moments, the love. But he was joining the army, he couldn’t really tell them to wait. It was only because they were a bit too young and dumb, a bit unsure of how to carry on when they live so far apart, that they never got to see each other again. Juliette did try sending him letters, but it was obvious to her how difficult getting messages into the Soviet Union was.

So the love, the special kind with all its potential, went un-nurtured. Not to die, but to turn into grief, into longing.

“Juliette?” My voice shakes as I whisper it, both fearing it’s not her and that it is her. She shouldn’t be here. Not her. Not her…please no—but it is, it’s her. It’s unmistakable. Briefly I’m worried about another guard hearing me. But none are here. Just the other handful of women imprisoned here who aren’t even listening over the rattle of the machines. Her eyes are as big as I remember, but not from wonder. The fear in them nearly makes me sick, the exhaustion, the pain. To me this is surely the greatest act of cruelty this wretched place has ever committed. How could anyone turn her—the loveliest woman deserving of nothing but worship—into this miserable creature? It’s utterly unfathomable. “What are you doing here?” I whisper, almost frantic, my voice rushed and pleading. I only close some of the distance between herself and I when I see the recognition in her eyes, the immediate sheen of tears welling up in them.

“Dmitri?” She whispers, sounding different. Not happy, not soft, not warm. It strikes me she isn’t sure it’s really me, that she likely wouldn’t let herself think there’s any sort of reprieve to be found here. So I assure her, and I refrain from overwhelming her with questions and the longing I’ve harbored for her for five years. This is certainly not the place for that. In fact, it’d be an insult to it in a way. She doesn’t accept it at first, like her old sense of naivety has been stomped out of her completely.

“You’ll be okay milaya—you’re not staying here,” I say quietly with conviction. A bold promise, quickly made sure, but I’m keeping it. I don’t need to know why she’s here, or how she ended up in such a loathsome place, because I know she absolutely does not belong here. So I wipe away her tears, my hands barely touching her as if she’d fall apart at the slightest pressure. She looks as though she might, too many bones are showing, her cheeks sunken, her lips blue and fingers pale. The sight angers me in a way I’ve never experienced before, the surge of it stretching through my body in its stiff tension. Then I remind myself that all that’s important now, is comforting her in this moment, drying her tears and promising her safety and strength. I’ll bring her food later, and plan to get her out when she sleeps.

Perhaps it is time I finally abandon this place, and I think I’ll have her by my side.

I don’t suppose that there’s an adequate word or phrase for just how cold it is here, and I also don’t suppose it matters much seeing as I’m not really in a position to be worried about my vocabulary right now. Instead I should be worried—and certainly am worried—about the frozen concrete beneath me and the biting winds that are barely broken by the cell blocks around. Of course I’ve always known Siberia in the winter isn’t friendly, but I’ve never actually visited despite my time in Russia, nor did I know I would be forced to visit by some oh so lovely soldiers.

The echo of the iron door booms through the cell block as the guard opens in, letting me and the fellow four women out of the small concrete hell into the big concrete hell. Our feet shuffle along the snow dusted floors as we head off in a line—reminicent of grade school in the worst possible way—to our so-called ‘breakfast’. Slop more like it. I’m almost certain it’s intended to resemble porridge. But the only porridge I’ve ever had previously was never grey and potentially blue, but that could just be the bleak, gloomy lighting of the overcast sky giving that illusion. Although hesitantly, I do eat the mystery mush because in a place like this, I can’t not eat. I need whatever strength, no matter how measly, to get me through each day. Especially seeing as each day consists of manual labor. Though I will admit, I do prefer laundry duty to what the men do. Mining and various tasks outside in the frozen wasteland that is the far east of Siberia. But I shouldn’t have to prefer anything, I shouldn’t have to be here, wasting away till I inevitably die. No one survives places like these—not even the falsely convicted. The choice of doing laundry or sewing all day is punishment enough, salt in the wound, because I should be home. Home where it’s warm and safe from the snow, where I can sleep in a bed, where my family is, my friends. Home where I don’t have to choose between forced labor and death.

Anger simmers low every day, every time I think about these things. Which admittedly is most of the time. Otherwise I daydream when my spirits are high, or alive anyway. But that’s the worrying thing, I’ve always been so cheerful, so hopeful. In a way, I think I’ll be nothing without that. Because I’ve also always been angry at the world, at the corruption and misery that seems to characterize our ‘advanced’ society. But that’s no way to carry on everyday, you’ll be just like the rest of those sorry people who hate their lives and their jobs. I no longer have a job to hate or love, a life to live. No, it has been sentenced, doomed, with nothing but the light of a candle on my tombstone at the end of the tunnel; assuming I get one anyway. Maybe they’ll just leave my body behind, unmarked, unimportant, forgotten in the quiet snow.

But a more poignant feeling, more oppressive, has been grief. I’ve felt it before, only once really. Because you can be sad, but grief is oh so very different. It’s heavy, full of what you can’t have, what you can’t express, what you’ve lost and long for; and this time, it’s full of the old grief too, from before. I’ve lost my home, my life, my dreams, nearly my fingers at this rate. An old thing too, a memory I suppose. The man I distantly remember from Paris, the one I’ve thought about for five years since. Perhaps it’s silly, but I’ve always hoped, longing and waiting, that maybe I’d meet him again. But as I sit here, sewing some old coat back into use and contemplating my situation, I know that’s gone too. No matter how much I dream, no matter how much I seem to waste what little spirit and hope I have in the memory of him, it’s all gone. It’s not the concrete, frozen prison that took it away either. It was the soldier who thought I was the one who stole those canned peaches. I’m here for someone else’s petty theft. A faux-thief trapped with murders and enemies of the state. A sob nearly escapes my pale lips at the thought, but by now I’m a little too exhausted, and a little too numb to cry. Besides, the guard would probably tell me to pipe down, and I’m all out of tears.