Jailbird || Stranger Things

fifty-eight ➵ foreign affairs

warning: several drops of the f-bomb. as always, canon typical violence and threat etc

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Static hissed through the room, Eleven sat in front of her bed, the radio turned towards her as she crossed her legs. It was enough to shut out the voices of the others in the main area of the cabin, leaving the girl alone. Inside her mind she was walking, her feet wading through mere millimetres of water. She had been in this space for a while, still with no sign of Billy Hargrove.

    So she changed her tactics.

    "Reese?"

    Her gasp was quiet, but enough to make Teresa look up in the small room. While in room of the Russian base she couldn't see her sister, she could feel El rooting around in her brain. She wasn't entirely sure how it worked, but it was enough to know she was no longer alone.

    "El, I can't talk," she whispered, hoping the guys stationed at her door wouldn't hear anything.

    Her sister instead took in the injuries on her face, what was noticeable against her light t-shirt. Teresa could feel a gentle breeze against her chin, knowing El was taking stock of her split lip and the bruise that was bound to start blooming by her jawline.

    "Where are you?"

    Reese let out a soft sigh, dropping her head and closing her eyes. The dark gave way to El, allowing Teresa to see her sister as she stood in the dark in-between. What did the kids call this space? Teresa couldn't remember.

    "What's going on?" Teresa asked, her body in the space moving forward towards El. The girl watched, shocked, as her older sister reached out and held her shoulders, looking over her to check for injuries. "Are you okay?"

    "How—How are you doing this?" El asked, eyes wide and round in both confusion and amazement.

    "I'm not sure," Reese looked down at her hands, poking at her palms to find it malleable but firm. This was real. Or almost? It wasn't anything made out of fog or smoke. "It doesn't matter. El, what's going on?"

    "Billy. He's flayed."

    Teresa's body froze. Within a second, her chest contracted, then started moving quicker than it had before. Her body pulled itself together, squatting on the ground as her hand flew to her chest and her breaths quickened.

    "Reese?!"

    Her neck began to hurt, El following after her to kneel on the ground. She continued to call her name, but Teresa's breathing didn't slow.

    Of course, in the real room in the Russian base, there was a genuine reason for this.

    "What the hell is she doing? Wake her up!"

    "Reese!"

    The older girl's eyes opened, keening forward as much as possible with her upper body being bound by the belt, gasping for breath as her rib cage ached from the assault.

    In the space of the in-between, El remained alone.

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    "How did you get in?"

    "I already told you," Steve repeated for the umpteenth time, getting a punch in response. "I told you before," he gasped for air. "My delivery didn't come, and my friends and I, we thought that it was left at the loading dock, so we went in the room, and then it turned into an elevator, and then—and then we dropped and then, next thing we know, I open my eyes, and we're in this wonderful facility. But I swear to God, nobody knows about us, nobody saw us. You could just let us go, all right? And I'm not gonna tell anybody about this, okay? Shit happens, life goes on. And, uh ice—ice cream. Ice cream, okay? You guys know what ice cream is. Everybody loves ice cream," he laughed nervously. "I don't know if you have Russian ice cream or if that's considered gelato. I don't know what's what, but whatever you guys want, seriously. USS Butterscotch, I mean, you gotta try it. It is out of this world, I'm telling ya!"