Chapter 21: The Lab Pursuit
The black vans appeared at 11 AM.
Three of them, moving in coordinated search pattern through residential streets. Government plates. Tinted windows. Men in suits showing photos door-to-door.
I spotted them from my bedroom window—three blocks away but closing. My stomach dropped.
"Lockdown," I called down the stairs. "Now."
The Party had been eating breakfast when the call came. Now they moved with practiced efficiency—emergency protocols we'd drilled for months finally put to use.
Mike killed the lights. Dustin sealed the blackout curtains I'd installed last month. Lucas grabbed El and guided her toward the basement. Eddie, who'd arrived earlier to help, began hiding evidence of multiple occupants.
"What's happening?" El asked, voice tight with fear.
"Bad men," I said, already moving. "Looking for you. We prepared for this."
I led her to the bunker—the hidden room beneath the basement, accessed through a panel in the floor disguised as structural foundation. Cramped space, but lined with soundproofing and shielded against detection equipment.
"Down there. Stay quiet. No powers unless I give the signal."
"Steve—"
"El. Trust me. I won't let them take you."
She looked at me with those wide, terrified eyes. Then nodded and climbed down into darkness.
I sealed the panel, threw a rug over it, scattered basement clutter to hide the seams. Thirty seconds total. Then upstairs.
"Everyone looks normal," I instructed. "Eddie, you were helping me fix my car. Mike, Lucas, Dustin—you came by to return a D&D book. Casual. Relaxed. Nothing suspicious."
"What about you?" Robin asked from the kitchen doorway. She'd shown up ten minutes before the vans, bringing groceries as cover for checking on the operation.
"I'm home alone shooting hoops." I grabbed the basketball from the garage, pulled off my shirt, messed up my hair. "Rich kid with nothing better to do."
"They have detection equipment," Dustin worried. "What if they scan the basement?"
"The bunker's fifteen feet down, shielded with lead-lined drywall and copper mesh. Cost me eight grand to build. It'll hold."
It has to hold.
The van stopped outside my house.
I was at the driveway hoop when they approached—two men in suits with government credentials and dead eyes.
"Steve Harrington?" the first one asked.
"Yeah?" I kept dribbling, projecting bored teenager energy. "What's up?"
"We're with the Department of Energy, investigating a security breach at Hawkins National Laboratory." He held up a photo. "Have you seen this girl?"
The photo showed Eleven—hospital gown, shaved head, looking directly at the camera with expression caught between defiant and terrified.
I studied it, making sure to look confused. "Uh, no? Should I have?"
"She was last seen in this neighborhood. Witnesses reported children matching your description in the area."
"Lots of kids around here, man. I mentor some middle schoolers—basketball, homework help, that kind of thing. But I haven't seen any bald girls." I bounced the ball. "Is she dangerous or something?"
The second agent's eyes narrowed. "Why would you assume she's dangerous?"
"Because the government's looking for her? Usually means something." I let my confusion show. "Look, I don't know what this is about, but I've been home all morning. Parents are in Tokyo, so it's just me. Want to check inside?"
Please don't take the offer. Please assume I'm too stupid to be hiding anything.
The first agent exchanged glances with his partner. "That won't be necessary. But if you see this girl, contact us immediately. She's mentally unstable and potentially harmful."
"Sure thing." I watched them return to their van, forcing myself to keep shooting baskets casually until they drove away.
Then I sprinted inside.
"They're gone," I called down the stairs.
The basement came alive—Mike emerging from behind the water heater where he'd hidden, Dustin and Lucas from the storage closet. Eddie descended from the main floor.
"That was too close," Lucas breathed.
"It's going to get closer." I pulled up the panel. "El, you can come out—"
She was still down there, but something was wrong. Blood trickled from her nose. Her whole body shook.
"El!" Mike scrambled down to help her up.
She emerged trembling, barely able to stand. "Shield," she gasped. "Held... shield around house. So they wouldn't... sense me. Too hard. Too long."
She maintained a psychic barrier the entire time. Hid herself from their detection equipment through pure force of will.
"How long?" I demanded.
"Since... since you said lockdown. Twenty minutes? Thirty?" She swayed. "Can't... head hurts..."
Mike caught her as her legs gave out. "She needs a doctor!"
"No doctors. No hospitals." I grabbed her other arm, helped lower her to the couch. "That's the first place they'd look."
"Then what do we do?" Dustin demanded. "She's obviously in pain!"
El's nose bled freely now. Her eyes unfocused. The psychic strain of maintaining that shield had pushed her past safe limits—maybe past survivable limits.
Pain Heal. I can absorb physical pain. But this is mental exhaustion, psychic damage. Can it even—
Worth trying.
I crouched beside her, took her hand. "El, I'm going to try something. It might hurt. But it should help. Trust me?"
She nodded weakly.
I activated Pain Heal.
The sensation hit like a freight train.
Not physical pain—this was different. Wrong. Mental exhaustion manifesting as splitting headache, yes, but underneath it something else. Psychic backlash. The cost of forcing reality to obey impossible commands.
It felt like my brain was being squeezed. Pressure building behind my eyes. Static filling my thoughts. For a moment I couldn't remember my name, where I was, what I was doing.
Then Fight Master kicked in—mental discipline, focus through suffering, compartmentalize and control. I channeled the pain, absorbed it, processed it through Pain Heal's mechanism.
El gasped. "What—"
The pressure in my skull intensified. Her hand tightened on mine. I could feel the psychic strain flowing from her into me—not healing exactly, but transference. Taking her burden and making it mine.
This is what she carried. This crushing weight. For thirty minutes straight.
Thirty seconds felt like eternity. Then the flow stopped. The pressure eased. El's bleeding slowed, her eyes refocused.
"Better," she whispered. "Steve made it better."
Steve instinctively grabbed her hand. Pain Heal activated—mental exhaustion flooding into him as splitting headache. El gasped as relief flooded her. Mike stared. "What did you just do?" Robin stepped forward from the doorway. "The healing thing. Works on mental strain too, apparently." She looked at Steve.
"You okay?" "Give me a minute.
" The phantom exhaustion was worse than physical pain—disorienting, nauseating. "That's new," Robin said quietly. "And probably dangerous." "Most things about this are dangerous."
"That's not—you can't just—" He looked between me and El. "Did you take her pain? Her exhaustion? Is that even possible?"
Apparently yes. Pain Heal works on mental strain, not just physical injuries. New application discovered.
"It's complicated," I said, which was the truth. "But she's stabilized. That's what matters."
El reached out, touched my face gently. "Thank you. You're... different. Special. Like me."
"Not like you. You're way more powerful." I helped her sit up properly. "But yeah, I can do some things most people can't."
Robin had been watching from the stairs. "Steve. Can we talk? Upstairs?"
I followed her to the kitchen. She closed the door.
"You have more than the backpack and the fighting skills," she said flatly. "You can heal people. Transfer pain. What else haven't you told me?"
"That's it. Three abilities. Backpack, fighting, healing. Nothing else."
"And you've been carrying this alone for how long?"
"Three years."
"Three years." She leaned against the counter. "Jesus, Steve. You're not just preparing for disaster. You're basically superhuman."
"I'm really not. The healing has limits. The fighting just means I learn faster. The backpack is useful but unpredictable. I'm still human—just human with advantages."
"Advantages you're using to protect children from government agents and interdimensional monsters."
"Yeah."
She studied me for a long moment. "You know this is insane, right? Everything we're doing. Harboring a fugitive, planning to infiltrate a government facility, believing in parallel dimensions. This is actual insanity."
"I know."
"But you're doing it anyway."
"Someone has to."
Robin smiled slightly. "You're either the bravest person I've ever met or the stupidest. Maybe both." She grabbed her jacket. "I need to get to work—missing shifts will raise questions. But Steve? Don't die doing this. Would really mess up our friendship."
"I'll try not to."
She left. I returned to the basement to find El asleep on the couch, Mike sitting guard, Dustin and Lucas arguing in whispers.
"—don't understand how it works," Dustin was saying. "Pain transference shouldn't be possible without some kind of—"
"Does it matter how?" Lucas interrupted. "It worked. She's better."
"Of course it matters! Understanding the mechanism could help us—"
"Guys," I interrupted. "The lab's going to come back. With more equipment, more agents. This house isn't safe anymore."
"Then where do we go?" Mike demanded.
"Nowhere. We make it safe." I pulled out maps. "The bunker holds for now, but we need better detection systems. Early warning if they approach. Escape routes if they breach."
"You're talking about fortifying your house against the government," Lucas said slowly.
"I'm talking about protecting El until we can extract Will and Barb. Then we deal with the lab permanently."
Mike looked at El sleeping peacefully. "She called you special. Said you're like her."
"I'm not like her. She can move things with her mind, open gates between dimensions. I can take pain and learn to fight. Different categories."
"But you're both... more than normal."
More than normal. If he only knew.
"Yeah. We're both more than normal. Which means we protect each other. Now help me set up the perimeter sensors."
El - Evening
Eleven woke to voices planning, arguing, strategizing. She kept her eyes closed, listening.
Steve's voice: "—can't maintain a shield that strong again. It nearly killed her."
Mike: "Then we hide better. Go somewhere else."
Steve: "Running puts her at more risk. Here, I have resources. Prepared defenses. Better to fortify than flee."
Dustin: "What about the Sensory Deprivation tank? You said you had one. Could we use it to boost her range without exhausting her?"
Steve: "Maybe. Worth trying tomorrow. Tonight, we rest and prepare."
El opened her eyes. They all turned.
"You're awake!" Mike rushed over. "How do you feel?"
"Better. Steve fixed me." She looked at him. "You took the hurt. Made it yours."
"Just helped your body recover faster. You did the hard part."
"No." She sat up slowly. "You took it. I felt it leave. Go into you." She touched his hand again, checking. The connection was still there—faint, but present. "We're connected now. Like... like Papa connected me to the others. But different. Not controlling. Sharing."
Steve's expression flickered with something—surprise, maybe concern. "Connected how?"
"Can feel you. Just a little. Your... presence. Like knowing someone's in the room even with eyes closed." She tilted her head. "You feel me too?"
He paused. Then nodded slowly. "Yeah. Since the healing. Faint awareness of your consciousness. Figured it was my imagination."
"Not imagination. Real. Pain Heal made connection."
Dustin scribbled furiously in his notebook. "Psychic link established through pain transference. The shared experience creates neural pathway or metaphysical bond—"
"Later, Dustin." Steve stood. "El, this connection—can the lab detect it? Will it help them find you?"
She concentrated. "No. Too quiet. Too small. Only you and me feel it."
"Good. Then we use it as advantage. If you're in danger and can't speak, push through the connection. I'll feel it."
"And you? If you're in danger?"
"Then you stay safe and don't come running. Deal?"
"No deal." She crossed her arms, mimicking Mike's stubborn expression. "Friends help friends. You said."
"I also said you're not a weapon. Not going to use you as one."
"Not a weapon. A friend. Friends protect each other."
Mike grinned. "She's got you there."
Steve sighed. "Fine. We protect each other. But only as last resort. Primary plan is nobody gets hurt."
"Deal," El agreed.
She settled back on the couch, feeling the phantom connection to Steve—warm, steady, safe. Like having an anchor in storm. For the first time since escaping the lab, she felt genuinely protected.
Not because Steve was strong or prepared or strategically brilliant. But because he'd taken her pain without hesitation. Made it his own. Suffered so she didn't have to.
That was what safety felt like.
Steve
The agents returned at midnight.
Different van, more equipment. I watched from my darkened bedroom as they parked across the street, setting up surveillance.
They're not leaving. They're establishing presence.
El was asleep in the bunker, secured and shielded. The Party had gone home with strict instructions: act normal, maintain cover, check in every six hours.
I was alone in the house with government agents watching.
My phone rang. Hopper.
"Your house is under surveillance," he said without preamble. "Two agents, surveillance van, long-term setup. What did you do?"
"Hid someone they want back. Someone who doesn't want to go."
"The girl. The one with powers."
"Yeah."
"Steve, harboring a federal fugitive is—"
"The right thing to do. They experimented on her, Hopper. Made her into a weapon. She's twelve years old and terrified. I'm not handing her over."
Silence. Then: "How long can you keep her hidden?"
"As long as necessary. But we're running out of time. Will and Barb are alive but won't survive much longer in the Upside Down. We need to move soon."
"Then we plan the extraction tomorrow. My place. Bring the girl—she's the key to locating them precisely. And Steve? Be careful. These people don't play by rules."
"Neither do I."
I hung up and checked the connection to El—faint presence, sleeping peacefully, unaware of the agents watching.
Tomorrow we plan. Tomorrow we commit. Tomorrow everything accelerates.
The surveillance van's lights glowed in the darkness. I closed my curtains and went to prepare.
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