eleven | shit ton of salt

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As the rumbling of Chief Hoppers engine came to a whirring stop, Clara Wheeler stepped out of the backseat, her converse scuffing on the dirt.

"Mike, Clara!"

Nancy rushed down the steps, legs moving quickly as she embraced both twins in her arms.

While Mike awkwardly stood in his elder sisters arms, Clara wrapped her arms around the girls hips tightly.

"I was so worried about you two," Nancy breathed, her eyes closed tightly before she let go of the two.

"We were worried too, Nance," Clara frowned, glancing back to her other three friends.

Nancy's eyes trained of El, who stood awkward under the heavy gaze of the teenage girl.

"Is that my dress?"

Clara's bark of laughter made them all smile slightly.

The group ranging from two middle age adults, two teenagers, and a bunch of twelve year olds now sat in the Byers living room.

Mike proceeded to explain the acrobat and the flea theory. Clara, however zoned out. Science for the younger girl was incredibly boring.

"Is the gate underground?"

Clara snapped her attention to the chief, eyes curious.

"Yes," El whispered, blinking slowly. Clara reached over and gripped her hand, the events of her former reality obviously pretty damn traumatizing.

"Is it near a large water tank?"

What the hell.

El gulped, "yes."

How did Hopper know this?

"Wait- how do you know this?" Dustin voiced each of their thoughts.

"He's seen it," Clara realized, narrowing her eyes in Hoppers direction. His frustratingly blank face pissed her off more than she'd admit.

"Is there- is there anyone you could reach Will in this," Joyce trailed off slowly, looking at the former lab rat.

"Upside down," El clarified, untangling her hand from Clara's comforting grip and sitting further up on the couch.

always, clara • w. byers Where stories live. Discover now