lando calrissian

. ✧ ・゜. +・o ✧

Apparently, sitting in a bus for over three hours with nothing to do could get to be extremely dull, no matter what Dustin said. Who would've thought?

Lucas leaned against one of the seats, his eyes partially closed, his mind most likely elsewhere, a place where he didn't have to hide from government authority, a place where he could just be a kid. Mike propped his head up with his hand, staring bleakly at the rusted walls of the school bus. Alina sat beside Eleven, her open backpack on her lap, her binoculars in her hand.

She twisted the dials and pressed her binoculars against her eyes, amplifying an image of Dustin, who was pacing around the bus. "They help you see things that are far away," she told Eleven. "I used them to watch the lab from my treehouse before we officially met. They're really useful for spying."

Mike, who's mouth was half open in his boredom, turned to Alina, evidently having been listening to their conversation. It wasn't like there was much else to do. "You had a treehouse by Hawkins Lab?" he asked skeptically, his eyebrows raising.

Alina lowered her binoculars, which had now been gazing outside at the junkyard, at a rusted car. "Yeah," she said. "Me and my dad built it. Well," she chuckled, "I didn't do much. Just handed him tools. But we made it for the days I didn't want to stay at home alone. He would pick me up there after work was finished."

"I saw that." Lucas blinked at her, snapping out of his own funk. "When I was looking for the gate. I used that treehouse. That was yours?"

"Yep." Alina passed her binoculars to Eleven, who had been eyeing them with interest. Grabbing Eleven's hands, Alina helped her friend put them to her eyes and adjust the controls. Eleven flinched, evidently not used to the enhanced vision, before turning and staring out the slightly dirty bus window with interest. Eleven obviously wasn't as worried as Alina was.

She realized now that answering the walkie talkie had been taking a huge risk, as it had been nearly two hours without any sign of either Hopper or Nancy. She wondered if Dustin had been right, that it really had been a trick, and the men from the Lab were on their way. But Alina knew she couldn't think like that. She needed to be positive when her whole world was crashing down on her.

She smiled at Eleven, trying to put her mind off of her worries—and to distract herself from Dustin's constant pacing. "Pretty cool, right?"

Eleven was so intrigued by the binoculars that she had pressed them against the window of the bus, her breath causing it to fog slightly. Alina laughed. "You know, Lucas has a pair of these, too, but he never lets anyone borrow them. I guess he doesn't want anyone to get their fingerprints on them or something. But I've always had my own. I used them the day you escaped, that's how I knew something was wrong. But they're super cool."

Eleven turned away from the window and handed Alina her binoculars. "Yes," she said. "They are... cool."

"Now you're getting it." Alina slipped her binoculars back into her backpack and put an arm around her friend. Eleven tensed for a second, still not used to contact by her friends, before relaxing into the embrace. Alina couldn't believe how far she'd come in the past week with Eleven. She'd made the subject of the mystery that had plagued her for a month into one of her friends.

But during the past hour, Alina realized she didn't actually talk to Eleven one-on-one that much. It always seemed like it was Alina and Lucas, and Mike and Eleven, and she wanted to change that. Eleven was brave, and completely badass, and loyal. Plus, she'd saved all of their lives in the cliff at Hawkins Quarry.

"Hey, look at this." Alina pulled out Troy's pocketknife, holding it up so the metal glinted in the sunlight streaming through the window. "Stole that asshole's knife from him. It'll teach him to mess with us, yeah?"

The corners of Eleven's mouth turned up. "Mouthbreather."

"Hell yeah."

The tug in their stomachs, the magnet, as Eleven called it, had completely vanished after they'd been together for a couple of hours. The two girls with abilities were finally united, and there was no need for it anymore. Maybe if Eleven ran away, it would come back. But for now, it was to Alina as if a missing piece of her had been restored.

Mike, meanwhile, was getting fed up with the constant sound of Dustin's shoes clomping on the aisle, sending up clouds of dust with every step. "Will you stop pacing?" he snapped.

"It's been way too long," said Dustin worriedly. "Do you know what? Maybe you're right. Maybe this is all a trap and the bad men are coming to get us right now!" He threw his arms up into the air, worry etched onto his face.

"It's not a trap," Lucas argued. "Why would the chief set us up? Nancy, maybe, but the chief?" At that, Mike frowned, looking like he was going to say something in his older sister's defense, but Alina spoke before he could get a word out.

"Everyone calm down! Sure, we made a risk answering Nancy and the chief, but just because they're a little late doesn't mean we have to automatically assume everything's gone to shit. Okay? We have to stay positive!"

"That's rich, coming from you," Dustin said, rolling his eyes. "And... and what if it is a trap? Lando Calrissian!"

"Would you shut up about Lando?!" Lucas snapped, annoyed.

"I don't feel good about this." Dustin's voice had risen three octaves. "I don't feel good about this!"

"When do you feel good about anything?!" Lucas pinched the bridge of his nose, a scoff escaping his lips. Alina grabbed her bag and was about to sit next to him when the rumble of a car engine approaching interrupted them.

The five fugitives ran up to the dusty window at the front of the bus, watching as a black car made its way into the junkyard. Alina furrowed her brow, trying to spot either Nancy or Chief Hopper inside of it, just as another car pulled in, and Alina recognized them for what they were. Government vehicles.

"Shit!" Dustin swore, Mike urging them to run to the back of the bus.

"I'll never doubt you again, Dustin!" Alina yelped, ducking behind a bus seat, Dustin following her.

"Lando," he said, almost smugly, and if Alina wasn't so terrified, she would've reached out and smacked him.

"You think they saw us?" Lucas hissed from across the aisle, ignoring Dustin as if he hadn't said anything.

"Both of you... shut up," said Mike, who was hiding at the very back with Eleven.

"Oh, God, we're totally screwed," Alina muttered.

"Just stay quiet!" hissed Mike. "Or we'll be found faster!"

Then Alina realized what was still clutched in her slightly sweaty hand. Troy's pocketknife. She flicked the blade out, holding it close to her chest, her head tipped up to mask her breathing. It was uncomfortably like the times she'd hidden from an angry Linda, and she sucked in a breath, trying to remain present. If she wandered off to the past, she could find herself in a lot of trouble.

Quiet as a mouse, Alina unzipped her bag and pulled out her own switchblade, passing it to Dustin, so he would have a weapon as well. The boy took the knife with a wide-eyed nod, obviously hoping that he wouldn't have to use it. Alina closed her own eyes. Stupid Lando Calrissian.

The men were going to find them soon. There weren't many places for scared children to hide in the junkyard, and sooner or later, their bikes would be found crammed under the bus. Alina's leg was cramping, pins and needles rattling in her foot, but she didn't move. Her mouth was as dry as a bone, and panic swelled through her. She was drowning in an ocean of it.

There was a high-pitched creak, the sound of the bus door being pulled open, and Alina let out a silent scream, willing her palms to heat up. She clutched Troy's knife tighter, the blade cutting into her palm, and waited for her life to end.

But... instead of the sounds of footsteps climbing up the stairs into the bus, there was a loud grunt, and the telltale sound of a body crashing against the ground.

"Hey!" called a voice from outside, before groaning in pain, another body hitting the ground. Alina peeked her head out from behind the seat, her heart rate calming. It looked like someone had come to help them in the nick of time.

"What the—" another grunt of pain, another thump as they were knocked out. And then the door to the bus swung open, and the five fugitives stood up as Chief Jim Hopper climbed up the steps, a gun in his hand, his eyes moving over each one of them.

"All right," he said, panting, and it was astounding to Alina that this was the same man who'd interrogated her about Will. "Let's go."

Nobody moved, their limbs paralyzed with fear, their breaths heavy. Chief Hopper clenched his jaw and rolled his eyes. "Let's go!" he repeated, and the sound of his shouts snapped them all out of their reverie. They hastened to gather their things, Alina taking her switchblade back from Dustin and packing it neatly in the front pocket. And, for the first time in hours, the five fugitives stepped off the bus, the cool night air a welcome relief from the stale smell of the bus.

"This way." Chief Hopper jerked his head, the party following him through the darkness. As they did so, Alina noticed the three unconscious bodies of the men from the Lab, bruises from where they were knocked out by Hopper. One of them had a piece of paper clutched in his hand, and Alina bent to pry it out of his meaty fingers.

Her blood went cold when she noticed what it was. "Lucas..." her voice was a whimper. Lucas turned, and she handed him what she'd found. "Look at this."

Lucas's eyes narrowed as he looked at it, before looking up at Alina. "Your dad," he said. "It seems he still loves you. At least a little bit."

Because the paper contained a photograph, a picture from a year ago, the date (Halloween, 1982) scribbled into the corner of the image. It was a picture of eleven-year-old Alina, grinning as she held up Skywalker, who was wearing a pumpkin hat on his head. He stared grumpily at the camera; his blue eyes narrowed.

A nice photo, one that Alina would've hung on her wall. But the sight of it made her sick, for there was something written on the back of it in Sharpie in neat writing she didn't recognize.

Alina Fairgrieves, age 12. Dark brown hair, brown eyes. DO NOT, under any circumstances, shoot. She, as well as Subject Eleven, are to be brought back ALIVE.

Alina licked her dry lips. "That's—Lucas, that's not what I'm worried about. They were going to shoot the rest of you, leave you out to bleed. Except for El and I."

"What the hell are you two doing?" the chief of police's voice rung out from a little way ahead, and Alina turned, finding that she and Lucas had stopped walking while the others had gone ahead. "Come on!"

Lucas grabbed her hand. "Come on, Al."

Alina followed him into Hopper's car with the others, but she was trembling as she stared at the photo in her hands. Of course this had been her father's doing. Her dad didn't want her dead, but that didn't mean a damned thing, not when he was okay with the deaths of her best friend.

She squeezed Lucas's hand tighter, and he was more real than her father ever was. And so Alina set her jaw, slipped her hand out of his, and tore the photo into pieces, just as the car began to move, heading to safety. Finally. 

. ✧ ・゜. +・o ✧

a/n: uh oh! things are not going well with alina's relationship with her dad! but who can blame her? i'd be pretty messed up too. anyway, i hope you enjoyed this chapter! i can't believe we're so close to the end, and then i'll be publishing book two! 

'till next time!