CARLA WHEELER WAS ALIVE. 

She figured that out quickly when she stirred awake, senses immediately overwhelmed by the obnoxious glare fluorescent lights and the faint yet distinct sound of a heart monitor. 

Her eyes fluttered open, vision blurry at first as her surroundings slowly came into focus. She blinked a few times, the sterile white and washed out blue walls of a hospital room coming into view. 

A dull, throbbing pain radiated through her whole body, centered and sharpened on her left side. As she tried stiffly shifting, she became acutely aware of a foreign heaviness weighing on her—casts, wrapped around her left leg and arm.

Taking in a weak breath, an ache ripples through her ears. A numbness sits in the center of her spine. She can hear some muffling of sound around her, but there's a dull buzzing in her right ear she can't shake away.

Yet, through the pain, discomfort, and fog in her mind, one fact rang clear ; she was alive. 

Carla isn't sure how, really. Barely does she remember the previous night—only bits and pieces. Taking her shoes off at the Creels. Entering Max's mind. Seeing Vecna, Eleven. His claws flying over her face. Falling. Screaming. Crying. Blood. Pain. 

She remembers holding a cold hand, and she remembers feeling the world go black. 

"Carla."

The sound of her name, soft and trembling, pulls her attention. Carla lazily turns her head to the side, eyeing up her mother. 

Karen sits at the bedside, eyes red and glassy. Her tear-streaked face lifts in relief and she watches her daughter open her eyes. Nancy had found her sometime in the night, after the earthquake had ended. She'd barely gotten to hug her daughter before Nancy rushed that her twin was in the hospital again. That she'd gotten involved in a horrible accident amidst the natural disaster, and was being rushed to the emergency room for God knows what. 

Karen has been in the hospital more than once for Carla. Never has she seen anything good—her wrists torn apart in '83, her neck being intensely bruised the prior summer. Seeing her unconscious, pale, with needles full of fluid jabbed in her skin, and casts around her limbs, doctors swarming her panicked, was nothing better. Maybe the worst. 

"Oh, thank God." the Wheeler woman whispered, her voice cracking as she leaned forward, brushing Carla's hair back gently.

"Hey," Steve's voice comes in next, and she moves her eyes to focus in on her boyfriend who's sitting beside her mother. His shoulders sink in relief at her being conscious, but there's a new crease in his forehead. Carla can see it. She wants to smooth it away.

 His hand is atop of hers, covering the IV taped to her pale skin, pumping into her. 

Carla swallows away the dryness in her throat—she can still taste metallic, ever so faintly. "What.....what happened?" 

Steve's hand tensed slightly over hers. Eyes soft, he asks. "You—you don't remember?"

With a sound of strain, she tries to sit up to talk, but her body is quick to protest, a sharp pain stabbing right through her ribs. Weakly, she lays back down with a wince.

"Easy, easy, sweetheart." Karen says as the girl lays back down, hand reaching out to coax her back against the bed. Her eyes soften in sympathy. Carla hates the way she's being looked at.  "You're okay. You're safe now. Just... take it slow. Okay?"

Carla weakly nods, dry lips parting. "Okay." 

"You had surgery." Another voice cuts in—Nancy. The girl stood behind her mother and ex boyfriend, cuticles red from how hard they'd been picked at, no doubt in worry over her sister. Her arms were crossed tightly across her chest like she was trying to hold herself together.  "Your arm and leg were broken, and you have casts on both for a while.  Your ribs are bruised—so is your back—but they said it should heal with time."

Carla glances at her left side, frowning at the white casts that cover her skin, thick and restraining. Surely, she'll be unable to walk. Do things by herself. She hated when the attention was all on her, and now it was going to be so for God knows how long. 

"You.....you lost a lot of blood." Steve speaks up next, recalling the information doctors and nurses had spewed to him the prior night—he'd listen intently to all of it. "They had to do transfusions to stabilize you. Uh...."

He swallows, as if trying to figure out how to tell her. Carla doesn't think she can feel any fucking worse, whatever it is. 

 "The doctors said you might have partial hearing loss in your left ear. From the trauma. They aren't sure if it's permanent yet, but, uh..."

Hearing loss. A crease grows in between the Wheeler's brows as she tries to focus on her hearing in her left ear. She can hear, but it's muffled. The stupid buzzing overpowers her sense.

All Carla can manage to say is, "Oh." 

Karen clears her throat, brushing back her daughters hair for a final time before getting out of her seat. "I'll let the doctors know you're awake." She glances at Steve and Nancy, silently entrusting them to the injured girl. "I'll be right back."

The blonde woman exits the room, pacing down a hallway. The door clicked shut, and the silence in the room grew heavy. Nancy purses her lips, unsure how to start. Carla thinks they deserve to speak before she does. Steve just stays sitting, hand tightening around Carla's as his thumb traced soft circles over her knuckles.

Without Karen in the room, the three could truly talk. Whilst the woman thought that her daughter was injured due to a horrible earthquake, the Harrington and Wheeler sisters knew differently. 

"You scared the hell out of all of us." Steve finally speaks up, quiet. His voice is rough, as if he'd been up all night—there's a remnant of emotion, crying, leftover in the back of his throat. "You scared the hell out of me." 

Carla doesn't know what to say. There's nothing she can say, truly. 

The Harrington bows his head slightly, before admitting, "Carla, I—I thought I lost you."

Steve doesn't even want to think about the previous night. 

The plan could have worked, he likes to believe that. With as much fear as they had, there was a hint of confidence as he, Nancy, and Robin threw Molotov cocktails at Vecna, as the Wheeler blew his body straight out of the window. However, going out to see that the monster's body was not laying on the ground where Nancy had shot him, he was forced to realize that they had lost. Lost. 

That realization sunk further when the chiming started. Steve's not sure if he's ever felt more dread. 

The group had spent all week trying to protect and figure out a way to save Max Mayfield and Carla Wheeler. All week. Hearing the chime of the clock signaled that they had failed one of them. Sitting at the Creel house was the body of Max or Carla. Dead. Broken. Claimed. 

And while Steve adored Max like a little sister, as sarcastic and snappy as she could be, Carla had always been right about one thing. He'd always pick her. 

He'd been a mess of nerves and fear driving to the Creel house. Dustin's sobs from the back certainly didn't help. The entire drive he sat praying, begging, to whatever higher being sat above that Carla was okay. Alive. He refused to believe that the fourth chime had been her, but was he supposed to believe it was Max? Believe that Vecna would take the Mayfield after working so tirelessly to torment Carla? He knew better than that, as sick as it was. 

Not only that, but he'd seen how tired Carla was. He'd told her he'd see her when they saved the world, but he knew that there was a chance she'd just give up. Would he be wrong to blame her? She wanted to live to get a life with him, but she wanted out of the life she'd been handed, too. He wanted her to have peace, and maybe death was her only way to that.

The Creel residence had been a mess amongst itself. Ripped at the seams. Red and blue lights flashed around; police cruisers and ambulances lined the scene. Billows of smoke poured from the roof. Paramedics ran in and out screaming at each other in a cacophony of panic. Everything was unsteady, it seemed. 

Steve slammed on the breaks as soon as the house came into view, barely listening to Robin's shouts for him as he ran out. Lungs burning and tears brimming his eyes, he sprinted for the home. Nancy and Robin dashed behind him. He doesn't even remember if Dustin had exited the trailer or not, too overwhelmed with his own horror. 

He made it to the house right when Max was wheeled out on a stretcher.

Her small figure was strapped to a stretcher, two limbs hanging off unnaturally. Many paramedics ran after the ones wheeling her out, holding air masks and yelling at one another with urgency. Her chest barely rose. Blood was everywhere down her pale face. Her eyes were open, but clouded. Her freckles looked vibrant against the sickly paleness of her skin. 

"Max," Robin choked out, raising a shaking hand in horror. Nancy had gasped from somewhere behind him.

Steve stumbled for a second, his stomach lurching. His gaze locked on her pale face and the oxygen mask being forced over her chapped lips. The truth clawed at his chest. If Max was alive....

He forced himself to keep running forward, trying to erase the horribly wrong sight of Max from the front of his mind. It was hard to move through the mass of workers, but he had too. He had to find her. 

Tears were already prickling in his eyes when he spotted Lucas.

The Sinclair boy stood in front of the house, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. His cheeks were stained with tears. His features were gaunt with what only true horror could leave you with. He was shaking, broken. Not the boy Steve was used to seeing.

"Sinclair!" Steve had called, rough. He felt his heart sink as Lucas looked at him, only to look away only in shame. "Where is she!?"

Lucas doesn't answer. He just stares at Steve, empty and tearful. He can't muster the strength to break the news of what had happened. 

Steve knows. The pit of dread that started inside of him when he saw Max, alive to a degree, just grows deeper as he looks at Lucas. He knows what this silence is. He saw it, last year, when all Joyce did was nod at Eleven to tell her that Hopper had been killed. 

He broke then and there.

In a split second, Steve grabbed a hold of Lucas' shoulders, barely even thinking. He shakes the Sinclair rough, but his hands are shaking. A sob leaves the younger boys throat as he's forced to look Steve in the eyes. "Sinclair, where the fuck is she!?"

Before Lucas could answer, Steve heard commotion behind him. He turned, and his heart stopped.

Carla.

Another stretcher is being wheeled out with just as many paramedics yelling at each other with urgency. The Harrington feels like he's being punched to the gut as he recognizes her. It doesn't even take him a second to do. 

She wasn't moving, other than the erratic and shallow rises of her chest—barely, did it seem she was breathing, and she was unconscious either way. Her left arm and leg dangled off the stretcher, bent and broken. Blood is everywhere, soaking her clothes, clotting under her eyes, dripping down her nose and ears. It's vibrant against the paleness of her skin. 

There's a hiccup of a sob. Nancy has a shaking hand over her mouth, which trembles in horror. Robin stands behind Steve, wide-eyed as the Wheeler is wheeled out the door. 

"I'm so sorry—Steve, I'm tried, I—" Lucas crumbled as he watched Steve's expression. He'd failed Steve. He'd failed Nancy. He'd failed everyone who had been counting on Carla coming out alive. "I didn't know—she said she'd be okay! I tried, I—I'm sorry!"

The repeated apologies go in one of Steve's ears and out the other. He looks back at the Sinclair, and in a moment  his anger and rough panic dissolves into something heavier. He tugs the younger boy into a hug, gripping him tightly. Lucas continues to sob out apologies.

Steve's mind is a whirlwind. He barely processes Lucas' apology, his words muffled by the deafening rush of blood in his ears. He can't think about that right now. He can't think about anything else except Carla. 

The paramedics wheel her past him and Lucas. The Harrington pulls away, catching a glimpse of her and his vision blurs, heartbeat thudding like a drum in his chest. The horrible feeling in his chest now is worse than when he'd been cradling her dead body last summer, somehow.  His mind races back to every moment with her, every kiss, every laugh, every promise of tomorrow. And now, here she is—broken, lifeless, blood-soaked.

He reaches out instinctively, his hand shaking, desperate to touch her. If she was conscious, she'd want him right now. Not all these fucking paramedics, crowding and prodding at her. 

"Carla!" He gasps, a cry breaking from his throat. His legs feel like lead as he stumbles forward, his breath ragged as he leaves Lucas. He's not thinking. He doesn't care that there are paramedics rushing around, shouting at each other. 

Different paramedics shoo him back. He doesn't hear their reasons, really. 

"I'm her fucking boyfriend!" Steve shouts, his voice cracking. He doesn't care that they're telling him to step back. He doesn't care about the rules or the precautions. He just wants to be near her, wants to hold her, to make sure she's going to be okay.

But the paramedics continue to push him back. Cold, sharp hands of authority grip his arms and usher him away. An oxygen mask is thrust over Carla's face as they try and get rid of him. The sound of their voices fades into the background, drowned out by the ringing in his ears. His heart pounds, like it's going to rip out of his chest.

He struggles, trying to break free, but then—

Robin.

She's there. Her hands grip his shoulders, firm but gentle. Her voice is soft , but cracks as she says his name. "Steve."

His name in her mouth is enough to shatter him. He doesn't know how to respond, doesn't know what to say. Everything he's been holding back crumbles in an instant. The fear, the anger, the helplessness, it all floods through him at once.

He can't hold it in anymore.

Steve Harrington rarely cried. His father had always been hard on him about the whole idea of showing his emotion. But then and there, the Harrington simply broke. He lets out a small sob, and before he knows it, collapses into Robin's arms, shoulders wracking. 

It's as if he's been holding his breath for hours, and now, he's suffocating under the weight of everything. He feels Robin's arms around him, steady, her words lost in the chaos, but he doesn't care.

Robin's voice is a distant hum as she holds him tighter, trying to ground him. "Steve, she's not... she's not gone. We don't know that yet. She's still fighting."

But Steve doesn't hear her. Not really. He only hears the ringing in his ears, the screams of his own heart

The memory of the previous night washes over him, and he swallows down as much emotion as he can. 

"When they brought you in, you were..." He trailed off, his throat working against the words. He shook his head, his free hand running through his disheveled hair. "You weren't breathing right. They said you were losing too much blood too fast, and—and I just... I couldn't do anything. I couldn't help you."

Carla frowns at his words. 

"I sat there all night, just watching them work on you, praying—begging, even—that you'd just... open your eyes. Say something. Anything." He rubbed at his face, a bitter laugh escaping him. "And now you're awake, and I just... I don't even know what to say. I'm so goddamn relieved, but at the same time, I feel like I'm gonna fall apart."

Steve didn't sleep all night. He sat here in the hospital room, waiting.

Carla doesn't know what to say back to Steve. She's not sure an I love you will cut it this time. 

Breaking the silence, Nancy steps forward. "Carla....do you remember anything that happened to you last night?" 

Having reconvened with him at the hospital, the group had gotten to hear Lucas' retelling of what happened at the Creel house. How Vecna had led them into the attic, where he claimed Max. How Carla dream-walked into the Mayfield's head to help her, how he saw her rise into the air and her limbs twist like she was about to be claimed, before watching her body fall back to the ground. 

How Vecna almost had her, but let her go. Alive. 

"Lucas told us you dream-walked into Max's mind?" Nancy adds, curious. 

Carla swallowed hard, forcing herself to recall what had happened the prior night. "Vecna led us up to the attic, just like he did with us. He got Max there, and I went into her mind. Just like I did with El last year, to help."

The Wheeler isn't sure if she did any help, now that she thinks about it. 

"I ended up in Max's favorite memory with her. Vecna invaded it and started to go for her, so....I made a deal and took her place. He almost had me." Carla can still remember the pressure on her skull, the pain. "And then Eleven came in. I don't know how, but she saved us for a moment and fought him, but he won. Vecna took us to his red world, and, uh...."

She can't seem to muster to tell them the truth. It hung heavy on her tongue, shamefully.

Steve's brow furrowed. "Carla, what happened in the red world?"

The Wheeler hesitated, her eyes darting between him and Nancy. Shakily, she begins, "He told me... he told me he couldn't kill me."

Steve blinked, his confusion evident. "What?"

"He said he couldn't kill me because I'm his tether to the real world. Without me here.....he can't exist."

Nancy stiffened. Her lips press into a thin line. "He's tied to you?"

"Ever since I got my scars on the Byers' front porch, I've been his lifeline." Carla nods, not daring to look her sister or boyfriend in the eyes. "He said he needed me alive to stay connected. To keep coming back. He's been targeting me just to fuck around. He was never going to truly kill me." 

Steve brought a hand up over his mouth. That fucker. "Jesus...." 

"The wound on my shoulder made the connection deeper." the Wheeler thinks of everything that Vecna had told her, growing more uncomfortable at each memory of a phrase. God, she wishes she was lying. "With it, I think he could flay me.....if he wanted. Use me against all of you." 

Silence.

Steve nor Nancy knows what to say. Last year, they truly discovered just how connected Carla was to the Upside Down, but never would they have assumed this to be the true extent of her connection. She wasn't just connected, she was a tether. A puppet. 

The silence makes Carla feel all the worse. Pathetically, her voice cracks. "I'm sorry." 

"Hey, no. No." Steve brings his hand down from his mouth, shaking his head. The last thing he wanted to hear from Carla was an apology. "Baby, that's not your fault, okay? None of this is. You didn't ask to be tied to Vecna." 

Carla just seals her lips. His words do nothing to ease her. 

 "What happened after he told you that?" Nancy questions, bringing the conversation back. 

"I woke up, and I was falling. I fell on the floor, there was so much pain, and..." Carla's breath hitches when she recalls what happened after she returned from Vecna's world. The red head barely breathing in Lucas' lap. "Max." 

She sees Steve's face falter at her name. Nancy frowns. 

Carla doesn't like their reactions at all. The beeping from her heart monitor speeds up as her heart races. "Where's Max? Is she—she's alive, right?"

"She's here." Nancy says,  voice was calm but her expression grim. "She's stable, but—"

Carla didn't let her sister finish. She struggled to push herself up, her body screaming in protest—getting out a bed with a cast over two limbs was less than ideal. "I need to see her." 

"No, baby, you need to rest." Steve said quickly, hands moving to keep her on her bed. "You're barely—"

"I don't care." Carla snapped, her frustration spilling over. She doesn't care about herself or her injuries anymore. The only thing on her mind is Max.  "Steve, please. Get me a wheelchair. I need to see her. Now."

Steve looked torn, his hand tightening slightly on her shoulder. "Carla—"

"Please." Carla lost the edge in her tone, "I need to see her. I need to know she's okay."

Steve exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. He glances at Nancy, exasperated. The other Wheeler gives a short nod—she knew her sister needed this. 

 "Okay." Steve concedes quietly,  "Okay, I'll get a wheelchair."

As he heads out to grab a chair, Carla manages a small, "Thank you." 

Steve leaves, and the two Wheelers are left with each other. Nancy's worrying her bottom lip in between her front teeth, anxious. 

Sick of talking about herself, Carla instead asks, "What happened on your end?" 

"We did attack Vecna. I shot at him—managed to get him out a window, but when Steve, Robin, and I went to look, he was gone. Just a silhouette where his body was." Nancy admits, chewing on her lip. "Hawkins is....ripped. Just like he showed you. The four gates tore everything apart. Everyone but us thinks it's an earthquake. Twenty-two people are dead. A lot more are missing."

Carla frowns. Once again, many innocent people are dead because of a force they did understand. Because of her. 

"Are.....are all of you okay?" the Wheeler is almost afraid to ask.

"Lucas has some face injuries that he got checked. Dustin injured his leg, but he's okay." Nancy hesitates for a moment, thinking over everyone. There was one name she had to mention. "Eddie, he...."

The Wheeler already knows the end of the sentence and her heart sinks further in her chest. Eddie was dead. 

"Oh." 

Eddie had grown on the Wheeler in the few days she'd gotten to know him. Really know him. Most of Hawkins didn't think twice before calling him a freak, or a slur of kinds. Carla had learned that while he was odd, he was a genuine boy. He was nothing like the monster Hawkins pinned him as.

Beneath the bravado and loud personality, he was geeky. He didn't have the best grades, but he could surely tell you fact after fact about his favorite rock bands. He liked playing D&D, enthusiastically so. He always made space for others to belong because he never did. He ran when things got scary. He had a real heart. 

Behind the cocky attitude and leather was just a teen who yearned for acceptance.

A teen who Carla was honestly starting to see as a good friend. 

Carla's lips thin together. She decides it's better if she doesn't reply. 

The door creaked open, interrupting the sisters. Steve enters, pushing a wheelchair into the room. His expression was strained, worry etched into every line of his face as he approached her. He rests the chair in front of the bed, coming next to his girlfriend,.

"Okay, baby," Steve said softly, his voice thick with emotion as he moved to help her. "This is going to suck, but we'll go slow."

Carla managed a weak nod. Steve was already by her side, gingerly slipping an arm under her knees and another behind her back. She hissed in pain as he lifted her, her casted limbs jostling slightly despite his careful effort.

She hates it. The way it hurts to move a single inch. The way she needs Steve to help her sit down. She doesn't like how weak she is. 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Steve murmurs, over and over again. Every wince or sharp inhale she took made his heart crack. He lowers her casted leg into the leg-rest, before extending the section of the wheelchair up to keep it propped. Carla settles her casted arm uncomfortably beside her.  "You okay?"

"Mhm." Carla manages, stiffly. 

Nancy crosses in front of her, grabbing the IV pole and wheeling it next to her sister so it didn't become disconnected. Carefully, the Harrington wheels his girlfriend out of her hospital room, deliberate and easy with his steps. The Wheeler follows with the IV pole.

They walk a few rooms over, before Steve turns the wheelchair. The door is already open, and there's a faint voice speaking as Carla is wheeled in. 

She looks up to see Lucas Sinclair sitting at a bedside, and her heart sinks at not only the swollen and bruised appearance of one of his eyes, but the absolute distraught expression on his face.

"Carla?" Lucas has a book in his hands, but he quickly closes it upon seeing the Wheeler. His face lightens for all of a second. 

He quickly closes the book and stands up, rushing over to her. Getting to her level, he gently wraps his arms around her. Awkward as it is, between the chair and the casts, Carla ignores the ache and lifts her good arm around the young boy, cradling the back of his head against her gown. 

"Hey," the Wheeler whispers. She doesn't need to ask to see how much last night scarred him. It's there, in his eyes. "Baby boy..."

"You're okay," Lucas clung to her, grip desperate as if he couldn't believe she was real. He didn't fail both of them. "You're okay."

"I'm okay." Carla reassures. She supposes she's lucky she can say that. "Are you? What happened to your eye?"

"Jason showed up, when you and Max were in your trance." the Sinclair recalls, pulling away. "He attacked me, but I'm okay. Nothing serious.  I'm only here because of....." 

He trails off. Carla tilts her head past him to see the girl taking up the sterile bed. 

Lucas moves out of the way, solemnly. Steve seems to get the hint and slowly pushes her wheelchair towards the bed. Carla's heart shatters all over again. 

Laying stiff and unconscious in the bed is Max. Her face is pale, sickly so. Both her arms and legs were encased in thick casts, a neck brace keeping her head immobile. An oxygen tube runs beneath her nose, and the deep purple of her eyelids stood out starkly against her skin. Her red hair, still twisted in two braids, looks vibrant against the dullness of her appearance. 

She looked so fragile, so unlike the vibrant, sharp-tongued girl Carla knew.

Looking at the Mayfield, Carla can't help but picture herself in the girl's position. Picture if they had switched roles—like they should have. It's a bitter thought.

The thought twisted her stomach in knots, and for a fleeting moment, she imagined herself lying there in the hospital bed—unrecognizable, her life hanging by a thread. Imagine if Max was the one, sitting in a wheel chair, hurt but recoverable. The way it was supposed to be. 

Carla had tried so hard to make sure Vecna took her instead of Max, and she failed. 

"The doctors don't know if she'll wake up." Lucas quietly admits as he watches the Wheeler. "I mean, she was dead for over a minute. Her heart stopped, I felt it stop. But....but she came back. I don't know how." 

The cold rush of her own experience flooded her mind—last summer, in Starcourt Mall. The whole night is a blur in her head, but so clearly does she remember being trapped with her flayed double. Stuck in her own head, lost, before Eleven came and brought her back to life. Though, she hasn't really felt like she was living since that night. 

Ever since she came back from her five minutes being clinically dead, Carla hasn't truly felt like she's been living. For weeks after coming back, she was stuck, unsure on how she was even supposed to feel. Then, she started to crack under the pressure of being a senior in high school and writing essays, proving herself. Then, Vecna started to loom above her, causing the headaches and nosebleeds and stress.

Her life has been hell for months. Ever since she came back.

Of course she never admitted how shitty she'd been feeling to anyone. Mike, Dustin, and Lucas were already stressed enough, navigating high school and finding themselves out. Eleven, Jonathan, and Will were so far away, and she'd never burden their chance at a normal life. Nancy was taking a leading position in the school paper, and was always busy. Robin would tell Steve. Max was already going through her own mental terrors herself.

And Steve was simply happy. Happy that he had his girlfriend, here. Happy that he practically lived with her, and got to sleep next to her every night. Happy that she was getting a future, and that he could feel his own dreams coming true. Happy because he thought that she was happy, too. 

Carla would never ruin that. 

"But, by coming back, that means that she's still in there." Lucas continues, more hopeful. The doctors don't have the same hope, but he can't give up. He'll never give up on Max. "Somewhere." 

Carla swallowed hard, the bile rising in her throat. Would Max feel the same way she did after she died? 

If Max woke up, who's to say she wouldn't fall down the same hole Carla had? Who's to say she won't feel the same as the Wheeler, knowing that she had come so close to death, only to be dragged back to this world of horrors?

Carla knew that being brought back wasn't a gift. It was a curse. 

She'd never want Max to feel that way. 

Carla reaches her good hand out, setting it over Max's casted one. She didn't know what to say, what to do. Two words repeat over and over again in her head, tormenting her as she stared at the Mayfield.

I'm sorry. 

The next morning, Carla was admitted out of the hospital. 

With many patients being admitted in with injuries due to the 'earthquake', the Wheeler had offered her room out to them rather than herself—much to Steve and Karen's dismay. Despite her injuries, and the exhaustion and pain she was still suffering from, Carla couldn't erase the urge to help that burned inside her when she heard the commotion of the hospital not having enough room. 

The doctors hadn't fought her terribly hard, given she was stable enough. After a night of no rest—if it wasn't hard to sleep before for Carla, it certainly was now, with two firm casts on her body—they sent her home with a bag of medication, a scheduled appointment in two weeks, and a wheelchair.

She was confined to the wheelchair for God knows how long—truly, she'd let Steve do most of the listening when it came to the instructions the doctors were giving—though Carla was already starting to get sick of sitting in it. 

Carla prayed her limbs healed fast, because after a few hours in the thing, she was sick of it. Sick of not being able to move herself. Sick of needing everyone's help. Sick of being looked at with sympathetic eyes. 

Though, it seemed all of Hawkins was being looked at with sympathy by the rest of the world, at the moment. 

On the car ride home, Carla had really gotten to see what Vecna was doing to Hawkins. Somehow, it was even worse than the visions she had seen. 

Four gates had opened—one in Eddie's trailer, one on the road where Fred had died, one in Lover's Lake, and one on the floor of the Creel attic. Together, the pressure had managed to split Hawkins in half; right down the middle.

  The center of town was now a mess of billows of thick, black, smoke and debris, buildings broken. Houses around it were completely gone. Helicopters flew in the air, and firefighter sirens rang all over the town as they fled to put out fires from electrical  and gas line explosions. The people were destroyed, heart-broken, grieving. The town was a swarm of chaos. 

 If it wasn't before, Hawkins was truly hell on earth now. 

Vecna had barely touched their town and Hawkins was already falling in on itself.

Minus the few who knew about the Upside Down, the rest of Hawkins was under the impression that they had been plagued by an earthquake of unprecedented scale—seismologists were shocked to their cores. The rest of the media was, too. Many stations from across the world had driven in, microphones in hand and camera ready to cover the utter devastation and interview anyone willing to talk.

Though, it was hard to find people to interview due to the amount of people leaving.

Since '83, Hawkins has been less than normal. There was a reason it had been labeled as a living hell after the prior summer. This 'earthquake' seemed to be the final straw for most citizens and families— after Starcourt, and the deaths of Chrissy, Fred, and Patrick, little were able to find the strength to stay in a town of such bad luck.

Carla can't blame them.  

The roads were jam-packed with cars, all heading in one direction; right past the Welcome to Hawkins sign. Very few vehicles came into the town, unless they were Indiana police, fire department, or ambulances. The commotion of traffic doesn't help the mess that the town already is.

The remaining population is split in half. One half are injured and unable to leave, or are now homeless and without transportation to get out. For them, Hawkins High, and many other large buildings, have opened their doors as shelter, filling up fast. 

Those who were lucky enough to still have their homes were helping the less-fortunate, donating food and blankets, clothes and toys.

Carla finds herself with the latter.

Ever since she returned home, the Wheeler had been sitting outside, the spring sun beating down on her. Karen, the caring and sweet woman she is, was on top of searching through the attic and basement for old items to donate, and Robin, Carla, Dustin, Steve, and Nancy had all been ushered in to help look through boxes and take them to the high school. 

None of the teens said no. After all, this whole mess was their fault, to a degree. 

So, for hours, the Wheeler has been sitting in her wheelchair, broken arm resting awkwardly in a sling, her leg elevated and stiff. Box after box has been sat in her lap, and she's looked through many old clothes and toys of hers, offering up most of them for donation. 

 It's the bare minimum she can do after being a cause of this disaster—though, it does nothing to ease the sick she still felt looking at the town. Donation was little compared to the devastation she's had a part in.

"Carla, look at this!"

At the sound of her name, Carla looks beside her at Robin. She sits on the side of the trunk of Steve's car, rummaging through the boxes sat on the Wheeler's lap with the Wheeler herself. 

"Who thought keeping a haunted-looking clown doll was a good idea?" the Buckley holds up a clown doll with aged seams in the Wheeler's face. "I'm serious, what child would want this? It's kinda freaking me out."

Carla looks at the doll, "That was Nancy's. Not mine."

Robin dramatically shivered at the doll before setting it back in the box. She then reaches out and picks up the now fully-looked through box, setting it into Steve's BMW, relieving the Wheeler of the weight in her lap.

The Buckley had been doing her best to try and lighten Carla's mood—the Wheeler is sure Steve put her up to it. She appreciates the attempts, but she doubts anything could make her feel okay. Not with what she now knew about herself; not with Max in the hospital. 

"How's it going over here?" Steve's voice enters the conversation. 

Carla glances up to see her boyfriend coming over, a box of his own in hand. He sets it down on the trunk, rummaging through it. While he has a box, it's clear he came over here to do more than look through it. 

For the past day, Steve had been God-awfully helpful—maybe too helpful, if Carla's honest. If she made the smallest sound, he was there to ask if she needed anything. At every moment was he muttering reassurances about how strong she was, or telling her he loved her and kissing her forehead. She's never heard the words 'Are you okay?' more in a day. 

Carla appreciates it—she does. She just hates needing his help to do every goddamn thing. She hates asking for it, though she knows he'll never shame her for doing so. 

"You don't have to babysit me, Steve," Carla said softly, catching his gaze.

"I'm not babysitting." Steve spares her a glance before looking back at the box. He pulls out a shoe, and hands it to Dustin. He takes out a baby-doll and hands it to Robin, who cradles it like it's real. "I'm....supervising." 

Dustin looks in the shoe to see if it has a name written inside it. "Yeah, you're doing a great job supervising, Steve. I'm pretty sure I just loaded half these boxes by myself because you were too busy watching her sit."

"I'm surprised you've been able to do that all yourself, Dustin." Robin quips, moving so the Harrington can adjust boxes within the trunk. "You have no upper-arm strength." 

"Excuse me?" 

"I'm just saying—"

Karen cuts in, "Someone order a pizza?"

Carla's brows furrow at her mother's comment, and suddenly the honking of a horn and rumbling of an engine fills her ears. Everyone looks away from the boxes, and towards the road, where a pizza truck pulls up in front of their house. Surfer Boy Pizza. 

What pizza place was open at a time like this?

"Pizza?" Dustin questions. No one had ordered anything, as far as he was concerned, and he didn't recognize the name of the company whatsoever. 

The passenger side door opens, and out steps a boy that Carla can't name. He has eccentric clothing, colorful and patterned. Hair that was longer than hers—

Wait. Argyle? 

Carla has heard the description of this boy before, in letters from Eleven. He's Jonathan's new best friend, who got him into smoking. He's from California. 

No way.

The remaining doors open and Carla's mouth falls in shock as Will, Jonathan, Eleven, and Mike step out. 

The sight of them hit Carla like a wave, her chest tightening with a mixture of relief and disbelief. For the past week, she hasn't known if they were okay—Joyce's phone line has been full, no letters have come in. She's been forced to merely hope that Vecna was keeping his torments here, and far away from the group, from Will and Eleven.

 Now she knows they're okay—alive. And God does it feel relieving. 

For a moment, all the friends do is stare at one another, in disbelief with their jaws hanging low and their features softening. Then, they start running for one another, emotions rising to the surface.

"Mom!" Mike makes a dash straight for Karen, who looks like she could cry.

Will runs for Dustin. Jonathan lifts Nancy right off her feet in a tight embrace. Eleven runs right for Carla. 

The Hopper barrels towards her sister, tears welling in the corners of her eyes. Carla instinctively opens her arm, wishing she could use both. Eleven all but collapses into her lap, wrapping her arms tightly around Carla, burying her face against Carla's uninjured shoulder. It hurts the Wheeler, but she doesn't care at all. 

"Carla," Eleven whispered, her voice trembling.

"Hi, honey." Carla said softly, cradling the back of Eleven's head. Just like in Max's mind, the Hopper had a buzz-cut—just like she did when the two girls first met. 

For a moment, the two girls just sit in each other's arms, admiring the fact that they were able to.

"I saw you. In my mind." Eleven manages, pulling away. She stays in the Wheeler's lap, grabbing onto her good hand and squeezing it tightly. "You were bleeding—"

"We don't have to talk about last night." Carla replies, thinking about the torments that had occurred in Max's mind.

The Hopper frowns, "I'm sorry."

"This is not your fault. You fought as hard as you could." Carla squeezes El's hand right back in weak reassurance. "I'm okay now. I'm okay. I promise." 

"Promise." El repeats, believing her sister for the moment. "I have so much to tell you."

 "I do too." the Wheeler hums. She brings her hand up, brushing over the light layer of hair that covers El's head. "Still pretty." 

Eleven offers a small smile, eyes shimmering with un-shed tears. Her gaze flickers to Carla's wheelchair, the casts, and the pain etched on her face. "You too," 

Carla just smiles at the Hopper. She'd missed El a lot. 

"Jesus Christ, Carla." Jonathan's voice is next. The remaining teens who'd been in California all peel away from whom they'd been reuniting with, noticing the Wheeler in the wheelchair. 

El had told them what she saw in her head—it's why they rushed down to Hawkins so quickly. However, while they knew she'd been heavily injured, none of the group new her true status. So, seeing her injured and in a wheelchair was a surprise. 

"Surprise?" Carla offers, unsure on what to say to her friends. 

"Not funny." Mike is the one to reply, bending down to give his sister a hug. She reciprocates the embrace with a relieved sigh, glad her little brother was okay. 

Carla counters, "You know what's not funny? You guys not answering our calls."

"We wanted too." Will is the one to speak up, cautious. He's much taller than the last time Carla saw him, even if that was only a few months ago. "But, we couldn't risk contact." 

"Couldn't risk contact?" Nancy raises a brow. 

"We'll explain everything." Jonathan kneels down next to Carla's wheelchair, nodding at his girlfriend. Without hesitation, he wraps his arms gently around his best friends shoulders, hugging her as mindfully as he could. "Come here,"

Carla leans into him. He smells like weed, but she doesn't care. With a tearful chuckle she admits, "Could have really used my best friend here for all of this."

"Yeah, I could have used you in California, too." Jonathan replies, genuine. Argyle had been a great friend to him since he moved, but he wasn't Carla. Never would be.  He kisses her forehead gently before studying her again. "Are you sure you're okay? I mean, respectfully, you look like you've been hit by a car." 

Robin quips, "More like hit by Vecna." 

"Robin," Steve deadpans, unimpressed. 

"Sorry." 

"El told us about him." Mike nods, face going stern. 

"Where's Lucas?" Will cuts in to ask.

Dustin replies, casually. "He's at the hospital?"

Eleven's brows furrowed, "Was he hurt?" 

"No. No, he's...." Dustin looks between his two friends and their confused expression's before his face suddenly falls in a dawn of realization. They didn't know. "Oh God. You don't know." 

Eleven immediately looks at the Wheeler, as if she already knows. All Carla can do is frown right back at her. 

The group was split up again.

After a brief explanation about what had happened to Max, and a beg from Eleven to see her, Nancy decided it was best if she took the Hopper, as well as the Byers boys and the Wheeler, to the hospital to see their friends.

Carla would have gone too, but in the wheelchair, it was too much of a hassle to get her in and out of cars, let alone move her everywhere. Besides, if she went, then Steve would go, and he needed to drive the donation boxes over. 

Carla also isn't sure she can stomach to see the Mayfield again. Not when she's still so full of guilt about everything. 

After both groups bid each other a goodbye, promising to reconvene and discuss everything later in the basement of the Wheeler home, they went their separate ways. One half went to the hospital, and the other—after managing to get Carla into the passenger seat—headed for Hawkins High with donation boxes.

Which is where they currently were. 

The sunlight glared down on Steve, Robin, Dustin, and Carla as they made their way into the school. The Henderson and Buckley held boxes of their own, the Wheeler having one in her lap while the Harrington pushed her, car keys in between his lips.

The parking lot is full of vehicles and people, a commotion of chatter and aid. Many held boxes or bags of their own, filled with clothing and food; bedding and sheets; necessities. It seemed everyone was doing their part, pitching in for those who weren't so fortunate in the earthquake. 

The group files into the school with others. Carla was quick to feel rather out of place.

Previously used for the basketball game, the gymnasium was filled to the absolute brim with cots. Tables are set up, with name-tagged workers behind them. Some are folding clothes, some are caring for those in hospital beds, and others are making food. Everyone is doing something.

People were everywhere—lying on the floor, in hospital beds, speaking to officers and army generals, folding clothes, standing in front of a 'Missing People' board, crying, and making food. They're all different ages. Everyone is swarming. Carla isn't sure the gym can fit the hundreds more crowding inside. Was this how many people were hurt by Vecna? How many were homeless, or left grieving? 

Carla just feels sick being wheeled in. She's the odd one out—her, Steve, robin, and Dustin all are. They know this wasn't an earthquake. They're the reason this all happened. Yet here they are, walking amongst the suffering like they knew nothing. 

They pass by the wall of hospital beds as they make their way to the front desk of the make-shift shelter. Some are elder, with oxygen masks. Others are younger with casts. Many have IV's up their arms. Some are in wheelchairs, too.

Steve smiles weakly at the patients. Carla can't find the courage to look at them in the slightest.

Luckily for her, they make it to the small table set up as a front desk a few seconds later.  

"Hi," Robin speaks up. She sets her donation box down on the table, Dustin doing the same with his own box. Steve reaches for his girlfriends, setting it down by the other two. 

The worker smiles, "Hi," 

"Uh, so these are blankets and sheets. And some....some clothes. And....and some kids toys." the Buckley places her hand on each box as she describes what's inside of them, before sliding her hands into her pockets.

"Wow. It's already so organized. We appreciate that." The woman muses—Carla reads the name on her name-tag; Melissa. She reaches to get a pen before asking, "Do you want a tax receipt for it?"

"Um...." Robin already knows what she wants to say, but she glances at Steve for confirmation. 

"No." Carla doesn't hesitate, shaking her head. Melissa looks down at her, offering a sympathetic smile as she notices her condition. "Is there something we could maybe do here, to help? Anything?" 

The Wheeler didn't feel right just leaving. She wanted to stay here, and help everyone here even if it was just by folding clothes. Maybe it would make her feel better for being a part of what caused all this. 

Melissa smiles, not expecting the offer. Though, she wasn't going to deny them. They did need help. A lot of it. 

In a moment, the four teens were handed name-tags and whisked away from the front desk, as well as from each other, for the most part. Dustin is put on water duty, limping around with a tray of water for anyone who wants it. Robin is placed in charge of making peanut-butter and jellies for the food table. And Steve and Carla—the Harrington was very easily able to have him and the Wheeler together—were tasked with folding clothes of all ages.

"Okay, then we sort by age." A worker walks the couple over to where they were stationed. Steve suddenly halts in wheeling, catching a shirt that falls out of someone's bin of donations. "We've got infants, girls, boys, men, women.....Oh! If anything is in too bad shape, we don't really want that."

"Thank you." Carla says, as Steve wheels her in front of the table. Her eyes scan over the array of clothing, which ranges infant to adult. The lady walks away, going to find another task to busy herself with.

The Wheeler reaches for an item of clothing, setting it in her lap. Steve does the same, though he manages to fold it much faster, having two working hands. A small silence comes between the couple, both absentmindedly working. The aimless chatter from injured, friends, and volunteers is enough.  They two just fold, movements practiced and calm. Almost a show of what could be. 

"It's a gift." 

"Oh..."

"You're welcome." 

"For me?"

"Mhm." 

Carla manages to hear the sarcastic jabs of two girls, and glances up from folding to see Robin talking with Vickie at one of the food stations. They're supposed to be making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, though it seems like they're doing differently. The redhead and blonde are sparing glances at each other with those eyes. Smiling giddy. Giggling. 

The Wheeler remembers that innocent love. 

"Oh, you really shouldn't have." 

"Oh, but I did." 

"Oh, I just don't even deserve it—I mean, thank you."

"Early birthday." 

"Thank you so much. Oh—oh wow."

"Look at them," Steve murmurs, clearly looking at the same sight as his girlfriend. His voice is soft with a hint of nostalgia. "Remember when we were like that?"

Carla's lips curve into a small smile. "Yeah...." 

She remembers when her and Steve were just reckless teenagers. When he'd leave flowers in her locker, and notes to meet him in the bathroom. Take her out to the movies, and then kiss her silly in the back of his car. Back when they had nothing to worry about but each other. When they were simple.

Sometimes, Carla wishes she could go back to then. Maybe back to '84, when they got back together. Somewhere back when things were still innocent between her and Steve, where she could tell her younger self to spend all the time she wanted with him, while she still could. 

Now Carla was eighteen, and she feels like her teenage years have been ripped right away from her by Vecna and the Upside Down. Half of her relationship with Steve has been with monsters coming between them. Their entire second relationship has been with Carla plagued by her own demons. She's not the same girl that the Harrington met in high school, as much as she tries. 

The Wheeler looks back down at the clothes in her lap. Her fingers brush over a soft yellow onesie with a little duck embroidered on the chest. Her mind drifts back to their conversation in the trailer, where they'd spoken about their future. Kids. 

She might not get to be recklessly in love with Steve Harrington anymore—that's been taken by Vecna; they've grown.  But, they still had a chance for a  future together. The rest of their life to make up for the last four years. 

Steve, oblivious to the Wheeler's thoughts, keeps folding clothes with surprising efficiency. He tosses a pair of toddler jeans onto the boys pile and shrugs, "I think I'm getting pretty good at this." 

Carla sighs, "Don't quit your day job, Harrington."

"Hey." Steve hears her sigh and glances down at her. "You okay?"

Carla nods, forcing a small smile. She folds the onesie in her lap. "Yeah. Just... thinking."

"....About?" 

"Everything." Carla's fingers toy with the edge of a toddler's dress, lips pursing. "I don't know. I see Robin and Vickie, and it just reminds me of what we used to be like. What maybe it could still be like if Vecna didn't keep tormenting us. Me. He took away four years of my life. Four years of our relationship. And now all we have left is a future together. Monroe...." She frowns, "And I don't know, I just came so close to dying again, to making you lose your dream. To having us lose everything."

"Hey, no. No." Steve moves closer, crouching slightly so he's at eye level with her. "I don't care what almost happened—I care what did. We didn't lose everything. You're still here. We're still here."

Carla retorts, "But for how long, Steve? Vecna's still out there. I can feel it."

Steve frowns, leaning on the edge of the table. "You don't know that for sure. I mean, maybe he crawled off somewhere to die. That's what happens to the big bads in the movies, right? I mean, Nancy shot him good."

"No." Carla shakes her head. She knew better than to believe Vecna was actually dead, especially after getting so far in his plan. "He's not like that. Vecna is....he's different. I know he's not gone. He showed me all of this when I was trapped in my mind. He told me he would see me soon when he let me go last night. And now, that I know about my full connection to him, I can just feel it." She frowns, "He's waiting for the right moment to strike again. This war isn't over yet."

For the last four years, something bigger has always followed their countless battles. Carla knows better than to think Vecna is finished with them. With her. 

"Look, it's snowing!"

The voice rang out across the gymnasium, cutting through the hum of voices and shuffling tasks. Heads turned, and within seconds, a wave of movement rippled through the room. People surged toward the windows, some pushing out the gym doors to see what was happening outside.

Steve and Carla both looked out the window at the sudden statement, immediately seeing what everyone was so concerned about 

The sky had dimmed tremendously. Thunder rumbled amongst the gray clouds that infiltrated the previously sunny day. The atmosphere shifted entirely. And, just like someone had yelled, particles were falling from the sky. Except, it wasn't snow. 

No, Carla knew what those particles were. She'd seen them in her nightmares, walked with them in the tunnels, breathed them in while she was into the parallel dimension she'd been forced to grow familiar with. These were Upside Down particles.

The Upside Down was invading Hawkins. Vecna's plan was coming true. He wasn't done, not yet. 

Steve pushed Carla and himself to the window, gaunt-faced. Robin met them there, a knowing expression on her face while Vickie trailed along, clueless.

Carla's stomach dropped as she stared out at the corrupted sky. Her scars tingled faintly, like the faintest whisper of a warning. Steve places a hand on her shoulder, and she reaches her own to clasp it, nails digging into knuckles. 

The Wheeler knew it was wrong for them to believe that Vecna was dead.  He had been torturing Hawkins for years, and now was his chance to finish his plan. To kill everything and everyone. To kill Eleven. To use Carla. To turn the world from the ugly mess humans have created to a beautiful chaos. 

And now, his plan was unfolding, piece by piece. The Upside Down was breaching their reality, its tendrils creeping closer to finishing what he had started.

Carla knew. 

This was the beginning of the end. 

mara's misc!

that's a wrap on sighted?? 

i wanna save a lot of what i have to say for my authors note, so i'm not gonna say much here. however, for anyone who doesn't want to bother reading that sappiness, i just want to say thank you. not just for reading and sticking with this book, but for being with starla since the beginning. i appreciate all of you so much <3

yes, i listened to i know the end and end of beginning while writing this. i had too. 

while st5 is coming this year, there isn't an exact release yet so i'm not sure when i will be back to this series. however, i do promise to be back. carla wheeler WILL be back, no matter what happens in st5. if she has a happy ending, however, depends on what happens so ya'll better start praying now. 

an author's note will be up soon, and i hope you read that :) 

i hope you enjoyed this book <3 see you all back with the final season!!