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blue - 001

show: Stranger Things [SPOILERS FOR SEASON 4]

pairing: female reader x peter ballard

summary: growing up in the lab with Dr Brenner for a father wasn't easy, but you had a friend that made things a bit tolerable.

It wasn’t easy being the daughter of Dr Martin Brenner, but you did your best to please him. He was a very systematic man, who wished to control everything and everyone as he saw fit, and you had no problem following orders, except that it was clear your father was setting you up for failure. He never made a secret that he did not like that you were born a female, not a male, and you guessed that was the reason behind all of his impossible requests he kept on making, always wanting more of your brain than it could ever learn.

That was the reason why you grew old in his lab in Hawkins— he expected you to follow him around like a loyal dog, and you were generally making notes on the things you saw in there.

It was no surprise to you when he asked for your presence to see something that had arrived at the lab. “A new subject,” he had called the boy, not as if dad was king and, the boy, his commoner, but as if the boy was a school subject, as it was what your father envisioned the boy to be to you.

“Come on in, daughter,” he said, getting up from where he was sitting. “This is number one.”

You walked in slowly, scared. You were barely ten, but smarter than most teens, but at that moment, you felt like a little dear, scared for his life. You stared at the boy sitting in front of where your father was and you were shocked to find a calm boy. You expected to see someone as scared as you, or even more, but no. Number 001, as your father called him, was serene, and he stared back at you like he could see your very soul.

“Number one, this is my daughter, [y/n] Brenner,” your father made the room so you could sit in the chair he once sat in. “Get familiar with her, as she is to be your future doctor, once she graduates.”

The boy stared back at your father. His head movement was weird as if he was used to having some hair to move when looking up, but there was no hair on top of his head, just his buzzcut.

“I’ll let you two get to know each other, as I’m sure my daughter can enlighten you about who I am,” was the last thing your father said before leaving and locking the door behind.

You gulped, forcing yourself to stop facing the door and look back at the boy.

He looked your age, maybe just a bit older.

“My name is not one,” he said, breaking the silence with a rasping voice.

“I’m sorry?”

He smiled, not showing his teeth. It was as if he found pleasure in seeing you confused.

“My name’s Henry.”

“Was,” you corrected him because that was expected. You knew that even though your father left, he could be watching you two, by the mirror windows or even the cameras. You learned long ago that they were everywhere in the lab. “You’re not Henry anymore.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

Then, the quietness came again. No one uttered a word. You were still nervous, gulping by the second, but the boy just laid back, watching. You didn’t like the silence, it made you overthink.

“You can call me just by [y/n], you know,” you said.

“Not a doctor then?”

“Oh, as much as my Papa likes to brag, I’ll only graduate high school next year. I still have a while before getting hold of my doctored degree.”

“Graduating high school?” that seemed to surprise him.

You couldn’t help but smile. It was a hard life, studying like crazy and not ever getting complimented, but you liked knowing you were a genius. “I am young as I look, but as my father’s daughter, I must be at the top of not just my class, but everyone else’s.”

“Must be exhausting,” he replied, looking away.

He wasn’t expecting you to agree in a whisper. “It is.”

Both of you exchanged a knowing look. Maybe there was not much knowledge of each other, but there was of yourselves. You knew you weren’t gonna have an easy life, and he knew he was destined for one difficult as well. Doomed, was the word, but back then, you didn’t know. You just didn’t know.

~~

“Sorry I’m late, P,” you said, sitting down on the white floor.

Everything was white at that goddam lab, but you were used to it, or at least, it didn’t bother you as much as it did in the beginning.

Your friend Henry, or as you nicknamed him Peter, was the Number 001, and he was already in the room, sitting on the floor at the very same spot you two had found for each other. It was nice being able to just sit on the ground, and not care about getting dirty, as if there was any chance of that happening in the lab. It was simple and it put you two on the same level, which was true even if your papa wouldn’t agree.

Before getting your doctorate, you and Henry were not much of friends, although you supposed you were each other’s closest person in each life. Peter had access to the other kids, the other numbers, but they were just babies, while you spent your life alone, guided solely by Dr Brenner, your father. It was lonely for both of you, and once you had your degree in your hands, you decided to get closer to the boy who was always staring you around when you came down to the lab.

At first, your father did not approve of your specialization in psychology, but once he started filling the lab with children, he realized your diploma was very much in need, and he gave you a room, so you could listen and take notes on each of the kids’ complaints.

And even though number 001 was no longer a kid, he still had a scheduled hour with you, every Tuesday and Thursday.

When he walked in, for his first appointment ever, you were as nervous as he was shocked to see you. You had only turned eighteen, but he was about to be nineteen, and a lot had changed. Yeah, you saw each other grow up, but not as frequently as the hearts would hope, and a lot had changed.

You were one of them now, at least it was how he saw you that very first Tuesday. You were dressed in white, with your hair fixed in a tight ponytail. There were no more pink and yellow dresses. And he had changed too. He looked exhausted, with dark circles under his light blue eyes, and he was way taller than you.

You remembered him being cold, scared to talk. Of course, he did not lose his posture of serenity, as if he was always the most intelligent one in every room he walked in.

Neither of you remembered how or when it all changed, how you two came to agree with sitting on the floor and sharing your lunch (you always brought something tasty from the outside, something the kids would never have access to). Something had happened — maybe a look you shared or a word he spoke, neither of you could point at the thing, but both were very glad it had happened.

Peter looked forward to his appointments with you, for it was the only hour he had to be himself, to feel free. Yes, your room was as white as the rest of the place, but when it was just the two of you behind the closed door, suddenly, it felt coloured. It felt rainbowy.

“It’s okay. It’s not like I’m not used to being alone,” he said, jokingly, and you pushed him with your left hand while he laughed. “You shouldn’t…” he had to pause because he was laughing too hard “... push me like this, Dr; I’m sure your father won’t like it.”

“Papa?” you echoed. It was funny now that you were twenty to call him papa because that was the very nickname Dr Brenner was forcing the kids, the other numbers, to call him. Well, the word was not funny per se, as it was more weird than comic. “Papa can’t see in here,” you said, smiling, “so I just kill you and it won’t matter.”

Peter smiled again, that beautiful smile that always heated your heart. His hair was growing again, out of his buzzcut, as you noticed it happened way faster than with the other kids. It was so unfair, you thought, for he had the most beautiful golden hair. You were thankful the numbers had a schedule for haircuts, and Peter had to wait for the day with the others, instead of being taken to cut it earlier, because then it allowed you moments like that one, where you could see some locks fighting to grow.

You took advantage of his silence to inform some news.

“I’ve been talking to him, you know. I think… I think he will allow it, P. He’ll let you be a worker here, not just…”

“Don’t say patient,” he quickly interrupted you, knowing very well you hated to use ‘subject’ even though it was way better than ‘prisoner’, which he was.

You stared at him, focusing on every detail of his blue eyes.

You didn’t understand what happened to you two, why were you like this… How did you become friends? And is that the ideal word for the two of you?

Unlike most of the other numbers, Number One had a childhood outside the lab. He got to know some customs of American society, customs that used to reveal themselves without him realizing it. You liked those moments—when he referenced some ‘50s song, or even when he opened the door and let you out first. Most of the other kids couldn’t even form a sentence properly—and they were barely aware of some American habits and customs. It was like talking to little Tarzans, rescued from the forest.

“Sometimes... do you sometimes think about your life before?” you asked, genuinely curious.

“Stop analyzing me,” he said, pretending to be angry, but he knew very well that the question had been asked by [y/n] and not by Dr [y/n] Brenner. He was avoiding answering you, which probably meant that yes, he often thought about it. When he was Peter, though he was still Peter when he walked into your room. He’d never be Number One there — you would never allow it. “I think of my father.”

You gulped, nervously, just like you used to do when you were a kid.

There wasn’t much you knew about Peter’s life before he met your father, but you knew enough. He killed his parents, or at least he tried to kill his father, but only managed to end his mother and sister. You never knew his motives, for he never talked about it. All the info you had was given by your father, but he didn’t usually care for motives, only for results. So Dr Brenner theorized Peter killed his family because of something traumatic he must’ve been through, and that was enough.

For you, however, the question always remained.

“Your father… he was imprisoned, right?” you asked, trying to play it casually. You had done your research, but in any way did you want to scare him.

Peter looked back at you, your elbows almost touching.

“He was,” he said as if he wanted to say more but just couldn’t.

“Sometimes, I wish my father went to prison,” you let out your guilty truth. You knew what your father did to the kids, you weren’t dumb. But you spent so many years trying to please him, that it was hard to imagine yourself doing anything that could jeopardize your papa. Besides, his research was important, the kids maybe did not receive the best of treatments, for the love Dr Brenner offered was only when the children had reached important achievements but wasn’t that the love he offered you, his very blood daughter?

You watched Peter as he frowned, clearly feeling sorry for you. Although that was one of the rare comments you made about your father that could indicate a bad upbringing, it was only presumed that the boy used by the doctor would assume that the man was not a good father.

“One day,” he said, “we’ll get out of here, huh.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah. We’ll get your fancy diploma and my crazy abilities and make a world of our own.”

“I don’t know about a world,” you smiled, leaning your head on his shoulder. “I’m happy with just a house.”

He tilted his head towards yours and the two of you just stayed there, in silence, enjoying each other’s company. There was so much to be said… but there was never the right time. You hoped Peter understood that dreaming of leaving was just that: a dream. You couldn’t escape your papa, and he could even less, as he was not just his whole research base but also his favourite prisoner.

~~

Peter wanted to protect you.

He always wanted to protect you, ever since he met you, the little girl in pigtails, walking in all nervous and looking at him as if you were surprised and scared at the same time. He was not much older than you, but somehow he knew it was his job to be the protector.

He saw through your mind — even though he didn't want to, it was inevitable with a power like his. He saw that you were just the perfect daughter even though your father was far from being the perfect papa you saw him as. He saw a mind as complex and smart as his and he was glad to find in you a twin soul.

Although he saw you grow old, he didn’t see you as often as he hoped, and there were weeks when he grew desperate, thinking Dr Brenner had done some evil against you, but then, all of the sudden, you were crossing the corridors following him around like a puppy, taller and prettier than the last time he saw you, and that was enough. It had to be.

However, three weeks before his nineteenth birthday, a guard came to his room, asking for him to accompany him for Number One had an appointment. Needless to say, Peter was very surprised when, opening the door, he found [y/n], dressed in white this time, just like the other doctors, but at the same time so different. She still had the same energy — a scared little genius. She looked pretty, more like a woman this time than the last, even though she was younger than him.

He was surprised, but he managed to pretend he was careless. What were you doing there, in a room all alone in the lab? He thought by now you’d be free of her father, but he was wrong. Or maybe you didn’t want to be free. Maybe you had become one of them officially.

So he kept his cold distance, scared you were gonna run more tests with him.

But it wasn’t what you did.

In your first appointment, you just sat there and told him about your trajectory, similar to your first conversation when he was eleven years old, except this time you had managed to accomplish all of those things your father had only planned.

He listened to it all because, why wouldn't he? It was you after all. His weak spot. The one that would doom him.

Before he knew it, he was anxious, waiting for your next appointment, and, although again, he remained silent and just listened to you, he noticed that he liked it. He just liked being in your presence.

Something happened then, something shifted, and before he knew it, he was telling you everything, all about the tests and the powers; powers you could not comprehend, but that didn’t stop him from trying to explain and eventually show them to you.

Friends, he supposed. You two were friends. He had never thought of calling someone that before, but perhaps it was fit for the little relationship you two had formed.

And since he defined you as a friend, it was no surprise that one day, Dr Brenner, the Dr Brenner, requested his presence in his office.

“Yes, Papa?” he hated to call the man that, he was bloody twenty-one years old, but if he called Brenner any other thing, he would be a dead man by the morning.

“I have been watching you closely, my boy,” he said, trying to put emotion in his words, but failing miserably. “And I think, as you’ve come of age, you should have a more important job here. Perhaps it’s time you help the other children, huh? Help them achieve their potential maximum, as I’ve done with you. You could be my left hand.”

Peter lowered his head, pretending to be honoured. There was no honour in serving Dr Brenner, but Peter knew it was better being a guard than being a subject. At least someone (the children) would stop looking at him like a child that grew too fast.

“That would be an honour, Papa. I mean, sir, as I suppose should be the one I should call you now,” Peter said, testing the waters. “It wouldn’t be right for the kids to see that Number One is in charge but they aren’t, right?”

Dr Brenner took a second to observe.

“Right. It’d be best if they didn’t know you are Number One. let them think he grew and left for the world. You shall be… I forgot; what was your name from before again, my boy?”

“Peter,” he replied, but soon realised he did it too quickly.

The doctor stared at number One, analysing, pensive towards his easiness of recalling his name. He wasn’t supposed to be remembering that time of freedom, before the lab.

Peter felt like that was his first test in the new position and he had just failed.

“Well, Peter, that shall be you calling from now on. Go to your room, yes? I’ll send someone to take your things to a new area of the building and explain your duties in the new position. But be clear that I’ll still expect you to continue training.”

“Sure. Thank you for the opportunity, sir.” And Peter left, not fast enough, but he did not stay to hear more — he just wanted to leave.

~~

“Who’s that?” he asked you, following the little girl that was accompanying your father as they passed down the hall.

“Eleven,” you said, as that was the number the little girl was designated and you had no idea what her real name was. “She’s been raised here, but isolated. Papa thinks she’s powerful.”

Peter crossed his arms, still following the girl with his eyes.

His hair was longer than the last time you saw him, and you liked it that way. Since he became a guard and helper, Dr Brenner cut him off from his appointments with you, so you were only able to see Peter if by chance you two crossed paths in the halls, like it was happening there.

It was unfortunate that you couldn’t see each other weekly, but you knew he would rather be a guard than be a ‘patient’, as you used to call and he used to hate it.

“Powerful how?”

“She had been through this whole way of birth… I don’t know how to explain it. She’s not a patient of mine,” you said.

“Why?” he questioned, genuinely interested.

“I don’t know. Papa says she’s too young. But I’ve talked to her, during some tests… She indeed seems very powerful. Talented.” You tilted your head, remembering the first time you saw Eleven.

“So she’s his new Number One,” Peter uncrossed his arms, only to smile at you, tossing his blond locks away from his eyes.

“You’re still number one,” unfortunately, you thought, a bit sad.

“Am I still the most talented and powerful person in the lab?”

“Oh,” you decided to provoke him. “I think Eleven wins.”

“How dare you!” he said, but he was laughing, and soon, so was you.

When you noticed the time on your watch, you decided to ask for a favour.

“Just… watch over her, huh? I feel like you’ll see her more than me, as it seems father won’t trust her over my surveillance. Eleven, she feels like she’ll need a friend.”

“You know you’re my only friend,” he said, and his expression was serious. He wasn’t lying.

“And you’re mine.”

He sighed. “I’ll watch over her.”

“Thank you,” you mouthed, soundless before leaving to go back to your job.

Peter watched as you left, reflecting on your plea. He saw in your mind that you cared for Eleven, more than you cared for the other kids. And if your request was for him to watch over the little girl, then he would be his bloody guardian if needed.

~~

“Happy birthday, doc.”

You stared up from your cupcake with a candle on top to see Peter, also known as Number One, in your room. There were rare times when he would come in, especially after he stopped being your patient, so you were surprised with his visit, but mostly, you were concerned because he saw your sad moment with the birthday cupcake.

“Thank you, P,” you said, shrugging and blowing the candle. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to say happy birthday. I know those things matter to you.”

You tilted your head while frowning before replying, jokingly, attempting to distract him from your real reasons. “It stopped mattering when I turned 25.”

“[y/n],” he smiled and walked in, closing the door behind, “you just turned 30. You’re not old.”

You were glad he decided not to mention your father — the real reason behind your sad birthdays. He never remembered, or he was always busy; you wish it didn’t matter, mainly as you grew older, but it still bothered you. Fortunately, you had Peter.

“I don't think I've mentioned it before but I like when you call me Peter,” he said, changing subjects.

“I'd never call you 001.”

“I know, but... you could call me Henry. It's better than the number,” he shrugged. “I like being Peter, the guy that works at the lab and not Henry the cursed son of a troubled man.”

You lowered your head, remaining in silence for you had not what to say after that.

“How’s Eleven?” you asked, because, as it seemed, you cared for the girl and it was a good way to change the subject. It was only natural to ask about her to the person who was spending at least ten hours per day with her.

Peter came closer to your chair, looking down at you with pity. It wasn’t as if Eleven was in danger (not more in danger than all of them) or as if she was a stupid child, but Peter didn't like that you cared that much. It made him care too, and that was unforgivable.

“She’s okay. The other kids don’t like her, but she’s managing,” he said.

You sighed. “Well, I suppose it could be worse.”

“Sure. It’s not as if your father isn’t experimenting on her or something.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Don’t say it like that.”

“Like it isn’t the truth?” he replied, bothered that you didn’t like his sick joke.

“I know what my father does, ok? Do you think I like it?” you shouted, perhaps a bit too louder than needed. “Do you think I have any power against it?”

“No, but I do! I have power!” he yelled back. “Just say the word, [y/n], and we’ll burn this place to the ground.”

By place, you knew he meant your father. Your Papa.

And even though you had enough reasons to agree, you just couldn’t.

You sighed, giving up on the fight.

“I’m sorry,” Peter sighed too, and he placed one of his hands on your chin, forcing you to look back up, to look at him again. You allowed him, mostly because you were tired, but partly because it calmed you down to look at his beautiful blue eyes. “I didn’t come in here to fight. I wanted to give you a gift. For your birthday.”

You stared at him, confused. You could see his hands — there was no package in them.

But Peter’s gift… it didn’t need to be wrapt.

Growing up with parents that loved each other was kinda gross, at least it was what young Peter thought, seeing them touching lips all the time. He didn’t understand the reason behind it, why would they need to kiss at every chance they got?

Then, Peter came to the lab, he became Number One, his mother was dead, and he forgot all about it. He forgot the name of the feeling humans have, the one that curls up their stomachs and makes their hearts beat faster. He forgot it all until he didn’t. Until you showed up. And maybe his heart was racing, maybe he wanted to touch you.

Sometimes, brushing shoulders wasn’t enough.

So he remembered something, something lost in his past and probably unfamiliar to you too, as both had weird upbringings, but he thought it was just perfect. Peter knew he had to give it a try.

He raised his hand from your chin to your cheek and allowed the other to follow. Your eyes widened as you understood what was going on, but you did nothing to stop him. Hell, you had been waiting for that for decades.

You could leave the lab, you had access to movies. Even though there weren’t many kisses in your life — motherless childhood and all (besides the fact that you were always the nerd in school and life) — you desired to be kissed. You waited for that moment when you were fifteen, then at eighteen, then strong as ever when you were twenty (when Peter burst in celebrating being repositioned as a guard and not a simple number).

So you let him and you responded to the kiss. You touched him too, pulling him by his golden hair that you so much admired, and you let your lips open just enough that he could understand the signal. And Peter understood, as he too wanted more — wanted to feel you, taste you, and not just lips and tong, but hands, oh, wandering hands that travelled from your cheekbones to your curves, to pull you close.

If first you were sitting and he had to lean down to reach you, that was in the past minute, because he managed to change your positions with ease, placing you over his lap as he sat on your chair.

“I think…” you started but he kissed you, silencing you.

“Don’t think,” he replied. “If you think, I’ll think.”

“Peter…”

You could feel his smile on your lips.

“Let’s reshape the world, [y/n],” he whispered, kissing your neck, “join me.”

His hands tightened on your back when he noticed you froze. Damn it, he thought.

“We can free all the numbers and we can remake this place, this world, however, we see fit.”

“Why are you saying this to me?” you asked, confused. You thought it was about kissing, but maybe this primitive form of touch awoke something in him. It was two desires combined and you were scared Peter wasn’t gonna forget it.

There was no escaping your father, as much as you liked to dream about it.

You kissed him again. “Forget it, Peter.”

You pulled him closer by the collar of his white shirt.

“Focus on me.”

“It’s all I’ve been focused on, [y/n]. Couldn’t you see? How desperate I am to leave but I stay? Why do you believe I stay?” he kissed you back but this time you pulled away. “Don’t think, [y/n].”

You tried to find his eyes, his calming blue eyes that you loved to stare at. You would see sense there. You would see the real him there.

And you saw the real him there.

Blue. Ice cold blue eyes.

“Peter, let me go,” you said, expecting him to drop his hands from your leg and back.

But he didn’t.

“You just kissed me, Peter, why can’t you enjoy it?”

He shook his head. “How can I? Do you think your father will give us his blessing?”

You closed your eyes.

“And even if he does, do you think he’ll leave us be? Do you think he’ll let my children be?”

You gulped. “You’re overthinking, Peter,” you said, trying to remain calm.

“With whom do you think I’ve to learn it?” his voice was louder and it echoed in the room.

“Let me go,” you asked, but he ignored you, he just kept going with his monologue about the world and freedom. “Let me go, Number One.”

He instantly dropped you. One minute you were on his lap, the other you were on the floor. You got up, adjusting your skirt, trying to get to the door.

“Why did you call me that, Dr Brenner?”

You gulped.

“Why did you have to call me that, Dr Brenner?!”

You finally reached for the door. You had the handle in your fingers. He wasn’t holding you anymore. It was going to be ok.

“Say you’re sorry, please, [y/n],” Peter said, his blue eyes looking deep into yours.

“I’m sorry I called you by your number, ok? It won’t happen again.”

“That’s not the apology I wanted to hear.”

“Peter…”

“I think I loved you, did you know that?” he asked, getting closer, step by step, slowly.

You just knew you were doomed because the goddamn door didn’t open no matter how hard you pulled or pushed.

“Loved?”

“I think you loved me too.”

“I love you too,” you said, in an attempt to save your life, even though it was the truth.

“Tisk tisk,” he made the noise with his tongue. “Loved, dear. Loved.”

He didn’t even raise his hand before it all went dark.

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