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Summary
And there she was, finally. Eleven.
Twelve noticed that her hair was slightly different, pulled back and up and held in place with a blue clip. It looked like she had some make-up on, too.
“Babe, you look…hot.”
Eleven was never the shrinking violet. “I know,” she smirked. She put a hand up, touching the blue clip in her hair, “I found this and some make-up in that fatass cop’s cabin. I think it was his daughter’s or something."
All around them, people continued to scream and die. Someone ran past them, on fire. Twelve smiled. Sixteen and his blowtorch. It made him feel so….romantic.
------Or, Upside Down versions of Mike and El go to the Upside Down Snow Ball.
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