Chapter Text
Mike was working in a small café in Hawkins. Everything over there was the same, sure he was 26 now. But really, he would always feel 16 in his heart.
It was a decade after everything that happened. Eleven, the military, dimension X. A decade, and the only thing that remains after that mess.
Is a broken heart of Mike and rumors.
But rumors aren’t real, Mike thought to himself, not anymore.
Rumors are just rumors. No matter how the whispers still cling to him. How they enter his mind late at night. Long after the screaming of his nightmares faded. Long after the imprint of Eleven was still there haunting his eyelids, closing the portal. Whispering “I love you” If only if he said it back. If only he could hold her longer than the wind allowed him. If only…
It was a decade, and he knew he had to move on. He had to. Everyone else did.
Will was a successful painter, Dustin was still a genius. Lucas and Max are married and expecting their first baby soon enough. Even the older gang has moved on. Steve got a job with kids, Nancy became a military shooter. Robin was protesting for queer rights.
The only one left behind was him. But even he was successful in his own way. He wrote books, he got on the new York bestseller many times. Wrote a successful fantasy series. About a mage and her four friends defeating monsters. A serie that got glowing reviews ‘a series that encourage hope and friendship’ or ‘An inspiring new literature for the next generation’ It was at least translated under 40 languages. On the outside he was successful.
So why did he still feel so empty inside.
At least writing doesn’t mock you over grieve, that’s what he said to his parents. At least writing doesn’t harm you, he said to his siblings. At least writing gives a reprieve he said to his friends.
They all didn’t believe him, he could see it in their eyes. The worried glances they shot at each other. The grimaces, and fake assurances that, he is doing okay, but perhaps that he should stop writing for a while. Perhaps he should move on, go somewhere else.
And when he was woken up for the umpteenth time on his desk. His hands over an empty typewriter. With a few scribbles on a page. His mother had enough. She insisted he had to get a job. A real job, not sitting around his desk all day, that were her words.
“It is not healthy to sit in grieve Mike, it is not healthy no matter how successful you are. You cant move on, and you need to. I want my boy to move on.” Her words were pleading, her words strug a cord in him. He didn’t even knew he had.
So to please his mother he decided to work at the new café, serving customers. To get new ideas for his book he mumbled to his boss. To get some new ideas for characters, he said to his customers. But mostly to get his mother of his back.
Really when he started in the café, he didn’t expect many customers at all. He expected to serve a few pints of beer and then go home and stare at his typewriter for the empeeth time.
He didn’t expect to have fun, hearing the regulars talk. Not caring if he heard or not. A new break up that happened. Because the wife was cheating with the biker, who was best friends with the husband. Or hearing that there was a new animal that was discovered. Perhaps it had magical powers they joked, or could float. They laughed, Mike laughed along too.
Only when he got home, he realized he hadn’t thought of El, the entire shift, to busy with hearing other people strange tales.
As time went on, his mother realized that her son was happier, laughed more like himself. Reached out more, spending less time behind his typewriter. Behind his own desk. His friends noticed too. Even fans noticed, whenever he was recognized across the street. His laugh became more genuine. He felt a bit more at peace.
That didn’t ignore the screaming at night, or Els name on the tip of his tongue. When he woke up, he still found himself reaching out to her. Never fully touching her, and the Love word was always unspoken in his dreams or nightmares alike.
But now at 26, he was doing well. His friends Max and Lucas had a baby on the way, he was excited. Later that day he would go to the baby shower. And bring the baby some gifts. Or perhaps a pen he thought to himself. So the baby could become a successful writer like him.
He laughed at the look of horror on Lucas and Max imaginary faces. Nah that baby would most likely become a top athlete, just like their parents. Wouldn’t touch a pen at all hopefully. One thing he learned about being a writer, they always end up in tragedy.
Then a customer came in, and his focus was on the order of the stranger. It was 7 at night. The perfect time to set up the first round of drinks.
“So did you hear in Iceland there is a strange village. They don’t let you have a good pint of beer at all. Strange people I am telling ya,”
Those tales he heard all the time, from strange people telling stories of strange events. Trying to explain what they saw. Strange tales indeed. That’s why he liked it here so much. It reminded him of his past and present at once.
“So this place, you see is surrounded by 3 waterfalls. But that is not the weird part. The weird part people make things move without meaning to. They make you float in the air if you don’t pay their beer in time.”
Three waterfalls, Iceland, making thing move without meaning too. He saw that before. His mind went back to Eleven. Back to Jane. Back to a decade ago when he screamed his throat raw. Screaming, screaming for her. Watching her.
The regulars were hooked to the tale the stranger was telling. Here in this cafe they don’t immediately disqualify such stories. They listen first and they judge. Clearly it was an old wife tale, but it was entertaining for the night.
“So, you see I got kicked out, by this woman. She runs the bakery with a nosebleed. She was terrifying. Long brown hair like the trees surrounding her. Looking me down, she only let me go when I said I went to America. That’s when she started laughing,” The stranger looked around, clearly pleased with the attention. ”she said I wont survive a day here. Said the government would try to take me, if I talked too much. She was wrong, I am still standing, I am still here. And I still tell the story of that night.” He laughed and gestured for a beer. “It’s not a tale, it true” The stranger said with a smile.
That’s when the regulars around the stranger started to laugh as well. Asking for another round of beer for the stranger. Mike delivered the beer.
Normally, he doesn’t pay attention to the stranger tales. But now.
“Three waterfalls you say?”
“Yes boy,” The stranger looked up at him. He wore a big frontier hat, strange clothes in big bold and red. “I traveled far, you see and walked long roads. But a town like that. Its not even a town just a few houses really. That’s really were stranger things happen. In small places like that. People there are weird, but strangely resourceful. Careful, but also in the open.”
He has seen loads more than expected. Heard more stories, than he could count around this bar in Hawkins. Countless ideas for books, to fill up in his lifetime.
Even though Mike was 26. Even though it had been 10 years since he heard of any signs of Eleven being alive . Even though he had a successful career as a writer and even as a bartender.
Somehow he believed this tale was real. A strange town in Iceland where people could make things, move without meaning too. A nosebleed, hair as brown as the forest surrounding her. To many coincidences.
“What was the girls name? The one that kicked you out” Mike asked, strangely hopeful.
“hmmm, her name was Eleanor I believe, not sure. They couldn’t serve any beer out there at all, and I was floating midair. I do remember she had a nosebleed though, really weird.”
Eleanor. Eleanor the one he introduced as niece, Eleanor back when he was 9. Back when it all began. Back when he met her in the woods.
Eleanor was alive, in Iceland waiting by the 3 waterfalls. Eleanor who resided in a strange town, with even stranger people.
Where there more of her? More projects? More people with her powers? Did they live together?
“My name is James Argos by the way” The stranger-James Argos said. “By the look of your face there is somewhere you need to be, the town is called Hugur. It translates to mind. You seem like you need a break of Hugur.”
Yes, Mike had somewhere he needed to be indeed. Somewhere in Iceland. And after all, he needed a break right. That’s what his friends were insisting on. A break. Iceland. Hugur. Eleanor, it would always be her right.
Every time, his heart came back to El.
If soulmates existed, El would always be the one for him.
He booked a flight to Iceland the next day. Quit his job, knowing he needed a longer break than the boss allowed. The stranger-James Argos was nowhere to be found. Mike packed his bags, and left the typewriter on his old desk, his grief he left behind there. But he did take the photo next to it, showing El in all her glory
He apologized for missing the baby shower of Max and Lucas, promised he would give an Icelandic toy instead.
He apologized to Will, for missing an art gallery, claiming a break was really important.
He apologized to Dustin for not seeing him in a while, even though his genius was verry much appreciated and that they would catch up soon.
He apologized to Holly and Nancy, telling half the truth. That he needed to leave and get a break.
His mother was looking at him, straight through him. Saw the typewriter on his desk in his old room. She smiled. “good luck” she whispered, and let him go.
Mike was going to find her, whatever it would take.
The government truly believed she was dead. The official statements were given personally to him. With the official death records of Eleven, Jane Hopper. Mike knew he would not be traced. Not anymore, not for Eleven. She was to weak, in the end.
They wouldn’t trace him. Not for a person that the world wants dead.
He took the plane, straight to Iceland.
He asked around, asking for rumors. Rumors about a strange town, with strange people, where even stranger things were happening. With 3 waterfalls- If you might have heard?
Soon he heard more stories- in bars, hotels late at night, hostels. Of a town that would stay dry all the time. Even when it stormed, only because the people were afraid of thunder.
Where people would get kicked out if they don’t pay on time, but kicked out with force that did push through walls.
A town with nosebleeds. Where children laughs, but are distrustful to the bone. Heard their mothers and fathers tell grand tales, of the world outside their town. That’ the world’ was terrible and full of monsters and guns and violence- and children you really are safer here-Why would you wonder outside after dark.
Strange tales, overheard with the drunks and junkies. The town; Hugur, some said. Others whispered- over slurred tongue ‘Hell’.
Mike knew he was close. He checked the map, heard the tales. Called to his mother and sisters, never telling about what he overheard in taverns. He just wanted to keep it to himself. Just a bit longer.
Soon what was supposed to be a short break, turned into a month. Of hearing and listening strange story’s.
But he wont give up. He never would for El.
And then he found it, found the town he was looking for: Hugur. A place where hell resides the people say. But to him it felt like home.
The tug in his stomach knew he was close. Close to her. His rug sack was strapped tightly to his back. He was hungry, it wouldn’t be good to see El on a hungry stomach. He reasoned to himself.
Hugur, had a hotel. It had a small bakery. He would go to the bakery first, and then check in. That was the plan he made for himself on spot.
The people on the main road were wary, distrustful even. He could spot that immediately. But the bakery looked warm and friendly. So really Hugur looked quite nice. So opposite the descriptions, given by the people in the taverns and bars.
The bakery was clean, and bright colors adorned the walls. Displaying all the pastries inside the stands. Surrounded by colorful lightning. A ding went off when he stepped inside the bakery.
Mike looked around. Clean, white and black tiles adorned the floor. There were bright yellow doors leading to the backroom of the bakery he assumed. Blue adorned the markers, telling which pastry was which. The bright yellow doors, all of a sudden slammed open.
Where some one walked out of holding a tray of pastries. Freshly baked out of the oven. Having a nosebleed, all while muttering about doors that should stay open if you are holding freshly baked pastries. Really an annoying insight of doors.
That some one, Mike recognized in a heartbeat. With her brown hair and pale skin. ‘El’ he muttered out of surprise.
El looked up, stared at Mike. And returned to what she was doing. Putting the pastries on the colorful blue display case. Still holding the tray.
“Its me Mike”
“Well hello Mike, my name is Eleanor. Welcome to the bakery of Hugur” Clearly a practiced motion, indicating her voice. Eleanor looked at him, for the first time.
Properly looked at him. And then her mouth opened in shock. “It cant be, I am sorry. I apologies for emotions. Mike” Her hand covered her face. Her beautiful face, looked shocked.
”No, I left everything behind, why now” Her voice rising on every octave. “You were supposed to be safe, in Hawkins. Not here. Not where I live. Go back”
Then Mike knew the only sensible thing to say at the moment was “I love you”
No explanation, no other words. Not what do you mean.
No, the only sensible thing that came out of his mouth was; I love you.
And it felt right all along.
And he kissed her.
Right here in a bakery, in Hugur. Which translates in mind. Mike followed the tale of 'The strange man Argos' in bold red clothes. Followed the rumors to a town called hell in common tongue. Right here to fall in love in her arms all over again.
Mike loves El. No matter what.