Work Text:
i.
He isn’t sure how he’s supposed to fall asleep.
Mike lays in his bed, lights off and staring at the rungs on the bottom of the top bunk as his eyes have adjusted to the darkness, arms laying over the comforter as he, literally, twiddles his damn thumbs, his anxiety a lively thing humming through his veins and keeping him up. No one other than him actively goes down to the basement, so it’s not like his parents or sisters will find her sleeping in the covered fort. Her. Eleven. El.
The last thing Mike had expected when he was out in the woods with Lucas and Dustin searching for Will, was to run into a girl in a too big T-shirt and a shaved head, soaked from the rain. A girl, his age, who looked scared and alone and tired—who Mike couldn’t just leave out in the cold in the middle of the woods during a storm. He hadn’t even thought twice. He saw someone in need of help, and Mike acted without hesitation.
Now, there’s a girl with a number for a name, wearing his clothes, sleeping in his basement in his fort.
The comforter at the end of the bed moves rapidly with the anxious, constant twitching of his foot. Who is she? Why is she named Eleven? Who gives a little kid an actual tattoo?
A million questions run through Mike’s mind. Exhaling sharply, he glances over at his clock, the time telling him it’s almost midnight. He needs to go to bed soon, what with having school tomorrow, but his head doesn’t quiet down. Thoughts and worries of Will crop up, which eventually lead to El, and that only brings up more questions.
Dustin and Lucas don’t trust her. Mike can’t entirely blame them, but there’s something about her that tightens Mike’s chest enough to make it hard to breathe. The look in her eyes—the fear. What had her so scared? The same thing, he thinks, that had her in the woods at night, barefoot and a shirt that obviously didn’t belong to her. Where were her parents? Was someone looking for her?
Mike grunts as he roughly turns to his side, tugging the comforter up as he rests his cheek on his palm. The sound of her voice, quiet and soft, rings through his head. Night, Mike. She doesn’t speak much, if at all, but from what Mike has heard so far, she has a sweet voice.
As soon as the thought crosses his mind, he grows rigid, blinking at himself in incredulity. A sweet voice? His face lights on fire even if no one can hear his thoughts, pulse quickening as he frowns at himself in the dark.
“Don’t be weird,” he whispers to himself, even as his thoughts drift back to her.
Her voice is sweet. It’s sweet like her eyes are pretty; big and light brown, watching him with a healthy dose of wariness but a little bit of trust, too. If she’s here, sleeping in his basement, she has to trust him at least a little bit, doesn’t she?
Is she comfortable down there? Warm enough? Does she have enough pillows, enough blankets? He’s going to have to sneak her breakfast in the morning without his family noticing, but that shouldn’t be too difficult. Mike chews on his bottom lip continuously, teeth gnawing at the skin enough to peel it off. He barely registers the sting of it, too consumed by his thoughts. By El.
Where is she from? What is she running from? Why is her hair so short? Is Eleven her real name?
The same questions run constantly through his mind with no answer to help out. His anxiety and curiosity weigh down on his chest, and if he weren’t already lying down, he would be dizzy enough to fall the fuck over. Maybe he’s a little in over his head. But maybe his mom will know what to do. The thought relaxes him a bit.
Still, his foot doesn’t stop bouncing under the comforter, blowing out a slow breath that sounds too loud in the dark quiet of his room. He’s too wide awake.
Mike cannot stop thinking about El.
Would she tell him what she was doing out there tonight? He reminds himself she hasn’t spoken much, but it’s understandable, isn’t it? She’s just scared—Mike would be terrified if he was in her position.
He wonders if she’s asleep. He wonders if the leftovers he gave her were enough. Is she thirsty? Shit—he didn’t give her any water, did he?
It’s a sudden mission that presents itself, and Mike kicks the covers off and practically leaps out of bed. He moves quietly but quickly, slowly pulling his door open and poking his head out into the hallway. Unsurprisingly, everyone’s bedroom doors are closed, and Mike can faintly hear his dad’s snoring coming from his parents’ bedroom. Quietly, Mike moves across the carpeted floor towards the stairs, knowing exactly where not to step to avoid any creaks in the house.
When he gets to the kitchen, the light above the stove is on, as always. Grabbing a clean glass from the drying rack next to the sink, Mike grabs the Brita jug and fills it with cold water before he heads for the hall. Quietly, Mike opens the door, seeing the lamp in the corner of the room where they have their campaigns is on, a dim gold glow emitting from that corner.
Mike takes two steps down, but his view of the fort is obstructed by the low ceiling of the basement. “El?” he calls out, not too loudly, in case she’s sleeping.
But two beats of silence pass when he hears her soft voice return, “Yes?”
Throat working with nerves, Mike continues down the rest of the way, bare feet softly padding against the steps. As he descends, he directs his gaze towards the fort, heart tripping when he sees that El has pushed aside the blanket serving as a barrier of concealment, sitting up to watch him approach.
Mike moves slowly, cautiously, like one would approach a wounded, cornered animal. He doesn’t want to scare or startle her with any sudden movements, but his already tentative steps falter, watching the dim light reflecting against her eyes.
El watches him curiously and Mike’s chest tightens at her expressive eyes, big and round and sleepy and pretty. His grip on the glass tightens at that thought. Be cool, don’t be weird, don’t freak her out. “I got you some water. You know, if you’re thirsty,” he says, walking over and holding out the glass.
El’s gaze slowly dips to the glass, her expression the same curious one. This close, though, Mike sees the red rim of her lower lash line, like she had been crying. It freezes Mike in place, worry creeping into his veins as El raises her gaze to meet his again. Another beat of silence and Mike doesn’t dare to move a muscle, is wondering if his heart is beating—until El raises her hand and wraps her fingers around the glass.
Mike bites his tongue between his teeth when she grasps the glass, the tips of her fingers brushing against his—and the world tilts. A simple graze of skin against skin, and an electric current zips up Mike’s arm, starting from his fingers and shooting throughout his entire body, down to the tips of his toes. He has no idea what it means, but he can feel his heart stuttering and tripping over itself in his chest, the air snagging in his lungs as El looks at him. He swears there’s a slight widening of her eyes as she takes the glass. Did she feel it, too? Whatever that was?
Mike realizes his arm is still suspended in the air awkwardly, heat flooding his face as he snaps his arm back down to his side. He tries to ignore the heat flushing up his neck and face, especially when El cups both of her hands around the glass. “Thank you,” she says quietly, gaze dropping to the glass.
“Yeah, s-sure, no problem.” He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, fingers awkwardly tugging at the sleeve of his shirt. “Are you, um, comfortable? The fort is—it’s okay?”
El nods slowly. Every movement is cautious, careful. As though she is afraid moving the wrong way, moving too suddenly, would get her in trouble. It causes a tightness in Mike’s chest, followed by a wave of. . . Something. Protectiveness, Mike realizes with a sharp intake of air. He doesn’t know this girl, has no idea where she has come from or what she has gone through, but it’s obvious she is scared. And Mike does not want her to be scared of him.
“Yes,” El answers softly.
She doesn’t say anything after that, and Mike doesn’t push her as she takes a sip of the water before placing the glass carefully on the ground. “Okay,” he nods, lips tugging up into a smile he hopes is reassuring. She doesn’t smile back, but there is a tell-tale softening of her eyes that loosens some of the tension in his body. “Okay. I’ll, uh, let you get back to sleep. Goodnight, El.”
She shifts backwards, further into the fort, but her eyes are on him. “Goodnight.”
He helps place the blanket serving as a makeshift door back in place, letting it fall down, and he bites the inside of his cheek when she disappears from view. Mike lingers only for a moment, not wanting to be some weirdo just standing there, before turning and heading back up the stairs. He closes the basement door behind him, trying to ignore the feeling of cutting himself off from something vital as he goes back up to his room, moving too slowly, limbs heavy.
His body, it seems, is fighting against him as he drops himself back onto his bed. But Mike fights the urge to return to the basement. He needs to sleep, and El needs rest, too. Who knows how long she was out there?
Slipping back under the covers, Mike blows out a slow breath, roughly crossing his arms over his chest. It’s fine. It’s going to be fine. They’ll figure everything out in the morning.
Sleep doesn’t come too easily. But when it does, it arrives with El’s face slipping across his mind. Wide eyes and lips perpetually turned downwards in a look that carries so much uncertainty, it physically pains Mike. And he doesn’t understand it—God, does he not understand it. There’s a knot in his chest that doesn’t loosen, but the picture of El’s face floats through his mind’s eye, a gentle caress.
Eventually, he falls asleep picturing the pretty, mysterious girl sleeping in his basement.
He doesn’t know, not at this moment, that it’s only the first night of falling asleep to El in his mind.
There will never be a night, after this, where he doesn’t.
ii.
The silence in the basement is suffocating. If Mike really focuses, he will be able to hear the cicadas chirping outside, but it would fall on deaf ears anyway. All of his attention goes to the SuperComm he holds in his hands, throat constantly working in hopes of getting rid of the lump that practically lives there now.
His shoulders curl in on themselves, teeth pressing together as he notes the way the SuperComm trembles a little in his grasp. His butt has long since grown numb from sitting in the same position for so long, even with the various blankets that make up the floor of the fort. The lamp is the only light on, dim enough that it doesn’t brighten the whole basement, darkness settled around the fort. It’s accurate, isn’t it?
This fort. . . Her home, for just one week. Mike has had it for far longer than that, but now he can only ever associate it with her. El.
Just her name whispered through his mind sends an aching pang throughout Mike’s entire being. He squeezes his eyes shut, grip on the walkie-talkie tightening as the breath he takes is more of a gasp. It rips through his throat and he presses his quivering lips together, feeling the burn in his closed eyes. This emptiness. . . It has been his companion for—
“El, are you there?” he asks, bringing the SuperComm close. He doesn’t open his eyes because, at least behind closed lids, he can picture her face. Pretty eyes and prettier smile, with dimples that make his knees shake. “It’s day two hundred and six. Today was the same as every other day. I went to school. I came home, did my homework. Nothing special. Like I said, same as every day.” He releases a shuddering breath, head bowing. “And I miss you. Same as every day. I—” Mike can feel it, the tears that escape his tightly squeezed shut eyes. He doesn’t bother wiping them away. “I miss you every day, all the time. Can you just—can you give me a sign, please? That you’re still out there? I know you are. Please.”
He’s not sure if that last plea is to her to give him the sign he’s begging for, or if it’s a plea to the universe that he’s right—that she is, in fact, still out there and he isn’t being foolish. That he isn’t sitting here, begging for something that may not exist anymore.
But that can’t be true. It just can’t, because if El was gone—really, truly gone—then Mike would know. He would just know. He would feel it in his bones. The world would have shifted even more on its axis than it already has. It would have stopped spinning. There would have been a fundamental shift in the very air.
In all sense, the ground did give away beneath Mike’s feet when he realized El did in that classroom. Nausea roiled in his stomach and he had spent most of the night vomiting and then dry heaving into his toilet. His mom thought he ate something bad, or maybe the adrenaline from whatever happened at school after she went to get him once the police called was finally wearing off. But Nancy knew. Nancy heard the whimpers of El’s name escaping his mouth, echoed against the bathroom tiles, as she sat with him on the floor by the toilet and rubbed his back. Nancy was there for him—has been there for him ever since that night.
But it’s been two hundred and six days, and Mike is still speaking into his walkie in hopes of getting a response that may never come.
“Fucking stupid,” he curses, even if it comes out as a half sob as he slams down the antenna of the SuperComm, effectively shutting it off. He tosses it onto the pillow behind him before shifting and laying down, staring up at the dipped sheet that serves as the fort’s roof.
This isn’t the first time he has found himself down here at night, choosing to sleep here rather than in his room. Most of the time, he doesn’t even have to think about it; it’s like he gets drawn to the basement like a magnet, finding comfort in the place that brought El some small amount of comfort once. It’s the one place he feels closest to her, even if he carries her with him everywhere he goes.
Eyes falling shut, Mike sees her face again, without fail. He sees her sweet little smile, the dimples that frame it. He sees brown eyes that have looked at him with wonder and curiosity and warmth. And the longer he pictures her—in that big Benny’s Burgers T-shirt, in his clothes, in the pink dress, with or without the wig—the more prominent the tingle in his lips gets. Lips that have touched hers in a moment of boldness that Mike didn’t know he possessed until that very second where he finally gave into the way his heart calls out to hers, and kissed her.
His first kiss and. . . She had been shocked—just like Mike had been over his own actions—but her smile had knocked the air out of his lungs. The way she looked at him—God, no one has ever looked at Mike that way before. Like he is someone worth looking at. El looked at him, and she didn’t see some loser nerd, a freak, a weirdo. She looked at him and she smiled.
This girl, who had been a mystery he was unraveling, who was so fucking cool and powerful, looked at him, Mike Wheeler, and smiled like she liked what she saw.
“Damn it,” Mike hisses, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes and pressing in hard enough for colors and shapes to appear, hard enough for it to hurt. Except Mike doesn’t feel it, not really. Any other pain he feels is small—fucking miniscule, nonexistent—compared to the hollowness in his chest from losing El.
Everything in his head is quiet but it’s also so fucking loud. El’s absence renders Mike useless to think about anything or anyone else, silencing any thought that doesn’t have to do with her. In turn, his head is full of her. Constantly reminding him of the girl he knew for only a week, yet it somehow felt like a lifetime. Her disappearance is a weight he cannot take off of him, and in the same vein, he doesn’t want to. This way, at least, she is still close to him in some way. Even if that way hurts enough to make it hard to breathe.
“Please come back,” Mike finds himself whimpering into the night, hands dragging down his face and feeling the wetness of his tears.
It’s how he falls asleep in the fort: teary eyed that results in a nose stuffed with more tears and whispered pleas to a girl who has been gone for a little over six months. Right in the fort where she slept for a week, which no longer smells like her after all this time.
The SuperComm is on the pillow next to him, a comfort like a child’s blanket. He senses it even as he sleeps on his side, curled in on himself because he has been growing and his body is getting too long for the small fort. But it doesn’t matter to him; he needs this, this closeness that he feels to El in this fort because it’s only here where he can get some semblance of sleep. Through the heartache, this spot gives him a little bit of solace, even if it doesn’t last long.
He’s not sure how long he sleeps for. Not long, if he were to wager a guess, solely based on his sleep heavy limbs and eyelids. Mike floats in that space between sleep and consciousness, eyes still shut as his mind becomes slowly, distantly aware of his surroundings. He tries to drag himself away from it, tries to find sleep again as he buries his face into the pillow, and he’s successful, he thinks, until—
“Mike.”
Even in his sleep induced haze, Mike’s eyes snap open, landing immediately on the SuperComm next to his head. Heart pounding, Mike shoots up, a little dizzy from the sudden motion as he grabs the walkie and pulls up the antenna. If his hands had been trembling before, they are downright shaking now as he presses the button and asks, “El? El, are you there?”
Releasing the button, Mike waits, hearing his heart thundering over the static that returns. He doesn’t breathe, out of fear that the sound of his own breaths will be too loud to hear El’s come through. Mike sits frozen, grip tight on the SuperComm and blood pumping wildly as he waits and waits and waits and—
Nothing. There’s no response, no sweet voice calling out his name again.
Did it even happen? Mike’s heart drops to his stomach, eyebrows pulling together and bottom lip trembling. Did he truly hear her, or was he imagining it? Dreaming it? He had been asleep, and it wouldn’t be the first time where he saw and heard El in a wishful dream. But, God, it felt so real. Right next to his ear. His eyes fall shut, trying to regulate his breathing because his thunderous heartbeat isn’t doing him any favors. He strains his ears, praying for a response, praying for that voice again.
Still nothing. His breaths shudder through his entire body, head ducking until his forehead presses to the top of the walkie. Mike’s throat tightens as he stifles the sob that creeps up; he’s hot and cold at the same time, sweating and chilly and shivering. His thumb presses down on the button again, his voice hoarse as he whispers, “I’ll be right here, El. I’ll be right here when you come back.”
He waits, again, for a response. But, just like always, Mike doesn’t hear anything back.
He must have been dreaming. A cruel trick his exhausted, agonized mind played on him in the midst of what feels like never ending grief, and the visceral way he misses her comes back in full force. It steals the air right out of his lungs and has Mike folding in on himself, dropping the SuperComm off to the side as he ducks his head, arms wrapped around himself in a poor man’s attempt of self soothing. It does nothing—because nothing will help. The only thing that will help, he knows, is seeing the one person who he misses, who slipped right through his fingers, who he wasn’t able to save.
She disappeared as a result of saving his and his friends’ lives. Went away to keep him safe. She is gone, but she isn’t gone—Mike believes this with every fiber of his being. Even if the world wants to tell him otherwise, he refuses to believe in El’s disappearance being permanent.
She will give him a sign. She will come back. He knows it. Until then, he will keep this fort warm for her. He will wait.
He will fall asleep to the sight of her behind closed eyelids. To the ghost of her hand in his, of her lips pressed to his. Her smile, a permanent fixture in his mind.
It’s nothing new, but the pain greets him like an old friend. He only ever sees El in his dreams now, no real picture of her that he can look at every day. And he prays, with every final breath he takes before falling asleep, that he never forgets what she looks like.
iii.
Biking to the cabin every day in the summer has become a habit that Mike happily indulges in.
It’s right on the outskirts of Hawkins, safe amongst the cropping of towering trees to keep the cabin hidden from unwanted eyes. Mike, frankly, doesn’t give a shit if the cabin is on the other side of town; he would bike to another state if he had to, if it meant seeing El.
It’s a workout, for sure, pedaling all the way back and forth. The first couple of days, his legs had ached with the combination of growing pains as his growth spurt hit him out of nowhere. But at this point, he’s used to the miles he puts in on his bike, the way the wind hits him as he flies down the streets early in the morning and then cooler, still, after the sun has set. It may drive Hopper crazy, how much time Mike spends at the cabin, but neither Mike nor El care. Not when they have spent three hundred and fifty three days apart and need to make up for lost time.
The routine is ingrained into them now. Taking advantage of summer vacation, Mike has no complaints about waking up early in the morning, even if he can sleep in, to go see El. They’ll hang out in the cabin, watching movies that Mike rents from the video store, reading books and comics that he has or checks out from the library and—his favorite, of course—kissing until their lips are pink and swollen and their hearts are pounding with a dizzying want that feels so big. Too big for them to know what to do with, except to nurture it as it grows.
Today, however, Mike isn’t able to go to the cabin as early as he normally does. He’s got a doctor’s appointment, just an annual check-up, that takes too long. But he already told El this the night before, letting her know he wouldn’t be able to come until a little after noon. She had pouted—until he made up for it with a few kisses that turned her pout into that adorable smile. It’s all he thinks about throughout the appointment, his patience wearing thin as he sits on the exam table and waits, for what feels like hours, for the doctor to come in.
Eventually, he’s gotten everything checked out, has gone down to the blood lab so they can do the normal labs, and the second he and his mom are in the parking lot, he’s pulling his bike out from the back of the station wagon. His mom knew he had plans that he was eager to get to and didn’t want to wait until they were back home for him to leave, and fortunately his mom was too eager herself to get to the pool to really ask Mike too many questions.
When he reaches the cabin, the Chief’s cruiser is gone, unsurprisingly. Mike leans his bike against the cabin before walking up the steps, familiar excitement humming in his veins as he knocks on the door with a smile he can’t help. He only has to wait for a beat until the door is open, and there she is.
Mike’s breath hitches in his throat at the sight of El, as it does every time he lays eyes on her. In an oversized shirt and cotton shorts, El is the picture of beauty and sweetness with her hair, grown out over the last year and a half, curling towards the ends at her shoulders. He’s grown taller, the two of them no longer the same height, and it tugs at his chest when she has to lift her eyes to look up at him.
“Hi,” he greets with a smile, which falters only a little when he, almost instantly, notes the sleepiness that settles in her eyes.
“Hi,” El returns softly, her smile fond as she steps aside to let him in. “How was the appointment?” she asks as she shuts the door.
“It was fine. Took too long,” Mike answers, watching her carefully. Are those bags under her eyes? Worry creeps through his veins, realizing how tired she looks.
But before he can say anything, he sees El’s gaze drop to his left arm, and then she’s blinking into a frown as she reaches out and her fingers gently circle around his wrist. “What happened?” she asks.
He blinks at her worry, following her gaze to the bandaid on the crook of his elbow where they had drawn his blood. El’s other hand circles his arm just below it, both hands holding his left arm, as her thumb brushes along the skin just below the bandaid. Mike does his hardest not to shiver under her warm touch, instead focusing on the concern that furrows her brows together. “Oh, that? I got that after they took my blood. No big deal.”
“They—” El’s eyes lift to look at him and for a second, Mike doesn’t understand the fear that settles across her features, the horror. An alarm bell rings in his mind as she asks, a little breathlessly, “They took your blood to. . . Do tests?”
The look on her voice, the tremble in her voice as she asks the question, has realization dawning on Mike so fast it’s dizzying. Fuck, of course—she’s never had a normal doctor’s visit, has she? She grew up in a fucking lab, experiments run on her, treated as less than human. Poked and prodded, probably, by those sick fuck scientists. No doubt she has no good memories of needles and doctors, can only associate horrible memories with them, and Mike can’t blame El for her sudden worry and apprehension. If anything, it only tightens his chest, makes his hate for the Bad Men come back in full, violent force.
“No, no, it’s nothing like that,” Mike says, desperate to reassure and calm her. He drops his backpack to the floor, his hand reaching out to grab hers. “Doctors—you know, the normal ones—they take our blood to screen it. The only tests they run on the blood is to see if everything’s okay. You know, making sure I’m not sick or have any disease or anything like that. It’s only to make sure I’m healthy—nothing else. Once they do that, they throw it away. No other tests or experiments or anything like that.”
El blinks a couple of times, absorbing his words. She doesn’t tear her gaze away from Mike, and he doesn’t look away. He keeps his eyes locked with hers, wanting her to see the truth, and he’s relieved when she slowly starts to nod. “Okay,” she says, her voice quiet before briefly pressing her lips together. “Thank you. . . For explaining.”
His heart aches. He knows between him and Hopper and, on occasion, the rest of the Party, El is learning more and more about how the world works. She watches shows and movies and reads books, is eager to learn even if some things confuse her and takes a little more time in wrapping her head around them. But Mike sees the light in her eyes every time she learns of something new, the excitement of when she understands a concept.
He thinks he may see it now, despite the heavy undertones of the topic, but he doesn’t. El’s brown eyes remain subdued, her voice more soft spoken than usual, and his initial worry returns. This girl has been through so much in her thirteen years, more than most people go through in a lifetime, and all Mike wants to do is take care of her. He wants to ease her pain, chase away her worries and fears. She’s incredible, the most badass person he will ever be lucky enough to know, but taking care of El is a privilege he embraces readily.
“Hey,” he says gently as hand slips off his left arm, but he catches that in his hand, now holding both of hers. When she looks up at him again, Mike dips his chin. “Are you okay? You. . .” He hesitates because he has heard his dad, on occasions, tell his mom that she looks tired and he has seen the way it pisses his mom off. But his dad has the tendency of being lazily patronizing, and all Mike feels right now is concern. “You look tired, El.”
To his relief, one corner of her mouth lifts in a half smile. “I am. A little.” A sigh escapes her, slumping shoulders that have beared the weight of the word at such a young age. “I didn’t sleep much last night. Bad dreams,” she confesses in a whisper.
“Oh.” His throat tightens, a feeling of helplessness clawing at his throat. “Do you want to take a nap? Catch up on some sleep?”
Her smile, then, is a little shy before she drops her gaze down to their joined hands. “Will you. . . Nap with me?”
Heat rises up Mike’s neck and fills his face, no doubt reddening his pale skin. They hang out on her bed a lot, reading and playing cards and kissing, but they’ve never laid down and slept together like that before. Hopper would throw a fit and then throw Mike out on his ass if he ever saw them like that.
But Hopper isn’t home—won’t be until sunset—and El is looking at him with wide, innocent—tired—eyes, and Mike is hopeless to say no. Not that he would ever deny her anything. She has him wrapped around her finger and, honestly, Mike doesn’t even care if she knows that, and would happily let her take advantage of it.
So, despite his increasingly warming skin, Mike nods with a small smile. “Yeah, of course. Come on.”
Hand in his, El leads him to her bedroom, a wave of her free hand pushing the door shut with a quiet snick. El crawls into the bed, pushing the covers so she can slip under them, as Mike toes off his shoes and socks before carefully joining her. His heart is a wild thing inside of his chest, telling himself to be cool and relax as El moves closer towards the wall as Mike settles on the left side of the bed. As he shifts to get comfortable, he watches as El lays down on her side, facing him, and the tugging in his chest intensifies at the heaviness that weighs down her eyes.
Her having nightmares isn’t anything new. She tells him about them, just as he tells her about his own. They have been through so much together, her even more than anyone else, and despite the horrors of the memories that cloud them, it’s so easy to talk to El about the nights he wakes in a cold sweat. She listens and she comforts him, and he does the same to her when she dreams of her time in the lab, of those few months she was on her own out in the woods before Hopper brought her home. Mike knows it won’t be easy to work through the trauma they have endured, but he thinks that maybe, together, they will be able to do it. With a little time and patience, he is sure of it.
Mike slips down so he is laying as well, on his side facing El. Brown eyes bore into his and he is surrounded by the familiar scent of her floral body wash that clings to her and the sheets. It’s a comfort more than anything else, a realization of her presence, of this being real. He needs that reminder sometimes, even now, months after she walked back into his life.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Mike asks gently, interrupting the tender silence as he pulls the blanket further up to her chest.
The corner of her mouth lifts. “It was the same,” El answers, left hand under her cheek as she peers up at him. “Nightmares from the lab. Just kept me up all night.”
His heart twists, stomach roiling. There are times when El tells him, little by little, what she experienced in the lab, from whatever she can remember. There are missing pieces, she tells him. Moments in time she can’t really remember and doesn’t entirely want to try to. He doesn’t blame her. Who would want to actively remember the time period of their life where they were experimented on and tortured? Any time he thinks of what El may have gone through, his blood burns with hate. He hopes they’re dead—every single one of them who hurt her. None of them deserve to live for their crimes.
“I’m sorry,” Mike murmurs, his left hand coming up to brush strands of light brown hair away from her face, gently tucking them behind her ear.
“Not your fault,” El says. It’s the same thing she always says, every time Mike expresses his hurt, his sympathy, for all that she went through. “But thank you. . . For being here.”
She emphasizes her gratitude with her legs slowly, carefully, intertwining with his under the blanket. Mike’s heart stutters, inhaling sharply but quietly as he pushes himself closer to her. They share the same pillow, noses inches away from each other, and Mike admires the sweep of her eyelashes, the natural pout of her lips. Even though she looks tired, she is still the most beautiful person he has ever laid eyes on.
“You don’t ever have to thank me for that,” Mike says, his hand cupping her cheek. “Or for anything, really,” he adds with a growing smile as he tilts his head up enough to press his lips to her forehead in a soft kiss. “I’ve got you. Always.”
A breath of relief escapes El, her hand coming up to squeeze his that rests on her cheek before she slips her arm around his middle, cuddling closer. Mike turns them so he is laying on his back and El is half on top of him, legs slotted between his longer ones, her cheek resting on his chest as he wraps his arms around her.
He’s not tired himself, but he is more than happy to lay here with El so she can get some rest. She settles against him and he feels her body relax as his hand gently rubs up and down her back. It floors him sometimes still that she finds comfort in him, her guard completely down because she knows he’s here and that he would never let anything happen to her. This cabin has been her safe space, free to exist as a girl rather than a superhero, and Mike likes to be here to give her that additional sense of safety.
It’s not long until El’s breathing evens out and she has fallen asleep on top of him, the weight of her lovely and warm. Mike lowers his head enough, careful not to jostle her in any way, just so he can look at her. When he sees her like this, Mike is reminded truly how young she is—how young they all are—and the things she has faced. El is, without a doubt, the strongest, most incredible person he has ever met. But she’s also just a girl, one who is learning what it’s like to be a normal teenager, even if it’s one in hiding.
He has seen the weight of the world on her small shoulders, the way she has carried it despite the fact that she shouldn’t have to. She has saved him, and his friends, multiple times since they met, and despite finding her amazing, despite being in constant awe of her, Mike wishes so badly that she could just be. That she wasn’t plagued by nightmares of experiences that haunt her. He wants to protect her, keep her out of harm’s way even if it’s against her own subconscious, but he knows he can’t. All he can do is be here for her when she reaches out, comfort her in these moments when she seeks the solace of his arms.
Throat tightening, Mike rests his hand on the back of El’s head, fingers gently threading into her hair. His movements are careful, not wanting to rouse her, and he shifts his head until his cheek is resting on top of her head. El sleeps to the steady beat of his heart, the rise and fall of his chest with every breath, her arm somehow still tight around him even in sleep.
In the quiet of the cabin, he only hears her soft breathing, and despite not being tired himself when he first arrived, Mike feels himself being lulled to sleep. His gaze wanders before he does, though, lingering on the pictures and drawings El has on the dresser. Pictures of him that he gave her when she asked, cards and gifts that he got for her on Valentine’s Day and her birthday displayed proudly. In her bedroom, there are so many mementos of Mike and his chest tightens with the visible reminder of how much he means to her. No one has ever wanted him like this—so how the hell did he get lucky enough for El, of all people, to choose him?
A sigh escapes Mike as his eyes slip shut, throat working through the emotions that tighten it. Slowly, Mike feels himself being pulled towards sleep, far more comfortable here than in his own bed. With El on top of him, it’s impossible not to see her in his head, for her face to float across his mind as he settles into the nap. Soft smile and wide eyes dance behind closed lids, and her hair tickles his cheek as her gentle breathing fans across his chest.
It doesn’t surprise Mike in the least that sleeping in the same bed as El only intensifies, brightens, sharpens the image of her in his mind—more so than usual. She’s always with him, always at the forefront of his mind even as he lays with his arms around her. Not that he ever doubted this. She’s his last thought when he goes to sleep and his first thought when he wakes up; and it’s nice to know that’s not any different even as he sleeps next to her.
iv.
It’s a little after midnight when he feels her.
Being able to sense El has become a sort of sixth sense, as solid and instinctive as the rest. It thrills Mike, honestly, to be able to feel her when she’s near—to be able to feel her, in general. It reminds him of when they were younger, when she had disappeared into the Upside Down and everyone thought she was dead—but he hadn’t. Mike had been convinced that if El was truly gone, he would be able to feel it; like a fundamental shift in the world. Which is why he knew she was alive.
It’s the same now, sort of, as he sits up in his bed. Gone is the bunkbed he used to have as a kid, replaced by a proper bed towards the back wall, his room now more fitting for a high schooler. Mike flicks the bedside lamp on, bathing the room in a dim glow as he looks towards the closed door. He knows everyone is asleep, so he keeps his voice low as he calls out, “El?”
The knob turns and the door slowly pushes open, and a smile tugs Mike’s lips up as El pokes her head through the space. Her hair, past her shoulders, hangs in waves and she’s in her pajamas, pale blue with tiny red cherries imprinted all over them. “Hi,” she whispers, “can I come in?”
Mike raises his eyebrows, still smiling. “Do you even have to ask?”
El grins, showing off her dimples as she steps into the room, quietly shutting the door behind her. Mike’s pulse quickens as she makes her way over, crawling onto her knees at the end of the bed before making her way up to where he sits. “Hi,” El greets once she’s next to him, leaning forward on her hands and knees until her lips find his.
His hand finds her cheek, keeping her in place to prolong the kiss that ignites a fire throughout his entire body. God, he missed this, missed her. It’s only been a couple of months since she moved to California with the Byers after everything that happened on the Fourth, after Hopper. El has a whole new life in California that Mike is not a part of—at least, not directly. Only through the letters they send back and forth, the phone calls they manage to have when Mrs. Byers isn’t hogging the phone because of her new job.
And, shit, he misses El every damn day. Misses her like something vital is missing with her being across the country. But it’s Thanksgiving and the Byers are back in town for the holiday, and Mike’s mom was nice enough to let them stay at their house rather than them getting a hotel in a town that was once their home. So Mrs. Byers was given Holly’s room while Holly slept with Nancy in hers, while El, Will, and Jonathan crashed in the basement. But, really, everyone should have known that El wasn’t going to stay in the basement. Not for the whole night, at least.
Mike hums into the kiss, smiling against her lips. “Hi. Couldn’t sleep?”
“Mm, it was fine,” El answers. “But I wanted to be here. With you. For a little while, at least.”
“Sounds good to me,” he says, ignoring the little while part. If it was up to them, El would spend the whole night here, though Mike’s pretty sure his mom and Mrs. Byers wouldn’t be too thrilled about that.
El moves, then, and the air rushes out of Mike’s lungs as she climbs on top of him, straddling his lap with a mischievous smile. Mike blinks, a little wide eyed, with his back resting against the headboard and hands automatically coming to rest on her hips. She is warm and solid on top of him, her hands resting on the sides of his neck as her thumbs stretch up to brush along the sharp line of his jaw as he gets enveloped by her familiar floral scent.
He watches her watch him, the way her eyes slip along his features, lingering across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose and Mike knows she’s tracking his freckles. The attention she rains on him is familiar, but it still makes Mike’s pulse race and warms his skin. It’s why he finds himself murmuring an almost sheepish, “You’re staring.”
Her lips tug up. “I know,” El answers, unabashed as her gaze lazily continues to run its course, eyes dipping towards his mouth. Mike’s Adam’s apple bobs as one of her hands shifts and he feels her thumb lightly graze along his bottom lip. “Pretty,” she mumbles, almost to herself.
Mike’s face heats even more, fingers flexing on her hip. “Boys aren’t pretty,” he says, mostly joking and a little breathless.
Her smile widens as she leans towards him. “Pretty. . . Handsome,” El says, closing the gap to kiss him once more before Mike can even react.
But he kisses her back instantly, groaning quietly as El pushes into him. They haven’t been able to have much alone time since she and the Byers arrived back in Hawkins. They hung out with the rest of the Party, and then they were at Mike’s house with his family, so there wasn’t any time for it to be just the two of them.
This, though—this is what he’s been waiting for. The start of high school, more growing pains because it doesn’t seem like Mike has stopped growing, figuring out this long distance thing—there is so much going on, but all of it starts and ends with missing El and wishing she was back home. Now, though, Mike only wants to focus on the present; she is finally back, even if it’s only for a short period of time, and Mike just wants to hold her and touch her before he is forced to let her go again.
As her hands remain cupping his face, Mike feels a cool sensation against the curve of his jaw from one of her fingers, like a thin piece of metal pressing against his skin. In the midst of kisses, his right hand raises and he gently circles his fingers around her left wrist, pulling her hand away, and Mike breaks the kiss so he can look down at her hand.
His smile returns at the ring she wears; a gold band with a single ruby stone sitting in the middle. He had given it to her earlier today after Thanksgiving dinner, when there was some time where it was just the two of them, and he couldn’t hold onto it any longer. He had bought the ring just a few weeks after she moved to California, wanting her to have something to remember him by. It’s not as though Mike thought El would forget him—or, well, he at least hoped that was the case—but he knew that the long distance relationship was going to be hard for them both. So he got the ring as a symbol of a promise; that he will always be there for her, that this relationship is one that will last, that what he feels for her is something reserved only for her.
“Mike. . . I love you, too.”
Her words echo in his mind, one of the last things she had said to him before she got into that truck and left for the west coast. She had stunned Mike silent, his brian struggling to compute what just happened. El had heard him; when he was ranting to Nancy and his friends, when he blurted, without thought, that he loves El. His only regret is that the first time he said those words weren’t to El herself, and instead were said in the heat of the moment because he was worried about her.
And then El told him she loves him, and he hadn’t been able to say it back. Still hasn’t been able to, and maybe the ring is a way for him to show her that he does even if he can’t say the words yet.
She had teared up when he had gifted it to her, kissed him silly after he slipped it onto her index finger, promising him, “I’m never taking it off.”
He believes her. It only widens his smile.
Mike’s fingers grasp hers, his thumb rubbing across her knuckles and over the ring. “I miss you all the time,” he finds himself saying quietly, eyes on their hands. “It’s like. . . A part of me is missing when you’re in Lenora.”
He hears El take a sharp breath. “It’s the same for me,” she says. Her other hand that had still been cupping his cheek slips up, fingers threading into his hair that has grown longer as well. “In Lenora, I. . .” Mike lifts his gaze to look at El, but her gaze is dipped, absently staring at the neckline of his shirt, a subtle furrow between her brows. He patiently waits for her to find the right words. “I am away from you and I do not have my powers and I feel. . . Wrong.” His heart thuds even as his chest twists. He knows she is struggling, and he wants to help her so fucking badly. But before he can say anything, El finishes, “But the truth is, I miss you more than I miss my powers. And if I still had them and. . . And I had to choose between them and you—I would choose you.”
Mike’s lips part, his next breath going nowhere as he gapes at her in disbelief and awe. Throat locking, Mike is speechless, unable to find an apt response to her heartfelt confession. Him over her powers? He doesn’t want her to ever make that choice—though, he wishes she still had her powers because he fucking knows they’re a part of her and losing them was like losing a limb. He knows she feels lost without them.
But. . . Him over them? If Mike was standing, his knees would give out from under him. To be wanted like this by her—he doesn’t know if he’s worthy, but he wants to be. So badly.
“El.” Her name is a hoarse whisper, pressing his forehead to hers. “You’re everything to me. You know that, right?”
El makes a small noise, his gaze dipping to see the gentle curve of her smile. “Mike.” His name is a tender caress, one punctuated by her lips finding his again in a slow, sweet kiss.
He holds her close and, far more smoothly than he could ever give himself credit for, Mike shifts so he’s sliding down until he is laying flat on his back, El on top of him. The only sounds in the room are their heavy breathing and their lips meeting again and again in languid, loving kisses that make Mike’s head spin. How the hell is he supposed to let her go after this? Watch her drive away, get on a plane, go to the other side of the country?
Her fingers are in his hair, tugging and further fueling the fire in his veins, and Mike wants to stay here, do this and then some forever, but he knows that they can’t. Knows that they need to stop before they get too carried away. “El, El,” he murmurs into the kisses, squeezing her hips. “We need to stop.”
She kisses him once more, his lips electric from her touch. “I know,” El mumbles, reluctance coloring her own tone as she pulls away. When Mike forces his eyes open, her dark hair curtains them, lips pink and a little swollen and cheeks flushed. She sighs, lips twisting to the side before asking, “Can I stay here for a little?”
“Yeah, of course,” Mike says, zero hesitation. He moves the comforter and pats the space next to him. “Come here.”
With a giddy smile, El moves off of him and he only misses the loss for a brief moment until she’s tucked into his side under the covers while he switches off the light. They shift so they’re both lying on their sides, Mike’s arm wrapping around El’s waist and pressing her back to his front, his longer body practically cocooning hers. His hand rests on her stomach and El covers it with her own, and Mike buries his nose in the crook of her neck, eliciting a soft giggle from her.
Mike slips his leg between both of hers, hugging her close, letting out a low groan of satisfaction that’s muffled by her skin. “That tickles,” she remarks, even as she tilts her head enough to give him more access.
“You should just stay,” Mike mumbles even as his heart clenches. “Screw California.”
El lets out a sound that’s halfway between a sigh and a laugh. “I can hide out in the fort,” she muses, slipping her fingers between his where her hand covers his. “No one would know.”
His jaw tightens. “Exactly.”
The thought of having to watch her leave again—it kills him. It’s like she is always leaving him and Mike knows it’s not her choice, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less. Even when she’s on the other side of the country, even when she’s right here next to him, Mike only thinks of, dreams of, El. She is ever present in his heart and mind and his soul, and to have her be so far away feels difficult to live through.
Letting her go, though, is not even a question. He’d sooner let himself get eaten by a Demogorgon or something.
“It would be easier if I had my powers,” El says quietly. “If I had them then. . . We would be able to see each other. In the Void. Not just letters and phone calls.”
Mike’s eyes squeeze shut, an ache panging through his chest for the loss she has experienced. A life with powers is all El has ever known, even if they have caused her so much grief and pain. Not only does she have to learn to live without them, but she’s doing it in a completely different place, away from the friends she has made. Sure, she has Will, and Mike hopes that he looks out for her, but this is El’s first year in school. It fucking kills Mike that he and the rest of the Party aren’t there to make sure things are good for her.
“But we’re making it work,” Mike reassures her, tilting his head enough to press a kiss right below her ear. “I know it’s hard but if anyone can do it, it’s us. I know it.”
He feels her cheek curve up in a smile. “Me too.”
Their conversation dwindles after that, settling into a comfortable silence. With the warmth of El next to him, it’s easy for Mike to slowly slip towards sleep, breathing her in as his eyes fall shut. There haven’t been nearly enough opportunities for them to fall asleep like this together, but whenever the moment presents itself, Mike holds onto it tightly, revels in this innocent proximity that is far too rare for them.
It’s not long until El falls asleep in his arms, her breathing evening out before his does. Her hand still holds onto his, not letting go even in her sleep, and the tightness in Mike’s chest remains. His lips brush against her cheek and she doesn’t stir, fast asleep, and it’s at that moment Mike feels brave enough to whisper, “I love you.”
One day, he will find the courage to say it to her face. He will let go of his fears and anxieties and tell her, in those three words, how she’s the most important thing in his life. His entire world, right here in his arms.
For now, he whispers it in the dark of the room, and falls asleep imagining what she would look like when he finally tells her what he knows she is waiting to hear.
v.
Mike has never slept as well and peacefully as he does in his new bed in Iceland.
Sure, there are some nights where the nightmares make themselves known, all borne of moments he has already suffered through and somehow survived. But he wakes gasping for air with a warm hand on his cheek and a soft voice reassuring him that he’s alright. To wake up with El’s face hovering above his, wide eyes kind and warm, is exactly the soothing balm he needs after a bad dream.
This bed—their bed—is his favorite to fall asleep and wake up in. Tonight, he isn’t entirely sure what wakes him up in the middle of the night. He’s not being chased by a bad dream, and he understands why when he forces his eyes open and the space next to him is empty. Warm, smelling faintly of strawberries, but empty.
He has gotten a little better at not panicking when El isn’t nearby. It’s a long work in progress, one that can be frustrating for him and worrisome for her, but Mike has been working through it. So when he wakes now, he’s a little proud of himself that alarm bells don’t ring in his head immediately—though, maybe that has something to do with the fact that he sees the light in the bathroom on under the slight space of the door, along with the faint sound of water from the sink running.
Sleep heavy, Mike pushes himself up, propping up on his elbow. The clock on his bedside reads two forty-seven in the morning, and he lets out a sigh while running his fingers through his unruly hair. He doesn’t yet collapse back onto the bed, waiting as he hears the sink shut off before the bathroom door opens.
El stands there, silhouetted by the bathroom light, but he knows she sees him when she says, “Sorry—did you need to use the bathroom?”
“No,” Mike replies sleepily, a smile tugging as she shuts off the light and closes the door before approaching. “Just waiting for you to come back to bed.”
A gentle laugh escapes her as she reaches her side of the bed, the mattress dipping as she sits. “So dramatic,” El says fondly, slipping her legs under the covers.
She lays down but Mike remains propped up on his elbow, looking down at her and admiring the way her dark hair fans out against the pillow. “I sleep better when you’re next to me,” he says truthfully, though it’s a confession that El is well aware of.
El hums. Through the dark, he can see an amused gleam in her eyes. “You also snore,” she says teasingly.
Mike blinks. “Seriously?”
She giggles, the sound something ethereal, getting to hear it this time of night. “Only sometimes. Only when you’re really tired.” Her hand reaches up to cup his cheek—though, he swears he feels her pinch it lightly. “It’s adorable.”
“Yeah, well, you hog the blanket,” Mike quips, grinning as he reaches forward and tweaks her nose, which El instinctively scrunches up.
“I know,” El replies, unapologetic as a smile grows. “It just gets you to cuddle.”
Mike snorts, raising his eyebrows. “Since when have I needed an excuse for that?”
El laughs, her hand fisting the front of his shirt before she tugs him down. “Come.”
He lets himself be pulled down, a sigh of contentment escaping them both as his cheek rests right below her collarbones, hearing and feeling the hitch in her throat when skin meets skin because she prefers sleeping in tank tops. Not that the summertime in Iceland is too hot, but even the nighttime summer chill is nothing for two people from Hawkins, Indiana.
They lay pressed together, El’s fingers finding home in his hair, carding through the thick strands soothingly as Mike revels in the steady thump of her heart beneath his ear. Alive alive alive. Here here here. That’s what Mike hears in rhythm with her heartbeat, letting the truth of it settle deep into his bones.
From the moment he met El, Mike knew that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. Neither of them foresaw the years of separation they would endure, multiple times, because of outside circumstances beyond their control, but at the end of it all, Mike only ever saw him living his life with her. They may be far away from the home they grew up in, away from friends and family—who do visit them, now that it’s finally safe—but none of it matters to Mike, so long as he and El are together.
To simply wake up every day and go to bed every night with her—it’s been a dream he has long carried that has finally come true. It makes falling asleep so easy, and waking up to a new day all the more exciting. He has spent too many nights without her and Mike refuses to spend any more in such a way; but whether she is with him or not physically, she is always on his mind, always an image he is greeted with every time he closes his eyes. It haunted him during those years where she was gone, her location unknown as he refused to believe she was dead, clinging onto the hope that she was alive and safe. He would see her in his dreams, reliving memories where they were happy, conjuring up fantasies of when they would meet again.
It doesn’t matter. Whether they’re together or apart, El will always reside in his heart and head. She is too deeply a part of him otherwise.
When she scrapes her nails lightly along his scalp, he damn near purrs in contentment, earning a breathy giggle from El. Mike snakes his arms under her, wrapping himself around her even more as he asks, “Not crushing you, am I?”
“No,” she answers softly. “Feels good.”
Mike hums, their legs tangling together. “I love this bed,” he mumbles. “Love sleeping in it with you. Love waking up in it with you.” He turns his head enough to press a kiss to her sternum. “I love you.”
“Good,” El says, and he can hear the smile in her voice without even looking. “I thought you were about to confess your love to this bed.”
“Ha-ha,” Mike says sarcastically. “Very funny.” He punctuates it by tickling her side, making El shriek out a giggle that only widens his grin.
“Stop,” she laughs, grasping his hand. “We can’t wake the neighbors in the middle of the night.”
He wants to say who cares?, but their neighbors are all very nice, so he concedes without a fight—except to say, “Tell me you love me.”
Mike doesn’t care if he sounds needy or pathetic or insecure—not when he knows that El doesn’t think of him in such ways. He has wasted time being insecure in the past, letting his relationship anxieties get the better of him, and now that they have started this new life together, he won’t linger on past worries. Even now, he says the words lightly—not because he doubts her feelings, but because he simply wants to hear her say it. Just because.
“I love you,” El says without hesitation and he feels her press a kiss to the top of his head, a smile tugging at his lips as they hold each other close. “More than all the stars in the sky.”
Mike’s heart does a flip. That’s new. “That’s a lot of love,” he murmurs.
“And still not enough,” she replies with a breathy laugh. “Now go to sleep. You promised your editor you would have the next five chapters done by Wednesday.”
He smirks sleepily against her skin. “Yes, dear,” he says, which only gets him a pinch from her fingers on his side that makes him twitch and her laugh.
To fall asleep to the sound of that—what a privilege.
To dream of El and wake up next to her every day—it’s a gift he will never take for granted.