Chapter Text
El knew it was only a matter of time.
Not that she was waiting for the other shoe to drop. But so much time had passed, so many years that separated them, and they haven’t yet talked about all of the in between. Despite Mike’s smiles, real and true as they may be, El sees the weight that still lingers on his shoulders, not quite yet lifted. They don’t walk on egg shells around each other. They live together comfortably in the apartment, happily—something they have never done before other than those few days back when they were twelve and he had built her a fort in his basement.
But pieces of Mike start decorating her apartment—their apartment. Books he likes that he picked up from the local bookstore—where he did sign copies of his books, much to the owner’s excitement—sit with her own on the shelf. Foods he prefers in the fridge and pantry. New clothes he bought and placing them in the closet and drawers after El made room for his things. His cologne and deodorant on the dresser, his toothbrush sitting in the cup with hers in the bathroom.
Just like his presence, the appearance of his belongings remind El that she’s no longer alone. She spent years making a life for herself while refusing to let go of her past, staying up late into the night as she thought of the friends and family she left behind, of the boy she loves. Told herself being lonely was okay if it meant they were safe—it’s how she ended up here, isn’t it? It didn’t mean it wasn’t painful, that she didn’t wish and yearn and want.
Mike being with her changes everything. To leave everything behind because she is all he wants. . . El has never doubted Mike’s love for her—not after California, at least—but sometimes she feels as though she’s dreaming. Afraid that one day she will wake up and she will be alone, all traces of him erased, as though she never sent that postcard to him, as if he never answered it by showing up to this little Icelandic town just for her.
She is at peace in his presence. It had become easier to breathe when she accepted that she was no longer being hunted, that the military wasn’t after her anymore, but the weight had never fully lifted off her chest. With Mike here, it has. To have this life with him now—the pain had been worth it. She believes that.
Their reunion had been tearful, but beautiful. One that she feels like she has waited her whole life for. Even now, she can’t really find the right words to describe the happiness she feels with Mike finding her. Sometimes it feels like it’s too good to be true, but why shouldn’t they have this? After everything they went through? They deserve their happiness, their peace. It’s what they fought so hard for in the first place.
So they live—together. Coffee and breakfast in the morning together before she has to go to work, and Mike will often join her. A table in the corner of the bakery he has proclaimed as his own, where he sits and types away on his laptop, an open notebook sitting next to him along with another cup of coffee and a croissant or some other baked good El places on his table. The locals who come in know him as the American author who has quietly moved into their town, living with the baker who was once a stranger but is now one of their own. They welcome him with open arms, and El notes, sometimes, that he watches silently as customers chat with her like they’re longtime friends. Talk to her with respect and kindness. It was something she was never given back in Hawkins, outside of their party. It’s a change that, El can tell, Mike likes just as much as she does. She thinks it makes it all the more easier for him to consider this place his new home, too.
In the first couple of weeks since Mike arrived, El shows him around the little town, her favorite stores and spots. They do day trips, sometimes, to Reykjavik, or picnics by the waterfalls. He’s the first person to taste new recipes she tries out for the bakery, and she reads a scene that he writes that he particularly likes. They have dinner with Kaia, the woman who took El in when she first arrived and owns the bakery. It’s a good life. It’s theirs.
But as they settle into their present while welcoming the future as it comes, it doesn’t mean they can completely run from the past.
It happens slowly. So slowly that El doesn’t think Mike even means to do it, or realizes that he is. He will get lost in his own head, quiets down and gets a look in his eyes that’s so far away that El is half afraid she’s lost him. At first, it happens while he’s writing, so El thinks he’s lost in thought about his book, trying to figure out a scene or dialogue. But then it will happen when they’re watching TV, during one of their movie nights. Her head on his shoulder or chest when she flicks her gaze up to catch his reaction during a particular scene, except his face will be blank, the lights of the TV reflecting against his dark eyes that have gone far away again.
Sometimes it will happen when he’s sitting at the bakery. She will be serving a customer and when she looks over, Mike will be watching her, as though he can’t hope to look away—like he’s afraid to look away. Like if he does, then she will disappear out of sight. She caught him doing it once in the middle of the night. She had turned over to face him and, half asleep, her eyes fluttered open, unable to close when she saw Mike laying on his back, staring at the ceiling.
El worries. She’s unsure if she should bring it up. Part of her is afraid of disrupting the peace of their life, but is it truly peaceful if they can’t talk about the things that weigh heavy? Denial isn’t healthy, and they have been through too much for her to ignore this—especially when her stomach churns with the knowledge of something being wrong.
So she worries—and she’s frustrated, too. Just a little. She thought he would bring it up on his own. They both used to suffer in silence and didn’t want to burden the other, until they both learned that’s no way to live in a relationship.
He’s quiet as he washes the dishes—his night, since she cooked—while El returns from the bathroom. Mike tosses a smile her way when she comes into view, which she returns instinctively, but she presses her lips together at the bob of his Adam’s apple as he returns his attention to the glass he’s washing.
El approaches the counter that separates the kitchen and living room, gripping the top of the high chair. “Mike,” she starts, his name always soft spoken.
“Yeah?” he asks, glancing over as he places the glass on the drying rack.
El presses her tongue to the back of her bottom teeth, taking a breath before saying, “I need you to talk to me.”
If she’s being honest, she’s scared to bring this up, only because she knows that it’s going to hurt him. There’s a reason Mike hasn’t brought it up himself, but El can’t keep watching him disappear into his own head, like he’s trapped by memories that leave him numb and distant. It makes her heart ache because she knows it’s her fault—and maybe that’s why Mike doesn’t bring it up. Because he doesn’t want to hurt her. She loves him for it, but the thought of him putting her feelings above his own when he’s clearly in pain tightens her throat and makes her stomach lurch unpleasantly.
Mike’s eyebrows furrow, but his eyes remain on the plate he’s rubbing the soapy sponge over. “Talk to you about what?”
El exhales through her nose, keen eyes tracking his movements. He washes with purpose, but he’s almost done and won’t be able to pretend he’s distracted. “You’ve been acting. . .” She hesitates, trying to find the right word. “Strange.”
“Strange?” Mike repeats, scoffing out a laugh as he looks at her briefly, raising his eyebrow. “How have I been acting strange?”
The dishes clink together quietly as he places the plate on the rack. Thankfully, there’s no more to wash as he dries his hand on the tea towel hanging on the stove handle. “You go far away,” El says. He finally turns to face her, standing opposite of her with the counter in between them, as she gestures towards her own head. “In here.”
Mike shakes his head. “I’m just thinking, I guess. It’s nothing to worry about,” he says with a wave of his hand.
“Don’t do that.” El frowns, making Mike blink. “Don’t pretend like it’s nothing when I know it’s not. You’ve been doing it a lot, Mike. You get lost in your head and I can—I can tell it’s not good.” Her throat works as the muscle in his sharp jaw jumps, no doubt clenching his teeth. El pushes on, desperation slipping into her town as her eyebrows pull together in concern. “Just talk to me, Mike. Please.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say.” He’s looking at her as if he’s giving her an out—like he’s giving her the chance to stop this conversation from even starting. El’s stomach twists, knowing it’s because he’s trying to protect her feelings, but she doesn’t need him to do that. Not if it means he’s silencing his own to do so.
“I want you to tell me where you go,” she insists. “I want you to tell me what keeps you up at night. I want you—” El’s throat works before she inhales deeply, looking him in the eye as she finishes firmly, “I need you to be honest about your anger instead of hiding it.”
Because she knows that’s what this is. She knows Mike, better than she knows anyone else. It was easy to figure out that when he gets that far away look in his eyes, his memories have taken him back to that night in 1987—the moment she told him what she was going to do, the moment she left him. They haven’t talked about it yet—not fully, not the way that conversation deserves to be had. She thinks Mike has been holding off on it because he doesn’t want his anger to be involved in the conversation, but she doesn’t think he’s being fair to himself. He’s trying to protect her, her feelings, except El knows her decision caused him pain. She knows it because she still sometimes hears his screams in her nightmares, the guttural pleas of her name over and over again as he begged her to stay. They cannot ignore this—not anymore.
Mike stares at her blankly. “You want me to be angry with you?”
El nods. “Yes, because you have a right to be angry,” she answers truthfully.
A beat of silence passes, then two, then three. And then Mike’s eyes redden, a glassy sheen taking over, and El’s own eyes burn in response instinctively as Mike loosens a rough breath. “I hate what you did,” he says quietly, like he’s afraid to speak any louder, but it makes El’s breath hitch anyway. “I hate everything that happened to you, and I hate that it made you believe doing what you did was the only way to put an end to it.”
El blinks a couple of times, keeping her tears at bay as she listens, grip on the top of the chair tightening. Mike’s voice trembles as he continues. “After a while, I understood why you did it. But El—” He shakes his head, his throat working. “It didn’t matter if I understood or not. It—It was fucking brutal. These last ten years, I dreamed about you every night. Sometimes I got lucky.” He lets out a humorless laugh, a flash of white teeth. “Sometimes I dreamed about that summer before high school. Me and you in Hop’s cabin before everything went to shit.” Billy. The Mind Flayer. The Russians. “Most of the time I dreamed about that night. I dreamed about you standing there as the Upside Down collapsed. I dreamed about the fucking terror on your face. I dreamed about the fact that you were leaving everything behind because you thought it was the only way to keep us safe.”
El’s breath is shaky. “It was—”
“I know you believe that,” Mike cuts in, hands bracing on the counter top as he looks at her. “And trust me—it was easier to accept your decision when I told myself you were safe and alive, even if the others didn’t entirely believe me. I didn’t care if they did, because I knew the truth. There was too much that didn’t add up, and you’d said it yourself, didn’t you? You said I would understand and eventually, I did. But you were still gone, El.” His voice cracks at that and it’s enough to let a tear escape, feeling it run down her cheek as she sucks in a breath. “I told you we would leave together. I was ready. You could have—you could have gone through with the plan, but you could’ve come back in the void. You could’ve told me where you were going. I would’ve come with you.”
Her pulse races, skin heating in response to a conversation she practically begged for. “The military would’ve—”
Mike leans forward, glassy eyes searing. “They thought you were dead. They didn’t stick around long after that. They left, but you still stayed away. For over ten years. And there is no version where this played out that I wouldn’t spend every second of it thinking about you.” He shakes his head, wide eyes flickering between hers in desperation. “You had to know that.”
She can’t lie to him. Not anymore. “I did,” El whispers, the two words broken in the space between them, her heart tight and throat burning with the truth. Her bottom lip trembles with the weight of her choices, with the knowledge of how much pain she caused the one person she loves most in the world. “I’m so sorry, Mike.”
“No, I don’t—” He squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head. “I don’t want you to be sorry, El.” Opening his eyes, Mike’s gaze softens, but it’s still pained, still a little haunted. “I don’t want you to apologize for keeping yourself and all of us safe. You didn’t see a way out and I just—I hate that, but there’s no changing the past.”
He’s still letting her off easy. She loves him for it, even as her frustration grows. “What else?” she dares to ask, even as Mike presses his lips together, throwing her a desperate look. “I know there’s more, Mike. Please.”
But he shakes his head. “It’s not important,” he says, pushing himself away from the counter to round it towards the living room.
El follows him with her gaze, body turning towards his as he moves further into the living room. “Yes, it is,” she insists, sniffling as she follows him with her hand reaching out, grasping his elbow. “Just tell me—”
“Tell you what, El?” Mike asks sharply, turning around to face her. He towers over her easily, but El has never been afraid of Mike, not even when she was afraid of the entire world when he found her that night in the rain, out in the woods. Mike stares down at her with angular cheekbones and glassy eyes and downturned lips. “Do you want details? You want to know that I had nightmares that my girlfriend was dead, and that I killed you?”
A sharp gasp escapes El, rearing back a little as she gapes up at him with eyes widened in disbelief. Every cell in her body freezes, but she can feel herself trembling, her hand still loosely wrapped around his elbow as she whispers, “What?”
That’s. . . What he thinks? All this time?
She knows she made him believe she had truly died, at least for a little while, but she never. . . She never thought he would assume the blame for it.
Her chest is tight, burning in panic as her gaze flicks between his, desperately trying to make sense of what he means as Mike breathes heavily. His breaths are the only sound in the quiet of their apartment, save for the quiet ticking of the clock on the wall, and under her hand she can feel his arm trembling.
His other hand rises to press to his chest, but El can tell that hand is shaking, too. There’s a war in those brown eyes, like he doesn’t want to say anything more, nose pink tipped and eyes red rimmed from tears that have spilled over. They glisten down his freckled cheeks and El desperately wants to reach up and wipe them away, but she is frozen in shock, chest tight enough to rob her of her breath.
“I built the bomb,” Mike says, voice shaking like the weight of the memory is too heavy to bear. “I made that fucking bomb. I picked that Goddamn song. It would come on the radio and I would—”
He cuts himself off, shaking his head as he averts his gaze. The ache in El’s chest remains as she squeezes his arm. “You would what?”
Mike looks back down at her, a tear hanging from the edge of his sharp jaw. He shrugs in defeat. “I’d throw up,” he admits with another humorless laugh, and El never thought she would hate anything that comes to Mike, but she hates this specific laugh; the one he uses to cover up the pain he’s in, to brush off his feelings. “It reminded me of the worst moment of my life. I never would’ve made that bomb if I knew—”
“It was not you,” El insists, distress slipping into her voice as her hand slips from his elbow to his own hand, larger than hers, warm as always. “Mike, that—” She shakes her head, more tears slipping, hot against her skin as she tries to speak through a dry throat. “No, I never—I never meant for you to think that it was your fault. I didn’t—”
Oh, how could she have been so stupid? How had she never considered, in all these years, that he would take the blame? Her pulse thrums wildly, panic spreading ice through her veins and El is helpless to figure out how to fix this.
But she can’t, can she? There’s no going back to the past, no preventing the trauma that Mike endured watching her disappear when the Upside Down collapsed. He may have understood, eventually, that she was still alive, staying far away, but in that moment, his world was ending just like hers. She remembers, clearly, his screams. The terror that ripped his voice from his throat, like he was being pulled apart limb from limb.
She heard his screams in her nightmares, just like he saw her vanish in the aftermath of his creation.
What did she do? What did she do?
The world spins, blurring in and out of focus as her heart pounds right between her ears. She wanted to know, didn’t she? She had known the truth would be terrible, but she needed to hear it. Mike would never tell her on his own; he’d want to spare her this hurt, but El doesn’t want him to carry it on his own.
She thinks of his books, then. The guilt the Paladin always carries after the Mage’s disappearance. The anger and pain and heartbreak that mixes with it, forming a pool of emotions that is so easy to drown in. She wonders if she had been blind, or if her mind purposefully didn’t allow her to make that connection. Like her subconscious was trying to save her from feeding into the guilt that already existed.
Now, though, it comes over like a tidal wave.
In trying to protect Mike, hoping to keep him safe, she caused him so much pain and grief. She had hoped, perhaps foolishly, that after enough time he would be able to move on, live happily, live freely. But she should have known—maybe she did—that if she can’t live a truly happy life without Mike, how could she have expected the same from him? She could have prevented it, all the heartbreak and devastation he suffered from in the aftermath. How could she have let the person she loves most in the world go through that kind of torture? The first person to protect her, love her, want the best for her? How could she have waited for so long before reaching out to him? How could she—
“El? El. Hey, El, look at me.” Mike’s voice comes from far away, muffled by her thunderous heartbeat, breaking through the fog of her panic as she feels his hands on her arms. “El, come here. Come back to me.”
She’s being moved, she distantly feels as she stumbles, her breaths coming out in short, sharp gasps, throat closing while she’s being sat down on the couch. Her gaze is unseeing, lost in the past, seeing nothing but Mike’s expression of terror, screaming her name, begging—
“El.” Another gasp escapes her as his hands cup her face, Mike’s face sharpening into view. Big brown eyes, angular cheekbones, freckles dotting across pale skin. The world continues to spin but Mike is steady, on his knees before her as she grips the edge of the couch, willing for her heart to calm down. She’s experienced this before, panic attacks before she even knew what they were called, breaths too short to do any good, her skin feeling like it’s being stretched across her body, and a faint ringing in her ears that gets disrupted by the sound of Mike’s voice.
“El, look at me. Look at me.” Her gaze lifts, locking with his, and though she sees the panic swimming in those brown eyes, Mike still manages to look at her calmly. “Breathe with me, El. Follow my breathing. In through your nose and out through your mouth, okay?” She thinks she manages a nod, one that Mike mirrors. “Good. Just follow me. In.” The sound of him inhaling deeply through his nose pushes El in attempting to do the same, following his instructions as she pushes past the sound of her pounding heart.
She feels it, slowly, the air circulating. Mike’s hands are warm on her cheeks, thumbs catching her tears with their gazes locked, and he nods at her again before exhaling slowly through his mouth. El mirrors his actions and they continue a few more times, each time a little easier than the last, until her breathing has regulated and the tightness in her throat and chest has eased. Her head no longer spins, her skin no longer feeling like it’s on fire, and she blinks through the curtain of tears that had collected in her eyes.
“Mike,” El exhales with a tremble.
“Yeah, I’m here, I’m here, El,” Mike assures quickly, one of his hands slipping up to brush her hair away from her face, the other sliding down to settle on the side of her neck. She distantly thinks he’s got his fingers pressed to her pulse point, making sure he can feel it thrumming under his touch. “Are you okay?”
She takes in the concern etched across his face, the gentle furrow of his eyebrows as his gaze flicks all over her face, searching for any lingering sign of distress. It forms a sob in her throat, frustration twisting her stomach. This isn’t supposed to be about her. “I’m sorry, Mike. I’m so sorry.”
He shakes his head, his frown deepening. “No, you have nothing to be sorry about. You just—it was a panic attack, El, it happens—”
“Not about that,” she says with a shake of her head, though that’s a lie. She is sorry for that, but she has bigger sins to answer for. “I’m sorry for everything. I’m sorry for leaving you. For—for making you think that I was dead and then w-waiting so long to let you know that I wasn’t.” Mike’s features slacken, pained surprise flashing across his face as his eyes flick over hers. “I shouldn’t have—you were right. I could have let you know, using my powers. I wanted to save you but I just—I didn’t mean to make things worse.” She’s rambling, but her words are honest even as she stumbles over them, salty tears on her lips. “I thought it would be enough, knowing you were alive, but I was wrong. I should have found you in the void. I should have done something to stop you from hurting so much. It’s all my fault—”
“El, please, look at me.” He cups her jaw, applying just enough pressure to get her to tilt her head up enough to make their gazes meet. “It’s not. It’s not your fault. All that matters is that you survived—you lived.” He dips his chin, but his eyes never stray from hers. “It’s the only thing I care about and I never meant to make it seem like I blame you because I don’t, okay? I don’t.” Mike slips his hands up until they’re cupping the back of her head, fingers threaded through her hair. “You did what you thought you needed to do—”
“But after,” El insists tearfully, sniffling as her hand grips the front of his sweater. “I waited too long. I could have told you sooner. I should have.” She keeps saying the same thing over and over again, a realization that she came to too late. Her fear kept her far away, even when she knew it was okay to reach out to him—especially in the void. No one would have known. He had begged her to stay, to fight, and she had been too hopeless to listen. El’s gaze lowers, blinking quickly, pushing forward more tears. “But I told myself you—you would be better off without me.”
Mike’s expression crumples, voice breaking as he says, “El.”
She looks at him and she knows what he’s going to say. That what she said couldn’t be further from the truth. That his life had stopped the moment she left. That true happiness didn’t exist after her, which was exactly how she felt.
Her breaths shake. “If I reached out sooner, maybe—maybe your nightmares would have stopped. Maybe everything wouldn’t have been so—”
“Unbearable?” Mike offers with a knowing but sad smile. El presses her lips, damp from tears, together as she nods, throat tight. One of his hands shifts, thumb swiping away at her tears. “El, I-I thought about you every day—I wasn’t lying about that. But it wasn’t—it wasn’t all bad. I chose to believe you were alive because I told you: I would’ve felt it if you weren’t.” He pauses, his throat working, like he’s trying to push past the mere idea of her truly being dead as her grip on his sweater tightens. “I wished, so badly, that we were together, but believing you were alive and safe made it easier. It kept me going, kept me moving forward. Nightmares be damned.”
“Mike—”
“I would go through it all again if it meant I’d end up here with you,” he cuts in swiftly, strongly. “Knowing you were okay was enough. You made a difficult decision in an impossible situation. Don’t apologize for keeping yourself safe.”
He is too good, her Mike. “But I can apologize for hurting you,” El whispers, and when Mike parts his lips to protest, no doubt, she continues, “Please, Mike. What I did was the only way out that I could think of, at the time, that would keep all of us safe. You understood my choice later. But you still got hurt.” El! El! El!His screams still echo in her head. Begging, crying. “That is what I’m sorry for the most. I love you—so much, Mike,” she says, her hand sliding up from his sweater to his neck, finding peace in the flutter of his pulse.
Mike exhales softly, red rimmed eyes flicking between hers until she sees the corners of his mouth curve up briefly before he’s pulling her in for a kiss. El melts into it immediately, pulling him closer as soft lips move with her own. “I love you,” Mike says into the kiss before pulling back enough to press his forehead to hers. “And being here with you—I’ve never been happier.” He presses another kiss, soft and gentle. “I’d go through it all again for this—it’s worth it.”
She lets out a breathy laugh, even as she promises herself never again—never again will she put him or herself through something like that again. Even if her intentions had been to do the right thing, a decision made because she saw no other way out after years of living in hiding, in fear, in worry. She can’t bring herself to entirely regret her decision if it meant everyone’s safety, but she regrets hurting Mike and leaving him behind. Both things, she realizes, can be true at the same time.
When Mike pulls away from the kiss, he smiles at her, the sheen in his eyes no longer tears of hurt or sadness, but something brighter, warmer. “I love this life we’re building together.”
Another breath escapes El, heavy with relief, like she had been waiting for those words without even knowing it. He had left everything behind—friends, family, the life he already had—to be here with her, to start new and start better. Years ago, she had believed she wasn’t worth any of that, but if anyone was going to prove her wrong, it would be Mike. and he had—time and time again.
“It’s a good one,” El agrees softly, smiling as her hand slips up into his hair, feeling the strands between her fingers.
Mike pulls her in for a hug, then, with him still on his knees before her and her on the couch. El’s arms instinctively wrap around his shoulders, letting herself be wrapped in him, the weight of the world falling off her shoulders as he murmurs, “It’s a perfect one.”