Chapter Text
𝘍𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘺 𝘔𝘢𝘨𝘦, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘰𝘳 𝘳𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘤𝘦, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯
- 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘗𝘢𝘭𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯’𝘴 𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘦
Mike feels it then, the smallest spark of hope, fragile enough that just noticing it feels dangerous. It burns faintly, a thin flame trembling in the dark, like the lightest breath could snuff it out before it has a chance to grow.
But it’s something.
And Mike needs something to grab onto, something that might help him kick towards the surface of the ocean of he’s been drowning in for months.
He goes back to El.
To the conversations they had before the final battle with Vecna, when planning for the future felt like an act of defiance. He remembers the way she’d looked so enthralled by his idea.
It seemed so silly after everything, but maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it had helped her after all.
He’d told her they’d go somewhere far away from all of this, like the distance itself was its own kind of armor. Somewhere quiet, somewhere that was untouched by Hawkins and all the things that had happened here.
Their three waterfalls…
He’s not sure why that detail stuck for both of them, only that it did. A place she could hide. A place that would let her rest.
Mike grabs a pen and starts to write.
He lists the continents first, because starting big means he can narrow things down little by little.
North America goes immediately, it’s too close, too watched. South America follows for the same reason. The battle might be over, but the fallout isn’t. Not in 1988 when people are still asking the wrong questions and seeking the wrong answers.
Asia is crossed out next. Too much of it is Russia, and Mike doesn’t even need to finish that thought. El would never choose it for her place of refuge. Not after everything they’d taken from her there.
Antarctica is a joke, and not a funny one. Australia lingers for a bit longer, but it’s too far, even for El, too much ocean, too much distance from anything she’s ever known.
Africa stays on the page longer than anything else had.
It’s vast, and that matters. There are places there where no one would ever think to look.
But Mike stares at the word, and he realizes something quiet and final that eliminates it completely.
He can’t picture her there.
Every future they had ever talked about was built on some form of familiarity even if it was small, seasons she recognizes, streets and places she could learn without erasing herself first. Africa would require reinvention. El would have to learn how to exist there from the ground up.
El wouldn’t want to reinvent herself completely.
She wants to rest. They’d wanted to go somewhere peaceful.
Together.
Mike draws a slow line through the word.
He stares at the one place that is left.
Europe.
It sits there on the page, Mike dares it to mock him. But the word remains quiet.
It’s full of old countries and smaller borders. Europe has layers and layers of history, so many stories. Would it just be possible to disappear into it? Into those stories?
He circles it once, twice.
If El is safe, if she chose somewhere to vanish on her own terms, it would be somewhere like that, with enough space to be alone without questions being asked and enough beauty in the scenery to make staying worth something.
Mike leans back in his chair and lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in.
For the first time since her disappearance (because Mike refuses to call it her death) it doesn’t feel like he’s staring at an empty wall. It finally feels like he’s begun to chip away at that wall in a newfound direction.
A few days later, Mike gives in to the fact that he can’t do this alone.
He didn’t want to tell anyone. He had avoided it for more reasons than he cared to count. El’s safety comes first, always. If she chose to disappear, the last thing he wants is to turn her into a target again or a possibility passed around in whispers instead of a definite.
And he’s tired.
Tired of the way the others look at him now, like he might break if they say the wrong thing. Mike is tired of the pity in their eyes, the uncomfortable silences that stretch too long because no one knows how to make his grief smaller once it grew this big.
None of it ever helps.
He knows they miss her too, but they’re moving on while Mike feels stuck, like his feet are glued to one spot, like he continues to drown instead of float.
The truth is simple and so unbearable that Mike can hardly face it: the only thing that would make him feel better is holding El in his arms and never letting her go again.
Everything else is just noise.
So he chooses Dustin.
He doesn’t dare try during one of their full group hangouts, not with everyone watching him like hawks. He waits until the others leave, until the basement empties out and the night is quiet.
If he’s going to do this, he’s going to do it carefully.
As carefully as she would want him to.
Mike waits until Dustin is halfway through a bag of pretzels before he says anything. The air in the basement suddenly feels colder, but it’s still safe. Dustin is doing that thing where he tries to distract Mike from everything by filling the space with whatever new science stuff he’s messing with.
“Hey,” Mike starts.
Dustin looks up immediately like he always does now. “Yeah?”
“I need you to help me look something up.”
Dustin squints. “That’s ominous, but… okay. What is it?”
“Well I uh- I just need information. On places.”
“What kind of places?”
Mike hesitates. It’s not long enough for it to look suspicious, but it’s long enough to give Mike time to choose his words carefully.
“Europe,” he says. “Like… smaller towns. Quiet ones. Not capitals. Places people don’t really pay attention to.”
Dustin blinks, stares at his friend. “Europe.”
“Yes.”
“Like,” Dustin gestures vaguely with a pretzel, “Europe? Across the ocean, different alphabet, metric-system Europe?”
“Yes, Dustin.”
Dustin leans back, studying him. It’s scrutinizing now, in a way it wasn’t a minute ago. “Okay. I have a follow up question though. Why?”
Mike’s jaw tightens. He looks at the far wall instead of at Dustin, at the spot where an old blanket fort used to be.
“I can’t tell you that.”
Dustin laughs once. It comes out sharp. “That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I have for now.”
There’s a beat. Then another. Another.
Dustin’s smile fades slowly. “Is this some sort of government thing?” He asks. “Because if it is then I want to be mentally prepared before I say yes.”
“No. It’s not the government.”
“Is it about the upside down or upside down adjacent?”
“No.”
His best friend exhales slowly. His next question comes out a little shaken.
“Is this about El?”
Mike’s heart stutters like it might stop beating all together at any second. He doesn’t even have to answer. Dustin knows.
Dustin swears under a breath and takes his hat off to rub a hand through his hair. “Mike.”
“I know Dustin, it’s ridiculous or it’s stupid. I know, but I don’t care. Please. I’m begging you to help me. I can’t do this by myself.”
There’s another pause while Dustin studies his friend like he’s trying to find a solution to an impossible problem.
“Dustin.” Mike says, starting to lose patience.
Finally, Dustin reaches for his backpack and drags it closer. “Okay,” he says. “Okay. Hypothetically, if someone were searching for quiet European towns, you would want places with low population, minimal to no surveillance, and decent infrastructure. You would want somewhere you can disappear without actually… disappearing.”
Mike’s chest loosens just a fraction. The flame of hope building inside his chest grows a tiny bit stronger.
Dustin starts talking faster now, slipping into his familiar rhythm. “Rural France, parts of Portugal, maybe coastal Spain but you would have to avoid tourist seasons. Eastern Europe has some quiet places too, but language barriers can be a pain.”
Mike turns back to him. “You’re really going to help me?”
Dustin stares at Mike like he’s lost his mind.
Who knows? Maybe he has.
“Of course man, you’re my best friend. So was El.”
The “was” stings like a punch to his gut, but Mike pushes forward.
“Thanks.”
“I won’t ask what you’re doing or why,” he says quietly. “But I do need to know that you’re not doing something that’s going to get you killed in the end.”
Mike thinks of El’s voice in the void. There was distance in it, but there hadn’t been fear. He’s sure of that more than anything else.
“I’m not,” Mike says and he knows it’s true.
Dustin nods. “Okay then.”
He opens a notebook, flips to a clean page, and writes EUROPE across the top in big letters.
“Let’s find your own nowhere that has to be somewhere,” he says.
Dustin taps his pen against the paper, already lost in thought. “Not capitals, no tourists areas that rely on people going in and out all year round.”
“Quiet.” Mike adds.
“And older,” Dustin says. His eyes light up just a little. “Old means no one questions when someone new shows up.”
The two start listing countries. France. Italy. Sweden. Finland. Norway. Dustin eliminates Germany before even writing it down. It’s too documented, people would ask questions about papers, names, where you came from. He curses and mutters something about paperwork being the new modern age villain.
He circles places with mountains which provide natural boarders. He underlines places with roads that wind and bend instead of cut straight through. Mike notices when Dustin starts focusing more energy on places with rivers and elevation changes, with land not easily seen.
“Hiding places…” Mike states, quietly.
Dustin only shrugs. “Places that have escape routes.”
They talk climate next. Somewhere that El wouldn’t have to constantly fight the weather just to exist.
“Three waterfalls,” Mike blurts, meant to say it more to himself. Dustin pauses.
“You want to go that specific?”
“It was something we talked about back before…” Dustin fills the silence before his friend can dwell on the unfinished thought.
“Alright, then we want places with high elevation and water. Lots of it. Rivers that split into roaring falls, not calm ones that just move through land.”
He flips to the next page and starts sketching rough maps from memory. Dustin labels places he’s seen in textbooks or documentaries. It’s messy, but Mike has never been more grateful to have an insanely smart friend.
“Portugal maybe or Northern Spain? Parts of Sweden or Norway. There’s some possibilities in Finland.”
Mike’s heart is pounding.
“Could she live there? Actually live? Peacefully.”
“Yeah,” Dustin considers, “especially if she wanted to be left alone.”
Those words sit heavier than Mike would have expected. Left alone… if El wanted to be left alone then would she really want to be found? By anyone? By him?
Was the void just a fluke? Or was it really just another tortured dream that wasn’t even real?
Dustin doesn’t push. Mike knows his friend has done his own calculations of El’s survival over the past bunch of months. He knows because he saw the circled 0.0001% and the 0.0004% on paper before Dustin slammed his notebook (not so subtly) closed so Mike couldn’t see it. Mike had pretended not to see the tear stains beside the smudged calculations either.
The silence stretches on for too long, so Dustin breaks it first. “Alright, tomorrow I’ll hit the library. Travel books. Geography stuff. We need some Pre-internet resources, baby.”
Mike huffs out a laugh, “You make it sound like it’s easy.”
“It’s research,” Dustin says calmly. “Which is basically the foreplay for answers.”
Mike shakes his head.
“But Mike? If this really isn’t all some hypothetical… there’s one thing you’ll need more than anything for this. Money. Lots of it.”
“Yeah…”
So after Dustin leaves and promises Mike he won’t tell their friends (for now) and that they will burn whatever they come up with together just to be safe, Mike sits in front of his typewriter and he picks up where he left off in a story.
Mike writes and writes, then keeps writing and time passes. Soon it’s 1989 and he finds a publisher. Her name is Stephanie and she’s excited for him, believes in him, believes that his stories will be something.
So he keeps writing and soon his first royalty payment comes in. Mike puts all of it into his savings account and now it starts growing a little quicker and the one thing that keeps him going is that tiny fragile ember of hope inside his chest.
Dustin continues to help Mike map something out, helps him make it a physical thing. Sometimes they stay up until late hours of the night and crash in Mike’s basement. Their friends ask what they are up to and Mike says they’ll know in time.
Doesn’t want the look of pity in their eyes when they see him get worse because they think he’s wasting time on some broken lead that may not even be a lead at all.
Soon, after what feels like a decade, but it’s only been 820 days (give or take) Mike packs a small suitcase with only the essentials and his type writer then buys a plane ticket.