Work Text:
Everything and Nothing
El’s mind wouldn’t stop flashing through the events of the last twenty-four hours. One scene faded into the next, over and over again. She couldn’t change the progressive flow, nor could she stop it altogether. It almost felt as if she was watching her life from another person’s point of view. (It reminded her of the memories her mama had shown her.) El’s mind didn’t stop; first she watched herself meeting Billy in the void, and then there was protecting her friends in the cabin, the bite, nearly bleeding out in the grocery store, Jonathan cutting into her leg, losing her powers, saying goodbye to Hopper, Billy’s sacrifice, Max’s loud and reverberating sobs.
And then there was the parking lot, sitting beside Mike in the back of the ambulance, squeezing his hand as a paramedic stitched her leg up. Her screams of pain echoed against the walls of the vehicle, mixed with Mike yelling at the paramedic to Please hurry up and Give her more pain medication, goddammit!
Then there was the moment of watching Will reunite with his mother and the gut-wrenching, soul-crushing sadness that crossed Joyce’s face when she made eye contact with El. And El honestly hadn’t meant to collapse against the hard pavement of the parking lot. Mike and Dustin had stormed her, helping her back to her feet. Both asking her if she was okay, demanding to know what was going on. But she had no idea how to answer.
(Were there words to describe the all-encompassing ache that was pressing on her chest? Or the fear that was pushing bile up her throat?)
Everything after that was a blur; sobbing into Joyce’s arms, the Party surrounding her in a massive group hug, Mike yelling at his mother that he would be going with El, getting to the Byers’ and now, she watched Will exit the bathroom from her place on the Byers’ couch. She knew it was her turn next to try and wash away everything that happened. Joyce didn’t bat an eyelash when El dragged Mike into the bathroom behind her. She still couldn’t quite walk without him, so she leaned most of her weight against him. (He might not have been the strongest in the Party, nor possess the ability to lift El, but his presence was strong and sure.)
The bathroom door clicked into place as she shut it behind them. She shuffled to the sink, pulling away from Mike in order to place her full weight against the porcelain. Mike hovered for a moment, before lowering the toilet lid and sitting down.
El ignored the bathroom mirror; pretending that if she didn’t look up, she wouldn’t have to face it all. Maybe things weren’t that bad; maybe she wouldn’t even need to take a shower. (She figured she wasn’t that lucky; she could feel everything caked against her skin.) But she just did not want to climb inside the shower. Old fears were bubbling to the surface, threatening to make their presence known in some sort of outburst. The idea of the darkness that awaited her behind the closed curtain paired with the loud, rushing water was almost too much.
The logical part of her mind reminded her that she was disgusting—blood and Mind Flayer guts staining her skin. She wanted nothing more than to lay down beside Mike and never, ever get up again. She knew that this was a step to that ultimate goal.
With great resolve, she kicked off her shoes and toed off her socks. Next came the suspenders, as she slipped them off her shoulders. She yanked her shirt out of her pants, unbuttoning it enough to pull the garment over her head. She unbuttoned her pants next, wincing in pain as she began to pull them down.
“Here, let me help,” Mikes voice sounded loud in the stillness of the silent bathroom, causing her to nearly jump in surprise. She had almost forgotten he was there. She turned to face him, finding concern across his features.
Mike stood then, seeming to assess the situation quickly. She was grateful to watch him launch into problem-solving mode, as she needed him to be level-headed and calm at the moment. (She knew that could be difficult; knew that he was ruled by emotion.) After a moment’s hesitation, he reached for her waist, fingers pinching the hem of her pants. He looked into her eyes, and she just nodded, unsure what she’d even say. He nodded back, before pulling her pants down to her thighs. (They’d done this dozens of times before, but this was so different from all those times. Gentleness replaced passion; carefulness replaced quickness. But there was still that overwhelming feeling of love.)
Gently, he helped her to sit down on the bathtub side. He crouched down in front of her, gingerly pulling the rough material of her pants away from her hand stitched covered wound. She winced, biting down on her lower lip painfully. Mike glanced up quickly, something swimming in his irises—El didn’t know how to place it, wondered why it looked like pain.
“Squeeze my hand,” he instructed softly, offering her his left hand. She took it gratefully, before nodding at him to start again. He continued to peel her pants away from her blood dried skin. She closed her eyes, choosing instead to focus on breathing and not crushing Mike’s hand while squeezing it. It took nearly everything in her to not shatter the bathroom window or crack the porcelain of the sink.
“You’re doing great,” Mike murmured, his voice soft. Yet she could hear the panic he was trying to hide for reasons El wasn’t sure. “Just a little more.” El didn’t say a thing, focusing still on controlling her powers.
Since he was working with only one hand, the process was slow. Mike slid the fabric down her right leg, before switching over and carefully scrunching the fabric on her injured left leg, doing his best to keep the fabric from touching her wound. It took several minutes before her pants were pooled at her ankles, she went to help kick them off, but he placed a gentle hand on her right shin, stilling her movements.
“It’s okay,” he murmured, pulling her pants the rest of the way down.
Now that the task was done, the two sat facing one another in silence. El had no idea what to say, exhaustion and pain catching up to her. Mike looked about the same. She squeezed his hand softheartedly, as it was still warm in her grasp.
“You ready?” Mike gestured to the shower behind her. His voice was quiet, so unlike himself it nearly scared her. (He was always soft with her, she knew. The rest of the party always teased him for it. But this was not that softness, this was fearful silence.) She chose instead to ignore it, knowing that nothing was even close to okay at the moment.
El could only sigh, unsure if she was ready; unsure if she had the ability to stand firmly on her own two feet. (She was suddenly also afraid of slipping.)
Her eyelids felt heavy, and the strength it took to hold them open was enormous. Concentrating on Mike helped, as she rarely wanted to look away. But Mike was searching her eyes, and she wished she knew what for. She wanted to say something that would reassure the worry and confusion in his features, but she knew friends don’t lie. And she would’ve had to lie in order to say anything of any comfort. Mostly, though, it was his confusion that scared her; it had always seemed to her that Mike knew everything, especially when it came to her. Somehow, he had always known what she was thinking and that had been a comfort since she met him.
“Can you stand?” Mike asked, rising to his full height all the while still holding her hand. She shrugged lamely, before attempting to stand. She placed all her weight onto her right leg and tried to stand without wincing. (She didn’t want Mike to see; did not want her pain to be even more of a burden.) “El, careful,”
She didn’t answer him, instead standing up fully. She tilted her head to look up into his eyes, finding his worry for her there. (She couldn’t deny the warmth that came from being cared for by Mike Wheeler. But those feelings fought alongside her innate desire to hide her problems, to not bother another with her own pain, to shy away from the tenderness of his care.)
“I don’t want to be alone,” El found herself saying, knowing the full truth behind that sentence.
“I won’t leave you,” Mike assured her.
“Promise?”
“I promise, El,” Mike’s gaze was intense; the exact comfort El knew she needed in that moment.
With that admission in the air, she reached behind herself to unclasp her bra. As she did so, Mike quickly spun around, so his back was suddenly facing her. El didn’t like the feeling it left in her chest.
“What’s wrong?” A hundred thoughts suddenly flooded her; things like Am I too disgusting to look at right now? and Have things changed since the breakup?
“I wanted to give you some privacy,”
“Privacy?” El did not understand. “Mike, I thought we were back together?”
“We are!” Mike exclaimed, clearly distressed. El placed a hand on Mike’s upper arm, trying to turn his body back around. She wanted to look at his face, wanted to see his warm brown eyes. There was a look of desperation across his face, as if he was searching for the words he wanted to say. “I just wasn’t sure if this was the right moment, or if you still wanted me to see you like that, or just, I just wanted you to be comfortable.”
“I am comfortable,” El assured him, some of her confusion still lingering in her voice. “It’s just you and me.”
“Yeah,” Mike seemed to agree. “You and me.”
They stood together for another minute, before something washed over Mike’s features and a look of determination replaced it.
“Okay, so you ready? I can hold your hand if you want. Or whatever, y’know,”
“Yes,” El nodded, not wanting to elaborate. (She knew she should, or that she could. Mike would want to know that her leg felt weak and standing was actually agony. But.)
“It’s gonna hurt,” Mike told her, as he leaned down to turn the water on. “I mean, the water on your leg.”
“I know,” she unclasped her bra, depositing it on the pile of her other, much bloodier clothing. She slipped out of her underwear, unable to hold back her groan of pain. She could see Mike wince out of the corner of her eye, but she ignored it.
As she turned to face the bathtub, she accidentally caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Like this, it was much more obvious the abuse she had undergone that day. She was littered in bruises, the lower half of her left leg was drenched in blood, and there were monster guts caked to the skin of her arms and the top of her chest. Blood stained her upper lip, and her hair was matted with it all.
Quickly, she turned away and fully faced the shower. Water was running, and so she took Mike’s offered hand and stepped over the bathtub ledge. Imaginably, her left leg erupted in pain and this time she shouted out in agony. She clamped down on her bottom lip to stifle any other signs of distress. Although, she could not hold back when the warm water hit her bite wound.
“Fuck,” she shrieked, feeling her face scrunch up. “Holy shit,” she tried to breathe around the groan, doing her best to focus in on Mike’s hand in her grasp and standing up right and not crumbling the wall around the shower head nor pulling out the water pressure dials. Which is when she suddenly realized, she had nothing to worry about; her powers still hadn’t come back. It’d been several hours, but still there was nothing.
The sadness and fear surrounding that fact flooded back into her body, until the pressure of her thoughts was entirely too overwhelming. She couldn’t grasp her breath, her lungs too tight. Her entire body felt like an explosion of pain; only capable of experiencing suffering and horror. She’d lost nearly everything, and her body felt useless and her mind was screaming and—
“El! El!” somewhere in the back of her mind she began to recognize her name being called out. Mike’s voice rang through her ears, feeling so far from her. Logically, she knew that Mike was still just beside her, but her mind wouldn’t focus on that. The fire burning in her chest was too all encompassing, too huge.
“El! El, can you hear me?!” His voice sounded hysteric, which scared her.
“M-Mike?” She didn’t mean for her voice to sound so broken.
“Yes, El, it’s me! Are you okay?!”
She didn’t want to answer the question, didn’t want to admit to what she was feeling. The words felt too bitter against her tongue; the words remained trapped inside her mind. Instead, she took a gulp of air, trying to fill her lungs back up. Her chest still felt too tight. Her leg was still thrumming in pain, but if she tried to fix her attention on the weight of Mike’s hand in her own maybe she could finish her shower.
“El, please answer me,” Mike begged, causing El to look over at him. Tear tracks stained his face, his eyes watery. It broke her heart to see it, an overwhelming surge of guilt filling her chest.
“Mike, it’s okay,”
“No, it’s not!” Mike exclaimed. “Because you’re in so much pain and now you’re trying to comfort me!” His voice held the hysteria she had heard a moment ago, and he blinked back more tears. “How can I help you?”
“I don’t know,” El stammered. Mike’s ability to openly cry in front of her was enough to send El over the edge, a sob bubbling up in her chest. She did her best to clamp it down, but when she tried to suck in more air, her sob came out instead. Her entire body shook as another sob escaped, and then another. Completely unable to stop herself, El’s body erupted in sobs. She reached for Mike, not realizing she was still under the stream of the shower until she felt Mike’s wet shirt against her chest.
They were soaking the bathroom, as Mike leaned into the shower with her, the curtain pulled back. El buried her face against his chest, as if she could hide from everything terrifying her. Grief, she realized, didn’t make any sense. Grief was uncontrollable, and El had always prided herself in keeping a composed manner to herself. The moment felt so strange, and she was afraid of the guilt sticking into every cavity of her body.
Mike was murmuring something against the top of her head, but she couldn’t make out the words. She was grateful for it, a beacon of light to cling to. She wanted Mike to hold her tighter than he already was, wanted to wrap up in his body and hide from everything that terrified her—the overwhelming grief of loss.
They stood that way for several more minutes, until the wet feeling of his shirt rubbing against her bare skin was uncomfortable. She pulled away, though it physically pained her to do so. It was as if there was an invisible string tying her heart to his, and the farther she moved away, the tighter the string pulled. Looking up into Mike’s eyes, she found similar emotions crossing his features.
His hair was soaked, matted against his forehead, the ends flipping up. His shirt clung to his body, and El felt terrible.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, feeling weird standing alone in the shower while he stood an arms reach away, dripping wet.
“Sorry? El, you have nothing to be sorry about,” his eyes were rapidly filling with tears again, and all she knew was that she wanted it to stop.
“Mike,” she reached out for him again, and he came willingly.
“El, I’m sorry,” Mike gasped around his tears.
Just as she had all night, El didn’t know what to say, so she chose to say nothing. Instead, she went to pull off Mike’s shirt. She knew it had to be uncomfortable, and she wanted badly to fix the situation in any way she could. As she pulled the drenched article away from his skin, she noticed how badly her hands were shaking. She didn’t like it, so she looked away, looking up at Mike’s face instead. Her favorite face.
Mike went compliant, allowing El to undress him slowly. When she finished, dropping his shirt onto the bathroom floor with a splat, Mike cleared his throat.
“Can I wash your hair?” He asked, and El had to remember again where she was and the context of the situation.
“Yes,” El agreed simply, grabbing the first bottle of shampoo her eyes landed on. She didn’t care whose it was, or what it smelled like. She just wanted to complete the task and get out.
She handed it to Mike, who squeezed a glop of it onto his open palm. He reached forward, and El helped by tilting her head out. Mike slowly lathered it into her hair, massaging her scalp as he went. It was soothing, and El closed her eyes to the sensation. She focused only on Mike’s hands, and how it made her feel.
He pulled away and El let the shampoo sit for a moment, before turning her head towards the faucet. As she rinsed, she watched dirty, soapy water collect at her feet before swirling down the drain. It was just as she imagined, knowing everything that must be caked into her hair.
El spotted a bar of soap and reached for it. She lathered her hands, before running them down her body, scrubbing hard against her arms, the top of her chest, her face. She chose to ignore her wound, as the paramedics had cleaned and disinfected it hours earlier. She did, however, scrub away the dirt and blood that surrounded the bite. Mike hovered closely, and El was insanely grateful. Her fear of slipping was still alive, especially as she crouched down to reach her ankle sodden with blood. She worked speedily, rinsing and with a tilt of her head she went to turn off the water. Only, nothing happened. She had to remember again.
Mike leaned down quickly, spinning the dials. He handed her a towel next, but she failed to reach out for it quick enough, so he wrapped it around her shoulders. She thought she might be disconnecting from the situation, as she seemed to be recognizing his movements every couple of seconds. It was like this: he placed the towel around her shoulders and then somehow her back felt dry and he was rubbing her arms and then he was guiding her to his embrace and then she realized he was trying to help her out of the shower. She climbed out, feeling water continue to drip down her legs. Her hair also dripped, and she listened to it hit the already wet bathroom floor.
“I made a huge mess,” El commented, sounding regretful even to herself.
“It’s okay, I’ll clean it up,” Mike assured her comfortingly. (More guilt. More gratitude.)
El just stood in the puddle on the bathroom floor, towel wrapped around her shoulders until Mike prompted her to get dressed. He helped her dress in a pair of Will’s sweatpants and his sweatshirt. She could barely feel the limbs of her body, and so she mostly aided him in dressing herself by going compliant. She didn’t feel ashamed at all—unsure if she was capable of feeling that when it came to Mike—instead grateful for his devotion.
“Is that better?” Mike asked, so uncharacteristically quiet and concise. (A part of her wanted him to launch into some story about bioluminescent species’ or a long-winded explanation as to why the Earth orbited the Sun, or the tenets of Darth Vader’s relationship with his son Luke Skywalker, but she knew she’d only hear half of it. She selfishly wanted to hear his voice and try and pretend that it was just any summer night spent together.)
El suddenly remembered he’d asked her a question, and so she nodded.
“I’m going to shower now,” he told her gently. “Do you want to go sit on the couch?”
She shook her head vehemently. “I don’t want to leave you.”
“Okay,” he nodded. “You don’t have to.”
She knew that tomorrow he’d have to go home. And he’d have to pretend that nothing had happened, and she hated that for him. She hated how hard it was for him to keep secrets from his mother. She hated that he had to bottle everything up at home. He’d told her many times that he didn’t mind, that he’d do anything to keep her safe. She believed him, but she also recognized that it couldn’t be as easy as he claimed it was.
She settled on the down turned toilet seat, pulling her legs up to her body. Mike undressed the rest of the way, before climbing into the shower, tugging the curtain closed behind him. She knew he was still in the room with him, but a sort of panic bubbled up in her chest with the inability to see him. (They’d been apart for so long, and the day had been very traumatizing, and she’d lost—)
“Mike?” She called out tentatively.
“Yeah?” He called back, concern lacing his voice.
Feeling stupid, El realized she didn’t know what to say. (Had she just wanted to be sure of him?)
“El?”
“Thank you,” she found herself saying, knowing it was the right thing to say as the words fell from her lips.
“I’d do anything for you, El.” He said, and she couldn’t see his face, but she knew exactly what expression he was making.
“I would, too.”
“I know.” Mike assured her.
Silence enveloped the room again; the only sound was the steady stream of the water. Mike’s shower was significantly quicker than El’s, and he was drying off in minutes. He dressed in a pair of Jonathan’s pajamas, the pants too short and the t-shirt hanging off his chest. El thought he looks adorable.
El and Mike settled into the living room, plopping down onto the couch. She was prepared to squish onto her side, lay underneath him—or on top of—or whichever position would allow her to sleep beside him on the couch.
Joyce had promised she’d take care of Karen, and El felt so grateful tears did spring to her eyes. She didn’t think she could be away from Mike that night; didn’t know if she would make it had he had to leave.
Jonathan stumbled into the living room just as El turned to ask Mike how he wanted to contort to fit.
“Hey, El?” Jonathan called out to her, so she turned to meet his gaze. “Why don’t you take my room?” Jonathan offered kindly, and El found something strange in his eyes, something she didn’t recognize. (Reading expressions was still so hard, and it was difficult to ask people what they meant, why their eyes glistened, or why their eyebrows furrowed, or their lips made a straight line.)
“No, it’s okay,” El shook her head, hand still clinging to Mike’s. “I’ll be fine on the couch.”
“Seriously, El,” Jonathan pressed. “I insist.”
El weighed her options, unsure how to proceed. Jonathan’s kindness was overwhelming, and she wanted so badly to just crawl into bed and succumb to the sleep that was itching behind her eyelids. But she didn’t want it at the expense of Jonathan’s comfort; the Byers’ couch was anything but luxurious.
“El,” Mike murmured, so that she was the only one who could hear. “You deserve it; it’ll be okay for a night.” She knew Mike was trying to convince her, but instead of feeling frustrated at his insistence, she felt comforted by the affection and care he exuded.
El glanced up from the floor and made eye contact with Jonathan once more. She trusted Jonathan with her life, and he proved that he was more than capable of protecting and guiding the party on numerous occasions. She felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude, one that made her gasp for air. It wasn’t unfamiliar; she’d felt it for Mike more times than she could count, and when Hopper had—
She shoved that thought as deep down as she could.
“Thank you,” El mumbled, blinking back an onslaught of tears, and rising to her feet, Mike following her lead.
“It’s no big deal,” Jonathan assured her. “I promise.” He added on, and all of her disdain and apprehension dissipated.
“Okay,” she nodded her head, and she decided she didn’t want to wait any longer. Will had already gone to bed, hugging El tightly before doing so. Joyce stood in the entrance to the hallway, having watched their interaction.
Jonathan, though, moved towards her, forcing her to let go of Mike as Jonathan leaned down to encircle his arms around her. His grasp was tight, and he rubbed a hand against her back. El buried her head into his shoulder, finding comfort in the strength of his embrace. She’d never been close to Jonathan, but she knew everything was changing now. And she found solace in the fact that Jonathan would be around; she’d seen the way he spoke to Will, the tenderness in his actions and gazes.
El tried to communicate her gratitude in her answering hug. When Jonathan pulled away, he held her at arm’s length. El watched as his features morphed from one to another and she recognized the tall tale signs of someone weighing their words, wondering if it was okay to say something.
Finally, it seemed Jonathan decided to not say anything. Instead, he gave her a watery smile, and El noticed him try to mask an emotion in his eyes that she didn’t recognize. El tried not to let it upset her; that nagging confusion of social interactions.
El turned back to Mike when Jonathan fully pulled away. Mike looked as exhausted as El felt, and so she focused on her innate desire to take care of Mike, to protect him.
“Come on,” she murmured, grabbing Mike’s hand in her own and pulling him towards the back of the house and into Jonathan’s bedroom. Joyce rubbed her shoulder as they passed her.
El shut the door to Jonathan’s room once they’d entered, and the pair quietly walked to the bed. The covers were turned down, and El didn’t hesitate before climbing in. Mike was right behind her. She curled into his side like she’d done so many times before, but she couldn’t fight off the feelings that surrounded the current situation. That these snuggles were born of necessity, of keeping a grip on reality. Not that she didn’t want this—she always did—but that she needed it. Mike felt like a lifeline at the moment, and she clung to his body.
Both nothing and everything felt right. Somehow it made sense, though she wasn’t sure if it should.
“I’ve got him back in my arms again,” El thought as she laid against his side. Her heart ached so bad she could hardly breathe, so she tugged Mike closer to her body, hoping that she could pull comfort from him somehow.
Neither spoke, and El couldn’t help but wonder if there really was anything to say. His arm around her waist was comforting. His forehead pressed against hers felt like home. Their intertwined legs brought them closer.
A bit subconsciously, El leaned forward wanting to press her lips against Mike’s. She knew the comfort and the care that would come from his kiss, and she craved it suddenly desperately.
Their lips collided and slid together. Her kisses were full of desperation and need. She couldn’t help the way her lips slid roughly against his. She wanted to feel something else, wanted to feel needed and loved. Because she knew now that Mike loved her and that he wasn’t ready to say it. She could wait for now, because their kisses were full of that love she shared with him. It was full of everything they didn’t say. She couldn’t get enough of him, hand coming up to tangle in his wet hair. She bit his bottom lip and he let out a groan. His hand cupped the back of her head. She melted into him.
When she pulled away, it was because of the tears that stained both of their faces. She could feel the warmth dripping down her cheeks, unsure whose they were. She hadn’t felt herself begin to cry, but there was nothing to do to stop it now. She had succumbed to it, crying soundlessly in the arms of the person she loved most in the world.
She fell asleep like that; chest tight with grief, guilt and gratitude. Wrapped up in Mike’s arms, cuddled against his chest, the entire world blocked out. Everything and nothing feeling right.