Chapter Text
"Please don't leave me, El. Please don't do this."
"Goodbye, Mike."
Mike jolts awake. These are the voices of his dreams. Every night since her disappearance, he's dreamed of that day. His brain replays and rewinds the words they said to each other. Sometimes it's different, but it's mostly this. Their last words to each other, the last thing she said to him and the last thing he said to her before he was pulled away from her. Sometimes he will get a memory of happier times, when they would sneak away from their friends to steal a kiss from each other or even just a shared look from across a room. It's the only way he can ever see her again, so even if the memories hurt, at least he can't forget her face.
His hand comes up to rub his eyes, the familiar wetness of tears is welled in the corner of his eyes. This is just his everyday life. He reaches over to his nightstand to grab his glasses, adjusting the way they sit on his nose. He looks around his dorm room, after 4 years of school, he's almost done with this place.
Honestly, he's shocked he made it this far. He went to Indiana State University and studied creative writing and literature. He went somewhere close to home, only about a 35 minute drive from Hawkins. Something about being far away from Hawkins made him feel uneasy, like he was accepting that he could move on, like his friends did. However, even with the distance and a distraction of a future, he always remembered those beautiful brown eyes.
He went home regularly, almost every weekend. He didn't enjoy college. He tried to have fun, but making friends was hard. No one could compare to this group he grew up with, bled with, and had known his entire life. No one could understand the trauma they all went through, the suffering, and honestly, he was always an outcast. People told him he would find his group, that college is full of unexpected people that could become your lifelong friends, but no one he met came close to his friends from home.
Going home was just something that became routine. Half of his things were split between school and his home in Hawkins. His dad often complained, saying things like, "Michael, why do we even pay for you to go to school if you're just going to live here part time?"
But not even his parents, who had experienced significant trauma, could understand the part of him that drew him back to Hawkins like a magnet. That part of his soul was hollow now, full of distant hope and longing for someone who he may never see again. Leaving Hawkins was like leaving her behind.
It's not like he had a grave he could visit, either. They couldn't even have a funeral for her.
She had saved Hawkins, she had sacrificed her life so that Hawkins could return to that once peaceful town, where nothing ever happens. She was everywhere in Hawkins, but nowhere at the same time. She couldn't be remembered for the choice she made, but Mike remembered. Every day. When he went home for the weekends, he visited the library, or rather the benches outside. A part of him was always hopeful that she would show up, appear from behind a corner and walk home to him.
But she never did.
It didn't stop Mike from showing up.
Finally, Mike got up. It was Friday, meaning he would go home after classes today. He stared around at his room, the band posters, the painting from Will, pictures of his friends, postcards taped around his desk detailing the latest adventures from the party and their life, and a picture of El on his desk. He picked it up and stared at it, the picture was old, probably from 1985, almost 8 years ago.
In photographs, she is forever young. She will never age. She will remain the purity of youth in every photo he has of her. Her smile is big in this picture, he remembers taking it in her bedroom during their first summer together. She was laughing so hard, he doesn't even remember why, but he is so grateful he took this picture.
He put the picture down and sighed. Time to get on with the day, he thought.
He put on a sweater that was lying on his floor and pulled a pair of jeans that were haphazardly thrown on his chair with the belt still attached. He glanced in the mirror and brushed his hair down with his hand. His hair was longer now, curlier, and hung over his eyes. He often had to move his bangs from his eyes and he had to admit, he was getting kind of annoyed with his hair, but he didn't care enough to have it cut. His mom would probably mention it to him this weekend.
The day went by as every day does, a blur. He walks to the dining hall, gets something to eat, goes to class, reads some Steven King in between classes, goes to his final class, and goes back to his dorm. The only time he felt alive during his day was when he sat down to work on his novel. Though it was something he never thought he would publish, it was something he liked to work on from time to time.
The title was a work in progress, but the heart of the story has remained the same since 1989. He has always told the story of his mage, his best friend, his soulmate. He wasn't sure he could ever publish something so raw, so emotional, and so personal. He wanted to write it anyway because he never wanted her story to be forgotten, or misinterpreted, or told in the wrong way. Mike thought that this was something he could do for El, to tell her story in complete truth. To give her that freedom and the closure that she deserved.
He carefully pulled the latest page out from the back of the typewriter and set it with the others, gently putting it in a folder so that the pages wouldn't get crumpled. He finished packing his bag for the weekend and grabbed his keys. He grabbed a few last minute items and locked the door behind him, keeping his head hung low as he walked out of the building. A part of him was a little embarrassed that he still lived in the dorms- or rather it was a university apartment building, but it was still a "dorm" nonetheless.
His entire class had moved into apartments with friends, throwing parties on the weekend, but he lived alone in his student housing apartment with a bunch of sophomores. It depressed him a little to think about, that even after all these years he couldn't move on from simple things like that. In ways, he felt like he was keeping himself back, like he wasn't living his life with true intention and purpose. A voice in the back of his head screamed, "El wouldn't want this for you, she would want you to move on and be happy".
But he just couldn't do it, not without her.
-
The drive felt longer than usual, the sun setting earlier and the fields of crops that adorned the highway now barren, brown patches. A part of him had always hated living in Indiana. He hated how boring it was, how boring it looked. As soon as you got far from the city, it was endless miles of corn fields. That's why he had always dreamed of leaving, of escaping to a beautiful land with El. He wanted to show her how beautiful the world was. He wanted to take her all over the world. He wanted her to experience everything in life without the weight of the trauma from Hawkins.
The mixtape in his car stopped, reaching the end. Keeping one hand on the wheel, he reached over to his glove box and blindly picked out a new cassette and jammed it into the player. A familiar song hummed over the speakers, a song he knew so well.
Sweet Jane, by the Cowboy Junkies.
His heart ached when he listened to this song, only ever thinking of one person. He realized this mix must be the one he made after El's disappearance, the heartbreaking mix of songs that only served one purpose, reminding him of his one true love. The lyrics were true and had always given him hope that she would come back.
"You were waiting there for him to come back home,
You're waiting down on the corner, and thinking of ways to get back home,
Sweet Jane, Sweet Jane"
He knew she had to be out there. God, he knew she wasn't dead. She couldn't be.
-
When he arrived home, it was a little later than usual. It was dark and the lights from inside the Wheeler house illuminated the lawn. He parked his car outside the garage and grabbed his key from his pocket, jamming it into the side door. The house was quiet, the faint buzz of his dads TV in the other room and his faint snores, footsteps from upstairs, the buzzing of the lights. He took off his shoes and his coat and walked further into the house.
"Michael? Are you home?" Karen called from upstairs.
"Yes mom, I'm home." He called.
He glanced at the basement door. He didn't usually go down there, mainly because Holly and her friends were always down there, but he didn't hear any voices. The main reason he didn't go into the basement was obvious, but tonight something was off. He felt drawn to the door, like he was being beckoned. Something different, unusually familiar. Something he hasn't sensed in a long time.
His mom had called something down to him, but he didn't understand what she said as he walked further from the stairs. He reached the basement door and hesitated when his hand came up to the knob. His hand was actually shaking. His breath became shorter. What if he was just making this up? Hoping for a sign from her? He knew his friends thought he was delusional at times, the amount of hope he had about her was saddening to them, he knew it.
But Mike was different from his friends. They didn't know El like he did. They didn't understand that their love was something special, something no one else but them could experience.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, bringing his hand to touch the cold metal of the door and turning the knob. When he opened the door, the state air of the basement hit his nostrils with a force full of nostalgia. He walked down the stairs carefully, when he passed the wall blocking his view of the basement, he stopped on the stairs and looked around. There was nothing down there.
Just scattered toys and a DND campaign left untouched on the table from Holly. He sighed.
"This is stupid.." he muttered. He wanted to turn around and run back up the stairs, but something was forcing him to stay.
He wanted to think he was stupid for believing she would just be hiding in his basement, but he knew it wouldn't be that crazy. Giving in, he walked all the way down the stairs and stopped at the base. He glanced around the room, looking for anything that might be out of place, out of the ordinary.
His eyes scanned the room multiple times, but nothing. He wanted to go upstairs and go to sleep. He was so tired. He just wanted to see her again, even if it was just in his dreams.
He took a few steps further into the room and glanced at the table where the blanket fort had been set up all those years ago. It was just a table with two chairs now, resembling nothing special.
That's when he noticed it, his walkie tucked under the table. He knew he definitely didn't leave it there. It has a place in his room on his desk. It was covered in dust the last time he saw it as his friends were too far away to use it anymore.
So why was it here?
It's possible Holly had messed with his things, but it seemed too intentional to be left in this spot.
When things like this happened, he thought back to what Lucas said four years ago:
"I don't know about you, but I don't believe in coincidences."
His eyes widened. This was his sign. He had received signs like this before, they were rare and subtle, but they were there. He quickly walked over to the ex-blanket fort and dropped to his knees, reaching under the table to grab the walkie. He didn't press the button to speak into it, not yet. He was afraid if she really was there, that he would mess it up and he wouldn't be able to hear her voice.
He waited. He didn't say anything. He sat with the walkie cradled in his hands like it was something precious and fragile.
"Come on, El. I know you're there. Please.. something." He whispered into the air. It was so quiet he could barely hear himself say it. His heart raced.
He squeezed his eyes shut. Pleading, praying, wishing to whoever was listening to him, that she would give him a sign.
Suddenly, the crackle of the walkie.
He jumped, his hands shaking and tears quickly welling up in his eyes. It continued crackling. He didn't say anything. He would wait for her and if this was her only sign, he would take it.
Please, please, please, his thoughts said. This was the only thing he needed, a sign that she was there.
"El.. come on, baby. I know you're there." He said faintly, a little louder this time.
The walkie crackled again. This only happened when someone was too far out of range, like when Dustin had tried to contact him and the static noise overpowered his words. She was there, he was certain. Wherever she was, he would find her. He would search for her, no matter how far. This was certain.
He inhaled and exhaled with a shuddered breath. He hadn't realized that this whole time, he had barely taken a breath. He continued waiting, for a word or a sound or anything.
It crackled again, igniting life into him like never before. She was trying, but she was too far. He pulled the antenna out as far as it would go. He stood up and held the walkie up, hoping maybe he could help her reach him.
It cracked again, this time it cracked and hissed, its irregular pattern filled Mike with hope.
And suddenly, he heard her voice.
"M..Mike" The walkie hissed, her voice so fragmented and distorted by the distance. He felt a weight lift from his body. It was the first time he heard her voice in four years aside from dreams. A quiet, muffled sob choked back in his throat.
Quickly, the walkie clicked off.
The signal was short but it was the only thing he needed. She was there. He had heard her voice. He pinched his arm, just to make sure this wasn't some horrible dream. But this was reality. She was really there and she gave him a sign.