The idea of post s1 writers writing about El's infertility and subsequent adoption with Mike, El casually proposing to Mike, and El wearing a gorgeous slip wedding dress at their simple, intimate wedding
Popping back here to ask, is there anything more attractive than Dr. Robby telling a patient’s boss that he will have the patient sue him if he fires her? Or is it just me?
Every time someone comments on my old fic, i feel like I'm an old actor getting paid residuals. Appreciate you, old-fic-commenters. Key source of emotional income, tbh.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
We're fully outlined and locked and loaded, y'all. I am full steam ahead on this copium train. Get in losers, we're getting our happy ending.
Chapter Summary: El makes a stop into Chicago and begins processing everything she's leaving behind.
tag list (let me know if you want on or off the tag list): @thief-and-dragonfly, @the-paris-of-people, @hearts-keep-going, @subjectmiles, @elhoppers, @thesaunatest, @onmaplestreetagain, @lucascsinclairs, @larawrites, @formerlyjannafaye, @linachupi, @half-blind-dragon
"I wish we could all meet back there," El whispers, as if completing Mike's thoughts. She breaks the plain waffle in half and offers it to him. "Home. Then we could all be together."
Mike swallows, consumed by the deep sorrow that feasts on his body when he remembers they have no home to which to return.
-
Whenever Mike and El can't sleep, they have one tradition - sit on their kitchen floor, eat waffles, and share their innermost feelings and desires.
Set in a canon-divergent universe where Mike and El travel around the world and live in Paris because they deserved their happy ending together.
TW: mentions of body insecurities, suicidal ideation, and alcoholism
No matter how hard Mike tries, he can never escape this nightmare.
The monster is unique, a clever shapeshifter, resilient and undying under tropical humidity of Thailand or the frigid Siberian winters. Once again, it drifts into the window of their Parisian apartment to torture Mike. He tosses and turns as it plagues him once again, uncomfortably tangled in the Luke Skywalker sheets his wife bought him for his birthday.
Tonight, the house on Maple Street is engulfed in scorching flames. The burn pulsing on his arms is a worse fate than the reality of losing his loved ones. Mike hasn't visited his childhood home in several years, but somehow the details of his living room have refused to leave him. His nightmare self notices every detail as if he returned yesterday and not when he was 16, from the 22 inch television model they purchased when he was 11 to the plush armchairs his mother carefully selected from Better Homes and Gardens. Unwillingly, Mike finds himself stepping into the kitchen to witness a scene only described to him by his older sister several years ago - shards of glass sticking out of his mother's blood-drenched back, a cursed Demogorgon hovering over her.
He awakes differently from last week, without fanfare, without heaving or an accelerated heart rate. Instead, his mind is hazy, suffering through an uncomfortably familiar fugue state. Memories of himself and his personhood momentarily lapse as his body reenters his bedroom. A fluffy orange cat curled at the edge of the bed senses Mike's distress and slowly crawls his way towards his lap.
"Hey buddy," Mike whispers as he strokes his cat's neck, reveling in the serene purring against his fingers. He reminds himself once again that if El saw this sight, she would tease him, reminding him once again that he initially refused to adopt Dustin, ignorantly claiming that cats were evil menaces. He smiles to himself at their routine interaction. Without even so much as a glance, he can sense the cool emptiness on the right side of the bed, and a warm presence down the hall.
Mike strolls into their drafty kitchen, shivering as he heads towards the toaster. He carries El's favorite down pillow with him - soft, fluffy, and supportive. Mike rubs the pillowcase as he props it on the counter, savoring the smoothy, silky feel of the pink pillowcase. Damn, he really had to step it up for El's next birthday. Max had great taste.
Mike begins to head to the freezer to pop two waffles in, only to halt in his tracks and check the toaster. He pops the button and smiles. Just as he suspected, two waffles, one plain, one chocolate chip, toasted on the highest setting to achieve crispy, brown perfection. Mike smiles to himself. He should have known El anticipated his company.
As he cradles his waffles in a napkin and turns to his usual spot by the righthand kitchen window, he's caught off-guard by the innocent gaze of Dustin, who must have followed him from the bedroom to the kitchen. His green eyes and white whiskers glow in the gray light of the kitchen as he tilts his head expectantly. Mike hesitates - he knows he shouldn't, but...
He glances over to guarantee the slumber of his wife, then bends down to spoil their beloved cat with a piece of waffle. Before he can dare to tear off a chunk, his napkin flies out of his hand and into the El's grasp.
"Oh come on!' Mike begs as he turns to a half-sleep El, eyes closed, back propped up against the window, nosebleed nowhere to be found. Tonight, she's stolen Mike's extra large dark blue hoodie and covered her legs with a red and white crocheted blanket Joyce sent them through Dr. Owens. "Just a little bit!"
"Mike, no." El refuses simply.
"Why not?" Mike pleads.
"Because I already gave him one," She smirks out of the side of her mouth, eyes still shut. Dustin immediately flees to El once he sees she's the new holder of the waffle and nestles himself in her lap. "We promised only one treat a day."
Mike tumbles out a confession he insantly regrets in his recovering state of exhaustion, "But I already gave him some whipped cream after dinner!"
"Mike!" El scolds, though there is a hint of knowing amusement in her voice. "We promised!"
"He's just so cute," Mike grabs the pillow back off the counter and heads over to cuddle with the two loves of his life.
"Hiya Dusty bun," Mike whispers to Dustin kneading biscuits with his white-tipped paws on a patch on a granny square, his deep purr echoing through their apartment's old foundation and leaky acoustics. As Mike slides El's pillow underneath her lower back, he drapes his arm over her shoulder. El hums as she falls easily into Mike's touch, burying herself into his shoulder. Mike smiles to himself as he rubs his thumb into her weary joint, the wind blowing and rattling the windowsill next to them. Her little sound of peace is Mike's favorite song.
Finally, Mike can close his eyes and find comfort from the nightmare still thrashing at the back of his mind. El weaves her fingers through his long, gangly ones. It's been thirteen years since they've met, twelve years since they've been been together, and seven years since they've gotten married, and still simply holding hands sends a flutters through Mike's heart.
A wonderful memory floats back to him, a scene on El's twin bed at age fourteen. They sat cross-legged from each other and were talking quietly, seeking privacy from El's dad in the other room. El's nose was red from pollen of the springtime flowers, and she was sniffling as Mike answered her question about how his day was. He forced an optimistic answer and laughed off how awful school was. Immediately, El sensed something was wrong. She probed gently, kindly, and he cracked open like he did in front of no one else.
Mike trembled as he confessed to her how one of the bullies at school pushed him up against his locker when he was preparing his AV Club materials, calling him ugly and awkward. He knew they were just mouthbreathers, and he shouldn't have let it get to them, but he hated hearing those words because he did hate his own body - he was too tall and ugly and awkward and thought his fingers looked like creepy crawlies and wish he didn't have to look in the mirror at himself.
El listened patiently as Mike released his deep insecurities, then took the hands he hated in hers. She massaged the knots in his knuckles as if they were precious and beautiful, not his greatest burden.
"Mike," He wondered what he did to deserve the empathy and kindness imbued in her voice. "You shouldn't listen to them. You're beautiful." She kissed a freckle in between his pointer and middle finger. And even though they were talking about Mike's physical appearance, he knew she meant all of him. That singular action had never made him feel so seen or loved by anyone else.
He strives every day to give her even a semblance of the peace she offered him. Gently, he asks, not probing, not forcing,
"What was it this time?" Mike places a gentle peck near her middle part. "Not Hop, right?"
"Will," El tears the chocolate chip waffle in half and passes it to Mike. "I just - I just have a feeling he was really sad today, and I wish I knew why."
"Did you visit him?" Mike asks as he chews on their favorite snack, concerned about his friend. El had a special intuition for them that Mike lacked, and he couldn't help but to worry he was missing and failed to support them through a major life event. El was attentive and observant to everyone,
"I don't think he needs that," El shakes her head against Mike's shoulder. "I think we need to call him tomorrow."
"Yeah, yeah, we can do that," Mike swallows the last bite of his waffle half.
He surveys the kitchen in their silent moments of mutual contemplation. El rarely is there to cook, yet the entire room is filled with her presence. The photos on the fridge are all their memories snapped across the world from Mike's Polaroid camera, beaming and soaked near the waterfalls of Iceland, sweating as they slurped large bowls of tom yum soup, engaged in a passionate kiss after Mike proposed near a snowy mountain in the Alps. His favorite picture was their Lord of the Rings themed wedding. El had sewn her own flowy, linen dress and Mike had spent weeks hiding in their room painstakingly crafting a jeweled headpiece for her as a surprise. He loved all the snapshots of their life, but he couldn't always lament that there was something missing.
"I wish we could all meet back there," El whispers, as if completing Mike's thoughts. She breaks the plain waffle in half and offers it to Mike. "Home. Then we could all be together."
Mike swallows, consumed by the deep sorrow that feasts on his body when he remembers they have no home to which to return.
"It's crazy after all this time, right?" Mike's voice cracks. "We should be relieved we're removed from the place that hated us and caused us harm, happy nothing can terrorize us anymore, but... "
"Oh, Mike," El lifts his head up and presses her forehead against his. She cradles his face in his hands and traces his right cheek with her pointer finger, as though he were special enough to treasure as she was.
"I just really thought we could have it all, you know?" Mike's drifts off into the story of their fantasized future. It was a visceral pain that ripped his flesh open and left his organs to bleed, an intimate emotion embedded in a secret writing project he only ever revealed to El. "Like the adults before us. We could all live in Hawkins together, ride our bikes with our kids, host weekly dinners for the kids..."
"It's not stupid," El tilts her mouth to his to silence his doubt with her wonderfully tender kiss. "Before we left, Hop always joked we'd live with him after we got married."
"He did?" Mike half-laughs and half-tears up at the thought. Hop still scared him a little, but they had gotten extremely close up by the time high school drew to a close. Hop, Mike, and El had evolved into another mini-family, and to Mike's surprise, he had been ushered into their father-daughter waffle and Miami Vice Friday nights. He and Hop had trudged through tandem recovery journeys together. Another fantasy chapter to write: Mike, Hop, and El crowding around an Eggo Extravaganza while El's father pretended to listen to Mike detail the mythology of the Green Lantern. "Maybe that's a good thing we didn't, he'd have to make room for my DnD materials and minis."
"I made him promise he'd build you a shelf," El's fingers run down Mike's cold, exposed neck to linger on the neckline of his sweater.
"You did? Aw," Mike exchanges another quick kiss to show his appreciation for El. He knew she sometimes got tired of keeping track of his nerdy interests as well, but she always tried her best to follow along. "The next time he visits, I'll have to rub that in his face and make him play again."
El laughs and slides her hands back down to his, joining them with hers again.
"Did you dream about your mom again?"
"Every detail keeps haunting me. It's like I never left." A fresh batch of tears, more forceful than a few months again, spring to his eyes as the horror film replays in his mind. His mom tried her best to perform as her caring, nurturing self in the years after the attack, but she never fully mentally recovered. She walked around the house in a in a detached trance. She did her best to revive joy into their lifeless house, still baking lasagna and assembling gingerbread houses, but it was difficult to heal in the same place that hurt them. Mike tried his best to keep her company when he wasn't numbing himself with alcohol. He helped around the house as much as he could, prepared after school snacks with Holly, and took Karen out to movies and ice cream to get her out of the house and talk, finally talk, about his mom's life.
"It's stupid, because we're 25, you know?" Mike finally voices as he thinks about his mom in her Farrah Fawcett hair and bright shorts, tousling his hair as she him eat most of her strawberry ice cream. "We've been adults for years. I thought I would be past needing her everyday, but I wish I hadn't ignored her so much." He remembers his mom's bright eyes as she sliced cake at Christmastime for all of them, sneaking El the largest slice. "Sometimes I wish I could just hug my mom at the end of the day, just like I used to when I was little."
"Your mom thinks about you everyday, I know it," El squeezes Mike's hand. He closes his eyes, the tears cutting his chin, allowing El to reassure him rather than bottling everything up like he'd been conditioned to do. "No matter how long it's been, you never forget your mom."
"Never," Mike squeezes El's hand back and then stare deeply into her eyes to let her know he's understood the implications behind her statement. "Especially two moms who are as loving and badass as ours."
"Definitely," Eleven releases a close-lipped smile. Her eyes swim with sadness and relief, reminded of her mom's catatonia but comforted at Mike's silent understanding. "I keep wanting to visit her more."
"It's been awhile," Mike nods. They tried to see her in the void every few weeks, but both recently expressed in therapy they wanted to treasure their family and friends as much as they could, in whatever contact they could keep. "I put in on the calendar, but we can move it up. It can be our next to-do item after calling Will tomorrow."
"Sounds good," El strokes Dustin's soft head, who is now fast asleep in her lap. She subconsciously hums Never Ending Story, the song that lured Dustin to El in the months they lived in South Africa and inspiration for his namesake. Mike cuddles in closer to his wife as the window whistles from a lighter breeze of wind.
"Mike," El's voice shifts to a more firm and serious tone, similar to when she wants him to stop writing for the night to come relax. "I think we should Dr. Owens up on the offer."
"Stay for a second year and initiate the paperwork for citizenship?" Mike removes his chin from the top of her head to look El in the eye. He didn't understand. "But... isn't this all temporary? I thought we were going to go home eventually."
"We were," El agrees hesitantly, but presses on, eyes sharp and focused, strong in her conviction, "But just because we can, it doesn't mean we should."
"The lab is gone, right?" Mike scrambles, trying to persuade her from her change in position. He wanted to be able to take her back home, to the place where she first met her family and friends, to all the innermost fantasies they had indulged in together. "And the military hasn't been looking for us for years, we've just been taking advantage of Owen's protection as a precaution, right? You'll be safe in Hawkins, and if anyone comes for us, I swear..."
"Mike!" El's interruption clatters against their rickety walls like a powerful clap of thunder. "I'm not worried about the lab, I'm worried about you!"
Mike blinks at El's uncharacteristic outburst.
"Me?"
"Don't you remember before we left?" El's voice dips to an anguished whisper. Unrestrained tears leak out of her eyes, as if she was newly experiencing the hell of the years after the destruction of the Upside Down. "You were in so much pain." El agonizes over the words. Mike softens to the shake in her eyes and tremors in her shoulders. He knew from therapy he should forgive himself for his mistakes, but he experiences El's pain like they were in their own hive mind. A cut to her skin was a stab to his heart, and he deserves to be tortured with the guilt of the hell he put her though.
After all she had gone through and done for him, he was weak. Logically, Mike understood he was set up to fail - a lifetime of bullying, self-hatred and fleeting thoughts of passive suicidal ideation, combined with teenage emotional suppression and unprocessed grief. He was exhausted from planning crawls and ambushes and captures, and sleepless over the fear of losing El. To top it all off, he was so hyperfocused and worried about gluing his family together after the attack. He transformed into a different Mike, one who presented himself as same Dungeon Master and leader to his friends and family he once was, but whose grades fell to barely passable levels. One who didn't enter the science fair. One who turned Karen's wine and his dad's whiskey in the middle of the night when the nightmares awoke him.
El was the one who held him when he confessed he had drank himself to oblivion again, sobbed that he didn't know how to stop. El had organized his friends and family to intervene one day in the basement. El had threatened Dr. Owens to provide the support Mike needed on their runaway tour around the world. Mike had relapsed a couple times since that day senior year, but it was much easier to not reach for another bottle when he was far removed from the home that inflicted so much harm onto all of them.
But El had been patient and supportive when she shouldn't have had to be. The least he could do was give her everything she deserves.
"If it means you're happy, I can live through it again," Mike begs. "I can find a way to live through it again, for us. It's been years since we went back. It could be different this time. Maybe it could be our home again."
"No," El refuses, resolute in her decision. "I can't watch you live through that again," Mike notices the purposeful change in phrasing. He would walk through fire himself but he would never do anything to inflict any more pain onto El. "Do you know much it hurt to see you like that?"
Mike processes the rare acknowledgement of this shared trauma. He knew of El's struggle after witnessing Mike suffer through his addiction , but he didn't know how deep it ran. They hadn't truly spoken about it in detail in years. Unlike him, she always seemed so calm and resilient under pressure. He forgot how she loved him as much as he loved her, that a cut on his skin was a stab to his heart. They were both so incredibly lucky to be with someone who cared for them so deeply.
"I'm sorry," Mike draws her closer in a tight embrace, kissing the tears away on her cheek. "I'm sorry, I never meant to bring you more pain. "
"I love you, Mike," El bunches the back of his sweater with her fingers as if she can pull him closer. "We're so happy here. You're so happy here. Please let us stay."
"You know I'll go wherever you want me to," Mike promises. He fidgets with his sweater sleeves as they break apart. El was being honest with him, but there was something he had been withholding from her all day that had been consuming him.
"While we're being honest," Mike pipes up sheepishly. He wasn't sure how he would react to his confession. "I watched the Days of Our Lives tape without you."
"Oh, I know," El replies, deadpan. "I knew from how badly you rewinded the tape, so I went ahead and watched without you."
"You did?!" Mike cries out, even though they're both laughing at the mutual betrayal. "That's so unfair! I felt really guilty about it!"
"You did not!"
"No, I did, I swear! I wish I could erase my memory so we could watch together."
El seals his lips in a soft kiss. Mike grins and straightens his back, placing a gentle peck on her forehead.
"I still want to watch with you," Mike reassures. "Should we put it on now?"
"Mmmmm," El purses her lips in deep thought. "Tomorrow, after we pick up eggs from the market," She picks up Dustin and sets his sleepy head on her shoulder. "Come on, let's go to bed."
Mike follows her into the bedroom, where he'll nestle himself into her right shoulder. In the golden light, he'll wake up to her loving eyes and earnest smile before they head to the market. Later they will kneel on the floor together, and as they're rewinding the Days of our Lives tape by the VCR, Mike will check in about their conversation last night.
They both agree on one indisputable fact: despite everything, they both can't imagine a better life for themselves.
Let’s all take a moment and remember in S1 when Eleven is wandering around Mike’s empty house and she goes into Nancy’s room. She gently runs her hand over the pretty things on the dresser and shelves and looks at the pinned-up photos with such clear longing and pain on her little face.
AND NOW SHE HAS HER OWN ROOM AND HER OWN PRETTY THINGS ON HER OWN DRESSER AND SHELVES AND HER OWN PHOTOS STUCK TO HER OWN MIRROR AND SHE’S BOPPING HER HEAD ALONG TO THE MUSIC THAT HER NEW FRIEND IS DANCING AND SINGING TO AND EVERYTHING IS FINALLY WONDERFUL.
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