When Eleven wakes up, it's still dark. She's not used to sleeping more than a few hours at a time. It's not the first time she's slept in this bed - at least in the Upside Down. She's tried most of the beds in the Wheeler house, along with the couches and the recliner. They're all better than the forest floor or tied to a high branch, but she always had to keep moving. The creatures there weren't the smartest, as long as she stayed a few steps ahead.
She tried. She tried so hard to come back. She just wasn't strong enough. The most she could do was thin the partition between worlds until she could walk between them like a ghost. She lost track of how many times she'd sat beside Mike in his classrooms, how many times she'd curled up beside him on the couch. And sometimes he would almost see her, but he never did. It hurt a little more each time. She could tell it hurt him too.
Holly, though - Holly could see her. She found El huddled in the corner of her bedroom one day early on and El couldn't believe it. This tiny thing, looking into her eyes and talking to her.
"Hi. You're pretty."
If El was in the house, Holly always knew how to find her. They'd sit in the blanket fort - always set up, always there - or in Holly's room. El never told her her name and Holly always called her "friend." It felt nice to be seen. It felt nice to exist. Then came the day that Holly looked through her and said nothing. And then El was all alone again.
The days ran together, into weeks and months and years. It was still cold and damp, but it became a sort of home. And she became dependent on watching the other side. Sometimes she'd follow Mike around, to school and back in the basement. Other times she'd wander and visit the other boys and the townspeople. She clung onto that week in '83 for so long, but eventually her memories warped. She had trouble keeping track of what had happened then and what she had seen later on. As she watched Mike's cheekbones sharpen, as the childish timbre of his voice deepened, as he became gangly and unsure and then grew into himself, she forgot what he had looked like as a boy. Hadn't he always looked this way? Hadn't she always craned her neck to see his eyes?
(But there were some things she wouldn't ever forget: the way his hands had clung to hers while she lay atop the science table, the warmth of his mouth touching hers. Those were the things she couldn't recreate.)
The last year had been the hardest. Mike and the other boys disappeared, and it took a while (several overheard phone calls) to figure out that they had left for school. She felt alone again, and wondered if this was perhaps her new life.
Sometimes she wondered if she'd dreamt the whole thing up. Another lifetime ago.
Then suddenly he was back. She could feel it inside and tracked him to Castle Byers. She didn't know where the storm came from, but she knew it was her only chance as she clawed her way through the trunk. Even in the wind and rain, it was warmer here than in the Upside Down. And he was there. He was there.
He was looking right at her. Not through her, not doubting himself.
"Eleven?"
She shivers even now thinking about it. When the first rays creep between the blinds, she hangs over the rail and studies Mike in his sleep. She concentrates on his soft snores and the splatter of freckles across his cheeks, instead of the fears that are starting to grow in the back of her mind. The birds start their morning songs and Mike's family moves about the house to start their days. She stays silent; she's always been good at hiding.
Mike wakes up to see El peeking from the top bunk, hair tumbling to the comforter, lit from behind. His smile is unlike anything she saw while watching him all those years.
"Hi."
"Hi."
