Ten years; could it really have been that long? They met each year to commemorate the day she went away, to remember the amazing light she brought into their lives and discuss the hope that one day, somehow, she would come back to them. The group had dwindled over time as those who knew her moved on, but there would always be those who would never stop coming. And so it was, this November 12, the group was down to three: the heartbroken, the guilty and Will.

Hopper showed up to Smith's Tavern early and secured the corner booth, though in truth he would have been there at the same time to claim that spot on any other day. For one night, at least, he wouldn't be drinking alone. The former police chief turned local handyman was a regular fixture in the tavern, and had been for as long as anyone could remember. He had, for the most part, eased up on his drinking and rarely passed out in the booth anymore, but he was still there to knock a few back just about every night. His doctor had warned him he needed to cut the drinks out entirely as he was facing terminal liver failure, but Hopper figured there was little point in prolonging the inevitable.

The next to arrive was Will, having made good time coming down from Chicago where he was working on a Masters Degree in clinical psychology with an emphasis in pediatrics. After the childhood he had survived, he wanted to be able to help children overcome their own traumas, as he ultimately had. Sliding into the booth, he greeted Hopper and ordered a beer, as Hopper requested a second whisky. After exchanging pleasantries, they regarded one another with a contemplative silence. Will was never quite sure what to say to the man who had stepped into another universe and ripped him back from the grips of death.

The awkwardness was quickly relieved by the arrival of Mike.

"Sorry I'm late," he began as he slid in next to Will. "There was a major pile-up on I-65 on the way up here."

"That's alright," Will responded. "I only just got here myself."

They spent a few minutes catching up until the bartender came over to drop off Will's beer and Hopper's whiskey. "What can I get you?" he asked, turning to Mike.

"Three shot glasses," he answered, passing over a $10 bill.

"Mm hmm," the bartender grunted as he took the bill and headed behind the bar to retrieve the glasses. He didn't know what they were toasting, but these kids had been joining Hopper in the middle of November for the last five or six years and always brought a bottle of their own. They kept to themselves and tipped well, so he didn't mind overlooking them bringing in their own stuff, nor the fact that aside from Hopper, none of them had even been old enough to be in there until recently.

As he returned with the requested glasses, Mike pulled a chilled bottle of Stolichnaya from his bag and twisted off the lid. It was an old joke, but he always felt it was fitting to toast Eleven, who was raised to fight the communists, who the town thought was a Russian spy, with a proper bottle of Russian Vodka. Pouring out three generous shots, he slid two glasses toward his companions.

Raising his own glass, Mike began "You came into my life amid wind and rain and left my soul forever changed. I don't think I had truly lived a single day before I met you and my life stopped again the day you went away. I promised to keep you safe and to give you a home, for your own life to finally start. I'm so sorry I let you down that day. I am forever grateful for the sacrifice you made, putting my life, and everyone else's above your own. Wherever you are, I hope you are safe. Know you are not forgotten and I will find my way to you. I will bring you home. I promise. Here's to you, El."

Will and Hopper raised their own glasses in reply. "To El!"

They downed the harsh spirit and Mike poured them another round.

Will went next, raising his glass. "You were my one and only hope. When nothing else could be done, you found me. Like a beacon, you guided them to me. I would have died in that terrible place if not for you. I know it's not nearly enough, but all I can say is, Thank You El."

Mike and Hopper raised their glasses once more. "El!"

Finally, it was Hopper's turn. He stared at his glass for a long time before finally raising it. "I'm…I'm sorry. I never meant for any of it to happen. If I could take it all back, I would. Wherever you are right now, please hold on. He'll find you, I know he will. I'm so sorry, El."

They raised their glasses once more in her honor and drank down the clear liquid, letting the burn waft slowly over them as it sank down their throats. In his lap, Mike released the transmit button on his radio he had been holding down through their toasts. It was smaller than his usual setup, but he hoped she was still able to hear it tonight and know she was not forgotten.

They shared several more rounds, sipped more slowly, sharing memories of the girl who had forever changed their lives. Hopper always took great pleasuring hearing about when she flipped the van and held a secret wish she could have thrown it just a little further and crushed Brenner in the process. How different all their lives might have turned out if one little thing had gone different that week. Things came to an abrupt halt when Tim McGraw's "Don't Take the Girl" came on the radio; the lyrics hit just a little too close to home for their taste, and they decided to move things to Hopper's house while they could still reasonably function.

Settling into Hopper's living room, they quickly finished off the rest of the vodka and Hopper broke out a cheap bottle of imported Canadian whisky to round out the night. One final glass left Will snoring softly at the end of the couch. Mike and Hopper were both much more accustomed to drowning away their problems and could have gone on late into the night. Instead, each sat with a fresh glass, lost in contemplation and not ready to shut off the world yet.

Finally breaking the silence, Hopper asked one of the questions that burned away at him nearly every day. "So kid, do you really think you can find her?"

Looking up from his glass with a hard stare at Hopper, he replied "Yes. I can feel her out there, calling to me, trying to show me the way." Taking a deep breath and getting more serious once more, he continued. "I know this whole thing is a long shot, but I've already eliminated a dozen strong matches. I always figured the How would be a lot harder to work out than the Where, but I know I'll get there. I have to get there. I can't just leave her trapped. I don't care if it takes a lifetime, I will bring her home. I have to keep strong, to keep pushing forward and never giving up. For her."

Hopper drained his glass in a long, slow swallow and thought hard about what Mike had said: keeping strong for her and never giving up. He slipped two fingers under the blue hairband wrapped around his left wrist and gave the elastic a gentle twist; sometimes it surprised him that it had any stretch left after all these years.

"Did I ever tell you about when Sara died?" he asked, out of blue. Mike knew a little about the daughter Hopper had lost, but that had been years before he came to Hawkins and it wasn't one of the subjects that came up in general conversation.

Not expecting a response, Hopper continued on. "The night she lost her hair, I had been helping get her ready for bed and as I took her hairband out, her hair came with it. I had only slipped the band on my wrist to deal with the hair, but after that, I couldn't bring myself to take it off again. Later, she told me she wanted me to keep wearing it, to remember her. I think she had made peace with the fact that she was dying well before her mother and I did. She told me that it would make me stronger. When she wasn't strong enough on her own, it would help me to be strong for her. I wasn't strong enough for her, Mike. In the end, I couldn't save her."

He paused to catch his breath, tears brimming in his eyes at the flood of memories long suppressed, surfacing in his mind. "Even after she was gone, I couldn't bring myself to take it off. She's given me the strength to hold on, to keep moving forward for another day. I think, somehow, I've been hoping in some way, it could help save Eleven and bring her home."

At that, he slipped the band from his wrist and passed it over to Mike. "Be strong for her, Mike. Keep looking and don't give up. Bring her home."

Mike stared for a long time at the band and thought about all it represented, before slipping it on his own wrist and looking at Hopper once more. "I will. I promise."

Hopper smiled then and closed his eyes, leaning back in his chair and letting the whisky overtake him at last. Mike had no way of knowing just how far Hopper's disease had advanced and that by next November, he and Will would be toasting to Eleven without the chief. Mike could only take comfort in the fact that, for the first time in years, the man appeared to be at peace with himself. The guilt of that single decision ten years ago had slowly eaten away at him, leaving behind a hollow shell of the man he had once been. He had drained countless bottles trying both to convince himself there had been no other choice than to hand her over to Brenner in order to save Will.

Mike looked down at the glass in his own hand, and the blue hairband now wrapped securely around his wrist. He knew he couldn't let the despair overtake him and gnaw away at him from within. He had to be strong, for her. Whatever it took, he owed it to her to keep strong. He drained the last of his glass and checked his watch, sensing it was probably almost time; the display read 10:00 PM. "Close enough," he thought as he pulled the radio from his bag and held down the transmit button.

"Hi El, it's me. Today is day 3652. Exactly ten years ago, you said goodbye and gave your life for mine. I hope you're still able to hear me, because I want you to know I haven't forgotten the promises I made that night. I will find you, and I will bring you home."

Author's Note:

I cheated a bit, in the bar. In this universe, because Eleven didn't come back, and Mike was sad, something-something Butterfly-effect, Tim McGraw released his song a year earlier than in our universe, in 1993 instead of 1994. The song came to mind while I was writing this and it was too perfect not to use it.