El grips Mike's wrist with one hand, the other is shoved deep inside her pocket. Her breath swirls in little clouds of white around her mouth and nose. Mike's fingertips tap an irregular beat on her knuckles, gazing distractedly at the ticket booth. The line is ridiculously long, and it's ridiculously cold outside. Her socks are soaked through, and the slush around their feet is dirty and melting.

She presses her shoulder into his chest, more out of a desire for warmth than anything else. Mike's arms encircle her instinctively. He rests his chin on the top of her head. Dustin, swathed in a knitted scarf and two sweatshirts, rolls his eyes at them. Lucas pretends to throw up, making fake choking noises behind his hand. A smirk is painted across his face.

"Oh, grow up." Mike groans, blushing slightly. El doesn't say anything at all. Will chuckles.

"Well, while you two stay here and suck face, I'm going to get some popcorn." Dustin says, marching off with an exaggerated eye roll.

"Get our tickets, will you?" He calls over his shoulder. Mike swears under his breath, gesturing rudely at Dustin's back as he walks away. El tries to suppress her laughter, burying her face inside Mike's jacket. Lucas shakes his head, chuckling, and takes off after Dustin with Will following suit.

"Those little bastards, left us out here in the cold." Mike grumbles under his breath.

"The line's starting to move." She says, resurfacing from the jacket to look around.

"Yeah, you're right."

He keeps one arm around her as they approach the ticket booth. The sky has begun to darken by the time they make it inside the theater, stomping the slush from their shoes.

"When I find Dustin, I'm going to-"

"Murder me? I got you some popcorn, dumbass. Chill out, the movie's about to start."

Dustin, Lucas and Will appear behind them, still smirking.

Mike shrugs, cracking a grin.

"Don't expect a thank you." Mike snatches the popcorn out of his hand, shoving a handful into his mouth to make a point.

"Hey, I paid for that with my own money!"

"Thank you, Dustin." El says, patting him on the shoulder.

"Traitor." Mike says, good naturedly. He narrows his eyes in mock suspicion, then glances at his watch.

"We better go if we want good seats."

Mike grabs El's hand and pulls her forward, into the theater, which is already crowded. They manage to get seats in the far left corner, and Lucas complains loudly until Dustin smacks him on the arm and tells him to shut up.

Mike leans over and rests his head on her shoulder.

"Sorry we couldn't get great seats." He says, tiredly. El holds her breath, caresses the circles under his eyes with her fingertips. He allows his eyes to close, briefly. A lump forms in her throat as she looks at him, at the exhaustion written in his face. He is so tired, so vulnerable. And she knows some of it is her fault. She pushes the thought away.

"It's okay." She whispers, kissing him on the forehead. "You forget that four years ago I didn't even know about movie theaters. Remember the first time you ever took me to one?"

Mike bites his lip and smiles, eyes still closed. The weariness melts from his face.

"Oh, yeah. We saw Ghostbusters. And it was, like, totally awesome."

El chuckles, resting her cheek against his hair as the lights dim.

. . .

The movie is good. Mike, though he tries to stay awake for her sake, nods off a few times. El could've sworn she caught him snoring once.

They pile into Dustin's car and he drives them home, having just received his license a few months earlier. They file into the Wheeler house and down to the basement, peeling off their snow-caked shoes.

Mrs. Wheeler appears at the top of the stairs, wiping her hands on her apron.

"How was the movie?"

"Great." Mike tells her. She smiles.

"You guys are welcome to stay for dinner."

"Thanks, Mrs. Wheeler." Dustin says. She closes the door. Mike throws himself on the couch, tossing his jacket over the arm of the sofa.

"Don't forget about the campaign, Mike. Next Saturday." Lucas reminds him. Mike nods, rubbing his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah. I know. It's gonna be our greatest yet." He says, eyes suddenly alight.

"You're gonna be there, right El?"

"Wouldn't miss it." She said, settling cross legged on the floor. Dustin and Lucas pile onto the couch beside Mike. Will sits on the floor next to her, stretching his legs out. In lamplight, El gets a good look at his face. His eyes are shadowed, like Mike's. Maybe even more so. He is pale, his skin almost waxy. He chews on his lip. It's the first time she's really looked at him in a long time. He looks fragile, like he did when in those few months when she came back from the Upside Down and they met officially, for the first time.

She bites her lip, gnawing worry settling in her stomach.

"Mike, dinner!" Mrs. Wheeler calls from the kitchen. The boys and El troop up the stairs, seating themselves around the dining room table.

El lets the conversation wander, much of her attention balanced between the plate of spaghetti in front of her and Mike's hand as it brushes against hers under the table. Though it's been almost four years since she escaped the lab, she still isn't one for big group conversations. At least not in front of Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler, who she knows well enough. They are kind, and they understand a little bit, but they are adults and adults are harder to talk to.

Mike knows. He understands. He understands more than she can ever wrap her head around. He fills in the gaps for her.

She steals glances at Will. He barely touches his food, uncharacteristically quiet. Again, her mind races and the concern for him returns. Briefly. She decides against asking him if something's wrong. It might buy him some unwanted and overbearing attention. She makes a mental note to talk to him, later.

She helps Mrs. Wheeler do the dishes, a chore she is grateful for. The reparative task quiets her mind and takes the edge off. She does everything manually, not daring to risk the bloody nose or the headache. Even though she's grown considerably stronger over the years, she won't chance it. Not today, at least, and not for something as simple as washing dishes.

One by one, Dustin, Lucas, and Will bid Mrs. Wheeler a friendly goodbye and file out the door into the frigid air. When El is finished, she finds Mike in the basement. He smiles, small and soft, when she appears at the bottom step.

"I have to go." She tells him.

"I'll walk you home." He says, jumping up from the couch. His arms open and she doesn't hesitate, walking straight into them. She breathes him in.

"You're tired." She says. She can feel the rise and fall of his chest, his heartbeat against her cheek.

"You are, too." He says, quietly. "Get some sleep tonight, okay?"

"Okay." She says, closing her eyes. A full and comfortable silence stretches between them.

"I have to go, Mike."

He takes her hand and leads her up the stairs and out the door, into the biting cold. The snow on the road is blackened and sliced open by tire tracks. Their feet follow the road. She can feel the slight limp in his leg, remaining from the bullet wound. She pushes the thought out of her head, breath catching.

"Are you done with the campaign yet?" She asks him.

"Almost. I still have a few things to sort out. Wanna help?"

El nods.

They turn the corner, and he puts his arm around her, his unzipped jacket drapes across her shoulders. It's big enough for the both of them. She closes her eyes, wearing a sleepy smile. Because he's here and he's close, and for once, everything is right with the world.

"Tomorrow after school. I need to organize my notes and stuff. We can watch a movie or something."

She nods again.

"Seriously though, El. You need sleep. Have you seen yourself in the mirror, lately?" He says, softly. He stops, hands on her elbows, turning her towards him. Their foreheads rest together. She can feel his breath on her lashes. His fingers brush the circles under her eyes, matching her gesture back in the movie theater. She returns to brief touch, grounding herself.

Touch was bad, with Papa. Papa never liked her to touch him unless he told her to. Now, in a another life, a new beginning, touch has an entirely new meaning. She understands it a little better every day. Touch is safe. Touch is her anchor. He is her anchor, in a black sea. In a world surrounded by shadow.

"I know." She says. "You need sleep, too, Mike. You're so tired. You're always tired."

She takes a deep breath, digging her fingernails into his wrists to steady herself.

"Is it the nightmares?" He says, after a moment. She nods, biting her lip, choking on her breath. He clings to her tighter, pushing her head into his chest. The air around them stands still.

"It's my fault, Mike." She says, gasping for air. It's miraculous, really, how the world can shatter into a million pieces in an instant.

"It's my fault you don't sleep."

"That's not true."

"Friends don't lie." She snaps, because she knows. She knows the nightmares affect him too, more than he lets on. And of course, there is the small matter of their shared calls at three in the morning. Those never stopped.

She calls him when she needs him, simple as that. And if it's really bad, he shows up on her front porch, shivering in his pajamas. He clings to her, talks to her, until they both calm down enough to go their separate ways.

"If you need me, you call me." He says. Forcefully. His hand is under her chin, demanding her attention. "Promise?"

"Promise."

He kisses the space between her eyes. They continue walking, through the slush and snow melt, into the center of town.

They stop in front of her house, on the street corner. The place is a little run down, and small, but it's home. The house has a big porch with a swing, and in the spring she helps her Aunt Becky plant flowers in the several hanging pots and flower boxes that adorn the porch.

Mike wraps her in a hug.

"Get some sleep." He says, his mouth against her ear. She nods, returning his hug.

"Night, Mike." He kisses her, small and soft.

"Night, El."

. . .

She finds her mother sitting at the kitchen table, clasping a cup of tea between her hands. El leans over and kisses her mother on the cheek before taking a seat beside her.

"Mom." She says, gently, searching the older woman's eyes for any sign of distance or fear. There is only warmth.

"Jane." She says, her lips twitching into a smile. She breathes out a sigh of relief, closing her eyes for a minute. El gives her a sad smile.

"How was the movie?" She says, her voice weak but cheerful.

"Great." She says. Her mother stares into her tea, still smiling. El reaches across the table to take her hand.

Her mother is fragile. She drifts like snow. She perpetually walks on a thin sheet of ice, above the same black sea. El knows the nightmares are always there, waiting behind a veil. They are made of the same monsters that interrupt her own sleep.

El remembers the first time it happened, the first time her mom slipped away. There was a broken glass, stumbling words and a stilled tongue, a distant look in wild eyes. Papa stood in the corner. He continues to haunt them, even now. He's a demon in the walls.

Every time it happens, El fears she's losing her for good.

Something always calls her back, and of course, El is always there to pick up the pieces. It's a cycle, and one that leaves them trembling and in tears, but it helps.

El wonders where she goes, but doesn't ask. Ever. She recalls her own demons, and feels an immediate connection to her mother. Brenner's shadow bathes them both in darkness, but they'll survive it. Together.

At first, it was slow going. El didn't move in right away, but she visited several times a day. In August of '85, Becky bought this house, smack in the middle of Hawkins. Despite the corpse of Hawkins Lab, and the demons, her mother insisted they stay.

Now, they are still learning. They are healing, and catching up on thirteen years of lost time. El tells her stories, about her adventures with the boys, or ones that Mike made up just to entertain her. She reads to her mother, or braids her hair. Terry will give her a smile.

"You have school tomorrow, Hon. Get to bed." El nods, standing up. In the hall, her Aunt Becky wraps her in a hug and shoves her playfully towards the stairs. She pulls off her jacket and wet socks, crawling under the blankets. She shivers, gooseflesh creeping up her skin as she turns over to stare at the ceiling. She's tired, yet her mind races and for some reason, it's hard to breathe.

She wakes with her fingers tightening around the sheets. Her breath is like ice in her chest, heavy and sharp. She blinks, giving her head a little shake. It's dark and the window in her room is frosted and foggy. The soft, orange light from the street lamp outside falls in squares across the carpet. The air stands still. In the distance, she hears a siren begins to wail.

El detaches herself from the sheets, immediately going through the motions. Things Hopper taught her, like breathing exercises. She considers calling Mike, gazing longingly at the Super Com. It sits on her bedside table, silent and stoic. She pushes the desire away, remembering the circles under his eyes.

Tonight, the nightmares were a bit different. Distant, as if she was watching through somebody else's eyes, or through a long tunnel. It's a little familiar, though. Almost like all those times Papa told her to listen. When she was a weapon and a spy.

She struggles to remember the dream with no success.

She returns to the blankets as her heart slows, pauses to brush against Mike's mind, because she knows he probably felt the dream. At least the edges of it. Their shared nighttime disturbances go beyond the Super Com.

The nightmares have been less frequent in the recent months. They are few and far between, but when they arrive, they're terrible. Mike knows, because he gets them too. Sometimes his mind is so entangled with hers that they wake from the same nightmare, with the same, awful panic and blind fear.

He's told her all of this, and somehow, it makes her feel better and worse at the same time. Better that they can fight it together. Worse that he's taking the brunt of something that she should be dealing with on her own. It's her fault.

She closes her eyes, still sucking in deep breaths through her nostrils. She counts to five.

In and out.

In and out.

In.

Out.

. . .

She throws open the door, arms laden with her jacket and shoes, backpack slung over one shoulder, a half-eaten eggo in one hand. Mike stands on her porch. He glances incredulously at her sock feet.

"Running late?"

"Overslept."

He laughs.

"I don't believe you."

She looks at him reproachfully.

"I'm serious."

She leans against the doorframe, pulling on fuzzy boots. Mike pulls off his gloves and hands them to her. Gratefully, she pulls them on.

"Thanks." She says.

"C'mon, we're gonna be late."

She adjusts her backpack and trots after him, throwing herself into the passenger seat of Nancy's car. The oldest Wheeler girl is home from college for winter break, and she lets Mike drive it occasionally. They are out of breath by the time they race up the steps of the high school just as the bell rings. Mike pulls her into a quick hug, pressing his lips to her forehead briefly.

Did you sleep?

She pushes the question through the familiar threads of consciousness that remain near, almost entwined, with hers.

Yeah. The word is soft and muffled. Though he's always had much more trouble with the connection between them, it's grown so much stronger over the last year or two. Especially when things started to resemble normalcy. Sort of.

You?

"Yeah." He lets her go. She gives his hand a squeeze and rushes off, pushing the everyday nerves away.

She spent the better part of three years getting a haphazard and mix-matched education from Joyce, Jonathan, and Hopper. Mr. Clark pitched in and so did Nancy, and the boys, of course. Hopper finally decided she was ready for public education just last year, but she was forced to wait out the entire second semester of last year, and the summer, so she could start with the rest of them. This is her first year in a real school, and while the boys are now in the middle of their junior year, Mr. Clark suggested she start as a sophomore so it would be easier to catch up. She doesn't mind at all.

She makes it to her first class on time, and, as always, throws herself into the day's lesson. She never raises her hand, barely speaks, but she soaks it all in with an eagerness unmatched by any of her peers.

They're reading Shakespeare's Julius Caesar, which she finds fascinating. At lunch, she endures Dustin's good-natured teasing and Mike blushes bright red, which makes her blush too, but she kisses him anyway. Hard. To prove a point.

. . .

The lunch bell rings, and she jogs to catch up with Will across the cafeteria. He looks at her in surprise, slows to let her walk beside him.

"What's up?" He says, giving her a good natured smile. He is considerably tall, but not as tall as Mike. She tugs on his shirt sleeve.

"Will, I need to talk to you." She swallows, squinting at him.

He turns to face her, narrowing his eyes.

"About . . . what?"

El takes a breath, twisting her fingers into her t-shirt.

"Look. You've been acting really weird the past couple days. You've been so quiet, Will. You look so tired, all the time. What's going on?"

Will blinks at her, eyes darting over her face.

"Nothing. Nothing's going on, El. Really. I have this huge Physics test Thursday, and I've been studying, and . . . Really, it's nothing." He says, biting his lip.

"I'm fine."

El searches his face, chewing on the inside of her cheek. She sees the lie in his eyes.

"Alright." She says, quietly. She takes a step back.

"Take care of yourself, Will."

He stares at the floor.

"You too, El." He meets her eyes briefly. She shivers.

"Don't worry about me."

She forces a smile, turning the corner to her next class.

. . .

After the last bell rings, El finds Mike sitting on the front steps of the school, buried in a textbook. She wraps her jacket tighter around her, plopping herself down beside him. A light snow has begun to fall.

"Hey." He says distractedly.

"D&D today?" He says, glancing up at her. She brushes the snow from the locks of dark hair that stick out from under his beanie and fall in waves across his forehead.

"Yeah."

"Well, let's get going before we freeze."

He closes the book, stands, offers her his hand. She takes it, and they trudge through the thin layer of powdered snow.

He pulls out of the parking lot, fiddling with the radio. They arrive at the Wheeler house in mere minutes. In the kitchen, Holly greets them dressed in a little apron patterned with cherries.

"I'm making cookies." She says, cheerfully.

"Good. I'm starving." Mike says, peeling off his jacket. El smiles as seven year old Holly trots up to her and hugs her around the middle, before handing her a still-warm chocolate chip cookie.

Mike grabs El's wrist and directs the cookie towards his mouth, taking a bite. She smacks his arm away, glaring at him.

Holly rolls her eyes, something she undoubtedly picked up from Nancy. El can barely contain her laughter at the sight.

Mrs. Wheeler walks into the kitchen, smiling when she sees El.

"Hey, El. What are you two up to?"

"D&D campaign, I have to get it done by Saturday." Mike says, around a mouthful of cookie. Mrs. Wheeler's eyebrows shoot up.

"Don't talk with your mouth full, Michael. And homework first." She gives him a pointed look.

"Alright, alright." He says, knowing it's pointless to argue. He grabs El's hand, dragging her down the basement steps.

In the basement, El and Mike sit on the couch. She is buried in Julius Caesar, nose almost brushing the pages. Mike gnaws on his pencil, struggling through a pile of Physics homework.

Holly comes down the stairs to join them, beginning to work on a new coloring book. She, too, chews on the end of her pencil, something Mike is notorious for. El watches her from across the room, smiling a little. She sees both Nancy and Mike wrapped into the youngest Wheeler. It's amusing.

When Mrs. Wheeler calls Holly upstairs, El finally voices the thoughts that have been eating her from the inside.

"Do you think Will is acting weird?"

"What do you mean?" He looks up from his paper, meeting her gaze.

"He's been really quiet lately. Like, quieter than usual. He's got those big circles under his eyes. I don't know. He's just not like himself."

Mike nods.

"Yeah, I guess I've noticed that. I figured it was just that test we have coming up."

"He already gave me that excuse."

"Well, there's your answer. He's just worried about it. He probably stayed up late studying."

"He was lying." El says, quietly. "I know he was lying. Something isn't right."

Mike swallows, giving her a hard look.

"I don't know, El." His eyes drop back to his paper, but his pencil is still. She knows he's thinking about Will. Concern for their friend, and curiosity, festers in the back of her own mind. She doesn't bring it up again.

After a few hours, Mike throws his homework aside, falling against El. He sighs loudly.

"I'm done." He says, voice muffled.

"Me too." She says.

"D&D?"

"Food first?"

"Agreed."

She perches herself on the counter as Mike makes popcorn in the microwave. He pulls a jar of peanut butter out of the cabinet and two spoons.

"God, I love this stuff." She says, taking the jar from his hands and scooping some into her mouth with her finger.

"Don't let my mom see you do that, she'll have a cow." He warns.

El sucks in a breath.

"Oops."

"It's okay. Let's go back to the basement."

"So, what do you have left to do?" She asks him, making her way down the steps.

"I have to figure out this one part . . . we go into this forest, and there are trolls there, but I feel like I've used trolls so many times already. So, I'm looking at bringing in a new monster, but to do that I need a whole new plot twist . . ."

He trails off as they reach the basement, looking at her.

"What about the Demogorgon?" She says, the corner of her mouth twitching into a smirk.

"Never again." He says, putting his hands on her shoulders. She wraps her arms around his neck, laughing a little. He shakes his head, grinning widely.

"Never again."

. . .

Her eyelids begin to drop as she sorts through another page of scrawled notes, trying to distinguish one from the rest. She's supposed to be weeding out mistakes and sorting the notes into something resembling a plot line. Mike is working on a map, penciling in the names of various places in his newest, greatest realm.

The quiet is calming, and she leans against him so their shoulders press together, covering her yawn with her hand.

"What do you think about this? Listen, I start with the Thessalhydra, which hides in the cave right . . . here." He points to the place on the map. She nods, following his thoughts.

"They can avoid it by cutting through the forest, but it's actually a trap . . ." He rambles on, and she closes her eyes for a moment, watching the campaign as it plays out in his head. It's haphazard and messy, but it's beautiful. It's growing and rewriting itself, and it will be his greatest yet.

"I think . . . you need a break. It's really good, Mike. It's great, but we've been at it for hours." He rolls his eyes, trying to conceal a yawn.

"Tomorrow, okay?

"Okay."

He sets the map aside, leaning back. She reaches for the remote, turning on the T.V. The Empire Strikes Back comes on, only a few minutes in. He stretches himself out on the couch. She makes herself a nest of blankets on the floor. They're quiet for a long time, watching the movie.

"YouwannagototheSnowBallwithme?" His words blend together as he blurts the question. El props herself on one elbow, squinting at him.

"What?"

Mike sits up, looking at her. His expression softens, and he bites his lip.

"Do you . . . want to . . . go to the Snow Ball . . . with me?" He says, slower this time. He swallows hard, cheeks reddening. El sits up, giving him a wide grin.

"Mike, are you kidding? Of course!" She says. He smiles, starting to chuckle. She giggles.

"Oh, good." He says, leaving the couch to join her on the floor. She leans into him.

"I think it's supposed be at the end of this month." He tells her, planting a kiss on her forehead.

She recalls another time, another mention of the Snow Ball. That time, though, she was dying on a table in Mr. Clark's science classroom. It seems silly that they'd never gone before, despite the fact that he'd asked her almost four years earlier.

El continues to grin to herself. She'd have to buy a dress and shoes and there'd be music and dancing . . .

"I was worried you were gonna say no." He says. She shoves him playfully.

"Technically, I already said yes." She reminds him.

"Four years ago!"

"I meant it."

They had their own Snow Ball in the basement, mid January, 1985. Dustin, Lucas, and Will were there, too. Music blasted out of Jonathan's big speaker that he let them borrow. They danced, albeit a little awkwardly, but that was okay because El wasn't really good at dancing either. She spent most of her time giggling uncontrollably at their antics.

They were joined by little Holly, who'd gripped El's wrists and they spun around in big circles, laughing. The boys managed to play a little bit of D&D and Atari, until they were all consumed by an intense pillow fight that lasted long into the night. El swore it was the most fun she'd ever had in her entire life.

And Mike found himself watching her, watching the way she laughed as she danced with his baby sister Holly, barefoot in the basement. Watching the way she blushed when they held hands, even though they always held hands, but somehow it was different that night.

They're really going this time. To the real thing. Mike can't keep his mind off the dance all through the first part of the movie. He can't keep himself from replaying things in his head. They've come so far, and he knows it. And she's not dead or stuck in the Upside Down or locked up in that . . . lab . . . and he's so happy. She's here and she's his and they're really going to the Snow Ball. Together.

Her hand finds his. After a while, his thoughts slow down. His brain becomes syrupy and sluggish. She, too, struggles to stay awake, watching the movie through half-closed eyes.

Mike's breathing slows, his head falls against her shoulder. She feels herself falling asleep and allows it, because his presence is warm and she's seen the movie a thousand times and they're finally going to the Snow Ball.

. . .

Nancy shakes them awake, wearing thick red lipstick and a long, black jacket. El jumps to her feet. She smirks, arms folded over her chest.

"I almost ran upstairs to get Dad's camera." She says. Mike blushes bright red.

"What's all this about?"

"We were working on a campaign." El tells her, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks.

"Sure." Nancy says, voice dripping with skepticism. She clicks her tongue.

"Where were you?" Mike says, changing the subject.

"The movies. With . . . Jonathan." She says. Mike wiggles his eyebrows.

"When's the wedding?" Nancy rolls her eyes, letting out a long sigh.

"Jesus, Mike, it's one date."

"Sure." He stands, grabbing El's hand.

"I'll drive you home."

A/N: This is a sequel to the story I completed back in November, "Lost and Found". I know the time jump is a little weird at first, and the plot will definitely diverge from what we already know about Season 2. Bear with me. This is purely for my (and your) entertainment. Please R&R, all of your comments and critique are very much appreciated.