WHAT: Richie comes with El for a cabin visit WHERE: Hopper's Cabin WHEN: A few days before Hopper showed up? WARNINGS: Talks of grief and death STATUS: Complete
The cabin looked better. Better in the sense that all the major wreckage had been cleared - any fallen doors, broken furniture (that she insisted on salvaging and setting up right, for now) and broken glass swept so walking through it wasn’t as hazardous as it’d been the day it arrived here. El cried the moment she saw it, hidden away by trees, bare of the foot traps she’d once set up with Hopper (for your protection, he argued during that first year he’d kept her there). This place had once been safety. It had been home, but the person who had made it that wasn’t here.
He wasn’t back in Hawkins, either.
She wasn’t a stranger to tears. Wasn’t a stranger to just - crying in front of people, one of the things she hated about herself. Eleven often looked stoic with those wide, brown eyes and lips always flattened into a straight line but she was deeply, deeply emotional. She felt rage strongly (she’d make lights flicker, television haywire, items levitate), felt grief with clarity and loved too hard that she never hesitated to draw blood when necessary.
But with how powerless she felt now, unable to use the powers she was bred and born for? It was as if she was being stifled. Her anger wasn’t expressed the way she was used to, and while it threatened to choke her - maybe that was a good thing. El couldn’t hurt others anymore.
She also couldn’t protect her friends.
That was a bitter pill to swallow, too.
El was still going through the motions. The moods. Sometimes she felt so tired the depression would drag her down for a nap that would last hours. Other times she rejected what happened and would try to summon her powers to the forefront of her mind and end up frustrated to the point of snapping at the people that were doing their best to take care of her. Richie and Max weren’t exceptions, but somehow they handled her with understanding and grace.
It made her feel awful. Especially now, with how willing Richie was to keep her company while searching for things now that she had the space to take inventory and the time to go through a dead man’s belongings. No doubt she’d end up in tears again for the hundredth time. She hated it.
Maybe she could chalk any dampness on her cheeks to sweat. It was warm here; the electrical wasn’t working right for air conditioning purposes but the plumbing was somehow sound so there was that. Her hair was bunched up in a bun at the top of her head, and she was ready to work with a set of shorts and an old t-shirt that could absorb the inevitable perspiration.
“I would like to go through my room first,” she said, swallowing the nerves stuck in her throat. The cabin was something out of the past - wooden paneling, a small broken television in the corner, appliances that she knew now would be classified as ‘retro.’ Richie might find it comforting, in a way. They are from the same era. “I have pictures there I want to save. I do not know about the furniture.”
Could she restore any of it? Eleven knew jack shit about fixing anything.
Richie Tozier was no stranger to grief or sadness and knew that you weren’t always pleasant as you worked through it - he’d been born into a literal caul of evil, a town that was an actual hellmouth and tainted by a darkness (or no, ironically, by a light) that was so cold and so harrowing it burned away any scrap of hope or happiness someone might dare to feel. He’d lost people - lost his own childhood for awhile there, these gaping black holes that oozed muck and swampwater, right there in his own mind; the haze of it was induced by a demonic clown that wasn’t really a clown, but something that surpassed words and descriptions. And so he also grieved - was still grieving Eddie, and Stan, even here. Because he loved them in different ways and because he had no other choice - you couldn’t stuff it into a box and hope it went away; it never did. Not until you faced it and even then it didn’t go away fully - more like it became manageable, to some degree.
Growing up in the same era as El meant that he identified there too - the eighties clung so tightly, in an iron grip, to their bright colors and logo flaunting and that was simply to hide one inevitable truth: nobody had anything. One of the worst recessions since the Great Depression could cause that to happen, yeah?
But the cabin looked how he assumed it would in terms of aesthetics - the television was definitely familiar, same with the microwave in the kitchen where he imagined El sat with her dad and ate plenty of meat that probably shouldn’t be warmed up that way, and canned veggies (at least there were veggies at all). “Sounds good,” he nodded, pushing his glasses up on his nose - he wore jeans and a t-shirt that was probably better suited for Halloween (it featured a goose wearing a witchy hat and the quip Honkus Ponkus) but it was old and he didn’t mind getting it dirty. “I’ll help you? If there are pictures, maybe you can tell me about some of them. No pressure. We can check out the state of the furniture too.”
Like he said, no pressure. He didn’t know shit about refurbishing anything either but they could figure it out, and Max was all in too - maybe Richie could even ask Prigany for help. They were good with transmutation, and the idea of what was old and possibly broken blooming into something new was kind of nice. Like magic upcycling.
Eleven let out a shaky exhale and did her best to smile. A soft, tentative shape that her mouth made - even if she felt the urge to cry again, and again. Everything felt raw, and she had all these conflicting thoughts about Billy (she knew Max, the Maxine one from home did too) and how he saved her, dying for it. About all the innocent people the Mind Flayer possessed and melted into his own, monstrous creation to kill her. The Russians trying to re-open the gate; the one she had opened in the beginning of it all, then closed.
Though not like that mattered anymore. Steve said more gates were opening throughout Hawkins and it was starting again. It’s like the Mind Flayer had said while using Billy as his vessel, two voices layered over the other while they spoke as one; You let us in. And now, you’re going to have to let us stay.
She felt guilty, shaking off the thoughts to focus on something else. “It’s not a lot,” she told him, crossing the width of the small living room to lead him towards her bedroom with a small, empty box in her arms. Broken window, things knocked over, a hole up in the ceiling. The whole structure needed a new roof. It had once been a cute room, though; Hopper let her pick out paint to cover the wooden panels (a soft, mint kind of green). Nancy had been kind enough to give her some hand-me-downs for her room.
The corkboard on her wall had fallen (there were kid-like drawings and colored pages, and a sloppy scrawled sign that said ‘EL LOVES MIKE’ with hearts on it). Clothes were still in the dresser drawers - she’d take those with her and wash them. The mirror was cracked, but tucked between the wood and glass was a picture.
“This is Mike,” she giggled, sniffling through it a little. “He did not like getting his picture taken. I looked awkward. It was a middle school dance - and it was fun.”
Richie took the picture, grinning when he saw it. “He reminds me of me when I was a kid,” he shared - and, well, hopefully that didn’t mean Mike grew up to look like Richie. Wouldn’t that be awful? Then again, maybe there was a draw to the gangly muppet limbed types - Max had fallen for Richie and was on him like white on rice a lot; the honeymoon phase hadn’t entirely worn off and Richie hoped it never did. “You two make a cute couple though. I remember middle school dances - pretty much everyone is awkward at them. I know I was.”
Middle school, high school, college, beyond - mostly because he was constantly trying to be something he wasn’t, wearing a mask that didn’t quite fit. He was glad he didn’t have to worry about that now.
He made sure the picture was in a safe spot so they could bring it home, and went to go pick up the corkboard and salvage what had once been tacked on there. El made a good call with the walls too - honestly, the wooden panels of the eighties and the nineties...woof. Truly terrible. But it wasn’t real wood and was just faux glued or whatever - they could turn it into something modern and not an eyesore. “So I’m guessing you loooooove him?” Richie asked, referring to the doodled hearts that he spotted as part of the corkboard art.
Oh, god. Those doodles. Back then she was proud of herself for her artistic talent, and Mike had been delighted to see them (Hopper, instead, grumbled something vulgar under his breath) but she now realized how those scrawls were embarrassing and grimace was warranted.
El planned on saving them too, though. She never had the luxury of material items growing up - she was not allowed, despite having gifts here and there (that were ultimately taken from her). Might as well keep and cherish what she could.
“I do,” she answered him confidently, dropping the picture of her and Mike into the box. “I told him too, before Joyce made us move.”
She had heard him blurt it out after she had found Billy in the void. It was something she needed time to process and understand - but she also knew her feelings, knew that she loved him too. “You would like him. He is really smart. Talks a lot sometimes.” Eleven never minded that. “But he is… good. He never gives up on me. I really hope I get to see him sometime soon again.”
Her time in Vallo had built up to seven months. Seven months. Now Steve was here, and she had a little hope that she would see others come through. She was just too cautious to hope too much. Expecting disappointment was a hurt she handled better.
“That’s when you know it’s love, when they don’t give up on you,” Richie nodded - and he thought it was possible to be that young and still know what love was. He’d loved Eddie ever since he even could comprehend the four-letter word and he hadn’t really stopped even after leaving Derry, he’d just forgotten about it - all of those feelings were covered up, buried beneath pounds of debris and yet they still had life beneath the dirt somehow. Because that explained why he’d seek out similar-looking men despite his shame, why somewhat short, clean-cut nerds with warm brown eyes used to really do it for him - and why he was never happy, why something was always missing. He just never knew what it was, until it was too late.
Emotional constipation really was a bitch sometimes - then again, so was trauma. And pure evil making you forget where you grew up and who you loved, and that you were loved in return.
He thought he might patch up that broken window while they were here, at least - just so critters and other nasties wouldn’t crawl into the cabin and then it would be properly replaced. Tape (and cardboard) - it fixed damn near anything, so he ripped off a piece and got started. “I hope I get to see my friends too - I miss them,” he admitted. “But this place is unpredictable so I mean, they could show up. Mike could find his way here. You never know. And whatever happens there, we’ll make it work - Max and I aren’t giving up either.”
They cared about El. Eventually he and Richie would have Alfie (Richie still hoped they were on track for that, anyway) but they were getting a taste of what it meant to work as a parental team right now - like weathering the storms of teenage emotions and figuring out what to do when the school called them and said El had skipped classes or whatever. All of it was fun.
It never ceased to surprise her how willing people were to help her. Not that everyone back in Hawkins was heartless - she had been lucky to find kindness in strangers (the man she granted the title of father to one of them), but it had been just that. Luck. Eleven could have very well stumbled upon people that could have turned her in back home, or thought she was a threat (which she was) and could have killed her. The risks there were high.
But here - everyone had a story, everyone had something that set them apart. Majority of the people she met had her best interests in mind, which had been something she found difficult to put any trust in at first. No one was obligated to help her; not a single soul.
They did it anyway. Max and Richie didn’t have to open their castle doors to her; they didn’t have to spend their spare time putting her through school, making sure she was clothed and fed and that her hair wasn’t some abomination after she had taken scissors to it. El was destined to face challenges while acclimating to a normal life - she had only been out of a laboratory for two years - but she knew that it would be easier here than back home.
The two of them were a big part of why that was. Guess she was lucky in Vallo, too.
“I am sorry,” she sighed after a moment, watching as he began setting up a temporary patch to the window. “About slamming… doors around Skyhold. And all the screaming. From trying to get my powers back.”
Her moods had been volatile. If her powers had still been intact, the proof would have been further seen in flickering lights - things being slammed shut by no visible force to do it manually, glass breaking. Maybe it was best they were gone.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Richie paused after another rrrrrrrrrrip of tape, glancing over his shoulder. “I didn’t even know I had psychic powers or whatever - not until I got here. But I’ve been working on them since and it would suck if they just disappeared. Shit like that becomes a part of you. You’re just trying to recalibrate. And I still think they’re not gone forever.”
Just like anyone from home could show up at any given time - El’s powers could also decide to make a reappearance. Richie believed that. Believed that they weren’t taken from her just like that - it was a temporary setback, was all. A roadblock, if you will.
“Life throws us crap curveballs all the time - we gotta figure out how to deal with them and sometimes we’re not always sunshine and rainbows when we do, but the important people get that and stick around no matter what,” he added, wiping his shirt sleeve across his brow because, yeah, it was a little toasty in the cabin. Or he was just feeling emotions and shit, that too. “Besides, Skyhold’s been through worse than a few slammed doors - you should ask Max to tell you about what it looked like when he and his crew of Big Damn Heroes stumbled across it.”
Holes everywhere. Probably like, Thedosian bat droppings too or whatever - it was a crumbling, falling apart piece of shit but the Inquisition had fixed it up (under Max’s guidance) and had managed to include pieces of culture important to all of those who fought beside him. Pretty impressive, Richie thought. “So yeah, it’s fine - “ He angled one muppet-limbed arm toward El. “C’mere. Bring it in.”
Richie gave good hugs. She didn’t have to think about the offer - she was there, circling her arms around his waist to squeeze. He was always willing to give her hugs when she needed it, and these past few months with her first foray into real school (the growing pains, the school work, the social frustrations) and now, with this? Eleven had needed them more than she thought.
“Mike said the same thing,” she exhaled loudly. “About - my powers not being gone? I just don’t know how to get them back.” The twelve hundred pounds of salt and the kiddy pool option was still on the table. Isolation tanks and floating in water while all she saw was complete darkness was how Papa helped hone her powers growing up; she could try and mimic those same trials.
More appointments to the clinic could be scheduled, too. El didn’t particularly like to be poked and prodded but she knew how the process went - and she’d endure it, if it meant she could regain the powers she used to save her friends. She was a fighter, and not being able to fight the way she knew how was a crippling feeling.
A hand scrubbed down her face, and she let out this sniffle because this whole thing was still an emotional deal for her. El had been good with not actually crying, though, She always cried too much. “I like to protect people I care about. Like you, and Max and my friend Steve - and Katou, even if he is an asshole sometimes,” she laughed wetly. “I can’t do that now.”
Richie loved hugs too - or, well, giving hugs to people he cared about. So he squeezed El and patted her shoulder reassuringly. “Sure you can - you’re still terrifying no matter what,” he promised. “But even if you did have your powers, it still doesn’t fall on you entirely to protect us. We all protect each other, yeah? Even Katou. Even if he’s an asshole.”
There was a twinkle in Richie’s eye as he said that, because he knew Katou wasn’t that much of an asshole - just a traumatized kid, like they all were or had been, but he was good. Deep down, past the snark and the barbed wire insults - Richie was talented at spotting shit like that, because he too was familiar with the art of using snark and rudeness as armor to protect yourself from the trials and tribulations of the world.
But Katou was willing to herd sheep for El, or take her out for waffles when she was upset, so in Richie’s book that made him pretty decent. “Try not to beat yourself up too much. Or hurt yourself, trying to get your powers back - they don’t make you a badass, that’s all you as you are. And we’d miss that badass if something happened to her.”
El had to laugh. Katou was an asshole. Not always, though. He showed her kindness in his own way, veiled with heavy sarcasm and questionable advice - and back when she was determined to live in the forest and scream a hole into the fabric of existence to get back home, he always made it a habit to orbit where she dwelled. He had always brought food too, under the guise that it was for himself (though she did nab it with her telekinesis, sharing was caring?).
“I know,” she responded, giving Richie a final squeeze before returning to the box she wanted to fill with stuff to keep - which might be everything, honestly. Salvaging it all would take time. If this cabin was here then she assumed she would have the time. “I am… safe here. With you guys.”
Back home she was the powerhouse; the one that fought the monsters and won. But the last time it had happened her powers hadn’t been working, her friends had saved her instead and now she was left floundering to figure out just who she was without her powers. What was she supposed to do? Try to live life like a normal girl?
It was a nice thought. She wished she could. “I don’t worry about things here like I do back home,” she admitted, then felt the need to explain that a little. “I do - still worry? But it is different.”
“I think it’s like that for a lot of us,” Richie assured. “A lot that’s different and a lot that’s the same. But you’re definitely safe with us - we just want what’s best for you. Want you to be happy.” Hell, he didn’t exactly know what normal even was - and pretty much no one else did in Vallo either, considering life was batshit here - but he wanted to give El every chance in the world to figure out what she was looking for out of this teenage existence and what did make her happy.
If it was experiencing those little bits of rebellion, then so be it - a lot of it was a rite of passage, and he had been there once upon a time too. Maybe it was waffles, maybe it was a permalink to the 80s with bad haircuts and acid-washed jeans. As long as it wasn’t hurting anyone else, then go off - that was his view on it, anyway.
He finished up with the window, getting a nice cardboard and tape barrier on there (so fancy) and moved to help fold her clothes so she could bring those with her too, stuffed into the box. Everyone needed wildly printed jumpsuits and maybe some suspenders. “I worry too, about a lot of things. Like, you know - wondering if leg warmers are going to make a comeback and if we should be scared.”
Seriously, what was the point of those?
“Too hot for leg warmers,” El mused, picking up a couple more things - the handful of dice with letters that spelled out ‘MIKE,’ and removing the thumbtacks off a poster on her wall (also donated by Mike, he given her a lot of his stuff for her oom) to salvage. For now she’d hang it up in her bedroom at Skyhold to have it close by. “I like the fashion in Vallo. Clothes in our decade are… very bad compared to it.”
She also had taken a lot of hand-me-downs from the boys, from Nancy and Max so her wardrobe had been a mish-mosh of donated things and styles that weren’t exactly hers. At least now she had a better sense of herself and what she liked, but to be able to also have all those clothes she’d been given (all of it still big on her), she knew that she’d be wearing pieces here and there for that home feeling.
Once the box was stuffed to where it was bearable to carry (she didn’t want to overdo it, she had noodly arms and so did Richie, kind of) she tucked in the flaps underneath one another to shut. “I can come back for more later but this will do for today.” There was so much more to do but she wasn’t rushed. If this cabin was here then that meant she would be too - for a very long while. “We need popsicles. It is hot here.”
Oh hell yeah, popsicles sounded like the best idea ever. “Let’s find some and treat our sweaty-ass selves,” Richie decided cheerfully (and that ‘sweaty-ass’ comment was kind of literal too because that was definitely happening). The box was full and he’d patched up the window - there was still a lot of work to be completed on the cabin but he was definitely willing to put in that work, so, they’d get it done. He and Max and some others would be happy little elves, whistling happy tunes while they turned a makeover project into their own HGTV special.
Hefting the box (his noodle arms could handle it, don’t worry), he nodded toward the doorway with his chin. “I think we have some at Skyhold - so I claim the one that turns your tongue blue.” The freezer and fridge combo was a welcome thing in the upgraded kitchen (along with the coffee maker) so Richie was sure that he’d find something good and they’d share with Max as well.
Maybe.
There was a joke about blue balls somewhere in there with your mouth going blue. El just didn’t have the eloquence to put together funny quips like that - she needed to take notes from Richie and Max more, they were so good at it.
“I claim orange,” she said, her smile small but sincere - one of the better ones she wore lately, and she thought it was a victory that she hadn’t bawled her eyes out for the millionth time during this visit. It didn’t mean she was exempt from it later, and grief was a thing that came in highs and lows. Some days were better, others were not. Richie had made this one good, though.
He was usually pretty good at that.
With a deep breath, she followed him out of the bedroom - and out of the cabin, still mangled but hopefully on the road to look better soon. It wouldn’t stop being home any time soon.