28. Night Terrors

A/N: Happy Stranger Things Day!

This one shot is based off of my own personal experience with seeing things at night, which would explain how seemingly random it is. A challenge that came with writing this was, there's no fancy word for what my brain does at night because I can't find anyone else who's ever had these scenarios happen to them. I call them night terrors, because it's the closest thing I could find to what was happening to me, but as you'll see, the definition of those doesn't quite line up with what I had Mike go through. If you have any questions about this, feel free to PM me, otherwise, enjoy and, again, happy 35 years since Will Byers went missing!

It started with his mind making up stories.

He'd be fast asleep, laying sprawled out in his bed when his eyes would suddenly open for no obvious reason. Disoriented and glazed over from sleep, his thoughts would whir to life and feed him the craziest scenarios, prompting him to get up and do something about the situation he had somehow found himself in.

"Someone's at your door, you need to go let them in," his mind said one time, so he would fumble groggily across his room and reach for the doorknob, only to find there was no one on the other side, only the shadow-ridden hallway illuminated by the nightlight they kept plugged into the wall for Holly. Sighing, he'd realize that it was just his brain playing tricks on him and shut the door quietly before falling back onto his bed.

Sometimes they were scary and hit too close to home. There was one night where his mind told him there was a bomb underneath their house and he needed to get out, grab everything he loved and run, get out, get out, get out. In his panicked state, he grabbed a pair of clothes and his SuperComm, dashing out his bedroom door and was about to command his family to save themselves, when he jarringly came to his senses, his heart still racing incessantly. Another time, there was supposedly a burglar trying to get into their house through the downstairs window. That was the only time he'd actually made it down the stairs, a pocket knife in his hand, ready to defend his family from the intruder that didn't exist.

They were more annoying than anything, especially when his mind moved the threats from outside his room to inside where he was most vulnerable. That was when he began to see things. In the dim light filtering under his door from the hallway, the shapes in his room became people, monsters, aliens, bugs, objects.

Sometimes they scared him, sometimes they didn't. Sometimes his mind would realize that the basket of laundry sitting in the middle of his room wasn't a dead body and others he had to get up and touch it just to make sure. The faded light turned into swarms of bugs sometimes that he'd swat at, only to feel embarrassed when there was nothing there, glad that no one was there to witness these. His lamp became a skull, put there by some murderer out to get him, the few stuffed animals he had at the foot of his bed held life, or they did before he touched them and was convinced he had killed them when he found they were limp and inanimate, his Star Wars figurines morphed into a four-headed monster poised to attack, the list goes on and on.

And every time an...episode (he still didn't know what to call them) happened, he was exhausted the next morning because of it, his disrupted sleep cycle wearing him down.

Telling his friends was a lot harder than he thought it was going to be. Saying what was happening in his mind at night sounded so...weird when he said it out loud. They were supportive, of course, and didn't deem him insane, but he saw the confused, sympathetic looks on their faces as he struggled to find the right words for what his mind does to him.

"So...like a night terror?" Max says once he finishes attempting to explain this to them. "A what?" "A night terror, I used to have them as a kid. I would wake up afraid of something and my mom would have to come in and sit with me until I fell back asleep. I never remembered them though and it's weird that you remember yours." "Did you ever see anything in your room?" he asks inquisitively. "No, I never knew they happened until the next morning, remember? I don't actually know what caused them..."

His shoulders slump, disappointed that he still didn't have an answer for what was happening to him. His friends launch off into a discussion about the weird dreams they've had before and the few instances where they'd sleepwalked, but Mike keeps his walls down, not feeling up to putting a smile on his face just yet.

A warm, soft hand covers his under the table and he doesn't hesitate before gently lacing their fingers together. El moves subtly to get closer to him, her leg pressing against his and her thumb traces patterns along his skin, effectively silencing his racing thoughts and he reads her message loud and clear. He's not alone, nor does he have to be. With a heavy exhale, he squeezes her hand affectionately and she reciprocates, making his concerns melt away for another day.

To his alarm, his 'night terrors' begin to occur more frequently, to the point where he would see something almost every night. He has yet to tell his parents, knowing they'd probably force him to see a therapist or something. And besides, his struggles weren't affecting them, so why bother trying to explain something to them that they couldn't help with.

He figured that the familiarity of his room and the layout of it played a role in his nightly episodes, assuming his brain just latched onto objects it recognized. But that theory is quickly proven wrong when the Party sleeps over at his house one quiet Friday night. He'd been hoping the change of scenery would give him respite for a night and he'd finally get the full eight hours of rest he'd been needing, but that wish was shattered about an hour after everyone fell asleep.

He awakes with a jolt, the darkness of the basement clouding his vision until his gaze suddenly lands on the shadowy figure standing next to El's fort.

Bad man. Holy crap.

He thrashes in his sleeping bag until he's free from its confines and dashes for the light switch, flicking it on in a panic to catch their intruder red handed and ready to defend El with his life.

Only...only it was just the coat hanger in the corner and now his friends are groaning, protesting the sudden light in their eyes. His heart still pounds frantically, but it sinks as he realizes what his mind had just tricked him into believing. Apologies spill out of him, ashamed that he'd panicked over nothing and interrupted his friends' slumber in the process. They blearily mumble that it's okay, concern starting to crease their features.

"Night terror?" Dustin asks and he nods half heartedly, continuing to apologize for waking them up. Finally, it's Will who interrupts his regretful rambling. "Are you okay?" he asks and Mike stops abruptly. Nodding, he sighs and tells them, "I'm so sorry, you guys can go back to sleep," before going to flick the light off.

"Mike." He glances up to find El's head poking out of her fort and her eyes trained on him, worry swirling around her beautiful orbs. She pats the space next to her and he manages a half smile before he switches off the light. Making his way over to the fort with his mind still disoriented in the sudden darkness proves to be a challenge, but he survives and kneels down in front of her when he gets there.

"I'm okay El, you can go back to sleep," he whispers quietly, but to his dismay, she doesn't budge an inch. Her hands reach out, searching for his with only the moonlight to guide her and she grasps onto his wrists when she finds them. "Come here," she whispers back, tugging on his arms slightly.

It surprises him when he find himself resistant to her command. She's trying to help him, comfort him, calm him down, but he still hates that he woke her up in the first place, furious at his mind for seeing such stupid things and even more so that he doesn't know how to stop it. He doesn't deserve comfort, who is he kidding?

As he continues to resist her plea, she suddenly sighs and he hears her scoot forward, stopping when their knees touch. He jumps when her hands come to cup his cheeks, but his insides grow warm when she gently plants a kiss on the tip of his nose, then on his cheekbone, continuing a trail of tiny kisses until the corners of his mouth finally crinkle up.

"Mike," she says again, this time a little more playful, but the question is still embedded within his name and he doesn't hesitate before letting her pull him back into the fort. She pulls the blanket down over the entrance behind them, shielding them from the world as they arrange themselves under the pillows and blankets of the fort that holds memories they'll remember forever.

She lays down on her back, reaching for him and he curls up in her arms, resting his head against her shoulder, his forehead gracing the crook of her neck as he wraps an arm around her waist.

"I really am sorry, El," he mumbles, the decision to speak subconscious as he seeks affirmation that she isn't mad at him. He feels her shake her head and the arm draped across his shoulders squeezes him affectionately. "Don't be, I understand. You didn't do anything wrong," she murmurs in his ear and he sighs, melting further into her. The image of a man standing over the one he loves still hasn't fully vanished from his mind, but it's darn close as she holds him tighter still and continues to whisper comforting things to him, lulling him back into the delicate slumber he resides in until morning.

It still doesn't get better. His friends offer all the support they can, but it was hard to fight a force they didn't even understand. Having witnessed one themselves, they offered all the sympathy they could, knowing now how uncontrollable his reactions to them were and how visceral the experience was for him, at least. But as time went on and they kept occurring, they eventually figured that if they turned them into a joke, something to laugh at, it made Mike's load a lot easier to bear.

It was ridiculous, really, that he kept seeing the most random things in the most random places and they chose to acknowledge that rather than the sleep he was losing. "Guys, there was a dog in my room last night," he would tell them with a smile on his face and they'd chuckle, beginning to make up stories about how it got there and what it wanted from him. He'd laugh along with them, enjoying the humor they brought to these nightly occurrences that were annoying him to no end.

But suddenly, one night, the laughter stopped. The harmless nature of his episodes faded and instead, something new visited him within the darkness of his room. Something horrible. Something wicked...

His stomach is clenched and his heart is in his throat before he even opens his eyes. There's nothing new lurking in the shadows of his room when his eyes flash open, but the air feels heavy, heavier than he's ever felt it. There is a presence here, one that he's never felt before, but it's unexplainably, undeniably evil. He can almost reach out and touch it, but he doesn't dare to, because all he knows is he has to run. He has to get out of there, because...because...

Demon.

It's a demon, it has to be and his brain goes into overdrive, fighting against the fog of sleep to get him out of the room as fast as possible. Because this thing is here to hurt him, possess him, attack him and he feels incredibly vulnerable and helpless, helpless and small, powerless to the force he doesn't understand. He can't breathe as he bolts for the door, throwing it open and running as fast as he can, feet pressing into the carpet, hands gripping for the handrails as he sprints for his parents' room. Surely, if he gets there in time, it can't follow him, it'll stay in his room, trapped behind the wood of his door.

But no, a door could not hold it in and he screams as a figure emerges from his parents' bedroom.

It got out. It got out and raced ahead of him, manifesting itself into this body and when it grabs his wrists, he fights it with everything he can. It can't win, it can't win, he refuses to let it win.

As he thrashes to get out of the monster's hold, he loses his balance and the next thing he knows, he's on his back and the demon-infested body pins him to the floor. Adrenaline, fear, panic, it rises in him like a tsunami, but all he knows to do is to fight. He kicks and screams and jerks every which way, begging the spirit to let him go, to let him live.

It's saying something to him. Over his own cries of terror, he can hear it speaking words, but he's too occupied trying to escape it to comprehend what's being said to him. He continues to struggle helplessly, his voice scratchy and hoarse from his screaming until finally, something breaks through the nightmare he's found himself in.

"Mike!"

It's his mom's voice, pleading desperately for him to stop and as if someone had pulled the veil from his eyes, the illusion disappears.

He pants desperately, staring up at, not a demon-possessed human, but his mom, fear in her eyes as she holds his wrists down on the carpet. He flinches when a light from a room suddenly flickers on, followed by the soft crying of a child. Twisting his head on the carpet, he sees Holly standing in her doorway clutching a teddy bear, whimpering as she looks from him to their mom and Mike feels so...so...guilty.

There wasn't a demon in his room. Or in the body pinning him down. This was his house and this was his mom, restraining her mentally tormented son, just trying to wake him up, but he'd lashed out at her instead and he winces when he catches the sight of where her legs are starting to turn red, the after effects of him kicking her violently.

Slowly, he feels the grip on his wrists begin to loosen and he sits up gingerly, feeling shaky and jittery from the adrenaline coursing through his body. He's still disoriented, but he's awake enough to register the tears staining his mom's face as she tries to calm him and Holly down at the same time.

What has he done?

His mom succeeds in shooing Holly back to bed and he can feel her rubbing his back, murmuring words to him, but his mind is still far, far away, a jumbled mess as he tries to stay afloat against the confusion, shame and fear that's trying to drown him.

Sleep. He needs sleep. They'll figure this out later, but for right now, he just wants to escape his actions. Numbly, he rises to his feet, his mom following suit. He dares to look into her eyes and what he sees stabs at his chest. She's terrified, but she's immensely concerned and he looks away because he doesn't want her to be worried for him. He's broken, anguished and she can't fix him.

They shuffle back to his room, the space a lot less heavy with the absence of the hallucination his mind has conjured up for him. He mumbles a "Sorry..." to his mom, before she lets him go and shuts the door behind him. He collapses on his bed, shutting his eyes and attempting to will himself back to sleep, but it stays just out of his reach. He tosses and turns all night, his night terror flashing before his eyes every time he gets close to drifting off.

"Michael, do you know what you did last night?"

He grimaces as he settles down in a chair at their kitchen table the next morning, knowing this conversation was coming but dreading it all the same.

"Yeah, I do," he mumbles, stuffing his hands into his pockets and avoiding her gaze. For a while, his mom surprisingly doesn't say a thing, she just absentmindedly continues to cook the bacon and eggs that are simmering on the stove and the silence is making it worse.

He knows he can't control what he does in the night, but he's still kicking himself for letting the obviously-not-real apparition trick him into believing it was. He's had these so many times that he should be able to separate a trick from reality, but his mind is weak and he hates it, hates the naivety it holds. That hatred has been growing steadily as these episodes continued but now...now he's just feels like a worthless piece of crap since he ended up hurting half his family as well.

"So. Should we talk about it?" he hears his mom say and he lifts his head to see her placing his breakfast in front of him. She grabs her coffee mug and takes a seat at the table as well, watching him intently. She's not mad, he can tell. Her voice says she's more confused than anything and he shrugs, pushing his eggs around with a fork. "I really am sorry," he mumbles after a while. "I...I didn't mean to hurt you."

He's starting to feel extremely uncomfortable, wishing she'd just chide him already for losing control of his actions or something like that. Instead, she just says, "Can you tell me what happened? Maybe what was going on in your mind?" He sighs and nods, reluctantly relaying a shortened version of last night's events to her through his perspective. He sees her eyebrows raise when he admits he thought there was a demon, but they raise even further when he finishes his story and tells her that these have happened before. When she asks why he never told her about these, he just shrugs, saying, "I never had a reason to."

A glance at the clock shows it's time for him to go, but his mom makes him promise that they'll talk about this more after school, a promise that he doesn't mind keeping because he knows he needs help. It was getting to be too much and what happened last night absolutely, positively cannot happen again and he'll take all the support he can get, though he still can't stand having to be in this vulnerable position in the first place.

His mind is relatively blank as he bikes to school that day, his only thoughts ones of self-hatred and occasional flashbacks to the darkness of his night terror, but he dismisses them immediately. He refuses to dwell on what had happened, it's only making things worse. The one thing he does contemplate, however, is how the heck he's going to tell his friends about this and how they would react. Would they pity him? Brush it off? Or worse...would they fear him?

He locks up his bike in a haze, already dreading every moment of today and makes his way inside, heading to the science hallway where most of their lockers are. They have a routine of gathering in front of the locker that belongs to whoever showed up first and it looks like today it was Dustin. The whole party has already assembled because of course he's the last one to show up that day.

They all greet him when he walks up to his friends and he plasters on the best fake smile he can as El moves to stand beside him, pecking his cheek to say hello. He reaches down and squeezes her hand in response, breathing in the lively atmosphere of his friends as he feels his body start to relax. Everything is going fine, until Max pipes up.

"Mike, no offense, but you look like death."

Dang it. His face falls and he looks down at the ground, shuffling his feet and he feels El tighten her grip on their joined hands. "What's up, man?" he hears Lucas ask when he doesn't say anything. "I had another night terror," he says eventually. "And...it was the worst one." "Ever?" El's small voice comes from beside him and he nods. "Ever."

The mood drops significantly and no one speaks after that, letting this sink in. But the silence is different than the one his mom had fell into, because with them, he knows they care and they understand more than she ever could. He's chewing on his lip nervously without even realizing it when Will finally says something. "How bad was it?" he asks quietly and they all look at him expectantly. "Bad. I...I accidentally hurt my mom. I thought she was...something else. So I started kicking her..." The rest of his sentence gets clogged in his throat so he doesn't bother going any further.

'This is it,' he thinks to himself. 'This is when they realize I'm dangerous now. This was a mistake, I should've never told them...'

"Wow...that really, really sucks, Mike," Dustin says and he feels his mouth quirk up into a humorless smirk. "Yeah, it does," he agrees. A few seconds tick by before Dustin speaks up again. "I really don't know what else to say," and they all nod in agreement, giving him looks of sympathy that make him feel just a little bit better, because he doesn't really know what else to say, either. "But hey," Dustin continues, "You're still our Paladin!"

That gets a real smile out of him as his friend pats him on the back and the tension defuses as they all chime in with their agreement. "Yeah Wheeler, this doesn't change anything, you're still a part of the party," Lucas tells him with a smile and Mike chuckles. "Thanks guys, that means a lot," he says as the mood lightens and he's ready to move onto another topic when he feels a tug on his hand. He looks over at El, who begins running her thumb over his skin, a small smile on her face. "We're not afraid of you, Mike," she says tenderly and he can see his other friends nod enthusiastically, but he's too busy staring at her in both bewilderment and complete adoration.

How the heck did she know he had worried about that since he woke up this morning?

Distantly, the first period bell rings and the hallway spurs into motion around them as students race to their class, but he's too busy falling farther and farther in her soft brown eyes, the understanding and comfort he finds in them making his heart feel like it's going to burst. The rest of their friends have said their goodbyes and headed off to class, but he can't resist letting his forehead come to rest against hers. Without any hesitation, her lips swoop up and they're suddenly on his, the pressure and overwhelming softness of them erasing every thought in his brain. Her hands weave into his hair and she pulls him closer, taking the lead and he can feel her pouring out her reassurance to him as he kisses her back gently. He smiles against her lips and she pecks him one more time for good measure before pulling back. Her cheeks are an adorable shade of pink and oh what he wouldn't give to ditch his first class and kiss her senseless for as long as he can get away with. But he knows Hopper would kill him, so he sighs and plants a final kiss on her forehead. "Love you," he murmurs against her skin. "Love you too," she responds before her smile fades and she looks up at him with a serious look in her eyes. "Promise me you'll come get me if you need me," she says firmly, to which he nods. "Promise." With one last kiss on her cheek, they part ways and she waves to him as he heads to Chemistry.

He already misses her, but the warmth in his chest is glowing brightly and he thanks whatever higher power is out there for his wonderful girlfriend for the billionth time.

But the second he steps out of her presence, the memories from last night quietly begin to tiptoe back into the forefront of his mind and he quickly drowns it in thoughts of El instead.

He can fight this. He's got this, it's going to be okay.

First period went by relatively uneventfully, his lips still buzzing from her kiss and his mind successfully distracted by the chemistry equation they were tackling that day. He threw himself headfirst into the problems, punching variables into his calculator and writing out his steps with ease, the methodology and familiarity of numbers helping to quiet his racing thoughts.

But that all falls to pieces once he gets to English. He tries hardest to focus on what their teacher is explaining, but without anything for him to study or work on, his mind drifts to the one place he doesn't want to go. He can feel it rising up, crouching in the back of his thoughts, his gut clenching as he fights, pushing against the memory as hard as he can in an attempt to get it back into the cage where it belongs, but it's unleashed anyway, his control collapsing in an instant.

One second, he's listening to the teacher drone on about their next essay, and the next, all he can hear are his screams, the broken ones that were torn from his chest as he fled from an evil that didn't exist. They fill his ears and he's scared, scared because he knows what comes next, knows how it must've looked like from a perspective that wasn't clouded by hallucination. In his mind's eye, he imagines his panicked form as he struggles against his own mother's hold, stretching his legs out to kick, trying to escape and he can hear her pleads for him to stop and suddenly, Holly's crying because he won't stop screaming and pretty soon his mother's crying and he...he hurt them, he hurt them beyond his control and and and...

"Mike." Will's voice manages to break through his haze and his head snaps up to meet his best friend's worried gaze. It finally registered how hard he was breathing and how badly his hands were shaking, the adrenaline rushing through his body causing his heart to race frantically. Will examines him closely before his hand shoots up confidently. "Will, yes, you have a question?" Mrs. Hartman says, to which he replies, "Can Mike and I go work in the hallway?" She looks slightly taken aback, but Mike exhales in relief when she agrees with a warning to stay where she can see them and to get their draft done by tomorrow. Swearing that they'll work on it diligently, Will hurriedly packs up both his and Mike's things while Mike just stares at him blankly.

"Come on," he whispers under his breath, handing Mike's backpack to him as they make their way out of the classroom. He'd find it funny when he realizes that they're neither going to work on their essay nor stay anywhere near where Mrs. Hartman can see them if he wasn't still reeling from what had just happened.

He numbly follows Will to the AV room, shuffling his feet as he swiftly unlocks it with the key the four of them are allowed to carry around. "Why are we here?" he asks quietly, hopping up on the desk while Will locks up the door behind him. Will sighs as he crosses the room and takes a seat across from his friend. "Do you want to talk about it?" he offers, concern evident in his voice and Mike drops his gaze. "I know you were thinking about last night in there," he adds on when he remains silent.

He knows he should talk about it, get it out, separate fantasy from reality. And he trusts Will to listen to him and help him process what he went through...he just is very, very scared that he's going to be afraid of him after this.

He realizes he still hasn't said a word when Will says his name. "Sorry, this is just...a lot," he replies immediately and his friend nods in understanding. But, despite having Will's reassurance, he still can't quite bring himself to just tell him what happened. Maybe he was scared of his reaction, maybe he didn't know how to put all of it into words, he didn't really know. But there was still something there, something holding him back no matter how hard he tried to power through it and just say what he needs to say.

"Just start at the beginning, Mike," he hears Will urge him gently. With a shuddering exhale, Mike begins with the first thing he remembers.

"There was something...evil in my room. I don't even remember what it looked like..." "Was it the Mind Flayer?" He shrugs. "I don't know...it was something more...supernatural. And all I knew was it wanted to hurt me..."

From there, his words spill out of him in a choppy, convoluted manner as he attempts to put the horrors of last night into a somewhat comprehensible story. He doesn't tell him everything and purposefully leaves some details out, but by the time he's finished, Will looks like he's gotten the gist of it.

He doesn't say anything once he's finished, only staring at him sympathetically and Mike can see him trying to process everything he just heard. Just when he's starting to regret telling his friend all that, he speaks. "I'm glad you told me," he says with a smile and Mike only nods in response, because he's not sure that he's glad he told him. It didn't do a whole lot to get the images and emotions attached to what happened out of his head and the burden that had settled into his chest hasn't lifted in the slightest.

Out of nowhere, Will sighs. "You want El, don't you," he states and Mike's head snaps up, wondering how on earth he knew. When he goes to stammer out an answer, not wanting Will to feel bad, he beats him to it, saying, "Mike, it's okay, I get it." Relieved, Mike smiles as he watches his friend pull on his backpack. "Thanks for listening," he tells him earnestly and Will nods. "Anytime. I hope you feel better soon," he tells him as he heads for the door.

A thought is nagging at him, so he decides to make something clear before he leaves. "Hey Will?" He turns around to look back at him. "You're still my best friend, you know that, right?" His friend's smile is honest as he replies, "Of course and you're mine," before shutting the door, most likely heading in the direction of the gym, since El is in her second period health class right now.

He sighs, swinging his feet as he contemplates what he's going to say to her and why he needs her more than Will. He loves Will, he's been friends with him for forever and has trusted him with more secrets that he can count...but El understands his night terrors more than he does, just by default of not wanting to burden his still-healing friend. It's been almost two years, but the nightmares and flashbacks continue to haunt him, and he'd much rather be strong for Will then make Will be strong for him.

When he hears the click of the door unlocking quietly, his head snaps up and he feels like he can finally breathe again when a head of brown curls pokes into the room. She doesn't say anything as she locks the door behind her and, without an ounce of hesitation, crosses the room to wrap him in her arms.

His body instantly releases the tension he was holding, shuddering as his arms wrap around her waist and he hides his face in her shoulder, her curls tickling his forehead.

There are no words to be said, though the silence is humming with the comfort she willingly pours out onto him. He holds her tightly, making sure not to suffocate her, but it feels so good to be in her arms, sheltered and protected from the monster haunting his thoughts. It always baffles him how just her and her alone is enough to erase the anxious knots in his stomach, but he's not complaining and, in fact, loves her all the more for it. Feeling his mind slow down and the adrenaline cease to rush through his veins frantically, he snuggles into the crook of her neck farther as her fingers on one hand dance along his back and the other play with the ends of his hair, stroking it soothingly.

Even when he finally pulls back, she doesn't let go of him completely and watches him patiently as he gathers himself. He's grateful beyond what she'll ever know that she never pressures him into talking or telling her what he's struggling with, because most of the time, he just needs her.

But he still hasn't had a chance to properly debrief the events of last night or the flashbacks that keep coming out of nowhere. There's so much swirling around in his head that pretty soon, he just starts talking, gripping her hands and letting words come out of his mouth without a second thought.

"I hurt her, El," he mumbles ashamedly. "I didn't have any control over what I was doing...well, I did, but I just was so scared that it was all pure instinct, trying to protect myself..." he scoffs, shaking his head, "from something that didn't even exist in the first place. What if...I mean, that could've been one of our friends or...or you..." Her hands come to cup his cheeks tenderly, skimming her thumbs over his freckles as she does her best to calm his fears. "But it wasn't. And we'll figure out how to beat it, together. You...you could've been hurt, too," she tells him quietly. He bites his lip and nods, knowing she's right. It could've been worse, but his mom's okay, shaken up, but not severely hurt and he's physically okay, so there's that.

But something else she said caught his attention. "You're willing to help me?" he asks timidly. He has no freaking clue how, or if these can even stop and it might take years to train his mind not to randomly see things in his room, but...

"Of course," she tells him, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I don't want to see them hurting you, either." Her smile could melt even the coldest heart and he feels his insides do somersaults as he smiles back tenderly.

She hops up onto the counter beside him, their arms touching as they fall into an easy silence. He feels so content just sitting here next to her, but there's still something he feels he needs to say out loud—make it real, admit vulnerability.

"I've never been afraid of my own mind before," he confesses quietly, timidly.

El's expression falls and she lowers her gaze to her hands at that and a sickening feeling spreads through his gut when he suddenly realizes why.

She can relate. She's...she's afraid of her mind too. Much, much more than he is, even.

The silence is heavy before he slices through it. "You understand, don't you," he murmurs. It's not a question, it's a statement, a blatant statement as he concludes that she's had to wrestle with this fear far more often than he has. She nods her head, her eyes serious when she looks back up at him and his heart sinks. He holds her gaze for a beat, things passing between them that he can barely explain.

Without a word, he lifts his arm to wrap it around her shoulders and she immediately scoots closer to nestle into his side, his cheek resting on her head as she gets as close as she can to him.

They take solace in each other, resting in the moment of mutual empathy and sorrow for their anguished minds. He takes immense comfort in knowing that she understands, but he still can't help the apology that's been resting on the tip of his tongue.

"I'm sorry, I know I don't have it even half as bad as you do," he almost whispers, keeping his voice lighthearted, attempting to brush his problems under the rug, but it falls short when he feels her shake her head. "You're hurting too," she replies, tenderly squeezing the hand that's not protectively wrapped around her and he swallows the lump in his throat that threatens to break free. His guard comes tumbling down and he buries his face in her curls, holding on tight to her and she grasps the fingers of his hand, playing with them delicately to keep him grounded.

And slowly, very slowly, he begins to feel okay. He begins to feel like maybe he can move forward and fight back against the darker part of his mind. Maybe he doesn't have to shrink away from his friends because he's afraid he'll hurt them. Maybe this is where things turn around and life stops dragging him downhill. Maybe he still does deserve to be happy.

And maybe, just maybe, the beautiful girl burrowed in his arms is the catalyst for all of that. Because if she's brave enough and strong enough to fight her own demons, maybe he can too.