Hop has something in the back of his top drawer where she won't see it. Oh, he's not hiding it forever, just until the time is right. Joyce has something in the back of her top drawer. It's not a secret, just a surprise she'll share when the moment is right.
Three Times Her Back Hurt (and the One Time His Did) AO3
Three times in Joyce's life where her back has hurt and one time where Hopper's did too, thrown in for good measure.
(Mentions of lingering trauma in the first vignette and then Lonnie and his abusive behaviors in a flashback in the second though neither is really the point.)
Upside Down AO3
It is autumn, 1983 and nine-year-old Will Byers goes missing. In the days following his disappearance, his mom, Joyce will be consumed with looking for him. Hawkins police chief, Jim Hopper, will also become entrenched in the search. (Multi-chapter Season 1 rewrite/fix-it. Complete.)
In Between AO3
A collection of primarily Jopper-centric stories that happen between Season 1 (my version of it anyway) and Season 2 (again, how I envision it). Each chapter could stand alone, will be posted in order. (Eleven chapters completed, but I post them weekly).
They all fall into an uneasy routine. Hopper finds himself stretched thin by trying to manage raising a little girl in secret. Now that Joyce knows, she tries to find times to drop by the cabin. Jonathan and Will mention that the chief isn’t around as much, but once Joyce begins to check in on El more, Hopper starts to swing by the Byers’ place. Jim and Joyce have seemingly always been tethered by an unseen thread, but now their families are linked by the events of the past November.
Linked and drawing closer.
“Mom, can I go with Jonathan to the game tonight?” Will’s brown eyes stare imploringly at her over the breakfast table.
“The game?” she asks, then glances over her shoulder at the calendar. She’s been trying to write things down, accepting that she is by nature scattered and disorganized, not accepting that she’ll succumb to that disarray.
“Mom!” This time it’s Jonathan. He’s grinning at her though, laughter in his voice. “I told you about the game, I don’t know, a week ago! Nancy and I are going.”
She looks at her boys and wonders if Jonathan and Nancy will really want a nine-year-old tagalong. Before she can say anything else though, her oldest chimes in again.
“Mike is coming too, so Will would have a friend there. Mrs. Wheeler said she’d drive us home since it’ll be dark and cold too.”
She wrestles with her emotions now whenever it comes time to let them go. School is hard already. An entire day not truly knowing if a literal monster has one of her boys in its clutches. Constantly at the front of her mind is the thought that something will happen to them and this time nobody will be able to fix it.
But she knows none of this is real, the things that happen in her head. So she blurts an answer before she can overthink it or take it back.
“Watch your brother,” she looks Jonathan in the eye. “I mean it. Do not let him out of your sight.”
“I know, Mom,” he says, then grins at Will and ruffles his hair. “Told you she’d say ‘yes’!”
“Mrs. Wheeler said we can have pizza before the game,” Will tells her. “We can go play there after school then we’ll go to the game together.”
“Sounds like you have it all planned,” she smiles at their enthusiasm. They’ll be together. They’ll be somewhere with trusted adults. They’ll be safe.
Would it be overkill to ask Jim to do a whole Chief of Police patrolling the high school thing?
She sighs. They’ll be fine.
They finish breakfast and clear the table, wash the dishes, pack lunch, and her sons grab their things for school. She plants a solid kiss on each boy’s forehead making them promise again to watch out for each other then yells, “Don’t slip on the porch!” as they hustle out the door.
It’s mostly a calm day at Melvald’s for her. Bob Newby comes in and talks for a few minutes before asking if they have salt to de-ice his driveway. They don’t, but he buys a snow shovel even though it’s nearing the end of winter.
Jim comes over at lunchtime and they eat in his car. She gives him half her sandwich and he splits his salad with her, complaining that now Flo is only providing “rabbit food” instead of good stuff. They both know that Flo is a savior but it doesn’t stop their joking about it.
“The boys are going to the game tonight, so I was thinking I’d come by the cabin instead of going home,” she tells him.
“That’d be great,” he says, probably a little too enthusiastically. “El’s gettin’ stir crazy the longer she’s there. I still don’t really know what to do with her. Gotta keep her hidden, but she’s just this little kid with nobody around and nothing to do.”
“You’re going to have to let somebody in on the secret, Jim. The poor girl needs to be around other kids, needs an education, just needs to interact!”
They’ve had this conversation on a nearly daily basis since El was revealed to Joyce. And on a nearly daily basis, they come to the same conclusion. In spite of the child’s many emotional needs, her physical need for safety remains the biggest concern for the moment. That conclusion just leaves both adults feeling unsettled every time.
After work she grabs some groceries that they really need and runs them home. She calls Karen, unable to help herself, confirming that the boys are there safe and sound. Finally she grabs Trouble to play with El and Jim, shrugs into her coat, and heads out the door.
Jim has gradually been relaxing his expectations regarding security at the cabin. At first he had trip wires out, the lights stayed off or dimmed, and El never answered the door unless it was their secret knock. Though the windows have sheets nailed over them, something she’s proclaimed she and her sewing machine will be addressing, the lights are glowing and she knows when she knocks she will be greeted by a small smiling face.
Footsteps can be heard then the sliding of the deadbolt then– her favorite part– El’s big brown eyes peek out at her and her little voice chirps, “Joyce!”
“Hi, baby. Can I come in?”
The door swings open then quickly shuts behind her as El proclaims, “Cold.”
“It is. Icy too. Will almost slipped on the porch the other morning but Jonathan caught him.” She laughs at the memory of his arms windmilling before his brother reached out to steady him. “Here,” she hands El the game. “Put this in the other room and let’s have dinner.”
“I’ve got spaghetti ready,” Jim says, wiping his hands on a towel. “Garlic bread is in the oven ‘til it gets crispy ‘round the edges. And I’ve got green beans too.”
El scowls at the mention of green beans. She tends toward bread, pasta, and cereal while avoiding vegetables almost entirely. It had been a victory when Joyce got the girl to try peas last week.
“You’ve really got to figure out this kitchen table situation,” Joyce scolds as they plate the food and head for the couch.
The kitchen table is absurdly small in every dimension. The tabletop surface is just wide and long enough to accommodate two plates, two glasses, and silverware as long as it’s close to the plates. There’s no room for three, so when Joyce is over she and Jim sit on the couch while El kneels at the little table in front of the tv, facing them as they balance their plates.
The moment they're seated, El begins to talk. It’s sometimes surprising, the mostly silent child and her bouts of inquiries. She doesn't so much have two-way conversations as much as ask incessant questions, trying to figure out the world around her. She has two primary modes: investigation or observation.
“Where is Will?”
“There's a basketball game at the school. Jonathan and Nancy's school,” she clarifies. “So my boys are watching the game with Nancy and Mike.”
They have time to take a single bite before the next question comes.
“Today was school?”
“Yes, they go to school on weekdays but not the weekend,” the patient reply comes. “You know about weekdays? Weekends?”
“Yes,” El nods, but the look on her face says otherwise.
Joyce explains it methodically between bites. “There are seven days in a week,” she begins, listing them by name.
Hopper wonders how she makes it all so simple to understand without being condescending.
“My boys are at school Monday through Friday. Most of the time I work those same days. So does Hop, most of the time.”
El nods again then slowly chews a green bean, making a face as she does so.
“No green beans, no chocolate,” Joyce says. “Hopper and I will split the brownies.”
“Chocolate,” El parrots back.
“Yep,” Joyce confirms and Jim has to cover his mouth when El squirms uncomfortably before taking another bite. It’s like a staredown between the two of them. Joyce doesn’t flinch.
Sara had never been a picky eater. Apparently Will was a picky eater still, but Joyce insisted that children had to taste something or experience that texture multiple times before they were even used to it. A lot of El’s dislikes came from a lack of experiences and familiarity.
Somehow the woman had a sixth sense as to when she could push the little girl to do or try something and when she had to let other things slide. Jim didn’t entirely understand how she decided that vegetables were nonnegotiable while putting toys away seemed optional. At the moment. But she and El had some crazy unspoken respect between them.
El broke the stare and washed another green bean down with a gulp of milk.
“Not so bad, huh?”
“Bad,” the girl says, dully. “Very bad.”
Joyce laughs heartily and Jim joins her.
“Come here, sweetie.” She gestures to the much-too-small spot between her and Jim and scoots a bit apart. El slumps into it and Joyce plants a kiss on the fuzzy little head. “If you still don’t like them next time you try them, we’ll avoid them when we can. We all just want you to try new things and to be healthy and strong.”
“I do not care,” whispers the child, petulantly.
Jim is about to jump in and correct the kid, but Joyce is quicker.
“Now, I don’t think that’s true at all.” El doesn’t say anything but she leans her head against Joyce’s arm, too short to put her head on her shoulder. “I think it’s hard for you and you can’t use any superpowers to fix it. You can do hard things though.”
Jim can see the little mouth silently repeat the words. You can do hard things though.
“I want chocolate,” proclaims the small voice.
“You know what you have to do then, kid,” Hopper says with a chuckle.
“Eat beans.” She plunks back down at her spot and shovels them in.
It’s a surprisingly short time before the green beans are gone and many more questions have been asked.
They wash the dishes and then eat brownies, to El’s delight. Joyce explains Trouble to the girl and the adults proceed to lose three consecutive games, mildly suspicious that some powers are being utilized to control the die.
When Joyce rises to go home, they’ve all had a good evening. And Joyce has barely noticed any anxiousness over the separation from her boys.
Maybe it really will get easier as time passes.
“Don’t-” she feels like she’s screaming this on a daily basis. "God, Will, don’t slip on the porch!”
“Bye, Mom!” His feet swivel under him like some cartoon character who hasn’t yet gained traction.
He giggles. Her typically cautious child is doing this on purpose. She sighs, rolls her eyes, and shuts the door hearing Jonathan say something to his younger brother followed by both their laughter.
She quickly pulls together lunch for herself to take to work; leftovers the boys have been avoiding that need to be eaten. They really can’t afford to waste anything though.
Tossing back the last of her coffee, she rushes to the bathroom to brush her teeth then scampers back to put on her coat. She’s barely going to make it into work on time.
On the porch, she quickly turns back to lock the front door and finds herself laying on her back, struggling to take a breath. The damn ice. There’s a lancing pain up and down her arm. Well, not down.
She can’t actually feel her fingers, now that she thinks about it.
A brief inventory is in order and she quickly realizes the only things wounded are her arm and her pride. It even hurts to breathe. But it hurts in her arm.
Joyce sits up, arm cradled against her chest, and tries not to vomit as the pain again overwhelms everything else. Okay, this isn’t going well. She somehow makes it inside, to the phone and calls the only number that comes to mind.
“Donald, I can’t come in.”
“Ohhh-kay, Joyce.” She can hear the reluctance in his voice but he has been more flexible since last November. Besides, it’s not like she can find it in herself to argue with him. If she says any more, she thinks she’ll puke. She’s just working on breathing. “See you… tomorrow then.”
It occurs to her that Donald maybe could have helped her by doing…anything. So much for that. She can’t think any further at the moment.
Gingerly she sits down at the kitchen table, using her left hand to place her right wrist and hand on the table as if they’re an item separate from herself. She sits and stares at it, the source of her pain, and gives a little shiver. Her jeans are damp from lying on the ice.
An indeterminate length of time later she calls Jim at the police station, the only other number that she can seem to remember in spite of the fact that Karen Wheeler is probably doing nothing but laundry or dishes at this time of morning. It’s probably because her brain associates Jim with comfort but she chooses not to analyze that now. Or maybe ever. Also she still feels like she’s not actually in charge but the pain is.
She sits there until Jim slams through her front door, out of breath as if he ran there instead of driving. He looks around, alarmed, as if scouting for intruders. It’s then she realizes how vague she was when she said she needed him.
“No monsters,” she murmurs, eyes closed, still trying for steady but not-too-deep breaths.
He stands there, silhouetted in the front doorway waiting for more, unmoving.
“I fell on the ice and hurt my arm. Wrist.”
He swoops into action, kneeling next to her. “Shit, Joyce, you’re so pale you’re grey. Probably shock. How long since you fell?”
“I don't know. I wasn’t exactly timing it. I was on my way to work.”
“Can I take a look at it?” he asks gently.
She shrugs the one shoulder that’s still completely mobile and begins to work her way out of her coat. When she gets to the right side of things she truly opens her eyes and looks at him. “Let me put my arm down lower and you can just slide my coat down too. But don’t touch me. And don’t move fast.”
“Okay,” he says softly. “Okay, I gotcha.”
It shouldn’t be that hard but by the time she’s out of her coat she’s exhausted.
“Looks like it’s broken good,” he mutters.
“I can see that, Jim,” she spits back then immediately follows it up with “I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Just breathe,” he says and almost instantly he’s holding the huge yellow bowl that she gives Will when he’s sick. He’s got a glass of water sitting in front of her. His big hand is cool on the back of her neck and he’s whispering gentle nonsense to her. Or maybe it isn’t nonsense but she’s still not thinking straight.
“Okay, I think we’re going to the ER,” he proclaims once it passes.
“Hop, please no,” she whines, not sure what other option is available.
“Joyce, really? This isn’t something we’re gonna fix without some intervention. C’mon. Do we need anything before we go?”
She thinks only a moment. “Leave a note for the boys. I don’t want them to come home and expect me at a certain time.”
He nods and grabs the notepad she keeps on the kitchen counter.
“And I want to change my pants and socks. They’re all wet from laying on the ice.”
“Okay, you go change and I’ll leave a note for the boys. Oh, I’ll grab your stuff off the porch too.”
She hadn’t even thought of that, her things just laying there.
“Hey, Hop!” Her voice rings out from the bedroom.
“Yeah?”
“Can you come here?”
He finds her sitting on the edge of her bed, looking grey again.
“I can’t,” she waves her good hand around in that distinctively Joyce manner. “Um, I can’t do this one-handed.”
“Oh, yeah,” he says. “You want… help?”
She huffs. “Jim, take my pants off.”
“That is not how I wanted to hear those words,” he raises his eyebrows.
“It’s not funny,” she grouses, putting her good hand on his shoulder to steady herself as he bends down to her level.
He’s somehow gentle, even with wet jeans that stubbornly cling to her. He watches her face carefully the whole time. His hands linger on her hips even after he’s got the dry sweatpants on her.
“You good?”
“Mmm hmm. Hurts though.” It’s feeling less stabby and more pulse-like now, a pain that ebbs and flows with every heartbeat, radiating out.
“‘Kay, let’s go. You more comfortable in the Blazer or your car?” He asks, helping her put her coat back on, right arm in the sleeve and the other side resting over her shoulder.
“My car,” she tells him, knowing she can’t climb into his.
Somehow he knows exactly where her keys are even though she doesn’t. The porch. She’d dropped them there. Jim settles her in the car and then tucks a blanket around her.
“Don’t want you to get chilled. You don’t look good,” he murmurs.
“I have a broken wrist,” she mutters.
“No shit,” he shoots back. “Closing the door now.”
His warning allows her to work on not tensing up too much. It still hurts though.
At the ER he’s like a bodyguard, making sure nobody bumps her, steadying her as they check in. When they sit and wait, she slumps against him, sheltering her arm. She hears him whispering softly to check in with her and thinks he plants a kiss on the top of her head.
When the nurse triages her, she hears them talking about surgery and pins.
“No, I can’t,” she says from her spot on the decidedly uncomfy bed. She can’t miss more work, can’t go back in all the time for post-op appointments, can’t be immobile for that long.
“Hang in there, honey,” the nurse tells her. “You don’t really get to choose things like this.”
The only time he leaves her side is when they take the x-rays.
She could cry with relief when the tech doing the imaging says it’s a bad break but he doesn’t see why it couldn’t be stabilized with just a cast. The surgeon on staff who consults agrees and she’s casted and released with instructions to be gentle with herself, elevate her arm as much as possible over the next couple days, call in if there are any dramatic changes, schedule an appointment with her doctor to follow up, and let her husband take care of her.
By the time they’re in the car again she’s exhausted and hungry. He helps her sit and hands her the blanket but this time she piles it on her lap and lets her arm rest there. “Let’s get you home.”
They’re only five minutes away from the ER when he pulls off on the shoulder and she hisses in pain as the tires bump off the pavement and onto the gravel alongside.
“Sorry,” he grimaces. “I was just thinking. What if we swing by and get El before we go back to your place?”
“Then what?” she asks, slowly.
“Then I’ll make you lunch and stay with you until the boys get home.”
“They’ll know about her,” she says. Obviously. But it makes her wonder why he’s willing to share this secret now.
“Your boys can keep it to themselves. Besides, you’re right.”
She closes her eyes and waves her good hand. “I don’t understand, but tell me more about how I’m right.”
He makes a scoffing noise but decides she’s had a hard day and he can humor her. They start off toward the cabin. “I can’t keep her isolated. And I can’t do and be everything she needs. And if anybody is safe, it’s probably you all. I gotta let go a little.”
“You’re still gonna smuggle her around though, huh?”
“Definitely.”
El is thrilled. She plasters herself against the back seat, laying flat, and Hopper tosses another blanket over her.
“Joyce?”
“Yeah, baby?” Okay, she’s starting to feel aches in places other than her wrist and really just wants to be home now.
“I can help,” the muffled voice comes through the blanket.
Joyce casts a bemused look at Hopper and he explains. “I told her you were hurt and needed to rest but also said that you were hungry. She’s gonna make you lunch. The menu is either mac and cheese, SpaghettiOs, or a sandwich.”
“I don’t know what we have but before all this I was having leftovers. You can reheat those and then I just want to rest. Maybe we can watch a show or-”
“I will read,” states the girl definitively.
The look on Jim’s face tells her this is not going to be the highlight of her day, but she’s got two boys who ravenously devour books now. She can listen to one little girl for a while.
He leaves El with Joyce and goes for a few groceries so he can make dinner.
“Are you sure it isn’t too much?”
“What are you going to do? Take her with you into town?” she asks in exasperation. “I have a broken wrist, Jim. I’m fine.”
“You’re sure?” he repeats.
She scowls at him. “Annoyed, not dying.”
El plays quietly with the boys’ old Lego while Jim putters around, gets groceries, and starts a roast for dinner. Joyce feels mildly guilty for sitting on the couch with her arm elevated and her feet, in fuzzy socks, perched on the edge of the low table in front of her.
It’s the little girl who notices first. She freezes in place at a noise from outside then glances from one adult to another.
“It’s okay, sweetie. It’s my boys,” she reassures El who scoots a bit closer and watches the front door with an intensity that only a child with her backstory could.
Jonathan is well into the house, happily saying “Hi, Chief!” before lurching to a halt and staring, trying to take everything in.
Joyce has to admit, it must look almost comical. She’s on the couch with a pile of pillows and a cast, Jim is in the kitchen being all domestic, and there’s a strange little girl sitting on the living room floor playing.
The highlight of it all is the moment when Will’s big brown eyes meet El’s for the very first time and they immediately recognize that they are kindred spirits.
She’s jolted awake by the phone ringing after having nodded off in front of the tv. Cheers plays softly as she snatches up the phone to keep it from ringing again.
“Hello?” she mumbles.
“Joyce, I have a favor to ask.”
It’s Jim. She’s immediately more awake, knowing he wouldn’t call so late if he didn’t really need something.
“What?” she asks him, wanting immediately to know the favor, the need in this moment. Her anxiety skyrockets and she takes a slow breath in through her nose followed by a long exhale through her pursed lips.
“I need cough medicine and a fever reducer. Maybe some broth or juice or even tea if you have any.”
She performs a mental inventory, thinking of the cough medicine they have for Will since been battling a croupy sounding cough the whole time after returning from the Upside Down. They have ibuprofen and tylenol on hand too. In the freezer she has some broth too that she set aside for a time like this.
“Sure. Let me grab it all and tell Jonathan I'm bringing it over.” She’ll tell him she’s leaving just in case she can’t come right back. He might need to make sure they’re ready for school in the morning.
“Joyce?” His voice is almost a whisper and she leans in as if he’s sitting there instead of on the phone. “Can you bring it to the cabin? You remember…”
She definitely remembers his grandpa’s hunting cabin. She remembers hiding there from her dad at one point, fearing his punishment for something small and trivial. She remembers her first kiss on the front porch, dappled with summer sunshine. Losing her virginity to Jim, on an old army cot because it was “almost a bed” he was trying to be all chivalrous in a way only sixteen year old boys were and didn’t want to do it in the car on the back seat.
Her face flushes. Yeah. She can find the cabin.
“What is going on, Jim?” she pushes, beginning to get suspicious even though she doesn’t know why.
“Just can you? I’ll explain it all. Please? And don't tell Jonathan where you're going,” he adds.
“Jim, I have to tell him,” she retorts. “I can't just walk out of here without saying anything.” What exactly is he thinking she’ll do? Walk away from her kids without mentioning it?
“No, no, no,” he blurts and she thinks maybe, just maybe she’ll get a crumb of context. “Just don't mention the cabin. Everything is fine, just, I’ll explain it all,” he says again.
She takes another deep breath and she can hear him, waiting, breathing on the other end of the line.
“Fine. Be there in twenty minutes. And before you ask, yes, I remember how to get there” she says and hangs up with a sigh.
She knocks softly on Jonathan’s bedroom door and enters when he mumbles something. His bedside lamp is on and he’s holding a book.
“I thought you were done for the night,” she teases. They’d been discussing The Crucible before he went to bed, knowing he was invested in finishing it before the assigned reading was due.
“Wanted to know what happens next,” he says, sticking a torn bit of paper in to hold his spot and flopping back on the mattress.
“Baby, I’m taking some emergency supplies to Hopper. He called and asked if I’d help him out. It sounds like he’s sick,” she explains.
“We’re fine here, Mom,” he says. “I’ll make sure Will’s ok. Go rescue the chief,” he smirks at that
“Good night, honey. Don’t stay up much longer, okay? And don’t worry about me if I don’t come back until morning. I’d imagine that if he was desperate enough to call me, he’s probably pretty bad off.” She rolls her eyes wondering if Jim is being a giant baby about the situation, mildly anxious that the situation is actually quite dire. She’ll find out soon enough.
Pulling everything together, she bundles herself up and heads out.
It’s been over fifteen years since she’s been to the cabin but she has no trouble finding it, even in the dark. She parks next to the Blazer and heads up the porch steps, making sure to avoid the icy patches. Knocking, she hears Jim saying something then his yell.
“Come in!”
She swings open the cabin door, exhausted and mildly annoyed that she’s left the warmth and safety of her home, left her boys alone.
Then she sees him, that gigantic bear of a man who she would do anything for. He’s holding that sweet girl, already tiny, who looks even smaller in his embrace. She flings the door shut with more energy than necessary and stands there, stalk-still.
“Jim,” she hisses at him. “Explain to me,” she enunciates each syllable. “What the hell is happening?”
She’s angry. How dare he keep this, of all things, from her.
She’s terrified. This can’t be safe. Not for any of them.
She’s heartbroken. She knows El hasn’t been with Jim the whole time and it crushes her to imagine the sweet little thing out in the woods, scrounging food and hiding in order to protect herself.
To his credit, he looks mildly ashamed, but quickly says, “Got something to get her fever down? Once she’s settled in bed I’ll tell you everything.”
To her surprise, El reaches out in her direction, tiny grabby hands directed her way. “Will’s mom?” she asks with a cough.
“Joyce, honey. What is it?”
“Please?”
“I think she wants you to hold her. C’mere and sit. I’ll get her medicine,” he grunts as he stands up and switches the girl over to her lap instead.
Like her youngest, El is still small enough to sit on her lap, but her legs dangle off the edge of the couch. She kisses the top of the fuzzy head, noting the fever. “God, Jim, she’s burning up,” she grimaces.
“I know, I know,” he says, pulling out the ibuprofen from Joyce’s belongings.
“Don’t give her the full adult dose,” she warns. “I would’ve brought that gross cherry flavored children’s tylenol if I’d known. God, Jim,” Joyce says again.
El easily downs medication and Joyce wonders if that’s a side-effect of living in a lab and being an experiment. Her boys both would have gagged before taking it.
Gradually El’s fever comes down, she drinks a bit of the broth Joyce brought, and Jim settles her into bed. Joyce has to promise to come back tomorrow before the little girl will let go of her hand, but finally they have a sleeping child in the bed and they can talk.
“I’m sorry,” he begins the whole conversation, whispering hoarsely so the girl can sleep.
“Did you find her? When? How long has she been sick?” she pummels him with questions.
“Um, well, this is the project I’ve been workin’ on,” he starts, lamely.
“Yeah, Hop. I figured that part out,” she rolls her eyes at him.
“Christmas,” he blurts out. “On Christmas I was gonna leave food out for her again when she just appeared out of the woods. I convinced her that I could hide her well enough here long as she follows some rules like staying inside and stuff like that.”
“But why didn’t you just tell me?”
“She’s still hiding. And if she’s still hiding it’s because they’re still looking. I didn’t want them looking at you and the boys, probing into your lives, poking around. I was hoping that if you didn’t know, you wouldn’t be a target.”
She sighs and lowers her face into her hands. “Do you think it’s safe now?”
“I don’t know,” he says, honestly. “I just knew you were the one I could trust so I decided to call you and hope for the best.”
“So we’re keeping her a secret then?”
He nods then says “yeah” because she’s still got her eyes covered.
“And we’re keeping the cabin a secret?”
“Not a secret so much as we’re just not talking about it. If it comes up, we say ‘oh yeah, the old cabin’ and move on. People know it exists. I’m just banking on them not thinking of it for a while longer.”
She looks at him then. She’s tired, done.
“Okay, I’m going home. I’ll come back tomorrow after my shift because I told El I would. Call me if I should bring something or if I shouldn’t come for some reason.”
“‘Kay,” he says carefully, waiting for her next words.
“I’m too tired to talk about it tonight, Jim, but I’m not done talking about it.”
“Okay,” he repeats.
“I’m going home to sleep. Going to have breakfast with my boys. Then work. Then talk.”
She stands and he matches her actions, grabbing her coat so she can slide her arms in.
“Can you, uh, will you call when you get home? Please?” he asks her gently.
“Yes,” she sighs. “See you tomorrow.”
She drives home in silence, no radio, only her thoughts. She’s tired and that admittedly makes things worse, but she’s angry with him. And she can’t really decide if she ought to be or not. She can’t figure out how to explain why.
He goes into work early when El has just woken up and her fever is low. He hates to do it but really can’t figure a way around it and he placates himself by saying that she would have been out in the woods alone if she wasn’t in the cabin. It doesn’t make him feel any better.
“Morning Flo!” he calls out from his office when she enters the station. It’s not usual, him being there first and her coming in later, but his plan is to work in his office this morning then go out “patrolling” around town and go out to the cabin instead.
He goes out to greet her properly.
“Well, aren’t you the early bird?” she says, noting that the coffee is already on. “Well done, Chief.”
He waves a hand to brush that off. “Thought I’d come in and get some paperwork done early then maybe patrol around town. Don’t feel like I do that enough, especially in the wintertime. Kinda stay shut away in here or go out on calls only.”
“Seems like a sound plan,” she says.
If she suspects he’s up to something, there’s nothing about her demeanor that indicates it. He’s relieved at that. He doesn’t want to try and fool Flo. This is a one-time thing. He’s getting sweaty just saying he’s going to patrol. He promises himself that he will patrol at least a little so that it isn’t a lie.
He saunters casually, he hopes, back to his office and settles in to attempt to wrap up some paperwork. In the end, he really does get quite a bit done and almost feels justified in leaving early.
The chief drives past Benny’s, silently thanking him for looking out for the kid. He drives past the quarry where the body was found, the one that wasn’t Will. He even swings by El’s spot, the place where he left her food and where he found her. Before going to the cabin, he runs to the grocery store for whatever he thinks might tempt a sick child to eat something.
Then he heads home to El.
“It’s me!” Joyce knocks on the door to the cabin late that afternoon, dusk already falling. Her arms are full of an odd assortment of items that she likely should have put in a box or bag but instead were balanced precariously.
“Joyce,” Jim says as he opens the door. “Uh, can I take something for you?” he asks as a jigsaw puzzle box slides from her grip and clatters to the floor, pieces slip-sliding around inside.
“I think it’s best if I just,” she turns in a circle. “Set it down?”
He quickly grabs the gallon of milk off the kitchen counter and she hefts her armload up there, sighing as she releases her grip.
“I brought some stuff,” she says simply.
“I’ve got eyes,” he deadpans.
“Shut up,” she retorts, but a grin is plastered on her face when she says it.
“Kid’s been asking about you for the last hour,” he tells her.
“She doing any better?” Joyce’s forehead crinkles in concern.
“Yes,” says a little voice from the doorway of the bedroom.
“I’m so glad, sweetie!” Joyce immediately sits down in a kitchen chair and holds her arms out to El who melts onto Joyce’s lap, head on her shoulder. “Does your head hurt as much? Your chest when you cough?”
“My chest, my throat,” the girl points as she speaks. “I do not like to cough.”
“Of course you don’t! Well, I’m sure your… Hop will get you better in no time. I brought you some things to do while you’re recovering.” She rocks gently as she continues.
Hopper wonders if she knows she’s doing it, the rocking, or if it’s something all moms do without realizing.
“Have you done puzzles before?”
A tiny nod from the little girl.
“Well, I brought you a jigsaw puzzle. Jonathan, Will, and I did it before they went back to school after the holidays. There’s a change of clothes, a couple of books, some art supplies.”
While she lists things off Jim realizes how much this must have cost her, to find things and just give them up. As if reading his mind she says to the girl, “And it’s all for you to keep,” but she looks at him when she says it.
After a few minutes the girl stands and takes the puzzle box off the kitchen counter, briefly looking at Joyce for affirmation.
“Go ahead, sweetie,” she tells the girl.
El takes the puzzle and a sleeve of crackers to the small, low table that is in front of the tv and begins to work so Jim pulls out the chair across from Joyce.
“Hey,” he begins, a small smile on his face.
“Hey,” she sighs, smiling back. “I’m not mad at you,” she clarifies, knowing that they’re going to have this talk now.
“It…” he hesitates. “It seemed like you were.”
“I know,” she huffs. “I’m sorry. Jim, we were best friends once.” She pauses and he just waits, practicing his underexercised skill of listening. “I think we are again? Maybe it’s too soon to say that for sure. But I’ve come to count on you.”
He nods and waits for her to continue explaining. Tries not to push her to get to the point.
“You’re always there if I need you. You’ve got my back. But I don't want to be in any kind of relationship where we hide things from each other even to protect one another. There are battles I can fight myself and there are times when I need to be the one to make the call whether or not I can do it on my own. But with my past,” she shrugs and trails off.
“I think,” he murmurs slowly, “that makes sense.”
“I was angry because I want to be the one to decide whether or not my knowing about her,” she glances at the girl, “will be a risk bigger than I’m willing to take. I know your intent was good, but I don’t want stuff like this between us.”
“I’m gonna be honest and say that’ll probably be hard for me to actually do,” he admits. “I wanna wrap you and your boys in bubble wrap. Her too,” he watches El rub her eyes and yawn. “It’s scary after everything, to know you can’t protect people you love.”
“Yeah,” she whispers. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for getting angry. I know you were trying to keep us all safe.”
“You don’t need to apologize for that, Joyce. If anything I should tell you how sorry I am for keeping this from you.” He pauses, “I am. Sorry that is.”
Her short laugh comes out in a single huff, but she puts her hand on his forearm where he’s leaning on the table. “I know you are. We’re both figuring this out.”
The silence is comfortable. Eventually he mumbles something about putting the kid to bed and Joyce replies that she ought to get home to her boys.
The secret is a little bit lighter with the weight of it shared.
I'm thatsoccercoach over there. Most of my works are for a different fandom. I thought for a long time that I didn't have anything left to write, so I was late to the game writing for Stranger Things even though the stories have been in my head for years.
“Jonathan, do you think you can take the baseboards off and mark the back so we can put them in the same place?”
The boys and Hopper had carefully removed the baseboards in the living room and the hallway, had torn out the battered carpet, and had made sure that the floor was ready to be refinished. It was free of carpet tacks and staples, sanded smooth, and free of stains.
Joyce had decided that her bedroom could do without the ancient carpet as well. She was kneeling there, showing her older son what she meant about the baseboards.
“I’ve got it, Mom.”
“I’m going to make sure Will is still focused on his book report. You want hot chocolate while I’m in the kitchen?” she offers.
“Can I have coffee?” he asks a little hesitantly, as if she’ll turn him down.
Instead she smiles and only asks, “Cream?”
He nods and she leaves the bedroom project in his capable hands, going to check on Will. The small boy is completely engrossed in his book so she leaves him to finish reading with a reminder to mark important passages or make note of them. When she returns to her older son, he is ready to rip up the carpet.
She passes him the mug and they stand, taking in the room.
“You want a dust mask or gloves before we pull up the carpet?” he asks. “When we did the hallway it was pretty gross,” he grimaces.
“I don’t think we have more than one pair of gloves,” she tells him.
“The chief left another pair. Masks too. He said we could use them for yard work and things.”
“Mask and gloves then,” she says.
He leaves and returns shortly with the masks and gloves having known where they were from before.
“It will probably be better for all of us to not be breathing whatever is in these old carpets,” she says with a grunt, pulling up the stubborn edge.
Her son gives her an odd look. “It might be, but Mom, you smoke. Don’t you think that’s probably worse?”
“It’s not that bad,” she tells him, earning a skeptical glare. “It’s not as bad as literal charred monster blood, Jonathan.”
He laughs at that.
“Hey, Mom?” he says between tugs on the remaining carpet.
“Yeah?”
He glances furtively toward the hallway then lowers his voice. “Has Will told you about his headaches?”
She swipes her forearm over her forehead. It’s January and she’s sweating. This wasn’t the project she thought it would be.
“His headaches?” she repeats.
“Yeah. You know, the ones he gets now, since… Thanksgiving.”
She slumps down to sit on a patch of carpet they haven’t managed to dislodge yet and looks at him when she answers.
“Yes. He’s told Dr. Owens about them even though I don’t think he’s found anything that really helps your brother,” she sighs. She pulls the mask down, letting it dangle around her neck.
“Do you think…” her oldest trails off. He takes a drink of his coffee and begins to pull at one of the last sections of the carpet.
“Jonathan, do I think what?” she asks gently.
She was aware of how precious this moment was. Far too many times in the past she didn’t spend time with her boys or truly listen. She could explain it away. She’d been working, they’d been at school, she was busy fixing some mess that Lonnie had created.
She even knows she couldn’t have done better. She didn’t have the emotional or physical bandwidth to do better. But she realized now that her kids were the ones to pay the biggest cost and she was resolved to do better.
“Do you think things will ever be the same?” he hides behind his mask as he asks it but the pain is clear in his voice.
“Um,” her voice catches and she clears her throat. “Do you want it to be? The same, I mean?”
“Not all of it. Not everything.”
There’s a pause and her son throws himself to the floor across from her and looks at her as he tries to explain.
“Mom, I like it that you’re here more when we’re here. And I know you’re working more hours and I know it’s harder for you to do that, but I like it,” he pauses. “And I feel bad that it’s worse for you, but it’s true.”
Joyce jumps in before he can continue on that line. “Baby, you don’t have to feel bad for me. I’m your mom, I’m supposed to be protecting you from all this.”
“But sometimes you can’t, Mom. You’re still human. At least,” he mumbles something.
“What?”
“At least you try.”
She nods and leaves it at that because she knows who he’s talking about.
“And I don’t want things to go back to how they were with us spending our time doing different things. I even like working with you on stuff like this.”
“I like it too, honey. I really do.”
“Even the chief, um, he’s cool. He helps us ‘cause he wants to and he doesn’t expect anything back. He said he’d practice driving with me,” he says almost bashfully.
She must look a little surprised because he says quickly “He wanted to talk to you about it first.”
“So what then, Jonathan?” she presses gently.
“We got Will back but he’s not the same,” he explains. “I guess probably after a while he’ll be more…normal. But I want my brother back. I want things to go back to normal.”
Her heart breaks a bit for him, for all of them. Wants to tell him that it’s true, you can’t go back. Tell him that she would rewind time if she could. Instead she shares her thoughts.
“I hear you. I wish I could fix what happened to your brother. But we’re moving forward with what we’ve got. And even though I’d give anything to take Will’s suffering, I think it’s not just him who changed.
“I love you, baby,” she stretches her arm over to him and he leans into her hug.
“Love you,” he says quickly. “And thanks.”
“Don’t know if I deserve a thank you,” she teases.
“No, Mom, you really do,” he insists. “Um, can we work now?” He rubs his hand over the hair at the back of his neck, a nervous habit, she knows.
She’s more tired now than she was when they sat down, sweatier too. It’s not the physical work or hours at Melvald’s or anything along those lines that’s the hard part.
“Sure, let’s see if we can get the carpet out of here. I’ll call Hopper later and see if he can take it away. Somehow I don’t think it will fit in my car.”
They laugh at the thought of fitting it into the Pinto. By lunchtime they have all the prep work done and plans for their next days off to be spent together, refinishing the wood.
He doesn’t even notice the bike parked outside the police station. He just walks right in, a little tired and disoriented. El doesn’t have a sleep schedule. It never occurred to him that a kid wouldn’t have a schedule. Sara had. She’d had one when she was a baby. This kid though, she rambles around the cabin at night, eats full meals at random in the dark, sleeps on the floor by him instead of in the bed.
But El didn’t come from a loving home with two parents, she came from a laboratory. Ultimately he was grateful she was with him now but they had a lot to work on and he was feeling just how thin he was spread.
“Chief?”
He swivels around to look to Flo, always on the ball.
“Sorry I’m late. Was working on some things,” he mutters. Working on convincing the girl that going outside during the day was unsafe, that they ate real food at the table, that they didn’t watch tv all day.
“No, it’s the Byers boy. He’s in your office.” She looks casual enough, but he hears the words and can’t help but begin to fret.
“What’s wrong? You can call me if there’s something wrong, you know. I can come in-”
“Chief, it’s fine. Just go talk to the boy.” She hands him a doughnut and mug already filled with coffee. “Go on.”
“Thanks, Flo.”
He grabs a second doughnut to share with the kid.
“Jonathan, everything ok?”
“Do you know about Will’s headaches?” the teen blurts out much more abruptly that nearly anything that Hopper has heard from him in all the months past.
“Um, yeah,” he shrugs. “What about them?”
“They’re not normal headaches. At least I don’t think they are. But I don’t want to tell my mom that because she’s trying so hard to make sure everything is ok. I just don’t know if there’s something we should do about it though.”
Hopper’s heart warms a bit at the we. He thought Joyce’s kids would keep him at arm’s length but they’ve both worked side by side with him on projects, Will’s sat on his lap at appointments, and they talk easily as they work on things or play Will’s new Atari thingy.
He rubs his hands over his face and quickly decides honesty is the best here. “I don’t think they’re just headaches either. Don’t think your mom does, but I’m not sure if she’s ready to admit it. Owens knows,” he shrugs. “Don’t think he’s figured out how to help though.”
“What do we do?”
“Honestly? I think you let your mom handle this. She’s trying really hard to do right by you boys.” He senses Jonathan stiffen, as if he’s being brushed off and he hurries to add more. “That doesn’t mean you sit back and do nothing. You brother? He trusts you. Listen to him, especially if he opens up. We’ve all got to be looking out for him, and each other, here.”
Jonathan settles back in the chair with a nod and Jim can practically see the wheels turning. He waits a beat and asks, “What else is there?”
“Well,” the teen begins, then grabs the doughnut and takes a giant bite, creating a gap of silence in the conversation. “Um, I noticed you haven’t been coming around.”
Oh.
“And you don’t have to. You don’t owe us or anything-”
“Whoa, lemme stop you right there kid,” he holds up his hands, palms toward Jonathan and speaks softly but emphatically. “I do owe you. I owe you honesty. And I want to be around more but I’m working on a project right now that’s takin’ up a lot of my time. I told your mom that, but I guess because I’m wrapped up in it, the project, thing, the thing I’m working on, I forget that you guys aren’t all involved in it.”
“Oh that’s, uh, that’s cool,” the teen nods. He acts casual but Hopper can see him relaxing more and more throughout their conversation.
“That’s good ‘cause, um, Mom needs friends who look out for her too.” He breaks eye contact and Hopper is immediately on high alert.
“Your dad messing around with you guys or somethin?”
“No! God no. Nothing like that.”
“Good,” the chief spits back.
“Uh, thanks, I guess?”
Hopper smiles at the teen in what he hopes is a reassuring manner. He’s an expert at the whole bad cop thing but not great at the supportive male role model deal. Yet.
“Thanks for coming to me with this stuff,” he mumbles to Jonathan, trying not to be too emotional or soft, but still remain approachable. “Trust me, I get a lot from spending time with you guys too.”
“Cool,” Jonathan says.
He looks like he means it.
“I feel like I never see you anymore,” Joyce proclaims as they huddle close to the back of the building smoking as snow falls gently.
“I have lunch with you at least three times a week,” he laughs.
“You sound like that’s too much for you,” she teases back, but there’s doubt around the edges of her voice.
“Nah, that won’t ever be too much ‘cause you’re not too much for me,” he says, feeling supremely cheesy saying it, but knowing her well enough to know her doubts. “Really miss the dinners and stuff too.”
“I can bring you leftovers,” she says, glancing at him.
“‘S’not the food, Joyce. You know that.” He looks directly at her when he says that, making sure that she does know. “I wish I could say that I’m almost done with the damn project, but I don’t see it taking any less of my time any time soon.”
“It’s fine,” she says. It’s not.
“I can see it easing up in… a couple weeks or so,” he offers. The kid has a cough, but if she’s improving and if they start to settle into the routines they’ve been working on and if the stars align…
He almost tells her. It’s been just over two weeks and he really doesn’t like keeping it from her. In addition to missing out on spending time together and healing, moving forward, he feels like it’s driving a wedge between them.
“See you tomorrow? For lunch?” she asks.
“Yeah. Flo gave me some leftovers again. I’ll bring enough to share, okay?”
“Sounds good.” She stomps the cigarette into the ground then heads back to work, turning to give him a little wave before she shuts the back door to Melvald’s behind her.
The remainder of his work day flies by, which is great because it is a long shift and he doesn’t leave until it is late. At least the snow has stopped, but it’s still cold and dreary. He’s looking forward to a cup of hot chocolate with El though, guessing that he’ll see her little face peek out the window of the cabin as he drives up.
He doesn't.
He knocks out a pattern to reassure her that it's him and not an intruder before he enters. The lights are out except for a bedside lamp in El’s room. He hears a snotty sniffle followed by a whimper.
“Kid?” he calls out.
The fact that she doesn't correct him and tell him to call her El indicates just how awful she must feel. He can hear her rattling breath even before he goes in the room.
Crouched beside the bed he can practically feel the heat coming off her.
“You’ve got quite the fever, huh?”
She looks at him either bleary-eyed or teary and coughs.
Damnit that sounds bad.
“Let me see if I have anything for you. Want some soup?”
She shakes her head once then cringes. He feels her forehead even though he doesn't have to in order to know the fever is high. It's really high.
He digs through the cupboards and comes up empty-handed.
“Look kid, I’m gonna go out and get some medicine-” he breaks off when she whimpers again. And then coughs again, curling in on herself. She looks tiny, shivering there scrunched up in a ball. He runs a tired hand across his face. “Nevermind. I’ll take care of it. Hang tight.”
He barely registers the time as he takes the phone in his hand and dials the now familiar number.
“Hello?” a drowsy voice answers on the first ring and he guesses she was watching a show before heading to bed.
“Joyce, have a favor to ask,” he dives right in.
“What?”
He doesn't know if she means to ask what the favor is or what in the world he's talking about, but he pushes on before he can change his mind.
“I need cough medicine and a fever reducer. Maybe some broth or juice or even tea if you have any.”
She doesn't question it, maybe because she's tired or maybe just because this is the sort of thing she does. She's there for her people when they need her.
“Sure. Let me grab it all and tell Jonathan I'm bringing it over.”
“Joyce?” He speaks softer this time. “Can you bring it to the cabin? You remember…”
“What is going on, Jim?” she presses.
“Just can you? I’ll explain it all. Please? And don't tell Jonathan where you're going,” he adds.
“Jim, I have to tell him,” she retorts. “I can't just walk out of here without saying anything.” She sounds supremely annoyed now.
“No, no, no,” he blurts. “Just don't mention the cabin. Everything is fine, just, I’ll explain it all,” he says again.
“Fine. Be there in twenty minutes. And before you ask, yes, I remember how to get there” she says and hangs up with a sigh.
He goes and scoops the little girl out of bed and into his arms sitting with her on the couch, cradled against him. He tries to get sips of water in her but mostly she sniffs, whimpers, and coughs. She feels so hot and she keeps reaching up, eyes scrunched closed, to rub her temples where she must have a headache.
Twenty minutes later, as promised, he hears the car drive up. El doesn’t stir until there’s a knock at which point she jolts upright with a frightened sound.
“Shh,” he strokes her back gently, feeling her shoulder blades poking through her sweatshirt. “It’s just Joyce. You remember Joyce, right? Jonathan and Will’s mom?”
“Jonathan and Will’s mom,” she whispers and leans back into his chest once again.
“Come in!” he calls out.
Joyce swings open the cabin door, exhaustion and annoyance clearly painted across her face. She catches a glimpse of him holding El and flings the door shut with slightly more zeal than necessary then stands there, stalk still.
“Jim,” she hisses at him. “Explain to me,” she enunciates each syllable. “What the hell is happening.”
Looking back on the situation later, it was still something of a challenge for Joyce to pinpoint why she helped Hopper at all. At the bus station there’d been a sense of urgency, but she could have said no to him. Again, when he suggested they meet at Enzo’s so she could hand the mysterious box over, she could have refused. Though Jim Hopper would have kept dropping into her life, she didn’t feel as if he was after her in any unseemly way. For whatever reason, he’d pegged her as someone he could trust enough to deliver that package. That’s what he was still after.
Maybe she accepted the package and everything that came after because something in her, for whatever reason, trusted him too.
(Um...coming soon because I didn't write it fast enough for Jopper Week...)
She thinks she's done a damn good job the last eight months, but she’d be lying if something inside her didn't resurrect the moment she laid eyes on Jim again. Jonathan will tell her later, years from now in a heart-breaking but beautifully honest and healing conversation, that though she had done well –she kept them whole when they were falling to pieces, gave them a safe home, loved them all deeply and even recklessly– she hadn't fully been there with them in the same way she would be now, could be now. And they had missed her, maybe as much as they missed Hop. But she hadn't known, hadn't noticed until this very moment when she felt a piece of her soul slot back into place.
When she turned that key, she had been naive. It had always been a possibility that things would go awry. Things often did in their lives. But she hadn't anticipated the gaping hole the loss of Jim Hopper left in her very being. She hadn't noticed until too late how he’d crept back into her life until his presence was just assumed, how his thoughts and opinions became the norm in a way that nearly let her read his mind, how his protection extended over her and the children to the extent that she actually stopped living in fear.
So she turned that key. She had to. And everything changed.
She had fought hard to give their kids a normal life. A new normal. They had school, Jonathan worked. They ate dinner together in the evenings like “normal” families. She got a job, got their new house, chatted with their neighbors.
But at night she cried unless she was too soul-deep tired to. She dreamed. Scenarios they could never achieve with happily ever afters. Nightmares where, over and over, she turned that damn key. By day she functioned by rote. Got up, sent the kids off, worked, made dinner and asked all the right questions about everybody's day. Forgot to eat. Suffered headaches and stomach aches and all sorts of physical manifestations of a grief she couldn't share.
When the package came it arrived with a flicker of hope and a painful realization of all that had been missing those many months.
Now though, she's locked eyes with him and even though the worst could happen, still –and they're Jim and Joyce so the worst usually does– she knows everything is going to fall into place. They're going to put everything back together. They’ll be back together.
At first he held out hope. Not because he was worth it. Then again, maybe he was. Maybe whatever he was to them was The Thing that gave him worth. That was what kept him going.
The thought of El, god, he knew Joyce would take care of her, but still. She’d be good at it too, better than him even. But El had come to count on him for quiet, little things and he knew, even if he didn't dare voice it, that he was irreplaceable.
Jonathan. He didn't expect to spend so many cold and lonely hours thinking of Joyce's oldest son. He's too often overlooked and that reminds him of Joyce back when they were kids. And it's not that he thinks of Jonathan as an extension of his mother or only because of her. It's because he's started to care, damnit, and he can't just quit caring. He wants to be there to help fix Jonathan's car, just because he can, not because anyone is owed anything. He wants to sit at the kitchen table (probably Joyce's since she has more room) and talk about how they're gonna make sure college happens for the kid because it's a joy to watch him excel, not a financial burden that ties them down.
When Will crosses his mind, he determines again to hold on, keep going, not let go. Because if a tiny little kid can survive what he has, surely a grown man can survive whatever the hell this is.
But Joyce, he knows this could kill her. And he knows she won't let it. She's like a soldier who's had a limb blown off and hasn't even noticed. She'll be hemorrhaging while caring for everyone else around her. And surely, surely he can stay alive for her.
So he resolves to make it out. Decides every day to survive that one day, that one moment.
Until he can get out and they can put it all back together.
And then she walks right into a god-forsaken prison to bring him home.
He realizes that they don't have to go anywhere. As soon as he holds her in his arms he knows. She is home.
It’s like a completed puzzle. A hole that’s been patched. A wound that has healed.
Ironically, like a key that has been slotted into the proper keyhole, turning smoothly.
Just like so many times before, things will never be the same.
He thinks, if they make it out, things just might be better, because they have each other.
She feels, when they pull through this, she’s never letting go ever again.
It's too hard to nail down my favorite Joyce scene, but it's not this. This is one that makes me laugh! I wrote a little drabble from her perspective and from Hop's before including her quote from the show. I probably won't bring this one over to AO3, but it can live on here :)
Jopper songfic for Jopper Week 2026 full of my headcanons and a major amount of fluff for the ending.
Song is Rose Betts' You Never Looked Back (except for the last bit)
I could be a hero, I could be a rock
I could be the brakes when the car won't stop
I could be the water when the hiccups come
And I could be your socks when your feet get numb
Her home life has never been what anyone would classify as ideal. Her mom left when she was so little that she didn’t even have any real memories. There were some smells and songs she associated with her mom. She could pick her out in pictures. But she didn’t have much else. She knew it was her fault that her mom left though. That part was always clear.
Her dad was rough around the edges, but she deserved most of what he said and did. She was anxious and irritating. She was lazy. At least that’s what she always heard from him.
So she grew up a little tired. Because it was hard to fall asleep never knowing what time your drunk dad might stagger into the house.
She was always a little hungry. Because any more was greedy and he wasn’t raising a greedy kid. Because too much might make her fat and nobody wanted an ugly girl.
She wore cast-off clothes and hand-me-downs. She wasn’t worth new, pretty things.
And she genuinely believed every bit of that to be true. So when eight-year-old Jim gave her his apple at lunch one day at school she didn’t even know what to do.
“I have a loose tooth,” she began. “Also, my dad says that I don’t need anything else.”
“My mom said you do,” Jim told her. “Plus, if you’re hungry at recess you won’t run as fast and I want you on my team.”
Jim Hopper was the most normal part of her life from the time he shared that apple until the day he left for Vietnam. Always in her corner, always speaking gentle truths that ran counter to everything she’d heard before, seeing and believing the best about her, and being her comfort.
I could be an oak tree, I could be the shore
I could be a campfire keeping you warm
I could be the sunlight peeping through the cracks
But you'll never know 'cause you never looked back
“She’s really strong, Jim,” she says, hand on his shoulder.
“I know. I know it’s good they caught it early and there’s a good chance she comes through this just fine. It’s just,” he puts his head in his hands. “Scary.”
She’s the only one he can admit that to.
“Yeah.” She plops down beside him. “It is. I need her too, ya know?”
“I know.”
He didn’t expect his mom to come home with a cancer diagnosis. He thought she was just worn out. She took care of everyone and everything. Being tired would have made sense. This didn’t.
“I’m calling it now,” Joyce says, scooching somehow closer to him.
“What?” He doesn’t mean to glower at her but he feels awful.
“Six months from now, that’s how long they said her treatment will be, right? We’ll be celebrating that she’s recovered.”
One month later Joyce reminds him that his mom’s doctor said there were options for treatment so if her cancer doesn’t respond they still have recourse.
Three months later Joyce reminds him that his mom is halfway there.
Four months in and she reminds him why they’re not giving up.
Five months pass and he finds Joyce having tea with his mom on the front porch because his mom can’t get out and do anything.
Six months later she says “Told you so,” and gives him his first real kiss (the one under the slide at their elementary school doesn’t count).
And a year after that, Joyce is the one who makes him and his dad plan a whole picnic to celebrate.
She’s there for all of it.
I could be a blanket, I could be a breeze
I could be the sugar in your morning tea
And I could be a penny at the bottom of the well
I could be a pearl in the middle of the shell
“Lonnie is a piece of shit,” he says, voice raised.
“Oh, you’re one to talk,” she retorts.
She doesn’t know why he’s talking about her coming with Lonnie Byers when he’s dating Chrissy. What business is it of his who she goes to the Snow Ball with?
“Where’s Chrissy? Why aren’t you with her?” she asks with a sigh, voice losing some of its venom. She really doesn’t want to fight. To be frank, she doesn’t know why they are.
“She broke up with me.” He doesn’t look at her when he says it but he also doesn’t sound too upset.
“She broke up with you?” She scrunches her nose up.
“That’s what I said.”
So we could have come together.
“We could have come together,” he says, giving voice to her thoughts.
“We were fighting,” she argues.
“‘Bout what?” He looks at her when he asks, half teasing (because teasing Joyce is one of his favorite things.)
“Because you-” she begins, then lets out a huff of air and swallows her frustration. “I don’t really know.” She does know, but she doesn’t care. It doesn’t really matter. They should have come together.
“Dance with me, Joycie?” He holds out a hand to her.
It is going to royally piss Lonnie off. If he comes back in time to see it.
“Yeah,” she grabs his hand without a second thought.
I could be a savior, I could be a king
I could be the air underneath your wings
I could be the light when the night goes black
But you'll never know 'cause you never looked back
The tears are running down her cheeks, making tracks, but she’s not noisy about it. She doesn’t blubber. She’s been trained not to.
“This is why I didn’t tell you,” Hop says, not making eye contact.
“That you’re going to Vietnam, Jim?” she says at a whisper. “You might never come back.”
“That’s what my mom said.”
“Well, she’s right. You’re just leaving us here?” How can he?
“I’m going to help. It’s my duty,” he replies, parroting back the words his dad has said so many times, choosing to picture his father’s pride instead of his mother’s sorrow.
“This isn’t like when we were kids. This isn’t risky like skipping out on class or taking your dad’s car to Lovers Lake or-” she sputters.
She’s overly-emotional. She’s pregnant. It’s Lonnie’s, not Hop’s like she always dreamed but never said.
“It’s not your duty. Somebody else can go.” She knows she sounds petulant but he’s been her hero, her lucky penny at the bottom of a well, her light when the night goes black. He can't go.
“Are you gonna tell me goodbye or what?” He stands and looks at her as he asks.
“I can’t say goodbye,” she answers softly, swiping at her cheeks.
The next day, he ships out.
At me, you moved so fast
Threw me down like a broken part
I'm so much more than that
But you'll never know 'cause you never looked back
He can honestly say he hasn’t thought of her in years.
No, that’s not honest. He hasn’t thought of her a lot, but she has come to mind. When he feels the grief begin to smother him, he thinks of her.
But she hasn’t been anything to him for years.
His mom keeps him updated every time she calls.
“Joycie works at Donald’s store. I’m glad she has something but that girl is so smart. I wish there was something better for her!”
“Jimmy, you’d have loved to see it. She brought the boys by the house to trick-or-treat. The older one, he has so many of her mannerisms but the little fella, oh, he has her big brown eyes. Charming boys.”
“Come home, Jimmy. You could get a job at the station here in town. Your friends are still here. Benny Hammond and Joycie would love to have you back.”
He thinks that maybe, maybe, being closer to her means he might not drown. He doesn’t know how that’s supposed to work, only that she’s been his sunlight peeking through the cracks before.
We could be a statue and we could be a star
We could be the lovers in the hotel bar
We could be the feet making brand new tracks
But you’ll never know ‘cause you never looked back
They were so close.
They’d grown back together, talked through the causes of old wounds, healed, moved forward. They had the kids, two boys and a girl. They had a house (mildly monster infested) and a cabin (not without its own flaws).
They’d rescued a child together, fought monsters together, protected their family and their town and here was where it ended. Fighting the Russians.
There’s no other choice. The machine has to be destroyed.
So Jim nods.
Joyce turns the key.
She goes home without him and tries to move on.
Until she can’t.
First the denial is just that. It’s the first stage of grief and she’s slow when coming to terms with loss, especially this one. But then there’s the feeling, the same one she had when she knew Will was out there somewhere. Oh, she’s not talking to lights, but there’s something in the pit of her stomach that just won’t settle and isn’t just sorrow. Then there’s the package and the knowledge. And the rescue.
And the choice. He’s back and they're going to do everything else, forever, together.
At me, you moved so fast
Saw who I was, loved me just like that
Promised a love that'll last
That now we'll know 'cause we both looked back
“Where are we gonna stay?” he asks softly, arms around her, loathe to let her go.
“Here,” she murmurs against him. “Here, right?”
Joyce pulls back and looks so puzzled that he would even ask that it makes him want to giggle. How he’s missed watching every emotion flit across her face.
“S’just that there’s not a lot of room. Wondered if you California girls would find it too crowded.”
He sits down on his bed. Their bed?
“I wouldn’t care if it was a shed with one of those tiny army surplus air mattress thingies your granddad left you.”
He throws his head back to laugh. It feels so good to laugh.
“I’m not kidding, Hop.” She can’t bring herself to stop reaching out for him, reassuring herself that he’s there, he’s real. He’s hers? “I’m staying with you.”
“What do we tell the kids?”
“About what?” she asks, her eyebrows doing that thing where one rises higher than the other. “We just say we’re staying here. Together. Jonathan might want to spend time with Nancy, but Will and El aren’t going to say a thing.”
He watches her as she plunks down beside him on the bed and throws herself backwards, hair fanning out.
It’s long now, probably the longest he’s ever seen it aside from the one time she grew it out.
“What?” she exhales, leaning on her elbow and putting her head on her hand.
“I meant about us.”
“Huh?”
“What do we tell the kids about us?”
She snorts and lets her head fall back again. “Pretty sure the kids know about us. Pretty sure they knew about us before we were an us.”
He twists toward her and leans in to kiss her and she reaches out to pull him closer. At last, they’re home.
You can be a fortress, you can be a net
Be an umbrella so I won’t get wet
You can be a bird and I will be the nest
Forever together living life’s best
You can be the grandpa I can be the gran
I can be your lover and you’ll be my man
We can be the old folks walking in the sand
Doing life together, hand in hand
At me, you moved so fast
Didn't want to miss any more of life together
Now we're so much more than that
And now we'll know cause we both looked back
He knows he’s staring at her but he can’t help it, she’s always drawn him to her like some sort of siren that he was powerless to resist, even if he tried for so much of their lives.
“You gonna give her back?” he teases softly as he watches his wife stroke the chubby cheek of their newest grandchild.
“What? No. Why?” Joyce looks at him like he’s lost his mind.
“Just thought maybe Karen would like a turn,” he continues to needle her gently.
She stares, enraptured, at the tiny face cradled close. “Karen can have a turn another day,” she tells him mildly.
He lowers himself down to sit next to her on the new couch. Not the old one that sunk in the middle. He finds himself occasionally nostalgic for that old couch. He liked how his mere sitting would sink the cushions enough that his wife would, by default, find herself nestled against his side. There's something to be said for the way she chooses to move there now, even when the cushions hold steady.
As if reading his thoughts, Joyce tucks herself next to him so he can put his arm around both her and the baby. It’s almost certain that Jonathan will find them like this and start taking pictures, but for now they’re uninterrupted.
“You ever think,” he began tentatively, “what it might have been like if we’d, you know, looked back instead of just blowing right past each other in life.”
“Hmm,” she exhales softly. “Yeah. But I have to believe that everything happened for a reason and I definitely believe that it brought us here.”
There’s a pause and neither of them speaks. She has more to say, she’s just finding the words. And he knows that.
“We wouldn’t have this.”
“This is pretty perfect, our life.”
“Thanks,” she whispers. “For coming back.”
“Pretty sure you're the one who went to hell and back again to rescue me,” he reminds her.
“It was nothing,” she quips with that smirk that he finds so irresistible. “And,” she says more seriously. “I was tired of missing life together.”
He hums a non-committal noise before answering, “We always have been at our best that way, huh? Together.”
Christmas is weird. He goes to church in the morning. After the fact, he doesn’t think he’ll do that again. He’d only gone because he didn’t want to sit at home alone in the first place.
Feeling oddly nostalgic, he picks up the phone without thinking much and calls the non-emergency line for his old station in New York. He’s kept in touch with just a couple of folks and knows there’s a chance nobody who he knows will be there today, but it seems worth a try. Those guys knew him before his losses. Knew him in his prime.
He gets a hold of his former partner and they talk for a long while but it never seems to drag. It’s good to catch up, hear what’s going on and know what the guys have accomplished. They promise to call one another soon even though neither one probably will. But that’s okay. The time today was good and that’s enough.
After that he looks at the clock and notes that it’s barely late enough to have lunch and lets out a dramatic sigh. Maybe he should start a hobby like lifting weights, or jogging or…whittling. He snorts aloud.
Today is not the day to settle on a hobby so he goes out back to chop some wood instead. It’s a good way to burn off some of the unease he feels. And he’s been meaning to go out and work on the cabin sometime too, so maybe he’ll chop some wood here and take it out and see what needs fixing.
But the day continues to drag.
He’s taken a hot shower, hoping to work out some of the wood-chopping knots from his shoulders. Now he sets aside the stub of a pencil he’s using to write a list of supplies for the cabin. Tearing the page containing the list out of the notebook he looks at the clock (again). He should reheat some leftovers for dinner.
The phone rings. He’s almost cranky enough to ignore it. Almost.
“Hopper residence,” he practically barks into the phone.
The irritated voice of Joyce Byers buzzes in his ear, “Jim, where are you?”
He sputters in confusion because where was he? Right here! Where else would he be? while the voice of Will chatters in the background. Even before he answers, she sighs, mumbles something, then tells him, “Will would like to speak with you.”
“Wha-” he begins but is cut off by the boy.
“Chief, Mom said that you could play with us. I got an Atari and it has four controls. Four! And that means-” There’s more noise in the background and he vaguely hears Jonathan saying something before Will returns. “Jonathan says to tell you that we’re going to win.”
He can hear the smile in the kid’s voice when he says it.
“‘Kay, put your mom back on kid and we’ll talk about when I can come over and beat you boys in this a-tarpy game.”
“Atari!” he sighs then yells for Joyce who is on the line so quickly that she must have been standing there all along.
“So, are you on your way or what?” she asks.
He can picture her, frazzled by the chaos of the holiday with her kids, blowing a puff of air at her bangs as they get in her way.
“Yeah, sure, only I…” he trails off.
“What Jim?” she spits out impatiently.
“I didn’t realize I was coming over,” he finishes, shrugging even though they can’t see one another.
“Well, what did you think you were doing?”
“Um,” he replies, searching for an answer.
“You seriously bought all the groceries for our Christmas dinner and didn’t think we were going to have you over to enjoy it?” she says incredulously.
“Yes,” he says, slowly. “I told ya, I’ve been eating you out of house and home and I wanted to do something for you for Christmas and couldn’t think of anything else you might actually accept as a gift.”
He can hear her eye roll through the telephone line.
“You’re ridiculous. Really? Get over here. Dinner will be ready within the hour and there are two boys waiting to beat you at their game thingy.”
It’s possible he breaks a land speed record getting ready for Christmas dinner.
He stays with Joyce and the boys until it’s late. Will is asleep on the couch by that time, he and Joyce are talking, and Jonathan has only stayed up because he’s been on the phone with the Wheeler girl. Once he hangs up, he tells them he’s going to bed.
“You want me to, uh, try to get him into his bed, Mom?” he nods toward his brother.
“Leave him, baby. Trying to pick him up is like wrestling an octopus and you know he’ll be fine on the couch. He can sleep anywhere.” She kisses Jonathan’s forehead.
“I could probably manage that,” Hopper mentions softly. “The octopus wrangling, that is. I’m a bit taller and can avoid tangled limbs.”
They all laugh softly at that and, as Jonathan pads down the hall, Jim lifts Will and carries him off to bed.
By the time he finally leaves it has to be close to midnight. He stops to leave food for the girl and stands there, waiting.
“I’m gonna keep coming back,” he says into the dark. “I just wish I knew you were safe.”
His breath makes clouds in the freezing air as he stands and just takes it all in, when a twig snaps and he turns.
Two huge brown eyes stare at him from under the fuzzy lining of a trapper hat. She was still wearing that little pink dress, her legs bare down to the tall socks and tennis shoes she’d had last month. Sometime between then and now she’d found a coat, much too big for her tiny frame, but probably warm.
“Safe,” she whispers and points at her chest. Then, “Safe?” she asks in his direction.
“Yeah kid,” he says softly. “Can we…talk?”
She nods but doesn’t come any closer.
He sighs. “Okay.” Apparently they’re going to stand there in the snow and ice while he talks with her. To her.
“You wanna tell me where you’ve been?” he asks.
No. She immediately shakes her head.
“Because I’m worried that you’re not safe out there.” He sticks his hands in his pockets and waits. He’s pretty sure that nobody in her life has ever checked on where she is for any reason other than monitoring her. Tracking her.
A beat passes before she asks “Why?”
“Why do I care if you’re safe?”
She nods, but remains quiet, waiting for his answer.
“Because you helped my friend, Joyce find her son Will. Because you’re a little kid and someone should be taking care of you, not chasing you down. And,” he pauses, trying to think of a way to explain things that will make sense to a child. “Because it’s what we’re supposed to do. Look out for each other and take care of each other.”
She looks skeptical at that. He doesn’t blame her though.
“Is there anyone taking care of you? Feeding you anything? You got a warm place to stay?”
If this keeps up, her staring there and not answering, they could be out all night.
“No,” she whispers.
“No what?” he probes.
“No food. But I hide.”
“But you don’t have a place to stay, do you?”
“No.”
“What if…” he trails off, thinking of any possible way to make this work. “Okay, look here kid.”
“El,” she cuts in.
He smiles at that. “Look, El, I’ve got a house, well, sort of. Anyway, if you came with me, I think people would see you at my house. Right now I don’t think anyone should see you.”
“Hide from Papa,” she says.
He strongly agrees to hiding from Brenner. That guy gives him the creeps, so yeah, hide from Papa.
“Right,” he nods. “But I’ve got a cabin in the woods that nobody ever goes to. Hell, Joyce is probably the only one who remembers it.”
The girl nods.
“Point being, I think you and I could go back to the cabin.” He stops there because then what? What does he think will happen? He’ll hide her forever? What could possibly happen that would make him deem it safe for her to do anything but stay shut away?
“We will live together?” she asks. “In a cabin?”
“If you wanna,” he replies. Maybe he doesn’t have to have all the answers yet. Maybe he can start with keeping her warm and fed.
“I can hide? In a cabin?”
“Yeah,” he nods. “Like I said, nobody goes out there. It’s kinda deep in the woods.”
“And Joyce?”
“She probably can’t even find it anymore. But she’s safe.”
The girl nods immediately.
“So we’ll make sure there’s food and you have some comfy clothes. Nobody will look for you there.”
“You will stay?” she whispers.
“Well, I’m the chief of police. In the morning after breakfast, I’ll go into town and around dinner I’ll come back home.”
“The cabin is home,” she says.
He doesn’t know if it’s a question. He nods anyway.
“Yes.”
He holds out his hand and holds his breath, but she comes immediately and he’s struck again by just how little she is. Before they get in the Blazer, he grabs the food he’d been leaving for her and brings it with them. The cabin isn’t ready for a child, but at least it’s shelter and they’ll have food. He’ll have to work on the rest tomorrow.
As they drive, she sits ramrod straight with her arms hugging herself and her eyes closed. He doesn’t think she’s sleeping. More likely that she’s blocking out the overwhelming things. Or maybe she’s doing one of her mind thingies and listening to something or watching it. He still doesn’t understand how that works.
At the cabin there’s a lot of awkward silence as he whips away a drop cloth that had been protecting the old couch. Same with the bed. He’d made sure it was covered so it wouldn’t get musty. He checked the flue and started a fire, handed the kid a broom and asked her if she knew how to sweep.
Then they sat down face to face, ate the cookies, and had an inevitable talk about security.
“Tomorrow I’ll put out some trip wires and other stuff so you can know if somebody is coming. We’ll make sure it’s safe. I’ll show you how far you can go. But you can’t wander if we’re going to keep you hidden.”
He doesn’t think she’ll wander off now. The poor kid looks terrified. But he does wonder about what they’ll do later.
“I’ll get more food, some warmer clothes for you, bring back some basic supplies and all that. For tonight though, you’re safe.”
“Safe,” she agrees.
“Let’s go to bed, kid.”
He tucks her into the bed in the bedroom, leaving the door open at her request and throws himself onto the couch.
Just before he drifts off to sleep he wonders at the irony of acquiring a child on Christmas night.
Parenting El is like dealing with a toddler. He hesitated for less than twenty-four hours before calling it parenting, keeping himself aloof and distant for less than a day before falling head over heels into protective dad mode with the little girl.
She has a limited vocabulary and many emotions. And super-powers. It’s a lot. He knows it’s going to change everything.
I just wanted you to know that I’ve got a…” he hesitates. “Project going on.”
Joyce looks mildly surprised, but considering they haven’t finished her floors yet, mild surprise seems reasonable.
“Anything I can help with?” she inquires.
“No!” he answers much too quickly.
God no, she can't help.
He feels bad that he’s keeping this from her, particularly when she was willing to be so vulnerable with him when Will was missing. And since then she’s been his confidante in so many things. He hates to think that this, of all things, might be a wedge between them.
“It's, um, work,” he finishes lamely.
“Okay.” The look she shoots him screams “Yeah, right,” but she lets it slide, waiting for him to elaborate.
“Just wanted you to know because I might be around less. And I didn't want you to think I was…leaving,” he mumbles.
Like Vietnam, he doesn't say.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
They’ve talked about it. Vietnam and how he left without saying goodbye, never really coming back until years later. Lonnie and how she only went out with him to get back at Jim for dating Chrissy. High school and their absolute shit communication skills as teenagers. They’d even touched on their moderately shitty communication skills now.
So he doesn’t want this to be the thing that breaks whatever fragile thing it is that they have now. But it isn’t safe to share it either. Not for El, not for Joyce.
They eat their lunches in silence for a moment until he exhales a giant sigh. “Look, I’ll tell you about it when I can.”
“I trust you, Jim.”
She’s serious.
“I don’t like it because you’re being all cagey and I can tell it’s something you could share and you’re keeping it from me. But I’m sure you have your reasons.” Her voice has a brittle edge to it, but her words are honest, he can tell.
“Why?” he blurts out.
“Why what?” she gives him a uniquely Joyce look from the corner of her eyes.
“Why…would you trust me?” he asks, nearly cringing.
“Because it’s what we’re doing now, right?” she says simply. “We’re choosing honesty, choosing trust, even when it’s hard and awkward. Even if we have things in our past that we have to clean up in order to do it now.” She pauses. “That is what we chose, right?”
“Right,” he says quickly. “I’m surprised when people choose…honesty. Or patience and grace. Or me. I’m kinda messed up.”
A laugh bursts out of her and he smiles too. He loves that sound.
“Aren’t we all?” She pauses for a moment then says, “We’re flawed. And we’ve been through hell, but maybe we can have a bit of good now and then, especially if we make it ourselves.”
“Maybe,” he replies.
He wants to say more, wants to ask her how she can assume the best about him. Another part of him wants to say it’s easy to think the best of her, easy to be honest and accepting. She makes it all easy. He wants to just tell her about El.
Hopper pushes through his past and works on building a future, sometimes overstepping and other times just doing what he should have been doing all along. Meanwhile Joyce is in her head a lot. She's nostalgic over her boys who are growing up too quickly, sad over how the lives she's let them live may not have been the best, hopeful that she can see a new future unfolding.
Also included: home renovations and Hop baking cookies (aka, the beginnings of domestic Jopper)
He shows up mid-morning on a chilly weekend late in December.
“You really don’t need to do this,” she insists, hands on her hips.
He just rolls his eyes.
“You’ll never convince me that you intend to freeze your kids out of their home this winter.”
“That’s not what I’m saying,” she argues. “I mean that I can take care of it.”
He’s gotten to know her again just well enough to realize she’s saying something else even though she’s not using words. He sets down his tools on her front porch and really thinks before he opens his mouth.
“Is this…” he trails off, trying to find the right words. “Uh, is this about me kinda barging in?”
“I don’t care that you’re here, Jim.” She’s the one to roll her eyes now. “You’re here sometimes during the week and I already told you that’s fine. And the boys love it.”
“Then…” He’s honestly scared to guess because damn is she scary when she’s mad. “Assuming that you couldn’t handle it yourself?”
He can tell that’s it and it takes everything in him to not blurt out in his own defense that he never thought that at all.
“That’s exactly it,” she says bluntly, stepping out on the porch to face him and pulling the door shut behind her.
She’s ridiculously underdressed for someone who is nearly always cold and it’s completely absurd to stand on the porch discussing this. He says as much.
“Joyce, get back inside. We can discuss this like adults. I’m not gonna yell, you know me.” She definitely knows him and she definitely knows he has a temper and can yell. But he’s been working really hard on the whole being a decent human thing.
“Fine,” she snaps, opening the door and padding over to the hole in the wall they’re repairing, because clearly that is what they’re working on in spite of her frustrations and reservations.
He sets his tools down and turns toward her, putting a hand on her arm. “Hey, look at me for a sec, please?”
She turns, crosses her arms, and looks at him.
“I want you to know right off that I know you can deal with this, deal with it all,” he waves his hand around. “Most folks don’t know just how much you’ve taken care of for years. I guess I just assumed that you could do this, the patching the wall and whatever. But I also know it’s hard. With Christmas coming, I guess I figured if I took care of the supplies, you’d have more for other stuff.”
“More money,” she says, eyebrows raising. “For Christmas presents for the boys.”
“Uh yeah.”
“Okay,” she huffs. “I still don’t like it.”
“Yeah, I can tell that,” he shrugs self-deprecatingly. “And I should have been more aware. Next time I want to do something like this, I’ll ask. Okay?”
“Fine,” she says, finally uncrossing her arms.
“I get a good meal out of the deal, right? In exchange?” he says. “It’s lasagna night?”
“Yes.”
“And,” he smiles at her. “I get to work on a project with you, so…” he trails off.
“Jim, I’m still mad,” she retorts.
“Yeah right,” he snorts, hearing absolutely no fight left in her voice.
“Yeah,” she says and he swears she chuckles. “Right.”
“Where do you think we start?”
“Rip up Lonnie’s ‘repairs’ and go from there, I think.” Her hands are on her hips and she’s scowling at the boarded up hole. He’s just pleased she’s scowling at the hole instead of him.
“Can I help?”
The kid appears out of nowhere, all the time. It’s sorta uncanny and he’s not used to it but Joyce doesn’t even blink.
“Put on your coat, baby. It’s gonna get cold in here while we do this.”
“Okay,” he says, then immediately disappears.
“And shoes!” Joyce yells to him. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you wandering around in your socks near our construction zone.”
He returns only a beat later, balancing as he ties his shoelaces. “Mike still doesn’t know how to tie his shoes. He always gets his mom or Nancy to tie them then he slips them off and on. What can I do?”
It’s been about a month since they rescued Will and sometimes it seems like a lifetime, but one thing he’s still surprised by how quiet the boy is but how, at the same time, he has so much to say. He just waits to talk to people who will listen.
“Grab the other side of this tarp, kid. Let’s get it off then we’ll take off the boards and see what’s going on underneath.”
Joyce has backed away to the kitchen where she’s pouring coffee for both of them, talking softly with Jonathan who is there as well. As Joyce brings the coffee into the living room and sets it on the end table, Jonathan calls out “Chief, do you want any bacon?”
“I always want bacon!” he calls back and catches the smiles on the Byers’ faces and a warmth floods through him. He’s missed this. The peaceful domesticity, the camaraderie, the wholesomeness.
On the very edge of the warmth is a creeping chill though. The fear that he’s gonna mess it up somehow or that it can’t last and he doesn’t deserve it anyway.
Time is not on her side.
Logistically, time is not on her side when it comes to the weather, the bills, and holiday shopping.
It is way too cold to have her house in a shambles and in spite of what she argued, she had not been able to get the wall redone before it was well into December. Particularly irksome was the fact that Lonnie had been the one to do the temporary repairs. That was an issue of pride though. Pride that she needed to swallow. Regardless, by the time Jim came around to work on it with her, they’d been freezing for weeks.
She is behind financially since she took off time for Will. It had been an inevitable choice, almost no choice at all, really. But they’d taken a huge hit and it is difficult to recover from it.
And holiday shopping, well, finances make that hard to begin with. But after finding a way to even buy the boys’ gifts, the matter of finding the time to do it was going to pose yet another hurdle.
Mostly though, time is a thief when it comes to her boys.
Somehow she needs to find time to work with Jonathan so he can practice driving and get his license. Somehow she needs to find a way to get his car in working order and insure him too, but those are problems for another day. Her first baby can already drive, technically speaking. It isn’t pretty though and he needs more practice with all the rules of the road and using a turn signal and all the details. She can’t imagine finding the time to work with him, but more than that she can’t fathom how this freedom for him will lead him farther from her. So instead of thinking of how fast he’s growing up (and away) or thinking of all the milestones she’s missed with him in the chaos of their lives thus far she thinks of it like an item on a checklist. Car insurance. Safe, functioning vehicle. Practice.
Then there’s the fact that Will is growing up too.
“Don’t you want to sit on Santa’s lap, baby?” she asks him when they’re at Melvald’s annual Christmas party.
“Mom,” he whispers. “That’s not Santa.” His eyes are huge and his gaze serious. “It’s Mr. Donaldson in a costume. And that’s for the little kids anyway.”
She desperately wants to tell him he is a little kid, god he’s only nine. She seriously considers begging him to stay little because she can already feel his older brother slipping away from her and they were just babies a bit ago. Almost immediately her attention swivels to her own emotions, so much closer to the surface since Will’s disappearance– and they’d been close to begin with. She takes a breath, locks down all the feelings, and responds.
“Okay, um, maybe we get some dessert then?” She glances toward the table laden with sugary treats.
“Sure,” he shrugs good-naturedly. “Mom?”
She looks at that sweet face with the huge brown eyes staring at her in question and feels her heart well up with gratefulness that she gets more time with him when, for a short time, she thought she might never again.
“Yeah baby?” she replies gently, holding back the urge to stroke his cheek or ruffle his hair.
This earns her a look as close to a scowl as Will has ever delivered to her and she wants to remind him that she calls his brother that too, but manages to bite her tongue.
“Do you think El is out there?”
“What?” she asks abruptly. This hasn’t come up at all, it’s not in context, and she’s genuinely surprised. He doesn’t talk about these things unless he’s at an appointment and even then, it’s usually prompted. He talked to Jonathan once, even Jim once very briefly after one of his appointments, but not with her. It’s as if he doesn’t want to upset her. She’s tried to let him know that she’ll listen, made herself available if he opens up, but this is an angle she doesn’t expect.
“You know,” he says, grabbing a slice of pie and taking it over to the table where she had left her purse earlier. “El,” he whispers conspiratorially.
“Sure-” She nearly says “baby” again but quickly swaps it out. “Kiddo. I know who you’re talking about. What do you mean though?”
“Mom. I mean do you think she’s out there? Mike, Dustin, and Lucas think she’s… you know.”
Oh yes she knows.
“I want her to be safe,” is what she settles on answering. Because she doesn’t want that little girl out there alone. She certainly doesn’t want her truly gone. Definitely doesn’t want her in the Upside Down. Joyce can’t imagine what this safe scenario would look like, but it’s what she hopes for.
She wishes she could see the girl at least one more time and thank her.
“I think she’s out there,” Will says.
“Do you…know?” she asks, not bothering to explain what she means.
“It’s more than thinking she’s okay. But maybe less than knowing,” he shrugs. “I think I’d feel if she was, like, eliminated.”
She cringes but nods.
“She’s somewhere,” he nods.
He baked cookies. Actually baked. He hadn’t even known where the measuring cups were. Had to dig out his mom’s cookbook from a random box. The cookies turned out pretty damn good, too. Now he set the plate out with the other desserts and peeled back the wrap from the top.
“Wow, did Lonnie’s girl make those for you to bring?”
Predictably, it’s Callahan who asks that. His inclination is to lash out with things like “She’s her own person, not Lonnie’s,” or “Joyce isn’t my personal chef,” or anything really. But he knows that the officer enjoys antagonizing people, getting satisfaction out of it.
“I know how to bake,” is all he says, scooping a bunch of the salty Chex mix stuff that Flo brings in by the bucket load, and walks away.
He mingles– a skill that, like baking, he is rusty at. It’s exhausting. He talks about his officers’ kids and how they’re doing in school or sports. He mostly listens as he didn’t really get this far with Sara but, if he’s honest, he doesn’t mind hearing about their experiences. They discuss caring for aging parents and how to manage all that goes along with that. His parents are both gone now and he feels a pang of nostalgia for those days. Figuring out how to make sure his mom paid bills on time when he was off living in a different state was a nightmare, but he kinda wishes he could get that time back. They talk about work and what they do to unwind at the end of a stressful day. He shares stories about his time as a “big city cop” with those who are happy to listen.
So yeah, it’s exhausting but it isn’t bad. He thinks he could get used to it. Maybe he’ll condition himself to work up to these social things and they’ll become easier.
He catches Flo’s eye and wanders over.
“Having a good evening, Chief?” She gives him a broad smile and he knows she’s genuinely pleased to have him at the event and even happier that he’s alert and coherent and interacting with people. He’s spent too long hiding away.
“Yeah,” he says and leaves it at that. He really doesn’t want everyone to think that all of a sudden he’s a softie or something like that.
“Well, I don’t want to burst your bubble-”
“Flo,” he cuts her off. “Don’t tell me you’re going to bring up work during a party!” he teases. For all her efforts to get him to branch out, she often has a one-track mind. It’s probably what makes her good at her job though.
“I think you have an HR problem that you’re going to need to address sooner rather than later,” she tells him, seemingly unamused by his teasing.
“I don’t have an HR department to help with that? A staff member who takes care of it?” He feels light this evening and mostly untroubled. It’s not that life is breezy or straightforward, but it does seem easier at the moment and this jovial teasing feels natural.
“Well, we aren’t exactly Chicago or New York,” she retorts. “We’re Hawkins, in case you’ve forgotten. As chief, this is all yours.”
“Great,” he sighs. “Tell me what to deal with and I’ll work on it Monday. After coffee.”
She purses her lips before blurting, “Callahan.”
He can’t say he’s surprised even before she divulges the details.
“That mom with the boy whose arm was broken? Back in November? She complained about his disrespect.”
“Uh huh,” he nods, remembering.
“Then there’s Mrs. Lathe who he’s spoken with on the phone a number of times. Says he’s downright condescending. Patty over at the diner, Doris who lives on 10th and Pine, Mrs. Willoughby and even the Byers kid.”
“Will?” he asks, surprised and puzzled.
“No, the older one. Jonathan. He said that he thought Callahan was patronizing toward him, the Wheeler girl, and especially his mom.”
“Uh, yeah. That seems accurate.” He cringes, thinking of all the things his officer could have said as well as the conversation they’ll be having next week. “I’ll…deal with that.”
“You do that, Jim,” then she pats him on the cheek and follows that with a kiss like she did when he was a kid and walks back to the party, leaving him standing there thinking of exactly how to discuss this.
“You ever thought of ripping out the carpet and refinishing the hardwood?”
She stops with her sandwich halfway to her mouth to stare at him.
Forehead scrunched up, all she says is a monotone, “What?”
“In the hallway,” he says, as if it were obvious in spite of the fact that he’d given her absolutely no context.
They were in the Blazer eating lunch, leftovers that Flo– bless her– had sent home with him after their staff party. The fancy little sandwiches were a bit worse for the wear a day later, but they still tasted fine to him and Joyce hadn’t seemed anything but grateful.
“My carpet?” she clarifies.
Or maybe he doesn’t clarify because, yeah, obviously he thought they were talking about her hallway carpet.
“Joyce, your kid burned a monster in the hallway and the evidence is right there every time you walk past it.” It’s gross. The carpet is all melted together and sort of scorched. And he kinda hates that they have to see it and think of everything.
“Oh,” she says, slowly working on her lunch once more.
“Well?”
“Do you just like having projects to work on or what?” She looks at him. Really looks and he turns away for a second as if it’s too much.
“Uh, part of it is that, yeah. I don’t want to be bored and slip into old routines, fall back into old patterns. It helps if I do something with my hands, stuff that requires effort.”
“Oh,” she says again.
“Part of it is that I like-”
Damn, how to say this part? Because the easy way to say it is that he likes spending time with her. She and her boys have become synonymous to him with happiness, or at least with a feeling of deep satisfaction. But that is way too much to say.
“I like not being alone all the time.” It’s a compromise of an answer. It’s true. But it doesn’t describe the whole of it.
Still, her eyes widen just a tiny bit as she continues to take him in with that gaze.
“And I hate that you’re reminded of that place and the monster and everything else every time you walk down your own damn hall,” he finishes and she snorts at that, any tension there’d been breaking.
“Let’s do it.”
“Really?” He doesn’t know why he’s surprised.
“Didn’t you just suggest it?” she teases.
“Um, yeah. So, next weekend? If you don’t work,” he clarifies.
She cringes. “I don’t work but it’s the last weekend before Christmas and as soon as I get paid, I need to get the boys their gifts. It’s my last chance.”
“Why don’t you shop and I’ll get them to help with the demo?”
“You don’t have to do it, Hop,” she says, tilting her head and pursing her lips.
“Thought we already established that I need something to work on to keep busy,” he reminds her.
She caves easily, never wanting to fight it to begin with. “Fine. If you come early enough, maybe I can get done with my shopping and get home soon enough to make us all dinner.”
He feels that happy, satisfied sensation again.
Wiping his hands on the napkin Flo had tucked into the package of leftovers, he then reaches in and grabs the last couple cookies he’d made.
Wordlessly, Joyce accepts the one he proffers and lets her head thunk against the headrest, eyes closed as she chews slowly.
“Hop? Are these… your mom’s?”
He nods smugly.
“How very domestic of you,” she teases.
“What? You didn’t know I could bake?” he scowls.
“I’ve known you longer than anyone else left in this town aside from Flo. You never bake!” she laughs. “But I think it’s wonderful.”
He blushes and then decides to tell her.
“I’ve been trying more things, to be healthier, you know.”
She nods, still smiling, but mouths healthy cookies silently.
“But also, Joyce,” he looks at her and lowers his voice even though they’re the only ones there. “I’ve been leaving food in a safe spot in the woods at one of the places that girl, Jane, El, whatever. Near one of the places she turned up back then.”
She’s so still, watching him with a look that’s so hopeful and he wishes for a moment he hadn’t told her this because he doesn’t want her to be sad that he doesn’t have answers.
“I’ve never seen anyone, but the food is always gone and the containers always get returned.” He pauses. “The last couple times, I’ve felt like someone was watching me.”
“Will thinks she’s out there,” Joyce whispers back to him. “He says he doesn’t know anything, but he’s sure she’s not really gone.”
“I think it’s her,” he says. She nods and it’s like they’re sharing another secret. The first secret is all the things that happened in November that they aren’t allowed to talk about. But this, this is a good secret.
A collection of stories that happen between Season 1 (my version of it anyway) and Season 2 (again, how I envision it). Each chapter could stand alone, but I will post them in order. Chapter 1 is probably the biggest pivot from canon events because I just can't imagine either Joyce or Hopper letting go of the fact that they reconnected. So, there are a couple of awkward moments and times when they're maybe trying too hard, but I think it works. I think they both would have been already feeling vulnerable enough to just blurt things out or admit things. Anyway, you can read and decide for yourself!
A mere week has passed since they brought Will back from the Upside Down. It's a week that has passed in a flurry of drives to and from the hospital, phone calls to notify people or reschedule things, casseroles reheated for dinner on the go. A week that, while it flies by, at the same time seems like a lifetime.
Four days have passed since they brought Will back to the house. Home. He has a lingering cough and sleeps with his bedroom door open, a nightlight on, but aside from that he has bounced back as only a child can. Sometimes Joyce thinks that she has more lingering effects than her son.
She sets aside her own woes for later though, at some unknown time when she can unpack it all. Today is the day her baby is going back to school.
It’s unlike before in that today she got up early enough to make breakfast. She knew where her keys were. The house was cleaned and organized excessively in the past days, a way she can control the turmoil. Their lives and things are organized, aside from the hole still gaping in the front of the house. And the burn marks in the carpet. Those will have to wait until time and finances allow. She’s missed two weeks of work. Two weeks of dipping into their meager savings. It will take a while.
Yet it’s so like before because the boys, her boys, almost force it to be. The sense of structure, awareness, and dependability from Jonathan. Enthusiasm for the day ahead spent with friends from Will.
She admits, to herself alone, that she’s not ready. She wants to reel Jonathan back in, take on herself some of the tasks she gradually offloaded over the years, either because at some point she had no choice or because she was too worn down and just allowed it. Allowed him to take things on. And Will, she wants to be able to watch him. Ensure that he’s safe, protect him from danger. She wants it back, the time. She’d do it right if she could live it all again.
But that’s the thing. You can’t go back.
She nearly made it to her lunch break before she felt it. The tightness in her chest, the inability to take a full breath, the darkness at the edge of her line of vision. The morning had gone well, aside from the fact that she had cried after seeing the boys off to school. Work had felt normal. Maybe the most normal thing in a long time. But now she could feel the panic creeping up on her.
She’s a breath away from the tipping point when she’s jerked back to the present by a gentle thunk and the words, “When’s your lunch?”
“What?” she asks Hopper, scrambling to get back on track.
He nudges his pack of unfiltered Camels toward her to ring up and asks her again, “When’s your lunch? Thought you might not want to eat alone.”
She looks up at him but he’s staring everywhere but at her.
“Um,” she wiggles her fingers as she holds her hand out and he places the cash in her palm. “I can take my lunch now,” she says, immediately realizing that she hasn’t brought anything.
“Flo brought sandwiches she made with leftover turkey from Thanksgiving. Said she never wants to eat turkey again, but I think she just wants to make sure I’m not eating junk.” A small smile flits across his face. “Grab your jacket and let’s go.”
So she does. Her coat is in back and she tells Donald she’ll return in an hour. Honestly, it seems like she could get away with being gone longer, he's just so grateful to have her working again. She’s even managed to finagle a small raise in her salary.
They climb into Hopper’s Blazer and unpack Flo’s lunch, sitting in comfortable silence for a moment before he speaks.
“You looked like you were in another world back there,” he gives a single nod of his head toward Melvald’s.
“Yeah,” she says around a bite of turkey. “It just hit me that my boys are at school, alone, all day. Well, not alone,” she corrects herself. “But not with me. Not where I can see them. And my chest got all tight and I couldn’t breathe right and…” she trails off.
“Thought that might be the issue,” he says casually, as if the issue really isn’t one at all.
“It’s not a new thing.” For some reason she feels like she needs to explain it, partially because she is really tired of being “Crazy Joyce” and partly because it doesn’t feel right to make him worry over something like this. If he's worrying.
“I remember, Joyce,” he says gently. “You don’t need to explain it. But we can talk about it if you want.”
That’s the difference with Jim that has always existed, since childhood. It wasn't the panic attacks and anxiety that bothered him. It was her pain and discomfort that was hard for him to deal with.
“I don’t. Not now,” she said decisively. “I was actually wondering if you wanted to talk about…what happened.”
The look of utter befuddlement that crosses his face is completely endearing.
“Uh, yeah,” he says, swallowing. “I thought that’s what I was asking about.”
She makes a little noise, a combination of frustration and amusement. “No,” she laughs. “Um, I was wondering if we could talk about what happened when you…left. For Vietnam.”
“Oh.” That. That was a long time ago, their past.
Fumbling for words she tries to explain. “Only if you want to. Or, I guess I want to,” she shrugs. “Look, it felt normal having you around while we were looking for Will. Like you’ve always been around and like-” she breaks off and looks out the window then mumbles quickly, “Like we’d always been friends.”
“Uh huh,” he nods, starting to get the picture. “You– you wanna talk about this now?”
Yes she wants to talk about it. Because while they were working together, it seemed right. Not necessarily like no time had passed, but more that no distance had come between them. And as soon as Will was discharged from the hospital, no more Hop. That left a hole that she hadn’t noticed existed until he came back and filled that gap.
She didn’t like it, the hole. But she didn’t know if they were still friends or even could be now. Maybe there was too much hurt, too much history. Maybe him leaving for war, her marrying Lonnie and him marrying Diane, her divorce and his losses were too much, too messy. And the good parts of their friendship were in the past, just a happy memory. But she didn’t want that to be the case.
“Yes,” she says quickly, before she can decide otherwise. “I want to talk about it now. Jim, there’s a huge chunk of years where we weren’t.
“I was too busy at the time, wrapped up in taking care of the boys and avoiding crap with Lonnie, working and trying to keep things together. I didn’t notice that we weren’t friends anymore until you were back. Really back, not just living in Hawkins again, but back working with me to find Will.
“I don’t know if that makes any sense,” she sighs. A huge bite of sandwich goes in her mouth so she doesn’t have to say anything else, so she can’t say anything stupid.
“I don’t think we can have this whole conversation over lunch,” he begins.
She looks stricken as if she thinks he means it's not worth talking about, but that's not what he means at all. He notices almost immediately, backtracking and clarifying.
“No, Joyce, I don’t mean that I don’t want to. I just think it’s bigger than a single chat. I think it would be…nice for it to be more than just one conversation, actually. There’s a lot of stuff in that gap that I want you to know.” Now he’s the one looking out the window.
“Fuck this is weird,” he mutters and she lets out laugh so loud that he grins as well.
“I just remember when I was a kid, feeling safe with my friend, you. And last week in the chaos I felt safe again. I would rather have my friend back, but if you’re not in a position to work on that, because my choices hurt you in the past or because your head isn’t in the right place, I can…”
“No, nono, no,” he tries not to sound desperate, but honestly, her friendship used to be an anchor and maybe he can claw his way out of the dark hole he’s been living in if he has a reason. Maybe he can be decent or just plain human if he has a reason. “Friends,” he starts, almost getting choked up. “Friends would be nice. It’d be good.”
“M-kay,” she replies. “So, along those lines, Will has an appointment with Dr. Owens tomorrow and I was wondering if you could come with us. If that’s not awkward or too short notice or-”
“Yeah, what time?” he interrupts, before she can say any more.
“Four?” She poses it hesitantly as if the time is the question and not his presence.
“What about Will? He gonna be okay with me coming?” He finishes the sandwich and there’s really no buffer between them now, so he just acts like it’s normal, like these conversations happen every day.
She chuckles. “He drew a comic book with a superhero police chief who has a bionic hand made of a blade or something and his name is Jim Chopper. He basically sees you as his savior. He’ll be okay if you come. Besides, I think they expect it.”
He hears the emphasis on the word they, knows the people at the lab want to hold them to their silence, and his stomach flips. Also, being the kid’s hero, well, it makes him feel things too.
In the end they spend the rest of her lunch hour talking about regular things like him wondering if he should quit smoking since he’s trying to quit the pills and booze or her home repairs.
“I can patch drywall, Hop,” she tells him, rolling her eyes.
“It’s a little bit more than a patch considering you took a fucking ax to the wall,” he reminds her, earning another laugh.
“I’m really glad you came by, Jim,” she says after picking the crumbs off herself.
By the time she hangs up her coat in the back room of Melvald's, she realizes that her chest doesn’t hurt. She can breathe. And maybe it was only one hour out of twenty-four, but she was pretty sure she could handle each hour at a time, as it came.
“Hey kid,” he says, patting the bony shoulder of Joyce’s younger son.
“Hey Chief!” he replies. “Thanks for the pencils and stuff. I’ve been working on a comic book about a superhero and I’ve used all the colors. I ran out of red before so it was good to have a new red.”
Joyce smiles brightly at him over Will’s head and he returns the look. He’s surprised that the boy even remembers who gave him the gift last week. He had been through so much and had seemed so weak and overwhelmed. But Joyce has said he’s a thoughtful kid, that he remembers things like that. And that Hopper had made a mark.
“They tell you what this appointment is about?” he asks, mostly to Joyce but he leaves space for the boy to answer.
It’s unsettling, this appointment. Will had been in the hospital and that had seemed reasonable and normal. They treated him for hypothermia, dehydration, exposure and had him speak to a psychologist who recommended counseling if the events bothered the boy. But this appointment was at the Lab and it felt somewhat like walking straight into the lion’s den.
“Some cognitive monitoring thing and brain waves?” Joyce answers it as a question and he doesn’t blame her. None of that means anything to him either. “They mostly just wanted to see if his cognitive functioning is normal,” she shrugs.
“No pokes though,” Will chimes in. “Mom let me talk on the phone to Dr. Owens and he said they’re just monitoring me and asking questions. No blood draw.” He bobs his head, agreeing with himself.
Will reaches out and grabs Joyce’s hand as they near the front doors. Hawkins Laboratory looks different in the daylight. Hopper can’t honestly say that he likes it any better though.
Guilt is a familiar companion. For years he let it eat at him that he couldn’t save Diane or Sara. Especially Sara. He should have seen the signs sooner, should have gotten help for her more quickly. Instead of coming to terms with that being in his past, he had chosen numbness. And now, damn it all, it really hurts.
But he’s working through it.
It starts off simply. Powell mentions that he and his wife had delicious reuben sandwiches at a local cafe. He replies that there was a little hole in the wall place when he and Diane lived in New York that had the best reubens. He notices it doesn’t sting to share that memory. Might be a little tender around the edges, but it’s actually nice to have someone else who knows something about his life back then.
Flo asks if he has plans for Christmas since it’s approaching and he finds himself sharing a story from Sara’s first Christmas. She’d been crawling quite well and was a curious baby who got into everything. Wrapped presents were placed out of reach but there were still a number of times where they’d told her not to touch. When the holiday finally arrived and they set presents all around her she burst into tears, confused as to why they’d give her everything she wasn’t supposed to grab.
Then he has a rare three days off instead of just a weekend and finds himself driving before he really thinks it through. Hours later, at a payphone, he calls the one person he can think of.
“Byers’ residence!” Chirps a small voice.
“Will? That you? It’s the chief.” He can’t help but smile as soon as he hears the boy. He’s a quiet kid, but he’s sorta fierce in the way he cares deeply and wants the best for those around him.
“Yeah, Chief. It’s me,” he replies easily. “How can I help you?” The words sound funny coming from a child, but Hopper knows he means them.
“Got a question for your mom, actually. Or a comment. Is she around?”
“Just a moment. I can get her for you!”
He hears the sound of the phone being set down then footsteps and a hollered Mom! Followed by Joyce’s exasperated tone even though he can’t make out the words.
“Hop? Is everything ok?” She sounds slightly out of breath and he rushes to reassure her.
“S’okay. Everything is fine. I just wanted to make sure someone knew where I was going. Y’know, since I kind of have a track record for occasionally being…unreachable.” Usually it was just getting drunk, sometimes it had been the pills, and once it had been him going all the way to Vietnam. He was determined to not be that man anymore though.
“Okay,” she says slowly, then “Hop, where are you?”
“On my way to, um, see Diane and Sara.”
There was a moment before she spoke again. “But you’re ok, right?”
“For sure ok. I wanted to try to put some things to rest. Thought I might be able to let some things go if I just…talked to them,” he finishes.
“Jim, I think that’s…brave.”
“Dunno if it’s brave or not, but I’m ready to turn over a new leaf. Don’t intend to leave them behind, but the guilt and pain, I can do without those. Anyway, I wanted someone to know so folks didn’t think I was passed out in a ditch or something,” he shrugs even though he knows she can’t see him.
“Thanks,” she chuckles softly. “I’m glad I don’t have to go searching all of Hawkins’ ditches for you when you don’t show up for lunch.”
“See you Tuesday though? On your lunch?” He sure hopes so.
“Yeah, see you then. Take care, okay?”
“You too, Joyce.”
He drives in silence most of the way. Sometimes he turns on the radio but for the most part it just doesn’t feel quite right for the situation. He finds a hotel easily, showers, and throws himself on the bed immediately falling into a dreamless sleep.
In the morning he wakes early, which he thinks will work out well in the end. He can see his girls and make it back home late, not spending another night in a hotel. He grabs coffee at a small doughnut shop and chooses a maple bar that looks big as a brick. Without any further thought, he checks out of his room, and drives to the cemetery.
Maybe he should have thought out what he wants to say, but there’s something about grief, bottled up and finally let go that can’t be scripted so as the sun rises he sits on a ratty old picnic blanket on the ground and just says what’s on his heart.
Since he can’t figure out where to start, he tells them what’s been happening.
“Saved a kid last week, Diane. Missing for just over a week and it was a nightmare. I didn’t understand what was happening, where he was…what got him. And then the not understanding almost turned into not trusting the kid’s mom when she was tryin’ to explain it all.” He pauses for a while then says. “But we saved a kid.”
He tells her he’s sorry that he couldn’t save their little girl, sorry that he didn’t notice anything wrong any sooner, sorry for any suffering that could have been avoided.
His energy is flagging when he tells Sara about Jane, El. “I think you would have liked her. She had these powers. I’m sure you’d want some sort of science explanation but I sure as hell don’t have one.” He pauses then continues, “Come on, Diane. Saying hell can’t possibly be a concern at this point. What’s language gonna do?” He chuckles to himself, imagining them sharing a laugh.
“Couldn’t save her either, in the end. Tried to get the bad guys to look somewhere else, but it didn’t buy her enough time and now she’s gone too. I’m hoping she’s out there somewhere, hiding, but I can’t say for sure. I only know she’s gone. God, I’m sorry. I would have done anything to save you, Sara.”
He knows now that there’s nothing more he could have done for his wife and daughter. He spent years thinking that there was. After that, more time passed just ignoring the fact that he couldn’t have done anything, numbing himself until he didn’t feel anything. He’s ready to let the past stay in the past. He’s ready to let himself have happy memories.
A long time later he stands and brushes off his jeans. “I’ll come back sometime,” he promises. “But you…you stay here.”
And when he walks away he feels like he leaves he feels more like himself than he has in a long time.
They’re smoking together behind Melvald’s. He’d been absolutely slammed at work after his extra day off and hadn’t come over at lunchtime. She’d been concerned. Granted, she was concerned almost all of the time, but this was a targeted, specific anxiety. Jim was quickly becoming a steady presence. But he’d shown up later in her shift, apologized, and asked if she had a short break.
“I worked straight through lunch. Sorry,” he says again. “I wasn’t keeping track. Probably should have called you or something.”
“It’s okay,” she says, slowly exhaling. “You’re here now.”
“Missed our lunch though. Missed catching up with you,” he mumbles.
“How was it? Your weekend,” she clarifies, voice soft, eyes wide.
“It was…good,” he says, sounding surprised by his own answer. “Didn’t really think about what I was doing until I was on the way there but,” he pauses. “I talked with them.”
She makes a humming noise in encouragement.
“Kinda feel like I shoulda done that a long time ago, but I was too busy ignoring things or pushing them down instead of dealing with them.”
“I meant what I said the other day, Hop. I think it was brave of you to deal with it head on,” she tells him. “Grief is just…really hard,” she finishes.
“I don’t think most people understand it,” he says in a gravely voice.
“I don’t know that most people can.”
He raises his eyebrows at her in a way that she immediately knows he’s asking for her to explain.
“Well,” she huffs. “People understand that loss hurts. They may not care whether it does, but they understand it. But most people don’t understand that grief ebbs and flows. Or that some days it feels like suffocating darkness while others it just seems like your mind is cloudy. Sometimes it means a physical pain or that you feel sick and other times you’re just numb.”
“Yeah,” he nods his head slowly, tossing the cigarette butt to the ground and twisting his toe on it. “I think you’re right.”
He wants to ask her how she knows all of that.
She matches his motions with her own cigarette, then, to his surprise, she places her small hand on his forearm. “I mean it, Jim. This is a big deal.”
He gently puts his hand on top of hers. “Thanks. Really.”
The woods are quiet, dark, and still. The solitude is appealing, but that’s not why he is here. He’s here because of a hope. Maybe a dream.
The kid.
He hasn’t been able to let it go, the fact that nobody knows what happened to her. The boys seemed to think she had been defeated somehow by the domogorgon thing but they were also insistent that she beat it. He felt like she was probably gone forever since the people at the lab weren’t out looking for her anymore. It hadn’t felt quite right to just give up though.
So he came out here every few days to leave some food in a safe place and nearly every time, it was taken. He was under no allusion that it was her, Jane or El or whatever her name was. He might have been feeding a tramp for all he knew. Possibly a tricky raccoon. But some part of him thought it was her and he didn’t think that it was just wishful thinking.
Sometimes it felt like he was being watched, but he never saw anyone. Not even a shadow. No small footprints covered the ground, though he hoped with snow approaching soon there might be. It was a presence, not ominous or foreboding, but gentle and curious.
The first few weeks he’d just left the food but now he talked too. If anybody saw him they’d think he’d lost his mind. Maybe he had, but again, he really didn’t think so.
“I hope you’re out there, kid,” he calls into the woods. “Left you the good stuff this time.” It’s crap, actually, but he knows it’s what she ate. Eggos, several stacked together and enclosed in saran wrap. Some cookies in a tupperware container. Some chocolate milk.
He can hear his breathing all suited up as the respirator inside the suit filters the air through, making a sucking noise. Everything else is unnaturally silent, their footsteps not even making a sound as they’re muffled.
“Joyce,” he says before he even realizes why. Her breaths are coming faster and faster though and he knows that she needs someone to stop her before she tips over the invisible edge she’s hurtling toward.
“What?” she snaps.
“Breathe,” he puts his hand, all gloved up, on her arm. “Breathe with me.”
A moment later, her softer breaths match his. “Sorry,” she mumbles.
“S’okay,” he tells her. “You know where we’re going?”
“Sort of,” comes the reply. “It’s really similar to, um, our world? The right side? Look, you can make out landmarks.”
He does recognize things now that she points it out, but either the Upside Down is deteriorating or it’s being perversely constructed. It’s not easy to tell which.
“So we head to your place then?” She and Jonathan had said the kids’ fort, Castle Byers, was behind the house. That’s where they should go then. “Joyce?” he says again.
“Yeah?”
“I think maybe, well I know we want to find Will, to let him know we’re here, but I think we should try to fly under the radar until we’re close. I just don’t have a good feeling about this.”
All she does is nod and he barely catches the bob of her head but he clutches the giant gun they’d handed to him right outside The Gate a little closer. This place, it’s otherworldly, eerie, and saturated with an essence of darkness.
They walk quietly until Joyce lets out a yell and he gasps in surprise. The sound seems to echo around them.
“Will!”
It’s Castle Byers, or the alternate reality version of it. Torn and ravaged curtains hang across the entrance of the structure that appears to be barely standing.
“Will?!” she screams again. He wants to tell her to be quiet, to be alert, to stay on her toes but he follows her instead, on her six, keeping watch and looking for details that might lead them to the boy who is very clearly not here.
The next few repetitions of her son’s name come from her in a whimper instead of a shout and reaches out a hand to set on her shoulder. The contact seems to snap her back to reality instead of staying in despair and they both step back outside and begin to call for the boy.
She again takes the lead and he follows, heading for the Byers’ house or this perverted version of it, covered in growths and slime, broken in ways that the real version isn’t. He can feel his heart beating. It’s not much faster than usual, in spite of the intensity of the situation they’re in, but inside the hazmat suit he can hear his pulse and his breathing amplified.
Inside the house there’s fresh…blood. That’s what he supposes it is, but it seems unnatural somehow. The smell of charred flesh penetrates their protective gear and he has to guess the monster was here, hunting, and was somehow wounded.
“Will?” Joyce whispers in a puzzled tone, then, with more assurance she says, “Jonathan. Jonathan?” She turns and looks around and Hopper knows she can feel something that he can’t.
But they can’t just wait here.
“Joyce,” he says with gentle insistence. “We’ve got to keep moving.”
“Okay,” she mumbles, still looking around, trying to spot something that isn’t there. Something that might exist in another version, but certainly not this one. “Okay, let’s go.”
He takes the lead now, following the trail that the monster has left behind. It’s a testament to how dark his life has been when he doesn’t find this otherworldly setting frightening. Living has been more difficult than this, feeling has been more painful than anything a monster could inflict, depression is darker than this hazy place. At least here he and Joyce can search and fight back.
“Is there a…what are you following?” Joyce whispers from behind him as the blood trail disappears.
“Just feels like we’re almost there,” he replies. And then he sees it. Her. Nancy Wheeler’s friend, Barbara, who supposedly drove away from everything in Hawkins and went missing. It’s like a horrifying caricature of the pictures he’s seen, bloated, coated in the slime that seems to be everywhere, mottled dark patches of skin.
He hears Joyce make a strangled noise then she rushes past him, yelling for her son. He can tell, even if he doesn’t quite understand how it works, that she feels where Will is.
And he sees the moment that Joyce finds him, finds her son. The cry of grief, anguish, and fear that she’s too late. And a refusal to believe that he can’t be saved.
Will Byers is suspended, or more accurately held against the trunk of a tree, like a perverse cross he hangs on. A vine snakes into his mouth, down his throat.
Joyce is there, pulling at vines, clawing, trying to free her son and for a moment Hopper is frozen, motionless. He feels too keenly what it was like to lose Sara, remembers too vividly what it was like to have her hooked up to all those machines. He ends up mobilized by her voice, talking to her son as she tries to get to him.
“God no, no. Will? Will!” she cries as she attempts to free him. “Hop, he’s not breathing. He’s not breathing!”
He’s able to reach where Joyce can’t and untangle the boy. When he lifts Will to the ground he’s struck by how small he is. “Joyce!” he barks at her and she ceases her soft cries and murmured words. “Joyce, listen to me. Listen! I need you to be able to follow my instructions, ‘kay? Tilt his head back and lift his chin when I say, yeah? Head tilt, chin lift.”
She nods but begins talking again. As Hopper performs compressions it seems as if he keeps beat to a steady “Will, Will, Will,” from Joyce. He feels like he might crush the small boy, feels like he’s too delicate to endure all that he has.
“Alright, now when I tell you, pinch his nostrils shut and breathe into his mouth. Joyce, pinch and breathe,” he says aloud while he tracks twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty internally. “Go, Joyce now!”
She breathes, he watches, then he begins compressions again feeling like a positive outcome is less and less likely but he knows there’s nothing that will be able to stop Joyce now and he honestly doesn’t feel like he could let go either.
“Come on, kid,” he mutters. “Come on.”
“It’s me, it’s me, Will. It’s your mom. Can you hear me, baby? I love you. I love you more than anything in the world. I will not leave here without you, you hear me?!”
“Joyce, breathe!” he yells at her again, and immediately starts compressions.
She’s weeping, begging her son to just breathe. “I’m not leaving here without you, baby, I won’t do it. You need to wake up, you hear me, you need to wake up!”
He remembers all too well begging his own little girl to breathe, to stay with him. He notes the tears streaking his own face when the boy finally gasps.
“That’s it, baby!” she laughs.
He grabs the air from his suit and slips the respirator mask onto the boy’s face then he moves to crouch behind Joyce, sheltering all of them, watching their surroundings.
As the adrenaline flags, he notices the ache in his heart. He can’t rightly call it envy or jealousy, though maybe he should, he’s not sure. But it’s something akin to feeling his own losses afresh. After his daughter’s death a scab had formed over his grief but the wound hadn’t healed at all but somehow this little boy’s resurrection has bumped into that scab causing it to fall right off. Underneath is tender skin that can’t really withstand what it’s going to be exposed to, but with time, things will be ok. And he guesses that every once in a while, when that scar gets bumped, pain will zing through him but then it will ebb away and life will proceed and he will be living it more fully with each passing day.
He doesn’t let his guard down until they’re back and Will is in a hospital, a real one, not the lab.
At the hospital Will Byers is lying in a hospital bed, looking almost comically small, surrounded by the stark white sheets and beeping machines. He’s off oxygen now and has an IV for fluids, no medications needed. While Joyce knows that he’s woken up, he is breathing on his own, and his physical recovery is anticipated to be quick, she can’t help but balk at seeing her baby hooked up to monitors and machines. It doesn’t feel right. Medicine, technology, and even search parties didn’t save her son. But she can’t help but feel heart overflowing with gratitude that they’re here and whole.
When he blinks his way to full alertness, she reaches out tenderly and puts a hand on his head to ruffle his hair. “Hey, baby.”
“Where are we?” he whispers, voice gravely with disuse.
“You’re home now,” Jonathan says. “Well, at the hospital. But you’re back. Safe.” He wipes at a tear with the back of his hand that is bandaged up, overwhelmed and relieved.
“Jonathan?”
“Yeah, it’s me buddy,” the older boy laughs.
“Are you ok?” Will asks his brother, earning more laughter from both Joyce and Jonathan. The small, fragile boy in a hospital bed asking about everyone else.
“Yeah, I’m good. This is just a cut. And everything else,” he trails off for a moment. “Everything else is perfect now you’re back.”
Their mom finds herself glad that the boys are talking because her voice has failed her and emotions are far too close to the surface.
“Hey, we brought you some stuff so you don’t get bored,” Jonathan explains. “The doctors said you’ll be here a couple days, no longer than two or three, but I didn’t want you to just sit here with nothing to do.”
Later that day Will’s friends visit, telling him their side of the story of the past week. They’ll listen to whatever he’s willing to share, which isn’t a lot, it’s not something he wants to relive. But he fills in many of the gaps.
Hopper brings by a sketch pad and set of new colored pencils. Joyce watches him take a breath before he enters the hospital room, as if he’s plunging into the deep end of a pool. He shows Will how to gently sharpen the pencils with his pocket knife in the absence of a pencil sharpener.
Even Donald swings by the house bringing a gallon of milk and a dozen eggs, which seems somewhat random but is oddly sweet coming from him.
Several people bring over meals, allowing Joyce to spend most of her time with her boys instead of in the kitchen. There are more people who care enough to step in than she realized.
Thanksgiving falls only a few days after Will’s discharge from the hospital and even though it makes Joyce anxious, she drops Will off at the Wheeler’s house so the boys can play. She gets Karen, who is also on edge, to promise that the children will stay inside so they can be monitored.
At home she prepares dinner for their little family. Lots of potatoes. They were inexpensive and went a long way. Turkey and dressing. A jello salad. Cornbread. It is an abundance.
It also puts her in a rather dire financial situation that she’s decided she will deal with at a later time.
With an hour left on the timer before the turkey is done, she goes to get Will.
“Jonathan!” her voice ricochets down the hallway, still not repaired from the past weeks’ destruction. “I’m going to pick up your brother.”
She doesn’t expect him to stick his head in the hallway and ask, “Can I come?”
It’s only a second she flounders before answering, “Yeah, let’s go.” She briefly considers the possibility of the house burning down in their absence, but realizes she can’t bring herself to be upset by it, particularly in light of spending these quality moments with her son.
She continues to feel her heart next to overflowing as she watches Will surrounded by his friends and Nancy sneaking a gift to Jonathan. Watching them grow continues to be her greatest source of joy. In fact, the only moment of niggling concern is Will’s uncharacteristic quiet at their dinner table later, but she chalks that up to tiredness. Her life, not fixed by any means, feels like an embarrassment of riches.
“Happy Thanksgiving, Chief,” Flo calls out to him as soon as he walks in the station.
He agreed to work, knowing that a lot of his men would want to be with their families for the holiday. Some would travel and others would host a meal at their house. He knew he’d spend the day alone and so it had made sense to offer to work. The thought of being on his own didn’t sting as much as it once had though. He is starting to realize that no longer having a wife or child doesn’t mean he has to be truly alone.
“Hey, Flo. Happy Thanksgiving! You’re working?” He’s a little bit surprised. Flo tends to have a hierarchy of priorities and her family ranks at the top.
“Mm hmm, everyone is coming for the weekend instead of today. You be ready to eat leftovers next week, Chief. I’m not going to eat turkey forever,” she tells him.
He knows she’s enjoying this, his new openness to…everything. To be frank, he is too. He’s ready.
“That’ll be good,” he tells her. “Didn’t really do much grocery shopping or cooking the past couple weeks with everything going on.”
He hasn’t really done much grocery shopping or cooking the last couple of years but that goes without saying and Flo graciously lets it slide.
“Well,” she says with a sigh, almost magically producing a pumpkin pie from somewhere and setting it to share with those who are working. “I’m sure you have a lot to get to with how busy it’s been lately. I’ll just be here answering calls and filing things, but if you get bored back there in your office you bring your work out here.”
“Thanks, Flo,” he says, then clears his throat.
If it’s possible, he’s been sleeping worse that before all of this started. Of course, he doesn’t have the same “comforts” to help him fall asleep. He’s stayed away from that. And now there are nightmares to deal with. Not every single night, but still, he’s not numb and he’s surprised by how many things he feels.
That little girl, El, she nearly broke his heart. The boys had said they’d noticed the men from the lab approaching in time to at least think of a plan. The girl had fought them and the monster from the Upside Down too. And then she’d disappeared. She had fought so hard to save Will and now she wasn’t even around to thank. He felt immense guilt for sending Brenner’s crew out to the school at all, but not knowing what happened to the child gnawed at him.
Then there was Joyce’s kid and Joyce herself. Heck, that whole family. They were barely making ends meet, she was burning the candle at both ends, and they were struggling to get back on their feet now. If you could call it being back on their feet.
And his own past had a way of reappearing as well. More frequently, he’d noticed that his dreams of Sara and Diane tended toward the happy instead of the tragic. That had to mean something, right?
Maybe next week he would swing by Melvald’s and see if Joyce wanted to talk about any of it on her lunch break. She’d probably be back at work then, right? And it would most likely help them both to process some of the crap out loud with somebody who understood.
He sits down at his desk with that plan in his mind: get real groceries and cook some meals, get proper rest and stay away from vices, talk about recent events and not let things fester. He feels satisfied in a way he hasn’t in a long time.
AN: Thanks for reading! Next week I will start posting my chapters that fill in the blanks between Season 1 and 2. They could be read each as their own fics, but I will post them in the order they happen. Also, they're all written already, so no worries if you're somebody who likes to only read finished fics. You won't be left hanging!
I just can't get the idea out of my head of toddler El (being raised by Hopper and Joyce) throwing a tantrum and making the power surge like Boo in Monsters Inc.
