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whatliesabove-blog1 · 7 years ago

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small, quiet room

Chapter nineteen (final chapter) | ao3

They make it work. It's rough and it's weird and there are whispers around town (he's spending an awful lot of time with that Byers boy), but they make it work. Joyce isn't sure if it's better or worse that they all assume he's buttering up to Jonathan to get closer to her. As if he'd do that, as if he'd need to do that. But then she remembers they don't really know about their past together. Nothing beyond town rumors and not anyone who didn't go to high school with them.

Even then it's mostly Karen who knows the important bits, and Joyce swallows it down. Let it roll off.

The only thing that matters, Hopper keeps reminding her, is that they aren't guessing the truth. No one thinks Jonathan is Hoppers son; no one knows outside of those they’ve chosen to tell.

(Hopper tells El a few months after they settle into a routine. He tells her first that Jonathan is his son, which he hopes will be enough and she'll be confused but ultimately let it go without too many questions.

His hopes are shot right down when she looks at him with those big eyes of hers and asks, voice serious, "So you and Joyce... had sex?"

He spends the next fifteen minutes choking, recovering from choking, and stewing in the discomfort of it all.)

"Yes, you should go," Joyce says, fussing with the collar of Will's shirt. "Why wouldn't you?"

Hopper groans. "Don't you think it'd be weird for me to just show up?"

"No weirder than anything that's happened in the past few months, no," she counters, finally releasing her son, who takes this opportunity to scurry away before she finds something else about his outfit to fret over. "Your son is graduating high school, Hop. You need to go."

It's still a strange feeling, hearing her refer to Jonathan as his son. It's gotten a little less strange as of late, but his stomach still flips a little when he realizes that shit, yeah, Jonathan is his son.

And he's graduating high school.

"Fuck, I'm old."

"Hey," she admonishes, playfully slapping at his arm. "If you're old then I'm old, and I do not want to feel old today. Got it?"

She feels old most days, and today she just wants to feel... happy. With her son graduating high school and getting ready to go off to college, her other boy safe and sound and within arms reach (physically, right now, because she knows it won't stay this way), and Hopper... well, Hopper just being here.

A laugh escapes from deep in his throat. "'Course." He trails his gaze over her, taking in the drastic change from her daily outfit choice. She's in a dress, for starters, a navy blue thing with bright colored flowers all over it and thin straps, the fabric falling just right. "For the record though, Joyce, you never look old."

Joyce stares at him for a second, mouth open.

Will comes speeding back into the living room before she has a chance to say something, though she's not entirely sure what she would've said anyway, and is urging them to let's go, Mom, we'll miss Jonathan graduate at this rate.

“We can't have that now, can we?”

She's still unwilling to give in, but Hopper was right about his presence at the graduation causing... not a scene, not even remotely close to a scene, but there are talks. Stares, whispers, confused expressions settled on the overly tanned faces of nosy townspeople.

"They're here to watch their kids graduate," Joyce mutters under her breath, crossing and uncrossing her legs. "You'd think they'd be focused enough on that to ignore their gossip. I mean, you're the Chief for Christ's sake. You know some of these kids, why shouldn't you be here?"

Hopper laughs, low and deep. "They're bored old broads, Joyce. Got nothin' better to do." Joyce continues to stare right back at the not-so-subtle onlookers, who only look away when Hopper gives them a hot glare over her shoulder. Guiding her head slowly away from them, Hopper pats at her knee with his other hand. "Like you said, kid graduating. Pay attention to that."

She nods but her lips remained pursed, annoyance running through her veins.

She wants to scream it out, fuck everyone else in this town. If she's the one to admit it then it loses its power; they can whisper and act like high school girls all they want, but she has the power to take away their little smirks. One sentence, Hopper is Jonathan's father, and it'd be over. Sure they'd throw her under the bus, gossip some more, but then it'd be over. Something else will inevitably come along and they'll lose interest.

But she won't do it, of course. Not here, not at her boy's graduation, and not ever, really. It'd be nice in the long run, but there's still too much at stake.

How it'd affect Hopper and his work, Jonathan's feelings (he may be leaving in a few months but this would still be his home, and he'd still have to come back), and, of course, probably the biggest negative to outing themselves: Lonnie.

Lonnie can't know. That's the one thing they've all agreed upon; it'll only cause more harm than good.

"Mom."

Shaking herself from her thoughts, Joyce turns to look down at Will. "Yeah, baby?"

"Jonathan's almost up," he says, and her head whips up toward the stage. They're finishing up the last names beginning with A now, and soon it'll be her boy. "He looks pretty cool in his cap and gown."

Will has Jonathan's camera in his hands, poised and ready to shoot when the time comes. Jonathan didn't want his graduation recorded, tried to say that he didn't like to be the one on camera, but she wasn't having it.

"You're my oldest and I need a video for when I'm old and senile and can no longer remember your graduation," she'd told him in the kitchen one night, and Jonathan had laughed. "Just for me, okay?"

And he had caved easily, nodding along and relenting that yes, okay, but you aren't showing it to anyone, and she'd promised. There's no one she'd show it to anyway.

Baker. Boilston (tragedy of a last name, Hopper thinks). Butler.

The names dwindle down, one teenager after the next walking across in their caps and gowns, until—

"Jonathan Byers."

Joyce jumps out of her seat, proud tears in her eyes, and claps until her palms are red and aching. The smile on her face is so wide it threatens to split her skin, her cheeks pulling with the effort, but she doesn't care. Jonathan looks in her direction (she's not hard to spot, the only person—aside from Will, who's howling as he records—standing) and laughs a little, casts her a small smile as he continues across the stage and receives his diploma.

She's standing even after Jonathan's left the stage, her hands now covering her smile.

Hopper's the one who eventually pats gently at her side, signals that she should probably sit down because the people behind them might want to see their own kids walk across the stage, and she gasps. Turning around, she offers a sheepish smile and a murmured apology to the couple whose view was directly obstructed by her standing, and then takes her seat once more.

The rest of the graduation is a blur, honestly, because all she can think about is that her son's a high school graduate. Will chatters excitedly beside her as he reviews his footage ("it came out pretty well," he beams, a wide, proud smile on his face, "we might have to deal with my screaming, though.") and at some point, she's not sure when, Hopper's hand has moved to cover her own.

They don't look at each other, but the corners of her lips curl into a small smile.

"Mom."

Joyce squeezes tighter.

"Mom," Jonathan tries again, laughing a little as his mother clutches to him. Her arms wrap around his neck, palms cradling the back of his head, as more happy tears fall onto her cheeks. "Mom."

"Joyce, you're choking the kid," Hopper says after a minute, tapping at her back lightly. She ignores the way the contact burns through her thin dress and scorches her skin.

Joyce chuckles, squeezing once more before finally letting go. "Sorry, sorry," she says as she steps back, the smile never leaving her face. Wiping at the tears beneath her eyes, she takes his face in her palms once more. "My baby boy graduated."

"Not exactly a baby anymore," Jonathan says with a small smirk.

She settles into an expression of mock-seriousness. "You'll always be my baby, sweetheart. Get used to it," she says, patting his cheek once more.

With Joyce now standing with an arm around Will's shoulders, Hopper coughs a little, clears his throat.

"Congratulations."

The boy smiles. "Thanks."

It takes a few seconds, but Hopper steps forward and wraps an arm around Jonathan in a hug; it's quick, but Jonathan hugs him back and Joyce's heart swells. They're getting better at the hugging thing. They don't do it often, but with each one they get progressively less awkward.

"I'm uh, you know, proud of you," Hopper tells him, and Joyce can tell by the way that he rubs at the back of his neck, the way he's standing, that he's nervous. But she can also tell that he's emotional. It's in the set of his jaw, the hard swallow of his throat to keep from tearing up. Joyce grins, fights back a fresh wave of her own tears.

Hopper's a big tough guy, but he's also a softie. A big 'ole softie who just watched his only son graduate in a room full of hundreds of people who don't know he's a father.

(That's why he'll tell her, later, when they're alone on her back porch, that he didn't let himself get overtly emotional.

It makes sense.

She'll call him on his bullshit with a grin, though, tell him he just didn't want anyone to see him cry, and he'll laugh. This watery thing, crawling over the lump deep in his throat to break free.

And then he'll cry a little, Joyce's comforting presence, her arm around his back, to keep him company.)

"Oh, thanks," Jonathan says with a nod. He takes his cap off and holds it against his chest. "Thank you."

"Okay, wait, Jonathan—stand next to Will," Joyce says just as they're all ready to clear out of the overly crowded gymnasium. They're all, thankfully, huddled hear one of the back walls, so at least they're not in anyone's way. Jonathan groans. "No, hey, come on. It's your graduation. We're taking pictures."

Ignoring his exaggerated stagger to the back wall, as if it's the most taxing thing she's ever asked him to do, Joyce makes gestures similar to what she'd assume herding cattle is like. Arms swinging, wrists flicking and fingers pointing, hands guiding. A little to the left. Your other left, Will. Jonathan, look like you're enjoying yourself. No, wait, the right a little, there's a food cart—

"Mom," Jonathan laughs. "Please."

"Okay, okay," she grins, holding the camera up. "Now smile!"

This goes on for another ten minutes, Joyce getting every possible combination of photos she wants and everyone else going along with it because it's Joyce. At one point, Karen, Ted, and Mike end up making their way to the back as well, their own graduate in tow.

"Congratulations, Nancy," Joyce says, giving the girl a light hug. "Oh! Go stand next to Jonathan."

"Mom."

"Joyce."

"What, it's—"

"Graduation," Jonathan, Hopper, and Will all echo matter-of-factly, finishing for her. She gives them a look.

Nancy laughs but follows Joyce's instructions, handing her cap off to her mother before it's handed right back—keep it on for the picture, honey—and stands next to Jonathan. The two graduates smile for the photo and then mingle for a bit, Will having already skidded around the adults to talk to Mike.

"So, this is something, huh?" Karen needles, smirking as she looks from Joyce to Hopper.

"That's one way to put it."

Joyce nods, blowing out a breath. "It's nice. To have it all out in the open," she says, agreeing with Hopper while keeping her voice low. Ted doesn't know, and it's not as if he's paying attention (par for the course), but she can't be too careful. "Finally."

"Good, I'm glad," her friend says. "This is how it should be. I'm happy for you guys, really."

"Thank, Karen," Joyce breathes, pulling her into a hug. "For everything."

Karen's been a godsend throughout this entire ordeal, whether she knows it or not. Joyce isn't great at making time for herself, what with the boys and her job, but Karen's trying—slowly but surely—to ensure that they don't go through another decades-long disappearing act where they don't speak or see each other. It's what she wants, too, because she does miss Karen. Despite their obvious differences, she's missed her all of those years, and in some ways, that damned blood typing lab was a blessing.

Beyond the good it did (in the long run, because there are still rocky moments) for her and Hopper, for Jonathan too, it brought her back together with a good friend. Karen was the one all those years ago in Benny's restaurant who told her she should tell Hop, that in spite of Joyce doing the complete opposite, in spite of her making what Karen believed to be a huge mistake, she never judged her for it. Never told a soul what she knew.

And now she's here again, helping her through the uncharted waters of this transition.

She's grateful.

"Of course, honey," Karen tells her, squeezing her once before letting go. "Okay, come on kids. I'm starved. Joyce, we're heading to lunch—why don't you all join us?"

Her mouth opens, a polite decline on the tip of her tongue because it'd be nice, but she knows she can't afford wherever Karen's planning to take her family, when Hopper puts a gentle hand on her shoulder and speaks for her.

"Sure, why not," he says, and she whips her head around, eyes flying to his. "What? Kid's graduation, he deserves a nice meal. And I'm hungry."

She lowers her voice to a whisper. "But Hop..."

"My graduation present," he interrupts seriously. He has something else in mind—the money he's been secretly putting into Joyce's stash for Jonathan's college fund—but he can manage a meal, too. "We could all use it. It'll be fun."

So Joyce just smiles, fights against her natural instinct to buck against the gesture and hopes she can convey with her eyes how much this means. How appreciative she is.

"Perfect," Karen grins, shuffling her kids in front of her. "Ted, make sure you grab the bags."

Ted makes a noncommittal noise and then they're off.

But before they go, Joyce asks Karen to take one final picture. Of the four of them.

When Jonathan leaves for college, Joyce is a mess. A crying, distraught, proud mess.

Nancy is going to NYU too, for journalism, and so she and Jonathan had decided they'd make the drive together. They're only taking the essentials, a few suitcases each, which easily fit into the backseat and the trunk. The big stuff was shipped overnight, thanks to Hopper and much to Joyce's dismay.

"Traveling with a mattress on top of of the car is a pain in the ass, Joyce," he'd told her. "Not to mention dangerous. That thing slides onto the windshield? Game over."

She knows the odds of that happening are slim, especially when they'd make sure that thing was strapped on perfectly before even letting Jonathan leave, but he knows the safety aspect would loosen her up and it had worked. It does make her feel better that Jonathan doesn't have to worry about any of that, but she still hates that Hopper's just... paying for all of this.

("He's my kid too, you know," he'd said when she told him how much she hates it. "Half the genes, half the money. That's the deal."

She'd huffed and puffed and given him the silent treatment, but she couldn't dispute it.

It's not what she's accustomed to—no, she's more acquainted with the money stealing, the gambling, the groaning every time she asked Lonnie to pick up a gallon of milk for their sons' breakfast.

This just takes some getting used to.)

"Mom, I'll be okay," Jonathan assures her. She doesn't loosen her grip though, and he gives a pleading look to Hopper over her shoulder. "I'll let you know as soon as we get there, and I promise I'll call home often."

Nodding from where she's burrowed herself in his chest, she sniffs as she pulls away. "I know. I know, baby," she says, smoothing her palms down his shirt. "I'm so proud of you, you know that? So proud."

Jonathan smiles. "I know, Mom."

"Make sure he doesn't get into any trouble for me," she says jokingly to Nancy, who's standing off to the side.

The girl laughs. "I promise, Mrs. Byers."

He hugs Will and tells him that the stuff in the box in the corner of his bedroom is fair game (it's mostly old photography stuff he doesn't need anymore, posters, a bunch of CDs and mixtapes, and some clothes that are too small now), and his little brother beams.

With goodbyes said and done, another hug between Jonathan and Hopper in which Jonathan thanks him for everything he's done and Hopper gets teary-eyed (Joyce pretends not to notice, but she does), and one last crushing squeeze from Joyce, their son is settling into the car with Nancy. They stand on the porch until he's gone and out of sight, and then Joyce lets one last sob break free.

"He'll be fine. He's a smart kid," Hopper tells her, a palm pressed between her shoulder blades.

Joyce nods. "Yeah. I know."

Hopper stays for another smoke and a cup of coffee before he has to get back to the cabin, but he promises to come back tomorrow. Things are easier now than they were, all a little lighter since that day Joyce told him about the secret she'd been harboring for seventeen years, but he's under no impression it'll all be smooth sailing. Neither is she, and that's okay.

They’ll get there.

Fleeting glances and light touches and shared smokes are enough for now.

As Hopper slides into the front seat, he digs his wallet from his pack pocket before he has a chance to sit on it. The polaroid sticks out and he plucks it from the confines of the fake leather, holds it delicately between his fingers. Looking back at him are four smiling faces, and if no one knew any better, it'd look just like a family portrait.

He allows his smile to match its twin for a few moments, and then the photo is tucked back into its rightful place.

#jopper #joyce byers #jim hopper #joyce x hopper #thank you all so much :')#i have no words

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whatliesabove-blog1 · 7 years ago

Text

small, quiet room

Chapter eighteen | ao3

"Are you sure you don't want to come?"

Yes she wants to come, but despite this, despite how every part of her body is screaming to the contrary, Joyce shakes her head. She'd love to go and watch father and son interact, hear what they have to say to each other, but it's not her place. It's her input and her sole decision-making that got them to where they are, and she knows this is something they need to do on their own. Whatever happens, whatever needs to be said, is between the two of them.

If they want her to know, one of them will fill her in later.

Even if the look on Jonathan's face expresses the same doubts she has. Even if she can tell by the look in his eyes that he does want her there, if only to serve as something of a buffer.

"No, sweetie. This is something you and Hopper have to figure out," she says, running a comforting hand along his forearm. "It'll be good for you."

Not totally convinced but still understanding, Jonathan gives a slow nod. "Yeah, okay."

"You're meeting Hopper at his cabin, right?"

That was the plan; it's not a completely neutral location, no, but it was better than going to some restaurant in town where there would be a minimum of two sets of eyes on them no matter what. This town is a fishbowl and the sight of Hopper and Jonathan together would stir the rumor mill—are they rumors if the information is true but not out yet, she wonders—and god forbid if someone overhears them.

Hopper's trailer is a little out of the way and, in his own words, too much of a pigsty, and Joyce's place would be fine but Will's going to be home soon (Jonathan was let out early for this, which she deems to be fair since she took Will out early for her own one-on-one conversation with him). He wouldn't be a bother, and she’s almost positive he wouldn't even want to be a part of the conversation, but it's still best if they're alone.

Plus, El's going over the Wheeler's after school. The girl's excitement overpowered the odd suggestion, so she blissfully didn't ask Hopper what the deal was. Probably too nervous he'd change his mind if she even questioned it.

So, the cabin.

"Yeah, he said he'd be there as soon as he got off work."

Joyce looks to the clock on the wall and furrows a brow. It's only 2:30; Hopper shouldn't be off work for another few hours, at least.

"He's leaving at 3:00," her son cuts in, no doubt noticing the confused expression on her face. "Said he'd make Powell or someone take the rest of his shift."

She nearly suppresses a snort. Makes sense, and absolutely sounds like Hopper.

"Okay," she says. "I'll be here, so you just call if you need anything, okay?"

Jonathan smirks. "I know, Mom. I will."

Bottom lip pulled between her teeth, she nods again. "Okay," she exhales, her nerves on edge. It should be Jonathan freaking out about this potentially life-changing conversation he's about to have, but it's her. Then again, he’s always been better at masking it. "You'll be fine."

She's reassuring herself as much as she is Jonathan, but it works just the same.

"I know," he repeats, squeezing her shoulder. Pulling her into a quick side hug, he lets out a breath. "You'll be fine too."

That gets a laugh from her, because this is not the first time her boy's been comforting her in this situation when it should be the other way around.

"Thanks, baby," she smiles when he pulls away. "Drive safe, please."

"Always do."

And then he's leaving, disappearing onto the front porch and into his car. She stands there, watches until he peels out of the driveway and turns onto the road and she can no longer see him at all.

Her son's just left to have a heart-to-heart (or as close to one as one gets with Hopper) with his father and she's slowly losing her mind. Her heart is in her throat, nail-beds torn and ripped up from her constant biting, and her mouth suddenly feels like it's been stuffed with cotton.

There are so many potential things that could go wrong, so many ways Jonathan could get hurt or Hopper could get hurt, or even worse both of them, and if she sits here and runs through each of them in her mind she may lose it. So she closes the door and turns on her heel, forces herself to change into something other than her work uniform (this seems like the perfect time for sweatpants and a comfortable t-shirt), and settles into the couch.

Everything will be fine, nothing is going to blow up, and these are the thoughts she repeats in the back of her mind while she turns on the television.

Hopper leaves the station earlier than anticipated, all of his pent up energy bubbling over and making it impossible to concentrate on any of the word he should realistically be doing. He manages to tip his hat in Flo's direction and offer a muted farewell, mainly because he doesn't want to arouse any suspicion. It's as if every single person in this damn place can tell, can see just by looking at him that he has a secret son with Joyce Byers and he's leaving right now to go meet with him.

"See you tomorrow, Chief," Powell calls out on a laugh, to which Hopper flips him off.

Normal behavior.

He intends to go straight to the cabin but instead he pulls off on a quiet road and gets out of the car, leans against the driver's side door for a few minutes. There's a breeze and it feels good on his face, counteracts the nerves warming his skin. He shouldn't be so freaked out; he saw the kid the other day and it wasn’t the most comfortable thing in the world but nothing came crashing down around them, but now it'll just be the two of them.

Maybe he can reschedule for a few months from now, when it’ll still be just as jarring and no less easy, but it won’t be this very moment. He's sure Jonathan doesn't want to do this shit any more than he does, because it's fucking weird.

You two need to talk, he can hear Joyce's voice in his head. Something about bonding and figuring out how they want to go about this new dynamic and blah blah blah. Annoying thing is, she's right.

Running a hand through his hair, hat tossed back through the open window, he groans. God, he wishes he could hate her. Really, truly hate her for putting him in this situation right now. If she'd have just said something earlier, even by a few years, this awkward introduction would be long gone and he wouldn't be sweating through his uniform.

Except he can't hate her, can't even see a situation in which maybe he'd truly hate her, and that makes him hate her a little more. By mere centimeters, really, because she's just so goddamn unhateable that he's able to ratchet up the dislike by this much.

It’s negligible, but it makes him feel a little better so he’ll take it. Laughing to himself, he shakes his head. Ridiculous, absolutely absurd, is what this is.

A fucking son.

A son who's probably waiting for him at his cabin right now since it's nearly a half hour after he said he'd be leaving. So, heaving out one last breath, Hopper forces himself back into his truck, closes the door, and heads in the direction of what's likely to be the most uncomfortable conversation of his life.

Jonathan's sitting on the porch when he pulls up, crouched on the stairs. Getting out of the truck, he tucks his hat beneath his arms and slams the door shut. If the rumbling of the tires on the uneven ground didn't alert the boy to his presence, that sure as hell did.

"Hi," Jonathan says, standing once Hopper gets closer. He hovers close to the wooden railing, half-leaning on it in a way that's meant to look nonchalant but just looks like he's ready to run for the hills.

Same, kid.

"Hey." They stare at each other for a few moments before Hopper finally takes the lead; he opens the door, walks in, and assumes Jonathan's going to follow. "Air's not working that great, but it's not too bad."

Silence.

Jonathan's still standing on the porch, and Hopper sighs. "Well, let's go," he says, making an exaggerating sweeping motion with his arm to try and get him to come inside. "This talk is going to be a lot more awkward if we have to scream it at each other from ten feet."

The kid actually laughs and a small knot loosens in his chest. Closing the door behind him, Jonathan shuffles over and sits on the couch with his arms resting on his thighs. Being doubled over like that doesn't look all that comfortable but he sat down without needing to be told, so Hopper takes it as a win.

He’s been in much more uncomfortable positions passed out on that couch anyway. Turned out fine.

"You want a drink?" he asks, grabbing a beer for himself. Jonathan blinks. "Look, I won't tell your mom if you don't. There's also water and soda, but I can’t make any promises about how long that's been in the back of the fridge."

"Yeah, sure," Jonathan says eventually, accepting the bottle. "Thanks."

Maybe this isn't the best first impression, being his father—fuck, that's weird—and the Chief, but fuck it. He's having a beer and he knows the kid drinks with his friends, and he'd feel like shit forcing water on him for this while he watched him down a drink. Only one, though, because he's not letting him drive back after having had more than that. Europeans drink with dinner when they're children or something, Italians maybe, and wine's different than beer but the sentiment is the same.

Pretend it’s dinner, that they’re discussing the pasta and not their newfound familial connections, and all is well. Nothing to see here.

They spend a few minutes in silence after Hopper returns from changing into jeans and a t-shirt, each taking sips of their beers, nursing them as if something absolutely horrible will happen if they're gone and they’re forced to actually speak to each other.

"This as weird for you as it is for me?" he asks eventually, voice gruff.

Jonathan laughs, nods. "Yeah, definitely."

"Good."

"Didn't think I'd ever really be back here," he says, glancing around uneasily. Beer grasped in both hands, knuckles almost whiting out around the glass, he purses his lips. He looks so much like Joyce right now. "The last time..."

It clicks.

"Will," Hopper finishes for him. It didn't even occur to him that this is where they'd had to heat that thing out of Will's body. "Shit, Jonathan." He runs a hand down his face. "Great start. I didn't think about it."

Jonathan shrugs, takes another swig. "It's okay. Not like this place is haunted or anything, and Will's fine, so it shouldn't be a problem. It's just... a lot, trying to forget what happened here."

"No kidding. I wasn't even here for it and I still—" His voice trails off and he clears his throat.

"Still what?"

He shakes his head. "Nothing," he says, but now Jonathan's looking at him with squinted eyes and it's bad enough when Joyce does it, so he focuses on his beer instead. "Just know it's gotta be hard to deal with. How's he holding up?"

This isn't what they're supposed to be talking about, isn't at all what Jonathan came over for, but it's safe territory.

"Will's fine," he's told. "Still has nightmares sometimes, which is what I assume you were about to say before you stopped."

Hopper's eyes slowly lift to his. "You've got no idea what you're talking about."

"Bullshit."

“Jonathan.” Taking a deep breath, he sets his bottle onto the table with a small thud. "Not here to talk about my issues."

Jonathan shakes his head. "Isn't that exactly what we're here to talk about, though?" he asks, voice gaining confidence as he goes. "Your issues. One being me, the seventeen year old kid you didn't know you had?"

Hopper groans. "Okay, yeah, that. None of the others." Pausing, he squeezes his eyes shut. "And you're not an issue, kid."

There’s an eerie silence that goes on for too long, and when Hopper opens his eyes Jonathan’s regarding him strangely. Not confused, but more... assessing. Like he’s trying to figure something out, and he thinks this is worse.

“What?” he finally grits out, having had enough of the blinking and the quiet and the staring.

“Just surprised, I guess,” Jonathan shrugs.

“That I don’t think you’re an issue?” At the boy’s neutral shrug, Hopper lets out a deep noise that’s somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. “Jeez, kid, what kind of man do you take me for?”

Jonathan’s raised brow clues him into yeah, maybe that wasn’t the best question to ask. Or maybe it is.

“Well, out with it,” he says then, proverbially giving Jonathan the floor. “We’ve gotta talk about this sometime and your impression of me might as well be a start.”

“Seriously?” Hopper nods mutely. “I’m—I mean, I don’t think you’re a... bad guy or anything,” he says, looking anywhere but at him. Kid’s uncomfortable. “I wasn’t sure at first, because of your reputation and everything, but then you helped us with Will and you helped my mom, so... I don’t dislike you.”

“But you don’t like me.”

“I didn’t say that,” Jonathan says. “I do, I can’t be mad about stuff you did before you were... I don’t know, around more, I guess, and I can’t hold anything against you about—well, about this. I know you didn’t know.”

“Your mom told you.” It’s not a question; Joyce told him that she’d told Jonathan the truth, that she’d hid it from him for all of these years as well.

“Yeah. Said not to be upset with anyone but her because she didn’t tell you either.”

Hopper nods. “’Least we have that in common, right?” he tries, and the corners of Jonathan’s mouth curl a little. Progress. “I uh—I would’ve been there if I’d known, you know. For your mom and for you. I was a punk kid but I wouldn’t... I would’ve come around and done what was right.”

“Because you got her pregnant and not because you wanted to,” Jonathan hedges, sitting up a little straighter.

“It’s not like that,” Hopper says, shaking his head. “Joyce and I were... we were a special pair back in high school. When we weren’t together we were still together, Joyce and Hop, and I’ve always—” He pauses, closing his eyes. Conversation for another time, and absolutely not with this Byers. “Well, that’s not important right now, but just know that there’s no way I would have left your mom alone if she’d have told me.”

Jonathan stares for a little before looking down, wringing his hands in his lap as he thinks. It’s unsettling not knowing what’s going on in his head, but Hopper doesn’t know what he’s doing either so he figures waiting it out is the best course of action.

“Okay,” he breathes after a few minutes. “I believe you.”

“Good.” Finishing off his beer, Hopper sets the glass down on the wooden table. “So, your mom told me you ran off after she told you.”

“I didn’t run off,” he corrects. “I just had to get out of there for a little bit. Figure out what was going on.”

“Do anything stupid?”

Jonathan laughs. “No. It would’ve been justified, I think, but I just went to see Nancy.”

Hopper nods along. “You tell her?”

“I told her what I knew then, that Lonnie wasn’t my dad and my mom wouldn’t tell me who it was. I didn’t tell her it was you, though. When I knew, I mean.” He hesitates and then continues, quickly, “Not because I’m ashamed or something, I just don’t want to tell people yet.”

“Not gonna offend me, kid. The less who know right now the better. Your mom doesn’t need any more problems in town.”

Jonathan nods. “Yeah. And I’m—I’m worried about what Lonnie would do if he found out.”

Reaching over, Hopper feels the need to place a hand on Jonathan’s shoulder. “He won’t do a damn thing, you hear me? I won’t let him touch your mother. Won’t let him go near you, either.”

With pursed lips, Jonathan offers an appreciative nod. “Thanks.”

“He’s an asshole—shit, sorry, I shouldn’t say that to you.”

But Jonathan just laughs, bitter and low, and shakes his head. “He’s not my dad,” he says easily, and the hair on Hopper’s arms stand on end. “He is a piece of shit. I think he could always tell something was off or whatever. Never liked me. But at least now I know why I don’t look like him, right?”

The comment makes Hopper think, has him trailing his gaze over the boy sitting across from him. He doesn’t look like Lonnie, not at all, and of course there’d be no reason for him to. But he didn’t always know that, so he never made the connection. Now, however, looking at him, he sees it. The kid has Joyce’s eyes, one hundred percent, but he has his bone structure.

He looks like him.

Jonathan’s a Hopper, last name be damned.

“I look more like you than I do Mom,” Jonathan says, as if reading his mind. “I don’t know if you’ve seen the baby picture at home, but I was really blonde. Probably looked like you then, too, since Mom’s... well, very not blonde.”

“I haven’t,” Hopper manages, throat dry.

Jonathan shrugs. “Maybe you could come over, look at them or something. If you wanted to, obviously.”

He wants to see them. He wants to look at all of Jonathan’s baby photos and see the physical resemblance between the two of them, wants to watch through pictures as his son grew up. The thought alone makes his heart speed up a little, emotion stirring in his veins he didn’t expect, but he probably should have.

Hell, near-adult or not, this is his kid sitting here. His kid and Joyce’s kid, and there are hundreds of photos somewhere in her house of their boy growing and changing and he wants to go through them all.

“Yeah, I want to.”

They venture into more neutral territories for a bit after that, just to get back onto even footing and to lessen some of the too-emotional thoughts racing through Hopper’s mind.

He’ll deal with them another time, another place.

But then Jonathan asks him what he thought, what went through his mind when Joyce told him, and he pauses. Replaying the moment in his head, he wants to wince at the sound of Joyce’s sobbing in his ears, getting quieter and quieter only because he was storming away. It’s not his fault, he knows, and she couldn’t have begrudged him for reacting the way he did—and she doesn’t—but he still wishes there was less crying.

Joyce crying has always been a downfall for him, a weak point.

He remembers a time in high school, not too long after they first met, when he found her crying on the steps behind the building. He didn’t know why, and still to this day he has no idea, never got it out of her, but she wrapped her arms around his neck and sobbed into his t-shirt while he awkwardly held her. It seemed to make her feel better, even if she was embarrassed about the whole episode, but he just wiped under her eyes and offered to punch whoever did it, and she’d laughed.

He still wonders what happened, but he’ll never forget the sight of her sitting there, all red-eyed and puffy-cheeked and so upset. He hated it then, and he’s hated it every time since, and being the source of Joyce’s crying isn’t one of his proudest moments.

But Jonathan doesn’t need to know any of this.

“I was surprised,” is what he settles for. “I didn’t expect to be told I had a seventeen year old I never knew existed.”

“That’s fair,” Jonathan says quietly. “Were you upset?”

“At your mom? Absolutely. I’m still upset, if I’m being honest. I’ll probably be upset for a long time,” he admits. He can’t hate her, and he’s not mad at her anymore, but he’s not sure this wave of disappointment will go away so quickly. “About finding out you were my son? No.”

The honesty and sincerity in his voice catches them both off guard.

“You’re a pretty damn good kid, Jonathan,” he says with a small laugh. “‘Course that’s all your mother and no thanks to Lonnie, and I wish I could’ve been there for it, but you came out all right.”

Jonathan smiles, an actual smile. A little embarrassed. “Thanks.”

“This a little less weird now?”

“Not really.”

And they both laugh, because no, he supposes it won’t be any less weird for a while. If it ever stops getting weird.

There should be some formal talk about what they want going forward, and Hopper knows that’s what Joyce is expecting from this entire ordeal right now, but he and Jonathan don’t feel the same way. Outlining do’s and don’ts, a list of what they each expect or want from each other, seems wrong. Weird, too weird for them even in spite of the cloud of utter weirdness they’re already covered by. So they don’t do it.

Instead, they decide to take things as they come.

Hopper will come over for dinner more often, at some point he’ll tell El and Jonathan will tell who he feels fit, and they’ll work it out. Jonathan will come over to the cabin to hang out when there’s free time, and they’ve even settled on some on-on-one “bonding” time. They’ll go to movies or museums or whatever else seems fitting, and that’ll be that.

It’ll be a slow process, but they’re working at it. They both want to work at it, which is the first step.

He knows Jonathan is going off to college soon and he also knows neither he nor Joyce will outright accept any of his help, but he’s hatching a plan to sneak some of his money into that pot regardless. This is his kid, not just Joyce’s, and he’s in a position where he can help. Joyce needs it but won’t ask for it, and so maybe if he helps and they just don’t talk about it, it’ll be okay.

It’s something he’ll figure out when Jonathan graduates and the time comes.

“You don’t have to call me dad or anything,” Hopper says as he walks Jonathan to the door, a hand on his shoulder and an amused lilt to his voice.

Jonathan laughs, loud and surprising. “Oh thank god.”

Shaking his head, he hesitates for just a second before pulling the kid into a hug, something releasing in his chest when Jonathan hugs him back.

#jopper #joyce byers #jim hopper #joyce x hopper #it's here folks #hope you enjoy

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whatliesabove-blog1 · 7 years ago

Note

Do you think David truly loves and gets along with Winona? I just feel like he goes out of his way to mention issues between them before any praise. It feels forced and rehearsed. I hope I'm wrong. I love the idea of this whole cast being close.

rumor

has

they

despise

each

other

#my little bubs #i love them #winona ryder #david harbour

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whatliesabove-blog1 · 7 years ago

Text

Shorts

This can either stand as a drabble or something I can expand into a smut-fic. What say you all?

For once in my life I have someone who needs me

Someone I’ve needed so long

For once unafraid I can go where life leads me

Somehow I know I’ll be strong

For once I can touch, what my heart used to dream of

Long before I knew

Oh someone warm like you…

Jim Hopper smiled as he heard the music floating through the open window as he and El walked up the driveway to Joyce Byers’ front door. It was coming from the kitchen, and he could make out Joyce’s slightly off-key warblings harmonizing with Stevie Wonder’s smoother stylings. It gladdened his heart to hear evidence of a happy, carefree Joyce. The past few months had been touch-and-go after the events of last November, but he and El had been a steadfast touchstone for Joyce and her boys, and they had been the same in turn - seeing to El’s spotty, nearly non-existent education and social-emotional needs with patience and love.

Love. That was a word that was being bandied about the Hopper residence a lot lately. El had taken to assuring Jim of hers for him, once the concept had been explained to her, and on that same token, she had been mercilessly badgering him about his so-called love for Joyce. It wasn’t the same love El had for him or him for her, the clever girl had deduced. It was more like what Mike felt for El, and vice-versa, an accusation that Jim vehemently denied.

“Knock-knock!” Jim announced as he and El stepped through the unlocked door.

“I’m in the kitchen and the boys are setting up the grill in the backyard!” Joyce called. “El you can go around back if you like, Mike is already here.” El didn’t have to be told twice, she turned and exited through the front door in a haste.

Jim cleared his throat as he approached the kitchen. “Hey, Joyce, we talked about you leaving the door unlocked.”

Joyce stepped into view, her arms crossed under her chest. “Honestly, Hop, I knew you were coming.”

The retort died in his throat as the tiny woman before him came into full focus. Her tank-top was bright blue and low-cut, her crossed arms giving him a tantalizing glimpse of cleavage and she was wearing…

“Shorts.”

“Huh?” Joyce wrinkled her nose and dropped her arms as she stared up at Jim with an open mouth. His mind felt fuzzy and his throat constricted as he snapped his eyes back from the denim cut-offs that fell mid-thigh, to her confused brown eyes.

“Life is too short to argue about doors,” he covered with a weak grin.

It stood to reason that she owned at least one pair or shorts. Southern Indiana summers were brutal and just because she was a mother or two, it didn’t mean that the only bottoms in her wardrobe were those old, baggy jeans that were probably two sizes too big for her… a woman had the right to be comfortable, right?

The last time he remembered seeing her in shorts, they had been teenagers tearing around the lake in his silver GTO, her ankles crossed as she propped her bare feet on the dashboard (despite his weak protestations that the car was brand new), and one arm sticking out of the passenger side window, her hand dancing along with the breeze that blew her long auburn hair about. Her hair had been so long that summer; unfashionably curly, thick thick with frizz and always in his personal space when he would wake up after a stolen night when their parents were none the wiser.

“Terrible hair,” he had complained, wholly unconvincingly as he waved a hand in front of his face to combat the wild strands that whipped into his face as they cruised along with the windows open.

Joyce merely snorted her unladylike snort, uncrossing and crossing her ankles, which brought his attention to her long, bare, muscular limbs. “I’ll chop it all off if you hate it so much.”

“See if I care,” he shot back, though he would’ve cared very much.

It had been one of the last purely happy moments of their relationship. A month later he was drafted, and six months after that he found out from Benny that her on-again, off-again with Lonnie Byers was definitely on-again in a big way. He supposed it was his fault for not writing back. When his mother sent the newspaper article with Joyce’s wedding photo, he noticed that her hair was cut into a sleek little bob.

#more #always more #so good #jopper fanfic

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whatliesabove-blog1 · 7 years ago

Text

small, quiet room

Chapter seventeen | ao3

They take things slow.

She suggests that Hopper come over for dinner a week and a half after their conversation in his cabin. The tension is palpable through the phone.

"Do you think that's such a great idea?" he asks, and she just barely suppresses a sigh.

No, she has no idea if it's a good idea, but she does know that they can't keep dancing around this until someone finally caves. Jonathan's still acting a little weird around her; she can tell he's trying his best to seem normal, to act like everything's fine and nothing's different, but she doesn't want that. She doesn't want him walking on egg-shells when this is her fault. If he's still feeling torn or upset or otherwise, then she wants him to say so.

But she thinks it'll be good in the end, even if it has to be bad first.

Talking, she's learning, actually expressing some feelings with the person at the hart of those emotions, can work wonders.

"I do," she says with a false sense of confidence she hopes he can't detect. "You two have to talk, Hop, but maybe... maybe this is a good first step."

"First step?"

"Yeah, you know, you come over for dinner. Wade in the waters first, dip a toe in. Talk to Jonathan; not about anything serious, just talk, and then next time... it'll be the two of you and you can talk about all of this." She hears his breathing on the other line, and she waits him out for a few moments. When he says nothing, she continues. "It'll be easier if you at least see him before your one-on-one, Hop."

He sighs. "Yeah. Okay, you're right."

"Great," she says, her voice displaying more positivity than she feels. "Bring El, obviously. She can hang out with Will. He's... I feel horrible that he's in the middle of this."

"How is he doing?" Hopper asks, and a small smile curls at her mouth.

"He's okay, I think. It's weird for him too, but I know he doesn't want to say anything."

She doesn’t mention anything about him asking if Hopper’s his father too, about the tiny sliver of hope that he allowed to shine through his eyes. The way they dulled when she had to tell him that no, he’s still stuck with Lonnie, still pulls at her. There was the tiniest hint of sadness there, but mostly acceptance, and it's too much to think about. Hopper doesn’t need to know.

Humming into her ear, he offers noises of agreement. "He's a tough kid."

Joyce laughs. "Yeah, he is. My not-so-little boy."

Conversation steers from their mixed up family troubles and into lighter territory. She can tell he still hasn't completely forgiven her, and she doesn't expect him to any time soon, but he's trying. To forgive, to move on, to take things as they come.

She's grateful for it. For him, even if she has a shitty way of showing it sometimes.

When they hang up with a promise to see each other tonight at dinner, she puts the phone back on the hook and leans against the wall. Eyes falling closed, she exhales a few times, trying to calm the racing of her heart.

It's a no pressure dinner, and that's exactly what she tells Jonathan when he balks at the notion of Hopper joining them so soon.

"He's not coming over to talk about that, sweetie," she assures him, placing a hand on his arm. "It's just... a dinner, okay? You two do need to talk, Jonathan, and it'll probably be a lot worse if that talk is the first time you both see each other after all of this."

Jonathan's face remains closed off, mouth pulled into a thin line. He doesn't look directly at her for a few minutes, instead stares at the scuff marks on his sneakers—sneakers he really should throw away, she realizes.

"Okay," he says finally, his voice quiet.

"Okay?"

Shrugging, he stares down for a few more seconds before lifting his gaze to hers. "Yeah I guess, Mom. We can't exactly tell him not to come."

"If you're not ready then that's exactly what we can do," she tells him, shaking her head. "I'm sorry, I should've talked to you before..."

But now he's shaking his head, running his free hand through his hair. "No, no, it's—it's fine. Got to get it over with sometime, right?"

"Jonathan..."

He offers a small smile. "Really, it's okay, Mom. It'll be fine."

And then he's gently shaking her hand from his arm, squeezing it softly before he makes his way towards the front door. Something about going to see Nancy, she hears as his back faces her, and then he's gone and she hears the engine of his car.

It'll be fine.

She sure hopes so.

Jonathan helps her make dinner, a simple mashed potatoes and chicken, and they finish only a few minutes before there's a knock at the door. She almost expected him to stay at the Wheeler’s and just not come home, but she should’ve known better. He wouldn’t do that.

Will sprints over because, despite the nervous energy in the house, he's excited to see El. He hasn't seen the girl since this whole thing came to light a few weeks ago; she feels horrible about that, knows it's her fault things changed so suddenly, but she's thrilled they're back.

"Hang their coats by the door, sweetie," she calls from the kitchen.

It's unnecessary; it's not the first time they've been over, far from it. But she's trying to keep her body from shaking any more noticeably than it already is, and so normalcy... it's what she needs. Her nail finds itself wedged between her teeth, the old habit dying hard, and the warmth of Jonathan's palm on her arm nearly sends her jumping out of her skin.

He just looks at her. "Relax," he says, and oh, if only.

Joyce gives him a tight smile.

"Seriously, Mom, shouldn't I be the one freaking out?" he asks. Her eyes fly to his and find that he's joking, trying to lighten the mood. "It'll be okay. Weird as hell, but okay."

Removing her finger from her mouth, she lets her hand slide down his arm until she's squeezing his.

"Thank you, baby."

Joyce really should be the one comforting Jonathan, and yet here he is, reassuring her instead. She doesn’t deserve him, but she’s sure as hell glad she has him.

Dinner goes... well, okay.

As predicted, it's weird. It's really weird, especially for El, who can sense that something's different but has no idea of what it is. Joyce knows Hopper hasn't told her; he mentioned it over the phone, that she doesn’t know, just so they'd all know enough not to say anything.

He'll tell her once they decide how things are going to play out, how much things are going to change.

It makes sense, she thinks. El still doesn't quite understand much in the way of family logistics and emotions and why this would be a big deal. Not completely, anyway. Telling her after the fact, when there will be actual details (aside from the obvious) to share, like what they're truly going to do about it, is for the best.

“How’s uh, how’s school going, Jonathan?”

Her boy’s eyes fly up at the sound of Hopper’s voice, and she can see the smallest glint of shock. She’s surprised too, mostly because she didn’t think Hopper would be the one to initiate conversation.

It’s halted and tense, but he’s trying, and that fact alone has her heart growing.

Jonathan recovers quickly. “It’s okay,” he shrugs. She thinks he’s going to stop there, like he usually does, but she’s surprised again. “They expect a lot from us still, but we’re all on our way out, so...”

Hopper laughs. “So you’re doing enough to pass,” he finishes, amusement in his voice. “I know that feeling.”

“Jonathan.”

“I’m aiming for more than passing, Mom, don’t worry,” he says.

Joyce doesn’t see the small, barely there quirk of his lips that he gears towards Hopper, or the tiny nod of agreement he gets in return. Like a secret.

“Besides, don’t listen to Hopper,” Joyce says, a tentative smile on her face. “He barely passed.”

His chest puffs out, mock indignation filling his face. “Hey, I passed. Got that diploma. What else do I need?”

Joyce gives a good-natured roll of her eyes. “Maybe a B thrown in there somewhere for good luck?” she teases.

“C’s get degrees, Joyce.”

“You don’t have a degree.”

“But I have a diploma.”

Jonathan chuckles. “He’s right, you know.”

It gets a little less awkward after that, after Jonathan sides with Hopper on a mundane and simple semi-debate. There’s nothing substantial that happens, no big revelations or heart-to-hearts, but nothing bursts into flames either.

And after the past few weeks, after preparing for the worst, this is as close to smooth sailing as she could hope for.

They stick to safe topics; school, the latest town gossip—which for once doesn’t involve herself—and the latest happenings at the police department. As soon as Hopper mentions the case of the missing garden gnomes being found miles away, tied to trees with rope, Will’s eyes widen and he makes the man explain it in great detail. He’s fascinated.

How did the gnomes get there? Who took them? Why were they tied to trees, and why were they tied to trees so far away, instead of just in the owner’s yard? Were the gnomes returned? What happens if they disappear again?

Joyce stifles her laughter with the back of her hand, but she can’t restrain the amusement from dancing in her eyes as she glances between the two. Will, leaning forward on the table, elbows propping up his intrigued face. Hopper, sitting back in his seat, clearing his throat every so often as he tries to come up with some kind of answer to her boy’s questions.

It’s kind of adorable how flustered he gets with each one. She gets it, though, because Will’s always been a curious kid. She’s gone through this many times with various situations, and she knows how difficult it can be to come up with an answer that isn’t just ‘I don’t know’.

He hides it well, but Joyce can see the way his shoulders relax when Will finally accepts his responses and asks if he and El can be excused.

“We want to play some of the game before they leave,” he tells her, excited eyes beaming over at her. “Can we, Mom? Please?”

“Sure. You two should have time for a game or two,” she says with a smile, discreetly peering over at Hopper for confirmation.

He notices and nods an agreement. “Go on, kid. Have fun.”

With the kids gone, Joyce looks over to Jonathan and watches as he fidgets a little, pushes the remaining food around on his place even though she can tell he’s finished. He’s trying to figure out if he should stay or if he can also leave the table, unsure of what the best thing to do right now is, and she shoots him a soft smile.

“You can go put your plate in the sink if you’re done, sweetie,” she says.

His head lifts, eyes finding hers. “Okay, yeah,” he breathes, sliding his chair back. She really has to find a way to stop that irritating scraping sound. Maybe little booties for the chair legs? “Are you done?”

“Yeah, but I can get the rest, it’s okay. Just take care of your plate.”

Jonathan shrugs. “It’s okay,” he says anyway, rounding the table to grab her empty plate. Stopping beside Hopper, he pauses. “Finished?”

Hopper’s eyes widen a little, but he nods and Jonathan’s plucking his dish from the table before he realizes what’s happening. “Oh, yeah—yeah. Thanks.”

There’s not much more than a murmur of acknowledgement before her son takes the three plates and deposits them into the sink. He hovers for a moment after, hands braced on the edge of the counter-top, and concern immediately claws its way through her chest. His grip is too tight and his back too rigid, but before she can get up and do something, he’s turning back around.

Shifting his weight from one foot to the next, he stands at the head of the table, looking at the wooden surface instead of at either of them. His mouth opens and closes, like he’s trying to say something but is wholly unsure of how to get it out.

“Jonathan?” she questions, her voice soft.

“I uh—I’m glad you came tonight.” His eyes lift, looking now at a comically still Hopper. “It was... well, it was weird,” he says with a rough laugh, which draws an unexpected bark of laughter from Hopper and a snort from Joyce. “But I’m glad we did it.”

Hopper clears his throat, nodding. “Yeah, me too, kid.”

And then Jonathan’s gone, disappeared to his room with one last wave and quick farewell, and Joyce slumps against the back of the chair. Hopper follows suit.

“So.”

“So,” Joyce echoes. Standing, she grabs the pack of cigarettes from the counter, plucks one out, and returns. “I think that went pretty well.”

Hopper nods. “Yeah. Could’ve gone worse.”

“I was expecting worse, so this is like sunshine and rainbows, Hop,” she laughs, extending the now lit cigarette towards him.

He chuckles, low in his throat. “Guess you’re right.”

They pass the cigarette back and forth, each taking long drags and expelling more smoke than words. But she supposes they don’t really need words, not right now. Silence has gotten them in trouble in the past, but now it’s not so bad.

Will and El continue to play in the living room, Jonathan’s off processing in his room, no doubt, and the two of them share a moment of rare contentment.

Staring at Hopper’s profile out of the corner of her eyes, she can’t help but notice the striking resemblance between him and Jonathan. As he stares straight ahead, eyes focused on an unknown point in her kitchen, she wonders if he’s thinking the same thing.

#jopper #joyce byers #jim hopper #joyce x hopper #thank you all for your patience :)

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whatliesabove-blog1 · 7 years ago

Text

small, quiet room

Chapter sixteen | ao3

Joyce, in a move that's nearly unprecedented for her, leaves work early. She tells Donald she has some family issues to deal with, which is a half-truth so she doesn’t feel bad about the half-lie, and leaves to pick Will up from school.

When he's called into the office and sees his mother standing by the front desk, his eyes widen. He looks around the room, gaze darting subtly from one person to the next as if to figure out what’s going on.

He hesitates only for a second longer before making a beeline for her.

"Mom, what's wrong?"

The fear is evident on his face, reflecting back at her in those eyes.

She smiles and rubs his shoulder, shakes her head. "No, honey, nothing's wrong," she promises. With one last nod to the woman at the front desk, a polite farewell, she gently guides Will towards the door. "Come on, let's go."

He waits until they're outside to halt their movements, to tug on her arm. "What's going on?"

"Nothing's going on."

"You're taking me out of school early," he retorts as if that’s cause enough to be alarmed. Which, okay, it’s true; she rarely takes the boys out of school early. This is probably the second time in so many years. "You never take me out of school early."

Joyce sighs. "Let's talk in the car, okay?"

Will looks like he’s about to object but, after a moment of thought, he nods. There's not much else he can do, really, and he follows his mother to the tiny green pinto. She opens the door for him, palm brushing his back as she ushers him inside. Once he's buckled and settled in, she rounds the car and slides into the driver's seat.

Quiet as he may be, she can still feel the heat of his gaze on her from the second she’s beside him in the car. He’s still looking at her when she finally turns towards him.

The expression on his face breaks a laugh from her throat, a real laugh, because he just looks so grave. It's as if the entire world must have ended because she's taken him out of school a few hours early.

"Will, sweetie, nothing's wrong," she assures him again, a smile on her face.

"So you're not letting me out early to tell me something's happened to Jonathan?"

“Of course not; Jonathan’s fine. He’s still in school.”

“And you’re not here to tell me you’re sick or... or dying, or—”

Joyce shakes her head immediately. “I’m not sick, and I’m certainly not dying.”

His expression falters a little, but his mouth twists uneasily to the side. “Are you sure, Mom? Because... if you’re sick, or something, you can tell me, and we’ll—”

"Hey, stop," she cuts him off, grabbing his small hand in hers.

She swears there are traces of tears welling up in his eyes and she’s about to climb over the center console and wrap him in her arms. This poor kid has been through so much he can’t even accept the fact that nothing earth-shattering has happened.

"Baby, I’m fine. I promise, okay?" Tipping his chin in her direction, she coaxes him to look at her. “I’m no less healthy than I was yesterday or the day before. Nothing to worry about.”

Sure, she’s still a little frazzled. She’s absolutely not looking forward to the conversation she has to have with Will or the inevitable union of Hopper and Jonathan with their new knowledge of their relation, but physically... she's fine.

The last thing she needs is to add something else for her boy to stress about.

"Okay..."

Joyce puts the car in drive and takes off, the two of them making their way towards Benny's diner instead of home. She snorts at the shock on Will's face when it occurs to him that they’re going in the opposite direction, but it soon gives way to a grin when he realizes they're actually going out for food.

Like getting out of school early, eating out is not something they do often. They don't have the money to treat themselves to restaurants and fast food places more than on occasion, but she'd classify this as an occasion that deserves a diner meal.

After Benny's death, a few of his friends, other classmates that have stayed around Hawkins and sometimes worked at the diner in their teen years, decided to continue working there with the blessing of Benny’s living family. She doesn't know who's dealing with the business side of things—that was Benny's forte—but that it's still open and serving his signature burgers is heartwarming. It's what his legacy deserves.

"We're going to Benny's?"

Joyce nods. "We are."

"Okay, Mom, seriously, you can just tell me if you're sick or something..."

Huffing, she gives a good-natured roll of her eyes and glances over. "What, a mother can’t treat her son to a nice spur of the moment lunch anymore?"

Will ignores the rhetorical question. "We're going to have a weird talk, aren't we?"

"You could say that," she breathes, pulling into the parking lot. Best to just be honest; she has a lot of time to make up for in that arena. "You know how there was something I had to talk to Jonathan about? That I said would affect you, but I couldn't talk about it yet?"

Will nods. "Yeah."

"Well, I've talked to Jonathan already, and I thought it would be nice to have an afternoon just the two of us. So I could tell you, too, and you can ask any questions that you have about it."

"Okay."

Will runs ahead of her and practically swings the door back into the wall, but he doesn’t go any farther. He stands there and waits for her to catch up, holding the door open for her. After greeting her former classmates with a polite smile, she and Will take a seat at one of the tables and get their orders ready.

A burger and fries are put in for the two of them and Joyce even nudges Will's knees under the table, encourages him to choose a milkshake instead of the water he’s accustomed to ordering because it’s free.

She may be going over the top, just a little, but she doesn't want Will to have to hear this in their kitchen over leftovers. Maybe it's a little strategic; in the house, he can get up and lock himself in his room if he wants to. Here, he can't exactly run away.

Truthfully, she doesn't think that’ll be anything close to his reaction. He's more subdued than Jonathan; more pensive, sensitive. More quiet. But she still wants to have some kind of insurance policy, something that allows her confidence that he won’t take off.

When their food comes, she spends a few minutes chatting normally, asking him about the day he’s had so far and what's going on with the party. Will launches into a whole explanation of this new game they've played, using animated gestures and words she doesn't understand. She has no idea what he's talking about but she smiles along anyway, genuinely interested despite her limited knowledge. The light in his eyes is enough to have her hanging onto every word, desperately trying to get some of it.

Halfway through the meal when the conversation experiences a lull, Joyce wipes at her mouth and chews on her nail.

"You can tell me, Mom." When she looks up, Will's regarding her with those soft eyes of his. So much like hers. "I'm not a kid anymore. I can handle it."

Joyce laughs, nods. "You're right, you're not a little kid anymore."

His chest puffs out with the confirmation. Proud.

"Okay," she exhales, wringing her hands in front of her to get the feeling back. She's a little numb, a lot nervous. "When I was in high school, I was friends with Hopper. You know Hopper."

Smooth, Joyce. Of course he knows Hopper.

"Yeah, Mom," Will laughs, "I know Hopper."

"Good, good." She could smack herself. Be normal, she chastises herself, but this is so far from normal. "Well... after graduation something happened between the two of us, and I got pregnant."

Quick, like a band-aid.

Will's eyes widen. "You... have a kid with Hopper?" Something lights on his face, and his mouth opens. "Wait, is that what this is? Do I have another brother or sister? Where are they?" When she's silent, mouth flapping because she doesn't know what to say, he continues in a whisper, "Are they dead?"

"No," she says immediately, shaking her head. "No, they're... they're not dead. But Hopper and I... do have a child, yeah."

"Okay.” His forehead creases as he plucks a fry from his plate and tosses it into his mouth. “So, where are they? Is it a boy or a girl?"

"It’s a boy," Joyce manages, taking a second to breathe through her nose and exhale through her mouth.

Giving a slow nod, Will takes it in. “I have another brother,” he says. It’s a statement, not a question, and she can tell he’s trying to wrap his head around the information. To figure it out.

She wishes it was as easy as just saying he has another brother.

“Well,” she starts, her heart kicking into high gear. Unsure of how to continue, she just blurts out, "It's Jonathan."

But that doesn’t work because now Will’s looking at her again, all concerned eyes and innocent face and she wants to scream.

"What's Jonathan? You said nothing was wrong with him."

She shakes her head, eyes falling shut. She wonders if it’d be possible to be any more frustrated with herself, but she doubts it. This was supposed to be the easy conversation, and the thought alone now makes her want to burst into hysterics. She’s already told Jonathan that his father’s not the man he thought, she’s already had a blowout with Hopper over the same piece of news, so telling Will should be a walk in a park.

For some reason it’s not, not at all, and maybe it was naive of her to think otherwise.

Thinking about it now, she’s almost positive it’s because of how he looks at her. He may be growing up, a teenager now who should start resenting her for her hovering and excessive mothering, but he doesn’t. Not yet. He still looks at her with such adoration, such sweet, kid-like love, and she doesn’t want it tainted.

She doesn’t want him to look at her differently.

"Nothing's wrong. He's—it's him, Will. Jonathan is my child with Hopper."

Will's silent for a moment, his face painfully blank. For such a sensitive kid he has one hell of a poker face when he wants to, but usually she can read his tells. She can generally tell when something’s off, but right now she can't read anything. He looks down at the table, blinking, his mouth twisted a little to the side while he thinks.

The lack of response is driving her just a little insane, but finally, finally, after what seems like an hour but is likely five minutes, he breaks the silence.

"Hopper is Jonathan's dad."

Joyce nods. "Yes, he is."

"Is Hopper... my dad?" Will asks, his voice quiet and oh, bless him, filled with a little hope.

A part of her wishes she could say yes. He already idolizes the man—she knows it makes Hopper uncomfortable, but she finds it sweet—and looks up to him more than he’s ever really been able to look up to Lonnie.

She wishes she could tell him that his father isn't really a deadbeat, a no-show who didn’t even care enough to call when they thought their boy was dead.

"No, sweetie," Joyce says softly. "Your dad is still your dad."

"Oh," he says with a little nod. "Okay."

When he doesn’t say anything else, just continues to pick at the last of his burger, she reaches over and wraps his free hand in hers.

"Do you have any questions?"

Will shrugs. "I don't know, I mean... it's kind of weird," he admits, looking anywhere but at her. "Did you just find out or something? How come we never knew before?"

It's a valid question, but it still tears at her. No. Because I can be a coward sometimes.

"Because I didn't tell them. I lied for reasons that seemed to make sense at the time, and I never told Hopper about Jonathan, so I never told Jonathan about Hopper."

"How come?"

"It's complicated, baby," she says, offering a small smile. "I'll explain it sometime, but right now I just need you to know that I made a mistake back then and I'm trying to fix it, okay?"

Her boy nods, accepts her answer even though she can tell he wants more details, wants to know why she chose to withhold the information. She told Jonathan, and she told Hopper, but she doesn't feel Will needs to know all of it right now.

As long as he has the gist of what's happened and what's going on, it's okay for now. That’s all he really needs.

"So, is the Chief moving in with us?"

Joyce laughs. "No, no. Nothing like that is going to happen right now," she promises, squeezing his fingers. "The only thing that's changing is Jonathan and Hopper's relationship, maybe. They'll have to decide how they want to move forward."

"But you said it'd affect me," he points out, shoving another one of the fries into his mouth.

"I—I wasn't sure how Hopper would take the news, and I was worried that he might decide he didn't want to talk to me,” she tells him honestly. “If that happened, I was concerned that might affect your friendship with El, but we've talked it over and he's—well, he's upset, but it won't reach that level. You have nothing to worry about."

"Oh," Will says. "I'm glad that's not happening. I like El, and it'd really suck to have to stop talking."

"I'm glad too, baby." She takes a moment to pick at a few of her own fries, left neglected for most of the conversation. Her appetite seems to be slowly returning now that everything appears to be going all right with Will. "I know this is a lot to take in, and it's going to be really weird for a while, but I want you to know you can come to me with anything you feel about it. Deal?"

Nodding, he takes a breath. "Yeah, deal.”

“Promise?”

“I promise."

"Good. Now, what do you say we finish our food and head home? Maybe we can put in a movie."

It's a quick change of topic, but she can tell he has nothing else to say right now. Nothing he's willing to part with, anyway, and she doesn't want to sit through the remainder of their meal in an awkward, tense cloud. He'll come to her if and when he has anything else to ask, and so right now her main concern is putting that vibrant smile she loves so much back on his face.

Her son perks up, the smile a little smaller but there as he gives an enthusiastic nod. "Yeah! Can we watch ET?"

She laughs. Should’ve known. Oddly enough, ever since he saw it for the first time a few months ago and then asked her to record it onto a VHS tape for him, he’s been practically begging her or Jonathan to watch it with him again. She hasn’t had the energy or time lately and she may not be bursting with energy now, either, but this is something she can do.

"Sure, ET it is," she agrees, beaming at the excitement on his face.

The knots in her chest continue to loosen.

#jopper #joyce byers #jim hopper #joyce x hopper #making our way downtown

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whatliesabove-blog1 · 7 years ago

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IWISB - Part 3

Part 1: Here Part 2: Here

Sorry I haven’t posted in a while. My personal life has been crazy!!

They are exploring each others mouths, hands trying to find whatever bit of skin they can in the sea of clothes when they are interrupted.

“Mommy?” Jonathan stands at the entrance to the living room rubbing his tired eyes. Joyce and Jim instantly break apart at the sound of his voice. Joyce goes and picks him up, “you should be asleep,” she kisses his cheek. Once he sees Jim he wiggles out of her grasp and runs to him as soon as his little feet hit the floor. It warms her heart, but also scares her how quickly Jonathan had become attached to him. Maybe because, unlike Lonnie, Jim actually spends time with him and pays attention to him.

Keep reading

#ooh i love this #jopper fanfic

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whatliesabove-blog1 · 7 years ago

Text

small, quiet room

Chapter fifteen | ao3

An agonizing two weeks go by before she has any kind of contact with Hopper.

Earlier in the week, she asked Jonathan if he'd seen him around town. She didn’t expect her son to have searched him out or anything; she knows he’s not in any rush to sit face to face, but Hawkins is small and it’s not out of the ordinary for the boys to see him milling about. She got a negative, which struck her as odd but she merely offered a small smile and a nod in return.

After zero sightings and radio silence, he comes into the store near the end of her shift.

Joyce almost doesn't notice him. She's so preoccupied by the stress of the customers today, who don't seem to understand that she isn't personally responsible for there being a lack of a specific item, she doesn't bat an eye when the door opens and the bell chimes.

It's only when there's a rather large shadow hovering over her that her brows furrow, head lifting to find out what’s going on. Eyes wide, she looks into the face of a very stoic looking Hopper.

"Hi," she says, though it comes out something of a question.

"Hi."

He doesn't give much away, nothing at all, and she wishes he’d just say something. Anything. There’s plenty she could say, but she doesn’t feel it’s her place yet; he has to come to her on his own time.

Which, she supposes he’s doing right now. Right?

"Can we talk?"

Looking around, she surveys the few customers before focusing back on him. "I can't leave the floor," she tells him. She can't just go into the back and leave the register unattended, and he knows that. "I get off in an hour?"

Hopper nods, the movement a little disjointed. "Okay."

"Okay,” she echoes, head nodding slowly, waiting for him to elaborate. When he doesn’t, she takes a breath. “Where do you want to meet, Hop?"

The look on his face tells her he hadn't thought that far ahead, didn't think much further than showing up at the store at all, and she’d laugh if she didn’t think it’d only make things worse.

"The boys will be home, which means El will be at the cabin,” she starts when he continues to say nothing at all, pausing for his small nod of confirmation, “so why don't we go to your trailer."

"Yeah," he decides, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Yeah, that works."

"Okay."

She gets one more curt nod before he turns and walks right back out the door, leaving her stunned and more than a little confused. At least he came, she supposes.

It's been a rough two weeks, but she’s had seventeen years to digest this information. Two weeks isn’t all that long when she thinks about it like that.

Joyce doesn't even realize there's a line of three customers until one of them clears their throat. Mumbling an apology and plastering on a practiced smile, she grabs their items and starts to ring them up.

Her knocks go unanswered long enough for her to wonder if he ever even wanted to meet up at all, if this wasn’t just one giant ruse so he could blow her off and make her feel like an idiot.

She can’t say it’d be undeserved, but it doesn’t seem like Hopper’s style.

Just as she's about to give in and turn back to her car, the door swings open.

"Sorry."

Hopper doesn't give an explanation and she doesn’t expect one, but he steps aside enough to allow her in. He closes the door behind them and then moves into the small kitchen. He grabs two beers from the fridge, extending one towards her once he returns.

"Oh, I'm—"

"We'll need them."

Shrugging a little, Joyce sighs and grabs the bottle. He’s likely right, anyway, and she has no doubt this will be awkward, uncomfortable, and probably emotional for the both of them.

One beer will be the least of what she needs.

"Thanks," she murmurs. She doesn’t open it right away, just lets it rest against her stomach as she follows his lead into the living room.

He takes a seat in the chair, and so she situates herself on the couch across from him. Close but not too close. She’s giving him space.

Hopper cracks his open, silently passing the bottle opener to her when he’s done. They each take a long swig, neither saying a word. The tension is palpable; Joyce chances a glance at him and watches as he pointedly avoids looking at her.

For a while they just take turns looking up at each other when the other isn't looking, pretending not to pay attention when they are.

Ridiculous; they aren’t teenagers.

"You wanted to talk," she finally says, breaking the silence. "I think we should."

Hopper downs the last of his beer, rather quickly she thinks, and finally looks over at her. The dullness in his eyes catches her off guard, sends a shiver down her spine. It's just so unlike him.

She hates that she's responsible.

"I want to know everything."

"Okay," she starts, drawing out the word. "Okay, and I'll tell you everything I can."

Hopper takes a breath. "It was graduation."

"Yeah."

"Karen's party."

"Yeah."

"Okay, so... I don't know," he says, raking a hand through his hair. "Explain to me what happened after."

"You left, Hopper. That's what happened. You went to Vietnam and I was still in Hawkins." Wringing her hands in her lap, she cracks her fingers. “I know that’s not... you didn’t choose... but you were already gone a few weeks when I found out I was pregnant."

His face remains unchanged, but he does flick his eyes in her direction. "You could've written."

Joyce scoffs. "And said what? ‘Hi, Hopper, I know you're fighting in the war and everything but I just thought I should let you know I'm pregnant and it's yours’."

"Yes, exactly that!"

"I was scared, Hop," she says, her voice rising. "I was still a child and I had no idea what I was going to do! You were thousands of miles away, and I didn't know—" She trails off, a sudden lump forming in her throat. "I didn't know if you would come back, and it was a lot to process."

He scoffs. “Scared,” he repeats, the word like poison on his tongue. “You were scared, and I was what? Having a party?”

“That’s not fair.”

“And neither is you withholding the fact that I had a kid.”

They don’t say anything for a few minutes, a heavy silence weighing them down. Joyce is pissed he’d even insinuate she thought he wasn’t scared in Vietnam, that she’d even think the two were comparable, and he’s pissed she’s using fear as an excuse.

He groans then, closes his eyes. "Okay, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have... I understand being scared,” he says finally. “I do. But how do you get from being terrified and not knowing what to do to Lonnie being his father?"

Hopper spits Lonnie's name, disdain dripping from his tone.

"We got back together a few days after the party. I didn't—I was already pregnant, Hop, I couldn't be pregnant and alone. The thought of being crucified in town was too much, and so... Lonnie and I had slept together after you left, and I just—I told him it was his."

"He doesn't know."

It's not a question. They both know that if Lonnie did know, hell would’ve been raised a long time ago. She’d have more than bruises to show for it.

She answers anyway.

"No."

"What the hell, Joyce," he grinds out. Standing from his chair, he begins to pace in the small area. "You know, I really hate that I get why you lied. Initially. I can't fault teenage Joyce for trying to protect herself and her son. I can't."

She takes a small breath, tries to regulate her heartbeat.

"What I don't get is keeping that from me after I got back," he continues, huffing. "Was I such a fuck up that you couldn't imagine me being a father to your kid? So fucked up that Lonnie felt like the better choice?"

Her eyes widen and she nearly jumps from the couch, stands toe-to-toe with him. "What? No," she says, staring up at his back with fire in her eyes. She tries to put a hand on his bicep but he jerks it off. "That's never been it."

"Then why?" he asks. The quick way he turns and stares her down takes her breath away. "Why not tell me? You've had seventeen years, Joyce. Seventeen years! I ran into you two in the fucking department store, brought Jonathan back to you when he ran off, and that whole time I was returning my son."

Indignation boils beneath her skin.

"When should I have told you, Jim? When you came back after Vietnam, boasting about some big position in the city waiting for you? When you were off in New York for most of those seventeen years? You weren't here, Hopper! You had a wife and a daughter—should I have told you then?" Joyce pauses for a moment, tries to reel in her emotions.

A part of her knows she’s being difficult, that sure, maybe she could’ve told him any of those times. But they never seemed right; there was always something else going on, something she’d be effectively shattering with the truth.

"How about when you came back for two months and your mother died? When you were dealing with her funeral and putting her things in order? Or maybe I should've told you when you were grieving your daughter, just to add onto the pain."

The mirthless laugh that emits from his throat is stone cold.

"You are incredible. You could've told me at any time, Joyce, but you didn't. I wasn’t here? I would have been if you told me,” he yells, his voice booming. He starts pacing again and it’s making her anxious, her eyes following the heavy footfalls he makes. “You know what would have saved you from having to decide whether or not to tell me in times of grief? One simple solution. If you had just told me after I came back."

The air crackles between them, so much pent up emotion floating in the stuffy space of the trailer.

Simple. There’s that goddamn word again.

She wants to scream.

Joyce throws her hands up, wills him to understand. "You were leaving," she says, her voice desperate. "All you ever wanted was to get out of Hawkins and be a cop in a big city, and you were getting that! You were off to fucking Manhattan. I couldn't be the one to ruin that for you."

"Ruined it?" His voice is loud, angry. "That's what you think? That Jonathan ruined your life?"

Her eyes darken. "Of course not, and you know damn well I'd never think that."

"Then who gave you the right to decide whether he'd ruin mine?"

"You were destined for bigger things, Hopper. I wasn't going to be the reason you gave that all up."

A raspy sound claws its way from the back of his throat, the noise somewhere between a groan and a scream. He scrubs a hand down his face. "You could've come with me. Both of you. I did well in the city; I could've taken care of you both, but you never gave me that chance."

Joyce shakes her head. "You say that now, but you would've grown to resent me. Resent Jonathan. And I didn't want that."

"Do you think I resented Sara?" he asks, and she takes a step back. Her shoulders drop. "No, I didn't. Because even though he wasn't planned I wouldn't have turned away my kid. Or you."

“Oh, please,” she says. A watery chuckle scrapes out, her throat raw. “I believe that you believe what you’re saying, Hopper, but we were kids. I knew teenage Hopper, too, you know, and can you honestly tell me that you would’ve just sat there with open arms and given up your dream?”

He remains silent, staring at a spot just beyond her left shoulder, and she watches as a storm brews behind those eyes of his.

“No.”

His entire demeanor changes with that one word. She isn’t surprised to hear it and she’s not mad either. She knew. It might’ve taken him a while to realize it, too, but she knew.

“But I would have tried my best after the shock wore off, Joyce,” he says. “And if you don’t think that...” He lets out a hollow laugh. “What does that say about me?”

"It wasn’t... I'm sorry, Hop." Tears prick at the backs of her eyes and she collapses back onto the couch, lets her head fall into her palms. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry doesn't erase the last seventeen years."

Nodding, she chews on her bottom lip. "I know."

Hopper takes a deep breath, paces for a few more moments before he finally stops. He looks down at her before slowly settling himself back into the chair, resting his elbows on his thighs.

She can tell he’s nearly back at eye level but she can't look at him.

"Joyce."

The responding hum comes out garbled, caught in the lump in her throat.

"Look at me."

Reluctantly, she lifts her eyes to him. She owes him this much. Wiping beneath her eyes with the back of her hand, she tries to blink away any fresh tears.

"I wanted to tell you," she whispers, so quietly she's almost not sure she's even said anything at all. It’s only small twitch in his brow that tells her she has. Sniffling, she doesn't look away. "I wanted to tell you so many times."

He softens more, and she doesn't know if it's because the fight has left his body the same way it's left hers, or if it's simply resignation.

She doesn’t know which one she hopes for.

"So why didn't you?" Even his voice is quiet, not the same booming anger he had before. “I know you were scared, Joyce, but... truthfully, just—why?”

"I don't know." At her shrug, she gives an almost hysterical laugh. "It's a shitty excuse, Hop, I know, but the more time that passed, the harder it became to even think about letting the truth out. And I knew that the longer I lied the worse it would get, but that knowledge mixed with how much time had already gone by and how it never seemed right, I just... I couldn't make myself tell you. Or Jonathan."

"I'm still mad," he says by way of reply. She looks up at him, lashes wet. "I'm still really mad, Joyce, and I'm—I don't know how to process the last fucking two weeks, but I don't want to fight."

She nods. "I don’t want to fight either."

"I'm gonna need... I don't know, some time. Some more time to figure it out."

She nods again. "Okay."

"What am I supposed to do now?" he asks, shrugging before leaning back into the cushion. "I don't know shit about raising a teenager."

Joyce laughs a little at that. "You're kind of already raising one," she reminds him. El may only be thirteen, but she’s still a teenager. And a teenage girl at that, something she's never had to deal with. "Besides, Jonathan doesn't need raising. He's almost eighteen, almost off to college."

His jaw tightens and she her chest constricts. She knows what he’s thinking about and she almost wishes she hadn’t said anything at all.

"So where does that leave us? Does the kid even like me?" He waves a hand around. "Is he freaked out?"

"He likes you, Hop. The second you believed me, the second you helped us bring back Will, he liked you," she assures him. This time when she reaches out, covers his hand with her own, he doesn't pull away. "Yeah he was freaked out, he's still figuring it out, too, but... he doesn’t seem upset about it. He’s more upset about the lie than..."

Her voice trails off; he can fill in the blanks.

"I don't know what he wants," she tells him honestly. "I don't know how either of you want to play this, but I think that's something the two of you should talk about. I've done enough."

"I'd say," he mutters under his breath, and her fingers twitch on top of his.

She deserves that; she knows she does.

What she doesn’t deserve is the small flicker of apology in his eyes when they meet hers.

"You can come by whenever you have time? Talk to him?"

Hopper moans a little, squeezes his eyes shut. This is so out of his realm, out of his comfort zone, and she knows that. Sure, he's interacted with Jonathan before, but that was as the Chief, as Joyce's friend, as someone who helped their family. Not as one of his parents.

"Yeah," he sighs eventually. "Yeah, I guess. What do I say to him?"

"You just talk to him. It'll be weird, Hop, there's no getting around that. But just talk. Tell him the truth, whatever that may be."

It's silent for a while, the two of them stewing in the aftermath of this conversation. It's drained her, body as tired as her mind, and she wants nothing more than to go home and take a hot bath. In reality, she'll probably take a short, lukewarm shower and have to immediately start on dinner, but she'll take it.

Anything to ease the tension in her bones.

"I'm sorry," she repeats, for what feels like the millionth time, after few moments. Hopper turns to face her. "I really am. I never meant to hurt you."

"I know." His fingers squeeze hers. "I won't say it's okay, because it's not, but I want us to be okay."

Joyce swallows, worries a nail between her teeth. "Me too. I don't want you to hate me forever."

"I may not like you very much right now, but I don't hate you. Kinda wish I could, but I... never."

She gives a watery laugh, and a small weight lifts from her shoulders. "I'll take what I can get."

There's a brief pause, and then, "we have a kid."

Joyce smiles in spite of herself. "Yeah."

"We have a kid, Joyce. Us."

"Yeah, Hop. We have a kid."

#jopper #joyce byers #jim hopper #joyce x hopper #making progress friends!

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