Work Text:
The three of them just returned to the cabin from junkyard training—something that’s become routine over the past few months. After the Nina Project brought El’s powers back—something Joyce and Hopper so delightfully learned about shortly after their return from Russia—they’re stronger than ever. With training and help from her parents, she’s slowly becoming terrifyingly powerful .
The threat of Vecna looms over them, and no one knows when he’ll strike next. There’s this eerie, jittery energy in the group, like a dark cloud constantly hanging over their heads—the kind of cloud you know could suddenly erupt into heavy rain and thunder. It’s been over a year and a half of holding their breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop, but they all know the waiting game is nearing its end.
So, they spend all their time preparing, helping citizens in need, and training for what’s to come.
During today’s training, El actually flew . She jumped from the ground to the top of a bus , surprising both herself and her parents.
Now, El’s in her room, lying in bed for a much-needed nap, exhausted from using her powers. Hopper even had to carry her from the car after she fell asleep in the backseat, her head tipped back against the leather as her eyes slipped closed.
After tucking her in, Hopper steps into his bedroom, Joyce following close behind. She sits on his bed and lets out a soft sigh.
“I can’t believe she actually flew ,” she says, disbelief on her face as she looks up at Hopper, watching him place the bag on the bed. Her eyes follow him as he slips off his jacket and sets it on the bedside table, then sits down to her right.
“She’s getting stronger,” he says with a small nod, his gaze fixed on his hands. His brows furrow in a way that tells her he’s thinking.
“Yeah,” she mutters, turning her body to face him, her knee bumping against his thigh.
He runs a hand over his growing beard and lets out a long breath.
“I think she’s ready,” he admits quietly, a nervous edge to his voice. His eyes rise to meet hers—and he’s met with a look he’s seen before, all the way back in Russia, when he told her he’d be the Demogorgon bait.
Her gaze drops, and one of her hands reaches for his sleeve, her fingers fidgeting with the burgundy fabric.
She’s known the day El would be ready would inevitably come, but she wasn’t prepared for the rush of fear. They’ve had the plan in place for a while—a way to defeat Vecna once and for all. But she can’t help thinking about how many things could go horribly wrong. El and Hopper could both get hurt —or even… killed.
Even though it’s been over a year and a half, it still feels like she just got Hopper back. She can’t lose him—not again. And El… that’s her daughter. Her sweet, brave girl.
She lifts her eyes to meet his, her fingers still toying with the fabric of his shirt.
She doesn’t want to let him go—doesn’t even feel like she can. Everything in her screams to make him and El stay right here, where she can keep them within arms reach.
“Hey…” Hopper’s voice pulls her out of her thoughts. He tilts his head slightly, the look in his eyes impossibly soft.
“There has to be another way, Hop,” Joyce says, desperation in her voice, which shatters his heart a little.
“I…” He gives her a small, sad smile. “I wish there was, Joyce,” he says softly. “But we need to end this—for good.”
She shakes her head. “This is too dangerous. Both of you could…” She can’t finish the sentence. She can’t say it out loud.
He reaches for the hand resting on his arm, clasping it between both of his as he leans down slightly to meet her eyes.
“We’ll be okay,” he promises, his voice barely above a whisper.
Her brows draw together in worry, her doe-like eyes gazing into his with a sadness that tightens his chest.
“You don’t know that.”
His thumb caresses the side of her hand, his grip still tight. “You won’t be having another funeral, Joyce,” he says gently—an echo of a conversation they’ve had before. His gaze flickers between her wide eyes. “I won’t let that happen.”
“You better not,” she whispers, her gaze dropping from his to their entwined hands.
The corners of his mouth lift slightly before he says, “I still owe you a date, remember?”
When that doesn’t coax a smile from her—her eyes full of anxiety and sadness—he adds, “Hey… listen to me. You think I'd ever let somethin’ bad happen to her?”
She closes her eyes, draws in a deep breath, then exhales slowly. “No,” she whispers, shaking her head slightly, opening her eyes to meet his again.
“Joyce.” He removes one hand from hers and cups her cheek, his thumb caressing the soft skin over her cheekbone. “You do realize I'm never gonna risk losing this”—he gestures between them—“ever again, right?”
She feels tears gather in her eyes as she looks into his gentle gaze, filled with love—for her.
But you are risking it with this, she wants to yell, but she doesn’t. Instead, she just holds his gaze, her long eyelashes fluttering as she blinks rapidly to stop the tears from falling.
He scoots closer, their thighs now flush together. With the hand on her cheek, he brushes her bangs away from her forehead. Leaning in, he presses his lips to it in a lingering kiss.
When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against hers and closes his eyes—one hand still clasping hers tight, the other curling around her jaw.
“I’m gonna come home to you, I promise,” he whispers into the shared air between them, his warm breath fanning over her face.
She reaches up with her free hand and places it over his. Turning her head slightly, she brushes her lips against his palm, her eyelids slipping closed.
A soft breath escapes his lips, his palm tingling where her lips are pressed to it. He opens his eyes, now slightly misty, and feels his lips curl into a smile. He leans up to place a tender kiss on her temple.
“I love you,” he whispers against her soft skin, his voice small and full of emotion.
She pulls back slightly so she can look at him. The sight that meets her causes her insides to melt a little. His eyes glisten with unshed tears, and the expression on his face is so earnestly raw and full of love that her heart beats a tad faster.
“I love you, too,” she murmurs, her throat clogged with emotion.
He lets go of her hand and cups her other cheek. For a moment, he just looks at her, soaking in her soft features. His thumbs draw soft little circles on her cheeks. Then he leans forward, closing the small gap between them.
His lips brush softly against hers at first—a tender kiss shared between them. But the intensity quickly turns up a few notches, and her lips nudge his apart. She crawls into his lap, her mouth moving against his with an urgency that makes you think she hasn’t eaten for weeks.
“Lock the door,” she whispers as they pull apart to catch their breaths, her voice raspier than it was just moments ago.
She climbs off his lap and stands, slipping off her brown jacket.
He walks over to the door—a new addition to the house, and one they’re both very happy about. The old curtain he used as a door hadn’t done much for soundproofing, and it certainly didn’t have a lock .
When he turns back around, she’s lying on her back atop the orange bedsheets. The shirt she was wearing just moments ago now lies at the edge of the bed, leaving her in only a plain white bra and blue jeans.
He crawls onto the bed, the old springs complaining under his weight. Bracing himself on one elbow beside her head, he leans down, his other hand gently brushing stray hairs from her face. His eyes roam over her features as if trying to memorize the face he already knows better than his own.
“Hop,” she whispers, her voice breathless and raspy. Her eyelashes flutter as she looks up at him, her brown eyes darker than usual with blown pupils. She looks beautiful—more than that. He can’t help but feel a pang of pride that this incredible woman is his .
He still doesn’t know how he could ever be good enough for her, but he’s slowly learning not to question it—and instead, to simply revel in the love she gives him so unabashedly.
The corners of his mouth quirk up, and he leans further down, crashing his lips against hers—kissing her like it’s the air he breathes, like it’s their last time together.
When she puts her clothes back on, she doesn’t grab the grey shirt she wore earlier—she picks up his dark red one instead. She doesn’t swim in it nearly as much as she does in his flannels, but that doesn’t mean it’s not huge on her.
He feels a rush of affection at the sight of her in his shirt. It’s not the first time he’s seen her in his clothes, but it never fails to warm his heart.
He sits on the edge of the bed, his jeans unbuttoned and his chest bare—the scars from Russia still painting his chest in zigzagging lines.
“C’mere,” he murmurs, reaching for her with an outstretched arm.
She steps between his legs, his hands finding her waist naturally. Her fingers drift up to his hair, twirling his dark-blonde curls. It’s grown back curlier than she remembers—and she loves it. It softens his otherwise rough exterior.
The beard that keeps getting longer, though… that’s another story. But after everything, she honestly couldn’t care less how he looks—as long as he’s here .
“We’ll get through this, okay?” he says softly, lifting a hand to her cheek. “We’ll beat Vecna’s sorry ass and then you and I will buy a nice two-story house with the money Owens definitely owes us after everything.” His lips curl into a smile, his eyes glistening with love as he gazes up at her. “How does that sound?”
Her face breaks into a tearful grin. She nods, curling her fingers around his chin and tipping it upward. Their lips meet in a kiss—a promise of a shared future.
“Perfect,” she whispers against his lips.