Archive of Our Own

In the death of night the only sound that could be heard were the crickets. The cabin laid deep into the woods, no sound of cars nor neighbours reached that secluded haven. One of those peaceful summer nights where the air was warm, but not so warm as to be uncomfortable. The problem was that the bad dreams and nightmares were the fourth occupant on that house. 

Joyce woke up restless, not exactly remembering her dream, but with a sense of doom within her. Her anxiety didn’t help with the events that kept happening in their little town they called home. Being on the brink of death multiple times, or seeing her loved ones getting hurt again and again was devastating enough to keep reminiscing those memories, or having her mind making new ones. 

The minute she was awake, she instantly knew she was alone in bed. Despite her kids and her living at the Wheelers, she kept slipping to Hopper’s secret cabin. She found that she slept better having him by her side, aware of his presence and knowing he was alive there in Hawkins and not dead or being tortured at a secret location somewhere in Russia. She hated leaving her children, but she knew they were safe. 

She wasn’t the only one having trouble sleeping. Hopper did too. More nights than they would like to, they have found themselves awake in the wee hours of the morning, preferring the sleepless night than having to face whatever their brain would conjure. Sometimes it just felt too much, too overwhelmed to toss and turn in bed, not knowing if they would rewind what had happened to them, or if their minds would distort their reality, making it even worse, twisting the scarce happy memories they had. 

Those nights they smoked.

Knowing she would find him at the front porch, she reached for the T-shirt she had forgone the night before. Slipping it through her head, she indulged in the comfort it provided. It was one of Hopper’s old army shirts. The letters were already fading and the color had some questionable splashes, as well as a rip in one of the sleeves, but it was one of her favourite pieces of clothing to sleep in. It smelled of him. Of cigarettes and wood. Of comfort. Of home. It was big enough that it reached her knees and it wasn’t too inappropriate to walk around at home having a teenage kid under the roof. 

Opening the door, she stepped into the creaking floor of the porch. Resting his arms on the railing, stood Hopper. Crouched over the wood, he rested his head on his hand, his fingers covering his face. A tumbler of his favourite whiskey rested beside him. 

Not uttering a word, Joyce just walked to him, wrapping an arm through his torso and resting her head on his shoulder blade. Feeling the contact, Hopper’s body relaxed to her touch and left out a long sigh. Tilting his head just a little bit, he placed a kiss on the top of her head. Even in his desolation, he always found time to comfort his woman. 

“What are you doing out here?” asked Hopper, voice hoarse and thick with sadness.

“Probably the same as you,” was her answer, both knowing the reason. “What was it this time?”

Hopper’s only reply was to sigh, shaking his head. There was a knot inside his chest; it’s always been there, since Sara, but it felt like those days it was tied harder, some days it was being tightened so hard by an invisible hand that it felt difficult even to breathe. His life took a sharp turn over a year ago when he knew he was about to die, when he nodded Joyce to turn the keys of the machine and close the gate, when he saw the pain in her eyes having to kill him, when he couldn’t even say good-bye to the love of his life. Jim knew that was it, but when he woke in a Russian prison, when they tortured him to give up her name, he found latent strength in him. He’d always given everything for his loved ones, but he knew he would die first if it meant keeping both Joyce and Eleven safe. The desolation he felt when he saw Joyce being held in that prison was only compared to the desolation he felt when he thought they both were getting killed. He knew he had failed in keeping her safe and alive. He felt like a monster, hating himself for having dragged her to Russia to save him. He should have accepted his fate, but those nights alone in that cold cell only made him miss her more. He kept making fake scenarios in his head, cursing himself for not having asked her out sooner. For not having kissed her when he had the chance, for not having listened to Murray, or even himself, when he told him he should go for it, that Joyce wanted him the same way he wanted her. Because he knew, he had always known that he loved her; and even if he was a brute, Hopper could read in her face that she was only scared, because she also wanted him. That kind of attraction and chemistry was difficult to run from. 

“You were on the Upside Down” Hopper mumbled at last “doing one of the crawls. Eleven was also there and…” he stopped, feeling for the glass next to him. He took the last gulp “Sara too. I watched as the three of you died, those vines reaching you. There was blood everywhere and I couldn’t do anything.”

A single tear rolled down his face. His voice was hoarse. His dream self had stood there, watching his family die. They weren’t supposed to be there, reckon missions were his task, something he did alone not to risk his family. Even though he knew it wasn’t real, he chastised himself for not having done anything, for having let it happen. If someone should die, it would be him. Dream-Hopper had failed them, so what if his real self would too?

“We are alive” tried to comfort Joyce, knowing that was not exactly true. One of the three people on his dream was long gone, and there was nothing Joyce could do to ease the pain.

The sheriff shifted in his seat, moving closer to her. He wrapped his strong arms around Joyce, pulling her against his chest. He held her tighter, needing the comfort of her warm body against his own. Small as she was, Joyce tucked her face into Hopper’s chest, letting herself relax in his embrace. Hopper’s body always made her feel safe, his presence alone enough to comfort her, the certainty that he would always protect her. Jim pressed his noise into his partner’s hair and breathed her in, feeling his body start to relax. She smelled of lavender, coffee, cigarettes and his own cologne.

“Have I ever told you how much I love it when you wear my clothes?” The voice was soft, almost a whisper, but something in it made Joyce tremble. She lifted her chin up and Hopper pressed another kiss, this time to her temple. The motion was gentle, almost a caress, his lips continuing to grace her skin like a ghost. His eyes were shining, due to the moonlight reflecting on the unshed tears and the forced smile couldn’t be hidden by his growing beard.

It was a defense mechanism, a way to escape reality and a means to distract both of them. Hopper always did that when he wanted to avoid a conversation. But she knew better. Joyce could read him like a book –she’d known him for over 30 years. They grew together and they’ve been friends for so long, only having grown apart for a decade when they were young adults going into the world. Small towns did that, it was easy to become close to someone and the truth was that Joyce has always relied on Hopper, way before the whole mess they were trapped in started. It’s only helped them grow closer. 

That’s why she hated it when he closed off. She knew it wasn’t because Jim didn’t trust her, she knew better than anyone what it felt like being lonely and thinking no-one cared about you. She knew what it was like living with anxiety and having to deal with it, knowing that everyone and their mother thought you should be locked down. She knew what it felt like being the town lunatic. And she goddamn knew that Hopper’s self esteem was on the ground.

But she always listened, she wanted him to confide in her, needed him to know that he could trust her, that she would never let him down. That all the monsters under the bed were made up fantasies, that the bad things he told himself when he looked in the mirror weren’t true. If only Hopper could see himself through her eyes. He would be a different person –the person Hopper truly was. 

“Hop, you know you can talk to me,” she rubbed her hands up and down his bare arms, a way to assure him she was there. 

“I know, I know, sweetheart”. He took a step back, immediately missing her warmth. Jim rubbed a hand along his beard. He needed to shave, he’d been careless about his external appearance. “I just want to forget for one goddamn night. I feel like all we talk about is the Upside Down, the crawls, El’s training, the fucking military and death. I know the nightmares are just nightmares. Can I just hold you and pretend for one night?” He lowered his voice, giving her a small, real smile. 

For one night Hopper just needed to feel like a regular man, enjoying the company of his partner, like they were your next-house neighbors drinking on their porch and talking about nothing important, just enjoying each other’s company. A grasp of normality. 

“We can do that,” Joyce replied with a shy smile on her part, reaching to intertwine their hands. She pulled at his arm and led him to the tiny bench next to the door. It was small enough that they both could fit squeezed together. Before they could sit, Hopper grabbed her by the waist and pulled her down to his lap, forcing a laugh out of her. He slid his arms around her waist, resting his hands on her bare legs and she let her body weight rest on his front, her head falling on his shoulder and her feet on the free space next to him.

The woman lifted her gaze to find him already looking at her. Biting her lip, she pressed her mouth to his in a tender kiss. Hopper cupped her cheek with his hand, covering it entirely. 

“You are beautiful,” whispered against her lips and Joyce let out a shy laugh, moving her face into his hand, brushing her lips to his wrist. 

“Stop that” Joyce shook her head. She didn’t like being called beautiful, or when someone complimented her. It made her feel self-conscious and she never knew how to respond. It wasn’t that she disliked her looks –she knew she had plenty of good qualities– but being used to always being yelled at and being called crazy, she sometimes felt hard to believe that someone else aside from her children had good things to say about her.

“The hell I am. And it’s true, you are. Even just wearing an old t-shirt, you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my life.”

Hopper called himself a brute, a grumpy man who loved to self-loathe. He wasn’t a delicate person and he didn’t have patience for stupid things. He was a practical, short-on-words man. But as he was rough, he was always honest. He loved deeply and he cared, even if sometimes it scared him. He held his loved ones close and he would do anything and the impossible for them. So he was not going to allow anyone, and especially not her, to speak ill of Joyce. He would fight anyone, even her, if it was necessary.

Her hair was tousled for having moved in her dreams, her bangs were a bit off, with hair sticking everywhere. Her big doe eyes were heavy, sleepiness clinging to them, although she was trying to keep them open. Her legs were bare, and his old t-shirt wasn’t the most beautiful piece of clothing. Her external appearance was only enhanced by her sense of humor, her charisma and even her stubbornness. It was the whole pack of Joyce Byers that made Hopper want to scream to the skies that he was in love with her. 

“Answering your question… I don’t think I should believe that you like that I wear your clothes” she laughed, playfully flicking him on the chest. At his questioning eyes, she added: “the other day you were looking for one of your flannels and you couldn’t find it. When you realized I was already wearing it, you got mad.”

Hopper opened his mouth, ready to respond, but Joyce lifted one of her eyebrows, an amused look in her eyes.

“I wasn’t mad” he lied, swinging his head down, wearing a flirting smile on his mouth. The wrinkles framing his blue eyes deepened as he teased her

“The hell you were” she mimicked his previous words, trying –and failing– to copy his deep tone and heavy accent. She knew it drove him crazy when she impersonated and made fun of him, which only gave her more reason to do it. Not that Hopper truly hated it, what bothered him was that she was always right.

“I just… was in a rush and I had taken that one out of the wardrobe so it was ready to be worn.”

“And it was worn… just not by you” Joyce laughed, and she shrieked when he tickled her on her side. Hopper shushed, but didn’t take his hand off that sensitive spot.

“You are a menace, woman” he sighed “you know what I mean.”

“It’s fun messing with you.” Her gentle fingers caressed his growing beard, the tips of the hairs tickling her. It seemed like those days he didn’t have time to shave. She moved her hand to his lips, looking straight into his eyes, the light moment having passed. Suddenly the energy around them was charged, something having switched between them. Barely moving, she brought her face closer to his, only to capture his lips with hers, following the movement her fingers were doing only seconds ago. They were so comfortable around each other, something only you could achieve by having known the other for almost as long as you’ve been alive. She was the only person Hopper allowed to make fun of him, because he knew that she did that from a place of love, that she respected him and she would never do anything to cause him pain or discomfort. He deepened the kiss, the hand he had placed on her waist traveling to her back, trying to bring her body closer to his. 

The first to break the kiss was Joyce, reaching for air. Still needing to feel him closer to her, she grazed his nose with hers, making them both laugh, breaking the intensity between them.

“Leaving that moment behind, I do like seeing you with my flannels. They look so big on you. And I especially like when you sleep with my t-shirts.” He brushed his fingers along her cheek and down to her neck, his eyes going along, playing with the collar, teasingly pulling it.

“When I sleep with them… or when you undress me?” He choked on her words, looking at her cheeky grin with wide-open eyes. She moved on his lap, doing it to bother him but also because she was beginning to slip, the position she was in a bit uncomfortable. 

“Jesus, woman.” The image she had conjured by saying that made all his body warm up, suddenly too aware of her weight on his lap.

“As long as I like cuddling you, I need to sit properly. My back is killing me”. Hopper immediately missed the woman’s warmth, but he secretly thanked her for standing up. He knew the moment could have escalated quickly, that’s the power Joyce had on him, and as much as he always wanted her, he knew the goofiness transpiring between them was more necessary than any heated moment. They weren’t used to just existing next to each other, joking and talking about nothing in particular, but those talks could heal them. She stretched, the hem of the clothing riding up her thighs. Before she could move, he wrapped his arms around her frame, his hands squeezing her ass and pressed a kiss into her stomach through the fabric, making her giggle. Joyce sat down next to him. “Wanna light one?” She showed him a pack of cigarettes –they always kept one beneath the bench, next to an ashtray. So many were the nights in which one of them, or both, smoke cigarette after cigarette to send the anxiety and fear away.

He took the pack from her hands, taking one out. But before bringing it to his lips, he held it just above his nose. He looked at it and then tilted his head to his side to find Joyce already looking at him with a puzzled look.

“You know? I’ve been thinking of quitting”

“What? Since when?” she asked, confusion laced on her words. 

“I don’t know. Since Russia I guess. I spent so many months not being able to try tobacco that I think my body got used to it. Don't get me wrong, I craved smoking, but the more I think about it, I was better off. It’s supposed to be bad for your health; I think we need to be as strong as ever. And if not smoking can help me be quicker and in better shape to keep you all safe, it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.

“Oh Hop” she understood better than anyone the need to be in the best form for her children. The last years of her marriage with Lonnie and after her divorce, she had neglected her kids. Looking at it with clean eyes, she hated herself and always chastised herself for not having risen to the occasion. Her boys had needed her, and she wasn’t truly there to help them. She knew she couldn't blame it all on herself, her mental health wasn’t at its best, but she always thought that she should have been stronger, at least to put the alcohol aside when she was at home with the kids. But it was easier to let the drinks lull the voices in her head telling her she was a bad mother, a bad wife, a bad woman, a bad person. If she couldn't hear anything, it meant it wasn’t there, right? “I know you will do anything to protect us and this town” after a bit of silence, she added, “but we can quit together?”

“You don’t have to do it for me”

“It’s not for you, or not entirely. It’s supposed to be unhealthy, doesn’t it?” Hopper nodded, stifling a laugh “then we can be healthier together.”

“I love you” said the man, the serious demeanor only broken with his sparkling blue eyes. They were shining, he couldn’t stop looking at the woman next to him, who had a shy smile on her lips and an expression of utter love and respect. He rolled the cylinder around his fingers, taking a second to look at it before turning his face to her. “Should we smoke the last one?” he offered it to her, a mischievous smile.

“That’s a way to quit” Joyce laughed, but nodded anyway. A last one for old times sake. 

Taking the zippo out of the pack, Hopper rose the butt to his mouth, dangling it on his lips before lighting the end. When a thread of smoke rose from it, he took the cigarette and passed it to Joyce. He always let her take the first puff.

A drag wouldn’t fix her problems, but it sure helped her brain unruffle. She let the smoke rest on her mouth, feeling it in her throat before blowing it through closed lips. The next drag helped her relax.

“You know I started to smoke because of you, right?” Joyce offered him the stick and he took it from her hand, brushing her fingers with his, a surprised look on his eyes for her words, “remember seventh grade? You stealing tobacco from your dad? That crap was disgusting. Don’t try to deny it.”

“I won't.” The sheriff laughed at the memory, having forgotten being the one to introduce Joyce to his unhealthy habit. He had forged into his memory the times in which they would sneak around to smoke, tho. “So you are telling me that I'm a bad influence?”

“The worst.” Not hiding her laughter, Joyce bent her head to put it at his hand’s level, puckering her lips into the butt. “Who would have thought back then? Bad boy Jim Hopper becoming the chief of police.”

“Now I'm a bad boy?” he lifted an eyebrow, the left corner of his lips rising. He placed his free hand on her thigh, pinching the skin there, as proof of his words.

“No, you’ve changed. You are a respectable man. Trying to save the world and everything.”

Having known him for as long as she had, the change was obvious. He still carried that proud demeanor, full of ego, confident that, because of his size, everyone would listen and respect him. But it was no longer the attitude of a child, as it had been back then, it belonged to a man who knew the power he held, who had seen and done questionable things and understood what the world had to offer and the bad things it hid. Jim knew he had a big responsibility –because of his job and his position on the secret mission they were on– and he couldn’t fail. Opposite of his teenage self, full of bullshit and relying on his looks to get away with anything, knowing everyone wanted to be him –or be with him.

“You liked my attitude back then, tho.” They could not forget the amount of time they spent together in their teenage years, not all the time being platonic. “I was filled with rage and I'm still a grumpy man so not much has changed. I think the fuck boy attitude adds up to my actual self.” He was still trapped by his demons, he always needed to point out his flaws.

“Well I wasn't that smart” she jokes. “And I like that you are grumpy” she caressed his hair, combing it through her fingers, trying to soothe him. “That way it gives me so much joy when I force a smile out of you, or when you act so sweet and smitten around me. That means you like being with me.”

“Of course I do. I thought there was no damn doubt about that.” Hopper didn't even try to deny he was smitten. Because he was head over heels in love with her, and he had been for a long time. 

“There isn’t, but I still like knowing you only are that way around me and your loved ones. And that sometimes you act like the world bothers you, but the truth is that you are faking it because you don’t want people to see the real you.”

There was no way to hide the truth, and no reason to do it. They felt so comfortable around the other, knowing each other like they were cut from the same cast. It seemed like he was always in a bad mood, or that he liked picking fights with everyone. Looking in depth, he was just scared of something wrong happening to them, and showing his true colors. Hopper could feel happiness, sometimes it just felt overwhelming feeling guilty for it. 

“So you are really sure that you want to quit?” Those words were almost a whisper, the intensity of the conversation having reached levels he hadn't expected.

“Yeah” she stopped mid-sentence, grabbing the stub for the last pull on the cigarette. Hopper always let her take the last drag. With a swift motion, she crushed the fire out on the ashtray. “You know, I started smoking so it would help with my anxiety. For some minutes I just had to focus on blowing out the smoke so I wouldn't choke on it. I could be alone outside no matter how hot or cold, and it would ground me. It gave me an excuse to stifle all the sounds both outside and inside. My anxiety is still there and it will always be, especially these days with all that is happening in Hawkins and to the kids, but at least I'm surrounded with good people that help me ground myself. I think I'm ready to give up on the crutch that is smoking.” Tilting her head, she offered a wide smile, hoping he understood that he was one of those people who helped maintain her peace. Hopper smiled too, pulling her to his chest, hugging her tightly before plating a kiss on her hair. He understood. 

Having been neglected, first by her family as a kid, and then by her ex-husband, it was easy to fall into past actions. She’d dealt with anxiety and minor depression all her life, so she was not naive to think that being in a relationship with someone –no matter how good they were– would magically heal her. But her loved ones always were there to support her, even when she didn’t know she needed help. And she was a firm believer that a healthy environment sometimes was the clue not to spin out into dark places.

And Hopper understood that. 

—

Theory was easier than practise. Especially when the world kept giving them reasons not to do it. Bad habits died hard, and with withdrawal symptoms having them by the collar the temptation to smoke at least one was difficult to avoid. 

The hours in which Hopper was in those tunnels doing the crawls, Joyce felt her heart sinking, her chest straining, the pain was insufferable. When she waved him off, she didn’t know if that would be the last time she was going to see him. The time between Hopper disappearing to the Upside Down and him resurging back covered in dust and residue felt endless, a sequence of million possible scenarios going through her head like a movie. 

One of those times, she couldn’t resist it any more. She’d done good, the first 21 days of breaking a habit –or making a new one– were the worst. It’s supposed to be easier on the 22nd. During that time, Joyce felt cranky and in a bad mood, ready to yell at the minimum opportunity. She was on edge, feeling like anything anyone said was an attack. But she’s pushed through it, and her body thanked her. Maybe it was her subconscious, but she felt lighter and that she breathed better, the air filled her lungs with no difficulty. It was the right choice. 

Nothing broke the static on the walkies, and for more than two hours they haven’t heard anything from Hopper. He could be trapped, injured, imprisoned, being tortured or worse, dead. Joyce had already been through that and she couldn't cope a second time with her partner being missing. 

So she turned back to old habits. 

Among the junk resting on the radio station, there were plenty of cigarette packs lying around. Hopper and her were the only ones who used to chain-smoke; Murray, Nancy, Steve and Robin smoked the usual cigarette from time to time, so they had some hidden. Taking one and a lighter, she rushed through the door, going down the few steps and fast walking towards the field around them. Her legs were short, but she was determined to trick her brain into not thinking. She took the butt to her lips and, after a few seconds of doubt, she lit it.

Her breath came out shaking.

Instant relief clouded her, followed by a pang of regret. 

They were supposed to quit smoking together, she wasn’t supposed to be doing that.

But Hopper should be there with them, and he wasn’t. So she was allowed, or at least that’s how she tricked herself to take another drag. That one longer, feeling the smoke rasping her throat. She blew the smoke out, and as the long swirl got lost with the wind, a few scattered tears rolled down her cheeks.

Everything was fine.

Everything ought to be fine.

Her hands were so shaky that the next time she tried to pull them to her lips, she wouldn't even grasp her mouth. The woman felt the need to scream, to ease the doubt from her clogged mind. Instead of that, she crouched to the ground, holding her stomach. It hurt. There was a jab to her heart every time she tried to breathe in and after a few tries, she couldn’t even make herself fill her lungs with air. She felt her windpipe closing and her heart began to beat faster, a million dark thoughts racing through her mind. Was Hopper in trouble? Was he dead?

For so long she’s lived with the constant reminder that everything could go wrong. That’s what anxiety meant. Your brain is constantly racing, cataloging everything, thinking of all the possible scenarios in just one situation –like a computer analyzing the stats. Just that she wasn’t a computer. And that your brain would choose to fixate on the worst possibilities and deny the good ones. The pain in her chest and her tearful face were proof enough of that. 

Trying to breathe, she pulled down at the front of her t-shirt, wishing there was a speck of air in the warm summer in Hawkins. But it was hot, and sweat covered her body, intensified by the effort her body was doing having her in panic mode. Wasn’t your body supposed to be smart? Why had it had her sweating in an already warm weather? Why couldn’t she come up with a good reason why Hopper wasn’t answering? Why couldn’t she keep a level head?

The ash of the tip felt onto her hand, burning her fingers. She hissed, and flicked her finger onto the cylinder. The tip was still lit, the yellow light teasing her. She brought her hands to her face, rubbing both the sweat and the shed tears off her cheeks. She combed her hair, trying to calm herself, to focus on something other than her thoughts. She tried again to bring the cigarette to her lips, and this time she took a long drag, managing to breath out after that. She repeated the motion a couple of times.

“Happy thoughts” she mumbled to herself, “happy thoughts”.

Something simple, like the reason why she hadn’t had a cigarette in over three months. She went back to that night in which they made that decision. How great it was that they were finally together, no barriers and no secrets. After so much longing and wanting on both parts, it felt good to admit that they were meant to the other. 

Her story with Hopper was long and kind of messy, but it seemed that destiny always had them in mind, they just had to wait. When she was young, she always thought that she would stick to the person she married. That’s what she thought would happen with Lonnie. Even though he wasn’t her first option –after having Hopper going to war and moving out of Hawkins– she was sure that would be the last time she was going to see him, high school way into the past. She had been honest with her vows on her wedding day, it seemed that Lonnie hadn't. So after her divorce and the turmoil that preceded it, she had settled into the single mom role. Hopper coming back to Hawkins –all tortured and heartbroken– was never in her plans; neither having him reach out in the middle of her divorce to make sure she was alright and igniting those forgotten feelings; and sure as hell her son being kidnapped and the appearance of another world mimicking theirs was something she could not have imagined happening in a million years. But it did, and it brought her closer to Jim, her childhood best friend. 

It felt only natural to slip back into their old selves when they were together. The goofiness, the long talks over cigarettes or drinking beer, her messing with him and Hopper pretending to be mad, Hopper swaggering around at any opportunity. That’s how it was supposed to be. 

She reached the end of the cigarette and tossed it, stumping her foot over it to put it out. She had cheated, she had broken their promise; although it made her feel bad, she had needed to do that. She would confess to Hopper, or maybe not. Thinking back to that last Camel they shared, she let a smile slip on her face. Being next to him was always easy, he brought her peace and he always made her smile. He didn’t think he was funny, but she was always laughing around him.

“Joyce?” A familiar broken voice came from her side, where she had her walkie perched on her belt. The static made the sound weird, but she would always recognize his voice. “Is anyone there?”

“Hop!” she spoke through the speaker, holding for dear life to the device –as if she could reach him. “Where are you? Are you OK?”

“Dad?” El’s voice was heard. The girl still was at the radio with the rest of them; Joyce had needed to breathe some air, knowing that any news, she would know. All their walkies were on the same frequency, so whatever they said, the rest could hear. 

“I’m at the hatch. Coming your way.”

She ran fast. The hatch was around five minutes away from the WSQK and she needed to make sure that he wasn’t injured. Why has he been silent for hours? Relief shot through her body, but she wanted to see him with her own eyes. 

“What happened?” The woman shouted when she saw him coming her way. Taking a last sprint, she ran into his opening arms. She wrapped her arms tight around his waist, not caring about the dirt he had on him, or the bulge of his weapons and military clothing. He was safe with her.

“I don’t know. I could listen to all you were saying over the walkie, but I guess you couldn’t hear me. Some interference maybe?” At first, he hadn’t thought anything was wrong, but when he realized they weren’t answering to what he was saying, he began to worry. He knew he was right when they started calling his name, begging him to reply. 

“Why didn’t you come straight back? You know that if something happened or you lost contact, you should come here.” She scanned him with her eyes, making sure he wasn’t injured, that there wasn’t blood filtering through his clothes. Both her hands were on his cheeks, forcing him to look at her. 

“It’s not that simple, Joyce,” he groaned. “You know the military are down there, moving whilst trying to dodge them takes time.” Hopper brushed some loose strands behind her ear, caressing her hair and her cheek, wiping a single tear from the corner of her eye. His hands were full of dirt, but he needed to touch her and feel her warm skin. He has missed that warmth in the cold underworld. 

“That’s OK, I'm sorry. I’m glad you are safe, I was so worried.

“I know, Joy, and I’m sorry. But I’m fine, I’m not even hurt and I’m home.” He took a long breath, smelling her in, glad to be in her arms. He squeezed one more time before taking her hand in hers, beginning to walk and pulling her to his side. He hung an arm around her shoulders and kissed her hair whilst walking.

She was glad that he was back to her. She hoped he didn’t smell the tobacco and guilt on her. 

—

Mornings were always quiet. Isolated in the cabin, they were only surrounded by trees, deep in the woods and far from the road. Eleven liked to sleep in, and Hopper let her. She was going miles to train and make herself stronger, pushing her limits so when the time came, she could defeat their enemy. She only took a small break to have lunch and some evenings to see Mike and their friends. 

After last night, Hopper sure needed the quiet. During her training, Eleven fell and cut her arm. Nothing serious, but the bleeding had been alarming, the injury itself not that deep as it had seemed. After having cleaned and disinfected the wound and made sure there wasn’t any major damage, she insisted that she could continue. Hopper had let her, Eleven was so stubborn sometimes it was better not to argue. But she was pale, and on her way back home Hopper had had to help her get into and out of the car. 

The former sheriff had always had trouble sleeping, but nowadays his insomnia was worse. He had been awake for hours, the sun wasn’t even up when Hopper had decided to get up from bed and had gone outside, the porch his safe space, where, looking at the trees and the chirping birds, he could find a remnant of peace. 

The phone rang inside. Not wanting the sound to disturb his daughter, he ran inside, unhanging before walking back to the porch, leaving the door ajar so the wire wouldn’t get trapped. He pressed the device to his ear, knowing who was on the other side. Only one person called him these days. 

“Hop? I didn’t wake you, didn’t I?” Joyce knew the answer, he was an early riser, but she wanted to make sure. 

“No, no. Been up and awake for a couple hours now.”

“How is El?” she asked. Mike had told her last night. She wasn’t at the training, so Joyce hadn’t seen the accident, but El called him the previous night to let him know. If the woman had been there, she would’ve gone home with them. No way she was going to let them alone, knowing both of them could probably need her, Eleven to be taken care of and Hopper for moral support. She knew how protective he was towards his daughter, and she knew how much the sheriff punished himself if something wrong happened to any of them. 

The man sighed. His eyes traveled to the empty seat next to him, the bench in which Joyce and himself spent many nights cuddled together. Tempting him, laid that old pack they liked to keep underneath it. It was mocking him, trying to prove if he was strong enough to resist the temptation. He had picked it up the moment he had stood outside, not thinking of his promise to the woman. So used to smoking one, or a few, he had taken one cigarette and the lighter out before stopping himself. It was his lifeline, something to rely on. Hopper had put it down, knowing he could be stronger than that. 

“Jim?” Joyce only called him by his birth name when she was worried sick. He was always Hopper or Hop to her, sometimes baby or honey, but never Jim. That was only for serious occasions. 

“Yes, she’s alright. Sleeping.”

“How did it happen?” When he was moping, pushing was the only way in which Hopper would talk.

“Not sure. One minute she was up in the air, the next she was on the floor. And that damn junkyard is filled with crap and sharp ends.” He pulled a cigarette out, bringing it to his lips, only to take it out the next second and crush it between his fingers. The tobacco leaves fall into the ground, pilling next to his feet. A few were left in his hand, along with the white, thin paper. Hopper shook his hand. “I think she’s tired, Joy, but she won’t say it. I’m scared I’m pushing too hard on her and that I will break her.”

“No, Hop, don’t go there, don’t blame yourself. I think we are all on edge, and she has the most difficult task. It was just an accident, it could have happened at home, like she could’ve cut herself making a sandwich.” On the other end, Joyce’s voice was worried, laced with pain. He didn’t like causing her any discomfort.

“You are probably right, but… I can’t lose her and I can’t have her injured under my watch.” Next, he took out the lighter. He pulled at it, igniting the flame. He looked at it, the small fire dancing in his blue eyes, a metaphor of how he burnt everything around him. He blew on it, only to light it again. He repeated the action. 

“You won’t. She’s a tough kid and we all want to protect her. God, you are the one making sure she’s safe, and she trusts you.” All Joyce wanted to do was reach her hand across the phone and caress his cheek, knowing that what he needed the most in moments like that was love and a loving touch. Hopper cared deeply, and he suffered keenly for his loved ones. 

“What if I’m not? I'm encouraging her to go after this evil.”

“That’s not true. You are the one preventing her from doing it. You know El, if it weren’t because you stopped her, she would have gone to the Upside Down to haunt Vecna the moment the floor opened under us. Please, Hop, don’t punish yourself.”

“Because of me Sara died, because of me you got caught. I don’t want anything to happen because of me.”

Blaming himself was what he did best. He was supposed to be the sheriff, the Chief of Police in that town, the one to make sure everything was under control, that everyone was safe. And he hadn't achieved any of that. Under his watch, his former best friend’s -now girlfriend- son was taken. Some scientists in a lab created a monster while doing experiments on little kids. The Russian government set camp in their town to bring said monsters back. The woman she was in love with got imprisoned while trying to rescue him. The kid she adopted was taken again. And before that, his wife left him and his daughter died, all because he went to a war and worked with dangerous poisonous chemicals. 

It was his fault. If he had done things better, much of it could have been prevented. 

“It’s not your fault any of that happened. Sara… I can’t imagine how hard that must be, I know you live in constant pain, but your little girl… What happened isn’t your fault.”

But it was. He knew the risk, but he was more selfish than cautious. He had a daughter and he killed her. He didn’t want to repeat it. 

“Are you coming today?” Hopper changed the topic, not wanting to remember losing his kid, seeing the flatline indicating that he would never listen to her daughter’s laugh, nor see her blue eyes. 

“I’m not sure. I promised Karen I’d help her around the house” she sighed into the phone, knowing that wasn’t what Hopper wanted to hear. He let his head fall, slumping his shoulders to her words. He understood Joyce couldn’t stop her life because of him, but he wanted to see her. Not being able to go into town just to be around her, as he used to do during that summer in which they grew closer, was killing him. Hopper had gotten used to seeing her almost every day and now that they were finally a couple, they couldn’t spend time together. He missed her warmth at night. “We’ve been living here and she hadn’t asked anything of us, but I know tension’s growing. I’ll try to stop by after lunch. And I hope I can spend the night there too.”

They had to be cautious. Hopper was supposedly dead and Eleven was wanted by the military. Nobody could know where they were, that they were in Hawkins. Joyce and her family lived with the Wheelers, and even though she sneaked out at nights to be with Hopper and spent the majority of her days with him and Eleven, she couldn’t act suspicious. She didn’t have a job, so her being out all day would give Karen something to suspect. 

“I’d love to see you.” It was almost a plea, knowing she had a life and her own kids and couldn’t be obvious, but he sure needed her.  

“I know, me too. Shit, I gotta go, the Wheelers are waking up. Talk to you later, OK?”

“Talk to you later” 

“And Jim? Don’t punish yourself” she added before hanging up. 

He had held back during their conversation, but it was a lose battle. During the last part of his conversation with Joyce, he had held a cigarette between his index and his middle finger, making the cylinder roll, fighting against his brain. But he yielded. He didn’t want to fight, not today. 

With no second thoughts, he lit the Camel, taking a long drag. For the first time that day, he smiled. He would regret it later, but his sanity was on the verge of spilling out, and it was that or smoking. 

His mind went back to high school, between fifth and sixth period, him and Joyce sneaking out of class and hiding under the bleachers, sharing cigarettes, jokes, secrets and kisses. Those days were easier. The gruff man wished he could go back to the happiness of it. He wished he could hold on to that and make sure it could stay like that. He didn’t regret marrying his ex-wife because it gave him his daughter, but a part of himself wished Joyce and him had stopped fooling around and settled things down between them, not only gotten in trouble together.

He’d tell Joyce later, but he couldn’t deny that the burn between his fingers and the smoke filling his lungs helped him relax, his dark thoughts going away with every blow. Maybe quitting smoking should be done in a non stressful situation, but he wasn’t that bright. He only knew actions. It wouldn’t fix his life, and it wouldn’t make him forget or stop living in pain, but he would take however little help it provided. And at least for that morning and until he could see Joyce, that would have to do.

—

The wait was long. Murray wasn’t the most punctual person, but being almost too hours late wasn’t normal even for him. He was supposed to give them supplies, food and clothes, but also tactical gear and other stuff for their missions. The military were getting restless, still in their search for Eleven, and the Upside Down was pretty empty of its creatures. Hopper’s crawls had been futile, not having found anything they could use. 

They were all scattered along the WSQK: some in the hidden secret base, others in the main area, Dustin and Lucas were messing around with the radio and others were out in the sun. The energy could be cut with a knife, all of them at edge. 

Not able to take it any longer, Joyce stood from the place she was sitting on the couch and, grabbing her jacket, stepped out of the building. Being motionless didn’t help with her alert state; she needed to do something, but there was literally nothing to do. She couldn’t play cards, like some of them were doing, nor trying to sleep or hold casual conversation. She needed to do something, she needed to go into action, to plan something or talk about their future movements. But waiting for their delivery, not knowing if Murray had been caught or if they had been compromised was driving her nuts. 

Before the front door, there was a plantpot. She stopped and reached for it, grabbing something she had stacked there some weeks prior. Taking a cigarette out, she dangled it from her lips. Turning the corner of the building heading for the field behind it, she stopped on her tracks. 

Hopper was in front of her, his side to hers. She had lit the cigarette, the smoke going out of the tip visible. He looked at her, his blue eyes big opened, a surprise look in them. His hand mid air, his own cigarette, half finished, on its way to his lips.

They both stood in the spot, having stopped mid-action, like statues held in time. 

They had been caught red handed. By the other. Doing the thing they promised they wouldn’t do.

As if on cue, they started laughing. 

Joyce resumed her walk, a shy smile on her lips. She took her Camel from her lips before blowing out the smoke to inhale again. As she approached him, Hopper opened his arm, motioning her to go to his side. When she reached his side, he held her by the shoulders, pulling her to his body, hugging her. 

“So… I cheated” his tone was cautious, as if she hadn’t done the same thing he was confessing of, or as if she would be mad at him.

“So I did,” Joyce laughed, rubbing his back up and down through his shirt. “I guess we suck at following through”.

“In our defense, the situation asks for a cigarette.” As if to prove it, he gave another long drag, flicking off the remnant ashes from the tip. After another drag, he threw it to his feet and stomped on it.

“I thought you were down in the base looking through some maps. I thought I was safe sneaking out” mentioned Joyce, a cheeky smile on her lips. She looked up to Hopper, who rubbed his beard with his hand, as if wanting to remove any trace of his sin. “I must confess… this is not the first one I smoke.”

“I know” his reply came with a laugh, bending down to kiss the top of her head. With a quick motion, he grabbed the cigarette she was holding.

“Hey!” she shouted, stifling a laugh and trying –and failing– to take it back. After inhaling, he gave it back to her. “You do?”

“Joyce, smoking leaves a stink.” 

Their clothing always smelled of smoke –its reek very specific– always mixed with their cologne. Since they made their resolution, it had faded, no longer a smell you could specifically attach to them. Those days the lavender of her perfume was enhanced, not having the smell of tobacco concealing it. Hopper could still remember the first time he had felt it back on her, instantly missing the lavender coating his senses. He knew she had been worried sick, it wasn’t difficult to imagine that, after having lost contact with him down in the Upside Down, she must have been desperate, thinking something bad had happened to him. So it was easy to think that she had gone back to that habit, needing to find a way to soothe her thoughts. He hadn’t said anything, he knew it would have made her feel guilty, and it was not the time. 

“OK then you aren’t much better at hiding it, mister,” she playfully smacked his ass. If she was down, she was taking him down with her. 

In his case, she remembered one day in which, when she had seen him one morning, he smelled of his usual cologne, being freshly showered, and having trimmed his beard. After spending the day with her kids, when she went to his cabin to spend the night, he was still wearing the same clothes, but the smell was obvious. That was when she knew that her suspicions had been correct. Despite it, she couldn't say anything, it would have been hypocritical on her part, having done the same. So she decided to wait either for the moment when he would confess having smoked again, or her being the first one to grace the subject. 

“But you didn’t say anything.” He took a step back to untangle himself from Joyce’s arms and took her hand instead, pulling her towards the stairs. Hopper knew she had gone out to smoke because she was stressed, so decided it was better to distract her and make her forget about her worries. A walk could do.

“Neither did you. I couldn’t throw it in your face because I was doing the same thing, more than once.” 

“How about we cheat together?” Hopper asked, taking another one out of his pack. Joyce had finished the one she was smoking, having thrown it when they were walking down the stairs. The sheriff offered the new one to her, lifting a brow, a mischievous look in his eyes. Screw everything.

“No, Hop, you wanted to do this for a reason” she denied, but lit her zippo anyway, approaching it to the cigarette he was offering. “We should really quit. We aren’t getting any younger.”

“OK but if you ever want to cheat, please tell me. I can’t leave you to smoke alone and I hope you’ll do the same.” They both laughed, knowing that if they did that, they would never truly quit. “Meanwhile, this will be our last.”

“Yeah, so much for quitting together,” she mumbled under her breath, loud enough that Hopper would hear her. He smiled, feeling lighthearted after so long. 

Copying the situation they were in at their porch some months ago, Joyce took the first drag, only to pass the tobacco to him. They both laughed, feeling calm next to the other, knowing that they could share those moments and no matter if one of them failed in their shared resolution, no one would blame them. There was enough love and trust to know that they could rely on the other, and that they would always help the other. 

They cheated many more times. It seemed like they were holding themselves good, but something would happen and they would need the lifeline tobacco provided. To excuse themselves, they were in a really stressful and dangerous situation, so they felt it was justified if they failed. 

Hopper was the first to cheat after that, not having a really strong excuse. Crankiness during the next withdrawal was enough to make him want to smoke one. 

The next was Joyce, torn between anxiety over Hopper and Eleven being trapped in the Upside Down, guilt for having kidnapped a family in the barn  and fear of the consequences of attracting a Demogorgon –reason enough to light a cigarette.

Not long after that, her son going into a coma for having invaded Vecna’s mind filled her with fear and regret. She needed it, and she was sure that if she hadn’t taken it first, Hopper would have offered it to her, knowing it would help her calm down.

After many failed attempts, the last time they set their minds to quit was after they got engaged, breaking that promise with the stress of moving out and planning their wedding. They told everybody they had stopped smoking, while the truth was that they sneaked to cheat together, hiding the truth from everyone except for themselves. They would always find a moment to stop what they were doing and share a cigarette.

Finally, returning back from their honeymoon, they smoked the last one on the front porch of their new house in Montauk, with the sound of the waves lapping on the beach and the stars tilting in the moonless sky. 

They were finally at peace. Nightmares and ghosts still broke their minds, but the evil they had been fighting for so long was finally gone. Sometimes they had the urge to break into their oldest habit, but the lure was weaker, knowing they could rely on the other. Hopper knew that after waking up from a bad nightmare, he could wake Joyce up and talk to her about it, that she would always listen and help him calm himself down. And Joyce knew that if she was feeling anxious, if she felt she needed to run, she could always tell Hopper, he would always speak through her doubts and make her laugh when she most needed it.

They no longer needed to rely on smoke.

They were finally home.