Chapter Text
On a breezy September morning, in a small house a stone’s throw from the Atlantic Ocean, Jim Hopper assessed his appearance. A button-down light blue shirt and a pair of tan chinos. His hair was freshly cut, and his bushy mustache had been trimmed. Not too shabby, he thought with a nod.
He was getting married today.
They had discussed getting married in Hawkins, surrounded by familiar places and the people they had known for decades. It could be one last happy memory, in a town haunted by so many unhappy ones, before they said their goodbyes.
But in the end, they decided to wait until after their move. There was so much that needed to be done first. They helped Will get settled at an art school that wasn’t too far from his brother at NYU. And then Hopper had to deal with cleaning out the cabin.
He wasn’t a sentimental man and was happy to get rid of or donate his junk. Some of the kids who were staying local were thrilled to furnish their dorm rooms or first apartments with his towels and mismatched dishes.
But it was different with El’s room. In the eighteen months that had passed, her room remained untouched. Will could’ve probably used the space, if not for sleeping then at least for storing his clothes and books so the cabin’s main room wasn’t so crowded, but he didn’t ask and Hopper couldn’t find the words to offer. Instead her room became a part of Hopper’s nighttime ritual. Every night, after dinner had been cleaned up and Joyce and Will were occupied with a movie or game, he would make his way to her room. Surrounded by her clothes and trinkets and pictures of Mike, he murmured apologies to her, saying sorry for trying to control her in his attempts to keep her safe. He’d apologize for hiding her and not letting her see Mike and for not trusting her and for not fighting harder to save her when she told him her final plans.
Then he would reminisce and talk about the old Westerns they used to watch and the Eggo Extravaganzas they’d devour, layers and layers of candy and whipped cream.
He’d tell her he knew she wasn’t Sara. He never thought of her as a replacement daughter. Just as his daughter. And then he always concluded his visit by telling her he loved her and missed her.
But he knew it was time to go through her stuff, to decide what should be kept, donated, or disposed of. He really tried, had opened her closet all the way to start with her clothes but panicked when he felt like he was going to pass out. Joyce, who with his permission had been protecting him from all his past vices, poured him a small shot of vodka before hiding the bottle away. He downed it, wincing a little, and they got to work.
They saved her artwork and a few of her favorite stuffed animals. Anything with sentimental value was placed delicately in a moving box. Hopper invited The Party over, and he tried not to get too emotional as he watched the kids gratefully accept a few of El’s possessions as a way to remember the girl who had meant so much to them.
Hopper even got a small nod from Mike before he left the cabin that day, an unspoken acknowledgement of their talk on the day of graduation. Hopper hoped that Mike had listened to and understood what he had told him and would eventually be able to find some sort of acceptance.
Acceptance was a funny concept, Hopper thought as he continued to study himself in the mirror. Some days he liked to think he was doing a little better this time around, but it hadn’t been easy. He had been tempted so many times to beg Joyce for his contraband back so he could numb himself to oblivion. There were days when he woke up in a mood so dark and depressed that it took every ounce of willpower just to get out of bed. And there were days he was mad that he woke up at all.
Was there anything crueler than a mourning parent having déjà vu?
But Joyce was there with him. From that first night when she told him stories about El to her constant reassurances that he was a good father when he regularly doubted himself, she was there. She made sure he was eating and sleeping and held him tightly at night, promising him that she wasn’t going anywhere.
She probably should’ve left him and taken her boys somewhere far, far away. But she stayed. And then Will moved in. Kind and considerate Will, who was so careful around him, began to share his own El stories, and the anger and helplessness and despair Hopper felt began to recede just a little bit.
Putting on his sheriff’s uniform in the morning and having something productive to do outside the cabin helped a little. Coming home to Joyce and Will helped a lot.
He wasn’t quite at the acceptance stage yet, but as the months passed, he could almost see it beckoning to him just over the horizon.
He gave most of the credit to Joyce and her care, and he tried to return the favor. The two of them would sit outside on the cabin’s porch some nights, sharing silence or memories under the moonlight. And on the rare occasion when she broke down first, he was there, holding her, rubbing her back, telling her he was there and that he’d always be there. Then they’d exchange teary smiles and go back inside hand in hand.
Joyce was the reason he hadn’t fallen into a deep, dark, destructive hole this time around, and he would give her the world if he could.
It was Joyce he was thinking of when he decided to make some calls one day. Will had just received his acceptance letter from a prestigious art school in New York, and Hopper could not have been prouder of the kid. After everything he had been through, after all he had suffered, this letter, currently hanging on the fridge, was proof that a new and exciting life was waiting for him.
“New York,” Joyce said one day as she reread the letter for the millionth time. Her voice was filled with pride and wonder and perhaps a slight hint of melancholy. “Both my boys were able to get the hell out of Hawkins and get to New York.”
When Hopper and Joyce were rebellious teens, he had promised her Mexico as a way to escape a town that had stifled them both. It hadn’t happened then, but now an idea was forming. A different kind of escape. A week or so before Will’s graduation, he made some calls to old friends from his big city days. One tip led to another, and he learned that there was an open police chief position in Montauk, a small hamlet right near the beach. It wasn’t the landlocked Midwest, and it wasn’t the crowded and daunting New York City of his past, but something quieter, calmer, and free of their ghosts.
And, best of all, it was less than three hours from where both Byers boys would be living.
When he brought it up to Joyce, right before he proposed, he bent the truth a little. He told her a friend had reached out to him because he didn’t want her to feel obligated to move if she didn’t want to leave. But as they slow danced to “At Last,” a new ring on her finger and a soft smile on her face, she said, “Yes to Montauk, Hop. I’m ready.”
--
They moved to New York in July and immediately fell in love with the coastal breezes, the quaint stores, and their new house which included a spacious guest room for whenever the boys wanted to visit.
Will and Jonathan were in that room now, getting ready for the upcoming wedding. Joyce was in the bathroom, doing her hair and makeup. Hopper had been with her when she had found her dress. It was on their third day there, and they were strolling the downtown area after a light dinner. She had stopped in front of a shop’s window, studying the dress the mannequin was wearing. It wasn’t a formal wedding dress, but something more casual. A white summer dress: knee length, with a little bit of a ruffle at the hem. He convinced her to buy it, and she had eventually agreed and added a pale pink cardigan to wear over it in case it got chilly. They were still getting used to beach weather.
It was going to be a courthouse wedding, just the four of them, followed by dinner at an Italian restaurant that had become their place, a decent replacement for Enzo’s. Completely informal, and Hopper was thrilled about it. He couldn’t wait to be Joyce’s husband and Will and Jonathan’s stepfather.
He grinned a very goofy grin before suddenly remembering a conversation he had about weddings several years ago.
--
“I am going to get married to Mike,” El announced out of nowhere one night. “Soon.”
Hopper looked up from his lukewarm TV dinner and tried to keep his voice even. “No.”
“Yes,” El said. “I will have a wedding like I saw on TV. A pretty white dress and flowers and cake. We will get married next year.”
For one second, he saw red. He took a few deep breaths and told himself not to lose his shit over this. “No. You’re too young. You have to be a certain age to get married in Indiana.”
El looked skeptical. “What is the age?”
“Forty.”
She smirked at him. A mannerism she must’ve picked up from that punk Wheeler. “Friends don’t lie. Not forty.”
“Fine. You got me. You have to be eighteen. But that’s still very young. You should wait and do all the things you want to do first before you even think about marriage.”
“I want to do things with Mike.”
He clenched his first under the table. He knew that what she said could be taken several innocent ways, but he couldn’t assume anything when it concerned that punk Wheeler.
“If Mike ever tries to get you to do things that you don’t want to do, come and find me and I’ll take care of him. Got it?”
He might have said that a little louder than he intended to, but she just nodded. “Ok. But I do want to get married. To Mike. And have a big party.”
“If I throw you a big party now, will you wait until you’re at least thirty to get married?”
“I will wait until twenty,” she said. “Not thirty. And I want a party soon. Com-promise. I’m halfway happy now.” But she grinned. Clever girl knew exactly what she was doing. He was actually a little impressed.
She then went into detail about what she wanted at her party: a giant chocolate cake, presents, and all her friends. After she was done and he was left wondering about the logistics of planning this grand event while she was still hiding from the world, she said, “You are forty. You should get married.”
He snorted and made a show of looking around their cabin. “You see a long line of women waiting to marry me, kid?”
“Find one,” she said. “And then you can have the wedding and party. And I will come and wear a pretty dress. Promise me if you get married, I will be there.”
He leaned across the table to ruffle her curls. “You got it. If I get married again, you will definitely be there.”
--
In his bedroom in Montauk, Hopper touched the blue hairband around his wrist and said, “El, Joyce and I are getting married today. It’s not going to be a big party, but this is better. And I know I promised you’d be at my wedding, and it’s not the way I wanted it, but you are here with me. I promise that you and Sara are both here with me. Always and forever, kid.”
A knock on the door. Then Jonathan’s voice.
“Yeah,” Hopper called out. “I’m ready.”