Chapter Text
Hands-
No… fingers.
Scratching… underneath someone’s arm. Or neck.
The other person… laughs?
And they can’t control it?
“Dad?”
After a few moments, the man in question, the chief of police, drops his coffee to the table and responds.
“Yeah kid?”
“What is that?” she asks him, pointing to the TV. “What are they doing?”
Hopper watches for a few seconds, seeing what she’s questioning, and once again, he finds himself feeling sorry for the girl he’s taken on as his daughter. So isolated, she doesn’t even know what-
“Tickling.”
- is.
“Tickling?” she questions, in her habit of just repeating the word in a certain way.
“Yeah. It’s… weird, really. It originates from our animal instinct. Parents would tickle their children as a way to train them to defend themselves.”
“Why does it make you laugh?” she asks, looking both curious and confused at the same moment.
“I have no idea.” he admits. “I guess it’s just… hardwired into us, or something.”
She considers this, as displayed by her facial expression that he’s learned to read.
“Am I ticklish?” she questions, before taking her fingers to her own neck, imitating the actions of the TV scene.
“You can’t tickle yourself.” Hopper smiles softly, loving the moment of innocence he can share with her.
“Why not?” the girl questions, once again looking confused.
“I guess it’s because you’re expecting it.” he responds, earning an even more confused look.
“Yeah, it’s weird.”
She looks back to the TV briefly, but then looks down to her fingers again. Hopper can tell she’s still wondering.
“I can try tickling you.” he offers. “If you want.”
She looks to him, with a small smile forming on her face.
“As long as you promise to not blow the cabin up.” he quickly adds, not knowing what tickling could cause that overpowered head of hers to do.
“I’ll… try… not to?” she says, not knowing what to expect, herself.
Hopper takes a breath, expecting the worst, but still wanting to give her this experience of childhood.
“Alright.” he walks on over, dropping himself alongside her position on the sofa.
“You ready?”
She responds with a simple nod of her head.
“Remember: You asked for this.” he reminds her, before quickly taking his fingers under her arms.
Her body jolts, alongside an excited yelp emerging from her lips, having clearly not expected the sensation that arises from the simple touch. She instinctively brings her arms down tight, in a poor attempt to stop the man’s fingers from inflicting this strange feeling upon her.
The laughter that emerges from the girl quickly warms Hopper’s heart, putting a huge smile, crossed with a smirk, on his face. It reminds him of Sara, his late daughter – tickling wars were very common with her, so reliving that now with El feels nothing if not surreal. And, of course, he knows that El deserves this. She deserves all the normalities of childhood, even if she is a bit older than what normal kids would experience them at.
Her laughter, mixed with pleads for him to stop, fill the air around them. The man wouldn’t normally expect this of himself, but the sound of her laughter, such a rare sound that it used to be, brings him so much joy. Now that she knows what tickling is, he has no plans to stop.
He finds himself laughing alongside her, so much so that neither of them notice the brightening lights, or the distorting TV image and audio alongside them. Contrary to Hopper’s fear, nothing ends up broken.
He relieves her of the attack eventually, leaving her panting for breath. Letting her recover, he leans back, containing the chuckles that threaten his throat as a result of her reaction.
Of course, once she does recover, she has to ask the question he’d never thought he would have to answer.
“Are you ticklish?”
“No.” Hopper responds, shaking his head.
“Are you sure?” she questions, raising an eyebrow in suspicion.
“I’m very sure.” he confirms, smirking down at her mischievous ways.
“Let me try.” she tells him, bringing her hands up towards him.
“Nope.” he quickly drops his arms tight.
“Why not?” she giggles, starting to dig her fingers into the tight space that she aims for.
“Because, I’m not-”
And then, she reaches her mark.
“I’m not ticklish!” he insists, despite saying it through a laugh he failed to contain.
“I think you’re lying.” she tells him in a sing-song voice, wearing a bright smirk as she starts to exact her revenge.
“I’m-” he tightens the vice grip of his arms, although to no avail now that her hands are where they need to be. “not ticklish!” finishes, to no point.
“Oh yes you are!”
“Fine!” he gives in. “I am!”
His booming laughter, a sound that El has never in her life heard, encourages her to continue. That, combined with the sensation of being able to have this kind of fun with a father figure, makes her decide that she needs to do this more often.