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You hear the crunch of gravel as Jim drives away, and you turn to glare at Murray. “What the hell happened to ‘who am I to judge?’ I thought you had already decided you weren’t going to tell him where I was,” you said angrily, returning to the couch to put your shoes on, wincing as your socks tugged at the bandages on your feet.
“Yeah, well, that was before I heard how stupid your story was. If you had told me you left because of the fuckin’ monsters and the Russians, then I’d have left you alone,” he says, shrugging.
You mumble curses at him under your breath and grab your purse, heading for the door. “Well I hope your conscience is clear,” you say sarcastically, opening the door and looking over your shoulder at him. “Do me a favor - don’t come in to pick up your weird ass special orders when I’m working.” With that, you slam the door and begin the painful trek home.
A few weeks pass, and you haven’t seen Murray around either of your jobs; satisfied that he’s actually doing what you want this time, you put it out of your mind as much as you can. You go back to selling electronics and waiting tables, and you start setting aside savings from every paycheck that you can, intent on getting the hell out of Middle America. You start to think you might go to New York or Los Angeles when you’ve saved up enough - somewhere there aren’t monsters crawling out of hell mouths and where nobody knows your past.
Things carry on in this way for enough days in a row that you genuinely become so focused on what you’re doing in the moment that you almost forget that Hopper knows where you live. You would have forgotten completely, given a few more days of monotony, if it weren’t for the fact that you came home to find him sitting on your front porch.
You approach him slowly, trying to figure out what he’s doing here. “Jim?” you call out. “What’s going on?”
Before he can answer, you’re practically tackled to the ground as two small arms wrap around your waist, and you get a mouthful of soft brown hair.
“Eleven,” you say softly, wrapping your arms around her and heaving her up off the ground. You stand there in the middle of the parking lot of your apartment structure, holding tightly to El. She starts to squirm after a while, and you put her down; she doesn’t pull away completely, just enough to look up at you with her wide doe-eyes. “What are you doing here, kid?” you ask, tearing your eyes away from her to glare at Jim.
“Missed you,” she says simply, like that answers all of the underlying questions you had.
“You gonna let us in, or what?” Jim asks, snuffing out his cigarette. “It’s cold and she refused to listen when I told her she’d need a jacket.”
You pull away from El and get out your keys, leading them into your apartment. It is, admittedly, sparse, but you at least have a couch and an armchair, and after your last paycheck, you were finally able to spring for an actual bed frame. Jim doesn’t say anything, but you see him carefully looking around at everything as if he’s looking for something to criticize. When he doesn’t, find anything, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding in.
“Where’s the bathroom?” Eleven asks, and you point her toward it. As soon as you hear the fan switch on with the light, you round on Hopper.
“What the hell, Jim?” you whisper angrily. “This is fucking low. You can’t just spring her on me like this and think it’ll bring me home.”
Jim shakes his head, and your anger deepens when you see a grin pulling at one side of his face. “What?” you demand.
He laughs and when he looks down at you, there’s something that looks suspiciously like a glimmer of hope in his eyes. “Last time I saw you, you told me you couldn’t come back, but right now you said you wouldn’t come home. There’s a big difference there, kiddo.”
You sigh and turn away from him, eyes trained on the bathroom door so you can watch for El to return and make sure she doesn’t see any of this conversation. “It’s been weeks and I didn’t hear from you,” you say quietly. “I didn’t think you wanted me to come back anymore.”
You jump slightly when Hopper wraps his arms around you from behind, leaning down to kiss the top of your hair. “Kid, not a day has gone by since you left that I don’t want you to come back. But I talked to Joyce about what you said last time I was here, and she made me swear I wouldn’t drag you back kicking and screaming.”
You smile, and bring your hands up to hold onto his. “Smart lady, that Joyce.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Jim says kissing the top of your head again. “Anyway, I guess Will overheard me telling Joyce about finding you, and he told Eleven, and she’s been begging to come see you.”
You pull out of his grasp and turn to face him. “What made you give in now?” you ask.
Hopper shrugs. “Lack of willpower to resist. Those big ol’ bambi eyes she’s got. Was too tired when she asked to realize I should be saying no. Pick one, they’re all partially true,” he says, and you laugh in exasperation. “Plus,” he adds, pulling you in for a proper hug, “I miss the hell out of you and I was so pissed when I left last time I didn’t even realize I left without a way to reach you ‘til I was halfway back to Hawkins.”
Your laugh is more genuine this time, and you squeeze him tight around his middle. Right at that moment, Eleven reenters the living room, and she slips in between the two of you. Eventually, your arms cramp, and you pull away from them, moving to sit down on your couch. Eleven climbs up next to you, resting her head on your shoulder, and Jim takes the armchair.
“So,” you say, looking down at El, “You’re just here to say hi?”
Eleven nods against your shoulder, and sighs. “Yes. Dad said home makes you sad. Don’t want you to be sad.”
Your eyes fill with tears, and you look at Hopper, mouthing Dad? He shrugs, half-grinning, and you press a soft kiss to Eleven’s head. “Well, I’m glad you came to see me,” you tell her honestly.
“Why does home make you sad?” she asks after a few minutes of comfortable silence.
“It’s complicated, El,” you tell her. “Lots of reasons. Mean people, mostly. Steve, too.”
She lifts her head up to look at you, and her brow is furrowed in confusion. “I thought Steve was boyfriend?”
“He was.”
“But boyfriends make you happy,” she says slowly. “Max says boyfriends are supposed to make sure girlfriends are the happiest.”
You laugh, and try not to cry again. “That’s how you hope it will be, kid. But sometimes it doesn’t work out. Besides,” you add, glancing at Hopper, who is resolutely looking away from the two of you. “I made Steve sad. I don’t want to make him more sad by coming back.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I know, honey,” you say, kissing her forehead before pulling her back against you, her head resting on your shoulder again. “I told you it was complicated.”
In the morning, you wake up to the smell of fresh coffee, and come out of your room to find El and Hopper sitting on the couch, a box of doughnuts on the coffee table. El smiles at you, frosting all over her face, and says, “We got breakfast!”
You laugh, and go to the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee; when you do, you see that Hopper has also taken it upon himself to restock your pantry, and your heart swells with warmth. You lift your mug to him in a silent toast, and he waves a hand at you, waving you over to the couch. You sit in between the two of them, and quietly enjoy a doughnut with your coffee; for the precious minutes that breakfast lasts, you forget that they’re going home soon, and you’re staying here. Right now, home is here.