Work Text:
The phone call wakes him up just after two in the morning. Not long after he finally had fallen asleep, fitfully tossing and turning in-between dreams. The shrill ring sends him into heart palpitations and he shoots up in bed, grasping at the damp, sweat-stained sheets surrounding him. He rolls out of bed and stumbles down the hall, bouncing off the single-wide trailer paper-thin walls, like an overtired, overworked Godzilla crashing through the streets of Tokyo. His heart is pounding war drums in his chest, taking its sweet time to slow back down as he reaches for the phone. He needs to take better care of himself if he doesn’t want to have a jammer one of these days...
He tries not to think about it and mumbles his “hullo” into the phone.
It bothers him he knows it’s Joyce before she’s even said a word, just by the way she's crying. He blearily realizes that he’s heard her cry far too much for any one lifetime, but he pushes down the sharp pang of sorrow to concentrate on what she’s saying now. She’s mumbling and sniffling, trying to get the words out, but they don’t come.
Hopper doesn’t even ask what’s wrong, he just tells her he’s on his way and jumps in the Blazer to get to her as fast as he can.
Joyce is alone on the front porch when he pulls up. The house is dark, save for the flicker of light coming off the tv set inside. It’s eerie blue shadows reflect off the windows and light her up from behind. She’s sitting on the swing, wrapped up in her jacket and a knitted blanket, covering her face with her hands. He’s running over to her before she realizes he’s there.
“What happened?”
Her bottom lip quivers, and she finally chokes it out between sniffs.
“The goddamn dog died.”
Hopper takes a breath and tries not to look too relieved.
“I’m sorry if I woke you up. I didn’t know who else to call. He’s was missing since this morning and I came out for a smoke before bed, and he was just… lying there.”
Joyce wrings her hands hard and looks at her old friend, pleadingly.
“I… I think something got him. What am I going to do, Hop? I can't tell Will, not after everything… he’s gonna be so heartbroken.”
She reaches for Hopper — for something safe and familiar and breaks down again once she feels secure in his arms. He feels helpless in comforting her. Yes, it was fucking awful and sad, but dogs die, shit happens. He’s thankful it was Chester and not her, or Will, or Jon. Will’s disappearance had taken them through hell and back. He can handle the dead dog, but he doesn't think he can handle losing one of them again.
He strokes her hair and lets her cry into his chest, and when the tears subside, he asks her — where?
She points behind the shed.
He nods and helps her up, and they walk silently, together.
Chester looks like he’s sleeping when they round the corner, and Hopper can’t understand how he could’ve up and died. He was running around like a puppy the last time he saw him, what? A week ago, after the new year. It looks like he’s sleeping until Hopper lifts the pup’s front paw and rolls him to see the gut wound. It’s hard to tell what kind of animal could do that, but something definitely got him, all right. Rigor mortis setting in... Talk about taking a dirt nap.
“Poor baby.“
Joyce is crying again, peeking between her fingers, watching Hopper examine the remains. Wanting to look and see for herself, but not really. She doesn’t need him to tell her how bad it is, to confirm it, but he does, and she nods and thanks him anyway. That's his least favorite part of the job -- being thanked for delivering shitty news.
Hopper heaves a deep breath as he stands and moves around to the front of the shed to grab the shovel. She follows his footsteps and grabs a spade for herself. He asks again.
“Where?”
The word comes out a bit too gruff, caught up in the tears building up at the back of his throat.
She doesn’t seem to take offense by his tone and points again. Over there. Next to the juniper and the peonies.
“He always used to bed down there when it got hot in the summer. That’s his favorite spot.”
Hopper nods again and starts digging.
She watches him work and chews on her thumbnail out of nervous habit as she smokes a cigarette down to the filter. He struggles to break ground under the snow, chipping away at some ice and then the frozen earth underneath. When she’s stomped what’s left of her smoke into the snow, she grabs the extra spade and helps him clear a hole where he’s turned the dirt over already. They work in silence, flipping the soil over the side, their breath coming in little puffs of clouds in the cold.
She stops to catch her breath and leans against the shovel. That’s gotta be good enough.
“No. It has to be deeper. Trust me.”
He doesn’t want to have to explain why, and thankfully, he doesn’t have to. His eyes soften when Joyce’s shoulders fall at his words, and she gets back to work, begrudgingly, barely holding on to her tears.
For it only being the second week of January, 1984 sure seemed to be giving ‘83 a run for its money. The older he got, the more he realized that every year seemed to get worse and worse. This just seemed to be the cherry on the shit sundae after everything they’d gone through in the last few months. He wonders. Is it him? Maybe he’s cursed. A dark-star waiting to collapse in on itself in a black hole vortex, dragging everything down with it. He tries not to think about the fact that Eleven is still missing. Wandering around out there, with whatever did that to poor Chester. He tries not to think about how that was his fault.
When he’s satisfied the hole is deep enough to ward off all the evil, wild things in the night, he stabs the hill they made with his shovel and lights up two smokes, one for her.
He tells her it’s a damn shame. A real goddamn shame.
“I’m sorry, Joyce.”
She kicks a rock into the hole and brushes off her dirtied hands on her ripped jeans, the tear-streaked frown on her face deepening.
“Let’s just get it over with.”
Joyce waits by the hole while Hopper grabs a tarp from the shed, some twine, and Chester. By the time he comes back, she has her back to him, so she doesn’t have to watch. She listens to him shovel dirt over Chester, instead. He knows the hollow sound makes her sick to her stomach and reminds her of watching Will’s casket lowered into the ground. He knows how that goes, because he's trying not to think of Sara's funeral in that moment too.
When she turns back, the worst is over.
Hopper crouches down and offers his hand to her. She takes it and navigates the icy edge to kneel down next to him. They both look down on Chester’s final resting place, between the juniper and the peonies.
“Do you wanna say something?”
Joyce’s chin trembles and she looks away.
Hopper clears his throat and tries to find the right words.
“Chester, you were… a good dog.”
Joyce stifles a sob, or maybe it’s laughter. Hopper turns to her, a curious look on his face.
“No! He was a terrible dog! He barked at everything and ate off the table. Ran off nearly every fucking day to go roll in whatever garbage he could find. Will and Jonathan would have to go looking for him after school. He never, ever came when we called him.”
She sits back on her heels in the snow as she tells Chester’s tale
“I got him after Lonnie and I… I thought having a puppy would help the boys get through the whole divorce-thing. Lonnie hates dogs, and Will always wanted one. Jonathan named him after his old teddy bear. They loved that dog from day one. But I never had time to train him properly and the boys, well they were too young. I should’ve known better… I should’ve spent more time with him. Should’ve been more patient. Damnit, Chester.”
Joyce says the dead dog’s name in a sigh.
“You were a daily headache for the last four years of my life, but the boys loved you very, very much. I know you tried your best to be a good boy and… I’m just sorry I didn’t love you better.”
Hopper grabs a handful of dirt and waits for a moment. When Joyce gives him the nod, he sprinkles it over the last glimpse of the blue tarp at the bottom of the hole. She does the same, and he helps her stand up again. When they’re done, Hopper puts a flat stone on top of the grave to mark it until the springtime.
They go inside and Joyce makes a pot of coffee. They sit quietly in the kitchen, chain-smoking and talking until dawn.
Hopper’s still there when the kids wake up.
He’s standing behind Joyce at the kitchen table, with a hand on the back of her chair, lending his support. His knuckles barely brush her shoulder blades as she tells Jonathan first, and then Will a few minutes later. Jonathan’s face clouds over, and he looks at Joyce and then to Hopper as if it were their fault the dog died. Then he goes back into his room, slamming the door behind him, which wakes up his brother. Will just cries when Joyce tells him the news, and she comforts him as best she can without crying herself.
It feels like a moment Hopper shouldn’t be there for; a moment meant only for family. But Joyce needed him, so here he is. He realizes what this means and the weight it carries. That this is their first official step to rebuilding all the bridges burnt so many years ago. He'd been hoping to give her some space after the holidays, and then see how things panned out in spring... but it seems life had other plans for them when the dog got torn up (by god knows what.)
Poor Chester...
A strange feeling comes over him then as he stands behind Joyce, listening to her explain to Will why Chester had to go. It’s a feeling he hasn’t felt in a long time.
Is it hope? Maybe.
He thinks — Maybe this'll be the worst of it. They’d all been through so much in such a short amount of time. Losing the dog was literally the fucking worst thing to happen on top of it all. So... maybe life could get better for all of them, from here on out?
Maybe he’ll put together a nice little wooden cross for Chester on his next day off. Will can decorate it, and Jonathan can place it in the ground when it warms up a bit. They could have a memorial for the dog in the summer when the peonies are in bloom.
Maybe he’d find Eleven soon, and she could be there too.
And maybe he’d see how things go and ask Joyce out again, eventually. See if they had grown out of their old, self-destructive habits. It was apparent there was still a spark, after all these years. But could they set aside their foolish pride to make it work? Were they finally ready to make amends?
Maybe.