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Hopper gets a knock on the door, out of nowhere. He’s surprised, considering it’s stupid o’clock in the evening, and there are about 4 people who actually know where he lives. He picks his gun back off the side, glances to where El is safe in her bedroom, and goes to the door.
When he opens it, no-one’s there. There’s nothing except a single cream envelope, with a carefully scribbled name on the back. It looks like a 10 year old’s writing, and the name isn’t his. Or El’s.
Maxine, it says.
Hopper frowns, placing it down on the coffee table. He knows no-one wondered out here by accident. It was given to him, by one of the Byers, or Steve Harrington, or Nancy Wheeler. And that, paired with the fact that the envelope is in itself intriguing, is enough to send him looking for a letter opener.
He smiles as he sees the carefully penned words, and reads through the letter.
Dear Maxine , it says,
I don’t like you very much. But dad says you’re my sister now, so I think you’ll be all right. I’ve been keeping these pictures for a while, because mom said to, but I don’t think I can use them, so I’m giving them to you. If anything happens, take them to a nice policeman and tell them that you’re looking for me.
-Your new big brother.
Hopper fumbles through the envelope, finding a small stack of Polaroids in the bottom. He places them under the light, and sucks in a breath at what he sees. It’s picture after picture of a little boy, taking pictures of his injuries. He’s growing up as they go on, and Hopper breathes heavily to stop himself from throwing up. He wants to hurt whoever did this, but he doesn’t even know who this kid is. He sighs, placing it all back into the envelope, and vowing to get to it as soon as he has any real evidence.
The next day, same time, another knock comes, and he rushes to catch the kid, but catches nothing. Whoever they are, they’re fast. The next one seems thinner, but still in the same scrawl.
This time, Hopper gets himself together for a moment before opening it.
Maxine,
Today we went to the beach, and I you how to surf. You complained about water stuck in your ears, so when you went to bed, dad held me underwater in the bath until I got dizzy. I want you to know I loved teaching you. You did a good job, and I think maybe we can be friends.
-your big brother
There’s a picture of the kid again, dripping wet and streaming with tears, and Hopper sighs.
The following weeks are tough. More letters start appearing.
They start the same.
Dear Maxine, today I got ice cream with a friend and stayed out past curfew because of a traffic jam.
He got a beating that looked like a trampling.
Dear Maxine, today I took you ice skating and you fell on the ice.
He got locked in the freezer for twenty minutes.
Dear Maxine, today I got a bad grade in maths.
He got every single item in his room taken away.
Dear Maxine, today I took you on the twister and you threw up on my new shoes.
He got force fed all the gone off things in the kitchen, until he got sick.
And every single day, he ends it with, I think we should be friends.
And there’s never a name. Every day, Hopper’s heart aches for the little boy, and every day, it doesn’t get better.
Until, one day, the letters change.
Dear Maxine,
Today you asked where I got my bruises from. Dad hit me harder than I thought possible. But he looked at you. I’m sorry we can’t be friends. We would be good friends
- your nasty brother
Dear Maxine,
Today I kissed Evan from History, and I wanted to tell you, but didn’t. Dad says things about boys who kiss boys, so I punched him after, and got a broken arm for fighting. I’m sorry for everything.
- your faggot brother
Dear Maxine,
Today I taught you to drive, shouting the whole time, and you told me you hated me. Dad tried to pull my cast off. I’m sorry.
- your dumb brother.
And on they went, each word cutting into Hopper’s brain. This kid was dying in front of him, losing everything that made a kid a kid, and he couldn’t do anything but watch. And Maxine didn’t see any of it.
Every picture was different, and Hopper becomes painfully aware of the fact he could nail the bastard if he could get the kids safe.
And then, heart-stoppingly, one day, they stopped. Hopper doesn’t know what to do, where to go. He considers telling El, but a small part of him knows how painful it’ll be if he’s dead.
So, he doesn’t say anything. A few days pass. A few more.
And then two weeks have passed, and he’s seriously concerned, and it’s late, real late, and there’s a knock. Smaller than before.
He rushes to the door faster than ever, and finds Billy Hargrove at the door. The kind of kid police are always knowledgeable of. Angry, always upto something. He’s holding two huge boxes full of letters.
“Here’s the rest,” he says, jumping through the doorway, and plopping the boxes onto the floor.
“What happened to the kid?” He asks, more than keen to know. Billy smiles,
“He grew up.”
And then, it makes sense. All of it. Protection, and hope, misplaced love, and seeing violence as interchangeable with love. Billy is the brother, and he’s still that boy. Hopper wants to hug him, but instead, he says,
“I can go over there right now. Lock him up and throw away the key. The stepmom too, for not doing anything.”
“No. Max needs her mom.”
“I can get him though.”
“Let them sleep.” Billy says, and Hopper wishes he could just ignore him, but he knows what this kid needs, and so he gets hot cocoa and eggos and eats a second supper with the kid, because comfort is something this child needs desperately, and has never had.
Tomorrow, he’ll sort it all out. He’ll march to Neil Hargrove, and punch him, in the face. He’ll watch him turn red with rage and read him his rights. He’ll explain the bruises on resisting arrest. He’ll pull no punches, literal or metaphorical. He’ll fight for the kid who just wanted to protect his little sister. He’ll nail the son of a bitch who pulled the fight from the kid. And he’ll give a pat on a back to the person who put it back in.
And hug his own kid.
But for now, he talks. About his own dalliances in college, figuring out he likes girls best. About how to cook the best steak, and why cocoa tastes better with marshmallows. He talks until he doesn’t know what he’s talking about, just to get Billy to curl on his side, eyes pointedly open as he tries to stay awake. And it’s at the point where Hopper starts talking about the squirrels outside that he does.
For now, he’s a dad looking out for a kid. A dad with a gun that he wishes he could use, and fists which will prove more than useful. And hours until daybreak, hundreds of letters to go through.
But he sighs, refills his cup, and adds a blanket to the kid.
Because someone sent him to his door, and god knows he’ll do his best to help.