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After almost five years of torture and pain, she can finally say it’s all over.
There are no more threats of monsters. Hellfire isn’t raining on them any longer and they’re safe, at last. Hawkins is still slowly being rebuilt and the lockdown is ending, but she isn’t sure whether those who had evacuated the town in the beginning of the “earthquake” would ever come back. Joyce can’t blame them, but she’s not new to this rodeo. Her babies have been targets of this madness; she’s lived it, and it’s over now. She can’t blame them for leaving, but she knows she’s not going anywhere.
Somehow, they’ve begun to settle into what she can almost call normalcy. While army vehicles are clearing out and the crack in the ground is being filled back up, every morning, Joyce blinks awake in a warm bed with a warm body pulled close to her. Nothing can reach them here; no harm can be done here. She feels nothing but safety while Hopper’s body is shielding her, holding her like she's a fragile wine glass.
She's not fragile — they both know it, but sometimes, she thinks it's nice to be held like she is.
A loud clatter from down the hall is what wakes her with a light groan. Lifting her head off the pillow, she immediately comes to the conclusion that it is far too early for this, whatever it is.
“Kids?” Hopper’s voice croaks, stirring as she does the same.
She nods weakly, bringing her hand up to scrub over her face. “Kids.”
The arm that was loosely hanging over her torso tightens around her, pulling her closer to Hopper’s body as he nuzzles his face into her neck. Faint shivers slide up her arms at the feeling of his beard tickling her skin and she nudges him away.
“Go check on them,” she whispers, eyes shutting again as she pulls the covers further up her figure.
A sleepy noise falls from his lips. “They're fine,” he rumbles noncommittally, like he isn't really awake yet. He just settles behind her, face buried in her unruly locks.
She waits for a few beats before she sighs and makes herself roll onto her back, eyes squinting up at the man beside her. “If the kitchen is a wreck, I’m blaming you. Go check, ” she urges, and he finally props himself up on his elbow. Just when she thinks he's about to get up, he places a kiss to her temple, then her cheek. She puts a finger in front of his mouth when he cranes his head to kiss her lips, meeting him with stern eyes that quickly go soft as he kisses her finger with a tired grin.
She turns onto her side as he slips from the bedsheets, and suddenly feels very tempted to drag him back into bed. The warmth that is Hopper is cozy, and now that he’s left her side, it’s gone. She probably won't go back to sleep now, and she flashes him a small smile as he leaves her bedroom – their bedroom.
–
To her surprise, the kitchen isn’t in total disarray when she pads out of their bedroom.
“They were tryna’ teach her how to make pancakes,” Hopper tells her as Joyce crosses over to him, voice quiet as he nods over to the three kids, seated at the table and giggling over whatever Jonathan was showing them on his camera. “I took charge after they dropped a pan.”
She smiles up at him, leaning on the counter as he flips a pancake. “Smart choice.”
A few beats pass before his eyes widen slightly in remembrance, reaching to take the mug of coffee, holding it out to her. “It’s half and half,” he murmurs.
The corners of her eyes crinkle as she takes it, letting the warmth of the liquid warm her naturally cold palms. “Thanks,” she says before taking a sip.
He lingers afterward, like he’s expecting something–and she knows what it is. Setting down her coffee with the roll of her eyes, she lifts onto her tiptoes to place a soft kiss to his lips, unable to not smile into it.
“Good morning,” she murmurs as she pulls away only the slightest bit, lips still ghosting over his own.
“Mornin’,” he returns lowly before chasing her mouth with another gentle kiss that she easily accepts.
A loud, disgusted groan that comes from behind them has their smiles widening even further.
“You’re going to burn the pancakes if all you do is suck face,” El comments. Her voice in her signature monotone, yet it’s sassier than usual. She squints at the two of them before focusing back on what Jonathan was showing her and Will.
They part from each other and Joyce tries to push down her laughter and Hopper tries to hide his grin.
“‘ Sucking face?’” she echoes quietly and amusedly when the kids go back to whatever they were focusing on prior. “Where’d she learn that? ”
He grimaces slightly. “I’m tellin’ you, that Max girl is nothing but a bad influence,” he grumbles and she snorts.
She wants to defend the redhead, but she is pretty fiery in those ways. “Anyway,” Joyce sighs with a playful grin, grabbing her coffee. “Don’t burn the pancakes.” As she passes him, she gives his ass a gentle pat before coming to sit at the table with the kids.
When he looks over at her, her eyes crinkle in an attempt at winking.
–
It was strange, at first; seeing Hopper here and alive after eight months of unforgiving and torturous grief. The first few weeks, Joyce was scared that he'd be gone the next morning—terrified that this was all some dream. But, quickly, she finds that he isn't going anywhere. She gets used to it; she knows how his hand feels in her own again, how he smells, and how he likes his coffee. It’s unavoidable, living with him, and she wouldn't have it any other way.
To Joyce, having Hopper back and around feels more natural than breathing does.
But, to most people, Hopper is still a dead man.
In public, he wears a baseball cap and keeps his head down, trying to avoid bringing any attention to himself–trying to avoid any gawking looks from those who had seen him in passing before. He never strays far from Joyce in crowds, always in view if he's not by her side.
The daily newspapers they receive never seem to drop the topic, either. Among the passages about the massive 'earthquake’ that tore Hawkins in half, most days, Joyce can find Hopper’s name somewhere mentioned in the text.
A dead man walking: former Chief of Police, Jim Hopper.
He tends to not read the news as much as he used to, she finds, and she can't blame him (she usually just reads out the main points of the paper’s contents to him.)
Later in the day, after Jonathan goes to visit Nancy and Will and El visit the Sinclair’s, Joyce and Hopper go on a impromptu grocery run after realizing that the fridge was in desperate need of a restock.
“I found a pasta recipe while I was cleaning out my car the other day,” she tells him, reaching into her back pocket to pull out her crinkled, handwritten shopping list. She hands it to him as she pushes the cart along the aisle. “Thought we could try it.”
He hums. “That sounds good,” he replies, studying her list. Studying a little too hard, she notices, watching him squint. “I…can't read your handwriting,” he says after a few beats.
Her brow furrows as she looks over his shoulder. “What do you mean?”
“What do you mean, ‘what do you mean?’” He shows it to her. “It's scribbles.”
She just shakes her head and snatches it from his hand. Her handwriting isn't that bad. “Milk, eggs, salt, pasta…” She trails off. “You really can't read that?”
“ You can ?”
Joyce snorts with the roll of her eyes and breezes by him, swatting his shoulder with the paper. Skimming over her list, she moves into the next aisle, but pauses in her tracks when she looks up.
There's more than a few bodies in the slim walkway, picking out groceries like they're doing. In almost every other normal situation, squeezing by a few folks to get to the thing you need on the top shelf is nothing remotely close to a problem–but when you have a dead man on your arm, it’s different.
Hopper catches up to her after a couple beats and his brow raises at her halt, but he softens when he realizes.
She looks up at him, finding his blue eyes beneath his baseball cap, blinking down at her with a quiet smile that tells her, ‘I’m okay.’
They link hands and move through the aisle.
—
After dinner, Joyce tells the kids to not immediately run off to their rooms, calling for an impromptu movie night. As expected, all three of them raise an eyebrow at the adult's pick. They each sit through about twenty minutes of the film before they mumble an excuse, crossing to their rooms, one by one, until Joyce and Hopper are the only ones left.
Because there aren't any younger eyes in the room to make mild complaints at their displays of affection, she allows herself to scoot over to him, relaxing into his side as he drapes an arm over her shoulders.
She’s never been one that's explicitly sought out physical touch. Yes, she loves little hugs and the squeeze of her shoulder, but it's different with Hopper. Joyce finds herself craving the way this man holds her, the way his hand fits in perfectly with her smaller one. Longing for the way he loves her.
He's just easy to love, she thinks. It's natural, the way her heart continues to beat for him.
—
They don't even make it through the full movie, either—beginning to lose interest after a while before they call it a night. They both say goodnight to the kids before they pad up to their bedroom.
A little guiltily, Joyce considers this to be one of her favorite parts of their routine; when they're sealed behind a locked door and the light is dim, when she’s reading in bed while he's showering, waiting for the faucet to turn off and for him to join her.
Joyce glances up when the bathroom door clicks open. She watches as a freshly showered Hopper comes into view, crossing to the room. His sweatpants are riding low on his hips, and it gives her eyes free reign to just...watch.
Watch as he ruffles his short, damp hair with the towel. It's a little show, just for her. Faded scars that remind both of them of a living nightmare cover his figure, and she wants to brush her hand over them; kiss them, touch them. He still carries muscle on his thick arms, but he's returned to a healthy weight again. Joyce doesn't even realize how she’s wetting her lips until he meets her gaze.
“What?” he asks, tone low as he moves to the bed, lifting the covers. He's smirking; he knows what.
The mattress dips when he settles beside her. She places her book down on the nightstand. She’ll finish the chapter she's on later — the nighttime reading she usually engages doesn't sound as appealing as it normally does.
“Nothing,” she murmurs, sliding over to him, biting her lip as she plants a hand on his chest.
He kisses her softly, unrushed. After a day of promising little gazes from across the room, she allows herself to revel in the way one of his hands finds her unruly hair and how the other palms the expanse of her upper thigh. Hopper coaxes her onto her back, hovering over her, and her arms loop around his neck, lips never straying from each other. She’s lost in it, right as she hears a series of loud knocks at their door.
“Joyce?” El’s voice rings.
Hopper buries a groan in her throat. “Joyce isn’t here,” he half-yells.
She rolls her eyes and weakly nudges him away when he starts placing kisses on her throat. “Yeah, sweetie?”
“I can't find my notebook for school.”
Her brow furrows, and Hopper nuzzles into the crook of her neck again. “It's late. Why do you need it now?”
“I don't want to be late for the bus looking for it tomorrow.”
She blows out a quiet breath and prys his hands off her waist, reluctantly slipping from the sheets. She briefly meets his gaze when she looks back over her shoulder, his head tilted and his eyes piercing. Joyce just out her bottom lip in feigning sympathy as she unlocks the door.
She's quick to find El’s notebook in her backpack, for crying out loud. Sometimes, Joyce wonders if everybody in this house is incapable of finding things except for her (other than her own keys, which she always seems to misplace.)
She says goodnight to her daughter with a kiss to her forehead before padding back up to her and Hopper’s bedroom.
“That was not worth an interruption,” she grumbles quietly after she locks the door behind her.
He snorts, shifting in the covers as she climbs over to her side of the bed. “I don't think anything is worth an interruption anymore.”
Before she can think of a witty response, he's tugging her into his lap, meeting her in a kiss that practically demands for more—his hand sliding beneath her shirt, the way his other settles on the back of her neck.
She's very tempted to let him continue how he is, but the chorus of giggles from the other side of the wall sends her back into reality.
“They're probably gonna be up for the next hour working on their school projects,” she murmurs regretfully, pulling back.
He lets his head fall back against the headboard. “I told them to get their homework done earlier so this wouldn't happen.”
She tilts her head, lips curving into a shy smirk.
“You know what I mean.”
She chuckles lightly, palm stroking down his chest. “We have the house to ourselves tomorrow, y’know,” she reminds him.
The way his eyes widen is almost comical. “Oh, yeah?” he says lowly, grinning, and she laughs when he urges her onto her back.
“Tomorrow, not now!"
His chin rests on her chest, blue eyes gazing up at her with a smile that's hidden beneath his mustache.
“Let's just wait until they're out of the house,” she suggests quietly, running one of her hands through his short hair.
He hums lowly, nestling into her chest as his arms wrap around her torso like she's a pillow.
He does this nearly every night, and yet she still finds herself unable to not crack a smile at the sight. The big bad Jim Hopper; physically intimidating, looming over crowds with narrowed eyes— snuggling.
Joyce cranes down a little to kiss the top of his head before reaching to turn off the lamp on the bedside table. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” he whispers.