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It was raining when Hopper spotted him.
The boy was walking unsteadily on the side of the highway, his arms stretched out like he was trying to balance on a tightrope, wobbling forward. The rain was giving everything a white-ish gleam, making the road shiny in the streetlights. The Hopper slowed his truck and parked behind the stumbling boy, opening his door.
What the hell was he doing here ? Hopper thought to himself, watching the boy stumble again, his oversized t-shirt soaked and sticking to his back, wrinkled and . Hopper gapes at him, realizing what the stumbling boy was wearing. Jesus, he’s wearing a t-shirt and shorts in the rain in the middle of the night.
“Wheeler?” He calls out over the rain, frowning in confusion. The boy turns around with a spin, staring at him in boredom. “What are you doing out here?”
Mike stares at him more, lips parting. Then he smiles as if drunk out of his mind.
“Hop… Hopp… Hop purr ..” Mike slurs out, giggling, showing off his teeth. He drops his arms, grinning childishly. Hopper gives him a weird look, already knowing what was happening. “What are you doing here?” Mike narrows his eyes. “Asshole.”
“Are you high?” Hopper questions, walking over to the boy, but he backs up.
Mike shakes his head, his hair swaying back and forth from the momentum. He giggles more. “No, I’m, like, I’m, like..” He narrows his eyes again, licking his lips. Hopper raises an eyebrow at him. “I dunno, you should just leave or something.”
The chief of police shook his head, and stepped forward again, gently but firmly grabbing Mike’s arm. “Nope, you’re coming with me,” He says adamantly. “You can’t just frolic on the highway in the middle of the night while you’re high.”
“Awe, come on ,” Mike whines, pouting and tilting his head up. “I’m not that high.”
“How did you get so wasted?” Hopper questions, frowning at the teenager as he puffs out his cheeks. “Who gave you the drugs? Are you talking with a drug dealer?”
Mike rolls his eyes, which on further inspection, are red around the edges and dazed, having a hard time focusing on Hopper and blinking more than usual.
“It’s just marijuana, Dad ,” He grumbles like a stereotypical teenager from movies, and Hopper blinks in surprise at the term of endearment. Mike gives him a dazed smile, giggling childishly again. “I mean, that’s what they were saying.”
“C’mon, get your butt in the car,” Hopper says, rolling his eyes. “I’ll bring you home–”
Arms suddenly wrapped around Hopper, and a head was pressed to his chest right under his chin. Hopper blinks a few times, before slowly wrapping his arms around Mike, and the boy relaxes into the hug. “Sorry, Dad,” Mike mumbles. Hopper’s breath catches from shock, and Mike pouts again. “It didn’t even taste good.”
Hopper looks at the kid with a frown. “Yeah, that tends to happen when you smoke for the first time,” He says, making Mike hum softly in response. He hugs the chief a little tighter, and Hopper pats his back. “Now come on, kid, we’re going back home.”
Mike blinks up at him, his glazed over eyes looking tired and sleepy. “But I don’t want to go home,” He mumbles, but follows Hopper to the car.
“How long have you been outside?” Hopper questions once they were both in the car and had the doors closed. By the way Mike was shivering, and how he was still soaking wet, Hopper could only assume he'd been out for at least an hour.
“I dunno,” Mike mumbles quietly, rubbing one of his eyes like a child kept up past their bedtime. Hopper frowns in almost concern. “I left the party at.. At ten?”
What party ? Hopper thought to himself, frowning as a strangely worried feeling took over him. Why is he at a party? DID HE GET DRUGGED AT THE PARTY?
Hopper glanced at the time, frowning after taking a deep breath. It was well past midnight, the only reason Hopper was out here was because he always took late night drives if he couldn’t sleep. “So you’ve been walking around in the pouring rain for almost three hours?” He questions slowly, and Mike shrugs with disinterest.
“I don’t want to go home, Dad, don’t make me go home,” Mike mumbles, and Hopper blinks at him. Mike yawns, long and quiet, before promptly passing out with his head resting on the window, his chest rising and falling steadily in his sleep.
His hands were resting in his lap, and his fingers twitched every few seconds. His lips were parted, soft breaths puffing out with each exhale. He looked.. peaceful.
Don’t make me go home, Dad . Mike had said. Hopper purses his lips and turns the car on. Dad . Mike had said. He called Hopper ‘Dad’, like he thought of the man as a father figure, which Hopper really couldn’t wrap his head around.
Mike shifts where he rested, and Hopper reaches his hand over to pull the seat belt over Mike’s chest and waist. Mike sniffles a snore, mumbling something incoherent.
Don’t make me go home, Dad .
Hopper sighs, running a hand over his face. He gets back onto the highway and he makes his way to the Byers house, where he and El had moved in after the final battle. Mike only shifted a few times during the ride, mumbling under his breath.
He parked in front of the Byers house and looked at the front door before sighing again. He got out and walked around the car, opening the passenger door. “C’mon, Wheeler, it’s time to get out,” Hopper urges, and Mike blinks his eyes open, looking up at Hopper and lifting his head. “Up on your feet, do you feel like walking?”
“Dad,” Mike whispers, before bursting into giggles, lifting both hands to try and smother them, to no avail. Hopper gives one more exasperated sigh before grabbing Mike’s arm and swinging it over his shoulder. As he pulls the boy up to his feet, Mike giggles even more, his eyes still red. “Hopper. Hop…perdad. Dadper.”
“Okay, kid, you’re gonna need to be a little more quiet,” Hopper says, ignoring the warm feeling he felt after the teenager called him Dad again. “Joyce is inside.”
Mike giggles again, but thankfully goes silent.
But as they get to the door, Mike’s feet dragging at the floorboards, Mike lifts up his head again, smiling in a daze. “Thanks, Dad,” He mumbles. Hopper gives a strained smile back, opening the door with an easy twist of his wrist.
Joyce was standing in the doorway of the living room, gaping at the scene. “Is that..?” She trails off, rushing over to them. “Oh my god, Mike, sweetie..”
“Hey.. Hey, Joyce.. Mm.. Ms. Byers..” Mike slurs out, giggling again. Joyce gives Hopper a strange look, and the man just shrugs. The two adults maneuver the boy over to the couch, where he continues to giggle like he’s seen the funniest thing in the world. He sits on the couch and leans against the armrest. “Dad.. and a mom.”
“What now?” Joyce says with a confused smile.
Hopper nods, sighing again. “He’s been calling me ‘Dad’ since I found him,” He mutters, making Joyce look at him with raised eyebrows. “He’s probably super stoned, or maybe he thinks I’m his father, or maybe—”
Joyce interrupts, grinning cheekily at the chief. “Or maybe he thinks of you as a father figure,” She says, and Hopper raises his eyebrows at her. “We don’t know.”
Mike giggles again. “Hopperdad and Joyceymum,” He giggles. Joyce hums in response and gently guides Mike to lean backwards, so the moment Mike’s head touches the couch cushions, all the energy zapped from his body.
“There you go, just sleep it off,” Joyce says softly, petting the top of Mike's head as it lolls to the side, and he snores quietly. She sighs, and turns to Hopper. “What’s the story here? How did you find him? Why is he soaking wet?”
“I was driving on the highway–”
“He was on the highway ?”
“Let me talk, Joyce,” Hopper sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I was driving on the highway and saw him just walking on the side of it, but he was unsteady and–” He clicks his tongue on the top of his mouth. “You saw how out of it he was.”
Joyce frowns, looking at the boy asleep on the couch, and gives Hopper a tired smile. “How about you go get some rest? We’ll talk in the morning,” She says.
Hopper glances at Mike, before clicking his tongue again and leaving the room.
The woman gave Mike another soft look before guiding him to lie on his side, pulling a blanket over his body and setting a pillow under his head.
“Goodnight sweetheart,” Joyce whispers, kissing Mike’s temple, by his hairline. The boy sniffles at that, still dead asleep, curling his hands up to his neck, starting to drool. Joyce chuckles to herself, stroking a strand of hair behind Mike’s ear.