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Jim Hopper always hates getting a call to the Harrington residence. It never means anything good in his book. Usually it’s some sort of noise complaint about a house party, which nearly always ends with him fighting to get rid of drunk underage teenagers and shutting up shop. He tried to lecture Steve once about doing these things — it’s not like he had half the school there, but his friends alone were loud enough for the complaint to be valid. Nothing ever worked, especially when Harrington Senior could make everything go away with a few hundred dollar bills. He never even asked what his kid was doing or why, just threw money at the sheriff’s station to shut him up. It was infuriating.
It’s gotten a lot better in the last year or so, which he’s grateful for given all the shit that’s gone down since Will disappeared — and then returned — but a call about the Harrington residence is still enough to make him squirm.
This call though. This one is different. When his deputy plays back the recording on their way to the house, Jim feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
“I was on a run around the woods and I passed this house — huge mansion of a place near the edge of town, I think the Harringtons live there? Anyway there was a lot of yelling and banging going on inside, I could hear it from the sidewalk! I… uh… I know it’s none of my business but I’m concerned someone is hurt in there. Could you check it out?”
“Course, ma’am. Do you know if anyone is still in there?”
“I don’t know. A car left just now with a man and a woman in it. They have a kid too, don’t they?”
“Thank you for the call, ma’am. We’ll take it from here.”
Small towns. God bless them.
“Do you want me to come with you, Chief?”
Normally, Jim wouldn’t mind backup - they usually didn’t help, but hey ho. However, if he was right about what had happened here tonight, even one person might be enough to freak Steve out. If he was still here. “No. You keep watch here, in case the car reported comes back.”
“Roger that.”
The house is dark and quiet when Jim comes in the back door. That’s enough to put him further on edge. He finds a light switch and turns it on.
He had stepped into the kitchen. The place is in a complete disarray — plates and cups smashed on the floor, chairs overturned, a large hole in the wall near the entrance where someone put their fist through it. No wonder it could be heard from the street. He dreads to think what happened to cause this.
“Steve?” He calls out, making his way to the other door in the kitchen. It leads out into the hall, which is also cloaked in darkness. “Steve, are you here? It’s Chief Hopper.”
Nothing in return. He pulls the door to the hall open a bit wider and steps through. An unseen shard of what sounds like ceramic cracks under his boot. He fumbles for another light switch on the wall.
“You’re not in trouble, Harrington. Someone made a call to the station about the noise and I just want to make sure you’re okay.”
The light flickers on, and there’s Steve Harrington on the ground, staring into space. He’s still half in shadow, so Jim can’t assess if he’s hurt. Well, he can’t from this distance anyway.
“Steve?” He says again, walking slowly toward him. He doesn’t like the way Steve’s staring ahead like that. He’s seen it before.
Once Jim comes as far as Steve, he can see some cuts on his cheek and lip. The majority of his face is still in shadow. Jim crouches down and reaches to touch Steve’s shoulder.
Steve immediately jumps to his feet, eyes wild, waving something around in his hand — wait, is that a baseball bat with nails in? Jim leaps back and scrambles to stand. He puts his hands up.
“Steve? Steve, you’re okay. It’s Jim Hopper.”
“Get back!” Steve yells. “Get back, it’s coming!”
“What’s coming?”
“The monster,” Steve says, lowering his voice. His head whips around, shoulders set. “It’s in the walls. I saw it. We burned it but it’s coming back.”
Jim swallows. Oh, fuck.
After Will had finally been discharged from hospital, Joyce had told Jim that the monster who caused all the trouble had been in her house. Jonathan told her, because apparently he and a few others tried to trap it. What Jonathan hadn’t told her was who was with him that night.
Seems like Jim may have an answer now.
“Steve, there’s no monster. The monster is gone. You got rid of it, remember? You and Jonathan?”
Steve doesn’t seem to have heard him. He’s still looking around the hall, bat raised.
“Steve, I need you to drop the bat, okay? I’m not gonna hurt you, and no one else is here to hurt you. It’s just you and me, okay? Just you and me.” He waits a minute, before reaching to take the bat from Steve.
Steve doesn’t loosen his grip, his knuckles white from how tight he’s holding the handle. “It’ll come back,” he insists. “He said it would come back.”
“Who said that?”
Steve tightens his grip on the bat more under Jim’s fingers. “Dad. He heard my nightmare and said it was coming. It would teach me a lesson.”
Jim is not completely out of his depth here. He’s gotten training for this kind of thing before, back when he was in the army. It was pretty common for soldiers to go into shock with the crap they had seen in combat.
He never expected to have to use what he learned here, in Hawkins, while trying to calm a teenage boy. And he certainly didn’t expect a parent to trigger something like this on purpose, and leave their child alone to deal with it.
“Steve. I promise you, nothing is coming for you. It’s just you and me here, okay? I need you to give me the bat so I can help you.”
Steve meets Jim’s eyes for the first time since he was startled. They’re filled with tears. “He said it was coming. He was laughing.”
“Nothing is coming,” Jim assures him. “I promise, nothing is going to hurt you now. I need you to drop the bat.”
Jim watches as tears begin to stream down Steve’s face. His hands lower, and he hears the bat clatter to the floor. He nearly stumbles when Steve suddenly slumps against him.
Jim’s eyes trace the scratches on Steve’s cheeks, the bruising on his face. His breath comes in wheezes.
God, he knew that Harrington Senior was a walking prick, but this? This is more than even he thought the son of a bitch was capable of.
Who does this to their own kid?
The answer comes unbidden. He still remembers Jonathan Byers sitting on his porch many years before, nursing bruised ribs and split knuckles. Joyce in tears and Lonnie nowhere to be seen. Will with his big watery eyes, standing in the doorway in his little patched-up dungarees, suckling on the ear of his teddy bear.
He can’t understand why certain men in this community seem to take such pleasure in tormenting their children. He would never do that. Never.
But Steve’s father did, and he’s left him here in a state. The question now is, what is Jim gonna do about it?
In the end, it’s simple. “We need to get you to a hospital, kid.”
“No,” Steve whines, his speech slurred. His eyes, already hooded, start to slip shut. They can’t have that.
“Hey, bud, I need you to keep your eyes open for me, okay?”
“Okay,” Steve whispers. His eyes don’t open.
“Steve. Come on. Eyes open.”
Steve’s eyes crack open again, settling into a squint. He winces when Jim shines a torch at him. No sign of a concussion he thinks, but he’d feel better if he got checked out anyway.
And so begins the long and arduous process of getting a half-passed-out teenage boy into the back of his police car. By the time he and his deputy manage it, Steve is complete dead weight. He makes the deputy sit in the back to keep Steve conscious until they get to Hawkins General.
He’s sitting at the side of the hospital bed when Steve wakes up. When he does wake, his eyes blinking open slowly, he jolts a little when he sees Jim.
Jim waves lazily. Steve groans.
“Where am I?”
“You’re in hospital.” Jim pulls the chair closer. “How’re you feeling?”
“Peachy,” Steve croaks, which makes them both chuckle. That stops when Steve winces, his hand reaching to clutch at his side. “Shit, that hurt.”
Jim immediately hits the button for morphine. The nurse indicated that it was there for Steve’s comfort, so they’re using it. Once that’s done, he starts helping Steve settle into a comfier position in the bed. Steve waves him off quickly.
There’s a short silence while they wait for the morphine to kick in. Jim knows what he needs to ask, knows that he’ll have to get some kind of information to write up a report about the phone call that got him here.
“Sorry,” Steve says eventually. “I had a nightmare about… stuff. I couldn’t sleep. Overreacted.”
So he does remember. Jim wasn’t sure he would. “I know all about stuff,” he says. “I wouldn’t say it was an overreaction. It’s scary stuff.” He fixes his hat, clears his throat. “We can talk about it, if you want to.”
Steve hums. He wraps his arms around himself, seemingly unconsciously. But he says nothing.
Jim decides to change course. “You wanna tell me what else happened tonight then?”
Steve shakes his head minutely. The small wince he makes after the movement confirms that there’s some kind of head injury. Steve could have been killed tonight. His own father could have killed him. The thought makes Jim’s blood boil.
He can’t help but think of Sarah. He would never…
“Your old man do this to you?”
Steve’s jaw tenses, his eyes darting to the ceiling. The stiffening of his face, the reluctance to meet his eye… it’s like looking in the damn mirror.
Jim doesn’t like to dwell on his relationship with his own father much. He followed him into the sheriff’s office once he left the army after all, even though the fucker was the one who forced him to enlist. He trained under him, took over his role as Chief after Pops went six feet under. Being Chief became Jim’s life. His life sometimes feels too close to his father’s.
He finds himself staring into space, wondering if his not believing Joyce when she first came to him about Will disappearing was a reaction much too similar to his dad’s when he spoke to him about the pets disappearing. He wondered if she saw that in him, if it disgusted her like it repulses him now. If he knew then what he knew now, God how much of it would he do differently? How much would have changed?
When did he become the thing he once hated the most?
He leans closer, resting his elbow on the bed. He knows one thing at least - he didn’t become a man as angry as Harrington Senior, and that counts for something now. “When he gets home, you call me. You get out of there and come stay with me. Okay?”
Steve says nothing, still staring at the ceiling.
“Steve.”
He knows instantly when Steve looks at him that the kid has absolutely no intention of calling. He doesn’t know what frustrates him more: that he can’t protect Steve, or if he could, that Steve wouldn’t let him. How can he fix this if the kid won’t let him?
He can’t be angry. He knows his teenage self would have reacted exactly the same way.
They chat for a while, then Steve sleeps. Jim doesn’t leave until he’s discharged, and at Steve’s insistence he reluctantly drops him at the Harrington residence. Steve refuses to make a statement.
He’ll keep a watch, make sure that Steve is going to school and what not. But beyond that, all he can do is wait for it to happen again.
A few months have passed. Jim’s already having to drag Steve back to hospital, after he got the shit kicked out of him by Billy Hargrove. Steve had tried to hide it, not that he did a good job of it. The moment Hopper arrived back at the Byers’ place with El, Jonathan grimly guided him to the bathroom, where Steve was curled up on the floor and retching into the toilet. His face looked like someone had used it for target practice.
Though the kids all insist that Hargrove needs to be taken in, Steve refuses to make any accusations so the police can’t do jack. There’s also the fact that Hargrove was not on the scene when he got there. He gets the impression that there’s something Steve wants hidden, something that one of the kids did. But then again, this isn’t the first time he’s refused to report someone who has hurt him.
Lucas Sinclair is particularly upset about it, though all the kids who witnessed all this seem shaken. Hargrove’s little sister – Maxine? – is the only one who can convince Steve to go with Jim to the hospital. He has to threaten Dustin Henderson with calling his mother to ground him to stop him following Hopper’s truck. He has no idea when these kids got so attached to Steve.
Maybe it all happened tonight. He doesn’t know everything about what happened, but he knows that Steve put himself between Hargrove and the kids. He also knows those kids well enough to know that they dragged Steve to the tunnels, not the other way around. He put himself on the line to keep them safe multiple times tonight. As stupid as it was, Jim can’t help but respect him for that. Deep down — or maybe not so deep down, really — he knows that he would have done the exact same thing.
The concussion is worse than the last one he got, along with a few fractured ribs and a broken nose. Steve spends a longer stint in the hospital this time; the doc wants to rule out internal bleeding and other factors, particularly after Steve slurs something about being hit on the head with a plate. What the fuck, is all Jim can muster in response to that.
Jim visits him every day. He lets Steve grip his hand tight when they reset his nose. He can’t spend the whole day with him — he has work, and he has El to look after, who is still physically recovering from closing the gate.
His office tries to get in contact with his parents — procedure — and they never reply — typical. Only, a few days later, he comes in to see Steve and finds he has been discharged by his parents. He sees them in the parking lot afterward, speaking in hisses while Steve slumps against the side of his father’s car miserably. Jim manages to catch his eye and gets a half-smile for his troubles.
He doesn’t like leaving Steve, just healed and released from hospital, alone with his parents. But what can he do? As far as the law is concerned, Steve’s case is closed. He can’t do anything about it.
In the aftermath, Jim helps Joyce disinfect her entire fridge and bury a whole goddamn demodog, which is gross and very unromantic. She wasn’t particularly pleased about it, so Jim advised Steve to make himself scarce for a bit. The Henderson boy she’ll forgive because he’s Will’s friend. He also knows it won’t be long before Joyce lets it go, especially after what Steve did that night.
Not much else has happened since beyond the usual, which in Hawkins the police department will gladly take as a win. Jim sometimes has nights alone now, ever since El started going to visit the boys. He’s not entirely comfortable with it — not because he doesn’t trust El, more because Mike Wheeler is there and he doesn’t fully know that boy’s intentions, so the idea of her spending time with him makes his skin crawl. But he lets her go because he saw how miserable she was before, when she couldn’t see him. He’s not dumb enough to think that she wouldn’t sneak out if he said no now, not after everything.
Besides, he needs some time to think about what to do about Steve. So he goes to the one place he knows he’ll find an ear.
There’s a 24-hour diner just outside of Hawkins, not too far from the factory lot. It’s a dead zone a lot of the time, with only insomniacs and workers on the night shift haunting its floors.
Jim opens the door, orders a black coffee from the smiley waitress behind the counter, and slides into the booth across from Wayne Munson.
“Hopper,” he says gruffly, not looking up from his plate of breakfast food. He sounds worn out, probably a few days into his week of late night shifts. Jim instantly feels the need to backtrack on his plan, but he doesn’t get the chance. “What can I do for you?”
Instead of pussyfooting around with pleasantries, Jim tells him as much as he can: how he thinks Steve is afraid to stand up to his father, that he’s worried that the next time he finds him, Steve will be too far gone to bring back.
“Never heard much good about that Harrington boy,” Wayne says slowly. He lifts his head to look Jim in the eye. “Eddie seems to think he’s the devil incarnate.”
“He’s been a little prick before,” Jim admits, taking a sip of his coffee. “Not that I can say much ‘cause I was kinda the same at that age. He’s a good kid though, he’s been pretty reliable in some tough situations over the past few months.”
Wayne raises his eyebrows. “You got kids working in the sheriff’s office now, Hop?”
Jim shakes his head. “No! He’s not working for me at all. Nothing like that. It’s more… it’s hard to explain.”
Wayne hums, but says nothing. He takes one last bite of his eggs and leaves his fork down, pushing the plate to the side. He wipes his mouth with a napkin and leaves that on top. When he finally does speak, Jim has absolutely no idea which direction he’s going. “I know you’ve had some run-ins with my Eddie.”
Jim grunts. Yeah, he knows Eddie Munson. Chip off the old block — his dad’s, not his uncle’s. He’d hated Alan in school, so it was no surprise to him when it turned out he was a bad egg. Wayne he didn’t know: they only got to talking after they both found each other up late in this same diner trying to run from their ghosts. Wayne was a ‘Nam vet too, he’d seen some shit.
He often wishes that he could tell Wayne about all that is happening in Hawkins right now – the Upside Down, the monsters, the unspeakable horrors he has seen in their own backyard. His daughter, who spends most of her days hiding in his cabin for her own protection. But if he knows Wayne at all, he also knows that the man probably sees more than most people in this town would.
“I know what you’re thinking — and I don’t say it to butter you up, Sheriff, so don’t go thinking too hard” — Jim laughs at this — “but he’s not a bad kid. He’s gone through a lot. My brother… well, you know what he was like. Dumped this kid on my doorstep in the middle of the night, no warning, no nothing. Took me a good long while to get Eddie to even look me in the eye, never mind talk to me.”
Jim can’t imagine Eddie like that. He never shuts up, always mouthing off at him when the squad corners him for possession. He’s crafty too, never has the goods on him when he is about to be taken in. It’s less out of respect for Wayne and more because of stretched police hours that he doesn’t try harder to catch Eddie in the act.
“Seems to me that the Harrington boy might be the same. I have to admit, seeing the old man strutting like a peacock around town made me think Ed was right to be wary of his son at school. But it wouldn’t be the first time a boy was judged by the actions of his father. Wouldn’t be the first time a boy changed once he got a bit more sense in him.”
“Won’t be the last either.”
“Amen,” Wayne sighs. “All I’m tryna tell ya is, if the boy wants you to help him, especially if he’s anything like Ed was, you gotta wait for him to come to you. Forcing him will only spook him worse than a baby deer on a hunting range.”
“He’s not gonna call me, Wayne — he’s got no self-preservation, and Senior’s out to get him.”
Wayne takes one final swig of his coffee and stands, glancing at the diner clock. “Harrington Senior might not surprise you, but I reckon that boy just might.” He pulls his cap onto his head and salutes him. “Gotta get back on the grind now. Night, Chief.”
“Night, Wayne. And thank you.”
Wayne nods and heads for the door.
Steve’s high school graduation has come and gone by the time he gets the phone call.
“Hello?”
“Hop?” That small shaking word speaks volumes.
“Steve?”
There’s an affirmative hum on the other end of the line, weak and wispy.
“Are you okay? Where are you?”
“I’m, uh…” Steve’s breathing sounds more laboured than it did the last time. Jim feels himself sitting up at his desk, his body controlled by something other than conscious thought. Instinct, maybe. Reminds him of ‘Nam. “Home. Poolside.”
“Are you alone?”
“Mhmm.”
“I’m on my way.”
When he gets there, Steve is sitting on one of the deck chairs at the pool. As Jim comes closer, the heavy, acrid smell of puke hits his nose. He sees a large amount of it at Steve’s feet as he reaches him. He feels like adding to the pile when he sees the state the kid is in.
Steve’s face is a mottled purple, more bruise than skin. His bottom lip is split and bleeding sluggishly. The poor kid is struggling to keep his head up. He grins weakly when he sees Jim standing there. “Heeey, Hop.”
“Hey, kiddo.” He carefully steps over the pile of vomit and sits beside Steve on the chair. “You’re not doing so hot, huh?”
“No.”
“Have you thrown up a few times?”
“Dunno. Think so?”
“Is your head sore?”
“Mhm. Spinny. Dizzy.”
“Can you stand up?”
“No. Tried.” Steve waves at his right knee, where the skin is broken and raw, blood weeping, chunks of dried vomit crusting the sides of his kneecap. “Fell.”
So the kid’s concussed. Again. Jesus. It’s a wonder he’s not had more permanent damage with all the blows to the head he’s gotten.
“You wanna talk about what happened?” Jim asks softly.
Steve grimaces. “Usual. Dad got pissed, lashed out.”
Jim shakes his head. “Jesus,” is all he can say.
But Steve is not done. “He cut me off. Kicked me out. Said I was a screw-up because of my grades.” The kid’s eyes well up with tears. “I can’t stay here. He said he’d do worse if I was still here when he got back...”
“You don’t have to stay here, Steve.” Jim wraps an arm around the kid’s shoulders, clenching his free hand in an effort to stay calm. “You’re staying with me. I’ll go back and grab some things for you, and you come stay with me.”
Steve’s face falls. “Hop, I really appreciate it, but –”
“No buts. You’re coming home with me and that’s final. You got a problem with that, you can take it up with the station.”
Then Steve is actually crying, and Jim has him cradled in his arms before he can comprehend what he’s doing. He wonders for a split second if he should pull away, but Steve started clinging to him after a moment’s hesitation, so he decides that pulling away now would do more harm than good.
Just a few minutes. Then he’ll bring him to the hospital. Again.
It’s a week this time before they discharge him. Jim leaves a message with the Harringtons the day Steve leaves the hospital to cover his own ass. He has no intention of bringing Steve back to that house though, nor does Steve have any desire to go back there.
They don’t need to anyway: Jim used Steve’s keys to get Steve’s belongings out of there once he was certain his parents had left town, and he’s moved the Beemer to his cabin already. He pretends not to notice the shaky sigh Steve lets out at the sight of his car when they arrive.
It’s late, so El is sleeping when they get in. Jim knows he’ll have to explain all of this to her. He tried to before, but he wasn’t sure if he would be able to get away with Steve staying here so he didn’t explain everything. Now, he doesn’t care about the repercussions. He’s keeping this kid safe.
He guides Steve to his own bedroom. Jim’ll be sleeping on the couch for the foreseeable but he doesn’t care about that. Wayne’s already offered a camping bed that he can use if his back starts to protest.
He helps Steve get out of his clothes and into some pajamas, careful not to disturb his bruised sides too much. Then he gives him some Saltines, water and some painkillers to take.
When he comes back in after leaving to check on El, Steve has laid down and thrown the comforter over himself. Jim nods in satisfaction.
“Tomorrow is a rest day. Doc wants you in day after though, said he wanted to run some extra tests.”
Steve sighs. “He said I might need glasses. He thinks my vision’s all fucked up after the last concussion. Something about a hearing problem down the road too.” Jim can see the cogs turning in the kid’s head, the barely suppressed panic. “I can’t afford that. Not any of this.”
“But I can.” Government apology money comes in handy for things like this. “Don’t worry about it.”
“I’ll pay you back.”
“Steve. Don’t worry about it.”
Jim can tell Steve wants to argue, but to his relief he just nods slowly. “Thank you.” After a few seconds of stalling, he speaks again. “I’ll get a job as soon as I’m up and running again, then I’ll be out of your hair, promise.”
“No rush, kid,” Jim replies, ruffling his hair gently. He smirks when Steve wrinkles his nose. “You stay as long as you need to, alright? I’ll deal with your parents.”
“Won’t you get into shit for that?”
“That’s my problem. Now, get some rest, ya hear? Doc’s orders.”
“Yes sir.” Steve salutes him lazily. Jim shakes his head and walks toward the bedroom door. He only turns back at the sound of Steve calling his name again. His face is solemn now. “I mean it though. Thanks for sticking your neck out for me. Means a lot.”
Jim nods with a grunt, suddenly wanting to look anywhere but at Steve’s earnest face, the glow in his eyes.
When he looks up again, Steve is passed out. He leaves the room to let him rest.
He’s a good kid, Jim thinks. He’s been an ass, but he’s proven he’s changed. He thinks of himself all those years ago, changed too. How that worked out for him, in the end.
He can’t protect every kid in this town. Joyce helps, of course — she has always been tough enough to stick up for her kids, but now she has the bravery to act on that toughness and stand up to the world. The other kids seem to stick together like glue, a massive shield for each other. El, for the most part, can protect herself. Steve can protect himself too, in his own way, Jim knows that.
But maybe he doesn’t have to, for a little while. Maybe, just maybe, one of them can escape the shadow cast by the father. Maybe Steve can live his life in a way Jim never managed to.
And damn if Jim isn’t determined to help him try.