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Hopper’s eyes snapped open, but the world didn’t cooperate very well. Everything was a swirling haze of shadows. His head pounded like a demolition crew had taken up residence inside his skull. Sweat soaked through the thin blanket clinging to his skin and a new wave of dizziness hit him hard, making his stomach lurch.
What the hell happened?
His mind raced, fragments of memory flashed like a busted slideshow. The lab, that smug Russian asshole's fist smashing into his jaw and sending him into a blackout. But now…? A small figure blurred into his view, rushing toward him from across the room. He blinked and tried to force the fog away.
“Joyce?” Her name escaped his throat, rough as gravel, like he’d been screaming for hours. Or maybe he had been, in whatever fever dream had gripped him. God, he felt like shit. Every muscle aching, his body heavy as a sack of bricks. But there she was, her familiar shape coming into focus as she knelt next to him, her face etched with that fierce worry he knew way too well.
“Hey… easy, big guy.” Her voice was soft but steady, like a lifeline thrown into the current chaos of his mind. She reached up, her fingers gentle as they brushed against his cheek, wiping away a tear he hadn’t even registered yet. A tear?!
Christ, Jim, pull it together.
Her touch grounded him, warm and real amidst the disorientation. Her eyes were locked on his, brimming with concern, her brows furrowed in that way that made her look both fragile and unbreakable. She looked exhausted, dark circles under her eyes, but there was no hesitation in her movements as she helped him sit up. She propped a pillow behind his back like he was some invalid.
“Where am I?” He rubbed at his temples, confusion settling in like a bad hangover.
“Your cabin.” She pressed two painkillers into his palm and handed him a glass of water. “Here, take these.”
He swallowed them down without protest, the water also a blessed relief sliding down his throat. Setting the glass aside with a shaky hand, he glanced around like a lost animal, taking in the cluttered room – his room – but it felt alien right now.
How did I get here?
Joyce shifted closer, her small hand threading through his sweat-damped hair, fingers combing gently, almost tender. She checked his face, tilting his chin with a light touch, her expression one of relief and lingering fear. Being this close to her, smelling that faint hint of her shampoo, stirred something deep in his chest. God, she was beautiful like this. Her proximity made his heart stutter, a warmth spreading through the ache, making him feel… safe? Vulnerable? Both, maybe. It was terrifying and comforting all at once, the pull she had on him like gravity he couldn’t escape from.
Hopper shifted slightly, ignoring the protest from his battered body, and swung his legs off the couch, intent on standing up. He needed to move, to shake this weakness off. But Joyce was faster. Her hands flattened against his shoulders, pushing him back down with a force that belied her size. Her palms were warm and for a split second, he could feel the rapid beat of her pulse mirroring his own.
“Oh no, Mister. You need to rest,” she said with a stern tone, but her eyes betrayed her.
“I’m fine,” he grumbled, though it was a lie. He wasn’t fine, not in the slightest.
“You are not fine.” She emphasized the words, her face inches from his now, cheeks flushed with frustration or maybe something more. “Don’t move. I’ll get you something to wear.”
“Something to wear? What do you m-“ the sentence cut off as he glanced down, the blanket slipping just enough to confirm the mortifying truth… he was completely naked underneath.
What the-?
Last he remembered, he’d been in his uniform, boots and all, getting knocked out of his life. Heat flooded his face, a rare blush creeping up his neck. So… Joyce had to undress him?
The image hit in front of his eyes and it twisted something inside him, a mix of embarrassment and a deeper, warmer emotion he wasn’t ready to name. Well, at least she had seen him at his worst now, huh?
They both froze, the air suddenly thick with unspoken tension. Joyce’s cheeks bloomed as well, a deeper red, her eyes darting away, fascinated by the cabin wall. But he caught the way her breath hitched, the subtle tremble in her hands still on his shoulders. It was awkward, yeah, but in that moment, with her so close, her worry wrapping around him like the blanket, Hopper felt a spark of something lighter. A smirk tugged at his lips, breaking through the haze. It was his old defense mechanism, to hide the vulnerability beneath humor.
“Well, damn, Byers,” he rasped, his voice low and teasing, though his heart was pounding. “Didn’t peg you for the type to play nurse like that.” He raised an eyebrow as his smirk deepened. He watched her, taking in the way her eyes darted back to his.
“Shut up!” she shot back as she swatted his arm with a light smack and rolled her eyes. “You were a disaster. Your clothes were soaked right through and I had to get you out of ‘em before you caught pneumonia or something.” Her words tumbled out a little too fast.
Hopper let out a weak chuckle, the sound rumbling low in his chest, loosening up some of the knot of tension he’d been carrying.
Joyce straightened up, wiping her hands on her jeans. “Alright, enough of this. Stay put. I’m grabbing you some clothes before you freeze that stubborn ass of yours off.” She headed toward his bedroom, steps quick and determined, muttering something under her breath he couldn’t quite catch, probably about pigheaded cops or something.
But he was Jim Hopper. Orders weren’t his thing, especially not when his legs finally felt like they might hold him up again. He ignored the steady ache in his side, grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around his waist like a towel from the world’s crappiest motel.
Screw resting.
He hauled himself to his feet, the room spinning for a second before settling, and shuffled after her barefoot, the old floorboards creaking under him.
“Jim, I said sit down!” she snapped over her shoulder without even glancing back, her voice edged with that mix of worry and annoyance. She yanked open his drawer, digging around, and when she didn’t hear the creak of him flopping back on the couch, she whirled around with a shirt and pants in her hands. She stopped dead, eyes going wide as she took him in, looming right there next to her. Her mouth parted like she was going to say something, then snapped shut, cheeks flushing pink as she hugged the clothes to her chest like a shield.
Hopper leaned against the wall, trying to play it cool even though his heart was flipping around like a fish on dry land at how cute she looked all rattled.
“What? I’m up. World didn’t end.” He crossed his arms, shooting her that challenging look, eyebrow quirked.
She huffed out a breath, shaking her head, but he caught the corner of her mouth twitching up. “You are impossible, you know that? I told you to rest.”
“Yeah, well, consider me rested.” He tilted his head, the playfulness fading a bit as real curiosity kicked in. “How the hell did you drag my sorry ass back here anyway? I’m not exactly… lightweight.”
She let out a short laugh, easing the worry lines on her face as she handed him his clothes. Her fingers brushed his, hanging there just a beat too long, sending a little jolt up his arm. “Very slowly,” she admitted. “You weren’t exactly helpful. Took forever to get you into the Blazer… but you are here now. That’s what counts.” She poked his chest lightly, right over his heart, her touch warm and familiar.
Hopper’s fingers tightened around the bundle of clothes. “You’re something else, Joyce. Don’t know what I did to deserve you haulin’ my carcass around like that.” His voice went quieter, the teasing dropping away, leaving just the real stuff as he looked at her, seeing how her face softened, eyes getting a little shiny with tears she was holding back.
“You’re worth it, Hop,” she whispered as she stepped a fraction closer, her hand sliding up to rest on his arm. “Always have been. Just… don’t scare me like that again okay? I thought-“ She cut herself off, swallowing hard, the words sticking in her throat.
He nodded, pulling her into a gentle hug, his face burying in her hair for a few seconds, breathing her in. “Won’t happen again. Promise.”
Liar.
His mind whispered, knowing damn well the messed-up world they lived in didn’t hand out guarantees. But right then, with her in his arms, it felt true enough.
Something shifted inside Hopper, deep and undeniable, like a lock tumbling open after years of rust. The hug lingered longer than expected, her warmth seeping into him. Bruises bloomed across his ribs and back, dark purple reminders of the beating he’d taken, but right now they were a distant noise compared to the pull of her.
The clothes Joyce had handed him slipped from his grasp and tumbled to the floor in a forgotten heap at their feet. He didn’t care. Nothing else mattered except her.
Joyce pulled back just enough to glance down at the discarded bundle of clothes, her mouth opening to scold him.
“Hop, what are you-“
But whatever she’d been about to say faded the second his hands came up to her face. He cupped her gently, almost reverently, like she was something fragile and holy. The softness of her skin under his palms startled him. He wasn’t sure he’d ever touched anyone so carefully in his life.
His pulse roared in his ears. He should stop. He knew he should.
He didn’t want to.
Being this close to her was dangerous. But he was so damn tired of pretending he didn’t want it, need it.
She was everything.
A sharp twinge from a bruise on his jaw made him wince inwardly, but he pushed it down, focusing on the softness of her skin under his fingers.
Her eyes widened when he touched her, but she didn’t pull away, didn’t even flinch. She just froze there, caught off guard, her breathing coming in these shallow little huffs, her lips parted like she was about to say something but couldn’t find the words. He leaned in closer, drawn by that invisible thread between them, his gaze glued to hers, searching for any sign to stop.
“Joyce,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
Then he kissed her – gentle at first, testing the waters and giving her every chance to shove him off if this was all in his head. Her lips were warm, soft, with that faint taste of the coffee she’d probably been living on while watching over him. His heart was slamming against his ribs so hard he swore she could feel the thud through his palms.
But she went rigid in his arms, her mouth not moving, not responding at all. Hopper’s gut twisted, a cold rush of panic flooding him as he eased back, scanning her face desperately. Her eyes were still huge, unblinking, and the quiet dragged on, thick and suffocating. Well, shit.
Regret hit him like a punch. He’d gotten it all wrong, hadn’t he? The hugs, the little touches, the way she’d look at him sometimes. All misread.
“Joyce… I-I’m sor-,“ he stammered, the words coming out rough and awkward, his hands already starting to fall away from her face like he’d just blown everything. But she didn’t let him finish. She moved quick, her fingers grabbing the back of his neck and yanking him down with a grip that surprised the hell out of him.
“Hop,” she whispered, soft and urgent.
Then her lips were on his again, crashing in with this heat that matched the fire building in his chest. She just melted right into him, one hand twisting in his hair, the other clutching his neck, pulling him closer like she couldn’t get enough. His hands flew back to her waist, holding on tight as the kiss turned raw and hungry – like they’d both finally stopped bullshitting themselves about what they wanted.
Joyce pressed in closer, her body right up against his, hands wandering over his bare skin. But then her fingers grazed that ugly bruise on his ribs, and a pain shot through him like a hot poker. He hissed sharp against her mouth, couldn’t help it.
They both went still, the moment hitting them too late – they’d gotten carried away, forgotten he was still beat to shit. Her eyes popped open, full of regret, and she eased back just enough to look at him, scanning his face like she was checking for more damage.
“Oh God, Hop… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to - your bruises, I forgot-“ She took a step back, cheeks turning pink again, her hands hovering in the air like she was scared to touch him now.
But screw that. No fucking way was he letting her go now.
With a low growl, he grabbed her and pulled her right back in, arms locking around her waist, hauling her flush against him despite the twinge in his side.
“Painkillers will kick in soon,” he muttered against her ear, before diving back in for her lips. “Worth it.”
She barely had time to argue before he scooped her up, easy as anything.
Bruises be damned.
Her legs hooked around his waist on instinct, holding her there, eye-to-eye with him. A surprised little laugh escaped her, light and real, as her arms wrapped around his neck, and she kissed him back just as fierce.
Yeah, this… this was home.
He carried her into the living room and set her on the edge of the old wooden table, the one buried under half-empty coffee mugs and scattered papers from whatever late-night vigil she’d been keeping. His hands slid down to her tights, nudging her knees apart just enough so he could step in between them. The heat of her body against his went straight to his head.
One of her hands stayed hooked around his neck, fingers digging lightly into his skin. The other cradled his jaw, her thumb brushing over the rough scrape of his stubble.
Their mouths never quite separated. She shifted first, lips parting as her tongue traced carefully along his, a quiet question. And he answered without hesitation. The kiss deepened, passionate and slow, with soft exploration, tongues dancing in a rhythm that spoke of years of longings. He lost himself in her, in the warmth of her mouth and the way she fit against him. His hands flattened against her back, and in that moment, he knew he never wanted to let her go.
Something inside him cracked open in the best possible way. The tight, rusted parts – the ones that had learned to brace for loss, for grief, for the next disaster – finally loosened. Warmth spread through him, chasing away the cold places he’d carried for years.
She’s mine.
The thought didn’t feel possessive. It felt awed. Disbelieving.
And I’m hers.
Joyce sighed into the kiss, a soft contented sound that vibrated through him, and arched closer like she needed to feel every inch of him there. The world around them blurred, time stretching in the softness of their connection. Every touch a promise, every breath shared a quiet vow. Being in her arms, the bruises faded to whispers. The pain turned into a distant echo. In her arms, he didn’t feel broken. He didn’t feel tired. He felt whole.
Home wasn’t the cabin or the walls or the quiet woods outside. It was her. And for the first time in a long, long time, he let himself believe he could keep it.