(no subject)

Apparently in 2018, it's impossible to find anywhere that allows you to smoke inside. He could quit, like half the people he meets these days suggests he do, but Hopper doesn't really like the idea of giving up the one thing that's still familiar to him in this weird city.

He's not even a cop anymore. He could be. At least, he's pretty sure he could be, but this place seems to fall somewhere between New York and Hawkins when it comes to the level of crime he'd be facing and Hopper honestly isn't sure if he's ready to take a step back in New York's direction. Hawkins had been weird in recent years, yeah, but somehow facing down a bunch of monsters with heads full of teeth where their faces should be just doesn't seem as daunting as returning to cases of assault and murder and rape and abuse.

Shit like that's exhausting. New York had just about wrung every last little bit of good out of him and he can think of a lot better things to do with his time than going back to being a cop.

Like smoking. And drinking. And maybe taking a few pills to ease the pain. He hasn't, not yet, but he thinks about it every day. The only thing that keeps him from going back there right now is the thought that Eleven might show up here someday and he'd hate for her to see him like that, his eyes glazed over, just this side of high on whatever pain pills he was able to find. It had been fucked up before, but at least before there hadn't been a kid to worry about. The fact that there hadn't been was what took him to the pills in the first place, but now there is again. There's Eleven.

Maybe some other kids, too.

So right now he's huddled outside a bar, the collar of his Hawkins PD coat turned up against the cold wind, smoking the last cigarette in the pack he'd bought the day before. He's going through them too fast, but there's not much else here to distract him.

Another beer maybe. It's probably too early to get drunk, but just one more won't kill him. He takes one last drag from his cigarette before crushing it against the heel of his boot, then turns back toward the bar and nearly walks straight into someone.

"Shit, sorry," he says, lifting his hand to her shoulder to steady her.

(no subject)

It's been a long few weeks and there's no end in sight, as far as Hopper can tell. Just like everyone has said, he's stuck here, stuck in this damn city where he doesn't recognize anyone or anything, and there's no way for him to get out. He's tried, just like he's sure nearly everyone else has tried, and he keeps ending up back in the same place where he started.

It's like some kind of purgatory, he's pretty sure of that, only he doesn't think he's dead.

Besides, his apartment building is haunted with a real ghost and he's pretty sure something like purgatory wouldn't have hauntings like that. But, hell, maybe he's wrong about that. Maybe he's wrong about all of it.

A part of him wants to stay holed up in his apartment and just never leave, but he knows what will happen if he does that. The beer will start and eventually that will lead back to the pills and while Hopper had never really seen a problem with what he'd been doing, he knows there are plenty of other people who would argue with him over that. He doesn't want to deal with it again, not here. Back in Hawkins he had mostly been left alone, but here it seems like people are always wanting check in and see how he's doing.

It would be annoying if he didn't find himself sort of enjoying it.

Darrow isn't as small as Hawkins, but it's small enough that he's run into some familiar faces now and then. When he spots Nicaise outside what looks like some sort of dance studio, Hopper is prepared to head over there with some comment about how it's good to see royalty again, but as he walks in that direction, he realizes what's happening. There are other boys with Nicaise, bigger kids, ones who are giving him a hard time about having come out of the studio apparently.

It reminds him a little of what Joyce said about Will, about the way Lonnie had been with him, and Hopper feels a red hot surge of anger.

"Hey!" he shouts, although he's close enough he doesn't need to raise his voice. When he yells, though, kids cower. It's not something he's proud of, but he knows it's the truth, and even bullies like this don't like hearing a voice like his. Probably because it sounds a lot like their shitty parents, he reflects, but Hopper isn't the nicest guy and he's going to use it if he can. "What the hell are you doing?"