something_incredible | (no subject)

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eleven

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The school year starts up again soon and Hopper is standing in the kitchen of the townhouse, looking down at a package of papers he'd just shaken out of an envelope addressed to him. Curriculum, books, school supplies, schedule, all things he's pretty sure Eleven should already have, but she hasn't shown him yet.

Probably a good thing the school mailed him a copy of all this, too.

"Shit," he says as he stares down at the list. The supply list is long, so is the list of books, and Hopper knows schools are underfunded in the present day, but he doesn't remember ever needing so much stuff just to go to school. Maybe he just hadn't been paying attention, though. Maybe this is all normal and he's just finally getting to live it.

But Beverly hadn't had such a long list either. He's fairly sure about that.

"Hey, El!" he calls up the stairs, his voice booming. "C'mon down here."

He has the day off, she's just been in her room, he figures they can probably knock most of this off the list in one day if they do it properly.

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She's not in trouble. She can tell, because she didn't do anything wrong, but also because of the way he calls up. He's good at making his voice loud and strong, but that doesn't always mean bad things. The cat still startles, though, and she strokes a hand down his back to his crooked little tail.

"It's okay, Dustin," she tells him, and scratches behind his ear before pushing up from her bed to go downstairs. She fixes Hopper with an expectant, curious look.

Then she sees the scattering of lists and she makes a face before she can school her expression neutral again.

"Oh."

"Oh," he echoes, sounding amused. "Did they send any of this home with you at the end of last year?"

Or maybe she was meant to pick it up. Hopper honestly doesn't know how most of this works. Beverly has been through it all, but she'd also been pretty independent and there was something about the fact that he'd been her foster home at first that meant the Home still took care of a lot of these things when they'd first started out.

"Doesn't matter, but we gotta get this stuff done," he says.

"No," she says to his first question. She'd been told she would get a list of supplies before the school year started, but not what would be on it, or when to expect it. Seeing it laid out reminds her of the summer reading she was supposed to be doing.

She doesn't even own the book she needs for that, and summer is now almost over.

"Right now?" she asks. She'll have to change, and make sure she has her money. The cat needs a new toy, anyway.

“You got something more important you were doin’?” he asks, an eyebrow lifted, still more amused than anything else. He doesn’t see why they shouldn’t go out and get it done now, that way he won’t forget about it, only to remember it the day before she needs to go back.

Hopper isn’t the best parent, but he’s not the worst either. He just has a bad tendency to forget things like this.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun,” he says even though he doesn’t know if that’s true. “We can get lunch, too, or something.”

She does like shopping, even if only because it shows her all sorts of new things. But shopping with Hopper is not going to be anything like shopping with Max or Beverly, or even Stan, she suspects. The promise of lunch makes her smile, though, and she nods.

"I need to go change," she says. She's still wearing the softer lounge pants she'd pulled on fresh out of bed earlier that morning.

"I'll wait," Hopper answers, nodding her toward the stairs. "No sense goin' without you."

He folds the list and puts it in his pocket, then goes into the living room to hunt down wherever he'd last tossed his wallet, phone, and keys. One thing about being sober he's liking is that he actually tends to know where his things are. He still forgets stuff every now and then, most people do, but there are no more blackouts where he has to try and retrace his steps the next morning to figure out where the hell his car might be.

Probably a better example for the girls, too.

El nods and runs upstairs to get changed and grab her things. She's tying her hair off in a scrunchie on her way back down. Dustin-the-cat is following close behind; he's always careful to keep away from feet, even Hopper's, so Eleven isn't afraid of him tripping her up. Once on flat footing, he darts ahead and jumps into the little stand where his food dish sits, crooked tail lashing excitedly.

Eleven looks at the bowl. "You had breakfast already," she points out. He narrows his eyes at her and meows, and El rolls her eyes. "No. The vet said too much food is bad for your heart." He meows again, a longer, drawn out sound, and Eleven sighs. "One treat," she says, holding up a finger. She fishes the treat bag out from the plastic, shoe-box-sized container that holds the cat supplies. He jumps down and tangles around her legs, then jumps back up onto the stand, then jumps back down again in his impatience. El tosses the single treat kibble to the side, letting it scatter across the floor and making him chase after it.

That done, she puts the treats away, latches the lid, then turns to Hopper innocently.

"I'm ready."

"Long as the cat got his way, huh?" Hopper asks, but he's grinning as he grabs the list again, then his car keys. He gives Eleven a cuff on the back of the head as he walks past her, affectionate and a little rough all at once, as tends to be his way.

"So do you want to do supplies or clothes first?" he asks as they get into the car. "Or maybe you and Bev can do clothes together. I'm not much use when it comes to telling you what looks good."

He doesn't care, honestly, as long as she's not showing a bunch of skin and she's happy.

"I will have Bev take me shopping for clothes," Eleven agrees, in a tone meant to brook no arguments. She remembers how much her wardrobe changed, after she went to the mall with Max. She'd shifted into bright colors and bold prints, and she still wears those when she can find them. It isn't at all like the faded, oversized flannels and jeans that Hopper had her wear, that Mike seemed perfectly fine with.

"So we should get supplies." Maybe she should have Stan take her shopping for school supplies, actually. He'll know not only what she needs, but what will be best to keep her organized.

But she doesn't mind going with Hopper, either.

"Yeah, yeah," he says with a laugh. "Good old dad, his money is good to spend, but his taste in fashion is questionable."

He doesn't do too bad himself these days, but then, he mostly sticks with jeans and t-shirts under flannel, just like he would have in Hawkins. For some reason it still works for him.

Women seem to like it anyway, which he doesn't need to share with Eleven.

"You wear the same thing every day," El points out, amused. It isn't exactly the same thing, just the same type of thing, and she knows that, but it's still fun to tease him back.

"Yeah and I look good doing it," Hopper answers, then gives El a shove against the side of her head, light and teasing, as they reach the car.

He unlocks the doors and climbs in, waiting for her to join.

"There's that department store a couple blocks up," he says. "Let's try there."

She grins at him when he pushes at her head, and she cuffs at his arm before climbing into the passenger seat.

"Okay. Can I get fun notebooks?" She'd seen kids last year with notebooks with vibrantly printed covers, or others with enormous stickers layered across them.

"What does that mean?" he asks as he starts the car and checks for traffic before he pulls away from the curb. "Fun notebooks. Something with like... unicorns? Or bright pink?"

The answer is yes either way. Hopper just wants to make Eleven happy and if fun notebooks makes her happy, that's what he'll buy for her.

"Unicorns?" she echoes, amused, and shakes her head. "No, with patterns and colors on them. I will know what I want when I see it." She sounds confident when she says it, but she's not entirely sure that's true.

"You'll know it when you see it. Alright," Hopper answers, because he can't really argue with that. He's amused, though, mouth turned up into a grin as he turns right at a stop sign, in the direction of the store he had been talking about.

"So... bright pink then?" he asks, although now he's just teasing her. "Kitten? Starfish? What about bright pink kitten starfish?"

She rolls her eyes, but she's grinning.

"We can get one of those for you to write your notes in," she decides. "Since you seem to like it so much."

"Good idea. Criminals will take me much more seriously with a pink starfish kitten notebook," Hopper answers with all the sincerity he can muster. "I should probably get a matching pen, too. Something that writes in purple glitter."

Not all that long ago, he wouldn't have been able to make these jokes. He would have felt like he was shitting on his own masculinity, but getting sober puts a lot of stuff in perspective.

Eleven can't hold any level of seriousness when he says that. She bursts into laughter, looking at him like he's crazy, maybe, but she loves him so much all the same.

"Then pen can have a pom-pom on the top," she says, as sagely as she can while giggling madly.

"Yeah," he says, like she's crazy for thinking otherwise. "What kind of detective d'you take me for? Of course I gotta have a pen with a pom-pom on it. I want a silver one, so it's really sparkly. Blinds the criminals."

He taps his temple, then grins. "Always thinkin', kid. That's what makes me so good at my job."

Eleven laughs as she tries to picture him holding such a pen, never mind working with it — never mind letting the metallic sparkles catch the light to irritate the eyes of criminals. She settles a little as she watches him, still grinning.

"Do you like being police?" she asks.

"Sometimes yes, sometimes no," Hopper answers. He figures it's like that for most jobs, not just being a cop, but his job in particular can be rough.

"It feels good to help people," he says, pulling into the parking lot and finding a spot. "But there are a lot of cops who don't help people. They use their power to be assholes and I don't like that. I see some bad things, too, kid. Some really hard things."

"I want to help people," she says, looking ahead. Her powers help with that, but she doesn't always need them. Hopper doesn't have any powers, and he helps people all the time. El wants to be able to do that, too. "Can I be police? When I'm older."

Hopper hates the idea of Eleven putting herself in any kind of danger, but he also knows Eleven is going to do whatever the hell she wants, regardless of what he says.

"I think you're pretty young to have the rest of your life figured out," he says. "But hey, it's a possible career choice, yeah."

"Last year, my teacher said I needed to figure it out," she explains. "That I need to prepare for college and have a plan." She frowns. "It is never too early," she recites.

"Jesus Christ," he says, frowning. "I dunno if that's true. You're a kid, how the hell are you supposed to decide what you want to do for the rest of your life?"

He'd gone to Vietnam when he was older than Eleven is now and even that had been too goddamn young to see the things he'd seen and to have done the things he's done.

"When did you decide?" she asks, looking over at him. "When did you know what you wanted to do?" It occurs to her, kind of suddenly, that she doesn't really know how old Hopper is. He's a grownup, that's all she really knows. How long has it been since he was in school? How old was he when he became a papa?

"When I got back from Vietnam," he says. The memories of war are ones he prefers not to settle on for long, still fresh somehow, even after all these years.

"It seemed like an easy option," he admits. "I was a soldier, so bein' a cop just seemed natural. It paid pretty well, but it was a rough job in New York."

"Rougher than Hawkins?" she asks. "How come?"

She thinks she can guess, though. Finding Kali in the city had been easy enough for her, but she hadn't been afraid. She could protect herself, and she knew where she was going. It was the how to get there that had been hard; the city was enormous, with corners and alleys and shadows that stretched forever. She wonders if New York was similar.

"Different than Hawkins," he says. "Hawkins had the Upside Down and the lab and monsters, but New York had human monsters, kid. People who did awful things. It could be hard to see."

It was hard to see here, too, but Hopper is a different man than he'd been when he first started working in New York.

"People... can be monsters," she agrees. Papa was a human monster. He'd done all of those things to Mama, just to make Eleven who she is. She frowns, looking at Hopper. "But doesn't that mean I should stop them, if I can?"

"Sure," he agrees. "But there are a lot of ways to stop human monsters. Bein' a cop might be one of them, but so is bein' a lawyer or a social worker or someone who works in a shelter. Someone who, uh... advocates for changes in the law. Stuff like that. Bein' a doctor even, because that saves someone when a monster has gotten to 'em."

He shakes his head a little and says, "I know you got super powers, kid, it just scares me, thinking of you seein' some of the shit I've seen."

Eleven thinks she understands what he means. She might have been to the Upside Down, she might have fought the demogorgon, and demodogs, and Papa and his orderlies... but even despite that, she's never seen the sorts of things Hopper has. She can't imagine what they could be, how bad they could be.

He's trying to protect her.

"But maybe I can stop it from happening," she reasons. "So then, nobody has to see it."

"Christ, you're stubborn," he says, his voice fond. "I'm not gonna tell you what to do with your life when you're a grown up, just... leave room for other things, okay? You're not just a superhero. You get to do the things you want, too."

"Like write on bright pink kitten starfish notebooks with glittery purple pens," she teases with a grin. That's an interesting thought, though. She knows, of course: she can do the things she wants. She's not just a superhero. But she doesn't know what she wants to do, other than help people.

Maybe she will look into those other jobs Hopper told her about. A lawyer, or a social worker, or a shelter worker. Maybe she can do good that way.

"Yeah, like that," he agrees once the truck is park. He reaches over and bumps Eleven's shoulder, grinning at her, then opens his door to climb out.

"This place has got other people, too," he points out as they make their way toward the store. "Back in Hawkins, I know you felt like it was your job to protect everyone, but Darrow's got people with all kinds of powers. It's not all on you, kid."

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