Grief had destroyed her life. Nobody who could look at her and know the truth would deny that. Grief had torn through, destructing everything in its path that happened to be what built her life. But contrary to popular belief, she could handle that. 

She could handle that. 

She would give up her life over and over, every single day if she could. If it meant sparing the kids the same pain. She could see it in their eyes. She had seen them cry in front of her and she had seen them walk away to cry in private. That was where the anger stemmed and blossomed from. Why the children? Why did the monsters of the world have to destroy them too?

They were resilient, but the world had bent them until they were nearly broken. It wasn't fair. She had watched the Mayfield girl grieve both her brother and the long-distance loss of her newest best friend. Mike Wheeler had cried more in those few years of terror than she had seen him cry in his lifetime. Her own... God, her own kids. El had lost just about every goddamn thing that she had learned to love. Her boy lost his childhood and her eldest lost his innocence. 

Why them? They were just kids. They were... well, they were babies. Just kids whose lives circled the drain with the grief that had been thrust upon them. Just like that, her own pain became so much more worth it if it had spared the children any pain. 

That had been her mentality when she had officially signed the papers to put the house up for sale. Some thought she was selfish; moving her children away from everything they've ever known. But even those who had witnessed would never ever understand that she was doing it to save them. It broke her heart as they cried and waved goodbye, but in three years free of Hawkins, nobody had died. They hadn't been forced to grieve yet another loss or survive yet another tragedy. 

Things had... looked up, for lack of better expression. Each one of them had lost a little piece of their soul, some bigger than others. But they were okay. Meanwhile. she was giving every bit of herself to everything and everyone else, and now there was nothing left; not even room for better care of herself.

Everybody talked about the move, but nobody discussed what came before it. The nights filled with shame because she couldn't pry herself off of the couch. Jonathan had gone into full parent mode and despite how much Joyce hated herself for it, she only sat and watched. Days had passed after Hopper's death, and days turned into weeks where she could only wallow in the grief. 

Jonathan watched the kids. Jonathan cooked breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Jonathan drove everyone where they needed to go. Joyce just stared at the patched in spot on the living room wall. The one where she had axed out a hole just to see the real world right in front of her. She could feel the shadow that the veil of the world had cast, it was so close, but she couldn't see it. 

She had never gotten around to actually fixing that wall. The three planks of wood that Lonnie had boarded into it only infuriated her more when she saw it. Not because he had done a crap job at it. No, it was because after their break out fight about the lawyer contact she had found in his bag, she had stared at those nailed-in planks trying to see the sun shining through them. An hour wasted just from staring at wood nailed into a wall, it angered her so much that she couldn't even think to fix it any further. 

But Hopper did. Once the world had calmed back down and her baby boy was back in her arms, he had come over and laid his jacket over her shivering shoulders while he closed the hole in the wall. Then, as if no time had passed at all, he was dead. He wasn't coming back to pick her up and carry her out of the depression that fatigued her body. All those weeks that she had spent staring at that stupid patched wall were weeks that she couldn't be a mother. She couldn't be an employee. She could barely be a living, breathing human being. 

There were no more planks boarded into the wall. Instead, sheetrock that he had carefully re-installed took its place. No more sun shining through the cracks, reminding her that there was still light just beyond reach. He had fixed her home. He had fixed the situation of her losing her son. He had fixed her. All she had to show for it was a slightly raised patch in the wall that kept out the cold and the sunlight. Maybe that was why her gaze had been transfixed on the spot where the ax had met the wall; a reminder that he did exist. He did help. He was once there.

Nobody talked about that part. The ugly parts of grief that she had suffered. All they ever talked about was the day the 'for sale' sign had been nailed into her yard and the day the u-haul came and packed their entire life up. 

No in-betweens. Just the event and the final outcome. The new and improved Joyce whose entire soul was calloused in scars. The changed Joyce who no longer coward in fear of anything. Before... and after.  

She could feel herself slipping again. She was ready to curl up into a ball on that couch again and refuse to move. If she weren't so goddamn tired, she would be angry about that. She was supposed to be happy — overwhelmed with joyfulness. She was... somewhere inside of her. He was alive, he was breathing, and he was back in her presence. She just hadn't expected his return to stir the feelings caused by his original loss. The fact that every wincing pain of grief was all for naught and she had suffered, her kids had suffered, and the universe was cruel. 

It reminded her of postpartum depression in the oddest way. Will was a few weeks old and everything in her mind told her she needed to be the happiest person on the planet. Fuck, she was! But she was depressed too! How could it be that such beauty was right in front of her and she still felt like she was rolling around in rock bottom?

She wasn't allowed to slip this time. Not by her own standards at least. She couldn't let down her kids or Hopper. She had to power through it because now, his health was riding on her shoulders too. She wanted him to get better, and that meant keeping herself from falling lower.

She attempted to rub the exhaustion away from her eyes as she pushed past the doors of the coffee house. The smell of freshly grained coffee beans hit her nose, slightly curbing the caffeine-withdrawal headache she had woken up with. To say she had gotten an awful nights' sleep was an understatement. She had been terrified to close her eyes, fearing that if she opened them, he would be gone once again. Quite frankly, it was ironic. Three years she had spent wishing to never open her eyes so he would remain alive and well in her dreams. Now, she didn't dare to close them. 

If it were any other non-work-related event, she would've canceled so she could stay in bed and catch up on the sleep she deserved. But if there were a time where she would've ever needed this meeting, it would be now. 

Across the room, tucked away in a tall table seat, Sam Owens sat with a warm latte between his hands and another one across the table. As soon as his eyes met Joyce's, his signature charming smile lit up his face. She couldn't help but smile back, waving softly as she made her way closer to him. 

Her purse dropped with a clunk against the table, her short stature slightly struggling to hoist herself into the tall seat. Before he could get a word in edgewise, she held a single finger up as she had tipped back her coffee to her lips and downed at least half of it. "Whew, okay. Now you can talk."

He chuckled softly, a distant sparkle in his eye that reminded her of his almost child-like innocence. He was a good man who had seen bad things. He had been handed opportunities to do incredibly rare things without the law on his back, but he had turned them away for the sake of being a good human being. She admired him and his willingness to try to save her son and Hopper. The risks had always outweighed the benefits, yet he never even flinched. Hell, he had nearly died trying to make sure that everyone had made it out of the lab during the attack. Well, everybody except — 

"Long couple of days?" he asked carefully, taking a sip from his cup.

Joyce sighed, her eyes rolling into the back of her head as she did so. "God, do I look as bad as I feel?" she groaned, diving back into her coffee as if it would take away the dark bags from beneath her eyes. 

Owens suddenly looked very conscious of his words, careful not to hurt her feelings. "You look like a little bit of the weight has lifted off of your shoulders, but I haven't seen you look this stressed in a while." his face changed into more than just caution, but adding in fear. "He isn't adjusting very well, is he." 

She knew it wasn't a question as much as a statement that was confirmed by the newfound stress she was carrying. Softly, she shook her head as her eyes averted down into her lap. "He's um... I mean, he's okay." she hurried her words, trying not to worry him too much. "He's just... quiet. So damn quiet." 

Sam slowly nodded as if he were analyzing her words. "Well, this takes time. We knew that going into this. He wasn't going to come out the same person he was when he went in."

"I know," Joyce protested with a whine. "I know that. It's just — ugh, I can't even explain it!" once she realized that she was yelling, she stopped to take in a deep breath. Trying to be conscious of her surroundings, her voice dropped into a low whisper. "It's like there isn't any light in his eyes anymore. I— I expected change. I work with these kinds of situations every day. I knew he wouldn't prance out of prison as if it were a weekend at the spa. I just didn't think he would be so... soulless." 

The despair in Owens' eyes could be spotted from a mile away. He had considered Jim to be a friend, even though the man wasn't the nicest or the kindest person on Earth. But he had watched Hopper step up and care for a little girl who had been damaged under his predecessor's orders. He didn't want to see the man suffer because of someone else's cruelty. 

"Joyce..." he paused, turning to look out the window before looking back at her. "How worried do I need to be?" 

She exhaled and dropped her head, fidgeting with a sugar packet on the table as she thought about the question. She knew what he was asking, and she hated that he even had to ask it at all. "He isn't a danger to himself or others," she whispered. "If he were, I would tell you. I know it's only been a few days, but some of his actions are scaring me a little."

"Like what?"

She instantly regretted letting it slip. She wanted Owens to think she had it all under control because she knew just how many strings he had to pull to help her and Hopper out. "He drove off last night. Don't worry — I told him that Hawkins was off-limits. But I did what you suggested, I got him something to distract him. I guess I shouldn't be too surprised that he disappeared since I was the one who put the keys in his hand. I could tell he had been drinking, but he claimed he lost track of time and I think he's full of shit for that one. But I know Hopper and I know how low he falls. I don't want this to turn into Sara's death all over again, but I can't keep him prisoner in my house either. Not after I practically bailed him out."

"Maybe that's what he needs," Owens said, causing Joyce to look up at him with confusion. "He's been imprisoned for so long that it's become all that he knows anymore. And it's not like he's back in Hawkins where he recognizes, he's just in a new version of the unknown. Maybe he needs some familiarity... maybe he needs you to take that control over him."

Joyce stared at Owens, fighting back a huff of laughter. "Have you met him? I see your point, Doc. But this is Hopper we're talking about. The last person to have total control over him was... well, never." 

"Point taken," Owens chuckled, stopping to think for a moment. "How did he react when you gave him the car?"

Joyce's eyebrows cocked as she paused to think. "He was... happy, I guess. Like a little bit of the old Hopper came back." Just the thought swelled her heart. She was on a mission, searching for the 'old' Hopper as if he were out there somewhere, waiting for her to come and rescue him. 

"And how about when you told him about your new job?"

"He... well, he seemed to enjoy hearing about it." her eyes squinted as she looked at him, trying to understand what it was he was saying. Suddenly, it was like a lightbulb inside of her had clicked. "You mean..."

"Distraction," he punctuated by pointing his cup of coffee in her direction with a proud smile. "Not all entry wounds have an exit wound. Sometimes, you have to create them yourself. Distraction seems to be the way in." 

Joyce slouched back in her seat, sinking into her shoulders as she did so. She ruminated on his words, slowly nodding as it sunk into her mind. She had been paying attention to the wrong thing. She had been listening too carefully to what he wasn't saying, rather than what he was saying. Each time he had been presented with some sort of remnant of his past, he was revived for a moment. Moments were important, a completely underrated measurement of time because the loudest answers came in just moments. 

What he wasn't saying, he was showing. The way he had looked around the precinct, it was like seeing a kid in a candy store. His eyes had gone wide as he had taken in the surroundings, carefully inspecting every photo and poster on the dark walls. Familiar manila envelopes lying around, scattered on each desk. A sea of uniforms and the smell of burnt coffee. 

Joyce hesitated. "I can't get him a job at the precinct. Requesting his old certification paperwork from Hawkins would be too risky and the unit is full as it is." 

Owens nodded in agreement, "But, that doesn't mean he can't work. Baby steps. Don't throw him back into the bullpen, but re-introduce him to a working life. It'll keep him distracted and it'll probably help bring him back to the real world." he reached over into his briefcase, pulling out a file of paperwork. "And since I knew this might come up, I did some searching around. I can't get his original Indiana Police certificates back, but I did get him a federal copy of his training records and his old military records. Here's a list of some places around where that training might come in handy." 

Joyce took the file from his hands, running her fingers over the pages as she flipped through. One of the business names rung a bell. "Astor-Pruitt Private Security. I know them! Mark Astor, he was one of the lieutenants on my squad before he retired. He opened up the business with one of his old military buddies, their base isn't far from my place. He owes me a favor, maybe I can talk him into hiring Hopper."

Owens smiled as he took another sip from his coffee cup. "Back of the file is all of Hop's paperwork. See if they can start him off part-time, just a few hours a week. He'll love it. He'll officially be able to knock heads for a living like he's always wanted to do. I'm sure that having the upper hand will make him feel like he has a little bit more control over his life again." 

Joyce finally smiled as she felt a weight lift off of her shoulders. "Thank you," she said quietly, her words filled with subtlety and gratefulness. "It means a lot to me, Sam. You've been a godsend." 

He watched as her eyes fell. She was trying to shut out the world that surrounded her by focusing solely on Hopper. The warmth that came from such a small smile could fill the room. "Joyce?" he asked, re-alerting her of the world's presence. 

"Hmm?" she looked up, wide doe eyes staring back at him with a glimmer of unshed tears. 

Owens opened his mouth and closed it, trying to carefully formulate the right words. He had known her as sensitive Joyce, he had watched her grow into hardened Joyce, and what he wanted to say was stuck between the perfect medium of the two. "I... know how much you care for him," he spoke slowly, maintaining the tight connection of eye contact. 

She understood the sentiment behind his words but it subconsciously went over her head. Her brows knitted together in confusion, letting her mind ponder on what exactly it was that he was saying. "Of course I do. Why wouldn't I?" as soon as she heard the sentence leave her mouth, she realized just how much she had laced it with defensiveness. 

He sighed, realizing that she wasn't fully comprehending what it was that he was trying to say. "I mean... you care for him."

She stopped again, her face contorting as if she were trying to see something that just wasn't there. Words that weren't visible to the human eye. Then, just like that, his statement hit her across the stomach with the force of a baseball bat. The tenseness of her brows loosened and she let go of a shaky exhale before tightly pursing her lips. She was swallowing her pride, trying to maintain the fact that she was handling this like it was a work event rather than a personal life crisis. Yet, she hadn't mentally made the distinction between professional and personal in this scenario. "Don't... Sam," she whispered clearly and carefully, a world of hurt taking the light out from within her eyes. Her voice went weak, barely flexing her vocal cords as she spoke. "Don't touch it."

"Just... keep an eye on him, okay?" he smiled carefully as he pat the top of her hand. "He's gonna be tempted to go back to what he knows, but the goal is to help him grow in a new environment. He might not know it yet, but he has a chance to build whatever life he's wanted. He got a fresh start, even when he didn't want it. He needs to replant his roots." 

Joyce's expression quickly weakened as her head bobbed softly in agreement. "Yeah... I know all about that," she whispered as Owens slid out of his chair and grabbed his briefcase. 

He stopped as he was walking away, pausing at her side. "Be careful, Joyce. You're doing great, you'll get through this," he said, patting her shoulder. "I'll see you soon. Call me if you have any problems."

She bid him a barely visible goodbye but refused to allow herself to follow in suit and leave. Her body was too tired, suddenly bearing a weight that felt like a load of bricks. Her fingers continued to pick at the crisp white paper in her hands, staring blankly into the void of what Owens had just stirred inside of her. 

She wouldn't say that she had forgotten about everything that she and Hopper both felt for each other. That would be a dirty and disgusting lie that even she couldn't bring herself to believe. But three years was a long time to go without someone. It was even longer of a time to see them go through hell and then have the gall to wonder if their feelings remained the same. So, it had stayed as uncharted territory, even in her own mind. Her sole focus had been set on saving him, not on anything else even remotely related to what she felt for him. Her movements and actions hadn't been pursued because of the missed opportunities they had. She was saving a friend, not a lover. 

She was scared to wander down the road of wondering what she truly felt for the man. Even the blind and the deaf would call it love since she had thrown herself into the pits of extremis to save him. But she had loved shadows before, and shadows rarely came back to life. Hopper would always be the one rarity of the bunch. The one in a million. He wasn't a shadow anymore, he was flesh and blood. But the experience of loving a shadow, of loving and losing Bob, it had warped her perception to what felt like beyond repair. Everyone had the possibility of becoming a shadow between one breath and the next. Loving what could potentially become a memory was horrifying. 

And she still found herself wondering if Hopper was actually back, or if she was just out of her fucking mind. 

She just wasn't sure of what to call what she felt for him. She simply didn't recognize what it was. It was stronger than Lonnie and Bob combined; a fierce urge to protect him and hold him as closely as she could. She felt inclined to do whatever it took to make him happy and to be angry whenever he put himself in a position of risk. She hadn't felt it as strongly until July 4th, standing on the platform as she was forced to decide whether to save him or their children. That emotion had exploded like a supernova the moment he had smiled at her, but she was certain that it hadn't followed her for three years. Not until she saw him alive again. 

But whatever that feeling may be, it never truly left. She just hadn't paid attention to it. Especially since it was pointless if he was dead. But he wasn't. He was alive and the pounding of her heart ached in her chest.

Less than surprised. That was about the only way she could think to describe herself when she pulled into the driveway and found that Hopper's car was gone. Again. She didn't have the energy to feel betrayed or any other complex emotion that would send her into a spiral of thoughts. Instead, she popped the trunk of her car and loaded the bags of groceries onto her arms. 

She knew that trying to get work done would be a crapshoot. She had managed to drop off a few papers at the precinct after her meeting with Owens, but her Captain quickly shooed her off just as he always did when he knew she wasn't in the headspace to do her job. But she didn't want to go home. The truth irritated her but the truth was that she wanted to see if Hopper would stay true to his word. He wouldn't leave if she was there or awake, so she wanted to stay out of the house for as long as possible.

She had stopped by the Astor-Pruitt Private Security building on her way back from the grocery store. For the first time in a while. she was actually able to have a few minutes of optimism while she sat and laughed with her old colleague. He had instantly accepted Joyce's plea to hire Hopper, and looked over the paperwork with an impressive smile. "Just the type of person I'm looking for. How soon can he start?" 

But the happiness she had felt quickly dissipated when she realized that what she had expected to happen had happened. The sun was setting and he was in the wind doing God only knows. With heavy arms, she managed to get the key in the door and push it open with her shoulder. She didn't bother to call out for anybody. The house was eerily still and quiet, a few creaking sounds coming as the wind rattled in the distance. 

The weighted plastic bags slammed down on the counter along with her keys. With her lips pressed tightly together in anger, she started unloading the bags with a lack of gentleness. The rickety cabinets were ready to fall off of their hinges if she weren't careful but slamming the doors of the drawers seemed to be the only outlet for the fuming anger. 

"Hey," she heard a familiar voice coming from the archway of the kitchen. She stopped in her tracks, her muscles losing their tightness as she forced herself to relax. Will stood quietly watching her as she scurried through the kitchen, trying to save the half-melted products. 

"Hi, sweetheart. I didn't know you were home. Didn't see your car," she forced a small smile before returning to the task with a little less vigor. She would've been more worried about the kids being gone if it hadn't been a Saturday evening. Even after moving to safety, her worries and fears still surfaced every once in a while.

Will weakly smiled back at her, fidgeting his hands as he turned his head down to face the floor. "Yeah, El took the car. She went to spend the night at Macie's house. She figured you wouldn't mind since it isn't a school night." he paused apprehensively. "She didn't want to wait around." 

Joyce stopped and carefully shut the fridge. "Wait around? For what?"

"For Hopper," he answered, watching as she tried to keep her composure and continue restocking the kitchen. "She got back from gymnastics and he was gone, she waited but he never came back so she left." 

Joyce's eyes nearly popped out of her head, slamming a box of cereal down on the counter. "She got out of gymnastics at two! It's seven o'clock, he's been gone for five hours?!" the shriek in her voice was loud enough that it nearly startled her as much as it startled Will. She charged over towards her work belt, grabbing her radio from the clip. 

"Ackerman, it's Byers. Do you copy?" she spoke into the static, listening to the familiar crackle before the other end picked up. 

"I gotcha Byers. Everything okay?" her partner asked, a tinge of worry present in his voice. 

"Yeah, yeah everything is fine. I need a favor. Put a BOLO out on license plate number 6JR-3422. Do not approach, notify only. Forward any calls on the plate to my home number, okay?" 

She waited for a moment, listening for the crackle to come back through the speaker. She tapped her foot, holding the com near her chest as she waited. 

"6JR-3422. Roger that. I'm on tour right now, if I see anything I'll call it in over to you first." 

"Thank you." With somewhat of a sigh of relief, she tossed the radio down on the couch and tried to go back to the task at hand. Will stayed put in the archway, quietly watching his mother stew in anger. He didn't want to tell her that he had been invited to a friend's house as well. He knew that the moment El left, she'd need someone to be here with her. Her sense of loneliness had been apparent to him for quite a while, which usually led him to the sense that he needed to stay with her just in case. He didn't want her to be alone; not if she didn't have to be. 

Ever since '83, Joyce had found that she had become particularly closer with Will. Not so much because of her incessant helicopter parenting, that had died down after they had moved. More because he was suffering in a similar manner as she was. All of them were suffering, and each of them had someone to suffer with. Someone whose problems back in Hawkins were similar enough that their pain was relatable. Joyce had Hopper, Will had Mike, but all of that had disappeared. Her son found that talking to her was easier, and she had realized the same. She loved all of her kids equally, but she was able to talk to Will in ways that she couldn't necessarily talk to El or Jonathan. 

"Do you think he'll ever be okay again?" he asked, quietly aiding Joyce with the task of putting away the groceries. She slumped down against the counter, resting on her elbows as her hands threaded through her own auburn locks. 

"Yeah," she answered noncommittally. "I mean, it's definitely gonna take some time. Hop has survived a lot in his life, and he's usually come around from it pretty well compared to how most people would..." she paused. Most people didn't go through what he went through... what any of them went through.

Will hesitated to speak again, carefully glimpsing at her out of the corner of his eye. "Where do you think he goes when he leaves?"

Joyce stopped dead in her tracks, setting down the contents of her hands onto the countertop. She bit at her lip, running his question over and over in her head and coming up with no reasonable answer other than a bar or a drive out into the middle of nowhere. "I don't know... I just hope it's doing him some good."

She waited up for the second night in a row, allowing herself to feel a little bit angrier than the night previous. She didn't want any reason to be mad at him, it layered her chest with a heavy weight of guilt. 

With her eyes lazily staring out the window, she laid curled up in her chair in the living room. Her vision chased each set of headlights that beamed down the dark night, but otherwise, her body refused to move. The urge to cry was reaching the surface, but the exhaustion won the battle and her face stayed emotionless. 

Maybe she was doing something wrong. Maybe... maybe he was leaving because of her. Maybe she didn't have a right to be angry since it was his life. But it was her life too... he had promised. Even when he had made the commitment, she hadn't quite believed him. Still, it stung all the same. From the outside looking in, she had reasoning to be angry. But from where she stood, she knew that he likely didn't mean to cause anyone pain. He loved El, he wasn't leaving her because he didn't. If she hadn't witnessed trauma before, she wouldn't have realized that victims leave the people they love because they love them. Because they think that as long as they aren't around, the people they love won't feel hurt. 

She thought back to her conversation with Owens earlier. 

'I know how much you care for him,'

Her mind was so damn foggy from everything happening around her that she could barely analyze what he had meant. She knew what he was insinuating, she wasn't that jaded. But she could neither deny nor confirm the truth of what he had meant behind his accusations. He wasn't saying that she cared for him, he was saying that she cared for him. Just the way he had worded it made her feel like she was in the sixth grade again, talking about boys and the difference between liking them and like liking them. 

She knew how Hopper had felt about her three years ago. She knew what she had felt for him the few minutes they had left before his presumed passing. After that, it was all a blur. There would always be a part of her that loved him. During her journey to growth, she had learned to stop denying herself of that knowledge. At first, she thought maybe it was just because he had saved her son. But then, to her surprise, he had stuck around and what she felt continued to grow. Then she had remembered what their life was like together as teenagers and suddenly, Will had nothing to do with it. Maybe he was the reason it had been rekindled, but those feelings... they never left. 

Then, he was dead to the world and she wasn't sure of what she felt. Not at all. Because somehow, losing him only lit the flame further. Yet, she wasn't sure if it was regret and guilt or an over-glorification of the fact that she just fucking missed him.

But she wasn't left with much time to sit and consider it. She glanced at the clock when she finally heard his tires rolling in the driveway. 10:30 pm. Right on the dot. She didn't move, she didn't even flinch. Not even when he came in and slammed the door behind himself.

She was surprised, he didn't instantly bring in the smell of a brewery and an ashtray. He looked sober, far more than he did the previous night. He stopped in his tracks when he saw her curled up in her chair. 

"Did you enjoy your Saturday?" she asked, shooting for a monotone voice that ended up coming out with more bite than she had intended. 

Carefully, he set his keys down and idled near the doorway. She watched as he took a deep breath, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Joyce... I'm sorry."

All she could do was laugh; a sardonic and wary snort as she shook her head. "I don't wanna hear it," she said, giving him an angry grin as she pushed herself up out of her chair. "Your daughter on the other hand... she's the one who deserves to hear your apology after you promised to spend today with her."

He opened and closed his mouth a few times before his eyes shot back down to the floor.

"No!" she cried. "Don't filter yourself, for God's sake, Hopper! Say it! Say exactly why you couldn't bear to spend a day with El who, mind you, has spent the last three goddamn years crying herself to sleep every night!" she tried to stop herself from yelling but failed miserably. But to her greatest confusion, it seemed as if her loud volume was waking him up. He was slipping out of the shell he had put around himself, his guard slowly coming down. 

Finally, his eyes met hers and she was able to see right into him. "I tried..." he winced.

She dropped her jaw at him, "You tried?" she repeated, unable to stop herself from laughing. She knew she would regret what she was saying but the words were pouring out so quickly that she was powerless to stop. "You tried! Well, congratulations you tried!"

"You don't get it!" he screamed, startling her nearly enough to where she jumped. Her eyes blew wide before she took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down. Her shoulders slumped as she spun around on her heel, facing the other side of the room. Her forearm lifted against her forehead, wiping away the adrenaline-induced sweat that had broken out.

When she turned back around, she could see him as he breathed heavily. The anger in his eyes hadn't gone away completely, but there was still a flame behind them that he couldn't shake.

"D'you remember Will's birthday back in '85?" he asked, his head hanging low as he braced himself with his hand against the wall. 

Joyce scoffed, crossing her arms as she rolled her eyes. "Of course I do."

"It was just a few months after Halloween of '84. Everything was still raw and... and everyone still hurt.  But I snuck El out of the cabin and had her lay down in the backseat of my blazer so nobody would see her. She begged and begged and begged me to let her go to Will's birthday that year. But his party wasn't until that evening and you were gonna take him to the bowling alley with his friends. So, we came over in the day time instead. I grabbed a cake on my way over and a gift that she had suggested we get him."

Joyce's shoulders begun to loosen as she listened to him speak. "I remember..."

Hopper gave an incredulous snort as he shook his head. "It was just a birthday party. But, God I think it was one of the happiest days I'd had since Sara died. A simple birthday party where I watched my kid laugh and I watched Will open gifts with this extraordinarily happy face. Out of every big occasion I could've lived to see, that was one of the best days and it was so damn simple."

Joyce closed her eyes, pressing her fingers to her forehead as an attempt to work away the oncoming headache. "I'm glad you remember." 

"Of course I remember!" he roared, taking a step forward. "That's the point! I remember everything! I'm not walking around with amnesia, Joyce. I remember it all! But you know what goes hand in hand with remembering? Knowing how much you've missed. I've missed fifteen birthdays in total, Joyce. Yours, Jonathan's, Will's, El's, and Sara's. I've missed three Christmases, three Thanksgivings, three New Years Eves. I missed getting to teach El how to drive and helping her study for exams. I missed every single one of El's gymnastics competitions or Will's science fairs or the day Jonathan went off to college. I missed getting to see you become a cop and then a detective, I have missed all of it! All of those days that could've been the next best day of my life, I fucking missed it and everyone just expects me to be perfectly fine with that!" 

Tears had begun to well up in her eyes when he started speaking, and they had fallen by the time he was done. Tracks of her sadness dripping down her cheeks as she allowed herself to feel. To feel it all. Everything he was saying, everything he wanted to say and everything he didn't. She had closed it off from herself for so long, refusing to stop for a moment and let the pain flow over her. But the dam had finally broken, and everything within her just hurt for him.

"So why do you keep leaving then?" she asked through the suppressed sobs that heaved her lungs. As she heard herself speak, she could hear the exhaustion in her own voice. A tone that knew it likely wouldn't receive a clear answer to the question she had asked. "Why leave over and over again? Why do you do that to us? Why keep doing that to yourself?"

He looked as if he were nearly ready to explode, but as hard as he tried, he couldn't force a proper explanation out. His voice simply stonewalled, knowing that he could describe his reasoning in six million different ways but none of them would capture what he meant. So, he sputtered. "You don't understand," the previously angry voice dropped into a low and lethal quietness. He started walking away, moving closer towards the kitchen or wherever his feet had planned to carry him. 

"So explain it to me! Make me understand!" she shouted as she followed him, pleading and begging. "Hopper, whatever you need me to do, I'll do it! For fuck's sake, I went out and got you a job today! I want to help you but I need you to talk to me!" 

His fists balled up before his hands splayed tensely, his face going beat red. "I don't need anything!" he screamed, his breath puffing as the words escaped. "What I need is for things to go back to the way they were. To go back in time so none of this bullshit ever fucking happened! But that won't happen, so I don't need a goddamn thing." He wanted to tell her how he felt as if reclaiming his life felt pointless. That he could never get the time back that he had missed out on. But she would tell him to start reclaiming time now, and he didn't have an answer as to why he just couldn't. 

Joyce stepped back a few feet, her upper body shaking as her tears continued to stream down her face. She wanted to be able to hear him. The entire time, all she wanted was for him to speak more than just a few words. She should've expected this; that the first time he spoke, he would blow up with everything he hadn't said. Every word he said, all she was able to see when she read between the lines was that he didn't want her help, or her... at all.

"You're breaking my heart, Hop," she whispered in a small sob, her voice so small and fragile under his. 

The six feet that stood between them felt like miles. But it was hard to reach over miles to grab onto hope. She knew he was angry and that he was hurt. She knew how helpless she had felt after Bob died and when Will was missing... and when he had 'died'. She could only imagine how much harder it had hit him since he was the epicenter of his own crisis. Joyce had always been the bystander. She was the one who lost people, not the person who got lost.

"I can't do this right now," he said, pushing himself away from the kitchen counter so he could charge up the stairs. 

"What are you doing?" she called out, trying to follow him to the bottom of the stairs with her jaw falling slack. 

"I— I can't right now. I gotta sleep or something, I just can't do this." 

"Hop!" she called back, standing still at the bottom of the stairs. "Hopper!" she tried again but was met only with the sound of his bedroom door slamming. As soon as the loud noise had sounded, she exhaled deeply, dropping her head and letting go of her grip on the railing. 

Her white pillowcase became shaded with a smear of black mascara. Lying in her darkened room, she cried into the silence. Her breath shook and her jaw trembled as she tried to keep her volume from reaching outside of the door. Her head throbbed from the pain of crying and slowly, her eyes began to flutter until the red lights on her alarm clock faded. 

Barely an hour after falling asleep, she heard the sound of an engine turning over. She recognized the sound, but refused to move from the fetal position she was curled into. He was right; she didn't understand. She didn't have a clue, so if this was what he needed, so be it. With that thought in mind, she allowed herself to fall back asleep.