𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑 - late, again

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 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐊𝐘 𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐆 above Hawkins like some picturesque painting had grown dark. The twilight stretched over the entirety of the town, swallowing each home in nothing but shadows; only a few stars managed to break through the thick clouds rolling through the expanse. Little lights glinting, beaming and winking, keeping some semblance of sanity to those still traversing through the dusk.

 But if all of that meant one thing, it meant that Jim Hopper was late.

 His Chevrolet K5 Blazer practically stormed down the road. Dust and dirt kicked up, leaving behind a trail in the form of a smoggy little cloud. Jim swore... then he swore again... Actually, a string of curses fell from his lips as he peered through the windshield and glowered at the dark sky.

 He hoped that maybe, just maybe, his gruff stare would turn back the hands of the clock.

 Still, the sky stretched on, and Hopper continued to let his eloquent words tumble free into the air.

 "Shit, shit, shit." He paused, a cigaratte perched between his lips as he blew out a hearty puff of smoke, "Crap."

 He'd gotten into a routine over the past months; he'd awake bright and early — and make it everybody's problem that he was still tired — to make sure breakfast was cooked; bacon and eggs would be fried in a pan of oil, bread would be toasted with a thick layer of butter smered to top it off... three Eggos would be ready and waiting with a river of maple syrup for El.

 Then, exactly twenty minutes after he'd quite literally rolled out of bed, his girls would toss and turn and groan as light streamed through their windows. He knew everything off by heart; Scarlet would wake first — and surprisingly, she'd appear even more of a grouch than he — and get herself ready for the day. She'd sling water at her face, hoping to God it'd wake her up, she'd pull out those outlandish rollers from her hair, yawn and sigh as she wrangled the long strands of oil-black hair into her new style before tying her curled pigtails with colourful bands.

 She'd slog back to her loft, all without saying a single word to him and throw her colourful clothes onto her body. Then she'd creak down the ladder, pad towards Eleven's room and rouse his youngest from her sleep.

 Finally, the two would appear side by side. Eleven had grown in the past six and a half months; shooting up like a little sprout — it irritated Scarlet to no end when she'd finally realised Eleven would be just as tall as her in a few short weeks.

 Eleven would be a mess of frizzy brown curls, her eyes narrowed from a sleepy haze, all while Scarlet appeared picture-perfect, but held a very deep grudge for the summer sun that begged for her to wake before she deemed it at all necessary.

 They'd all pile their plates high, munching away without words to be exchanged. When they were finished, each slumped in their chairs with bloated and delightfully full bellies; that was when his girls would crack their eyes open and say good morning.

 He'd sit back with a mild scowl when Eleven would rush to the phone; Mike. Oh, he loathed Mike Wheeler. Eleven would giggle and grin all while he looked ready to cover up a murder. It'd be Mike's murder, Hop was certain of that.

 Then, like clockwork, he'd finally tear his glower away and catch the sight of his eldest daughter, her arms folded over her chest, a crooked smile on her lips and a brow climbing so high he had been sure it'd fly away. Hop would clear his throat, gather the plates, and practically run away from her gaze.

 He'd ready himself for work while Scarlet prepared to make for the Mall; he couldn't quite remember the girl's name who worked with the Harrington kid... Rubin? Close enough. Scarlet spent most of her time at Scoops Ahoy, slinging ice cream for free all the while she slipped little testers between her lips.

 That was exactly where she had been all day while Eleven occupied the phone and drowned out the world around her. His youngest might have become a little obsessive with the phone, but she always followed one particular rule; come back to the land of the living at eight in the evening.

 She'd help Scarlet set the table, while Hopper did his best with dinner — he practically praised the days when Harrington would appease him with a hamburger from Burger King; it was likely a bribe to keep Hopper's dark stares pinned upon Mike, and away from him.

 Tonight should have been the same, but then Callahan just had to be a pain in the ass.

 Now, as the car screeched on the side of the road, Hopper bit his tongue; his girls would be furious. He truly hoped they'd given up and scurried to bed; he couldn't handle being ambushed by the pair of them ever again. He'd felt like a little boy upon watching his daughters cock their heads in sync with arms folded tightly over their chests.

 He almost shivered.

 He was as quiet as he could have been, the door hardly squeaking as he pried it open. The lights were still on, beaming through a crack in the curtains... But as he stepped inside, all he could hear was the fuzzy sound of the droning television.

 He slipped the door closed, locking it as he went. The look he had sent his keys upon the sound of their jingling could have burnt the entirety of Hawkins to a crisp. Hopper padded onwards, and then he stopped short.

 A frock of wild brunette hair peeked over the couch. His eyes narrowed; Harrington.

 His lips parted, ready to send the boy scuttling home; it was almost midnight, after all... but his words died on his tongue. The sight before him made Hopper falter, and for once, the burning rage he felt when a single boy was even within a mile of his daughters... vanished.

 Scarlet and Steve had perched side by side, hardly a hair of space left between them. Thighs had bumped against one another, arms likely sticking together thanks to the awful Indiana heat... but Scarlet had dozed off just as she always did. Her head had plunked upon Steve's shoulder while his head had teetered to rest atop her own.

 They were both soundlessly asleep, chests rising and falling so very softly.

 Eleven was sprawled over them; sock-covered feet were left atop Steve's lap while her head was buried into Scarlet's stomach, her sister's hand buried in her hair. They were all a mess of limbs and puffs of hair; only shallow breathing could be heard while the television flicked before them.

 Hopper didn't want to wake them, really he didn't, but even his neck was flaring just watching as Steve craned to rest on Scarlet... He approached the boy first, a light hand falling on Steve's free shoulder, "C'mon, wake up, kid."

 His voice was low, a mere grumble amidst the dull cabin. But Steve stirred at the sound, his dark brown eyes fluttering open. As soon as he registered that it was, in fact, Chief Jim Hopper, father of the two girls bundled atop of him, his heart almost gave out.

 The weight of Scarlet's head on his shoulder kept his voice  at a low wisper, "Oh God, I'm so sorry —" Steve stammered, doing whatever he could to plead his case and escape the inevitable burial that had likely been planned for him, "I should probably go —"

 "Hey." Hopper almost laughed, but then he registered the fact that Steve's hurried words might not have been just because he was there. It had happened before — Steve staying later than he should have, that is.

 He had rushed home, only to call later that night whilst they had all been brushing their teeth and preparing to slink off to bed... his voice had been hoarse from the screaming match with his father; Mr Harrington hadn't taken kindly to Steve creeping inside the house in the dead of the night.

 Hopper's hearty sigh caused Scarlet to shift, her eyes fluttering open, "Hop?

 Her voice cracked, overridden with fatigue. She peered at him through narrowed eyes, coffee-coloured iris almost hidden in the darkness of the room, "You're late."

 Hopper almost laughed at that; she'd been awake for three seconds and was already on her way to scold him, "Sorry, kid."

 "S'okay... What's the time?"

 "Midnight."

 "Oh..." She heaved herself up, head parting from Steve's shoulder. Her eyes blew wide, peering at Steve with nothing but guilt.

 Steve only shook his head, his neck flaring in pain, "It's alright, I'll just —"

 "— Take El's room." The words from Hopper's mouth stilled both teens.

 Steve blinked, words unable to form as he watched Hopper finally heave himself to his full height. He pottered around as though he, Chief Jim Hopper, hadn't just told Steve Harrington to take his daughter's bedroom for the night.

 He scooped up the strewn about wrappers of the candy Steve had brought for Eleven, the papers that had kept their cheeseburgers warm... Then he peered over his shoulder, "El can go up to the loft with Scar. You'll take El's room..." He then looked away from their prying eyes, "I don't want you driving this late at night, okay, paperwork's a hassle."

 That was a lie; he didn't even have to process the paperwork that came with crashes; that fell on Callahan's desk and Florence would always check it over — she didn't trust him either. But Hopper wasn't about to let them know that.

 He was still a father, and he still had an image to uphold; he didn't need Steve thinking he could just... show up and pitch a tent in front of the cabin — not that Hopper thought he would... Mike on the other hand...

 But Hooper would never quite know how grateful Steve Harrington was at that moment; the thought of having to return home, engine rumbling whilst his father clambered from his bed and stood at the door tapping his foot. The scowl he'd be greeted with. The lecture that would ring in his ears... hell, maybe even the bruise that — Steve swallowed.

 Hopper tossed the trash away, swiping his hands on his uniform before he perused back towards the couch. He ignored their burning stares following him. His calloused hand cupped the back of Eleve's head — she was still sleeping peacefully.

 "Hey, kiddo," he muttered softly.

 "Late." She mumbled, her balled fist rubbing furiously at her eyes.

 "Yeah, yeah, Scar's already told me..." He rose a brow, watching as Eleven stretched herself out like a lounging feline, eyes steadily drawn towards Steve.

 "You're still here?"

 Steve flicked her ankle, a soft smile adorning his face as he assessed her ragged state, "You trapped me."

 Eleven managed a grin, her eyes crinkling at the edges as she giggled — she'd grown to quite enjoy Steve's company, even if Mike still scoffed at his name.

 "El?" Scarlet yawned out as she blinked slowly, "Sleepover?"

 Eleven needed no words to respond; that was her favourite phrase to hear. She practically bolted from the couch. She had been a mere hair from booting Steve in the gut as she tumbled from the couch, feet slipping and sliding against the ground.

 She clambered the ladder and disappeared in a flash of frizzy brown curls. It would take her mere seconds to snuggle under the covers, waiting with utter impatience for her older sister to scoop her into a hug whilst they dozed off for the night.

 "Well, that answers that..." Scarlet said, sliding from the couch as though her body was made of jelly. She heaved to her height, back still somewhat coiled. Her fingers hovered midair, wiggling at Steve, "C'mon, I think you'll suit El's room."

 "Yeah?" His hand slipped into hers — his fingers seemed to tighten, "You think pink flowers, teen magazines and Madonna suit me?"

 "Well... Yeah."

 Hopper finally took his place on the couch as he watched the two of them meander towards Eleven's bedroom. Scarlet lingered by the door, drooping eyes following Steve as he walked further; they said their goodnights — a little prolonged for Hopper's taste; it was only obvious that Harrington had a crush on his daughter — and then Scarlet closed the door with a final whisper.

 "Was it Callahan?" She padded closer, one sock still clung to her calf while the other had rolled closer to her ankle, bunching up as it threatened to slip off entirely.

 "You guessed it."

 "Hm, well..." Another yawn tore through her lips as she patted his shoulder. Her hands were obscenely warm, but Hopper made no move to stop his daughter as she would her arms around his neck, "Nighty night, Hop."

 "Night kid."

 "Oh... and um... thank you."

 His brow rose, "What for?"

 Her wide brown eyes were flecked with glimmering specks of honey; he could see them clearly now that the lamp had been switched on, spewing a white light into the cabin. Her gaze slid him by, trailing over the cabin until her stare was planted on Eleven's bedroom door.

 Hopper understood well enough — thank you for letting him stay. That was what she wanted to say, but her voice wouldn't budge in fear of Steve hearing... or in fear of the crack that might prevail. She hated Steve Harrington's father... and she'd never even met the man.

 Hopper waved her off. They were like that — no words really had to be exchanged to understand their gratitude for one another. His light twitch of the lips and the dimples that clawed at her cheeks spoke loud enough, "Go get some rest, kid."

 The light and warm breeze of the summer months sent them all into a deep slumber, the scene of blossoming flowers and freshly cut grass lulling their senses until everything stilled like a peaceful painting scrawled over a canvas.

 If only it could stay like this forever.

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EXTRA CHAPTER - date: 13-07-2022

DAD!Hopper is something so special to me; the way he was ready to FIGHT steve... and ended up letting him stay the night. BYE. also... fuck Steve's dad, all my homies hate Mr. Harrington (i mention them more than the show does just to give Steve that extra dimension and to expand on what we already have hints for)

don't forget to let me know what you think; and remember that i now require a particular number of comments and feedback before i consider releasing the next part (this is just to ensure people remain engaged and supportive, as well as to allow me to see what you all enjoyed most!)